Athletics
breaks barriers; barriers we may have never noticed existed. We may not
have built a particular wall between 'us' and 'them', but until we have
the opportunity to recognize such a wall exists, as small or as big as
it is, do we find out how similar we are. "Finisher" has no age, sex,
race, denomination or disability attached to it. Anyone that crosses
the finish line of an Ironman within 17 hours has earned the right to
call themselves an Ironman.
Rod trains and races by feel; he has the patience, discipline and
attention to detail to notice how his new pair of Sauconys, with an 8 mm
heel-to-toe drop, are working different muscles, higher in his calves
and up through the thighs. He very accurately estimates pace on the run
and speed on the bike without a heart rate monitor, stop watch or GPS.
Rod can judge distance and space by listening, whether it's entering a
new room or on a run with someone. Fourteen mile treadmill runs and
mile long swims are the norm as he builds up his training for Ironman
Wisconsin. His resume reads something like this: 3 sprint triathlons,
an Olympic triathlon, 2 half marathons, a 30k, 3 marathons and a half
Ironman. His goal for Ironman has always been the same; "have a good
time and enjoy the day," a modest goal for an athlete who generally
places in the top 10 of his age group. Recently, at the Denver
Triathlon, Rod chose to talk with friends and enjoy his beer over
running on stage and collecting his award when his named was called. He
was the only person in his division for the race, so he modestly
described it as getting "first and last at the same time." When he and I
crossed the finish line of the Denver Triathlon, we were greeted by the
man handing out medals. He put one over Rod's head then turned to me
to give me one to which I commented "I don't think I get one" and before
the man with the medals could respond, Rod offered me his.
Rod was born blind; he can't tell you the difference between the color
red and green, but if you ask him how to brew your own beer he could go
in to great detail of each step. He owns his own home, washes clothes,
makes food and does yard work. The more time I've spent and
corresponded with Rod the more I've realized that there are very few
differences between us. He enjoys the rush of running, biking and
training. He feeds off the enthusiasm and excitement of a crowd during a race as
they cheer him on, all the same as me or anyone else that competes.
The only "differences" I've been able to find between us are based on
necessity; he prefers metal cups/spoons so he can feel how hot or cold the
liquid is inside of it. When filling a cup or glass he uses the tip of
a finger to gauge how full the cup is. These "differences" have
nothing to do with being an athlete, competing or training. Rod is very
gifted yet very modest, if you have computer issues, he can help; he's a
problem solver and analytic. Many of our conversations are talking
race strategy. I've been boring him for months talking about the
Ironman bike course and something new I noticed while riding it. We've
discussed how many hills we think we can use the weight and momentum of a
tandem to roll up and how many hills we will have to suck it up and
climb in what he calls the 'Granny Gear'. We talk cadence, taking
advantage of the flats, heart rate and how many peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches to pack in our special needs bags for race day. If you are
lucky enough to spend time with Rod you soon forget any differences you
may have thought existed. In my case after the Denver Triathlon, I
asked him if he preferred red or green grapes. He joked about the color
and as I figured he would, offered an accurate description of the
difference between the two tastes, sweet and sour.
If you mention that you're training for Ironman you get varied
looks of surprise, astonishment, and encouragement. When I tell them
that I'm not actually doing Ironman, that I'm training to guide a blind
athlete, the look goes somewhat to confusion; followed by a curious
"How's that work?" Guiding an athlete doesn't require any special
training, it really only takes confidence and your willingness to ask
questions. Different athletes prefer different amounts of information.
I've guided for one athlete who preferred a lot of information about
the terrain as we ran; crack up, crack down (referring to larger
differences in height between sidewalk squares), man-hole cover, rocks. .
. other athletes just want the big picture only pointing out more
drastic changes like an upcoming sidewalk ramp. For guiding a triathlon
the biggest change for me is the bike. I'd never ridden a tandem let
alone be a captain (tandem speak for sitting in the front) of one. Each
phase of riding a tandem has its own nuances and things to be aware of;
starting in sync and getting clipped in, stopping - unclipping and
biggest of all weight distribution when cornering. There's a certain
amount of finesse that's needed to use the stoker's (tandem speak for
person in the back) weight to help with corners instead of fighting
against it. The Denver Triathlon greatly helped with my confidence as
the bike course was a triple loop that had multiple tight turns
including a 180 degree U turn on a two lane road. Rod and I also
participated in the Horribly Hilly Hundreds, which provided me much
practice at the down hills. For a race like the Ironman there has to be
a level of comfort between athlete and guide and through conversation,
email and time spent together I feel Rod and I have achieved that. I
keep him posted on my runs, race results and training to continue to
calm him about my abilities and he lets me know how his training is
going. Rod's goal, as previously mentioned, is to have a good time and
enjoy the day. Mine has always been to train hard enough that he
doesn't have to carry me across the finish line.
