July 11 was the day I figured I would die. I got up at 5:20 like normal, ate my cereal, packed the car, then headed to the lake where I would start an Ironman length “workout”.

No “Ready, Set, Go”. At 7:00am I just dove in and started swimming. I warmed up quickly in just a few strokes. The wind was at my back and I could feel the waves lift me gently, pushing me along. My death today would not be from drowning. I am a good swimmer and this part of dying was really quite pleasant. After crossing the bay I turned around and headed back to the start. Then my hand hit a slimy dead fish floating in the waves. I moved quickly passed and took some deep breaths to slow my heart. I wondered what killed the little trout. Disease? Injury? Dehydration? The fish and I shared a brief touch but little else. Except, of course, a common fate. I felt little joy on finishing the 2.4 mile swim. I didn’t feel the need to hurry. Death was out there waiting for me and it seemed foolish to rush to our meeting.

The 112 mile ride started in Kirkland and passed through Bothell, Redmond, Fall City, and Carnation before turning around in Monroe and retracing the route back to Kirkland. Traffic was light at 8:00 am on a Sunday and a marine layer of clouds were a gift from Poseidon.

Katherine planned to accompany me for as long as she could. She would be my Virgil on this journey into hell. Highway 202 from Redmond to Fall City was passing quickly under our wheels. Every half mile or so the neat white line we followed was smeared with the black, green, and red remains of what once was a garter snake. Their morning slumber on the warm pavement permanently interrupted by the merciless tires of a car.

The pit crew had cold bottles waiting for me and Katheryn in Carnation, 36 miles into the ride. I gave myself a foot massage while waiting for Virgil to use the bathroom. Then we were off again. No slacking of pace. No slowing to chat with other riders. One strategy I had to hold Death at bay was a simple and well tested feeding schedule. Two gels an hour slid down my throat, along with one or two salt pills and just over 24 oz. of fluids laced with 150 dissolved calories flavored with Nuun.

I knew Death was in the area because there were at least three raccoon carcasses that I had to swerve around on West Snoqualmie Valley road. One of the slow footed fellows looked especially peaceful lying on his side with his little hands crossed just under his chin. He looked like he was taking a nap there on the road.

Katheryn’s pulls had been getting gradually shorter as the miles passed. After the turn-around and on our way back to Carnation she pulled off to the shoulder and shouted “Flat!” I looked behind briefly and saw her hand wave me forward. Death is a tricky devil. I saw what he was doing so I stood on the pedals and accelerated down the road. Back in Carnation, my friends gave me new bottles and I gave them directions back to Katheryn, then we parted ways.

I was on my own now till the end of the ride. I popped two salt pills out of my tic-tac dispenser and hoped the tight feeling in my quad was just a little fatigue and not the beginning of a ride-ending cramp. I had been going for over five hours now and was not near half way done. To distract me, I enjoyed the scenery. There were tree covered hills, cute little farms, a marsh, a cliff, a stream … then a young dead dear lying in the ditch. Its head rested on the shoulder of the road. This young fellow had probably just finished getting his evening drink the night before and was heading back up into the hills when he crossed paths with an unlucky commuter hurrying home. His eyes were still open and his back was arched noticeably from the violent impact. I could tell he was young because his coat was clean and smooth with few scars of age. Birds and coyote's would descend on the corps in the next few days if a DOT crew didn’t remove him first.

As the casualty list grew in both numbers and size, I half expected to see a dead Sasquatch somewhere up the road. Then I realized, maybe the next dead guy would be me. I neither dawdled, nor pushed the pace. I just rode. My back felt fine, (for once) but my feet started to burn. One more stop to massage the blood back to my toes and crack my locked-up foot bones before I rolled back into transition at exactly two o’clock.

Two friends escorted me for much of the marathon. (I’ll call it a “run” for brevity’s sake, while in fact it was always more of a “shuffle/walk”). Ro’ and Carrie chatted constantly about work, and college parties, and dating fails, and god knows what else. It occurred to me that maybe Death wasn’t going to kill me with a truck; rather he would split my head open with female banter.

Suddenly Ro’ jumped to her left almost knocking me over. A dried up frog carcass in her path had startled her. I wasn’t so fresh as to care weather I stepped on some desiccated fauna. Fatigue was stealing away my empathy. As I turned onto the Sammamish River Trail, I began to think that Death may have other plans for me besides a violent demise. After my empathy, Death might take my modesty as I peed in the bushes just off the trail. Then he would come after my self-respect as I spit on my shoulder. In later stages He would cop my mind as I drank the water and poured Coca-Cola over my head. In the end He would suck hope and love from my heart leaving me to die a thousand cowardly deaths.

The day was getting hotter by the minute. We had just left one of the water stops when I saw another dead bird on the trail ahead. Fitting; I was sinking fast. As I stepped around the bird I saw it move an inch. I stopped. It was a young sparrow or something, just a few inches long. A rider was coming so I stood over it so the cyclist had to slow down to get by. Reaching down the little guy flapped its wings vigorously to get away. It wasn’t dying. It had just got lost on its way to flight school. I cupped my hands over its wings and scooped it up removing it from the busy path. Up the trail was a clearing and I set it down on a log, and then continued on the run.

Everything changed after finding the little bird. This Ironman workout was no longer about death but just the opposite. I no longer thought of my creaky knees and sore back, but of the joy of movement and sunshine on my neck. I wasn’t looking for Death around the corner, rather I relished the sight of my crew with a cold bottle of water and orange slices.

I’d like to say that I ran with renewed vigor at a faster pace, but to be honest, it still hurt just as much. I stumbled along as lame as ever, but Death was no longer at my heels. I had dozens of friends helping me, encouraging me, keeping me company, and keeping me out of harm’s way. Like the little bird that was going to see another day, I was going to be OK.

I won my Ironman.