I was finally able to narrow it down to two.
I was almost a duathlete. Not that there's anything wrong with that. On my second triathlon the swim was so bad that I almost gave triathlon up. It was my first real Olympic distance (my first triathlon the swim was only 1K). The wind was from the north and we were swimming on the south side of the lake. It was very choppy and there was a lake current going against us. I began swimming and with three strokes knew it was not going to be good. A couple of people abandoned right then and there. Another guy was trying to talk someone else into relaxing as he was completing freaking out in the water because he was having so much difficulty swimming in that mess. Panic began to well and the feeling of it caused my heart rate to spike. At the time I was a very weak swimmer. I couldn't catch my breath using freestyle so I switched to breast stroke. It took all my upper body strength to propel myself high enough to clear the chop and get a breath. When I got on the bike I was already exhausted. It was a long day. I vowed that if I ever had another swim like that I was done with triathlon.
Then came my third triathlon. I was very apprehensive going into the swim. Would this be my last tri? I tried not to dwell on it to much. The swim started. I entered the water and started my stroke. Everything clicked. I dropped into my zone and marveled at the mechanics of the swim and the machine like rhythms of my body as I swam. Reach, pull, glide. Everything was smoothness and flow. No thoughts entered my mind - just the physical sensations of the machine at work. It was amazing. It was Zen. The hook was set. That was the moment that crystallized me as a triathlete.
The other moment chokes me up and brings tears to my eyes nearly every time I think about it. I had just hit the turnaround point at around mile 18 on the marathon at Ironman Wisconsin. I looked up and saw my family on the side of the road. Their original plan had been to drop me off at the swim and then go and do some sightseeing and then pick me up at the finish line. Instead they got reeled in by the whole experience and combed the course looking for me. They had this uncanny knack of showing up minutes before I arrived at a point. I smiled and waved - this was a welcome boost and at that moment I needed one.
Then my 5 (then 4) year old daughter stepped off the curb and walked out onto the run course. Athletes dodged her as she slowly walked towards me. She slowly raised her arms as she walked. Her head was down because she was a little embarrassed and not sure if she'd get into trouble for doing what she was doing. You had to be there to see it to fully appreciate the innocence and beauty of the gesture. I could hear spectators and athlete's alike around me making "awww" sounds. I bent down and hugged her. She gives the greatest hugs. She holds nothing back. Even though I was a sweaty, stinky mess by then. I kissed her on the forehead and she smiled. Then she walked back to the curb. I paused in stunned astonishment and I absorbed every last bit of that magical moment. A couple of people patted my back and smiled as they went by. One spectator smiled at me and wiped tears from his eyes. My spirit soared. The next 8 miles I was running on a cloud replaying that moment over and over in my head. When the going gets tough, recalling this moment always gets me through.
These were the standout moments. There have been many others to be sure, but these are the ones that stand head and shoulders above the rest. These are the ones that make it all worthwhile.
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