Remembering the Ironman . . . Part 4 of 1,000,000

MARATHON: –noun
1. a foot race over a course measuring 26 mi. 385 yd. (42 km 195 m).
2. any contest, event, or the like, of great, or greater than normal, length or duration or requiring exceptional endurance


"Exceptional endurance . . ." That, my friends, is no joke. In the Ironman, I completed my first marathon.

First some background: when I was sixteen I tore my MCL and after surgery, 2 months in a cast and 6 months of physical training was told that there were certain activities that I would never be able to do: skiing and running. To make a long, loooooong, story short, I tore my MCL twice since then and doctors have always said the same thing: don't run. And, although at the time I had never even thought about running, hearing the words "do not" simply made me say "why the hell not? What do you 'doctors' know anyway?" (yeah, I realize that attitude is very '15 year old, hormonal teenager' but, never fear, I'm getting more than my share of payback from my own 15 year old hormonal teenager!!) Anyway, really, you see those guys in the NFL blow an ACL or MCL and get back out there a few weeks later, so it clearly could be done. I was not satisified to accept this silly diagnosis of "do not run." At first I rebelliously ran -- but wore my mammoth, jointed knee brace just to be safe. But a brace was uncomfortable so a few years ago, I decided to throw away the brace and take my chances. Two years ago, my orthopaedist told me that I needed surgery. I was not willing to accept that in order to continue they lifestyle that I wanted that I would have be in and out of stupid knee surgeries and physical therapy. I told my doctor that I would take my chances and that I was not going to have another surgery, I was not going to do physical therapy and I was not going to stop running. What I WAS going to do was to learn how to run properly, to strengthen my legs to protect my joint and to learn to listen to my body. And, through the years, I think I have accomplished that(knock, knock, KNOCK on wood!!!!) Although, on every run, no matter how long or short, the words "do not run" sit in the back of my mind causing me to question whether I can accomplish my goals. And, I still have knee issues -- it slips out now and then, it swells and it gets sore. But, that's life. I've accepted that I will never be the fastest runner and I still refuse to wear a brace. Which may or may not be stupid. But, then again, I also refused to accept the idea that I couldn't run. And, that was not stupid because now, I am an Ironman. So, perhaps, that gives you an idea of why this portion of the Ironman meant so much to me -- and why I was so fearful as I headed out of T2.

As I took the first few steps onto the run course, I was surprised at how good my legs felt. They really felt fresh and I was actually happy to be running instead of on the bike. The crowd around the transition area is immense so you get a lot of encouragement as you begin. And, having your name on your bib really helps A LOT. Specatators call you by name and personalize their support. "Cyndi! Look at you! You look great!" "Oh, man, Cyndi! I can see it! You want this, girl! Go get it!" "You're looking so strong, Cyndi! You've got this!" All these comments (and many more!) were said by people I didn't even know. People who had been out there for hours upon hours simply to motivate and encourage all of the athletes. They weren't there simply to see the "show" that the pros would put on. They were there for us. The ordinary guys and girls working our asses off to cross that finish line. The people who live along the course had turned their homes into house parties, playing music, shouting, yelling and running along side a lot of the runners. It was truly unbelieveable.

















The IMFL run course consists of two loops and I was lucky to start my first loop in the daylight. Between mile 0-8, I felt really strong. Around mile 9, I started to waver. All I could think about was seeing the smiling faces of my kids at the turnaround that starts the second lap. As I counted down the miles that would take me to the 1/2 way point, I became more and more excited about seeing their faces. I needed a high five from my Booger. A smile and kiss from my Kelsey. A shoutout from Nick and some strong "girls' rock" mojo from my sweet Kyle. But as I headed down the chute toward the turnaround point I saw my husband standing there -- but not one of my kids. I ran by yelling "Where are my kids?" He shouted back that his parents had taken them to the expo. Um, what?? I headed into the run special needs area and tried to focus my mind on getting everything I would need for the run. But I couldn't. I was starting to cry -- and I don't cry. I wanted my kids. I ran out of the special needs area with 1/2 the amount of gel and food that I needed and stopped dead in my tracks to talk to my husband. I was beginning to cry and asking where my kids were, again. I told him how much I needed them and how hard this was and then I ran off with tears in my eyes.

For the next two miles I ran/walked while trying to hold back tears. I couldn't think of my nutrition or my hydration. I didn't think of pace. I simply -- well -- I simply pouted. Ridiculous, isn't it? I was doing a freakin' Ironman and throwing a tantrum!!! What the hell?!? Let's just say I was delirious. I mean, it wasn't my husband's fault. He explained to my inlaws that the only thing I wanted was to see my family every time I came through transition. But, his family overruled him because they thought I'd be tired -- too tired to even realize whether the kids were there or not so they took them to the museum, to dinner and then back to the hotel to chill out. UGH! Even writing that makes me mad all over again! All I asked for was their faces -- for 5 flippin' minutes. But, I also realize that his parents didn't do this on purpose. They have no idea what this ordeal entails and, despite my specific request to have the kids there, they thought they were helping. They never would have taken them back to the hotel if they had any idea of how much it would hurt me -- or how much it would affect my "mental" state during the race.

Anyway, at mile 16 or so, I finally got my head together and faced the fact that I could either finish this race pouting and angry or I could focus my energy into finishing this race strong and realizing that in the long run, this moment of sadness would mean nothing compared to the joy of finishing the Ironman. So, I began to run again. And I continued on, as it got dark, for the next few miles. I saw Karen again and got a hug as she was heading into the last few miles before the finish. She looked amazing! I saw Grandison, looking strong and beautiful as she glided along in the run. I missed Susie Q passing me but I'm sure she was in the "zone" -- uh, Susie, maybe a little too far into the "zone"! :D Lynn and Anna, Deanna L and Deanna B, and then, Carmen. Seeing her on the race course just makes me happy! She gave me the last hug that I got before I headed into the last few miles and it carried me all the way through the finish. Thanks, CH!

I should mention that I had a great running "buddy" from mile 20ish until the finish. I don't know his name but he was some guy who had done 2 Ironman's in the past. IMFL was the first one he'd ever done, as well. It was great having someone to talk to as I tried to take my mind off the last few miles. My legs were killing me. Every muscle in my legs hurt. My ankles, my achilles, my quads. Everything. My feet were so terribly blistered but I didn't want to stop because I knew that starting again would be so much worse. In the back of my mind I was worried about my knee. It was shifting a lot and I just tried to keep my form so that I wouldn't put it in a position that would cause it to go out from under me. But, being tired made keeping "good" form very difficult. As my "buddy" and I ran, he told me how good it would feel to cross that finish line and that is really what helped me through those last miles.

Right before we turned to make that last 1/4 mile stretch to the finish line, he stopped me. He said, "Make sure to go slow. Take it in. It goes too fast. Remember it. It's your first." Then we made the turn and saw the crowd that leads you into the finish. As we started down the finisher's chute, he let me go ahead and live the moment of my first Ironman. I remember this man reaching his hand out from the sidelines and screaming, "You did it! You did it, Cyndi! Yeah! You did it!!" I high fived his hand with a huge smile on my face and was taken aback by the emotional moment I was sharing with this stranger who at that moment seemed so much more like a friend. A few yards up, I heard my son's voice yell. Just a single voice in that huge crown yelling "YEAH!!! YEAH!!!! YOU DID IT!!" and I was able to turn right to him and find him within the crowd of people. His smile and the look of joy on his face will be in my heart forever. God, he looked so proud of me . . Before I could run to him to give him a hug, he took off running to let everyone else know I was coming into the finish.

As I came upon the finish line, a bunch of people were in front of me and one woman was smiling and almost crying with pride. In my head I thought, "Oh, what a nice lady!!" Then I realized it was my sister!!! She was in the finisher's chute and was going to run with me into the finish. We clasped hands as we ran toward the finish line. As she went on and on about how proud she was, I heard those words through the crowd . . . "Cyndi Dambacher, YOUR ARE AN IRONMAN!" And I was across the line and in the arms of my family and friends.

I was so happy when I crossed the line that my family said it was like I was drunk! I hugged the woman who gave me my medal. I hugged the man who gave me my tinfoil blanket. I hugged my in-laws, my nephews, my husband and my children. And then I saw Coach G. and I hugged her with all the appreciation, thanks and love in my heart -- for believing in me, inspiring me and allowing me to see that my dreams were within my reach.

I couldn't believe it. I was an Ironman. Wait, I AM an Ironman. This may not mean much to those who have never heard of this sport. But that's okay with me. It should be a secret. A secret gift that only those who are willing to fight for it can have. It is, indeed, a gift -- and the sacrifice, pain and dedication it took to get here was worth it just to experience every, wonderful, exhilerating moment on this journey.

Next up: Reflection . . . and the tattoo!