SAN DIEGO, Calif. –  Do you wish your loved one would spend as much money on you as they do on their high-performance bike? You’re not alone. In her debut publication How to Date a Triathlete, Lauren McVey-Harsch offers a personal and humorous look inside her relationship with an Ironman triathlete.

Spanning the globe with her husband on “racations,” How to Date a Triathlete shares McVey-Harsch’s triathlon stories as a spectator, volunteer, travel companion and loving wife. While accepting the lifestyle of a triathlete can be challenging at times, she notes travel as just one of the many advantages of hooking up with one. Referring to body marking and sunscreen application as delicious volunteer opportunities, How to Date a Triathlete serves advice to those who are in love with an endurance athlete, but are not always in love with the endurance athlete lifestyle.

How to Date a Triathlete includes a forward by Virginia Tinley, wife of two-time Ironman World Champion Scott Tinley and Executive Director of the Challenged Athletes Foundation, and a triathlon glossary that will help make any triathlon novice sound like a pro. 

How to Date a Triathlete is available now at www.howtodateatriathlete.com. Visit the How to Date an Endurance Athlete Facebook Page for a taste of what this must-read has to offer.

About the Author

Lauren McVey-Harsch is the owner of Team Together and is married to endurance athlete Peter Harsch. Residing in San Diego, California, the triathlon capital of the world, McVey-Harsch did not take easily to being the wife of a committed endurance athlete. After finding a pleasant life balance, she crafted How to Date a Triathlete to provide a humorous approach to dealing with serious issues. McVey-Harsch is not a triathlete, she just happened to have married one.

Media and Speaking Opportunities

Lauren McVey-Harsch is available for in-person and remote interviews, speaking engagements, book signings and race expos. Please contact Erin Merz at erin@erinmerz.com for scheduling.

Most athletes don’t realize what a gift their body is until it betrays them.

I ran for years, about 10, and started triathlon mostly out of boredom. The challenge was impressive: Learn two new sports (swim and bike) and then go out to a few races and own some souls.

After my first season (which consisted of just one race) I began having unexplained fevers and pain…everywhere. The pain was so awful I would lie down on my kitchen floor because it was the coldest place in my house and the cold provided some relief. During these flares of fever, anywhere my body would touch a surface – my bed, the floor – left bruises from my bones hitting my skin. I was in and out of the hospital for months and inevitably, my life began falling apart.

At 25 I found myself jobless and having to move back in with my parents. Finally, my primary care doctor – who never once gave up on me – figured it out, and I was diagnosed with a very rare disease called Familial Mediterranean Fever. FMF is a disease where your inflammatory system is on overdrive so little bumps and bruises become 105 degree fevers and unmanageable pain. Unemployed and feeling totally alone I knew I needed to get my life back in order.

One day, out of the blue, I called TriSports.com just to see if they might be hiring. They were and I started the next day. The day I started at TriSports.com was also the day I did my first round of chemotherapy – my doctors thought it “might” help as my immune system was out of control and chemotherapy suppresses your immune system. Chemo did help but the side effects were awful. There I was working with amazing athletes, meeting pros like Leanda Cave, Torsten Abel, Chrissie Wellington and I would have to sneak to the back bathroom to throw up after taking the chemo.

The cure was almost as bad as the disease and the feeling of defeat never subsided, but somehow having these amazing triathletes as my colleagues, working in the industry and meeting pros that you only usually read about gave me my fight back.

A few months into my job at TriSports.com, I began taking an experimental drug at the National Institute of Health and it’s worked. I’ve literally been given a second chance. Slowly I began to feel better, and I got back to my roots and started running again. For Christmas, my boyfriend gave me the best gift I’ve ever received – a TT bike – I learned to love riding a bike. Finally, I got back in the pool. For the past eight months I have felt the “pain” of training – the lung burn, leg cramps and it’s the most glorious feeling I’ve ever had in my life. It’s at these moments when I’m making my body work for me instead of being a victim as it works against me. Presently, there are days when I’m still sick. I have fevers and pain, spend nights in the hospital but at the end of the day I am tougher than this disease – and triathlon taught me that.

We went through a training exercise at work not too long ago called “Aligning Systems”. This exercise basically discussed the importance of having all of the various integrated components and moving parts of a larger “system” properly aligned and in sync with one another to be able to operate as smoothly, efficiently, and effectively as possible.  This was an exercise intended to maximize results in the corporate workplace but there are huge parallels to be drawn in how we align each of our own personal systems in order to maximize our everyday results as we strive towards our real life goals. As I look at the races that I have on my calendar between now and the end of November, I find myself in full system alignment mode. I am at that point where I am taking a lot of inventories and trying to determine what I have done right, what mistakes I may have made, and what I need to do to try to tie all of the pieces together.

The best way to describe this process is that it dissects all of the things that are required to reach your goal. First, you need to know your goal – and that is a big problem for many people. But once you have defined what your mission is, you need to determine what all of the things, people, or “systems” are that will assist you in attaining your goal. Once you have the systems identified you need to examine them and try to determine if each one is operating as efficiently as possible to get the job done.

Picture this analogy… most people have entertainment centers of some kind at home and they may have a number of wires, cables, extension cords, or power strips all plugged in BEHIND the furniture. When you turn on your electronic devices, they all power up so what’s the big deal right? Well, I would be willing to bet if you took the time and pulled the furniture away from the wall and examined each cable, wire, and plug and made sure it was connected in the most direct way possible, that you could probably eliminate some unnecessary something and make things a little more efficient. You would also eliminate some clutter.

The Chesapeakeman Ultra Distance Triathlon is less than two weeks away. It is another iron distance race consisting of a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and a 26.2 mile run. Am I ready? I’ll answer that after I cross the finish line. From a physical perspective I think I will be fine. But of course “fine” is a relative term and I could always be more fine or less fine. I have crossed the ironman finish 10 other times and I am not too concerned about finishing. I’m sure I am in a good enough place physically to complete the race and smile after the fact. Of course there is nothing I can do at this point to get more fit before the race. What’s done is done, and the hay is in the barn, and whatever other cliché is appropriate in this situation. I do need to walk through some things mentally to completely dial into this thing. A couple more easy relaxing swims this week will help and a good head clearing run next weekend should do the trick. That will at least align the mental and physical systems for the most part. But this IS ironman; a distance that needs to constantly be treated with respect no matter how ready one might feel. It’s a distance that could chew you up and spit you out if mistakes are made. (and even if they aren’t).

All in all, I feel really good. I feel confident, at peace, and in a pretty good place. That was not the case a week ago so something must have happened to lift a little of the fog and point me back in the right direction. It could have been the bike ride this past Saturday, the run on Sunday, or the news of Ethan’s Zohn’s relapse. But something gave me my focus back. I usually do a pretty detailed race recap after events of this enormity so keep an eye out for that. And it looks like we have quite an entourage traveling to Cambridge Maryland for Chesapeakeman. That should make for a fun time.

Also keep in mind that “Chessyman” is not the end of my season. The NYC Marathon looms in the shadows and November 1st will be here before you know it. But aside from training and fundraising for this effort as part of Ethan’s team, I can’t really think about NYC. And I can’t even think about the fact that I am also doing the Philly Marathon three weeks after NYC …. Someone just might commit me. Anyway, my focus needs to be on Chesapeakeman for now.

Plenty more to follow. Thanks for everyone’s continued support.

In May 2004, Bill Crews finished the worst six months of his life. a competitive swimmer and coach, Crews had been training for his first triathlon when his shoulder got sore. He went to the doctor thinking he had torn a rotator cuff and came out learning he had cancer.

The 37-year-old father of two often rode his bike to his office north of Houston, where he works as a systems advisor. Now he and his wife, Dana-Sue, also a competitive swimmer, would be driving 25 miles back and forth to M.D. Anderson Cancer Center.

Bill had stage-four non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, an aggressive cancer of the blood that strikes 70,000 Americans annually and kills 20,000. His doctor prescribed chemotherapy that included Rituxan, an immunotherapy that attacks the cancer cells and a highly toxic chemical that cancer patients call “Red Devil,” which must be slowly dripped into the heart through a catheter for 48 hours. Crews could feel each drop of heat in his heart. “I was exhausted and sick,” he says. “I often wondered if I would survive.”

Once the worst of his treatments were over, Dana-Sue urged him to join the runners they had seen in the neighborhood park. Their purple and white shirts said Team in Training. Bald from chemotherapy, Bill was self-conscious about going to a meeting. “It’s the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society,” Dana-Sue said. “I think they can handle a bald guy.”

Bill discovered that Team in Training (TNT) has trained 360,000 people to compete in endurance events and has raised $850 million in the process. That money had helped fund the advanced chemotherapy that saved his life.

“I left my first meeting with a training group and a support group, one that would help me get my life back,” he says.

Five months later, Bill finished his first sprint triathlon (750-meter swim, 12-mile bike, 3.1-mile run). While undergoing a less intensive form of chemotherapy, he moved up to the Olympic and the half-Ironman distances. In January 2005, he ran the Houston Half-Marathon, and he’s done the full 26.2 every year since.

Cancer has transformed the entire family. Dana-Sue has written a children’s book explaining how their kids, Morgan and Dylan, helped their dad fight cancer with love and prayers. Her royalties go to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. She has also started competing in triathlons and marathons and coaches TNT runners. Dylan and Morgan, now 10 and 7, completed their first kids’ triathlon when they were just 7 and 4.

Bill and Dana-Sue are what the society calls “first connectors.” They talk to patients and their families about what to expect. They have created a Web site with a diary of their fight against cancer and have raised $40,000 for the society. Both consider Bill’s cancer a blessing.

“After cancer, you see things a little differently,” Bill says. “We don’t believe that God has caused my cancer but that he’s using it to open doors that never would have been opened before.”

Most notably: the Ironman. In April, Bill and Dana-Sue completed their first 140-mile-long endurance event (2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike, 26.2-mile run) in Tempe, Arizona. The temperature for the cycling portion was 95° F, with heavy wind gusts. “People were crashing their bikes and throwing up,” says Dana-Sue. “But it wasn’t nearly as scary as driving home from the hospital on a flooded freeway at night with your husband throwing up out the back window.” Bill came in at 15 hours, 37 minutes, and 55 seconds, about 27 minutes ahead of his wife.

Now 41, Bill is in the best shape of his life. This fall, he’ll run the San Antonio Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon and will become a certified triathlon coach. In January, he’ll start coaching for TNT. His sandy hair has grown back, and he sports a graying goatee and a twinkle in his eye. Everything does look a little different after cancer, especially that word on the back of his Ironman T-shirt: Finisher.

After an undetected heart condition claimed the life of 38-year-old Joe Lyons during the 2007 Cohasset Triathlon, no one would have blamed Joe’s widow, Karen, if she distanced herself from the sport.
 
In fact, though she enjoyed an active lifestyle, Karen had never participated in a triathlon.
 
However, that tragedy two years ago actually drove Karen toward the sport, not only as a participant and active member of the multisport community, but also as an advocate for race safety. Ironically, in 2008 Karen, who resides in Newton, Mass., entered her first triathlon at Cohasset, where her husband had died just a year earlier. She has now completed five races, including the Cohasset Triathlon for a second time.
 
“The last two years I’ve been filled with gratitude with the support I’ve received. I look at life, what’s in front of me and walk toward it. I’ve always been that type of person,” says Karen, who is also active in raising funds to fight juvenile diabetes, a disease her son has [check out www.teamlyons.org]. “It’s just how I am. I don’t like to let things sit or go. This is an opportunity to serve others.”
 
For Karen, that service is two-fold: correcting misperceptions about triathlon being a dangerous sport and persuading highly competitive athletes that it’s okay to stop during a race if something doesn’t feel right with their bodies.
 
Karen, 45, was particularly troubled over the past few months when a widely reported medical study concluded that triathlons are particularly dangerous when compared to other endurance events.
 
“The way [the study] was written, it implies novices shouldn’t be in the sport. It suggested you’re better off sitting on the couch than living an active lifestyle,” Karen says. “It also implied races weren’t safe. Saying you could die during a race is like saying you could get hit by a car after the race. Of course both are possible, but they are both also incredibly rare. I have as good a reason as anyone [not to race triathlons]. But I don’t think that’s the answer. Deterring people is not the way to go. It undermines the message that leading an active lifestyle is one of the best ways to stay healthy.”
 
She wants the public to know that triathlon is a great sport, one that builds community, provides an avenue for supporting worthy causes, and promotes a healthy lifestyle. “This sport for me has been such a positive thing. The community, the camaraderie; it’s so inspiring. I can’t imagine saying I’m better off not participating. [Triathlon has] been a wonderful sport for me. I’d like to see more people getting involved. It accommodates everybody. Don’t be frightened by it.
 
“It’s amazing that the sport at the center of this tragedy has also helped my healing. I am grateful for it.”
 
In the face of her enthusiasm, Karen does understand that unsafe physiological conditions can arise during physical activity. So she encourages individuals to take proper precautions before entering this or any physically demanding sport. A checkup from a family doctor is important, she says. But she also recognizes that some individuals have conditions, like her husband’s, that can go undetected even in medical exams. “Most of us don’t get tested if we don’t have a reason,” she says. “You should do that. That’s what Joe did. But what about people, like Joe, who get the ‘all clear’?”
 
To those individuals, Karen recommends a bit more awareness of their own bodies during training and racing. “A lot of us don’t know when to stop. Joe felt that something was ‘off’ during the swim at Cohasset and actually stopped midway to discuss his situation with a lifeguard in a kayak,” Karen recalls. “But, having been told by a doctor that he was healthy and had no cause for concern, he chose to keep going. If he had known, he would have stopped.
 
“You can’t check your commonsense at the starting line. If your body doesn’t feel right, stop. Body awareness is essential. Know to look for it, when you’re feeling different even when you don’t know what it is. It is important to take a reasonable amount of caution.”
 
While her son has yet to race in his first triathlon, Karen has no thoughts of holding him back, and has even considered letting him compete in the Cohasset Triathlon when he turns 13. She has worked hard to ensure that he appreciates the sport and the value of staying active, but more importantly that his father’s death wasn’t due to his racing. “I want my son to know his dad didn’t do anything wrong. It just happened,” she says. “Knowing that, my son is not afraid of the sport or of me participating in it. Things happen; we still keep going. We can do good things even in the face of bad circumstances.”

This past weekend was the Danskin Philadelphia Triathlon held in Fairmount Park. This is a women’s only event and is part of a national multi city race series. This race is owned and operated by the same folks that produce the Philadelphia Insurance Triathlon held in June and is another one of my “give back” races. The race’s co founder and the race director and management team are all friends of mine so I commit to being a part of these races from a production standpoint. And I totally love being able to help put on such a class event. I encourage anyone who races to try their hand at volunteering at an event. You will quickly realize that there is way more beneath the surface  of an event than what you see on race day. And you will probably never take anything for granted again, nor be disrespectful to anyone who is out there giving their time and energy so the athletes can realize their dreams. The production of an event such as the Danskin Philly race is nothing short of … well, it’s big.

Think about all of the work and effort that goes into a large race, with road closures, permits, course marking, signage, port-o-john, awards, public address systems, etc. the list is literally endless. Now think about the amount of time that your average athlete may train for such an event and you are looking at a lot of time invested in an event that will last bit a few short hours. As a race organizer, and athlete alike, you plan, you prep, you coordinate, you plan some more, you think, rethink, and think again to make sure that you well prepared and that everything will be right on race day. And then mother nature throws down her hand and laughs at all of your preparation efforts and reminds you that some things are not within your control.

Sunday’s weather for the Danskin Philly race was among the worst I have ever seen in my many years of involvement with multisport racing. The day started out relatively “ok” when we showed up at 4:30 am to get ready for the 2,000 plus women athletes who would be arriving by 6:00 am. However, excessive debris in the Schuylkill River forced the race director to make the first of a couple of very tough game day decisions which was to turn the triathlon into a duathlon and call off the swim. In place of the swim would be an additional run, making it your standard run-bike-run duathlon format. I think half of the athletes complained while the other half celebrated, depending upon whether their strength was in the swim, or on the run. But regardless of your strength, the debris in the water, combined with a very threatening forecast, made this the right call to make.

And so with a couple of quick adjustments to start lines and timing mats, the redesigned race kicked off without a hitch. The skies flirted off and on for the next couple of hours. One minute it seemed like the rain just might hold off, the next minute things looked less promising. And then ultimately, the bottom fell out and heavy rain was ushered in by thunder and lightening. Rain is one thing. We have all raced in the rain. And most race directors are ok with allowing athletes to continue in the rain. But there isn’t a race director anywhere who would or should let their race continue with the threat and presence of nearby lightening strikes.

It didn’t take along before I started to hear the chatter over the two way radio between race director Barb McKeever, and race staff as they evaluated the weather and the potential risks to the athletes on the course. That chatter was brief and was quickly followed by the decision and announcement to immediately terminate the race and get all athletes off of the course. Volunteers and staff worked diligently to ensure that the athletes were pulled off of the course and the production essentially stopped dead in its tracks. For the next hour people took cover anywhere they could as they waited for a break in the deluge to try to collect their belongings and make a mad scramble for their cars. It was one of the fastest and heaviest storms that I can remember and it left behind swimming pools of mud throughout the transition area.

From an athlete’s perspective, I’m sure one of the first reactions was one of disappointment. So many training hours invested,… and many never got the chance to finish what they started. Well guess what ladies, what you all experienced yesterday will build far greater intestinal fortitude, and should give you a much greater sense of accomplishment than had you actually crossed the finish line. None of you “lost” yesterday in any sense of the word. You all battled and struggled and fought. And when the decision was made to stop the race, a decision that was completely out of your control, you reacted  with grace and dignity. You may be disappointed, but you are not beaten. You will talk about this race for a long time to come. And trust me, when you are at your next race, you will find yourself thinking back to Danskin Philly 2009 and feeling proud that you were a part of it. Toughing this one out has given you bragging rights for a very long time.

And to everyone involved with the race from a management and production standpoint, this was a feather in your cap as well. It’s far more difficult to make decisions such as these than to sit back and let a race hum along on autopilot. It’s never easy to make these calls, but yesterday was a win for everyone. The right calls were made at the right time to keep everyone safe. Life doesn’t always go according to plan. Being able to redirect, react, and adjust to those obstacles on the fly are critical factors to success and to happiness. We’ll all be talking about this for a while!

Congratulations to every athlete who had the courage to even be in that race yesterday. You were all winners as soon as the starting gun went off. And congrats to the race crew for knowing the right thing to do and when to do it.

Resourceful Way to Remission
 A lifelong athlete runs cancer into the ground

By Robyn Ray, from the July 2009 issue of Wilmington Trust’s JOURNEYS publication.

Three years ago, when Stephen (Steve) Brown, Wilmington, DE received an unexpected and fear-invoking diagnosis – cancer – he did what he does best – he got physical.  He ran into the disease head-on and just kept going, until the fear and physical illness were behind him.   

“Athletics and fitness has been my ‘thing’ since I was about 9 years old; actually, probably younger, but that’s when I was introduced to organized sports.  Over the years, my passion for all things fitness-related has evolved and, while my interests have changed from year to year, my dedication to an active lifestyle has been an extremely important aspect of my life.  Pursuing fitness is my therapy; my ‘go to’ place,” explains Steve.  For the past 20 years, this passion has taken the form of endurance sports such as marathons, Ironman competitions, and triathlons.

The Shock
Steve’s childhood and youth were idyllic, filled with great friends and memories.  But for the first time, in 2005, “things started to unravel” recalls Steve.  After the sudden death of his dad and serious health problems experienced by his still grieving mother, it was with great relief and optimism that Steve and his family turned the calendar page on December 31, 2005 – all needed a fresh start.   

Two months into the New Year, Steve saw a doctor about the trouble swallowing he’d been experiencing: “What a nuisance tonsillitis would be, but,” Steve thought, “I’ll have a tonsillectomy, get the procedure out of the way, and move on to triathlon and Ironman racing season.  I figured, maybe I’d breathe better and even get a little faster.”  Not so fast.  Pre-surgery testing revealed that Steve’s white blood cell count was elevated and he was referred to a hematologist/oncologist for more testing.  The tests showed that Steve had cancer – chronic lymphocytic leukemia.  This Ironman could do nothing but shake his head in disbelief and ask “why me?”

Moving Forward

Steve met with doctors and began to create a treatment plan, while thinking, “Treatment shouldn’t be too bad; I see plenty of windows of opportunity to continue working out and training.”  But Steve’s doctor had other ideas.  “Maybe we should give the triathlon stuff a rest until we get a handle on this thing [cancer],” the doctor said.  As Steve recalls, “I glared at him for seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t wait to leave his office so I could go find a new doctor who would allow me to train during treatment.”  But Steve took a breath and explained the importance of doing something during treatment – being active was an emotional need, a way to cope.  After much negotiation, the never-before-cancer-patient and the doctor-who-had-never-before-treated-a-triathlete met halfway: Steve’s doctor realized the emotional and mental boost that Steve’s physical regimen would provide him as he navigated the rigors of cancer treatment, and Steve realized that he’d have to put Ironman competitions temporarily on hold.    

The marathon of chemotherapy treatments began and, on days he felt able, Steve maintained his athletic training schedule; when he was tired, he didn’t push too hard and rested, as he promised the doctor he would.  “I tried to make it a habit to run home from my chemotherapy treatments.  This wasn’t one of the negotiated terms, but since it wasn’t expressly forbidden by my doctor, I considered it to be allowed,” admits Steve.  “And I got a lot of enjoyment from watching the shock on the chemo nurses’ faces when I left a four-hour intravenous (IV) session of chemo with a bandage on my punctured vein and laced up my running shoes to run home.  It helped me to feel in control; like I was playing head games with the cancer.”

Steve had one week of IV chemo, then three weeks of recovery – this “cycle” of treatment was repeated for four cycles.  It was after being diagnosed and during these cycles of treatment that, as Steve says, “A giant light bulb went off – I knew that I needed to get involved with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training® program.”  The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (Society), the world’s largest voluntary health organization dedicated to funding blood cancer research and providing education and patient services, holds athletic competitions in which sponsored participants raise money for the organization.  To help participants successfully complete the physically demanding competitions,  which include marathons, half marathons, triathlons, 100-mile bike rides, and hiking adventures, the Society offers a sports training program run by volunteer athletes.  Steve signed on with the Society as an assistant triathlon coach – he coached athletes on the weekends and received cancer treatments on Mondays.

Keeping Pace

Only one month after completing his initial, four cycle treatment, Steve participated in a sprint distance triathlon; two months after the event, he ran an Ironman distance triathlon.  “These races had been on my calendar since before I was diagnosed and it was important to me that I use them as goals to work towards during my treatment – keeping these commitments forced me to mentally visualize myself as healthy at the end of my treatments.  It was another way of using my passion for fitness as a tool or a weapon against the leukemia.”  Steve was in control – he was harnessing the mental determination and physical strength that helped him train for, and compete in, so many grueling athletic competitions, to motivate him through treatment.  He was coping, visualizing a positive outcome, and making it happen with his strong will and chemotherapy.

It worked.  Today, Steve’s cancer is in remission.  As Steve recalls of more difficult days in the past, “Staying as fit as I could through the treatment process allowed me to remain mentally and emotionally, ‘on course.’  I retained the aspect of my life which was normal while navigating an environment that was foreign to me.”  It’s not an exaggeration to say that Steve outran cancer!

By Rhonda Cohen

The 10th annual Ford Ironman was held in Panama City, Fla., on Nov. 1, 2008.  More than 2200 athletes competed. This event is so popular that it sold out in minutes. It was described as a perfect day, with calm water, sunny skies and little wind. But for me it turned out to be not quite so perfect.

I signed up for this race a year prior with my finger on the computer trigger anxiously trying to enter online. As most of the official Ironman events sell out at the site of the race, those of us who try to enter via computer are at the mercy of a very fast Internet connection or very good luck. I sat myself down in front of my computer 30 minutes before registration opened, refreshed, and finally got into the website. When I ok’d the $500 entry fee and clicked the submit button, I was as excited as I was panic-stricken. “What did I just do?” I wondered. I’m almost 54 years old and a heavy athlete. I’ve participated in triathlons for several years but this was going to be the biggest. So what was the next step? Meet a friend at a bar in Manayunk and drink a toast to my upcoming dream.

Many years ago, on a plane ride, I watched the coverage of the Ironman World Championship in Kona, Hawaii. This very overweight couch potato couldn’t believe my eyes. The idea that anyone could withstand this grueling sport of a 2.4 mile swim and 112 mile bike race followed by a 26.2 mile run was beyond my comprehension. The sight of Dick and Rick Hoyt made my eyes well with tears. I watched as pros and challenged athletes alike crossed the finish line, many of them looking like deer in headlights. Some fell to their knees with exhaustion and some had the look of elation unmatched in any sport.

I started out just wanting to pursue physical fitness and now I was fascinated by the idea of Ironman events. I began my journey after winning a one month trial at Platoon Fitness at a charity auction five years ago. Getting in shape was ridiculously hard, but the Platoon people pushed me because I certainly could not have motivated myself. I met wonderful, supportive people there who also enveloped me in their social events. My new friends convinced me to run my first 5k on my 50th birthday. They arranged to have a piano player, perched on a flatbed with his dog, play happy birthday to me when I crossed the finish line.

Entrants who had walked finished ahead of me running, but run I did and I was elated. I became more involved in this fitness world when I bought a hybrid bike at a Sam’s Club for about $100. I also enjoyed swimming, so someone told me about a sprint triathlon. I had only seen the full Ironman before and I had no idea there were shorter versions, but now I entered one. I plodded through the swim, bike and the run and managed to hear my name being called at the awards ceremony. I received the honor of being second in my age group because there were only two people entered. Nonetheless, it was my first award in my life, I was ecstatic and hooked.

Triathlon is one of the fastest growing sports in America. USAT membership numbers have risen steadily. A lot of runners whose knees or backs are starting to revolt have switched over to “the dark side” and everyday exercisers are finding triathlons the new challenge. Last year, I organized a first-timers group called Rhonda’s Rookies for women who had never previously competed in a triathlon or duathlon. Because I am older and larger than most competitors, I am a recognizable figure and the group attracted a large number of women. We chose the Philadelphia Women’s Triathlon because it is sprint distance and a very supportive race. If you are interested for next year, Rhonda’s Rookies is on Facebook.

After increasing my triathlon distance through the help of Cadence Cycling and Multisport and getting a coach, I tried Olympic (.9 mile swim, 25 mile bike and 6.2 mile run) and half iron distance triathlons (1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 mile run). It didn’t shock me when I finished last. I came prepared for that and actually handed the race director a disposable camera because I knew the official photographer would be long gone when I crossed the finish line and I wanted to capture the moment.

Injuries came and injuries went, as arthritis and tendonitis reared their ugly heads. I still kept up with the triathlon training and racing because it’s an addiction. You start to see many of the same people at the races and it’s a great and friendly group. Let’s face it, not many people are exceptional at swimming, biking AND running, so most of the competitors feel somewhat vulnerable and self-doubting in one, two or three of the sports. Racing is very focused and introverted, but when a race is over, you’ve never heard so much talking and sharing in the eating areas. People are tired of being in their own heads for the whole race and are dying to talk to others.

I participated in the New York City Marathon, several half marathons, many triathlons of varied distances. I wasn’t getting any younger so in 2007 I thought, “What the heck, it’s now or never. I’ll sign up for an Ironman.” I developed an Internet friendship with a gal on beginnertriathlete.com, and we decided that Ironman Florida was our best bet. There are not many official Ironman races in North America and they all have their limiting factors. I felt I was too heavy for the myriad hills of Ironman Lake Placid although I’m superb on the down hills, and Arizona Ironman was then held in April (now it is in November) and sitting on an indoor trainer for six or seven hours would be like a root canal without Novocain.

Because I grew up in New Mexico, swimming in an ocean or gulf was very foreign territory. My online friend convinced me that I could learn to swim in the ocean and the bike course was flat. I was very excited after I signed up and couldn’t wait to contact my friend. Well, she had chickened out at the last minute and I was on my own. Yikes! I am sure that many people who heard that I had signed up for Ironman Florida had that little cartoon bubble in their head saying, “What, is she kidding? She certainly doesn’t look like an Ironman.” The challenge was on. To prepare for the big one, I signed up for Eagleman, an Ironman with a distance of “only” 70.3 miles in Cambridge, Maryland, in June. The heat index was 115 degrees and some people racing looked like Gumby. Talk about digging deep to finish!

I participated in several more races this summer, but then the time to ramp it up began. My family didn’t get to see me much once the summer started. Hundred mile bike ride days, two hour swims and 13 mile runs were all on menu for the weekends, some of it by myself to get used to the solitude and loneliness of the Ironman course. I even speed-walked the entire O’Hare Airport for hours while changing planes to get extra training. I went to a training camp in September at the Florida race site. There I rode and ran the course but Hurricane Ike prevented us from swimming in the Gulf of Mexico. Some weeks were 18 to 25 hours of training and from what I read on others’ blogs, they did far more than I did. I took yet another training camp which was swim-focused to make sure I could swim in open water for the distance and get used to waves and salt water.

Then it was time to fly to Florida the Thursday before the race. I suffered moments of fear of the unknown in the weeks prior. Would I make it? Could I cross the finish line in 17 hours? I knew I’d be cutting it close because I’m not fast at all; quite the contrary. I’m normally a “BOP’er” (back of the pack). The game plan was to have a nice, easy swim so as not to expend too much energy, yet make the 2:20 minute time cut-off, get a decent time on the bike and leave as much time to slog through the marathon.

It’s pretty amazing being a part of the whole experience. I couldn’t believe I was really there. The fact that I even trained for an Ironman triathlon would not have entered my mind a few years ago, yet there I was. The atmosphere was carnival-like with family members making signs for their athletes, vendors selling the latest tri-geek gadgets and the athlete “village” buzzing with nervousness. I registered and they weighed me (argh) and gave me my official wrist band. Strangers came up to me to say hi. They knew of me because I had been posting on websites and told them they couldn’t miss me since I was far from the sveltest athlete at the event. Then I attended the athletes dinner where the oldest (76) and youngest (18) competitors were introduced, as well as the individual who had competed in the most Ironman races and the biggest loser of weight (120 something pounds in one year.)

Friday was bike and bag check-in and then came Saturday, the big day. The atmosphere was quiet and focused. What would this day bring? Would it be spectacular? Would I have stomach issues? What would the weather be like? Would I get a flat tire? More than one? Did I train enough? All of these questions swirled around in my head. The long, arduous task of putting on the wetsuit was next and then finally I walked on to the beach.

Ironman starts are notorious and anyone who has ever done one cannot explain it well enough to those who haven’t. Some call it the washing machine, but some have other names for it. It’s every man and woman for themselves. Great fun! I made it out of the water in my predicted time and was thrilled. My first section done, I now jumped on the bike. Since I had ridden much of the bike course during training camp, I was prepared for headwinds for a lot of the ride. For me, headwinds are not fun. I stayed on my plan and was just praying for a tailwind at some point. The long, not very inspiring, landscape flew by and finally, finally, I got that tailwind. I ran with it to keep with the goal times. I passed lots of people during this part, which was great fun. Ironman triathlons are unlike any other triathlons because they have a men and women’s changing tent. You call out your number and your bag with any items you have packed for the transitions are waiting for you, as well as great assistance. I changed into my socks and running shoes and off I went.

To train for a triathlon, you have to do what is called a brick workout. This is where after you get off the bike you do a run. Your legs either feel like bricks or like jelly and it takes a while to get used to that. I started the run feeling tired and passed some of the med-aid stations, which was a diversion. I had a nice amount of time allocated to shuffle and walk through the marathon, so I wasn’t too worried, although there was not enough time for lolly-gagging. It started to get dark, which I expected because they give you until midnight to finish and I expected to take 16:59:59 to get to the finish line. I drank at the aid stations, which included chicken broth and cola. Yum.

People know me as a very happy go-lucky person and I normally am mentally and physically tough. But now I began to feel awful and stopped smiling and talking with those who addressed me. I have even done an Olympic-distance triathlon that turned into a duathlon in an air cast boot. I have ridden in torrential rains, snow and 10 degree weather, but something was happening that no amount of pulling me up by my bootstraps could help. I was becoming irrational as I poured cola over my head and threw away my jacket wrapped around my waist even though I knew the temperature was going down to the 50s. I even screamed at a volunteer (very sorry), which is so unlike my normal self. I was starting to weave and felt very dizzy. My brain was going a mile a minute. After finishing the first 13.1 miles, I decided not to cross over the timing mat. This was irrational because all my buddies were watching me around the world to check my times before they went to sleep. My day was done. There was something terribly wrong. I summoned a volunteer and clung to her as she took me to the medical tent. The folks in that tent weighed me, took my blood pressure and temperature. I was shocked that it was 80 over 60 and my temperature was 90. The medical tent was very close to the finish line so I could hear all the names of the people crossing the finish line. If I wasn’t dehydrated before I got to the medical tent, I sure became so from crying so hard. So close, so darn close! All of that training and I ended just 13.1 miles from the Promised Land. It took a while for my blood pressure and temperature to come back to normal. A wonderful volunteer walked me back to the condo where my roommate helped get me into a warm tub and made sure I continued to drink.

It was very difficult the next morning seeing everyone with their finisher’s T-shirts and medals. Although I made the sane decision to stop the race, it was a difficult pill to swallow not accomplishing what I had set out to do – cross the finish line. That said, I heard wonderful remarks and good wishes from everyone who had followed my journey to get to the starting line. I was lucky to even compete in that race. Of course there’s a lot of shoulda, coulda, wouldas, that will be floating around in my mind for awhile, but I know that I can pat myself on the back for having the courage to try. Most importantly, in the grand scheme of things, my health had to come first. I have a lot of people counting on me, including my husband and teenage son, so I know it was the right decision. But there’s always the thought that I missed the elusive brass ring.

Some people are urging me to go back and try again as I have unfinished business. Maybe so, but training sure took a toll on my body and my family time so I’m not certain I can do it again. Maybe there are other challenges in the world that I have yet to explore. In any event, I still can’t believe I participated in an event that, so many years ago, I had watched on TV on a plane flight. It was one amazing journey.