“Why the Ironman?” some people have asked. It has always been a dream of yours? You have always been a swimmer/biker/runner so it is a natural fit? Ha. None of the above.
My first Ironman experience was April 2005, the inaugural Ironman Arizona race. My friend Lauren volunteered as a swim spotter that morning and I went with her to the finish line to see the last finishers come in between 10 pm and midnight. What an inspiration! People of all ages, sizes, athletic abilities were finishing this great feat.
Fast forward to the end of August, 2007. It was one of the hottest days that summer. My employer had an annual golf outing at a local country club. I was driving the secretary at my office back to the 18th hole to take pictures. While meandering along the cart path, she screams, I swerve (golf ball flying toward us) and run the golf cart up on the curb next to a bush. I take a step off of the golf cart and realize the bush was actually a tree. I fall roughly 20 feet straight down to the bottom of a ravine. Luckily, a large rock at the bottom broke my fall. The secretary asked if I was ok. I said no. I crawled on my hands and knees out of the ravine.
Adrenaline was flowing. I could not feel my rear. My leg and stomach were both bleeding. I was worried about the golf cart that was stuck on the curb. I hobble back to the pro shop to tell them what had happened. They couldn’t believe I was still walking.
I went about my business at the golf outing. Making sure the clients picked up their pictures, presenting the prizes for longest drive, etc. etc. At one point my boss asked what had actually happened. He was concerned because a part of the tree was in my hair.
I drive home. It was horrible. It was the first time I had sat down. When I got home, I was able to check out the damage for the first time. My right buttock had ballooned into a gross, bruised orb of swollen skin. I could not sleep. The pressure of laying on my back was too painful. If I laid on my stomach or side, the open flesh wounds would send sharp pains through my body.
The next day I go to work and suffer through the morning routine. Eventually, I break down and head to the doctor. I am able to get in on short notice to see the physicians’ assistant. Her initia
l examination focuses on my ankle. I hadn’t actually realized how swollen and bruised my ankle was. The pain in my buttock was too intense. When I finally dropped my pants so she could see, she dropped her clipboard. She then raced to get my doctor. Neither of them had seen anything like my ass. Awesome.
The PA sent me to get X-Rays. Surely my pelvis was broken. Surely my ankle was broken. As it turns out, I have pretty strong bones and neither was broken. It was nice to hear the X-Ray tech mention “wow, she looks like she’s in pain.” (Because most healthy people get X-Rays just for the heck of it.)
I then went to get my first ultrasound. I needed an ultrasound so the surgeon could know where to drain the fluid from my buttock (it was swollen to the size of a softball). The ultrasonographer marked the choice spots with big Xs with a magic marker.
The surgeon decided the pockets of pus and fluid were not centralized enough to drain. I guess the particular area was also prone to infection and she didn’t want to risk it. I had to wait for my body to absorb the fluid for the swelling to go down.
Enter my life in stretch pants and compression shorts. It took about nine months before I could walk without a limp. I fell into a horrible depression. I ate all the time. I couldn’t really move, so I gained weight. Pretty much hated life.
I don’t remember what the trigger was. Maybe the Ironman World Championships were airing on TV. Maybe I had a dream. For some reason, as I wallowed in the depths of despair, I decided I would be an Ironman. I remembered the finishers of the great race I watched in 2005. If they could do it, surely I could.
And here I am. I still have some scar tissue on that right side. It’s about the size of a golf ball actually. It does send a sharp, shooting pain every once in a while to remind me of where I’ve been, where I’ll go.
My first Ironman experience was April 2005, the inaugural Ironman Arizona race. My friend Lauren volunteered as a swim spotter that morning and I went with her to the finish line to see the last finishers come in between 10 pm and midnight. What an inspiration! People of all ages, sizes, athletic abilities were finishing this great feat.
Fast forward to the end of August, 2007. It was one of the hottest days that summer. My employer had an annual golf outing at a local country club. I was driving the secretary at my office back to the 18th hole to take pictures. While meandering along the cart path, she screams, I swerve (golf ball flying toward us) and run the golf cart up on the curb next to a bush. I take a step off of the golf cart and realize the bush was actually a tree. I fall roughly 20 feet straight down to the bottom of a ravine. Luckily, a large rock at the bottom broke my fall. The secretary asked if I was ok. I said no. I crawled on my hands and knees out of the ravine.
Adrenaline was flowing. I could not feel my rear. My leg and stomach were both bleeding. I was worried about the golf cart that was stuck on the curb. I hobble back to the pro shop to tell them what had happened. They couldn’t believe I was still walking.
I went about my business at the golf outing. Making sure the clients picked up their pictures, presenting the prizes for longest drive, etc. etc. At one point my boss asked what had actually happened. He was concerned because a part of the tree was in my hair.
I drive home. It was horrible. It was the first time I had sat down. When I got home, I was able to check out the damage for the first time. My right buttock had ballooned into a gross, bruised orb of swollen skin. I could not sleep. The pressure of laying on my back was too painful. If I laid on my stomach or side, the open flesh wounds would send sharp pains through my body.
The next day I go to work and suffer through the morning routine. Eventually, I break down and head to the doctor. I am able to get in on short notice to see the physicians’ assistant. Her initia
l examination focuses on my ankle. I hadn’t actually realized how swollen and bruised my ankle was. The pain in my buttock was too intense. When I finally dropped my pants so she could see, she dropped her clipboard. She then raced to get my doctor. Neither of them had seen anything like my ass. Awesome.The PA sent me to get X-Rays. Surely my pelvis was broken. Surely my ankle was broken. As it turns out, I have pretty strong bones and neither was broken. It was nice to hear the X-Ray tech mention “wow, she looks like she’s in pain.” (Because most healthy people get X-Rays just for the heck of it.)
I then went to get my first ultrasound. I needed an ultrasound so the surgeon could know where to drain the fluid from my buttock (it was swollen to the size of a softball). The ultrasonographer marked the choice spots with big Xs with a magic marker.
The surgeon decided the pockets of pus and fluid were not centralized enough to drain. I guess the particular area was also prone to infection and she didn’t want to risk it. I had to wait for my body to absorb the fluid for the swelling to go down.
Enter my life in stretch pants and compression shorts. It took about nine months before I could walk without a limp. I fell into a horrible depression. I ate all the time. I couldn’t really move, so I gained weight. Pretty much hated life.
I don’t remember what the trigger was. Maybe the Ironman World Championships were airing on TV. Maybe I had a dream. For some reason, as I wallowed in the depths of despair, I decided I would be an Ironman. I remembered the finishers of the great race I watched in 2005. If they could do it, surely I could.
And here I am. I still have some scar tissue on that right side. It’s about the size of a golf ball actually. It does send a sharp, shooting pain every once in a while to remind me of where I’ve been, where I’ll go.
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