Not much to say

I haven’t posted in awhile because I haven’t been able to  think of anything interesting to write. Several weeks ago I gave up after after three paragraphs, bored with the words on the screen.

It’s not like I haven’t been doing much: In August I traveled to Copenhagen, for the second time this

summer, both on the behalf of Ossur, my prosthetics sponsor. This time it was just a little sprint triathlon on a Thursday night—400m swim, 18k bike, 4k run. To warm up I swam the course, reverse direction, and midway through I floated on my back a bit and thought about my good fortune to be getting paid to float on my back.

One hour and two minutes later the race was over and in that short time two “for the first time ever”s transpired. I always always always pass more people on the bike than pass me; not this time (rented road bike vs the other aero bikes probably played a role). I always always always get passed by more people on the run than I  pass; not this time. Can’t really explain this one. I ran 7:01 min miles, nothing crazy.

This little race was part of a bigger weekend of racing: there’s a fairly new Ironman-distance series call the “Challenge Family,” with races in Europe and a few other places. I was asked to address the 2200 athletes at Challenge Copenhagen over the PA system while they buzzed around the swim/bike transition at 6:45am, minutes before they started their 140.6-mile day—226 kilometers in their world.

I pretty sure not a single athlete paid attention. I was told the the media would be listening… Here’s what I had to say.

It’s gonna be a great day people, a great day indeed. There shall be pain and you shall like it!

You know, there was once a time you’d be considered god-like for completing the marathon. That wasn’t very long ago. Well, the ante has been raised, my friends. The head table once reserved for marathoners now requires an Ironman finish: 226 is the new 42!

In your pursuit of this head table you have logged many, many hours in training. You have sacrificed your free time, your vacations and your kids’ soccer games. This year all of your Monday mornings have been spent in the pool, your Saturdays on the bike and your Sundays on the run. All for the sake of today’s finish line.

There are more than 2200 of you competing today and something like 1000 of you are first-timers. Bravo to you, marching off into this world of relative unknown.

You first-timers are very brave men and women. You are young and you are old and you may or may not be experienced in the swim or the bike or the run but you have yet to put them all together for 12….or maybe 17…straight hours, and yet you are not afraid. You are ready!

Each of you has a different goal today. Some of you will be earnestly racing each other while most will be competing against yourselves, aiming for a certain time goal that you, or maybe your coach, have chosen. And, undoubtedly, there are a few of you who will be racing the 17-hour cut-off itself.  You are the bravest of all. I commend you.

Each of you has also had your own unique challenges in preparing for today, some of these challenges have been monumental!

Many of you have struggled just to find the time. That…is…by…far the biggest obstacle age-groupers face, finding those extra 20 hours in the week. Extra really doesn’t define those hours, does it? I mean, there’s really no such thing as extra time. It really does boil down to sacrificing something, or, more accurately, sacrificing lots of things. The sacrifices you must make present an enormous challenge. And, again, I commend you.

Many of you have battled through injuries during your preparation. The pain your backside feels on your long rides is nothing compared to the problems your knee or your back or your shoulder has been giving you. You’ve spent more time with your physiotherapist than your spouse!

And therein lies another major obstacle. Maintaining healthy relationships is a notoriously huge and very real challenge Ironman triathletes face. I ask you: what’s more important that your loved-ones? That’s right: nothing! And yet we chose, and they allow, time apart for you to complete this very important goal. I commend them, also.

Many of you have doubted yourselves and felt an on-going concern for not training as much as you feel you should have, for whatever multitude of reasons there are for not finding the time. That’s very typical and that’s nothing to feel guilty about; life gets in the way of training. That’s the way it is. And yet you’re here to race. That’s just awesome.

And all of you have subjected yourselves to these rigors because you crave the experience—whether it’s your first or your 21st Ironman—you crave the glory of the finish line and all the wonders it brings with it. The emotions, the pride and the message it sends to those around you. The limitless feelings of accomplishment that will overwhelm you are only achieved through this effort: you can’t buy them, you can’t borrow them, nor can you win them in the lottery. You must pay your dues to sit at this table. That is why we compete in extreme endurance events: because it is the only way to know our limits. It’s the only way to eliminate the self-doubt. It’s the only way to know who we really are.

Show me an Ironman triathlete and I’ll show you a person of integrity. Show me all those who dare complete this distance and I’ll show you the world’s finest individuals. They know no excuses. Their beauty lies in their willingness to push beyond the pain to find the beauty in the pain itself. This is where we discover ourselves and nothing in this world is more comforting that knowing our mental fortitude.

To those of you who reach the finish line today, it will be an honor to have you at our table. I am extremely proud of the Ironman badges that I wear and I’m confident that you will be also.

So, I wish you good luck today in your pursuit of this finish line…226 kilometers away.

And remember:

I har fortjent smerten I dag. Nyd den.
(EE har forCHENT SMERTin ee day. NOO den.)
[You have earned your pain today. Enjoy.]

Not sure how many understood my Danish either…

A couple weeks later I headed back to Oregon to run the Hood to Coast on behalf of The Hartford, that fabulous company that’s been so good not only to me, but also to every US Paralympian. A bit to write about here, I suppose.

Hood to Coast is a 197-mile, 12-person relay run. The team splits up into two “vans” of six; we were Van 2, I was the first leg of Van 2, which meant I was first to run after the Van 1 runners each completed their first legs. One-legged stud Jeff Glasbrenner handed me the baton.

I ran my 6 miles then got in a van with six other soon-to-be-smelly men. After our assignments we dispatched to a hotel room in downtown Portland where we all showered and then (despite telling myself I wouldn’t) ate way too much food at the fancy steak house they sent us to for dinner.

A few hours later I ran with a still-bloated belly at 11pm in pitch-darkness with a broken headlamp up and down steep hills that were lit up only by the support vehicles that would come by every 30 seconds or so. (Frankly, since I’m always focused on where my feet are striking—stiff ankle lends to hyperextension of the knee if I step on something funny—it was both liberating and exhilarating to run blindly downhill!). The downside of running sub-6s on a steep downhill is that the leg turnover is fast, the impact is violent, the prosthesis gets sloppy and I tore a large, deep blister into Stumpie, which rendered the remaining two miles a difficult charge. When I pulled over to the van to first view the damage, a teammate said he’d take over the rest of my run.  I said, “Shut the f**k up!” Then I said, “Sorry…just a bit amped up right now.”  He said, “I’d have said the same thing.”
(Well, maybe I do have a few things to say.)

Then back in the van for a little off-and-on shut eye while my vanmates ran their designated sections. Many hours later, as my last leg (that’s what the segments are called, not my fault) approached, I told the others there was a very slim chance I’d be able to run. Of course, everyone volunteered to share the duty. Yet, when my number was up, I felt I should at least give it a go.

It began with the hop-skip technique—hop on the good leg and swing the blistered one forward—it’s all about not bending the knee and reducing the impact as much as possible. Soon I was in a little groove, Stumpie stop complaining quite so much and I was able to run leg-over-leg, normal style, albeit very slowly. The uphill sections were easier and the downhill sections were tough, but, thankfully, it was a fairly flat leg. Those final four miles took 45 minutes. Like most things in life, the tough ones are the ones we’re proud of.

Oh yeah, one more thing. Sharon and I teamed up for an off-road duathlon in Tabernash, CO, a couple weekends back and took first in the relay division, beating the men’s teams!  Full disclosure: I think there were 5 teams…

Like I said earlier, I don’t have much to say so I’ll wrap it up with this: Last month I received a call from the US Paralymipcs. They were in need of filling a spot on the US Olympic Committee’s Athlete Advisory board. It was an honor to be asked and I’m now the AAC’s Paralympic Cycling representative, a volunteer position. My first meeting was this past weekend in Colorado Springs at the Olympic and Paralympic Assembly. (It was a thrill to spend time with athlete reps from every Olympic Sport. I shared the dinner table with speed walking, speed skating, team handball, figure skating, bowling and curling; what a diverse crew!)  I walked in on Friday knowing next to nothing and left on Saturday night with some direction, feeling not only incredibly blessed to represent my fellow athletes, but motivated to advocate on their behalf.

Perhaps not having anything to say is good… As always, thanks for taking the time.

A quick trip to Copenhagen…to run a marathon!

“Would you like to run the Copenhagen Marathon? We’ll pay all expenses and give you a little something for your time.”  My long-time prosthetics sponsor, Össur, posed this question to me six weeks ago. My immediate reply: “I’d love to, but I’ve got plans that weekend: on Thursday my 45-year old sister graduates from nursing school back in Boston and I’m bringing my mother back with me to Colorado on Saturday. And most importantly, I’ve got great U2 tickets for their Denver show on Saturday night!”

I tell my wife, Sharon, of the offer and she immediately has the solution (I’m ever-so-thankful that she always does!): “You go run your marathon, I’ll pick up your mother from the airport…and I’ll go to the show with Cathy!”

Other than missing what would be sure to be one of the greatest shows I’d ever get a chance to experience, the plan had no holes.

At seven the next morning I ran a 12-miler before joining the family at Jack’s 9am Saturday morning soccer game. Had they kept score, it would’ve been like 10-1.

The following Saturday I knocked off a 14-miler (between long runs were managed one 50-minute treadmill run, one lunchtime pick-up game of hockey, one late-night league game, and one 75-minute bike ride with Hawk and Luke asleep in the Burley), ending at the soccer field to witness Jack’s 10 o’clock team schooling.

Saturday #3 witnessed a relatively successful 17-mile run en route to soccer (maybe a total of three goals in three games). The next day I had the beginnings of a boil on Stumpy.

MRSA (known as “mersa”)—that haunting SOB who’s taken up residence in my immune system for the last five years—decided to make another showing atop my fibular head (the bony prominence at the top of the fibula, just below the knee to the outside). In my case, MRSA manifests itself as boils. These topical infections of this skin are extremely tender and when you are forced to bear 162 pounds on them with every step, they’re simply agonizing. I walked for the next few days since the nastiness wasn’t full blown nasty just yet, and even managed to play hockey Wednesday night with the help of a couple pain killers. Then I spent some days on crutches.

What? You advise that maybe I should’ve taken up the crutches earlier? Save it. I’m really, truly not interested in your opinion. (Is it obvious that nearly 20 years of unwarranted advice has worn on me?)

I was cool with crutching it for a few days before the weekend’s long run. Saturday came and I was still on crutches. Sunday, no crutch, but no can run either. Moving right along, I couldn’t manage more that 30 minutes on the treadmill, nor the road, nor the itty-bitty indoor track at the gym for the next three weeks. The boil didn’t hang out for too long but the residual hole took much longer than anticipated to heal and even when the skin completely covered it, I was left with a needling sensation that just wouldn’t quit. Six days before the race I had to bail after a quarter mile…

When I first accepted the offer, I figured with five or six long runs and some good mid-week training I’d be able to muster a 3:45 marathon, maybe a 3:30 if the stars aligned. Due to the lack of training I resolved to a hopeful sub-four—that is, if that needle was gone. Assuringly, one thing I’ve learned racing for the last 17 years: Stumpy always comes through on Race Day!

(I should note that cycling was still quite painful, but hockey only hurt mildly when I sat on the bench! I maintained some level of fitness by skating my ass off twice a week.)

Yesterday, May 22, 2011, Stumpy shined once again!

I’ll give just a bit more backstory before moving on. Last Tuesday I flew to Boston and due to a delay in Dallas got to bed around 2am…in a hotel room that had yet to be serviced since the last visitor. The only room available, of course. Luckily this was a double and the other bed hadn’t been touched. Just bring me a clean towel!

Up at seven for a 9am presentation at The Bostonian Group, a sizable insurance brokerage just steps away from the Boston Marathon finish line. The CEO claimed it a successful delivery which left me feeling back on track. I delivered another talk that night to the employees of Athol Savings Bank, a small bank in North Central Mass.

The next day was my sister’s graduation ceremony and she had by far the biggest smile of the three hundred plus graduates in attendance! So proud of you, Elaine Woodward!!!!

The next night (after a relatively painless 30-minute run) was Elaine’s “pinning ceremony” and with her last name falling alphabetically where it does, she was second to last in this ritual. I stayed right up until the big moment, 7:30pm, then promptly leapt into the rented Suburban for my hasty trek back to Logan Airport. I arrived at the gate of my 10:55pm flight to Copenhagen 10 minutes before boarding. Slept an hour, maybe, on the flight to Denmark, via Paris. Arrived at 3pm and would be back on a plane in 34 hours! Bedded by 10pm Copenhagen time, Skyped my family and talked with my mom who was now in Colorado holding Hawk, our youngest, before getting a solid seven hours.

The Race: the plan was to go out easy—maybe 9:00-9:30 pace and see how it goes. (Let me add here that Scout Bassett, an above knee amp, was also brought in to run. She’s the coolest 4′8”, 74 pound 22-yr old UCLA Anthropology major I know! She and I started together at the gun as she set out to set a new PR.) By Mile 8 I was still feeling well in Body, Mind, and Stump. At the half-marathon point I felt I could pick it up some. By then I had stopped two, maybe three times to reboot and a couple times to dangle.

I checked my watch: elapsed time, 1:50.

It began to rain.

A few more miles, the rain had subsided, the clouds remained and the temps were back to high 60s/low 70s. A little sweat, but overall quite a comfortable conditions, on, as you may have presumed, a very flat course. Nary a hill in all of Denmark!

As is always the case, as the race progressed the dangles and reboots came with increasing frequency, but nothing terrible and nothing I haven’t experienced a thousand times (that might not be an exaggeration). With 7 miles to go I felt quite good, really started to pick it up and began passing more and more runners. With 4 miles to go I felt far better than expected and turned it up another notch. My Garmin 205 GPS noted a sub-seven minute pace, 6:45 at one glance. Couple more dangles/reboots…

Before I hit the finish line I started to fade a bit, yet I was all fired up knowing that my system could pull-off a respectable performance with such little training. As the line approached and I was about to notch a 3:49:55 marathon, I smiled and gave a little shout-out to the sweet spirit that allows such moments to transpire.

For years I put miles in the bank. Thankfully, I was able to withdraw a few on a rainy day in Denmark.

Comrades Marathon video

It’s been nearly a year since I joined Team World Vision on it’s epic journey to South Africa to run the 56-mile Comrades Marathon. I had videoed a bit of the experience and the run itself. After a couple of failed attempts to properly upload to YouTube (too big a file) then loosing it somehow—then having a third beautiful little boy!—the upcoming anniversary sparked my interest to return to iMovie and start over.

I have put three segments up on YouTube under the titles Comrades 1, Comrades 2 and Comrades 3. The last one is only 6 minutes and where you’ll get the most entertainment via suffering!  Please forgive the low-rate editing.  I hope you enjoy.

While much of my time as of late has been spent taking care of the boys (Jack 4, Luke 3, and Hawk 8 months), I have managed to find some time to swim, bike and run. Motivation has come directly from the recent inclusion of paratriathlon into the Paralympics in Rio 2016. I’m back on the National Team and will race in London in August for Paralympic promotion and, most likely, at the London 2012 Paralympics as an exhibition—non-medal event.

I’ve also been playing hockey 2-3 times a week. Our bush league team plays tonight for the Championship trophy! Wish us luck. We’re the Parking Lot Hackers!

Wishing you the best,

Paul Martin

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