Race 3: Lake Geneva, WI. Sep 11, 1999
This race was the beginning of the end for my career, the first time I knowingly and consciously quit on anything in my life.
The race was on a Saturday. Again, this was in the pre-diagnosis days but the signs of illness were getting too strong to deny. I hadn't slept in days and had been training like a madman trying to fatigue myself. Playing in two basketball leagues, lifting in the weight room, swimming, biking, running, practicing yoga, working full time. Nothing had any affect on me. I was 6 foot, 146#, lean, mean and ripped to shreds with muscle, intellect and emotional resolve.
The Night Before
That night I lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling the blood surge in my veins. We had a family wedding that afternoon at 4:00 and I wondered what the hell I was going to do with myself until it was time to get ready. Laying in bed was a waste of time, something for the weak people in the world.
At 4:00 a.m., I remembered the race scheduled for 7:00 a.m. in Lake Geneva. I popped out of bed, collected my equipment and dashed off to the race, having no realistic idea of where Lake Geneva was, just that I had been there once fifteen years earlier when I was seventeen. Punctuality and deadlines had never been a priority for me except for work, but after getting shut out of the Chicago triathlon due to closed registration, I wasn't going to let a summer of training go to waste without one more race under my belt.
Race Day
I drove north on I-94 to Highway C, just over the border to WI, then was shellshocked to see the road sign saying "Lake Geneva 45 miles". I guessed I would make it to the race site with about ten minutes to unpack, register and set my equipment up in the transition area. The pressure was mounting and I felt each minute ticking off in my mind as the entirety of my summer lay in the fate of making it to the registration table on time.
Naturally, as I would discover at this race and subsequent races hosted by the same unnamed organizer over the years, the Lake Geneva Triathlon was not actually in Lake Geneva, but in Lake Fontana. Searching for the race site put me further behind schedule and increased the tension in my already overstressed, unbalanced mind. Somehow I found the race site, again battled for and found parking (this is a very rich and compelling story in the characteristics and mannerisms of manic thought/judgement that will be covered in a later entry) and made it to the starting line with about three minutes to spare.
At 6:55 we faced east on the beach and stood at attention in our wetsuits for The Star Spangled Banner, then it was into the swim. The stress of the morning and making it to race on time had exhausted all my mental resources and I just started swimming with no concept of strategy or pacing. I've always been able to relax during the swim, letting my mind float away to distant shores, dreaming of the days when I would understand life, its purpose and my role in it, but during this one mile swim all I felt was confusion, tension and that I had made a bad decision by showing up.
The race was on a Saturday. Again, this was in the pre-diagnosis days but the signs of illness were getting too strong to deny. I hadn't slept in days and had been training like a madman trying to fatigue myself. Playing in two basketball leagues, lifting in the weight room, swimming, biking, running, practicing yoga, working full time. Nothing had any affect on me. I was 6 foot, 146#, lean, mean and ripped to shreds with muscle, intellect and emotional resolve.
The Night Before
That night I lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling the blood surge in my veins. We had a family wedding that afternoon at 4:00 and I wondered what the hell I was going to do with myself until it was time to get ready. Laying in bed was a waste of time, something for the weak people in the world.
At 4:00 a.m., I remembered the race scheduled for 7:00 a.m. in Lake Geneva. I popped out of bed, collected my equipment and dashed off to the race, having no realistic idea of where Lake Geneva was, just that I had been there once fifteen years earlier when I was seventeen. Punctuality and deadlines had never been a priority for me except for work, but after getting shut out of the Chicago triathlon due to closed registration, I wasn't going to let a summer of training go to waste without one more race under my belt.
Race Day
I drove north on I-94 to Highway C, just over the border to WI, then was shellshocked to see the road sign saying "Lake Geneva 45 miles". I guessed I would make it to the race site with about ten minutes to unpack, register and set my equipment up in the transition area. The pressure was mounting and I felt each minute ticking off in my mind as the entirety of my summer lay in the fate of making it to the registration table on time.
Naturally, as I would discover at this race and subsequent races hosted by the same unnamed organizer over the years, the Lake Geneva Triathlon was not actually in Lake Geneva, but in Lake Fontana. Searching for the race site put me further behind schedule and increased the tension in my already overstressed, unbalanced mind. Somehow I found the race site, again battled for and found parking (this is a very rich and compelling story in the characteristics and mannerisms of manic thought/judgement that will be covered in a later entry) and made it to the starting line with about three minutes to spare.
At 6:55 we faced east on the beach and stood at attention in our wetsuits for The Star Spangled Banner, then it was into the swim. The stress of the morning and making it to race on time had exhausted all my mental resources and I just started swimming with no concept of strategy or pacing. I've always been able to relax during the swim, letting my mind float away to distant shores, dreaming of the days when I would understand life, its purpose and my role in it, but during this one mile swim all I felt was confusion, tension and that I had made a bad decision by showing up.
At some point during the swim, I had an epiphany. I'm very close to my parents, even in adulthood, and learned at an early age to respect and admire the world they've made for themselves and their offspring. I began calculating my expectations for performance in the race as well as my expected fatique factor and the time to commute home and get ready for the wedding. I realized completing the race and showing up at the evenings wedding rested and ready to be a pleasant guest were dicey, more of a chance than I was willing to take out of respect for my mother and father. I thought the respectful and responsible thing to do for myself, my parents and my family was finish the swim, abandon the race, and get ready for the wedding.
Shortly after this decision, one of the worst moments of my life occurred. I spent a lot of time prior to triathlon as a slam-dancer in nightclubs. I can be very aggressive, territorial and unnecessarially physical. Being manic in a highly competitive environment is as bad place to have these traits. As I swam along, content and somewhat relieved in my decision to abandon the race and attend the evenings wedding, another swimmer swam towards me from the right side. I saw him approaching slowly from a distance and was outraged that he was on a path to cross my path, a path that belonged to me. His line was crooked and I was insulted to the point of hysteria. With every right hand stroke, I looked at his path leading towards mine until finally we crossed. In a fully conscious, premeditaded act of aggression, I timed my stroke so that, as he crossed my path, I closed my fist and punched him directly in the face.
It should have bothered me, to be so aggressive and unsportsmanlike, but it didn't. I never even looked back. It was months later, after diagnosis, that I realized I may have hurt him ruined his day and certainly put him in harms way because I was just being a selfish jerk. It was careless, rude and narcissistic act and I need to make up for it.
In fact, The Lake Geneva Triathlon is my target race this season. It's about vindicating a bad experience, for me and evryone else. Trust me, this time I'll be a good sportsman and co-competitor because, as a collection of age-groupers, we're all in this sport together and it is the responsibility of each of us to make race day the best day imaginable for each of us.
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