The fall and rise of a triathlete

One year ago, I was stuck in a hospital after the car accident . When waking up in the hospital, I was extremely grateful for being alive, and for the experience of this gratitude. I made myself a promise that day - I would keep my body and mind fit. To do so, I needed to set myself some goals. 

My first goal was to run a marathon in one year. It felt like a great goal to have, even though at that time I could not walk, and I needed help to do the simplest tasks. You may of course argue that the drugs they filled me with removed my sense of self control. You may even be right.

I spent the year working out hard. A few months after the accident, I was back running. Not far, and not fast, but I was running. I probably scared the moose crazy, and the people I met looked at me with dazzle in their eyes. I made more air sounds than an old steam engine. But I was running.

I quickly quit the painkillers, as I feared they would make me push harder than my body would sustain. I learned to accept the pain in my lungs, in my legs and in my back. I will not claim that I enjoyed it. It did help me feel alive. 

Six months ago, I came to the bitter realization that I would not be able to run a marathon this year. Perhaps a half-marathon next year. Or the year after that. The reason is that my left knee holds me back. Somewhere between five and eight KMs, it simply refuses to cooperate, forcing me to walk. And I have no plan of walking a marathon. 

Accepting the fact that I would not cross the finish line of a marathon this year, I decided to change my goal. I had read about different running games, and had been intrigued by triathlons for some time. Imagine the Ironman! What an achievement it must be! Looking more into triathlons, I learned that they come in different lenghts - Ironman being on the longer end, and Sprint on the shorter end. 

Looking into the different classes, I discovered the Triathlon Sprint class. 750 meter swiming, 20 km bike, and 5 km running. I knew I would have no challenge on each one of these distances, and figured I should be able to finish them together too. Thus, in May 2010, I decided to take part of my first triathlon - the Stockholm Triathlon 2010 . The date was August 29th, almost exactly one year after my accident. A nice twist, I thought. 

I felt the need to work up my swimming abilities - I did not feel like drowning. Going to the pool a few times, I soon got back into swimming shape, and could easily do 1500 meters. Only challenge, I do not crawl. Breastswimming means lower speed. And the wet suit I wore made the swimming harder than expected. Focusing on my rythm, trying not to pay attention to those who swam past me, I enjoyed the water. 

One houndred meters from the shore, I discovered my son hailing me and cheering me on. I picked up my pace, and started to swallow water, pretending everything was ok. I made it to the shore, half-blind, half-drowned, forcing a smile to him. 

At the first drinking station I tried to get down some water. My body quickly told me that I had had enough allready, so I moved on to my bike. Stripping out of the wet suit, trying to ignore the ladies that started to appear, I managed to get into my running trousers and to put my t-shirt on. I remembered to put on the start number, and made my way out of the changing area with some grace. I tried not to think about the fact that mine had been the only bike left. 

Twenty kilometers bikeriding was a breeze.  I even managed to pass a few of the other contestants on my old and battered mountain bike. And I scared a few of the guards that tried to warn about tights curves. Years of practicing mountain biking meant I had great control of my bike. I had an even pace all the time, and nothing eventful happend. 

Upon arriving at the change area again, I noticed my son again, hailing me on. I smiled, lost my focus, and almost hit a couple of bystanders while jumping off the bike. Casually, well, at least I wanted to look causally, running to the bike stand, I changed into running shoes and went on for the dreaded last exercise. The 5K running. 

It felt smart to grab an energy drink, something I regretted at the same time I tried to swallow. Somehow, I do have a challenge with the syntetic taste of these energy drinks, I prefer water. I tossed the glass, and stumbled on along the track. I realised that I clutched on to a banana in my left hand, and knew I should be eating it. Yes, it is a short race. Yes, I like to eat. And YES! I ate the banana, and felt the energy coming back to me. 

I must admit that my speed was slow, I had people running pass me all the time. I did not mind, I enjoyed the fact that I would make my goal - finish a triathlon one year after my life-threatening accident. 

Running towards the finishing line, I saw my son Leo cheering me on. My throat swelled, and I could not help but letting out tears. I felt great achieving my goal. I felt so proud, I was so happy to be able to share this important moment in my life with the most important person in my life.