The Beginning: Part I - The Horror Crash
"The righteous man who walks with integrity; blessed are their children who follow them."
- Proverbs 20:7
I didn’t wake up one
day and decide I wanted to Swim 2.4 miles, Bike 112 miles, and then run a marathon. The
spark that started my Ironman Journey was lit by the Triathlon community, and
before I knew it that spark cultivated to a raging fire of passion. I had 12
years of influence watching my Dad and my Uncle race. I always thought they
were crazy, that I would never be capable of such a task. In my eyes, there was
something superhuman about them that I did not possess. I would go to their
Ironman events and think to myself, “These people LOOK normal… How are they
able to complete such a daunting, all day event? I’m tired just watching!” For
years I asked myself the question, “HOW?” I saw how much work my Dad put into
training every week - I would see him leave for his long training days and five
hours later he would come home and carry on with his day. It almost seemed
easy! I figured surely this sport was only for the naturally talented, because
the distances he would go just seemed inhuman. I determined that my Dad and
Uncle had some incredible endurance gene, that was clearly not passed on to me.
Over time I learned that for years I had been asking myself the wrong question.
I was asking “HOW” when I should have been asking “WHY.”
Fast forward 12
years. My Dad was improving every year at Triathlons at all distances. Instead
of getting tired of it, he became more focused, and more driven. In April of
2016, my Dad qualified for the Ironman 70.3 World Championship in Australia. He
and my Mom traveled there in September of 2016, and my Dad finished strong in his
race. It was their 30th anniversary, so they had plans to sightsee after
the race in the country where they had traveled for their honeymoon. Their
celebration ended early when they were T-Boned by a dump truck. Instead of exploring
the coast of Australia and New Zealand, they spent the next several weeks in the
hospital, where my Dad would lay in a medically induced coma while recovering
from 2 punctured lungs, a punctured diaphragm, ribs broken in 15 places, and a
broken scapula. My Mom stayed at a nearby hotel and walked to the hospital to
see him every day, with injuries and broken bones of her own.
I was living in
California when I heard the news of the accident. I hadn’t heard from them but
I figured they were just busy exploring, and the time difference made it
difficult to communicate anyways. But I received a short message from my Mom,
that they were in an accident but would be okay. My stomach dropped and I just had
this gut feeling that it was worse than she made it sound. I felt so alone and
didn’t know who to call, so I called my boss. I rushed to my office to meet her
where we called the hospital in Australia and I demanded to speak to my Dad, I
NEEDED to hear from him to know he was okay. They were able to get him on the
phone (just before they put him in the coma) and I wept uncontrollably as soon
as I heard his voice. He sounded so different. He didn’t sound like my Dad. He
sounded so weak, so quiet. I thought to myself “I can’t lose
him. He can’t die. He is so strong. He is an Ironman. He just competed in the
WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP. This can’t be happening.” And then it hit me. I thought, “if
he survives, his triathlon career is over. And that is going to crush him.” The
thought of that broke my heart. I didn’t know what to do, how to help. I was
literally on the other side of the world from them. I felt SO alone.
I went home and lay
on my couch in silence, staring at the ceiling. I felt paralyzed. I talked to a
few family members, who all assured me that it would be okay. I knew they were
just trying to be strong for me. I opened up my computer and saw that I had
tons of messages – mostly people I didn’t know – checking on my Dad, my mom, and on my sister and I.
They were members of his Triathlon Club, and people he trained with, as well as
some of their neighbors. They all wanted to help, and they all gave me words of
encouragement. I didn’t feel so alone. These people genuinely cared about my
parents, and even about me, and they didn’t even know me! I immediately had
this longing to be back in Texas, to be home. To be surrounded by the people
that loved and cared for my family.
I put in my two weeks
at work, and sold everything in my apartment. I packed up my car with all that
was left, and my dog, and headed back to Texas. I made a few stops along the
way and stayed with family friends, and arrived to my parents house 3 days
later, but they were still in the hospital in Australia. My Dad was still in a
coma, so he didn’t even know I was moving home. I walked in the front door of
their house, and the house was empty. I had secured a job before I left
California, and was to start in a few days. But I didn’t know what to do in the
meantime. I sat there in the quiet house, alone. But as soon as the word spread
that I was home, I started getting messages, and phone calls, and texts. The
doorbell would ring, and there would be neighbors and members of the Triathlon
Club standing there with food, and gifts. My Mom told me how the local triathletes
and clubs were visiting my Dad in the hospital, and sending gifts and signed
hats and water bottles from the local pros. My heart was overflowing from their
compassion and I finally felt like things were going to be okay. I could
finally sleep, and wake up without an instant, gut-wrenching feeling of panic and
worry. These strangers, the Triathlon Community, felt like family. I had always
thought of triathlons being an individual sport. You get yourself to the starting
line, and you find your way to the finish. But after 12 years, I finally
realized that it was so much more. There was a special bond these athletes shared.
The spark was lit.
"...From a tiny spark may burst a mighty flame." - Dante
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