Why I Thought I Could Do This Insanity?
Okay, full confession. Last year? The word “Ironman” basically just meant a superhero movie to me. Then one Tuesday night, I saw some documentary where normal-looking folks finished one. My brain went: “Maybe…?” And like an idiot, I said it out loud to my buddy Dave. He laughed hard, beer almost came out his nose. But that laugh? Man, that stuck with me. So right there, fueled by pure stubbornness and zero common sense, I decided to try. Step Zero was just… deciding to be dumb enough to try.
The Scary Part: Actually Signing Up
Looked up Ironman distances online. 2.4 miles swimming? 112 miles biking? THEN a full marathon run (26.2 miles)? Yeah, I almost closed the laptop right then. Needed something smaller first, a stepping stone. Found a “half-distance” triathlon happening in about six months. Called it a “70.3”. Figured if I could survive that, maybe, just maybe… Ironman wouldn’t seem quite as impossible. Shaky finger hit the “Register” button. Got the confirmation email. Instant stomach drop. Too late now.
Gear Shakedown: Wallet Screaming
Had a pair of old running shoes collecting dust. That was it. Needed gear, period.
- Swim: Dug out ancient goggles from a beach trip years ago. Stretched, leaky. Borrowed a too-big swim cap from the local pool guy. Swam laps feeling like a drowning walrus.
- Bike: My rusty old mountain bike wouldn’t cut it. Begged my cycling friend. He lent me his spare road bike. Felt like trying to ride a twitchy racehorse the first time. Fell over. At a stop sign. Embarrassing.
- Run: Okay, maybe the shoes WEREN’T okay. Went to a proper running store. Guy watched me walk. Said my shoes were basically bricks strapped to my feet. Bought new ones. Legs thanked me instantly.
- Random Stuff: Tri shorts (padded bum!), nutrition goo packs (taste like sticky fake fruit), water bottles everywhere. My spare room turned into triathlon central.
Building a Habit (& Fighting Laziness)
Starting the training plan? Oh boy. Week one looked “easy” on paper. Swim 800 meters total? Took me like an hour. Spluttering constantly. Bike for 45 mins? My butt hurt so bad after 20 minutes I had to stand on the pedals. Run for 30 mins? Legs felt like lead weights. Consistency became the biggest battle. Skipping the couch for the pool. Dragging my tired body onto the bike after work. Sometimes just 20 minutes. But doing something, anything, every day was the key. Made a giant paper calendar. X’d off every session I finished. Stupidly satisfying.
My Coach? YouTube & Pain
Couldn’t afford a real coach. Hello internet. Watched SO many videos. Focused on survival techniques:
- Swim: “Don’t drown efficiently.” Learned to breathe on both sides (mostly). Drilled endlessly, feeling awkward.
- Bike: “Stay upright.” Practiced cornering slowly. Mastered changing gears without sounding like I was breaking the bike.
- Run: “Don’t start too fast!” Yeah, easier said than done. Always went out too quick, always paid for it later.
- Brick Workouts: Pure evil. Bike for an hour, then IMMEDIATELY try to run. Legs feel like alien jello. Did these weekly. Hated every second.
Race Day Reality (aka The Hurt Locker)
Half-Ironman day arrived. T1: Wetsuit wrestling match. Swim felt like chaos, got kicked. Bike was windy and hard. Run? Sun beating down, legs screaming. Had to walk some run parts. Doubted myself constantly. But I kept moving forward, step by painful step. Crossed that finish line. Didn’t win anything except exhaustion and a weird feeling of accomplishment. Took me HOURS longer than I hoped. But it proved something: an ordinary dude like me could train up and finish. That gave me the crazy confidence to actually sign up for the real Ironman next season. The journey’s just starting, but I finally feel qualified to try the big one.
