d.: Well, Christmas is over, but don’t be as sad as this puppy. I am going to rerun the ending of “Beyond the Thirteenth Mile; The Iron Man Chronicles,.
I want to pose a question first, though: What is the greatest Christmas movie of all time? Here are my nominations: Die Hard (Cal.E.’s favorite): National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation; Miracle on 34th Street; Home Alone, and any write-ins you want to add. Just leave me a comment on this website.
And now, the last portion of “Beyond the Thirteenth Mile; The Iron Man Chronicles.
CHAPTER 25:
JUST ANOTHER DAY
Mile Twenty-three; run course: Well, here I am at mile twenty-three. It looks like I will finish in about fourteen and one-half hours. NOT bad.
This is definitely NOT just another day, though. I am going to finish an IronMan distance triathlon! I feel SO good! What is that volunteer saying? I do NOT understand...
OH CRUD! Who put that there? I did NOT notice that speed bump being in that place during the previous loops on this run course.
Is my right knee okay? Can I finish? That would hurt badly to get this far and not finish. Chris Leigh and Julie Moss almost won before cratering. I just want to finish.
Please, please PLEASE let my knee go back into place so that I can finish this race!!
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It was just another day. All around the world, men, women, and children went to work, church, and school, or went about their daily routines. I wasn't one of them. You see, to me, this wasn't just another day. The date on my watch read Saturday, October twentieth, two-thousand-one. This was the date that for the last three and a half years I had hoped for, planned for, pined for, and rearranged my entire personal life for. It was the date of my first attempt at an IronMan distance triathlon.
The wake-up call came ten minutes early, but I was already awake after a fitful night of sleep. With nerves on edge, I put in my contacts, choked down my breakfast, and prepared to go. Upon arriving at the race site, a sleepy but sincere Seth peered into the back of the rented S.U.V. "Jed," he said, incredulously, "did you forget your bike?"
The sincerity and concern in Seth's voice took me aback and relieved some of the tension that I was feeling. "No, Seth," I said, "I left it here last night.” (This is a requirement for this particular race.) This race was a real learning experience, as I learned three things in particular. First, never eat pizza the night before attempting to finish an IronMan distance triathlon (an unfortunate mistake on my part). Secondly, Murphy's Law will always apply - no matter how much one trains, plans, or worries, something will always go wrong. Thirdly, dear old Mom was right - no matter what is wrong with you, chicken soup will always make you feel better. I shall expand on these three points.
After a decent swim, which I finished in around 90 minutes, I felt confident in my abilities. This was well within the range of what I wanted to do to meet my goal of thirteen hours. After changing into my cycling gear in the transition area, I took off on my bike. I felt strong as I started on this leg of the race. The first thirty miles went very smoothly. However, in the next five miles, my left leg started to twinge in the quadriceps area. I decided to take my vitamins that I had forgotten to take in the transition area at that point. About 10 miles later, I started to feel extremely nauseated, resulting in my not being able to eat at all while riding my bike. I was also not able to take any power gel until after I dismounted my bike. This may or may not have been due to the fact that I had had pizza for dinner the night before. I'm positive it didn't help.
Run Course, Mile 24: My knee is okay, but I can only trot. I will not push myself beyond what I am sure I can do, so I must settle for around 15 hours as a finishing time. Oh well, it is better than NOT finishing the race at all, like I thought would happen at mile 90 on the bike course…
Nausea continued until somewhere around mile ninety of the bike leg, where I let it, the wind, and the constant hills and left-hand turns on the bike course get to me. Nauseated, aggravated, and totally demoralized, I headed for the shade. "That's it," I thought, leaning my bike against a tree, and starting to sit down on the ground. "I can't finish this race."
At that time, the famous words of John Collins came to me. I quote, “There is a point where it would be okay to quit, everywhere, but in the back of your mind. At that point, if you go on and finish, you win. If you quit you lose-it’s that simple." (1)
And that friends and neighbors, is life in a nutshell. Collins, of course, was referring to completing an IronMan distance triathlon. As I looked back over my life, though, I realized that there were so many times that I could have given up and quit, but I didn't. I'm so grateful for that. I remembered my first year in college, when my first marriage ended, and the twenty-fifth mile of my first marathon...
With these thoughts in mind and encouraged by another rider who had gotten back on his bike just as I was getting off of mine, I got back on my bike, still not sure of my ability to finish the race. We rode the last twenty-two miles in stone silence.
As I sat in the changing tent, stuffing grapes in my mouth, still trying to convince myself to put on my running shoes, I learned that the winner had just crossed the finish line, and he was 46 years old. Glancing at my watch, I saw that I still had over seven hours to finish the run. Finishing in 13 hours was now out of the question, but I did want to finish the course, and desperately.
I started out at a moderate walking pace on the “run” course, being joined by a policeman for the first five miles. Then I tried running, 30 seconds at a time at first, then a minute, then a quarter of a mile, then 800 meters at a time. I found a pace that felt comfortable. Glancing at my watch again, I noticed that I was on a twelve-minute-per-mile pace, about what I had planned to average on the run course. One-half of the way through the run, fourteen hours looked doable, which would mean that Seth might get to see me finish. This was something that Nicole and I both had hoped for. By mile twenty-three, though, when I tripped on a speed bump, even though a volunteer had very carefully pointed it out to me; I knew that to proceed with anything but extreme caution, would not be wise.
I took my asthma inhaler at the special needs station to the astonishment of at least one person — the volunteer that handed it to me. At mile 22 I knew that I would finish with at least two hours left for the time limit — baring anything unforeseeable.
The last loop (out of three) was a blur, except for one thing — I started looking forward to the aid station that had chicken soup, the one thing that had relieved my nausea.
Run Course; Mile twenty-five: I just have one more mile to go (and almost three football fields. I am glad that I did not quit, like I tried to at the first marathon I attempted. It was at this mile marker that I began to get VERY discouraged. I wish that they had chicken soup at the Houston Marathon. I do NOT want to think about quitting now, so I will quote my life verse again...
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Conversations with two veteran Ironmen the day before the race had proven very valuable. The first had warned me to stay about 25 feet outside of the buoys during the swim to stay away from the turbulence. I did, and it helped tremendously. No one hit me in the head during the swim! The second had strongly advised me to take the chicken soup when it was offered to me on the run course. Despite my objections, he insisted that I try it. "You'll see," he had said. Now, I DID see, the broth from the chicken soup not only cured nausea, but it restored my reserves as well. I took it every time I was able on the run course. I took my last cup of chicken soup broth at mile 25, and headed for the finish line, tapping my sunglasses and my race number with one hand just as I had done at every mile marker for the last thirteen. My sunglasses, unneeded for the last four hours, were now perched on top of my baseball cap. I just wanted to make sure that they were still there. My race number, I touched for encouragement. On the back of it, I had written Isaiah 40: 30,31, which reads, "Even youths grow tired and weary and young men stumble and fall. But those that hope in the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up on wings as eagles. They shall run and not grow weary, they shall walk, and not be faint."
I feel so good that I am going to slap hands with everyone who is offering a high five from here to the end of the course! Little man?! No? That’s okay, maybe a low five? No again. He was probably just tired. It is after ten o'clock at night. Everyone else, though, is offering congratulations. I do NOT even feel tired now. I want to do all forty of these if it makes me feel this good! The announcer is calling my name! What a feeling!
"285 yards to go," I thought as I heard a volunteer shout "IronMan coming through," at the twenty-six-mile mark. It was the shortest, sweetest 285 yards of my entire life, as I slapped hands with as many of the 100-plus spectators that lined the last part of the run course as I could. I passed “under the wire” in fifteen hours, seventeen minutes, and two seconds. A short trip to the medical tent was required after I finished the course, but it DID NOT MATTER! I had accomplished the IMPOSSIBLE!
Okay, so Marc Allen, I'm definitely not, but I had accomplished a feat that 99% of the population of the world would never attempt on two good knees and no respiratory problems. (To the paraplegics and the Bill Bells of the world who compete in and complete IronMan distance triathlons on a yearly basis, you have my utmost and undying respect.)
At that moment I knew that there was not a drug on the face of this earth that could have given me a high that would begin to compare to the euphoria I felt as the race official slipped my finisher's medallion around my neck; just as the announcer declared, “Jedidiah Harper of Brazos, Texas, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!”
I was overcome with joy as my heart swelled with pride. I now had a new group of peers: From the forty-six-year-old man who brought home first place in just under ten hours, to the guy who rode 42 miles on a flat tire, to the cop who walked the first five miles of the run course with me, to the fellow “virgin" Ironman competitor who walked back maybe a tenth of a mile just to check on me after seeing me struggle mightily on the bike course, to the last person who (maybe) beat the time limit by one second, we all had one thing in common. We were all Ironmen and Ironwomen!
I was in a state of euphoria. My brain was releasing every endorphin available to it! I now had a new goal in mind. I wanted to do all 40 of the Iron-Man distance triathlons in existence! Yes, there are longer races, but I MUST believe that this is the limit to which a sane, normal person would exert his or her body and mind.
I was an Ironman at long last, and it felt good! That night I went to bed and slept for a very, very long time, two hours at a clip. My heart rate was still too elevated to rest any easier. I would not trade that feeling for anything in the world, though, except for the sweet love of the woman with whom I have spent the best part of my life.
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I FINISHED! This is the greatest feeling since I married Nicole! I want a steak! I am very hungry, and I need protein to recover from THAT race. What? Okay, okay, I will go to the medical tent...
EPILOGUE
Medical tent; end of racecourse: Oddly enough, this warming jacket must be necessary, even though the temperature is still very warm, even at midnight. I have the chills for sure. It looks like no steak for me. I am too dehydrated to eat, according to the EMTs (I wonder if they just ran out of steaks?). Oh, well, it does NOT matter. I FINISHED! That is all that matters.
The EMT should have no problem finding my veins to give me an I. V. of normal saline. My veins are protruding from my arms like frozen ropes. I would be fine in a matter of minutes, if not an hour or so. That is fine, because my watch says that my heart rate is still around 140 bpm. It also says my time was 15:17:43. My pulse will probably stay around 140 bpm all night, but I will remember my exact time for twenty-plus years.
I will not sleep well tonight. I would be too excited to sleep anyway. I told everyone that the way one celebrates finishing an IronMan triathlon is to go home and go to sleep. Maybe I CAN just rest. I AM VERY tired. I hope I don’t wake Nicole and Seth when I get back. They are probably as tired as I am from playing all day.
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Even volunteers at IronMan distance triathlons have trouble comprehending that we competitors are going to cover 140.6 miles in one day, and all under our own power. "You guys - are nuts!" exclaimed the announcer, just before sounding the starting horn.
Actually, it's not that complicated. First, you put one arm in front of the other, then one leg, then one foot, and you don't stop until you're finished. And, no, it doesn't take the "rest of your life" to recover from one either, contrary to the opinion of a physical therapist friend of mine.
I actually signed up for and completed a 50-mile run a mere eight weeks after having completed my first Iron Man distance triathlon, even though my heart rate stayed elevated above one hundred for a solid week after completing the Iron Man. I actually beat the time limit in the fifty-mile run of twelve hours, my only goal, by over twenty minutes. I don't recommend doing this, though. Mainly because I was not able to escape injury. I hyperextended my left (good knee) in a mud puddle (the run was held in a moderate rain that lasted until the time limit expired. At mile 44, I got my foot stuck in the mud puddle. I could not pull it out without taking the unbraced knee out of joint. (That left me six miles to “run” on one semi-healthy leg.) I did beat the time limit, but Nicole forbade me to attempt any more trail runs, as this course had caused me to injure each of my knees (and to have minor surgery, six months later, on the healthy one. No, it was done on ME, so it was NOT “minor surgery.” (My definition of “minor surgery” is one that is done on someone else, not ME.)
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We train for endurance events in our everyday lives. If you think about it, you do a "Mental Iron Man" every day of your life. You swim through your morning routine, and later, through traffic, only to cycle through things at work that may or may not interest you. Then, you probably run home in time to catch your child's soccer game or practice, or to go to that den meeting. Maybe, you'd just like to get home in time to eat dinner with the whole family, for once. If you can find time to sneak in a workout, or to read a book, or just sit and think for a short period of time, then I say, bully for you! Let's face it, our harried, hurried lifestyles don't allow much room for slothfulness in the twenty-first century. That, in my opinion, has contributed greatly to the explosion in the popularity of extreme sports in the twenty-first century.
I’m d.c. scot, and this has been just one average, ordinary, everyday person's account of his attempt at the impossible.
“24 Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. 25 Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever.” I Corinthians 9: 24-25
WHERE ARE THEY NOW?
I believe that Haley’s funeral was particularly hard for me to attend, mainly because Nicole and I were trying very hard to conceive our first child as a couple. (The real-life Nicole and I have been married for over twenty years.) Although that never happened naturally, we would go on to adopt two sons from foster care. These two have been a very large blessing in our lives. One has dedicated his life to the American Armed Services and the other is a talented musician. These were the first two placements that we fostered (out of twelve) in our five-year foster parent career. I found that I must put my foot down, though, much like the character John in my first published book, “Precision.” We would have adopted all twelve of our placements if it had been Nicole’s decision! Additionally, Seth and I have adopted each other. I think of him as my oldest son, and he thinks of me as his dad. He would go on to become an above-average middle-distance runner and sprinter in middle and high school. (He only gave up running when his asthma kept him from participating in the longer events).
Health problems prevented me from accomplishing my goal of finishing all forty Iron Man Distance Triathlons, but I have been just as satisfied with a nursing career and my happy family, as well as writing in my spare time. I hope you have enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed researching and writing it!
d.: Cal.E., my family, and I wish all of y'all a happy (and better) New Year!
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