A Single Question

I spent two hours yesterday not going anywhere. I was downstairs on the windtrainer, watching Lance Armstrong climb Sestriere [or as Paul Sherwin would say, "literally explode up the mountain"]. It was an inspiring ride to watch, and I found myself pedaling harder than normal as he launched his attack, as if I was trying to stay on his wheel. Sestriere [the 9th stage] was his first real signature win in the Tour, an incredible day for anyone, let alone a recent cancer survivor. It was his first day wearing yellow in the mountains, and he rode like a champion, leaving the best climbers in the world sucking wind. The sport of cycling has never been the same since that day, and it never will be again. I watched it in awe, knowing that a star was emerging on this very climb, laughing at Paul Sherwin and Phil Ligget as they kept asking if he had the legs to hold it up to the summit, or if this day was going to take too much out of him for the rest of the tour. I watched, secretly praying that EPO or some other drug cocktail wasn't fueling this man, because it is a beautiful thing to watch a man ride a bike so well, so effortlessly. It would be a shame if it was all a lie. At the very least, it made the two hours of pedaling go by quicker and left me excited for the next windtrainer session, because Alp D'Huez is next.

This time in four months, Ironman Wisconsin will be almost twelve hours underway, the sun will be ready to rest, as will all the triathletes still out on the course. It promises to be a tough day [what Ironman doesn't?], and I'm trying to prepare for it much better than I ever have before, and that's why I'm doing two-hour windtrainer sessions watching the Tour on my computer. I don't want to go in with any questions, with any fear, like I have for the last two. I want to be strong, with legs that have depth [to go along with the horrendous tan-lines they already have now]. I want to go in knowing that the fitness and strength will be there, and that my job is to let the day unfold, to be smart and patient, and when the time comes, tough. The ultimate goal, and I'm throwing this out there, is to finish in 9 hours, 50 minutes, to do the fastest Ironman in the family, and if all goes well, qualify for Hawaii. Why not?

There are plenty of days and weeks between now and Wisconsin, plenty of highs and lows that await me [and a big race does too: a 70.3 in Lubbock, which is funnily enough, on my birthday]. There will be plenty more Tour de France DVDs to watch, lots of long windtrainer sessions ahead. There are hills that I need to ride again and again and again, and then again. Countless loops around Town Lake. There is little mystery to an Ironman training program.

The question isn't what I want, or what I have to do to get what I want. I know the answer to both of those. No. I realized that now the question is simply: "are you going to do what it takes to be a 9 hour Ironman, or are you going to make excuses?" Those really are the only two options. And if you happen to be in Madison, Wisconsin on September 11th, at this exact time, I'll be able to tell you the answer.