[with about 5 shopping bags in both hands, she nudges the doorbell at james’s house with her nose, waiting till he’s opened it to greet him with a tired, but cheerful smile] Hi, sweetheart. How’re you feeling? [kisses his cheek in the greeting way]

[as Evelyn marches through the oncology ward, the nurses all duck out of her way, mumbling to each other about ‘Doctor Simmons’s scary wife” however she ignores this, looking at the names on the doors until she finds James’s and knocks before stepping into the room] Hello, James. I trust you’re as well as you can be. [goes and sits down in the chair next to his bed]

“I look at my father. He is one of my heroes. He is such an incredible, classy man. He was such a great father and such a great husband in so many ways, and we lived through some pretty tough times. When I see all that he did, I think, 'Wow, that's a really wonderful man.”

-david simmons

James...James is my eldest. When I look at him, I see a lot of time that I’ve lost. I see the face of the man I was when I met his mother...I see a scared little boy who has no idea how it feels to have the security of knowing his family will be around forever. I see so much that I still have to discover about him. I can’t put into words how much guilt I feel for not being there for him. I know that I still have a lot to do to make it up to him, but I love that boy just as much as I love my other kids. He’s my son, and I would do anything for him.

-evelyn simmons 

Ironman Texas 2017, in Houston, Saturday, April 22, handed me a proposal on the word quit. On my bike in this race at mile 90 is when I decided to look into this proposal. I studied it in depth for 22 miles until I reached 112. Those 22 humiliating miles highlighted every reason why I should quit. I was convinced, by mile 112, to quit. It was time to vacate this race.

Plan A, my only plan, was to compete with the elite for a Kona Qualifying spot.  

“If you fail to plan you are planning to fail,” Benjamin Franklin. And, I failed to make a back-up plan, a Plan B.   

I have two incredible nieces and nephew, and their ages together add up to less than 22. I call them The Minions. 

A couple weeks post-Ironman Texas The Minions and I watched an animated movie. One scene in particular caught our attention. It was about a hippopotamus and its naive audience at a zoo. The audience, who went silent at first sight of this incredible four-legged beast, erupted into excitement after a quick study. They had never laid eyes on an animal of this stature.

The hippo’s reaction to its audience was quite different. It stood motionless for a moment facing the audience and analyzing the situation. Then, casually turned 180 degrees, and began to spin its tail at increasing speed. A loud sound squeaked from its butt to provide the gift of smell to its audience. Then came the big surprise! Its tail launched dung in all directions. The audience’s faces were splattered with poo.

The poo-stricken faces reminded me of Ironman Texas and an inability to avoid disaster.

“I’m done, man. My legs and arms have been cramping since mile 90 on the bike. I ‘soft peddled’ the last 22 miles. Mentally and physically, everything is gone. Honestly, Newland, I can’t wrap my mind around a marathon at this point. A ‘finish’ isn’t why I’m here,” I said to Jason Newland who stood opposite me on the spectator side of a 4-foot tall chain link fence. 

I was several hundred steps away from the T2 tent where I would soon, but not soon enough, disappear and hide from reality, or so I thought.

Both my arms draped over the chain-link fence, and as I looked at Newland he was at a loss for words. My actions weren’t fair to him as we stood face to face in this awkward situation. It was our current reality, and 180 degrees from this morning’s high fives in anticipation of crushing the race.

“Come on man, you don’t have anything to prove. It’s totally cool if you hand in your chip and call it a day,” Newland said.

Exactly what I wanted to hear! Newland’s words were comforting. Permission for freedom. It was so eloquent in this moment of despair. A type of despair I call a First World Problem. This is a problem we can easily escape by making a choice. For example, I choose to eat because I’m hungry. It’s not a life or death situation.

“Hey, one more thing,” Newland said loud enough to hear as I started walking towards T2. “You might regret it if you quit.

He deleted the one comfortable thought in my head. Newland cracked my skull open, reached in and pulled out every ‘you don’t have anything to prove’ thought, and crushed all justifications to support the proposal I studied for 22 miles on the word quit. A 26.2 mile run seemed impractical. No, it seemed impossible.

Liz, my wife, landed in Mallorca, Spain, at about the same time I was in my First World Problem. She booked this trip to shadow one of the best tri-coaches ever for a week, Brett Sutton, . She was devastated with the overlap on her trip with Ironman Texas. But this opportunity to shadow Sutton was a no-brainer to continue developing her coaching skills. 

At Ironman Texas Liz wanted someone there for me who would say the right thing at the right time, especially in adverse situations.

She chose Newland. 

Liz said, “Newland’s the next best thing besides me at Ironman Texas.”  

Good choice. He’s a natural leader with a no-nonsence attitude, and no filter between his thoughts and mouth. He is sought after successful pediatric infectious disease MD at Wash U in St Louis. A 2x IM Kona Qualifier. And, simply put, he is a hell of a friend with a history of rising above anything or anyone who poses a challenge to success.

As I continued to walk further away from Newland, and closer to T2, athletes ran past me on my left side. My mind was so far out of this race. It wasn’t a race at this point. I welcomed each athlete to hit me on my left shoulder when they passed, and most did. 

I really wished for someone to run me over like Bo Jackson did to Brian Bosworth during their first and only meeting in an NFL game. I wanted someone to put my lights out before I reached the T2 tent.

“Yep, look at that guy. The one who obviously went out too hard on his bike, or messed up his nutrition, or both. He is now mentally and physically broke. Rookie mistake! Enjoy walking that marathon! It’s gonna be a long day,” said my irrational state of mind as I caved in more to my First World Problem.

Once I reached the T2 tent I really didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to find my ‘alone’ space. 

I found a chair. And I just sat there mentally numb and watched athletes come in, transition to their running shoes, and disappear towards the start of a 26.2 mile journey.

I realized, for the first time, most athletes in T2 suffer from temporary dementia. It’s the magic that involuntarily suppresses the gravity of running a marathon after a 2.4 mile swim and 112 mile bike.

I was dealing with a reality of a piss-poor attitude. It’s on the other side of the spectrum from magic.

There were several non-helpful comments from athletes experiencing dementia while I sat in T2 suffering from reality.

“Walk the marathon.”

“Stand up and put one foot in front of the other.”

“Take salt. It works.”

“I’m a really slow runner. Come with me. I know you can keep my pace.”

“The wind was brutal out there on the bike, dude. I know how you feel.”

This was like being in the middle of a twitter shit-storm and no way to exit the app. Newland’s comment on ‘regret’ was my platform to a Plan B.

The last thing Liz needed was to be in a worry state-of-mind if I quit. She was starting her exciting journey in Spain.

Newland took time away from his family, and work to be here. I would be a quintessential impression of an asshole by virtue of quitting.

“Excuses are like assholes. Everyone’s got one and they all smell like shit,” Todd Dicus has said many times. One of his many memorable quotes.

I thought about Brother D, Todd Dicus, and all the blood, sweat and swears we shared on our bike trainers this past winter. He was gritting through this same race, which was his 11th Ironman. 

My family’s support is unconditional. It’s there no matter what, and I needed to find a way to apply the same unconditional thinking about the marathon. 

Michelle Simmons applied insightful training strategies, and painful training sessions, the past several years. Consistency with these training sessions each day provided me a lot of growth as a triathlete, and as a person. So how would I answer the question when she asks why I quit? Would my answer feel justified? No, it wouldn’t.        

And, finally The Minions! 

“Uncle Casey, did you win your race?” One of them would ask it. Finishing is winning in their mind. Ironman distance triathlons teach adults this attitude if they don’t already believe it. I witnessed hundreds, maybe thousands of adults over the years cross the finish line with the expression of winning by finishing in less than 10 hours or near the race cutoff at 17 hours.  

For so many teachable reasons my answer to their question couldn’t be, “You know what, it was just too hard and I quit.”

My sister, Aubrey Urban, sent a video of The Minions wishing me luck the night prior to Ironman Texas. I watched and listened to it over and over again in my head as a sat in T2. 

This was it. This was the magic. The temporary dementia. The game-changer. HOPE. 

T2 became my place to recover from the swim, bike and bonk, and not a place to hide. I began to prep for another race for the 2nd time in one day. I finally had a platform for a solid Plan B.  

“Hey, is there a time limit on how long someone can stay in this tent?” I asked an official.

“Na, I don't think so. Never been asked that question. I guess stay as long as you want as long as you finish the marathon by midnight,” responded the official. 

Volunteers handed me water that I previously denied. I slowly took in calories from food and gels, and electrolytes from salt. I stood up from my chair, walked back and forth, and sat down again.

I repeated this process until the cramping disappeared and my stomach relaxed enough to absorb nutrition.

It was time to let go. I placed my usual securities I wear and carry with me back in the T2 bag, like my Fuel Belt I wear around my waist with hydration and nutrition. My hat, arm coolers, and a cotton cloth I usually tie loosely around my neck to keep the sun off my skin, also went back in the T2 bag.  

I slipped on my sunglasses and race belt with bib number 260, and exited the T2 tent towards the next timing mat where the marathon officially started.

The first person I saw was Dave Dicus, Brother D’s son. He assured me Brother D was crushing his race.

The next person I saw was Newland. He was standing near the timing mat at the run start. I could see by the way he relaxed his body language he was relieved, and curious.

“Go! What are you doing? Go! Come on, let’s go!!” yelled Newland. Now, to translate Newland talk. This means are you okay? You look okay? What the bleep were you doing? Looks like you didn’t quit. Nice job. But now it’s real. Go run!

Simmons and I discussed running off heart rate instead of watching my pace in this race. Previous Ironman distant races showed my heart rate slowing in the second half of the marathon, along with pace.  

Many variables lead to lower heart rate like nutrition. But together we believe I focus too much on pace, and frustration sets in when I feel I can’t hold the pace I need from mile 14 through 26.2. It’s a mental block. The pace is there because we see it in training.

Heart rate was the one goal I still had left, and I set out to keep it close to 150 beats per minute on average through 26.2 miles.

Running a marathon after a 2.4 mile swim and 112 mile bike really makes no logical sense. But I truly love it. Because, this is the part of the race where all participants are stripped down to their core and everything is exposed like training, preparation, nutrition, attitude and extreme mental fortitude. There is no more faking it. The temporary dementia most athletes experience in T2 is truly temporary, magic disappears and reality takes its place.

So as I gained momentum from a walk to run I crossed the timing mat, and said to Newland, “I’m gonna give it my best shot. Let’s see what’s gonna happen.”

I started this run with a very simple frame of mind, “just run and enjoy the freedom of running.”  

As Newland’s voice drifted off I formed a small tiny dot, a mental place, in the back of my head. It was my magic place. With my eyes down and in front of me I focused on that small tiny dot, and never left it for 25 miles.

The cramps constantly pinged my muscles, but every time they surfaced I literally said out loud to myself “<bleep> you.” 

Four miles into the marathon and I was still running! I felt damn good except for the constant cramps poking at my hamstrings and quads. At every aid station I splashed myself with water and ice, drank Gatorade and Coke. And, at the end of each station I grabbed calories for the road. In between aid stations I constantly took in salt.

After each aid station it was back to the small tiny dot, and a lot of “<bleep> you’s” at the cramps until I reached the next aid station. Water, ice, Gatorade and Coke. Calories, salt, and the tiny dot. Run one mile and repeat.  

At mile 24.5, before I made my 3rd and final turn leading out of a McMansion Woodlands’ neighborhood, and on a descend to the Woodlands River Walk, Newland stood waiting. He yelled, “Kershner, if  you keep up this pace you will qualify for Boston!”

My stamina felt great. I increased my pace as I had the endurance to do it, but I really had to focus on using different muscles by shortening my stride with a shallow right leg recovery. My right hamstring locked twice several miles back which stopped me briefly in my tracks. The warning cramp in my right hamstring intensified, but my “<bleep> you’s” kept winning.

Only 1.5-miles to go! I ran by the drunk half-dressed crazies for the third and final time. Near the end of their cheering section a spectator walked and weaved across the sidewalk perfectly timing her meeting with me. As I made contact she was looking the opposite direction. I was shocked how easily she bounced off and into the crowd. The drunk crazies loved it and their cheering loudly increased, and faded into the past.  

Only 1 mile to go, and I couldn’t move! It was awful, because I looked to my left and there was the finish on the other side of the River Walk. I was so close, but my right hamstring finally locked, and all I could do was stand strait up and try to keep from falling backwards to the ground. 

I reached around with my right hand and jammed my fingers into the back of my right hamstring. It felt like a LaCrosse ball in the back of my leg. It took at least three minutes before the muscle released, and I began to walk with caution. I had to take a few steps and stop, and repeat until the process turned into a jog. At the next aid station I sucked down as many electrolytes as I could before my last push to the end.

My pace slowly picked back up without the debilitating cramp returning, which allowed a ton of enjoyment the last quarter of a mile on the run. I let the small tiny dot go, and began to really soak in the finish. Crossing that Ironman distant finish line was personally the most rewarding one compared to any others.

This was a day packed with many emotions from excitement to pain, to frustration and thought, to focus and busting through obstacles, to finally being overcome by joy.

Jimmy Valvano said it right in his speech at the 1993 ESPY’s, “Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day. Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought. Number three is, you should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy. But think about it. If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that’s a full day. That’s a heck of a day.”

A couple weeks post Ironman Texas one of The Minions named Pearl wanted to show me her bike riding skills prior to watching our animated movie. She rode up a neighborhood hill with impressive power and back down several times before coming to a stop. She looked up at me and asked, “Uncle Casey, did you win your race?” 

I knew one of The Minions would ask it.  

-The End.

Personal Notes on Race Analysis

1:15 - Swim. Lined up in the wrong spot? I couldn’t keep swimmers off my legs the majority of this swim. Tons of bumping, and grabbing for position. I remember at the half-way turn-around how tired I felt from fighting off bodies. I remember the turn into the canal and passing under the first bridge and thinking this swim should be done. I had the endurance from my swim training. I believe I just burned a lot of matches from fighting off bodies for 2.4 miles. I never found a rhythm. 

4:29 - T1. Not great, but it was fine.

5:11 - Bike. Bonked at mile 90. Felt like it took 20-miles to shake the swim off my legs. Once we hit the freeway I could see my competition on the two loop course. I measured how many minutes I was behind by marking bridges they passed under. I estimated early in the race I was about 15 minutes behind most of the top guys. I let myself get out of my race and focused on others, which was my plan. I had nothing to lose after finishing 10 previous Ironman distant races, and coming as close to one spot away from Kona Qualifying. I figured if I bonked in this race at least I bonked trying. It was super humid first three hours. Winds shifted and cam from Northwest with 40 miles to go, gusting up to at least 30+ mph. The temps went from hot and humid to actually having a wind-chill on the bike. I nailed my nutrition better than any other race on my bike. Inside of quads seized at mile 90, and there was nothing I could do but stand. Triceps locked and then I had to sit. I rotated between standing and sitting from mile 90-112.

Lap 1: 30′, 150 avg hr, 206 avg np, 79 avg c, 22.5 avg mph

Lap 2: 30′, 153 avg hr, 215 avg np, 78 avg c, 23.2 avg mph

Lap 3: 30′, 153 avg hr, 212 avg np, 73 avg c, 23.0 avg mph

Lap 4: 30′, 151 avg hr, 211 avg np, 74 avg c, 22.5 avg mph

Lap 5: 30′, 151 avg hr, 211 avg np, 72 avg c, 21.8 mph

Lap 6: 30′, 150 avg hr, 207 avg np, 73 avg c, 22.8 mph

Lap 7: 30′, 149 avg hr, 204 avg np, 72 avg c, 23.2 mph

Lap 8: 30′, 147 avg hr, 196 avg np, 69 avg c, 20.2 mph (heading into bonk)

Lap 9: 30′, 146 avg hr, 179 avg np, 71 avg c, 17 mph (bonk)

Lap 10: 42′, 124 avg hr, 152, avg np, 70 avg c, 16.4 avg mph (quit)  

21:56 - T2. This was not the plan. 

3:18 - Run time. Topped best IM run time since my first one; a 3:23 in 2010 at Ironman Wisconsin. Finally shed that wait off my back.

Lap 1: 1:32, 142 avg hr, 7:18/mile pace. (I could have increased my hr closer to 150, but constantly ought off cramps t try and keep moving forward w/o my legs locking up).

Lap 2: 1:43, 139 avg hr, 7:50/mile pace (this includes miles 25 through 26.2 where I stood motionless for a while, recovered and pretty much jogged it into the finish).

10:11:32 my overall time. 33rd in ag. What’s crazy is I was 45′ from a KQ slot since it seems a lot of ringers showed up for this ‘North America Championship’. Honestly, my perfect race I would have been close to a 9:30, maybe a little faster, or maybe a little slower, but very close to a 9:30. Finishing, and overcoming, was a much better experience than having my perfect race and finishing several minutes away from a Kona Qualification. There’s a silver lining in everything. It’s all about perspective.

Why didn’t I have the race I planned? I conclude it comes down to little things adding up to a great day or a poor day.  There were a lot of little things in my prep for this race that exposed my weakness on the bike.

The little things

I only rode outside a couple times leading up to IMT. Knocking it out on my trainer using power is almost always better than riding outside. No stop lights, no traffic, never stop peddling, uninterrupted sets, safer, etc. But, I needed a couple more solid rides outside simply to train other muscles like balancing muscles to fight wind.

I didn’t have much acclamation to humidity leading up to this race. I took the hot baths, saunas, but not enough of them. Through most of the morning on race-day it was 90 + % humidity, and very warm.

I didn’t get in one open-water swim. I’m not big on needing many open water swims. If you can swim, well, you can swim! But, there is a benefit to getting in the open water, similar to riding outside enough to get your muscles used to the elements again.