If pain ought to be glorified, I would be inclined to articulate it here.

This morning's triathlon, an event which I had trained two years to finish, was the hardest physical thing I had ever done.

It transcended the inherent pain that is the marathon; It surpassed the qualitative components of XC at mile 4.4, with only one man between you and the finish line.

Real triathlon is a condition which requires hard work. Nothing less will suffice.

It consists of the technical skill of skiing a woods trail, the courage of a bull rider, and the unyielding attack of maillot jeune.

Real Triathlon is something that isn't glorified in the glossy pages of Sports Illustrated. It is something which cannot be fully comprehended by the spectator, but has the unique ability to be understood through conductive enthusiasm.

My friends and family are utterly and completely supportive of my endurance career. They support it, they watch it, the cheer it, and they care for it.

Today I had three primary objectives:
1.) Finish
2.) Finish the event in under 3 hours.
3.) Finish the swim in less than 45 minutes.

I accomplished all three. Remarkably, I was on track to place well within the 2:30 bracket. Then came fate.

At the end of the 1st loop of the bike course, I was cruising at 23 mph, descending onto a 90 degree turn, which had been fully saturated by an early morning thunderstorms' remains. Despite the pleadings of race official and authorities, I did not yield.

I turned, braked, and then hit the floor. I skidded across the street.


The initial impact was my right hip, then my right shoulder and then my right elbow. I suffered some sort of soft tissue injury on my right hip adductor, my right hip abductor, and earned road-rash on my right knee, right quad, right elbow, right shoulder, and right upper back.

I fixed the chain that de-railed, I corrected the tweaked brake clamp, and kept plugging away.

About 2 miles later, I began to climb, and realized a strong pain in my medial right thigh. Then I got off the bike, dismounted, and realize the pain was a lot worse than I anticipated.

So I started off the run, feeling strong, but certainly disabled. I kept moving, and then as I reached the 5k mark, I began to move. I am a cross country runner. I feel best when I run. My world is familiar, illuminated, and untouched by the savageness of the unwashed.

So I continued to move despite every negative message every synapse was firing into my muscoskeletal system. Passing one, passing two, passing three, like shooting fish in a barrel. Began to move at a sub 7:15 pace, more people picked off, more pain chemicals rushing to my hip. Wounds on back and arm are screaming for soothing cream or anything other than wind. I am at mile 6, and I am at 2:52: I need to break 3:00:00
Now I can play..

The last person I find, I can see is a very able-bodied triathlete. So I run silently, and then with 200 meters, I blow past her. I have learned to compete

I finish exhilarated. Then comes the great exodus of pain. Twenty minutes pass, and omnipresent agony returns.

It doesn't end there. I get bandaged by the paramedics, and I stretch. I down 800mg of ibuprofen instantly. Driving home, I got lost. I bought ice and coffee and Gatorade and a cookie. I felt handicapped.

I felt as if I had no sensual abilities. I couldn't focus on anything. Once the ibuprofen kicked in, I was a bit more cognitive.

Now I am covered in gauze, icy hot, and saturated with anti-inflamatories. I can put weight on my right hip, but not too much. Cannot really lift it vertically, but after a few strong attempts I can. I really have no inclination to do anything physical, anything combative, or anything stressful.

I asserted before today, that thereafter, I need to get away. Yet today renewed an enthusiasm for the sport that I had long ago discarded. But when you reach this distance, you recall how grueling our sport is. How much it demands of the human body. How far it takes the human spirit, and how it sharpens even the most lethal of competitors.

I now must curl up, lick my wounds, and look ahead to my next season.

Driving home today, I thought about all the struggles, the pain and the training. I thought about how I lost my goggles in the first 100m of the swim. I thought about how I rode another 12 miles and ran on a leg that bio-mechanically was not really running. I thought about how long I've trained, how much I've sacrificed, and how fast we fire everything we have in our bodies, for to spare time between mile 6 and mile 6.2. I evaluated that dead feeling after 90 minutes of aerobic exercise, wherein a teaspoon of some slippery, syrupy substance can resurrect the most paralyzed wills. I remembered the inevitable wall that was present after the swim, after the crash, and at mile 4 of the run. And in each of these acts, I broke through.

If I could ride with the tear-drops, swim with the front of the pack, and pass person after person on a soft tissue injury, I know I can compete. I can charge ahead towards carving my name into the medal contenders. Once I return for seconds, only one ideal will become certain: Don't impede me.