So, why do we do hard things?

The Ironman Reflection Post

Last weekend, I completed Ironman Lake Placid. It was my first full Ironman, took nearly a full year of training, and occupied most of my thoughts during that time.

Long distance sports are some of the best teachers you’ll ever have.

So, here are 13 lessons from 13 hours (and five minutes) from one of triathlon’s toughest stages:

1. Don’t worry about other people

I could see the lake from my hotel room. The first morning I was there, I saw dozens of people doing practice swims from my window. I caught myself thinking I was behind—despite the fact that all I did was wake up in a new time zone and eat breakfast. It was literally 8 A.M.

Of course, I wasn’t actually behind. It just felt that way because I could see people training.

The reality: There will always, always be people doing more than you. Let it go and focus on yourself. I literally went on a practice swim (and bike, and run) later that day.

2. There’s never a right time to do an Ironman

Few things are certain in life, but I promise that no one will ever sit you down and say “I cleared your calendar for the next year. Have fun!” You MUST create your own time for the things you care about.

Unless you physically cannot move, the right time is simply whenever you want it to be.

So, if you have the urge to do something crazy: You’re right.

Go make it happen.

3. Looking at your watch doesn’t make you go faster

Early on, when I was training in New York, I’d bike laps of Central Park. At the very end of the lap, I had to bike up Cat Hill—not particularly large, but big enough to slow me down to the point that I wouldn’t hit my goal time for the lap. I used to check my watch to see my speed as I was going up the hill, before I realized that that simply wasn’t helping. In fact, I went slower because I had to look at it.

It’s easy to get caught up in metrics, when in reality, what you’re trying to do is execute. Look at the numbers later. Execute now.

4. Sometimes you’ll need to improvise

I had a very specific plan to control the three main levers of fueling:

• Carbohydrates

• Sodium

• Water/hydration

After finishing the swim, I followed that plan for approximately five minutes, and spent the remaining 11.5 hours of the race improvising my way through.

A few factors forced me to deviate:

First, I hadn’t spent enough time training my gut immediately after getting out of the water, so once I swam for 90 minutes, I felt a little nauseous. I was totally fine, but my stomach felt tight, as it often does after a long swim, because what I actually felt was hunger.

I knew if I immediately ate a ton of carbs, my stomach would churn, and I would be in danger of throwing up. So I slowly dosed extra carbs without overdoing it.

Fine, but why did I abandon the rest of plan?

Due to a number of factors not worth boring you with, I had to pee at every aid station on the bike. Which was ten times. Why state this publicly? So you know that an Ironman isn’t just the glory of the finish line, it’s the fatigue of standing in yet another muddy porta potty.

Then, the weather gods made it rain for six and a half hours.

But this is why you train.

I had literally years of data and knowledge to be able to improvise my way through. I found some carb bars (solid food instead of gels). I ate bananas. Took gels when I could handle them. Switched to Mortal Hydration, and started to feel some life come back with the extra electrolytes. I ate my way back into contention.

Basically—I was able to use my knowledge of my body to deviate from the plan, while still having a skeleton to return to.

5. Don’t be afraid to publicly state your goals

It’s terrifying to state your goals because if you fail, you fail publicly. The flip side, however, is that if nobody knows what you’re doing, you don’t get to celebrate with them, either.

This race was a huge deal for me. So I made it one. Yes, it was a big risk—if I didn’t finish for any reason, I would’ve had a lot of explaining to do.

But I also would’ve been ok. I knew that the people who truly cared would’ve been with me no matter what. And in this case, we got to celebrate together. See here for my thoughts on publicly failing.

6. It all comes back around

A year ago, I had a stress fracture and I couldn’t run. I told the doctor that when I got better, I wanted to race Ironman Lake Placid. “Cool!” He said. “I’ve done that race about ten times.”

Make it 11 times, because I came up behind that very doctor at Mile 17 of the marathon. Both of us running strong, both of us soaking up what it means to be alive.

7. Train in any weather

In June, I had one of the most defining bike rides of my training—after climbing to the top of a mountain, it started pouring rain during the way down. I had to descend five thousand feet while I was pelted by freezing rain and hail. It’s hard to describe how demoralizing it was to bike in the rain, but it sucked.

All this to say—it rained for 90% of the bike ride in Lake Placid. This included, you guessed it, a massive descent, where I had to try and hold speed while navigating pouring rain and slick roads.

All of a sudden, this training ride from hell came back as a valuable lesson. “I can do this,” I thought, “because I’ve already done it, on a much longer, much more difficult road.”

Shying away from unpleasant things doesn’t help you. It was precisely that brutal training ride that gave me the courage to keep going during the Ironman.

8. Let your failures be your failures

Six weeks prior, I raced a half Ironman in Boulder. Given that I was prepping for a full-distance race, I genuinely thought that it would be a piece of cake.

Tell that to the guy throwing up.

Granted, the conditions were much different (95 degrees and no shade in Boulder versus 64 and raining in Placid), but still. I learned a valuable lesson about nutrition that day—if I hadn’t, I would probably still be on the run course in Lake Placid.

Boulder was a failure. I failed in my nutrition and was unable to execute as I had planned. That’s ok—that doesn’t mean that I am a failure. That doesn’t mean that other parts of the race didn’t go my way. It means I did not accomplish what I set out to do.

But because I was able to learn lessons about fueling in Boulder, I nailed the run at Lake Placid. Mission accomplished.

9. Embrace the dark

During an Ironman, there will almost certainly be a dark spot (or many). I was lucky that I primarily had one. Here’s what happened:

I found myself at mile 102 of the bike. I had 10 miles to go, most of them uphill, rain pouring down. Marathon incoming. Cold. Annoyed that this loop was taking an extra 30 minutes. Legs hurting. Less people around because most of them had already started the run.

And look, none of those were dealbreakers. You’re allowed to be cold in the rain. It would be weird if your legs didn’t hurt after 100+ miles of biking hills. And nobody said that being slow is a crime.

However, two things were genuinely bad:

• First, I was tired. As in, I felt like I needed to fall asleep. Not so good if you need to run a marathon.

• Second, and worse, I was bonking. I needed solid food ASAP.

Essentially, I was in no position to run a marathon. So I did a few things:

• First, I accepted the situation. I am tired. I am bonking. You can’t fix the problem if you don’t know what it is.

• Then, I started to eat, but methodically. I didn’t stuff my face, because at that point I was within 30 minutes of starting the marathon, and I’d make myself nauseous. But food will really, really energize you, and it did for me.

• Finally, I hyped up the crowd: If you’re cheering a race, you’re just hoping the athletes acknowledge you instead of stare into the pain cave. So I’d cheer back, and the crowd would cheer louder, and it really energized me. I gave a big “come on!” to a group right after I got over the final big hill and I’m telling you I rode that wave for miles.

This wasn’t some magic formula. The food did its work, the sun came out, I woke up a bit, and prepared myself to run a marathon. Which leads us to…

10. Embrace the light

I am a runner.

Yes, I swam and biked a lot. But I know where my heart is, and I’ve always been able to run well off the bike.

Call it luck, call it strategy—the fact that I had to stop and pee so many times on the bike meant I got ten mini breaks to rest my legs, and I came out on the run course ready to rock.

When you realize that you’re doing well, you need to embrace it. And enjoy it. So I did.

I knew I had it on lockdown pretty early in the marathon, so I thought “Alright dude. You somehow have the legs not only to finish, but to finish strong. All of this doubting and wondering is over. You are going to finish an Ironman. Don’t fuck it up.” As in—don’t eat too much or too little. Don’t go too fast because you get too excited. Pace this, walk and eat when you have to, and bring it home.

I’ve run 10 marathons. I have never, ever enjoyed one as much as this, despite it being objectively the hardest.

I enjoyed the scenery (truly some of the best views ever), chatted with other runners, bantered with volunteers, and walked when I needed a break. It’s one of my happiest memories.

It’s also a critical reminder that your fortune can change within a long distance event, which is its own reminder not to give up.

11. This is the last time before it becomes a memory. Enjoy it.

My coach, Rich, made a great point: Those moments before you cross the finish line—and that includes all aspects of training and racing—will slowly tick away before this entire journey becomes a memory.

For the rest of my life, I’ve done an Ironman. I will never do it for the first time again.

So when you’re struggling, and it’s hard, you must remember that this is the end of a massive chapter in your life. Once it’s over, you’ll live with the knowledge that your crazy dream is possible, but for just a moment, as the sun sets, you live with the knowledge that you are the one actively making it possible.

12. So—why do we do hard things?

A sign at Mile 25 read: “What’s your why?” I’ve struggled throughout the process to fully answer that question, wavering between “because it’s there,” and anything else I could come up with on the spot.

But I realized at Mile 25 that I was doing it, completely and fully, for me. Quite simply—to prove to myself that I’m capable of doing hard things, setting goals, and finishing what I started.

A selfish goal, perhaps, but there’s a caveat:

When these selfish pursuits are deeply and purely you—as in, when you aren’t doing them for external approval—people take notice.

I got more messages about completing the Ironman than anything I’ve ever done in my entire life. When you do something you love, it radiates outward, creates community, and inspires people.

That’s how I was introduced to the sport—the first time I heard of an Ironman was second-hand, when my parents told me that my neighbor, Aaron, completed one. I couldn’t fathom that you ran a marathon at the end. I thought it was the craziest thing I’d ever heard.

And despite being a kid with no real understanding of it, that lit the spark.

Who knows—maybe I just lit the spark for someone else.

Which is why, perhaps, these wild pursuits aren’t selfish at all. They’re to show the world what’s possible.

13. It’s all we got

“Worrying about people and having people worry about us is like…everything we got.”—The Bear, Season 4, Episode 6, in one of the few scenes that isn’t a montage

By a rough estimate, there were many dozens of people tracking me during the race. Many more who wished me luck in some form. And of course, I had an amazing family with me every step of the way. Yes, they cheered (like, I saw them ~10 times during the race), but they did so much more. They gave their time and money to be there. They made logistics easy. They calmed my nerves. They carried my stuff. My dad even took my bike back to my hotel room while I was still racing so that I didn’t have to do it afterwards.

To say I’m grateful for everyone who even said “go Max!” during the race all the way to my family who showed up day-of is the understatement of the year. I am forever indebted to all of you.

And the volunteers! They stood in the pouring rain for hours. Whenever I’d say “thank you!” (which I did a lot) they’d often respond with “no, thank you!” Why? I don’t know. But that’s just the kind of people they are. The kind who dance in a downpour.

An Ironman looks like an individual sport. It is not. It is a group effort, a bit like the Tour de France with a team supporting a rider, the rider knowing very well he’d be nowhere without his team.

Worrying about people and having them worry about us…If you have that, you have the world.