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Midlife Crisis: Corvette or Cervelo?

Life was creeping by. The pounds were accumulating and the hair follicles were depleting. The daily routine was mundane, drag myself out of bed, head to work, go to the kids' soccer game, inhale dinner, sleep a few hours and repeat. The rear view mirror of a Type A personality showed action plans executed upon, goals obtained, and personal accomplishments summed up by "done that", "atta boy" and "next challenge please".

I entered Gear West, a local bike store and knew my life was about to change. The aura of healthy living, positive attitudes and friendship based on a common bond could be felt throughout the store. As a novice to the cycling world, I was amazed that some bikes were as light as a briefcase and cost as much as a used Corvette. I pondered a few days on the decision to spend more money on a bicycle than I had paid for my first car. With the final decision to buy an "entry level" carbon road bike, I received a free entry into the Lifetime Triathlon later that summer.

I proceeded to ride the new bike out of pure determination and guilt (for having spent the money), until I could ride comfortably, although slow, for enough miles to successfully complete the MS150 Bike event. The training included several mishaps including not unclipping fast enough to warrant a tumble on the concrete, bruising my ego but causing no damage to my new ride.

In preparation for the Lifetime Olympic distance triathlon, I decided to enter a shorter Sprint distance race to familiarize myself with the triathlon process and to ensure I didn't embarrass myself too badly in front of coworkers. Bottom line, my first triathlon was a disaster, but an incredible learning opportunity. Two to three foot waves caused by 30 MPH winds caused the swim to be shortened to a manageable .25 mile swim, or so I thought. As I clung to the third buoy, praying to be rescued as I caught my breath, I questioned my sanity as I forced myself to leave the safety of that orange lifesaver. The bike course was so windy that I found myself struggling to stay out of the roadside ditch and the run was punctuated when the 61 year old man cruised past me with miles yet to go. This was the hobby I chose to pursue? The average person would have ended their trek after this challenging event, the future Ironman chose to swim five times a week, (regardless of weather conditions), ride countless hours and run a little faster.

That summer I participated in ten events, ranging from that aforementioned Sprint, ending with a half Ironman and the Minneapolis marathon. My times were not impressive, but in my driven mind set I was competing in the Elite waves at every event. My mantra became "finish at all costs, get the t-shirt and finishers medal, and move on to the next distance"……oh yeah, and remember to have fun. That fall, I volunteered at an Ironman event and witnessed first hand the drive, commitment and insanity of the athletes on that special day and promptly signed up for the following year.

Each event on this adventure was punctuated with some story of personal triumph or embarrassing moments to be retold amongst friends. There was the time in a half Ironman when I was experiencing excruciatingly painful thigh cramps due to lack of training and electrolytes during a humid day. I opted to change all my clothes after riding my bike 56 miles to prepare for the 13.1 mile run in the heat. As I inadvertently dropped the towel which was wrapped around my midsection, the cramps suddenly reappeared, preventing me from bending over. I was standing there in Oceanside, California, fully exposed, incapable of movement while two dozen spectators gawked at the statue of David impersonator. After a full minute, (which felt like ten), I regained composure and clothing while convincing the race official the exposure was accidental and not an intentional exhibition. Then there was the time when I traveled to a race and discovered a major issue with my race wheels which would have prevented me from competing the next day. I pleaded with the race director to let me check in my bike san-wheels, and proceeded to carry my shiny new triathlon bike (yes, I had to upgrade to a tri-specific bike as part of this journey) the half mile to the transition area, whilst being chided by fellow participants about the lack of wheels. After getting over the initial wave of anxiety and embarrassment, I gave my (very expensive) wheel set to a total stranger to work on that night at his mechanic's shop. I arranged to meet him in the parking lot of a local pharmacy later that night, hoping not to see my Zipps on EBay before I could retrieve them. The mechanic showed up on time, we exchanged wares like a back alley drug deal and I proceeded to set a PR (personal record) the following day on four hours rest.

Each event entails a compelling story; crossing the finish line with a stranger who is now a Facebook friend, traveling to exciting race destinations, pushing myself to the limit and still succeeding. Or watching other gifted athletes like my buddy Sam, confined to a wheelchair, but not bound by limits, complete his first half Ironman in his recumbent bike and push chair in 6:30….an amazing feat! (compared to my first half which took me 7:43). Or the blind triathlete at the Wisconsin Ironman who via a tandem bike and a system of tethers during the swim and run jubilantly leapt across the finish line with his tri-partner. Or the 81 year man who started doing triathlons at the seasoned age of 65 and has completed over twenty eight Ironman events thus far. So be honest with yourself, what personal hurdle is bigger than the obstacle these folks climbed to pursue their own bucket list?

The training for an Ironman has been intense. Ten percent physical, ninety percent mental. I have seen grown men and women driven to tears over the emotional stress and physical toil that working a full time job, caring for a family, and training twenty plus hours a week can do to the average person. Who is crazy enough to get up at 4:30 am, drive through a snow storm only to jump into a cold pool to swim one hour several times per week before putting in a full day at work? What type of person sits on a (bike) trainer in the basement, watching movies and Spinervals for hours, while the family is still asleep? Why would someone ever purposely plan to run during the hottest part of the day wearing a water belt to survive and going just far enough to push yourself to your outer limits? And the biggest question becomes why that same person does it over and over again for months on end to prepare them for a one day event.

The Ironman spectacle is captured in countless pictures and U-tube videos as the event grows in popularity as the trendy mid-life crisis task for Type A personalities. Whatever the commercialization of the event has become, the day is all about personal execution. The 2.4 mile swim where 2,400 anxious athletes politely shove, kick and grapple for position while you struggle to get into a rhythm that is unlike any training you experienced. The 112 mile bike ride where you are flying down a hill at 42 MPH and then inching up an incline at 8 MPH while eating Encrustables and gagging on gel packets to maintain a calorie balance. All the while, in the back of your head, your personal demons are whispering to you that you still have 26.2 miles to go IF you manage to finish the bike course. Each person plays their own mental games to trick themselves into crossing every hurdle the mind can contrive throughout the entire day. My 'line' came at mile 18 of the run course where my demons told me that my hotel room was closer than the finish line. Each enduring athlete who manages to cross the finish line knows exactly how much they put into the race and the journey which led them to this day. Despite being surrounded by similar athletes with similar stories and thousands of screaming supporters, this is still an individual sport.

So why do people do an Ironman? For some, it's the competition to finish first in their age group to prove to themselves they can still outperform their peers. For others, it's the chance that the like-minded person next to you in the Transition area could become your next best friend. For others, the sense of accomplishment, the camaraderie, the destination or the ego. For me, it's the fact that I can eat a large Culvers hot fudge sundae without any guilt.

Corvette or Cervelo? I chose a 2009 Cervelo P3 with Dura Ace components, titanium Speedplays, Garmin 705 sporting 808/1080 Zipps in a sleek black and silver finish. It's sweeter than any Corvette on the road.

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