"It is only through work that either nation or individual moves on to greatness. The great man is always the man of mighty effort, and usually the man whom grinding need has trained to mighty effort" - Theodore Roosevelt while paying tribute to Ulysses S. Grant
Yesterday was supposed to be my personal experiment at the "spring classics" of Multisport in the Midwest, the Orland Park Indoor Duathlon. In its 8th year, I consider it a classic, since it passed the 5 year mark and in multisport that's a huge deal. And it was supposed to be a lot of fun; provide some insight into how my training is going, how my body is responding. But my body had other ideas.
When I woke up yesterday, I felt chills. I didn't sleep well, and I was severly congested, and definitely not feeling well. I took my temp, it was 99.5, not a big deal, but my normal core temp runs around 97, so I knew something was off. I got out of bed, looked at my race bag, and thought, "Screw it, I'm staying home". But the internal conflict wouldn't let me off that easy. So, I emailed my coach to get a second opinion. Her words were pretty clear - DO NOT RACE. So, I sat on my couch, drinking some immune boosting something or other, and put on some music. Drake and friends song - "Forever". I closed my eyes and weighed my options. I could risk going and getting worse, not able to train for a few days, and performing poorly, or, I could go, and just try to end it as quickly as possible and maybe sweat out some of this cold or flu or whatever the hell was in my system. When I opened my eyes, I knew my answer. And within 5 minutes I was at Starbucks getting my pre-race coffee.
Anyone who's a Southsider, and old school for that matter, remembers the 1983 White Sox season and their infamous tag line - "Winning Ugly". As I was warming up on a stationary bike and measuring my effort by the amount of sweat coming out of me at a low level, I turned my music higher, and figured if I was going to repeat as champ, it was going to be an ugly win. A straight, come from the gut type, not worrying about technology or what kind of sports drink I was taking in. I just figured, get fluids, and keep them down and you are ahead of the game. I barely even ran to warm up, I was trying to conserve energy, knowing that my legs would probably be a little tight, that conventional wisdom is, the shorter the race, the longer the warm up. Not this day. 20 minutes on the bike, 5 minutes of running and I took the line.
I walked up to the kid who was my "assistant" counting my laps and checking my times, named DJ. I asked him one small favor - "Whatever you do, don't ever let me slow down. If you see me getting slow or tired, just yell to pick it up". I think that scared him a bit, as he looked at me if I was half-crazed. The first run - 1.5 miles of straight anaerobic torture. I tried to pace, but every time I tried to conserve, I felt worse, so I just hammered. I came through first and thought I was going to hurl. We headed to the bikes, DJ right there, asking me if I was ready. I told him I was probably going to close my eyes for the ride, so he would need to tell me when I hit 10 miles so I would stop. He laughed, but once I started to ride, he saw I wasn't kidding. It was a spin bike, so getting comfortable was easier than last week's race, but riding at 135 rpm was not. I had to close my eyes and just embrace the pain. I was pouring sweat, and just kept cranking. Thankfully, it wasn't long when I felt a tap on my shoulder - I was done. First off the bike and back to finish with another 1.5 mile run.
Now, these aren't daunting distances, but you really have no choice but to go all out. So, again I looked to DJ - just count the laps so I know when to stop. I didn't want to have to think about anything else. I felt chills, but knew I couldn't stop now, I had to suck it up. And that's what I did. I literally would be staring at DJ as time went by and he was one diligent kid, shouting encouragement, and yelling out lap numbers. When I hit 15, I went over, shook his hand, thanked him and excused myself. I quietly walked to the bathroom, and vomited like I was trying to win a contest. I exited the bathroom quietly, thankful that the music and cheering drowned out my own noise.
About an hour later, the race director, Debbie Graham who thought I was crazy for racing in my condition, I think her exact words when she first saw me were, "Good to see you! Wow, you look awful!" called my name as the overall winner and the new course record holder. I graciously accepted my award, as well as my free hair cut and style at Perry George's salon (if you've seen my hair, you know that's just a cruel reminder of why I prefer hats). But what made my day truly special, DJ, the great assistant, walked over to me after the race and said that I inspired him to work out and enter the race next year. And for a moment, I didn't feel sick or tired, I felt honored and humbled. It was the best reminder of why we race - to inspire others, to let people know anyone, and I mean anyone can be a multisport athlete. To give back to those who help us, like DJ did, that's the best reward of all.
Thanks to the great crew at Orland Park and my sponsors. And oh yeah, when I talked to Jenny today, "dumbass" flew off her lips pretty easily. But like I told her, I'm not her smartest athlete, I'll just work harder than anyone else. Thanks Jen. And in memory of my Papa, whose birthday is today, this was for you.
Stay strong,
Guy
