You are Ready

Although I'm not at taper yet for IMFL, I'm getting REAL close! Only 35 days til race day!! A fantastic read I borrowed from someone in our Ironman Florida facebook group. Reading things like this make it all more real and that the challenge set forth before me is going to be tough ... but I will be ready.

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Right now you are about to enter the taper. Perhaps you've been at this a few months, perhaps
you've been at this a few years. For some of you this is your first Ironman for others, a
long-overdue welcome back to a race that few can match.

You've been following your schedule to the letter. You've been piling on the mileage, piling up
the laundry, and getting a set of tan lines that will take until next year to erase. Long rides
were followed by long runs, which both were preceded by long swims, all of which were followed
by recovery naps that were longer than you slept for any given night during college.

You ran in the snow.
You rode in the rain.
You ran in the heat.
You ran in the cold.

You went out when others stayed home.
You rode the trainer when others pulled the covers over their heads.
You have survived the Darwinian progression that is an Ironman Summer, and now the hardest days
are behind you. Like a climber in the Tour de France coming over the summit of the penultimate
climb on an alpine stage, you've already covered so much ground...there's just one more climb
to go. You shift up, you take a drink, you zip up the jersey; the descent lies before you...and
it will be a fast one.

Time that used to be filled with never-ending work will now be filling with silent muscles,
taking their final, well-earned rest. While this taper is something your body desperately
needs, your mind cast off to the background for so very long, will start to speak to you.

It won't be pretty.
It will bring up thoughts of doubt, pain, hunger, thirst, failure, and loss. It will give you
reasons why you aren't ready. It will try and make one last stand to stop you, because your
brain doesn't know what the body already does. Your body knows the truth:

You are ready.

Your brain won't believe it. It will use the taper to convince you that this is foolish - that
there is too much that can go wrong.
You are ready.

Finishing an this race is never an accident. It's the result of dedication, focus, hard work,
and belief that all the long runs in April, long rides in June, and long swims every damn
weekend will be worth it. It comes from getting on the bike, day in, day out. It comes from
long, solo runs. From that first long run where you wondered, "How will I ever be ready?" to
the last long run where you smiled to yourself with one mile to go...knowing that you'd found
the answer.
It is worth it. Now that you're at the taper, you know it will be worth it. The workload
becomes less. The body winds up and prepares, and you just need to quiet your worried mind. Not
easy, but you can do it.

You are ready.

You will walk into the water with 2000 other wide-open sets of eyes. You will look upon the sea
of humanity, and know that you belong. You'll feel the chill of the water crawl into your
wetsuit, and shiver like everyone else, but smile because the day you have waited for so VERY
long is finally here.

You will tear up in your goggles. Everyone does.
The helicopters will roar overhead.
The splashing will surround you.

You'll stop thinking about Ironman, because you're now racing one.
The swim will be long - it's long for everyone, but you'll make it. You'll watch as the
shoreline grows and grows, and soon you'll hear the end. You'll come up the beach and head for
the wetsuit strippers. Three people will get that sucker off before you know what happening,
then you’ll head for the bike.
The voices, the cowbells, and the curb-to-curb chalk giving you a hero's sendoff can't wipe the
smile off your face.

You'll settle down to your race. The crowds will spread out on the road. You'll soon be on your
bike, eating your food on your schedule, controlling your Ironman.
You'll start to feel that morning sun turn to afternoon sun. It's warmer now. Maybe it's hot.
Maybe you're not feeling so good now. You'll keep riding. You'll keep drinking. You'll keep
moving. After all, this is just a long training day with valet parking and catering, right?

You'll put on your game face, fighting the urge to feel down as you ride for what seems like
hours.

By now it'll be hot. You'll be tired. Doubts will fight for your focus. Everyone struggles
here. You've been on that bike for a few hours, and stopping would be nice, but you won't - not
here. Not today.

You'll grind the false flats to the climb. You'll know you're almost there. You'll fight for
every inch of road. The crowd will come back to you here. Let their energy push you. Let them
see your eyes. Smile when they cheer for you - your body will get just that little bit lighter.

Grind.
Fight.
Suffer.
Persevere.

You'll plunge down the road, swooping from corner to corner, chaining together the turns,
tucking on the straights, letting your legs recover for the run to come - soon! You'll roll
back - you'll see people running out. You'll think to yourself, "Wasn't I just here?" The noise
will grow. The chalk dust will hang in the air - you're back, with only 26.2 miles to go.
You'll relax a little bit, knowing that even if you get a flat tire or something breaks here,
you can run the damn bike into T2.

You'll roll into transition. You'll give up your bike and not look back. You'll change your
shoes and load up your pockets, and open the door to the last long run of your Ironman summer -
the one that counts.
You'll take that first step of thousands...and you'll smile. You'll know that the bike won't
let you down now - the race is down to your own two feet. The same crowd that cheered for you
in the shadows of the morning will cheer for you in the brilliant sunshine of a summer Sunday.
High-five people on the way out. Smile. Enjoy it. This is what you've worked for all year long.
That first mile will feel great. So will the second. By mile 3, you probably won't feel so
good.

That's okay. You knew it couldn't all be that easy. You'll settle down just like you did on the
bike, and get down to your pace. You'll see the leaders coming back the other way. Some will
look great - some won't. You might feel great, you might not. No matter how you feel, don't
panic - this is the part of the day where whatever you're feeling, you can be sure it won't
last.

You'll keep moving. You'll keep drinking. You'll keep eating. A volunteer will offer you
broth....TAKE THE BROTH!!! Maybe you'll be right on plan - maybe you won't. If you're ahead of
schedule, don't worry - believe. If you're behind, don't panic - roll with it. Everyone comes
up with a brilliant race plan for Ironman, and then everyone has to deal with the reality that
planning for something like Ironman is like trying to land a man on the moon. By remote
control. Blindfolded.

How you react to the changes in your plan will dictate your day. Don't waste energy worrying
about things - just do what you have to when you have to, and keep moving. Keep eating. Keep
drinking. Just don't sit down - don't EVER sit down.

You'll make it to the halfway point. You'll load up at the stops. Some will look good, some
won't. Eat what looks good, toss the rest. Keep moving. Start looking for people you know.
Cheer for people you don't. You're headed in - they're not. They want to be where you are, just
like you wanted to be when you saw all those fast people headed into town. Share some energy -
you'll get it right back.

Run if you can.
Walk if you have to.
Just keep moving.

The miles will drag on. The brilliant sunshine will yawn. You'll be coming up to those aid
stations fully alive with people, music, food, drink. Keep moving.
You'll soon only have a few miles to go. You'll start to believe that you're going to make it.
You'll start to imagine how good it's going to feel when you get there. Let those feelings
drive you on. When your legs just don't want to move anymore, think about what it's going to be
like when someone catches you…and puts a medal over your head... all you have to do is get
there.
You'll start to hear the people in town. People you can't see in the twilight will cheer for
you. They'll call out your name. Smile and thank them. They were there when you left on the
bike, and when you came back, and when you left on the run, and now when you've come back.

You'll enter town. You'll start to realize that the day is almost over. You'll be exhausted,
wiped out, barely able to run a 10-minute mile (if you're lucky), but you'll ask yourself,
"Where did the whole day go?" You'll be standing on the edge of two feelings - the desire to
finally stop, and the desire to take these last moments and make them last as long as possible.

You'll hit mile 25. Your Ironman will have 1.2 miles - just 2KM left in it.
You'll run. You'll find your legs. You'll fly. You won't know how, but you will run. The crowd
will become denser and denser. Soon you'll be able to hear the music again. This time, it'll be
for keeps.

Soon they'll see you. Soon, everyone will see you. You'll run towards the gate, between the
fences, and into the sun made just for you.

They'll say your name.
You'll keep running.
Nothing will hurt.

The moment will be yours - for one moment, the entire world will be looking at you and only
you.

You'll break the tape at the finish line, 140.6 miles after starting your journey. The flash
will go off.

You'll stop. You'll finally stop. Your legs will wobble their last, and suddenly...be capable
of nothing more.

Someone will catch you.
You'll lean into them.
It will suddenly hit you.
YOU’VE COMPLETED THE IRONMAN!
You are ready.
You are ready.