Four Words.....

Certain sayings are so treasured, they belong in a category unto themselves. Phrases like, “I love you...you're hired....it’s a boy/girl,” would all certainly apply. These utterances never lose their luster. They remind us of life’s vitality and keep us grounded in our corner of the world.

Last Sunday I heard another phrase, of a different variety, which also belongs in the sanctified ranks. An incomparable four-word designation. It's a title bestowed upon athletes who finish the most grueling test of endurance in the world. A spectator can't possibly relate, so I can only imagine what it must be like to hear your name called at the finish line as the loudspeaker bellows:

"You. Are. An. Ironman."

An Ironman: such an apt name for the accomplishment at hand. And to think, this superhuman feat and everlasting designation evolved from an unresolved debate.

Maybe that shouldn’t come as a surprise. Often, life gets busy living when the gauntlet is thrown down and a challenge arrives at our doorstep. We are spurred to action at the most illogical times, often solely because someone said we couldn’t or shouldn’t.

Such was the case in 1978 when a discussion led to a disagreement over the fittest athletes in the world (swimmers, runners, and “other” athletes were all suggested). Two of the people involved in the debate were Navy Commander John Collins and his wife Judy. To decide the issue at hand, the Collins proposed combining three existing races, to be completed in succession. The races of reference were 1) the Waikiki Roughwater Swim (2.4 miles) 2) the Around-Oahu Bike Race (112 miles, originally a two-day event) and 3) the Honolulu Marathon (26.2 miles).

"Whoever finishes first we’ll call the Ironman," said Collins. And with those timeless words, a new breed of athlete was born.

Fifteen entrants marched to the start line that inaugural year. Twelve finished. The winner, finishing in just under twelve hours, was Gordon Haller.

Collins couldn’t have known it then, but they were onto something momentous. In 1979 bad weather postponed the start for a day. Again, fifteen participants would toe the start line. Collins, acting as the race organizer, contemplated changing the race into a relay event to generate more participants. But, unbeknownst to him, the race’s future was about to change forever. Barry McDermott from Sports Illustrated was on the island covering a golf tournament when he heard about the race. He then wrote a 10-page, larger-than-life account which changed the race forever.

The Ironman’s meteoric ascent had officially begun.

The most memorable moment in race history occurred in 1982, forever cementing the Ironman’s place in the hearts and minds of the public. Julie Moss, a college student competing in her first Ironman, was approaching the finish line in first place amidst severe fatigue and dehydration. Less than a quarter-mile from the finish, Moss began to stagger wildly. Her body was collapsing beneath her. Then, just yards from the finish line, Moss fell to the ground and proved incapable of getting up.

With Moss laying on the ground mere yards from the finish line, Kathleen McCartney ran by and claimed the women’s title. But Moss refused to leave the course, even in defeat. Instead she began nudging her body forward. Incredibly, Moss managed to crawl across the finish line. ABC’s Wide World of Sports captured Moss’ epic moment and Jim McKay, ABC’s revered commentator, called it the most inspiring sports moment he had ever witnessed.

Ironman now had a name, a face, and a worldwide following of inspired viewers.

In the wake of Julie Moss’s heroic performance, interest in the Ironman increased to the point where qualifying races had to be setup for the World Championships each October in Hawaii. Also, a ceiling of 17 hours was established for finishers. Going forward, each Ironman race would begin at 7:00 in the morning, thereby making midnight the cut off time for finishers. Athletes still competing at day’s end would be asked to stop.

A byproduct of the 17-hour cut-off-time was the creation of one of the most undesirable jobs imaginable: having to tell someone who has swam, rode, and run for seventeen hours that they must leave the course. Personally, I would rather shovel manure.

At present there are 26 Ironman races around the world, all pointing towards Kona and the big island of Hawaii for the World Championships. Last weekend I ventured back to Louisville, Kentucky to watch the city’s inaugural Ironman. More importantly, I was there to cheer on my good friend Todd Smith who was entered in the Herculean event. It would be a tense, roller-coaster affair from the onset. I knew as much going in.

Todd’s goal wasn’t merely to finish; he was competing with sights on one of the prized qualifying spots for Kona. During the six months leading up to the race, Todd had been training at a maniacal clip; he often spent six or more hours a day running, riding, and swimming. As a result, his fitness level had risen to that of an elite, international athelete. Still, in three previous attempts, Todd had never qualified for Kona.

Making the scenario even more tense, Louisville was the 26th and last Ironman of the year, and thereby Todd’s last chance to qualify for Kona. Participants who attempt to qualify in the winter or spring could conceivably try again in the summer.

For Todd, it was Louisville or bust.

The qualifying slots for Kona are based on the number of age group entrants in each division, with one slot being made available for approximately every 50 entrants. In the weeks leading up to the event, race officials said that a meager two slots would be made available for Todd’s age group. Not encouraging.

Meanwhile, Louisville was having one of the hottest Augusts on record: hardly ideal conditions. More than 2,500 volunteers are needed just to organize the event. The heat would necessitate additional medics and volunteers as athletes were sure to experience extreme dehydration and exhaustion.

Thankfully, the air cooled 24 hours before the race. Race day temps were in the high 80s with low humidity: a gargantuan improvement over the barrage of 100s earlier in the week. On Sunday morning a gorgeous, orange sun rose over the Ohio River, marking the start of a sure-to-be memorable day of racing.

Todd finished the 2.4 mile swim in 56 minutes: a resounding personal best. That put him in sixth place in his age group as he emerged from the water and 53rd overall (out of 2,000 entrants). He would need to pass four competitors in his age group over the next eight hours for Kona to become a reality.

The 112-mile bike course led the athletes away from downtown and into the rolling, Kentucky countryside. Horse farms and rural towns dotted a picturesque course. Todd finished the bike course in 5 hours and 28 minutes, which put him in 73rd place overall and 9th is his age group. Todd had averaged an amazing 20 mph over a bike course with rolling hills, but his chances for Hawaii nonetheless appeared to be slipping.

But just as many runners view the half-way point of the marathon as Mile 20, the Ironman’s midpoint is arguably the end of the bike. In actuality, competitors are approximately 2/3 of the way through the race by then, but the 1/3 that remains is the toughest interval an athlete will ever face. Borrowing from Robert Cray, when entrants get off the bike: “the forecast calls for pain.”

Having done my share of running and cycling I can tell you that some of the most excruciatingly painful moments of my athletic career have been on a bike. That being said, in cycling, you always get a breather. You ride down a long hill or slow down entering a sharp turn, and you’re able to catch your breath.

There’s no such luck in running. It's a non-stop measure of an athlete's conditioning, threshold for pain, and mental stamina. It's you against a ticking clock, which never fails to remind you exactly how fast (or slow) you’re going.

Fortunately, Todd is a terrific runner. Just as important, his pain threshold resides in the rafters. He was bound to make up time on the run. The only question was how much.

My dad and I sped back to the Knobs (utopia) towards the end of the bike in order to print off mid-race standings. Ironmanlive.com was giving updates in real-time as the athletes transitioned to the run. By checking off the numbers of other competitors as they came by us during the marathon, we hoped to tell Todd exactly where he stood in relation to Kona. When we got back to the course and caught up with Todd around mile nine, he was already up to fifth place and making up huge grounds of time.

The next few hours would be the most ecstatic and numbing in recent memory.

Todd was a machine on the run, reeling in competitors with every passing mile. When he finished the marathon in 3 hours and 19 minutes, an incredible 7:37 per mile pace, we thought he had finished second in his age group and was on his way to Kona. But a phone call from his brother Sean, who was watching the results online, told us that Todd had finished third in his age group (and 30th overall). Worse, by leaps and bounds, Sean was also reporting that Todd was only 3 seconds behind second place.

Because the race had started with a time trial, we could only makes educated guesses as to Todd's place on the course. A competitor who appeared to be several minutes from Todd, was actually neck and neck with him on the final clock.

After 9 Hours, 51 minutes, and 58 seconds of racing, the unofficial results were telling us that Todd was 3 seconds short of his dream. During the race, Todd dropped his heart monitor after the swim (5 seconds); he had to wait for a prepared bag of nutrients during the bike course (25 seconds); he decided not to shave his goatee the night before the race (some undetermined number of seconds). Life had suddenly become an endless configuration of contemplations, all of which added up to a measly three seconds.

Later that night the results changed yet again. Someone else in Todd’s age group had finished four minutes ahead of him. The real-time results from earlier had been inaccurate. Now Todd was 4th in his age group and two spots from the promised land.

In some ways, this new information was a relief. It made the three seconds easier to stomach. In another important way, the new results were even more deflating.

The number of qualifying spots for Kona is unofficial until after the race. The two slots of reference were a projection based on the number of entrants in Todd’s age group. But the actual allotment would depend on the number of entrants (in each age group) who showed up and finished on race day. Also, if for any reason one of the top two finishers in Todd’s age group declined their entry to Kona, it would roll-down to the next place finisher.

In other words, when we thought Todd was 3rd there was a small but plausible chance that he would garner a Kona spot. But now, sitting in 4th, Todd needed for lightning to strike twice.

Regardless of Kona, well-deserved hardware was coming Todd’s way: the top five age group finishers received an award at a ceremony the next day. So we inhaled a greasy breakfast on Monday morning (Todd’s first whiff of indulgence in months) and then headed to the awards luncheon. The attendees were undoubtedly the leanest and fittest assemblage the Louisville Convention Center has even seen (ironically, KY is perennially in the running for the “sickliest” state in the nation).

Then, as Todd took the stage for the awards ceremony, the richter scale began to register some seismic activity. First, the 5th place finisher in Todd's age group asked him if he was going to accept an invite to Kona if it rolled down to him. To which Todd emphatically replied: “**** ***.”

The 5th place finisher then announced that another slot had been awarded to their age group that morning (note to self, check the seismograph). Todd had no means to verify this rumor, but the Not-So-Hallmarky special starring Todd Smith in My Life Boiled Down to 3 Seconds had just resurfaced in the blink of an eye.

Next in line, making the ground really tremble, was Old Saint Nick. The 2nd place finisher, Adam Otstot (aka, Mr. Clause), turned to the 3rd place finisher on stage and said, “Merry Christmas, I’m not going to Kona.” Adam referenced his intent to compete in the World Duathlon Championships the week after Kona as the reason why he wouldn’t be going to Hawaii (note to everyone: donate organs to Adam Otstot if he's ever in need).

Adam’s decline meant that if the aforementioned rumor was true, and their age group had been awarded an additional slot, Todd was Kona bound (somebody cue the Hallelujah Chorus on line #1). If the rumor was inaccurate, Todd was (again) 3 seconds short of Eden (better call Dante on line #2).

The final minutes of the awards ceremony were agonizingly slow. Janus Investment Group was handing out grants. Sprightly senior citizens were bouncing up to the stage to receive their awards (how they finished, I’ll never know). All of which seemed to take about eight years. At one point I thought the Rosetta Stone was being primed for a live demo.

And then it happened. The awards ceremony was over and the roll-down was upon us. And for the glory of all that is right in the world, the rumor was true: an additional slot was awarded and Todd was in (“And He Shall Reign For Ever and Ever...”).

And then, without a moment’s pause, sheer and unbridled joy.

Todd began hugging the 3rd place finisher, Matias Palavecino, neither of whom wanted the three seconds to matter. Todd and I came undone. Man tears were everywhere. And then we understood that we had (!) to leave the room because screams of “Kona” were required in the open air.

Our cup, it did overflow.

What next? We called everyone. And then everyone’s mother. And then everyone’s mother’s in-laws and second cousins (even Uncle Wally’s illegitimate third son). The story couldn’t be told too many times. It lost nothing with each additional telling.

Then, as the dust settled, a new reality surfaced: another Ironman awaited Todd, against the best athletes in the world, in a mere seven week's time. A glorious and overwhelming prospect.

And then a final understanding: this coming November, when Todd watches NBC’s coverage of the Ironman World Championships in Hawaii, he will have been a participant.

In a singular moment, all the hours of training are worthwhile.

Having spent the weekend in the company of 1,800 Ironmen, I’m sure each finisher would validate the experience, regardless of their final place. Most entrants know they will never breathe the Kona air. Their accomplishment is no less meaningful. In many ways, their narratives are more special.

Littered throughout the course, finishing hours behind Todd, were mothers and daughters, grandfathers and grandsons. Said another way: Ironmen, each and every one.

The man who brought Ironman to Louisville was Jeff Schneider, a cancer survivor who wanted his first Ironman to be in his hometown. Jeff raised over $100,000 to secure Louisville as a race site. On Sunday Jeff completed the course he helped to create in 14 hours and 5 minutes.

Jeff Schneider: you are an Ironman.

Danniela Nichols, a single mom, completed her third Ironman in Louisville. Think about her the next time you’re sitting on the couch debating a workout. Then consider the fact that Danniela doesn’t have a thyroid.

Danniela Nichols: you are an Ironman.

Michael Demko carried on the memory of Jon Blais by wearing #179 in Louisville. In 2005 Blais, wearing #179, became the first athlete with ALS to complete an Ironman. Blais spent the last 20 months of his life raising awareness for ALS before passing away in May of this year. Now #179 is permanently reserved for athletes competing for charitable causes.

Jon Blais: you are (and forever will be) an Ironman.

In truth, stories of this variety are commonplace at Ironman races. Inspirational tales are everywhere. Often times the protagonist resembles someone you know: an ordinary person who woke up one day obsessed with doing something extraordinary.

And from that day on, only one goal matters. One vision. One designation. One indescribable moment when the loudspeaker will call your name and then tack on four everlasting words.

Applications for Ironman Louisville '08 are now being accepted.