A week ago today I should have been finishing my first IM-distance race at the Full Vineman. But, things turned out quite a bit differently. On my drive to the race site last Friday, I noticed my stomach becoming a little upset, but I figured it was just nerves before the big race. As it worsened throughout the day, making it unable for me to really eat or drink anything and keep it down, I cursed my stupidity for getting food poisoning at such an inopportune time, despite the fact that I had controlled all of my meals the week before to prevent this exact thing from happening. That night, I tried to convince myself to HTFU–that I would be fine in the morning and everything would work out, even though in the back of my mind some doubt was creeping in.
Race morning I woke up unable to stand upright, at which point I made the very tough decision of calling off the race, after a year of training and dedication and preparation and sacrifice.
After a couple of hours of futilely waiting to feel better, I decided it would be best to head to the ER and at least hear it from them that I cancelled my dream because of gas or something equally stupid. Instead, it turns out I had acute appendicitis, and by this time the appendix had already ruptured and developed a nasty infection in my body. So, to make a long story short, after emergency surgery and 6 fun-filled days in the hospital consisting of IVs, pain medicine, and food too disgusting-looking to eat, I’m home. I have another week of bed rest ahead of me, and 5 weeks of no physical activity after that. Even then, my season is over; just standing up right now exhausts me to the point where every trip to the bathroom necessitates a nap.
The interesting part is that my initial reaction to this whole thing was anger–that I missed the race, that my stupid appendix had to fail me at such a bad time, that I spent all that time and money, that I didn’t belong in the hospital with the alcoholic who drank himself into seizures and the 350-pounder who had knee surgery, gall stones and kidney stones because he was SO FAT…
But then I realized, it’s not all that bad. A ruptured appendix used to kill people before antibiotics. A ruptured appendix during an ironman could have killed me, too. I won’t have to worry about appendicitis next year. My family still has me around, instead of saying that I died because I was too stubborn and selfish to know what was best.
This whole experience just put this sport into perspective when it comes to life as a whole. Training and racing are a privilege that we all take for granted until injury occurs–many have said that before me–but this is another reminder. Health is a wonderful gift, so enjoy it, and think about me on your next ride.
Now, as a side question, when I do Vineman next year, can I still call it my first attempt at IM-distance?
-Adam