“So here's the dealio.”
That was how I explained the Ironman trip.
Amanda and I would fly into Cancun early Friday, take the ferry to Cozumel, and spend a couple of days on the beach. I would race Sunday. We would head home Monday.
Simple itinerary. Less simple race.
I wrote that Ironman Cozumel would be the biggest physical challenge I had ever taken on. Much harder than the ultramarathons I had already done.
I was also hoping I would be in shape to finish by then.
The flight was booked before that question had an answer.
An Ironman joins three ordinary distances into one very long day: a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike, and a marathon. I was a strong runner and cyclist. Swimming was the problem. Earlier that summer I had finished a sprint triathlon with almost no specific training and a broken pedal. Cozumel would not let me improvise quite that much.
The race had been on my list for years. Putting flights on the calendar turned it from a future idea into something with a departure time.
Amanda was part of the plan, not only the logistics. We had already been together for years. She had watched work interrupt dinners and races take over weekends. Now we were building a beach trip around the longest race I had ever attempted.
That was a fair summary of life with me.
Fly Friday. Ferry. Beach. Race Sunday. Home Monday.
And somewhere between August and November, get into shape to finish an Ironman.