“I started my Ironman Triathlon training plan yesterday…”
Those were the words that came out of mouth on Tuesday. Three years ago, that statement would have been just as likely as “I sprouted wings yesterday, flapped my arms, and flew across the Grand Canyon…”
2.4 mile swim.
Three years ago, I was obese and lazy. I ate junk food every day and I never, EVER, exercised. I had never run. I hadn’t been on a bike since I was 12. The last time I was in a pool was in college. I didn’t exercise. I didn’t want to…
112 mile bike.
Two years ago, I had returned to Weight Watchers and lost 50 pounds. I was still on the couch, but was challenged to try a 5k. I was contemplating it. Two years ago to the day, I had googled “running shoe store” and had an address. I was also convinced that would be a complete waste of time and money. I was not an athlete. Who was I kidding?
26.2 mile run.
One year ago. Three marathons. Two century rides. A Half Ironman Triathlon. My life was barely recognizable from 2 years earlier. My mind had started to stray to the impossible. Ironman. The seed was planted. The dream had started to grow. I kept pushing it aside, but it would not be ignored…
140.6 mile race.
This week, my final 30 week training plan has begun. I am registered. My goal has been announced. I am committed to this venture. There is no turning back, nor do I want to…
17 hour time limit.
I may not be by flapping my arms while floating across the Grand Canyon, but am doing the equally improbable. I am a triathlete. I will be an Ironman.
This is a document of my final 30 week journey. A document of my journey to here, and my journey forward.