On the launch pad, T-minus 5 days and counting

It is hard to believe that I am down to the final 6 days before the Ironman. Looking back, it has been a long 11 ½ months and I know I have never worked harder at anything over this length of time. Hopefully, the training is now fully in the bank and my fitness and preparation will carry the day. If I am honest, while I do have confidence in the process, I still struggle with the overwhelming nature of an Ironman triathlon. I have a hard time envisioning how I will feel getting off the bike after 112 miles, following on the heels of a 2.4 mile swim, and then contemplating starting a marathon run. This is insane. At least, I will be surrounded by a couple of thousand equally insane people.

 

My emotions are all over the place. Elation at having completed the hardest physical training I have ever done. Anxiety that it might not be enough. Excitement that the end of this journey is in sight. Apprehension that it might not end the way I would like or hope.

 

Everyone who participates in an Ironman triathlon wants to hear those iconic words as they cross the finish line, “(your name), you are an Ironman!” Perhaps even more than the medal, they serve as a final affirmation of the accomplishment, one which can never be taken away. I admit, it would be nice, no, it would be great, to hear those words following my name.

 

Two things happened this week that brought some perspective to the situation. On Thursday, I was going to do a complex breast reconstruction on a patient whose previous surgery elsewhere failed to produce an acceptable result. She is a diabetic and, at the last minute, her blood sugar, which is checked just before patients go to the operating room was 99. This is excellent but, at some time in the past, her husband had been told that she should never have surgery if her blood sugar was so low. This is actually incorrect but he took the admonition to heart and was very anxious, to the point of wanting to postpone surgery. I did not know that he had lost a son in surgery in the past. I spoke to him and reassured him that the blood sugar was fine and that she would do well. Surgeons often have to reassure patients and their families, even though we know better than most all the things that can go wrong in an operation. Later, when I went to report to him that all had gone very well, he told me that the only thing that relieved his anxiety and allowed him to see her off to surgery was that he knew I was a Christian doctor. I don’t know how he knew this; I am not outwardly expressive about my faith and I must confess that, while I routinely pray for patients, I do not often pray with them. Even so, it made realize how much faith and trust patients and their families place in us to care for them. It was a sobering realization that my identity as a triathlete pales compared to my responsibility as a surgeon and physician charged with the care of my patients, who literally place their lives in my hands.

 

The second thing occurred at a seminar my partner and I gave the next day. It was a small group and, at the back of the room, sitting by herself, was a young woman I did not recognize at first. When she raised her hand and was called on, she began to share her experience as a patient of mine of nearly a decade back. Her praise was effusive, and a little embarrassing, but it was what happened later that surprised me. At the end of the seminar, she came up to speak to me privately, sharing that she had had a very difficult life since leaving her native land of Brazil to come and find her fortune in the U.S. Here she had married, had a child, divorced, and been forced to work to support herself and her son. All along, she nursed the hope and desire to pursue a career in medicine, taking college courses whenever she could.

Over time, her desire for material wealth and success diminished even as her desire to follow her heart and become a physician increased. Along with this, her Christian faith solidified and she was now torn between accepting a great promotion, and possible career, with high pay in her current job, or pursuing medicine, which probably meant returning to Brazil and uprooting her 8 year old son. She came to me for advice on what to do. Again, when speaking with her and contemplating the momentous decision before her, the significance of this Ironman event shrank into a minor concern. I told her to follow her heart, and if this led to medicine, that was where she should go.

 

Whatever happens on Saturday, my life will be defined better by how I have related to the important people around me and not by whether I ever become an “Ironman”. The next update will probably be after November 2. It will be interesting to see what I have say then…………

The Sword of Damocles

   Although many people may recall hearing of the “Sword of Damocles”, not many remember the story behind it. According to legend, in the court of Dionysius II, King of Syracuse, Sicily in the 4^th Century, there was a courtier named Damocles. Courtiers were persons, male and female, who spent a lot of time in the King’s court. Some were nobles, some had business with the King, and some were just close friends of the King. Not sure where Damocles fit in here but apparently he commented to Dionysius how fortunate he was to enjoy all the perks of kingship. Dionysius invited Damocles to sit on his throne so that he could briefly enjoy that privilege but, unbeknownst to Damocles, Dionysius installed a huge sword over the throne, hanging by the single hair of a horse’s tail.

Eventually, Damocles could not fail to take notice of the sword, “hanging by a hair”, and could not vacate the throne fast enough. This story has been used as a morality tale about the price of privilege and power probably giving rise to the Shakespeare’s observation, in Henry IV, that “uneasy lies the head that wears a crown”. It is also used to describe the fickleness of life itself.

 

As a physician, I am reminded of the Sword of Damocles almost daily. A patient may have a nearly perfect life only to wake up one day and notice, for the first time, an unusual dark mole that has arisen, seemingly overnight.  The next thing they know, they are fighting for their life with an advanced melanoma. The number of ways in which our lives can be turned upside down, from one moment to the next, are literally endless. It could be an illness, accident, family tragedy, professional setback, financial reversal, etc. etc.

 

It has been said, probably by someone in the financial field that yesterday is a cancelled check, tomorrow is a promissory note, and only today is cash in hand. I agree, and I try to remember that when making future plans, even though it can be difficult not to count on tomorrow, and the next day, and so on, as though these are guaranteed to us. They aren't.

 

  I have been running in the neighborhoods around my house for the past 25 years. I have been approached by countless dogs with never a problem. I like dogs and do not believe I project fear when I am approached. There was one dark morning, before sun up, years ago. I was jogging when a large dark shadow came running toward me and began running alongside. It was disconcerting to see a very large, full grown Doberman Pinscher. The dog made no sound, just ran right along with me for perhaps a mile than peeled off.  Well, today I finally got bit. As I passed a house in my neighborhood, two dogs ran out, one black, one white. Neither was large and both looked like some version of a wire-haired terrier. The black one ran right into me and the smaller white one bit my ankle. The bite broke the skin but was, fortunately, superficial. The owner called them away before I had a chance to kick their heads off. I continued my run- I didn't want to get side tracked since I was timing it- but went back later to inform the owner of my bite and suggest he take care with the white one as it was obviously excitable and a bite risk. He was very apologetic and, when he saw the bite, seemed sincerely upset and even suggested he might put the dog down. I suggested he just keep it better secured.

 

The irony here is that my thought this morning was that I have done the training and now all I have to do is stay healthy and uninjured for the next two weeks. If the bite had been more serious, it could very possibly have derailed 11 ½ months of training and preparation. Just goes to show we should never count our chickens or assume that our plans are going to go to completion as we hope. We still make our plans; you can’t live life without planning for the future, but we must realize that some version of the Sword of Damocles hangs over our heads all the time and all we can do is be grateful that the hair it is hanging by holds up for another day.

     For today, I dodged a bullet and will just have to hope and pray that the next two weeks are uneventful as I finally get to enjoy the wonderful aspect of training known as the “taper”.

 

** I would be terribly remiss if I did not acknowledge the arrival yesterday morning of Elliette Briley Pace, the newest member of the family, who made her grand and celebrated entrance to the delight of all the Bosshardt’s and Pace’s. Welcome Elliette! May that hair hold strong for you and all your family for many years to come.

Feeling "bouncy"

“The wonderful thing about Tiggers is Tiggers are wonderful things”- Tigger

 

The one thing I remember about Tigger, other than the fact that he was a cartoon, stuffed-cloth, tiger-like character, was that he was “bouncy”.  I recalled that fact this week when I went out for an early morning run, after a 30 minute spin on the bike, in my house, on a trainer. As I headed down the road out of our development in the early morning twilight, I felt “bouncy”, which is to say that my legs felt springy and light, and my stride felt correspondingly light and quick. It was a neat feeling and one that I do not remember ever consciously being aware of in all the years that I have run.  It was another small confirmation that the training is paying off.

 

      It has not been all a grind. The bike rides last Saturday and today were on days that could only be described as “perfect” for being on a bike: clear skies that seem too blue to be real, fleecy white clouds, light breezes, and moderate temperatures with little humidity. After a summer of the most rain we have seen in years (none of which seems to have interfered with my riding days), not only are the lake levels rising, but the countryside is every hue of green you can imagine. The rolling hills of rural Lake County have some of the best bike riding roads anywhere, with little to no traffic and surprisingly panoramic vistas, given the generally flat character of the Florida landscape.    On one of my stops for a GU gel, some Salt Sticks, and a drink, I found myself looking out over a landscape of gently rolling hills that seemed far removed from my daily life. The sun was bright and just beginning to burn off the morning chill. The only sound was the gentle buzzing drone of insects and the occasional chirp of a bird. How often is it that we take a break from the sounds of our daily life? Television, radio, iPods, traffic, machinery, etc. all produce a cacophony of sound that has become so familiar that we only notice it when it is absent. The quiet and soothing natural sounds were like a balm to my soul and I could only marvel at how lovely the day was. Riding was not a chore, it was a rare privilege.

 

 This weekend was the annual Mount Dora Bicycle Festival, an event attended by cyclists from all over Florida, and out of state, so the roads were much busier than usual with small pelotons here in there interspersed with single riders and pairs. As a long time cyclist I love riding my bike and try to promote it as much as I can. Unfortunately, some cyclists seem to go out of their way to be as obnoxious as possible, giving the rest of us a bad reputation. On one stretch of highway 561, heading back home, I could see a group of a dozen or so cyclists bearing down on me.  I knew I would be overtaken, which was fine since I had my own pace set and, besides, I had already done 70+ miles and had no interest in “hammering” at this point in my ride. I watch them approach in my rearview mirror and when they were near, I moved slightly right and raised my left hand in a friendly greeting. There was no traffic coming so the lane was clear. They passed me without a single acknowledgment and two of their group came so close that I had to swerve and for a second I thought I was going to be run off the road onto the soft shoulder. I

 wished them all flat tires and/or broken chains. Jerks.   What is it about some people that even in their recreation they have to be aggressive and obnoxious? It is this kind of macho, must win, wannnabe professional, pseudo-racing B.S. that turns off a lot of novice riders before they get comfortable riding in pace lines on the road. I think we should all encourage each other in pursuing health and fitness, not rub people's faces in their inexperience and ineptitude. Every time I see an obviously struggling, overweight man or woman out their jogging, walking, or riding a bike I try to remember, "there but for the grace of God go I" and I either wave encouragingly or, at least, utter a silent prayer for their safety and success.

 

Whatever the outcome of this triathlon, I have already begun thinking ahead, not so much to the next challenge as to what I will do with my free time. My discretionary time these past 11 months has been almost non-existent. I think it is time to hit the book again. By “book”, I mean “the book”- my  manuscript, which needs re-writing, and which I swore I would    finish this year and submit to a publisher. The latter is unlikely in this short timeframe, but the former is, possibly, doable. I just have to re-write the book and have someone accept it. No big deal.

 

For now, I will enjoy feeling “bouncy” and hope that what I have done up to now will be enough. Florida Ironman, here I come………….