The Stupidest Idea in the History of Time

I’ve done some idiotic athletic things over the years. I’ve ignored virtually every injury I’ve had, unless they’ve completely immobilized me. I ran at least 300 miles in training for the Steamtown Marathon with a tear in my Achilles tendon, and then the race itself. I don’t stretch enough. I don’t pay enough attention to core strength. I have not been on a consistent weight training program in years. I’m even lax about icing down the problem areas. My training diet has improved, but I still think of a complex carb as a regular white-flour carb embellished with cheese.

None of this comes even close to comparing to the crime against common sense I’m about to commit. Four marathons and eight half marathons in, and I’ve finally achieved average status in these events. It’s time for me to suck at something new.

Several years ago, while rehabbing a high ankle sprain I was only allowed to swim for exercise. A few weeks into the PT, I was then put on the exercise bike. Finally, I was permitted to run. Swim/bike/run. So, of course, at the first opportunity, I signed up for a sprint triathlon. The race included a .25 mile swim, a 16 mile ride and a 3.1 mile run in Middletown, Delaware. The swim was in a nice, warm and calm pond. To prepare, I had only been swimming in my gym’s pool. When I hit the open water in the tri, I panicked. I couldn’t put my face down, and every time I was tagged by another competitor, I shrieked. My stroke turned into a hybrid freestyle-doggie paddle. All of this caught the attention of one of the rescue personnel, who rowed his boat up to me and offered to pluck me from the water. I refused, protesting that I actually trained for this thing. He hovered nearby, likely assuming I would either change my mind or drown, until I finished. I was the second to the last person out of the water. The last swimmer hit the shore and promptly puked on it.

I haven’t done another tri since then. The idea flashed through my mind now and again, but I brushed it off by signing up for a new marathon.

This year, I rejoined my old gym, the one with the pool. I’ve been swimming once a week. I had forgotten how much I enjoy it, even though I’m ridiculously slow. Simultaneously, two of my running friends signed up for a triathlon in October, and they have been talking about their spring and summer training plan.

I started thinking about that October triathlon. I began believing I could do it, and that it could even be good for me because it would compel me to cross train. Like most triathlons, there’s a lake swim, then a bike ride with some hills, followed by a run.

Now for the stupid: it’s not a sprint tri. It’s also not an Olympic distance tri. I am currently poised to sign up for a half-Ironman in the Poconos. Yes, folks, this is a 1.2-mile swim, followed by a 56-mile ride, followed by a 13.1-mile run, 70.3 miles that all must be accomplished in under eight hours.

I’m not afraid of the ride or the run, though I do know that doing these things in combination makes them exponentially more difficult than mastering each on its own. If I survive the swim, I’m sure I’ll get through those legs of the event. The challenge here is getting through a 1.2-mile swim when my only open-water experience of 1/5 of this length nearly resulted in an emergency rescue. I think it’s because of the swimming disaster that I’m compelled to go for this. It is unfinished business, and I need an event of this magnitude to force me into preparing properly. If I do this, I’ll finally have conquered it. And I’ll get a 70.3 sticker for my car.