Stronger - Kanye West

By this point, most people would get pretty emotional about coming in to the finish. The culmination of a year’s worth of preparation and training. The constant focus on a singular goal. All the sacrifices made by those that supported you. All the sacrifices you made so you could train, instead of spending time with family or doing other more enjoyable things. And to have the smiling face of a loved one be there to see you finish?

I have to admit that I got a little emotional, too. But it was on the first lap. See, Lisa couldn’t make it down with me, even though we had originally planned for it. I had the hotel free through all the points I had racked up in work; enough miles to fly her free and a voucher to fly me for cheap. But I waited about 3 days too long between checking the price and actually making the reservations – the mileage needed to fly free doubled, and the price went up by about 50%. So I was there by myself, and it really hit me on the first lap of the run when I saw all the cheering people in the crowd, and even though people were shouting for me, I knew it was only because they did for everyone. The one person in the world that I wanted to be there cheering me on wasn’t there.

But on this, the third lap, all the emotions had already drained out of me. Every step that I took that got me closer to the finish also sharpened my focus. I knew I had 15 hours beat – could I break 14:45? It was hard to tell just how far I had left and my time to make it. I thought I might come in at 14:50.

So I kept pushing. I did stop and walk when my heart rate shot up past 160; when it came back down, I started running again.

As I came to the transition area, I picked up the pace a little more. Some of the folks I had been chatting with throughout the race had moved past me when I slowed to let my heart rate drop; I could see them ahead.

I wanted to catch them.

With about 200 yards left, I moved from jogging to running. With 100 yards left, I went from running to sprinting. I could see the finish line. I could hear the crowds. I could hear the announcer as he proclaimed everyone that passed beneath the finish an Iron Man.

Then, with 50 yards left, I could no longer hear the crowds. I could barely hear the announcer. I was so focused on getting there. I couldn’t have slowed down if I wanted to – my legs were moving of their own will, and I was along for the ride. I’m sure I looked as about as graceful as a new-born giraffe.

I remember passing the Ford Escape they had on display. I remember the crowds on each side extending their hands to give me high fives as I came into finish, and extending my arms out as far as I could reach on both sides to return the gesture. I barely remember the announcer saying my name.
I crossed the line, triumphant.