Wisconsin Ironman Epilogue: Comedown
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
This morning, for the first time in a week, I ran. I donned a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and laced up my brown runners that had carried me, just a little over a week ago, through the haze of flashbulbs and music and cheering of the Ironman finish chute. I grabbed Newt and Leonard, and the three of us set out into the sticky sweet air of Indian summer.
I didn't run because I needed to. Because I have crashed post-Ironman and was seeking refuge in forward motion and the endorphins my body has fed off of for so long now.
No, I ran because I could. Because I felt good today...and, truth be told, because I've felt good since last Tuesday. I ran because my dogs needed it. And because I wanted to get back to that place that I visited last week, and over the last year -- the place where I pushed myself beyond, where I tested my limits and doubted my strength and found most simply, that if I just held on, I could -- and just do some thinking about the whole experience. And for me, that place is me, in my runners, moving forward, hearing my footfall strike a steady, hypnotic one-two on the concrete.
I'm still trying to figure this whole thing out. Ironman, I mean. Perhaps there are some who can do Ironman and call it just a race. But I don't think they are many, and I am not one of them. My father, a man who slept in on the mornings of mine and my sister's first marathons, even understood this about Ironman. This past week he said to me, "That was really something. People keep asking me how it was, and I tell them, 'I can try to tell you about it, but you just won't understand.'"
In some ways, it was like another version of me -- one that I don't know well -- did Ironman that day. Although familiar, it seems so far away and distant to me, akin to a childhood memory or deja vu. On the other hand, I find it hard to view things not through that lens. Even as I enjoy going about my day in a way that I haven't in well over a year, Ironman remains a constant pebble in my mind.
The night of September 10th, Chief of Stuff and I headed out for a celebratory dinner of sushi. As the conversation often goes, we talked about the week ahead. He asked me about my availability on a certain night, and I gave him my stock answer, "I'm not sure -- I'll check my schedule." I meant my workout schedule. The one that had perched on my dresser for the last twelve months and dictated how the hours of each day would be arranged. Like a phantom limb, these habits had become so ingrained that, although I wanted to relish my new found longer days, I missed them somewhat.
It happened again, on the way home from dinner, when we stopped at the gas station to fill up. I should run in and stock up on some Gatorade, I thought. Because this is what one does on gas station stops. This is what one does when one's weekly schedule is packed and there's no time for things like grocery shopping or spontaneous trips for Gatorade. You combine trips; you multitask. And suddenly, you no longer need to.
And this, I'm happy to report, hasn't caused me any great duress. I've heard the stories of post-Ironman depression. Of the letdown that so often follows. But it hasn't seemed to follow me.
The question I've gotten over and over and over again is if I'm going to do it again. People ask this, I think, because of the curiosity factor (Really though, isn't this much the same as asking a woman who just gave birth when she's going to have another kid?). An answer of "No way" means it was so terrible that you couldn't imagine going through that again, and that the person answering is, in fact, human; whereas "Yes" would indicate that the respondent is certifiably insane.
Me? I've pitched my tent firmly in the "I don't know" camp. It was such an incredible experience, this first Ironman, that I somewhat believe any subsequent try would be a let down. It's also a lot to give up -- a year of lost weekends, vacations not taken, phone calls not made -- and a lot to ask your people to give up and put up with too: There's incessant navel-gazing. "I can't," becomes you're entire lexicon; and even if you could, in the end, you're too tired. And all non-Ironman related activities or thoughts get pushed off onto someone else -- grocery shopping, cleaning, cooking -- or just don't get done. So I don't know...because Ironman is never just about you. Because no one goes 140.6 miles, or all those that precede them, alone.
But it also seemed just a touch too easy. I felt altogether too good afterwards. And I've started to wonder if maybe...just maybe...I couldn't push harder, go faster.
So my compromise at this point is that I'd do it with someone else next time -- CoS, Melanie, my sister (any takers?!) -- or maybe when I'm 40, or 50. Or hell, even 60. In the meantime, I want to do at least one half-Iron next summer, and a few Olys and Sprints, with my eye toward getting more competitive. With a goal of a top-three finish, at some point, in my age group.
For the time being, though, I'm just going to enjoy life. I'm heading out this afternoon to ride my horse for the second time. The other night I made homemade soup and helped CoS make butternut squash and sausage risotto, and still got to bed by 10:00. Tomorrow night I will have dinner with my dad and my sister in Green Bay. This weekend I will go for brunch, and maybe to the farmer's market. I will clean my condo and take my dogs to the barn. I will start writing a bit and sending my writing out to literary journals again. I will finish polishing my book and start looking for an agent. Next week I will return to my Master's group, as much for the social aspect as the exercise. I will cheer on CoS in the Green Bay Duathlon at the end of this month, and go to the Madison Book Festival in October.
And I will run, like I did this morning. Without my Garmin or heart rate strap. Without any thought of tempo or hill repeats or miles. I will run to feel the leaves dance at my feet. To experience the melting of fall into winter. To see the look of sheer exhilaration on my dogs' faces. I will run in a continued effort to feeling my way through this -- about what it means, and where I go from here. I will run because I can, and because I want to. And for now, that is enough.
Posted by Erin 11:46 AM
So that I can pretend I still have daily chats with you and Mel at Starbucks and can continue to brag about you to my new friends and acquaintances in DC.
And so that I, and the countless other people that log into The Long and Winding Road -- weekly, daily, hourly (you know who you are) -- can stay connected to a woman that has inspired us so much!
Keep posting Erin -- and we'll keep reading!
Miss you!
Your blog has been a great read, and been a source of information and a small peek into the life of an ironman long before you even did the race.
Great job.
I don't think I've heard anything else ever sum it up so succinctly.
Thanks for sharing your experience, it was beautifully written and inspiring for us wanna-be Ironmen.
I'm with you for next racing year.. Trying to get faster is a definite goal..
Enjoy the time off, its great just to go workout for fun now.
I have truly enjoyed reading about your journey. What I needed was an honest acoount of what it takes to get there, and you provided that and then some with the eloquent verbal snapshots of your training.
I will continue to follow your journey as I am certain it won't end here. Glad to hear you are actively recovering and enjoying the perks of having finished this particular chapter.
Good wishes for the CoS at Green Bay - he's got some big shoes to fill!