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  When my alarm clock rattled at 4:00 A.M. on February 6, my Early Edition headline was already printed. I just didn’t know it yet. I was nervous and excited, nervous because I’d never tried something as crazy and grueling as this Ironman triathlon, and excited because . . . I’d never tried something as crazy.

  I walked onto the lanai outside the small condo. In the balmy predawn darkness, the full moon reflected Hawaii’s classic silver postcard light off the ocean. It did not feel like the beginning of a day that would take us into 100°F lava fields or me to the edge of my physical limits. It felt like another sweet morning in one of the world’s most beautiful places.

  As the moon cast her graces on me, I took a moment to reflect. I wasn’t the same girl that landed on the Big Island a few weeks before. I was stronger, more confident, and starting to know a few of the triathletes I’d first seen nearly a year before on TV. I’d learned enough about triathlon since watching the coverage of the 1981 race on Wide World of Sports—the year they moved the Ironman from Oahu to Kailua-Kona—to understand it was an ultra-endurance sport that drew a small band of crazy adrenaline junkies who got off on swimming 2.4 miles, biking 112 miles, and running 26.2 miles. The 580 competitors were true outliers, some twenty-five years before Malcolm Gladwell famously coined the term. They must have loved what they did: there was no prize money for covering those 140.6 miles, only trophies to the top five men and women.

  I got the feeling this sport was on the rise in a grassroots way, though the boost from ABC certainly helped introduce us to mainstream sports fans. But I really didn’t know much; I was almost as new to this as the viewers. I’d just broken up with my boyfriend, top-ranked triathlete Reed Gregerson, so I wasn’t under anyone’s wing. I’d already entered the race, but when Reed and I split I was left without housing for the final week in Kona. So I called race director Valerie Silk. I asked if there was a homestay, a place where someone would let me stay for free.

  As fate would have it, Valerie and I sat together on the flight from Los Angeles to Kailua-Kona. She was the best captive audience an Ironman neophyte could have. Valerie was the pioneer who secured the contract for Wide World of Sports to televise our fringe-sport race. During those five hours alongside her, did I pepper her with questions about the course, about hydrating, where the toughest sections were, what to expect? No. I really didn’t know what to ask.

  Around me, some triathletes felt like they were on the cusp of a leap forward. It wasn’t a secret club or anything, more a collection of diverse individuals bonding together, like a cool high school or college team. They shared the feeling that they were doing something no one else could do. If you were in, you were in. It wasn’t even about how fast you were, but that you would even show up and try this.

  I would become one of them. Hopefully. No, check that: I believed I would get to the finish line.

  I flashed back to Cal Poly-San Luis Obispo professor Dr. James Webb’s smiling face and recalled his words to me months before: “I can’t wait to see how this turns out.” It was hard to surprise the creator of the exercise science lab at the university (now known as the James L. Webb Human Performance Lab) about anything pertaining to exercise physiology or kinesiology. He sounded more like a kid saddling up with popcorn and a Coke, dying to watch this train wreck adventure unfold. There was a reason his words skidded through my mind: If I don’t get to the finish line, if I don’t finish this race, I don’t graduate. Studying and running the Ironman was my senior project. That’s why I was here! It felt sort of comedic in a way; I didn’t take it too seriously.

  My musing over Dr. Webb unleashed a flood of feelings and images from the whole wild, zigzagging sequence of events that brought me to this lanai in the best shape of my life, getting ready to go Star Trek. You know, go where no man has gone before. Or, in this case, a 23-year-old surfer girl from Carlsbad, California, whose athletic background consisted of joining high school sports teams to be part of the team and wear the uniform. I just wanted the atmosphere, to be near the action but without any pressure on my shoulders.

  My road to Kona started a year earlier on a cold, rainy midwinter afternoon on California’s central coast, where Pacific storms sweep through with gusto. I was stuck inside, and didn’t want to study, so I flipped to ABC’s Wide World of Sports, a Saturday TV fixture that featured a variety of sports competitions, many of them quirky. It was the flagship magazine of ABC Sports, the brainchild of legendary executive Roone Arledge, who also created Monday Night Football. Think of Wide World as an early sports version of 60 Minutes, because it inspired that format. It also inspired ESPN, which essentially replaced it. In the early years, ESPN featured many of the same wild, unheard-of sports in its round-the-clock format. It was like watching the X Games every time we viewed the show.

  The show opened with host Jim McKay’s distinctive voice, warm and assured, burnished from broadcasting thousands of sporting events. There was also a montage of images, with the words that still ring as gospel to baby boomer (and older) sports fans: “Spanning the globe to bring you the constant variety of sport. The thrill of victory . . . and the agony of defeat . . .” Then it showed Slovenian ski jumper Vinko Bogataj crumbling and falling over the edge of the jump.

  That “agony of defeat” opening image very nearly changed after the February 1982 Ironman.

  I curled up on my sofa and got comfortable. The show started with logrolling, part of an international lumberjack competition. Wide World of Sports famously introduced us to dozens of sports we never knew existed. I thought it then, as I do now: it was an incredible look into the way people use their home landscapes and love of competition to create sports that involve community and competitor alike. Imagine running a dog team through frigid tundra in the Iditarod, diving off the majestic cliffs of Acapulco, paddling through nasty ocean swells between Maui and Molokai, or playing a very rugged form of polo in Mongolia. From all cultures arise sports that measure our vitality, strength, coordination, strategic mastery, speed, agility, and teamwork. Some are for fun, while others can literally decide one’s social, leadership, and/or economic status for life. Among its many lasting contributions, Wide World of Sports gave us a rich cultural window into the rest of the world.

  After the logrolling ended, there it was: the Ironman. Instantly, I was mesmerized. I was also astonished by how far competitors had to swim, bike, and run—140.6 miles in all. How could the human body even handle that? The location, however, was gorgeous. As a surfer and lover of nature and her forces, the raw beauty of the Big Island captivated me. I was equally captivated by the beauty of ripped, sculpted Ironmen in their Speedos, some the same age as me. While I saw plenty of eye candy on the beaches, particularly among the lifeguard crew I also wanted to join, I wasn’t used to seeing so many perfectly fit bodies in one place lining up for a swim. That caught my attention right away.

  Two years before, in my sophomore year at Cal Poly, I’d gone on a surf trip to Kauai. I took out a student loan for the first and only time, not to finance housing, tuition, or books, but to get a new surfboard and pay for my airfare. You know, the ingredients of an academic sabbatical. Instantly, I fell in love with the place and its atmosphere.

  I glued myself to every second of the Ironman segment. During the final leg, the marathon, ABC cameras zoomed in on the competitors’ faces. A national audience and an increasingly riveted coed saw their strained expressions, the look of digging as deeply into themselves as a human being can dig. Those expressions moved me in a way I still can’t explain. You would think the harsh struggle and agony written across their faces would repel a non-athlete like me, and make me run 26.2 miles in the opposite direction. Or drive 140.6 miles.

  Instead, the Ironman drew me in. While watching the athletes simultaneously compete with each other and struggle with their physical limits, I felt an intense gut reaction. My body was telling me to pay attention. To what? The bodies of the Ironmen? No problem! I have eyes too, which feasted on these beautiful me
n and equally striking women. However, the larger beauty of the effort mesmerized me. What does it feel like to go there? “There” being the limit of your physical capability. What happens when you do? And why? Why were these people willing to push themselves so hard? Okay, they’re in Hawaii, a great place, but why push it in the land of coconuts, mai tais, leis, and lazy ocean-fed getaways?

  The questions kept spinning inside.

  When they got to the marathon, I saw the impact of the race with greater acuity. The highly talented (and gorgeous) Scott Molina led until he fell apart in the lava fields, where high winds whipped through a 100°F day. Here’s this absolute darling lying on a stretcher, the one peers and press would soon call “The Terminator” due to his lethal way of ending your thoughts of winning. I couldn’t wait to see the next fit, great-looking twentysomething grab control . . . but instead, it was thirty-four-year-old John Howard, the 1971 Pan American Games road cycling gold medalist, four-time U.S. National Road Cycling champion, and three-time Olympian. In 1985, three years after finishing second in the inaugural Race Across America, he would also set the world pedaled vehicle record of 152.2 miles per hour on the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah. However, John didn’t have the same classic, technically sound running form as many of the others. He had skinny little arms and big legs that belong to cyclists who spend hours a day in the saddle. Nothing against John, who went on to win after finishing third the year before, but my heart broke for Scott Molina as he lay on that stretcher.

  So many moments captivated me. One I never saw. Maybe I blinked and missed it, but I never saw a woman swimming, biking, or running. It wasn’t until after the main segment, when they rolled the closing credits, that Wide World of Sports viewers saw first-place woman Linda Sweeney cross the finish line. That was disappointing. Where were the women? They were out there competing and racing hard too.

  Afterward, my brain and body buzzed. I couldn’t stop thinking about Scott Molina and wondering why anyone would keep pushing until they fell into a stretcher. Was Scott even going to be okay?

  Shortly after watching the race, a crazy idea hit me: I should do my senior kinesiology project on the Ironman! I was heading into my senior year at Cal Poly, and I needed something original—why not? I always listen to my intuition, for an original or unique angle, and this notion shot straight out of my gut. I could fly over, interview the triathletes, get on closer terms with those smart, gorgeous people, study the science behind pushing yourself to the edge of your mortality, then head home and write it up. Pretty cool project, right? Well, the driven, quirky, and outrageous side of me, which once pushed a little girl through many hours and crashes to lose her training wheels and ride a bicycle, then to death’s edge in massive surf, thought my own idea a little dull. So I spiced it up: Why don’t you learn about the Ironman by running the Ironman?

  I took a look in the mirror. I still carried half of the dreaded Freshman Fifteen weight. Biking and running were not my sports of choice, though I loved to swim, and surfing had made me a powerful swimmer. Also, isn’t 140.6 miles something you drive in a car—for several hours—without facing the heat-bearing, soul-crushing headwinds of the Big Island?

  It didn’t matter: I was fixated. My brain brought along my heart and competitive drive, and it wasn’t about to let go.

  Time to get to work. First, I had to convince Dr. Webb to approve the Ironman study for my senior project. As my final graduation requirement, it needed to reflect my entire college experience. I spent a couple weeks putting together my proposal. He looked it over, lifted his head, and asked me two questions:

  “Julie, have you ever been a competitive athlete in swimming, biking, or running?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever gone the Ironman distance for a swim, bike, or run?”

  “No.”

  He leaned back in his chair. After a long silence, a sly grin flashed across his face. “It’s definitely an original senior project . . . and Julie, I can’t wait to see how this turns out,” he said.

  I wasn’t quite sure if he was referring to the success of the project, or the train wreck he foresaw. Nonetheless, Dr. Webb encouraged me to take the risk, and to not let my inexperience stop me. He pointed out that an essential part of a college education is to dream those big, fearless dreams. But how big did it really need to be? Ironman big? For a girl that had never run a 10K? Would I become one of those crazy adrenaline junkies who keeps chasing unattainable goals forever?

  After Dr. Webb’s approval, I reassessed my situation. The only part of this race I could do well was swim. I grew up surfing, which led to my becoming a San Luis Obispo County and, later, California State lifeguard.

  Then there was the 138.2 miles of this race that take place on land. Could I run a full marathon? Could my bike even pedal 112 miles? I don’t think so. Still, it came out of mothballs to chase the dream. When I got a summer lifeguarding job at Lopez Lake, I commuted the thirty miles from my home in Shell Beach by bike. Without realizing it, I was getting a base. I went with Lisette and bought Nike Waffle Trainers, and started running to burn off my Freshman Fifteen. We ran to the beginning of the Cal Poly San Luis Obispo trail, down a road to start the trail, which continued onto miles of rolling hills and ranches bordering the campus. But instead of going through the cattle gate, and onto this fine trail run, I turned around. It was maybe 2.2 miles round-trip, the most I could do. The running piece didn’t thrill me much.

  The summer before, I had gone home to North San Diego County and met a lifeguard. Reed. Never shy about introducing myself, I knew many of the lifeguards, but I hadn’t seen this guy. He was from Northern California, a recent economics graduate of UC-Davis, located in the same town near Sacramento that was also home to the Man, Dave Scott, triathlon’s first dominant champion. After sitting in the tower all day, Reed would change to these weird leather black-laced shoes and black wool shorts, get on his bike, and ride. He told me how he liked to fly fish and tie his own flies; he was very unique. He had a fresh perspective on life, and was full of integrity. I spent the better part of the summer trying to figure out how he would notice me. I’d even get up at 5:00 A.M. and bake banana bread to drop off at his tower! Though I was as surf-and-sand as they come, I wasn’t the prototypical knockout blond California girl that would draw the average lifeguard’s attention. I was (and am) a redhead with fair skin.

  However, I overcompensated for my freckles with personality, that different kind of “it” factor that some call a “girl-next-door” appeal. Personality, charm, and the positive energy I enjoy and like to extend came through for me, big-time, combined with a singular laser focus on the object of my affection.

  At the end of the summer, we started dating. He was planning to do a cross-country solo bike trip, so he took off the following winter, but not before talking to me about triathlons. I believe that’s the first time I conversed about a sport that was started by the San Diego Track Club and some lifeguards on September 25, 1974, right in my backyard, at San Diego’s Mission Bay. The initial promotional flyer read:

  The First Annual Mission Bay Triathlon, a race consisting of segments of running, bicycle riding, and swimming, will start at the causeway to Fiesta Island at 5:45 P.M. September 25. The event will consist of 6 miles of running (longest continuous stretch, 2.8 miles), 5 miles of bicycle riding (all at once), and 500 yards of swimming (longest continuous stretch, 250 yards). Approximately 2 miles of running will be barefoot on grass and sand. Each participant must bring his own bicycle. Awards will be presented to the first five finishers.

  Many of the earliest triathletes were lifeguards who wanted a more challenging format than the run-swim-run-swim routine of state and national lifeguard competitions. Reed also had a cycling friend, Dennis Hearst, whose girlfriend was Kathleen McCartney; all were connected to this very early triathlon scene. Reed thought he might be interested in it too.

  While Reed was on his cross-country bike trip, I watched the Ironman on TV. I knew he was fas
cinated by the race . . . and now I was too.

  My research project was entitled, “Physiological and Training Considerations in Preparation of the World Ironman Triathlon.” After reviewing the requirements, and knowing I did not train like Reed Gregerson or Dave Scott, I faked my way through training and the race. Really, Julie? Faking it? That’s what a certain sixty-year-old would say to the twenty-three-year-old if they walked past each other today. Moreover, with Reed now in my life, training for Ironman became as much about pursuing a relationship as it did about trying to reach the finish line and graduate. We were ill-suited to work out together, though. I’d start out on the bike with him, but turn around halfway so he could carry on with his own training.

  I had to turn in a progress report during the Fall 1981 semester. Here’s the thing with a progress report: you have to show some progress. In the late summer, I completed my first triathlon, a 70.3-mile Half Ironman, now known as an Ironman 70.3, in Santa Barbara. I got a flat tire, sat on the side of the road, and ate my sandwich while the guy I’d been riding next to stopped and unselfishly offered to help me fix my tire. Some competitive drive, right? It was rough. Once we started riding again, I decided to stick with this Good Samaritan who had graciously helped me out, but I left him behind six miles into the run. It was like, “You’re too slow. I’ve gotta go, see ya.”

  Only later did I recognize this as an early sign of my natural endurance, tenacity, and competitiveness. I did learn, quickly, that triathlon is an individual event and when the going gets tough, you better be willing to go it alone.

  I was so happy to finish, even though I was hours behind women’s winner Kathleen McCartney.

  For me, it was Mission Accomplished. Reed was planning to compete in the Oakland Marathon on November 5, and I figured I’d better go too. I jumped in with this idea that I’d run a 3:30 marathon—despite never covering more than thirteen miles in any long run. I don’t know why 3:30 sounded so appealing and attainable; maybe I’d heard people talking about marathons and thought, “That sounds like a good number.” It does average out to exactly eight minutes per mile; maybe that was it. As it turned out, I ran 3:39, despite blowing up at twenty miles. I suffered through the final 10K. Really suffered.