A FB Memory Reflection

Life has a way of proving this to me.

“Excellence is rarely forged in the absence of adversity.”

The phrase is a modern paraphrase of a thought from Seneca: 

Excellence withers without an adversary: the time for us to see how great it is, how much its force, is when it displays its power through endurance.

Looking back on Ironman California 2022, that feels less like a quote and more like a witness statement.

At the time, I thought I was simply trying to finish an Ironman. Four years later, I realize the race was teaching me something much deeper about adaptation, gratitude, loss, and resilience.

The day began before sunrise on a bus filled with athletes carrying equal parts confidence and nerves. A few people had gotten loud and forgotten what the morning represented. I spoke up, and in doing so met people who are still part of my story today. That’s one of the beautiful things about triathlon. Complete strangers become companions in a shared struggle.

Days before the race, I had learned that my friend Steve had made an absolute choice.  He died. Steve was brilliant, conflicted, and deeply human. As I swam through the American River, where so many memories already existed, I kept sensing him nearby. At one point, for several minutes, I was convinced a large blond swimmer was pacing me. Every time I looked, no one was there. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe memory. Maybe I was carrying grief. Whatever it was, I felt my friend with me in the water. I still miss you, Steve.

Then the race began doing what Ironman races do.

The buoy at the “Confluence” broke loose and drifted away. I chased it down.

A mechanical issue started on the bike around mile thirty. For hours I fought it, not even realizing race technicians could help. Eventually, with time slipping away and pride beginning to crack, I accepted assistance. Somewhere along the way, a volunteer sweeper motivated me with a phrase that still makes me smile:

“Don’t let me catch you.”

My timing chip became its own adventure. My watch eventually died. I misunderstood special-needs bags and lost a few items that felt precious at the time. Looking back, they’re just things.

By the marathon, I had long since stopped racing the clock. I was racing inertia.

Anyone who has gone deep enough into an Ironman understands the strange place that eventually arrives. Thinking disappears. Planning disappears. The future disappears. Life contracts into the next aid station, the next mile marker, the next step.

Just run it out.

Somewhere around mile twenty-four, my wife Liz snapped me out of that trance. In an instant, it became real. I wasn’t just surviving anymore. I was going to finish.

And then came the part that remains difficult to explain.

The red carpet.

The lights.

The noise.

The realization that after all the mistakes, setbacks, delays, surprises, and suffering, you’re somehow still moving forward.

Then hearing Mike Reilly call your name.

Not because everything had gone according to plan.

Because almost nothing had.

That is the part I understand differently now than I did in 2022.

The accomplishment was never the swim, the bike, or the run. It wasn’t the medal. It wasn’t the finish line photo. It wasn’t even becoming an Ironman.

The accomplishment was learning to adapt without surrendering.

When Steve’s story took a tragic turn.

When equipment failed.

When plans changed.

When expectations dissolved.

When the race stopped being about performance and became about persistence.

Since then, injuries have come. Priorities have shifted. Team affiliations have changed. More miles have been replaced by Disney memories with my kids, family dinners, and the quieter responsibilities of life. Yet the lesson remains.

People often chase epic moments. I’ve certainly chased a few myself.

But Ironman taught me that epic moments are built from thousands of ordinary decisions nobody sees. The early mornings. The disciplined choices. The setbacks. The adjustments. The decision to keep going one more day.

That is what I remember now.

Not a perfect race.

Not even a good race.

A resilient one.

And, four years later, that’s the memory that continues to endure.