Finish Line: Using Sport to Overcome Loss
The most commonly asked question of an Ironman triathlete, or really any endurance athlete, is, “why?”. Why would anyone in this world want to go swim, bike, and run for a total of either 70.3 or 140.6 miles? Extremely fair question! For some it could be a continued desire to compete post college athletics. For others it could be a way to relieve everyday stress. And for a select few it is an escape from a prior life they no longer wish to lead. Below is my attempt to put pen to paper (keyboard to Word) to provide an answer to that very question. I hope this content helps to highlight just how powerful sport can be to one’s life. Also, if there is anyone within your circle that may find value in what this could mean for their own journey into the world of sport (hopefully triathlon), please pass it along!
Part 1: The Indescribable Feeling
There really is no way to put it into words. That feeling you get inside as you begin to near the finish line of an Ironman race. You start to realize that you are merely minutes away from finishing a journey that may have begun 6–8 months prior and in my case potentially the better part of a decade. Your mind begins to play a weird trick on you as the finish line comes into sight. Although you know your body is moving forward that magical line seems to get further and further away. At this point you close your eyes and begin to reflect back on all of the blood, sweat, and tears that have brought you to this very moment.
Of course, I had thought about this moment a million times over in my head… but now that it was here I realized that I had not taken the time to think about “how” I was going to cross the finish line. Was I going to lift up my arms in joy? Was I going to yell out a nice and loud f*** yes? Instead of doing option A or B, I did the only thing that I could think to do. I grabbed the robin pinned to my race jersey which had begun the race with the glittered letters FATHER and lifted it up to my lips for a kiss followed by a “I love you dad”. A few short seconds later I would cross the finish line of Ironman 70.3 Wisconsin.
For many this is the instant that they become hooked on the sport of triathlon. Whether it is a sprint, Olympic, or Ironman distance, that finish line has a powerful way of reminding each athlete of what it is they have just accomplished. Yes, it absolutely speaks to the physical aspect of completing the distance of that given race. But even more so it is the reminder of the “type” of person they wish to represent. Someone who is able to set out on a journey, put in the work, and ultimately achieve the desired end result. A set of characteristics that allows for success far outside the realm of sports. Each athlete will embark on their own journey after this initial finish line crossing. Some will go on to sign up for countless other races potentially expanding and growing in distance. Others may decide that this initial finish line is all that was needed. Either way, they can proceed forward knowing that they set out to challenge themselves and that challenge was accepted.
Part 2: Back to the Beginning
If you were to go back in time 3 years and ask whether or not I thought I would ever compete in an Ironman triathlon there is a good chance I would have burst out in laughter. Having never run more than 6 miles in a single setting and considering cardio to be an annoying necessary evil to support building muscle, endurance racing was definitely something that was far from my thought process… but of course so was the thought of losing my father. In fear of jumping ahead only part way through our story, one of the biggest lessons I have learned over the past 3 years is the fact that we truly never know what the future holds. We have control over our daily actions and how we go about things but there will forever remain an element of uncertainty. Something we all must live with.
Following the loss of my father I was beaten down, confused, sad, hurt, and I truly had no idea how I was going to pull myself forward. I wish I could say that I magically snapped my fingers and instantly came up with the idea to honor my dad by stepping up to not only 1 but 2 Ironman 70.3 start lines while raising funds for local refugee families but that simply was not the case. Truthfully, those first 3–6 months were met with nights of crying alone, working extreme hours to busy my mind, and excessive drinking to cope. What changed? To my luck (some may use a different word) I was met with a friend who persistently pushed and pressured me to sign-up for what would be my first half marathon. Having no idea just how impactful this race would be on my life moving forward.
Part 3: Falling in Love With The Process
I can’t really speak to what drove this next action but just minutes away from the start of this first half marathon I reached within my bag to grab a sharpie to write the initials JRO across my wrist in big letters. I had no idea what the next 13.1 miles had in store but I did know who I wanted to be alongside of me every step of the way. Using those letters as my north star I would cross each mile marker looking down asking, “dad do you think I should slow down or go faster?”.
Without hesitation I could feel my body jolt forward with energy building in every step. It was during this race that I discovered something that I had been searching for since the initial loss of my dad. That ability to have a conversation with someone who had meant so much to me for so long but was no longer physically in my life. I found myself mile after mile throwing out questions and discussing topics with a sense of calmness only known by two close friends enjoying a cup of coffee. I would go on to cross the finish line of that Lincoln, Nebraska half marathon with an extreme amount of joy but unexpectedly I found a bit of sadness as I made my way back home later that afternoon.
Having felt that connection that I had been longing to feel for so long I asked myself, “how do I get back to that? Hell, why not sign up for a triathlon! Better yet, why not signup for an Ironman”. To say that I had no idea what I was signing myself up for would have been a drastic understatement… Looking back, I couldn’t be happier that I pushed myself to hit “enter” on that registration page. It was over those next 6ish months between the Lincoln half marathon and the Madison, Wisconsin Ironman 70.3 that I would feel myself slowly coming out of the darkness I had previously been in. I wasn’t quite able to talk to dad in the way that I had on race day. But for the first time in quite some time I could feel a sense of purpose. I could feel myself pushing towards something, something that I knew was impacting my life for the better.
With full commitment I would then spend the next four(ish) months training for what would be my first Ironman 70.3 race. Without a coach and really being unsure of whether or not this sport was truly going to stick…. I resorted to the bare minimum across the board. I purchased the gear that would get the job done. I did the swim, run and bike workouts necessary to feel “relatively” comfortable with the idea of showing up come race day. But over time something happened… things began to shift. I began looking forward to those 2–3 hour bike training sessions just a little bit more. I started to get excited about the idea of jumping into the pool knowing that I was going to quickly jump out only to start running on the treadmill. I got comfortable with the uncomfortable.
Training for an Ironman 70.3 triathlon is far from easy… But it was the outlet that I needed for the hurt that I had been feeling for so long. Moving towards something with a sense of passion and determination. It is an unpleasant thought but a mere truth that each of us will go through the loss of a loved one. Whether that happens when you’re young, old, or at the age of 24 like myself, it doesn’t make it any easier. The pain lies in knowing that every memory from that point, every joyful moment, will be lived without that person. For me this meant the pain of knowing that my children will never get to meet the man who brought so much joy to so many. The man who could literally light up a room by simply walking into it.
Part 4: Running Towards and Not Away
This brings me to my final point, there is no one way to handle something like losing a loved one. That is a journey that we each must embrace on our own. I was fortunate enough to find triathlon which I believe has changed my life for the better and has brought me to where I am today. For you that could be music, it could be martial artists, or a new found love for food. No matter what it is we must find a way to live with our loss vs. trying to find a way to eliminate or block out its existence. Also, this doesn’t mean that the pain is going to go away! To this day I still feel the same level of pain that I did on the exact day my dad passed. The difference is in how I live with that pain, carrying my loved one with me every day.
So, what does the death of my father and an Ironman finish line have in common you may ask? In a wild way both mark the start and finish of two extremely unique journeys in my life. One being the closing of a chapter that involves the struggle and damages resulting from years of living alongside (and in a way keeping alive) an individual suffering from addiction. While the other marks the beginning of a new chapter learning to move forward without the foundation I had leaned on for so many years. I am not the first and I definitely will not be the last that turns to physical activity like an Ironman to help find a path forward. But if I could speak to those just starting out on their journey, whether that involves getting started with a 5k or gaining the courage to finally hit submit on that Ironman entry button, just know that you are strong enough. You can control the path forward and the course of what is to come. I was lucky enough to find triathlon when I needed to pull myself out of darkness and I hope getting into the sport will do the same for you.
My father’s name is John O’Neill and I can’t begin to explain to you what he meant to me and just how much I would give to have him back for mere minutes to look him in the eyes and tell him how much I love him. Closing with the words shared at his funeral, “Love does not die, people do. So when all that is left of me is love… Give me away…”
