Tomorrow night, I’m getting on a plane and heading for Tempe, Arizona, because on Sunday, my dad is going to attempt his first Ironman triathlon.
Ironman competitions are brutal: a 2.4 mile swim, followed by 112 miles on the bike, and then, y’know, just a marathon (26.2 miles of running). To earn the title, you must finish in 17 hours. (I’m not sure I have the endurance to WATCH TV for 17 hours, much less push myself physically like that, for more than half an ENTIRE DAY.)
My dad, however, is a rockstar. When I told him I was going to run the LA Marathon in 2010, he offered to run it with me. (And he did, and his company was invaluable.) He has been training diligently for the past year, sometimes upwards of 20 hours a week. (There is a very funny — but containing not-safe-for-work language — video about Ironman training here.) He has coaches, and he does what they say. He is ready.
I find what he has done, and what he is about to do, so impressive and inspiring. He’s 54 and probably in the best shape of his life. He is going into this challenge with excitement, a great roll-with-the-punches attitude, and the knowledge that he has prepared and now the time has come to do this awe-inspiring thing. It’s going to be incredible.
I love you, Dad! You’re my hero. Go get ’em.