On April 9th at 4:00 a.m. in the desert of Arizona, I awoke for what would be the hardest physical day of my life. The rest of the house was dark as my brother and his family lay asleep. I ate my carefully calculated breakfast as the house lay silent and still. I double-checked my equipment, then checked it again as the sun lay dormant beneath the subtle skyline.

This is the life of a triathlete.

For the last three years, as the rest of the world lay comfortable and warm in their beds, I have trained my heart, body, soul and spirit to be strong – Ironman strong. As the rest of the world chose the easy route, I, like all other triathletes, chose the hard route. This is what we do.

It was 6:50 a.m. as I waded into the water of Tempe Town Lake amongst 2,000 other eager souls. The atmosphere was electric and my emotions were overwhelming. As I basked in the emotions of the atmosphere, I contemplated my journey. I thought about my very first open water swim just two short years prior. I thought about that cold and windy day as I arrived at the beach start of the Ogden Valley Triathlon. On that day, I was the only racer without a wetsuit and most certainly, the only racer without a clue. I barely finished the swim that day, as I nearly drowned just 20 feet from shore. Just two short years later, awaiting a swim infinitely greater in distance, I contemplated the outcome.

Just after 7:00 a.m., after a personal record swim, I exited the water and was greeted by the many family members and friends that came to the race in support of my achievements. As I ran to T1, I thought about all the people that have supported me in my efforts of becoming an Ironman, and all the people that doubted my perseverance and questioned my reasoning and sanity for seeking such a goal. I thought about the countless times someone asked me, “Why would you want to do that?” I thought about all the times I trained to prove the naysayers wrong. Most of all, I thought about my wife, and the endless support and countless sacrifices she made to help me make my Ironman dream come true.

It was 12:30 p.m. as I rode my bike on the long and hot 112-mile bike course through the Phoenix desert. The Arizona heat was climbing and my body was feeling the affects of the scorching sun. As I rode the course that day, I thought about all the training rides during the long, dark and cold winter of Utah, mostly on my stationary trainer. I thought about the six-hour training session that was my final century ride in preparation for this race. I thought about the physical and mental pain that I experienced that day. I thought about how easy this ride was in comparison to that day. I thought about my first triathlon where I rode a borrowed a mountain bike that I had never ridden before. Most of all, I thought about my progress since that day and how much my life had changed in those two years.

As I approached the second transition, I was again greeted by family members and friends that had come to support me in what they thought was an impossible task. The love and support expressed by them that day was overwhelming.

As I left T2, I embarked on the first marathon of my life. Yes, until that point, I had never run a marathon. During the first few miles, I was elated at my progress and celebrated my preparation for the race. I was confident that my training had paid off and my fitness was appropriate for the distance. Then, like a bolt of lightning, my situation went from great to grim. All of a sudden, the desert heat took its toll, resulting in massive muscle cramps that sent me to the ground writhing in pain. This is when my dreams and romance with Ironman met reality. From this point forward, Ironman was no longer a stranger. At that moment, I was staring Ironman in the face, and I didn’t recognize him. I thought he’d have softer features and a soft encouraging voice: “You can do it!” Well, I met the real Ironman that day and he was a stranger to me. I knew nothing about him and he cared little for me.

As my muscles contracted in gripping pain, I pulled myself off the ground and continued my marathon march. As time passed, my condition worsened, yet I had over 20 miles remaining in my journey. Miles passed and the sun fell slowly beneath the southern skyline.

At approximately 7:53 p.m., after I had been racing for 12 hours and 53 minutes, I approached the finish line and could hear the voice of Mike Riley anointing the title of Ironman to those who crossed the line before me. I knew my three-year journey was coming to an end as soon as I heard those words I had dreamed of for so long: “Ben Nadolski, you are an Ironman!”

To this day, people ask me, “Why do you train for triathlon? Why do you pack a lunch when there is free pizza in the break room? Why do you smell like chlorine every morning? When did one beer become too much? Why do you shave your legs? Why do you wear spandex in public?” The answers to these questions are prophetically simple, yet emphatically difficult to convey.

To be overly simplistic, triathlon makes me a better person, husband, friend, brother, son, uncle, and eventually, triathlon will make me a better father. Before triathlon, my daily life consisted of lazily climbing out of bed, going to work, overeating, drinking beer, watching TV, and staying up late, only to repeat the same self-destructive cycle the next day.

Today, triathlon has helped me gain control of not only my weight and health, but also my life. As a result of triathlon, I’m better able to cope with the daily rigors of life and able to appreciate the life that I have. Triathlon has changed my philosophy on life to reflect that of a spiritually happy, successful, energetic and passionate person. Everyday, I see, do, and learn things that just three years ago I would have thought impossible. Each and every day, I make progress in my life. Each and every day, I make a difference, not only in my life, but also in the lives of others.

Today, as my spirit lies peaceful and content in its accomplishments, my heart remains anxious – anxious to experience the feeling of becoming an Ironman again. As my heart yearns for the means to describe my spirit’s journey, it is consciously anticipating my future Ironman journeys,, specifically the 2007 Ironman Coeur d’ Alene.

In this small town near a calm, quiet lake, my heart will rise again. In 2007, my quest to become a repeat Ironman will begin. This time, my heart bears no wounds and my spirit brings no baggage. For triathlon is a journey of one’s spirit and Ironman is a test of one’s heart.

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As an overweight fourth grader I learned one important lesson from dodge ball class– keep moving or you’re going to get clobbered. Things have changed in the twenty years since those days of eating glue and wearing ‘husky’ jeans. Now I’m a grown man with a few children of my own but when I was doing my first triathlon this past weekend I had to dive deep into my mental rolodex and pull out that memory in order to survive- “keep moving or you’re going to get clobbered”.

–Let me assuage the fears of all those who have not ever competed in a triathlon, there are no bullies and rubber balls on the course. However there was an abundance of work nerves and even a hint of pain.
Prior to the start of the race everything was rosy. My fellow racers were kind and offered encouraging words to myself and other ‘newbies’. This helped a great deal in calming nerves and overcoming pre-race jitters. Finding the registration area and transition area were easy enough, and once all my equipment was placed and the start time began to approach, my pulse quickened.

I’ve never been much for swimming- preferring the doggy paddle to any other stroke- yet the buzz in the air and the adrenaline flowing through my goose bump covered body made this first leg seem to simply fly by! A few short minutes later it was out of the pool and into the transition area. Funny how simple tasks like putting on shoes can be so simple every morning at 8 AM as one gets ready to go to work, yet after a four minute swim the task rivals juggling chainsaws in difficulty. My advice for first timers: sit on the ground- it made a world of a difference for me.

The bike and the run are still a fuzzy blur. While I can’t recall too many details one re-occurring theme is very clear in my memory- how awesome the other athletes are. I say awesome not simply because they flew by me like a train would pass awestruck sheep in the field, but they were awesome because as they flew by me almost everyone shouted out words of encouragement. Here they are my competition, my opponents for lack of a better term, and yet they attempted to buoy me up and inspire me to continue. My hat is off to all who offer such encouragement during a race. I never would have expected this type of behavior but it was great. In fact, this single act is what is inspiring me to continue to train and compete. I want to help out a first-timer by offering words cheering them on just as others did for me. Of course in order to get to that point I’ll have to learn how to get my bike to go faster than 2 mph!

After what seemed like a week or so, the bike portion concluded and once again I found myself in the peaceful transition area. With the wonderful aroma of fresh flowers and the sun peaking over the mountains I thought ‘this is a great scene. I’d like to just sit here for a few days. Let’s just go ahead and call it good’. Then came the dodge ball imagery. There is no triumph in quitting. The crowds do not cheer for those who surrender. So I side stepped the rubber ball of fatigue and began to trot out to the running course.

By this time my legs were shot. I had trained for a few days prior to the race. I had swam the competition distance (mostly doggy paddle). I had biked the race distance. I had run the mileage. Never had I done them consecutively, and now I was paying the price. While my first 18 minute mile –only slightly exaggerating- may have looked great it felt horrible. The second was similar but had the pleasant surprise of volunteers handing out water. Not only did they provide much needed fluids but they also cheered on the racers and helped me once again dodge that speeding ball of fatigue and continue racing.

The end of the run –also my favorite part of the event- was especially exciting. While I only had a small group of friends and family at the event when I approached the finish area and the announcer read my name to the crowd- which is an amazing feeling and one that should inspire everyone to compete at least once- the entire audience cheered me home. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t the first racer across the line. I was a finisher. On that day I was a triathlete and they respected that. I was proud of what I had done. I then stood side by side with the other finishers and cheered on the racers who crossed the finish line after me.

I went into the event thinking it would be tough. I returned home that afternoon realizing that the sport was not tough. IT IS GRUELING! But it is also uplifting. For me it was an opportunity to meet new people, to push myself harder than I thought I could and to simply get outside and play. Some athletes go to win, some to compete, some simply to finish. I’m sure my goals will change as the weeks pass. But looking back I say ‘great job’ to everyone who was there and I hope to see you at the next event. I feel myself remembering that encouraging slogan I learned back in elementary school: “If at first you don’t succeed- Tri, Tri again”.

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