I am not yet twelve years old. Cable television in my little town in Maine is still 3 months from becoming a reality. The snow on the TV is reduced to a mere flurry thanks to adjusting the antenna on top of the roof from the comfort of the living room, yet I have absolutely no idea what I am watching from my stretched out position on the floor. It is a typical weekend afternoon with ABC’s Wide World of Sports. You know, the “thrill of victory” and “the agony of defeat”. Normally this would involve the hysterics of Curly running around with a bucket of confetti, preparing to “soak” a few members of the crowd in a sea of colored scraps of paper, or crashing ski jumpers knocking themselves unconscious into crowds of unsuspecting onlookers, or stubby-armed, leotard-wearing weight lifters, covered in chalk dust, hoisting sagging barbells over their heads as they quiver at the knees. But today is different.
Julie Moss, a 23yo California college student working on her exercise physiology degree, is collapsing over and over and over again just a few hundred yards from the finish line of the Ironman Triathlon in Hawaii. Bib #393 is stylin’ in a light blue and white tank top, light blue shorts, and a blue and white plastic mesh baseball cap. She was the leader by twenty full minutes over Kathleen McCartney entering the marathon leg. Julie, while looking strong and still actually “running” in her New Balance treads, was previously heard yelling, “Hey guys! Find out how far back she is for me.” Soon, among hundreds of volunteers, a television audience, and her own soul, she will be fighting to merely stand, resembling more of a newly born filly on a lake of ice. Her claims of having not trained for this event are now becoming apparent.
Alii Drive in Kona, Hawaii, triathlon’s most famous last stride, is upon her now. It is where dreams are made, tears of relief are shed, tears of joy are released, and tears of torment are unconfined. It is where fists get pumped, hearts either fulfill or rupture, speech may become garbled, gazes to the heavens recur, your guts eviscerate, and legs often reduce to jelly, refusing to carry the body any longer on this 140.6 mile journey. It’s a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike ride, and a 26.2 mile marathon. But if you want to be called an “Ironman”, giving you bragging rights for the rest of your life, you must complete this in under 17 hours. Unarguably, it’s a badge of courage surpassed only by that of a Purple Heart. How can any human propel themselves over 140 miles in less than one day, only to struggle so mightily during that final 10 yards, yet out of the depths of sure failure and nearly insurmountable and anticipated suffering, somehow learns to crawl all over again? This is Julie’s fate. She is reduced to a crawl as she is passed by Kathleen, only to finish second.
You see though, it doesn’t matter how you get to the finish line. If you finish, you win. It’s just that simple. They say, however, that the best part of the journey is actually making it to the starting line.
“Julie Moss . . . you . . . are . . . an IRONMAN!!!”
The life I have led from that afternoon in 1982 until now is neither triumphant or morose. It is not marred in disappointment or repeated failures. So, like most commoners, it is simply filled with infamous accomplishments. I’ve hit homeruns, but never made it onto ESPN’s Plays of the Week. I’ve played drums in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans (just not all at one time). I once set a high school basketball record for rebounds in a half, but missed a lay-up in the final seconds that would’ve won the game. I’m preparing a second draft of a book that I have written. After 9 years, however, it’s still not worthy of publishing. I struck out 18 batters in a 7-inning baseball game, but lost the game on my throwing error after fielding a sacrifice bunt. I have two medical degrees which I actually use to produce an income (not everyone can say this about their college degree). I won a nationwide “Extemporaneous Writing” competition without performance enhancing drugs. I took my driving test in a snowstorm, and passed, one hour after losing my virginity. Why is that important? It’s not. It’s just damn funny. So, these are just a few of the kinds of things that verifies my life has been pretty cool up to this point. I’d be a fool to complain about a single second. To me though, personally, there just isn’t anything “extraordinary” on this list.
It took nearly 40 years, but I’ve come to realize that your greatest asset is your health. The greatest assets that you leave behind are the minds of those that you’ve affected, molded, and inspired, the most important of which belong to that of your children, your family, your loved ones, and friends. It’s much too early to tell if I will have any regrets in life. I’m certainly not planning on any, but reserve the right to list a couple on my deathbed if I so choose. One regret that I do not want is to have never made it to the starting line of an Ironman. If I am afforded the privilege (and it is just that, an immense privilege) of making it that far, I will find a way to make it to the finish line. So, I guess that means I would have accomplished TWO extraordinary things in my life.
So, right here, right now, I am imploring my immensely gorgeous, incredibly talented, hard working, exceedingly brilliant, barefoot running, supremely flexible and balanced loving wife, and unbelievably dedicated mother of our two amazing kids, to give me a gift. It’s a gift that only she can give me. It’s a gift of massive support, sacrifice, considerable patience, incalculable understanding and relentless encouragement. A gift that will never go to waste and will never be forgotten -- a single gift that I will carry in my heart and wear on my sleeve, and a gift that I will give her credit for everyday of my life. The gift? -- hearing those words just one time, in July 2012 in Lake Placid, New York. . . “Shawn Roussin, you . . . are . . . an IRONMAN!!!”
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