DNF = Did Not Fail

(At first, this looks like a race report. But it's not, it's something I wrote about my first IM experience and shared with my tri team, on a day dedicated to being thankful, I guess it's fitting)


It came to an end on a dark street in Panama City Beach. I lay crumpled on the ground in pain, my stop watch read 16:51 and I just passed mile marker 25. In the distance I could hear the cheer of the crowd and Mike Reilly's voice saying those wonderful words "...you are an Ironman." But, for this year at least, those words would not be for me.

Three days before the race, I hit the beach for a warm up swim. The Gulf's conditions were better suited to surfing than swimming, with six foot waves pushing me back to shore. The current pushed hard, so I found myself almost swimming in place. Not being a strong swimmer, I hoped it would calm down or I was in for a very short day.

One of the many aspects of Ironman is that you are expected to complete each discipline in a certain amount of time. You must complete the swim in two hours twenty minutes, for example. At the athletes meeting I memorized the cutoff times, I wanted to make certain that I made each of them.

All along I felt that if I could make it through the swim, I could make it the rest of the day. I awoke on race day to much calmer seas. It felt as if today would be my day. My wife, Robin, and daughter Alyss walked me down to the swim and gave me encouragement, I would take that with me for the rest of the day.

The current was still strong and pushed all but the strongest swimmers off course. I made the first 1.2 mile lap before the 1:15 cutoff. But, my second lap involved a diagonal swim against the current, which slowed me down. By the time I hit the shore I was only 5 minutes away from being eliminated. I had to be on my bike in 15 minutes or my day was over. I saw Robin at the beach cheering me on, it was a wonderful sight. I was in a bit disoriented coming out of the water, but quickly recovered.

The bike leg had some challenging points, mostly the 15 mile an hour winds would chill the bones and slow the bike. But finishing my bike with a strong split, I felt great going into the run. Coming out of the changing tent were Robin and Alyss taking pictures, it was going to be a great run, I could feel it.

I decided that a 15 minute mile would enable me to conserve energy and beat the remaining cut offs. As I set out on my run I was energized by all the people that came out to cheer us on. Most of them were locals and they really went all out, many of them in costumes or with cute signs. Things were right on track, until about mile 10. My back began to feel sore, I assumed it was just some fatigue and I kept pushing on. I made the first 13.1 mile lap and once again saw Robin's smiling face. She said to me "You got this!"

Then came mile 17, my back pain had become more pronounced and my 15 minute miles became 17-18 minutes. But, I still had plenty of time to finish. I'm not sure at what point it happened, but someone passed me and said "Are you all right?" I realized that I was completely bent over, trying to run. By mile 18 my lower back was in full spasm. Even as I tried to stand up, I couldn't. And every step was painful. But, I pressed on. I imagine I was quite a sight, walking bent over like a cave man. When I would pass aid stations they would say "Are you ok?" "Yep, I'm fine." But, I wasn't.

The course got darker, colder, and emptier and I moved slower and slower. The only thing that was increasing was the pain. I ticked off the miles...19...20...21...22. By mile 24 I was in complete pain, I couldn't run, I couldn't stand up, and I couldn't stop.

It was during those painful seven miles that I learned the most. I learned that I could handle anything that was thrown at me as long as I had the right attitude. On those dark lonely roads I learned that failure comes in not starting, not in not finishing. I realized how blessed I am to have an incredible family and a wonderful group of friends. I have been overwhelmed by love and support.

Until I hear the words "...you are an Ironman", this will remain unfinished business. I will try again and continue until I succeed in crossing the finish line. I view this day not as a failure to finish, but as a success to be built upon.