DNF

DNF. Did Not Finish. Those words will haunt me now for the remainder of my life. That is what will forever be by my name for the 2006 Gulf Coast Triathlon. I cannot begin to tell you the tsunami of emotions that hit me when I came to the realization that I had failed. Shame. Disappointment. Humiliation. Dishonor. Failure. Looser.

For 5 1/2 months I trained as hard as I could. After over 1,100 miles running, biking and swimming I had built my endurance to run 13 miles and bike 56 miles. I had lost 35 lbs and thought I was ready for anything. A DNF never really entered my mind. I figured, short of being hit broadside by a semi, I was (eventually) gonna finish this race. The one thing that never even entered my mind was my tendency towards motion sickness.

The weather was beautiful and it looked like it was gonna be a wonderful day for the race. There was 1,500 triathletes ready to go this morning and as I approached the starting line I was confident, rested, carb-loaded and anxious to get started.

There were 12 buoys making the 1.2 mile swim course. I was starting in group 12 out of 15 so was very near the back of the race. I hit the water and began to swim and felt great. The waves were not too big near the beach and when I crossed the breakers things settled down even more. Nevertheless, the waves and currents moved me around in the water and by the time I reached the first buoy I began to feel dizzy. By the time I reached the second buoy I knew I was in trouble. I was getting nauseous from the wave movements. Up and down and slight side to side I went and my head started to swirl around.

I tried to ignore the feeling of sea sickness and concentrate on my swimming. By the time I reached the third buoy I was sick as a dog and the for the first time the thought that I was not gonna be able to make it came to me. I shut the thought out of my head and continued on. I thought maybe if I changed from swimming freestyle to breaststroke it might help but it did not. Eventually I rounded the 6th buoy and was almost half way but I was getting progressively sicker. At this point I was counting stokes. I could only swim about 10 stokes before I had to stop and look at the horizon or the buoy to stop my head from spinning out of control.

I rounded the 6th buoy and tried to tell myself that it was almost over but I did not believe this lie and I felt my stomach rumbling. I tried to stop and just stay still but that was even worse as I bobbed up and down. I was so sick. But quitting just ain't in me so I asked myself. 'if I were stranded out here would I die?' There was hesitation in my answer as I tried to convince myself that I had to make it back to shore. I passed buoy 7 but by now I could only swim about 5 stokes before I had to stop. I told myself there were only 5 buoys to go and then I'd be on solid ground although at this point even the thought of getting on a bike didn't sound too fun either. I just wanted to be still. As I approached the 8th buoy, I lost it. I started hurling.

It was at this point that I realized I was in serious trouble. I had been getting progressively sicker and sicker and now I was hurling. My head was twirling and I could hardly see straight. It wouldn't be long before I was dry-heaving and gasping for air and sucking in sea water. Anyway, it's kinda hard to swim while you're hurling. So I flagged one of the Sea Doos and they came over and threw me a gurney thing. I grabbed on to the rope and they dragged my sick butt to shore.

It was over. 5 1/2 months of training and anticipation had ended in total failure. I walked back to the hotel humiliated. I took the elevator to the 4th floor and thought I would puke when the elevator started moving. I was still sick. I got to my room and laid on the bed for about 2 hours before my head stopped swimming. Eventually I got up and went to retrieve my bike from the transition area. Most all the bikes were out on the course now however there were a dozen or so other bikes left in the transition area and I wondered what their story was. I pushed my bike out past the spectators in what felt like a 'walk of shame'. I felt like I had a big DNF in scarlet letters across my forehead.

I don't know what the future holds. Maybe I'll look for a HIM in a lake where the water does not move so much.

I guess when you 'swing for the fence', when you strike out, you strike out big! [Mike drops his head and walks back to the dugout in shame]


~Mike