FINDING GOD IN IRONMAN
by Fr. Rob Schultz
I suppose I should start by talking about the Mass.
In reflecting on my Ironman experience and how I got to the point of finishing a 70.3-mile race, I
could begin by talking about my grade school days, when I was always the one to be picked last in gym
class. Or I could jump ahead to when I first took up running at the age of almost 30. Or how I learned to
swim as an adult at the age of 34 and then did my first triathlon, and how I’ll never forget when I crossed
that first triathlon finish line and thought, “I really accomplished something today.” Or I could begin
with my experience of training for and finishing my first Chicago Marathon, when I realized that I could
indeed do things that I never thought would be possible for me. Or I could talk about how I first began
to even contemplate doing an Ironman 70.3; the day that I committed myself to it by registering for it
online; the training that went into it; learning to use bike shoes and riding clipped into the pedals for the
first time, hoping that I wouldn’t fall over; going to the packet pick-up at Racine on the Friday before the
race, buying lots of Ironman apparel and thinking, “What if I don’t finish?”; attending the course talk on
Saturday with the other athletes and feeling like I was part of something big.
My point is: there are many places where I could begin this refection, but if I go back too far then
this will end up being much longer than it already is! So, for the sake of some brevity, I’ll begin with the
Mass (which should always be our main focus in life anyway).
On Saturday evening, the eve of the race, I attended Mass at a local Catholic church in Racine,
along with two friends of mine, Jim and Carol, who were also competing in this Ironman race for the first
time. The Gospel reading for that weekend was a good one for us to reflect on before the big day. Jesus
told Martha that she was anxious about many things (and of course I could totally relate to that!) and
that her sister Mary had chosen the better part. Mary had decided to sit quietly at the feet of the
Master, contemplating His love and basking in His presence. I tried to do that during Mass, although my
anxieties still crept in, because throughout the Mass I found myself thinking about me, my two friends,
and about all the athletes. Consequently, I kept praying, “Lord, keep us all safe tomorrow.”
It was nice to see the other racers who had made sure to make the Mass an important part of
their big weekend. All of the Ironman competitors had to wear a blue wristband in order to be let into
the race. We received this wristband when we first checked in at the beginning of the weekend, and we
were not allowed to take it off until after the race. So, Jim, Carol and I had our wristbands on, and I
must confess that at various points during the Mass, whenever we spotted other people wearing blue
wristbands, we would nudge each other and point them out. I think we did it because it was nice to see
the people with whom we shared two common bonds: (1) our bond as fellow Catholics coming together
to worship the Lord and ask for His grace, and (2) our bond as people (potentially crazy people) who
view a 70.3-mile race as something fun and exciting.
After Mass we went out to dinner, and not surprisingly the place was packed with people
wearing blue wristbands. During dinner we talked with some fellow racers at the table next to us (and
listened in on some other tables as they talked about the race). It didn’t help me to hear some of the
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people say how cold the water was going to be and how choppy it was. Yeah, I didn’t need to hear that.
So I tried not to think about it.
After dinner we went back to the motel so that we could pack everything up. We weren’t staying
there Sunday night, so we not only had to pack our race gear, but we also had to pack everything else
and be ready to check out the next morning as we left for the race. I tried to get to sleep around
10:00pm, and I was able to fall asleep somewhat easier than I had anticipated (I wasn’t too nervous yet,
thankfully, because if I had truly known what I was getting myself into I probably would have never
fallen asleep).
The alarm went off at 4:15am. It was finally here: race day. We got everything together and
headed down to the race site (because I’ve learned by experience that it’s always good to arrive as early
as possible for a race, mainly for good parking and short lines at the port-o-potties!) I took a photo of
the transition area (where all the athletes’ bikes and gear are kept) to try to convey my excitement to
my family and friends, even though I knew that a photo would fall short. Again, thankfully at that point I
was still feeling excited and not too nervous. I did panic slightly when I discovered that I had brought my
bottles of Gatorade, but I had forgotten to fill my other bottles with water back at the motel.
Thankfully, the race organizers must know from experience that we are prone to forget things on race
day, so they had several gallons of water available for us to use. Thank you, Lord! I don’t think we
realize how vital water is to us until we don’t have it. It’s no wonder that water plays such a significant
part in the Scriptures.
Okay, I’m writing too much. Let’s get to the starting line already, shall we? We walked the onemile stretch from the transition area to the swim start down at the beach. We got into our wetsuits and
waited our turn. There were 23 waves of swimmers waiting to enter the water at about four minutes
apart, beginning at 7:00am and going until 8:24am. The pros began the race first. As the cannon blew
to mark their start, I watched in awe as they dove into the choppy waters and easily swam through it,
like a hot knife cutting through butter. “That’s why they’re the pros,” I thought.
Jim and I then wished Carol good luck and watched her go off in wave 5. He and I were in wave
16, so we still had some time to warm up. We got in the water with the other athletes who were waiting
their turn. I tried to get acclimated to the temperature (the water was 66.5° that morning) but what
bothered me more than the cold were the significant waves. I tried diving in and swimming into the
waves (because at the beginning of the swim course you go straight out into open water, into the
waves). I couldn’t go very far before I started to panic and stood up to catch my breath. That’s when it
hit me. I looked at Jim with what I’m sure was fear and anxiety in my eyes and said, “I don’t know if I
can do this.” He tried to reassure me, as a good friend would, but it didn’t really help – I knew how I was
feeling, and it was not good.
Our turn finally arrived. The men in our swim wave lined up and waited. At 7:56am the horn
blew, and I knew that my long day had just begun. I planned to walk out in the water as far as I could.
Jim stayed with me for a while, and then he apologetically said, “I think I’m gonna go, okay?” I
answered, “Yes,” and as he began to swim away, that was when I felt most alone. I knew that it was
now just me against 1.2 miles of choppy water. What I didn’t know yet was that the swim would turn
out to be the most significant part of the day for me, even more significant than the finish.
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I began to swim, but I didn’t get very far. The rough waters proved too much for me, and I
panicked in trying to stay afloat. Consequently, I couldn’t catch my breath, and I soon found myself
clinging to one of the many lifeguard kayaks stationed along the swim route (and I wasn’t alone – a lot of
people were clinging to them too).
For about the first third of the swim course I ended up slowly going from kayak to kayak,
struggling to catch my breath at each one. Thanks be to God that the race staff had several boats
available, but even the short distance between kayaks seemed like an eternity. As I let go of one boat
and struggled to swim to the next one, I felt lost, panicked, overwhelmed, frightened and alone. It was
terrible. And to top it all off, I knew that I was making very little progress. I knew that, at this pace, I
would never finish the swim in time (because there is a cut-off time for the swim, bike and run).
As I clung to some of the boats, I watched the men in the swim waves behind me pass me up,
and I knew that my time was ticking away. I would swim a short distance, then look for another boat
and pray that it was not already overcrowded with other swimmers (because each kayak could only
support a few people). As I clung to boat after boat while being tossed about by the waves, I tried at
each one to calm myself down and breathe, but it didn’t have much effect. As another wave of
swimmers passed me, I looked at my watch and thought: Oh my goodness, I’m not even gonna finish the
swim! 70.3 miles and I’m not even going to finish one mile! How in the world can I go back home and
tell everyone who supported me that I couldn’t even finish the swim, that I didn’t even have a chance to
do the bike and run? What am I gonna do?! All those people who donated money, all the people that I
asked to pray for me – how am I gonna tell them that I COULDN’T EVEN FINISH THE SWIM?!
I knew that I couldn’t quit, but I honestly didn’t know how to go on. It didn’t help to see other
people around me being pulled out of the water. I could tell that one guy near me was really struggling,
and at one point I saw one of the lifeguards point to him and say to another guard, “This guy is freaking
out.” But like I said, I couldn’t quit. I couldn’t. I’d rather miss the cutoff time than quit – but I didn’t
want to miss the cutoff time either!
As I continued my painfully slow pace (which didn’t feel slow to me because I was exerting every
ounce of energy that I had), I began to pray the Hail Mary. And if you’ve never prayed the Hail Mary
while gasping for air as waves are hitting you, let me say that it’s quite an experience – you really put
your heart into the prayer! I asked Mary to help me. And not long after that was when things changed.
Mary listened…and responded.
I eventually came to one particular kayak with a female lifeguard in it. I do not know this
woman’s name, and I perhaps may never meet her again in my life, but she turned out to be my
guardian angel. I believe that our Blessed Mother sent her to me, and just at the right time. I clung to
her kayak, trying to breathe. I told her that I didn’t think I could go on. She asked if I wanted to quit. I
said, “No, but I don’t know how I’m going to finish.” She suggested various swim strokes that I should
try, but I had to turn each one down because I didn’t know how to do them – I really only know how to
swim freestyle.
Then she said something that I needed to hear: “You should keep your head down so that your
body will remain level and not drag in the water.” You see, up until that point I had been swimming with
my head completely out of the water because I was struggling to breath. But in my training and my
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previous open water swims, I knew that if I kept my head down, swam slowly, and breathed to one side,
I would be okay. I knew that, but I wasn’t practicing that – the choppy waters and the fear of drowning
kind of pushed all that to the side! So, she told me exactly what I needed to hear: keep my head down.
That was the first big help.
The second big help came when the woman in the kayak said to me, “You know, most of the
swimmers are past you now, so there are more boats available to help you.” And while that was great
to hear, I still knew that swimming from one boat to the next would not get the job done in time. I
needed to swim continuously, while still having the assurance that a boat would be available right away
in case I needed it.
So, based on what she told me, I decided to be bold and ask her something. And keep in mind,
the question I was about to ask her came from me – the guy who hesitates to ask favors from people
because I hate to feel like I’m bothering them. As I clung to the end of her kayak I asked her a question
that, to me, sounded more like a prayer. I said, “Could you stay with me?”
Could you stay with me? That right there was the turning point of the race for me, and that right
there is when I felt most connected to God. In the midst of the stormy sea, I called out to God: Could
you stay with me?
I asked her, “Can you row alongside me to the finish? I’m sorry to ask. Can you do that?” And
this woman, my guardian angel, said, “Sure I can.” I cannot explain to you the peace, strength and
confidence that entered my heart at that point. I knew now that I had a chance. I took a few moments
to calm down and regain my breath. And then…I let go. I plunged back into the choppy water and
began to swim. I kept my head down and I swam as I had trained to. I finally began to swim as I knew I
could.
From that point on, with about two-thirds of the swim course still remaining, I simply swam and
swam, never once having to grab onto the kayak again. And what enabled me to do that is that each
time I lifted my head to breathe I could see my guardian angel right alongside me, and every so often,
even with the water in my ear, I could hear her say, “Good job! You’re doing it!”
Now, I certainly don’t want to make it sound like the rest of the swim was easy – far from it. I
had let go of the kayak and started swimming at yellow buoy #4, and I knew that I still had four more
yellow buoys and then seven orange ones to pass, then a red buoy that marked when we make the turn
toward the shore and the finish. And each buoy was about 100 yards apart. So, I still had a long way to
go. Plus, at one point my right calf cramped up and became incredibly painful (I’m guessing from the
stress?) but thanks be to God I didn’t panic. I let that leg go limp – I didn’t kick it until the pain subsided.
Of course, a little farther down the line and what happened? My left calf did the same thing! Again, I
stopped kicking with it and tried to swim through the pain. And in all that time I must say that my arms
felt strong. I know that I’m not a strong swimmer, but the fact that I had such a bad start, and my legs
were giving out on me, and it was hard to breathe, and yet my arms still kept plowing through the
water….yeah, I felt strong.
The other thing that made the rest of the swim difficult was that I couldn’t stop to look at my
watch, and it was killing me not to know what time it was. I knew that if I stopped to look I would upset
my rhythm, and if the cutoff time was approaching I might panic and mess everything up. So, I just kept
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swimming (like Dory!) Based on when I last looked at my watch, I knew it was going to be close. Very
close.
I rejoiced when I saw the red buoy because I knew that meant I could make the turn toward
shore. I tried to look straight ahead every so often, and I can’t explain to you the excitement that I felt
when my eyes first spotted the swim finish marker on the beach. And then, as if God gave me one last
boost, a big wave hit me from behind and pushed me closer inland – and that’s when my feet touched
the bottom again. Halleluiah! I thought. As I looked to the side I saw that the big wave had knocked my
lifeguard off of her kayak, but she was laughing and said, “I knew it would happen eventually.” But I
didn’t respond to that. I wanted her to hear one thing from me. She was several feet away, so I kept
yelling, “Thank you! Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you! Thank you so much!” She smiled,
waved, and said, “You’re welcome.”
I don’t know if she realized what she did for me. I knew that if I finished this race, I would not
have been able to do it without her. I wanted to tell her all that…but I couldn’t. I had to get going. So, I
thanked God for her. I have no idea who she was, she has no idea who I am, but I pray that she will
know how important she was to me that day. And let us pray that we will look for opportunities to be
guardian angels to the people around us.
But back to the race. I still had a lot of water to walk through before I could get to the swim exit.
I looked at my watch. The swim cutoff time was 9:34am. My watch read 9:25am. Thank you, Lord!
Thank you! I exited the water at 9:27am, seven minutes before the cutoff.
The transition area was a lonely place when I entered it. Everyone else (except for a very few
people behind me) was out on the bike course. I had done the math before the race, and I figured that if
I did the swim in one hour (as I had planned to), then I should be off on the bike before the first pros
headed back in from the bike. However, because the swim took me one and a half hours, I knew that
some of the pros would be heading back as I was heading out – and sure enough, that’s what happened.
I must say that it was a tiny bit demoralizing: I had just finished the hardest (and most victorious)
swim of my life, I now had to embark on a 56-mile bike ride, and as I started it I had to watch other
people coming in as they finished their ride. As I passed by the pros going in the opposite direction,
some of their faces seemed to say, “There’s someone heading out on the bike now?” Maybe they
weren’t thinking that, but that’s what I saw.
I continued to pass by some of the other bikers who were heading in (where the out and back
part of the course overlapped), but eventually I was all by myself. And that is how I would describe my
56-mile bike ride: for the vast majority of it, I was by myself. Now, I was not completely by myself. I did
pass a few other bikers, and a few passed me. And God was with me, of course. And I think that it was
on the bike portion most of all that I could truly feel the prayers of everyone who had promised to pray
for me.
Still, imagine over 50 miles of nothing but rural roads, open fields, farmhouses, horses and cows,
and a clock ticking away until the bike cutoff. That can be a lonely place. But being an introvert, I kind of
liked having the time to myself (all 3 hours and 45 minutes of it).
There are two main things I want to mention about the bike portion of the race. First, I was
definitely being guided. Remember now, I was by myself for most of the bike ride, and I was riding
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through mostly rural areas, so I had to rely on the course markers to know where I was going for those
56 miles. I’m so glad that I attended the course talk the day before the race, and I’m glad that God
reminded me of a key thing that the speaker said. He had said, “Every turn on the bike course is clearly
marked. So if you don’t see a marking, keep going straight.” Let me tell you, I trusted in that! There
were some questionable intersections or places where the road kind of split off to the side, and I would
think, “What if I go the wrong way? How far would I go before I realized it? And how would I get back?
After all, I don’t know where the heck I am!” So, I trusted in the directions: if I didn’t see any markings, I
kept going straight.
But because God wants to guide us as much as He can, I think He wanted me to have more than
just negative indicators (i.e., the absence of markers). God also gave me some positive indicators. One
of the race rules was that you could not litter on the course (because many people bring energy bars or
gels to consume during the bike and run portion). Thankfully for me, some people broke that rule.
Whenever I began to question whether or not I was still on the right path, I would inevitably see a
discarded energy gel wrapper on the road in front of me. Sure enough, every time I began to question
my location I would see another wrapper on the ground and I would immediately know that I was on the
right path, because other bikers had been there before me. Now, I’m not trying to say that God was
making people litter to help me! I’m just saying that this was another example of God bringing
something good (guiding me) out of something bad (littering). At least, that’s what I’m going with!
The other thing I want to mention about the bike is the idea of perspective. In my opinion, the
bike course was very, very hilly. It seemed as if virtually the entire course was uphill – seriously! I would
get to the top of one steep hill, and what would I see beyond it? Another steeper hill! And this seemed
to happen over and over. So many times on the bike, as I saw the hills ahead, I put my head down and
grunted, “Oh God!” And believe me, I wasn’t taking God’s name in vain; I was praying. I would say, “Oh
God, help me. These just don’t seem to end, and I need your help to get up them.” If you couldn’t tell, I
don’t do well with uphills.
What I was shocked at was that, after the race I asked Jim and Carol if they thought the bike
course was hilly, and they both said no. They both said that they didn’t really notice the hills, perhaps
because of all the other bikers around them. That truly shocked me, because I thought it was a grueling
course.
But as I reflected on it later, I thought: isn’t that a great metaphor for life? I was all by myself, so
I could see what lay ahead of me. I could see each and every hill, and after a while that vision began to
weigh on me and bring me down. I could see all the trials that lay before me. On the other hand, the
riders who were surrounded by other people could not see far ahead of them, so they didn’t see each
and every hill before they came to them; they just kept riding with the group. It shows the importance, I
think, of facing life’s “hills” with the support of other people. If we face things on our own, we might
only see a long, uphill road ahead of us. But with others around us, things might not seem as bad.
Okay, one last story about the bike ride. The other bad thing about being alone and near the end
of the pack is that the volunteers – as great as they are – might forget that there are still racers out on
the course. For example, as I was coming up to one intersection that actually had cars at it, the cop who
was directing traffic didn’t see me coming. He began to give the go-ahead signal to a truck that was
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turning left in front of me. As the truck pulled into the middle of the intersection, the cop saw me
coming and yelled to the truck, “Hold up! Hold up!” But the truck was already well on its way. Thanks
be to God, I did not panic too much. I hit the brakes hard (but I didn’t want to hit them too hard and
lose my balance), and I swerved to the left, around the truck. As I passed by the cop I heard him say,
“I’m sorry!” I didn’t blame him (as I said, I appreciate all the race volunteers), but I also didn’t want to
turn around and say, “That’s okay” because I didn’t want to lose my balance. I had a race to focus on.
So I just kept going, thanking God that it turned out okay.
The last three miles of the bike seemed to take forever (I was starting to become convinced that I
would never reach the end). Of course, it didn’t help that, in the final stretch, the bike and run course
coincided for a while, which meant that I had to ride past all the runners. Yeah, that stunk. While
everyone else was on the run course, there was me, the lone biker riding past them. Again, I knew that
there were a few bikers behind me, but I still felt very alone.
But that was okay, because I was about to begin not only the final phase of the race, but also my
favorite part: the run. Some people might say, “A 13.1-mile run after all that? No thank you!” But I say:
bring it on! I love to run, especially long runs, so I was very excited (and relieved) when I got back to
transition, got off my bike, and prepared to head out on the run. I also felt less pressure at this point
because I had made up some time, so I had more of a cushion before the cutoff time.
So, I took off my helmet, put on my running shoes, put on my race number and headed toward
the Run Out gate in transition. And that’s when I silently panicked.
The bottoms of my feet were killing me. Killing! They hurt so badly. I had not experienced this
degree of pain in training, and I think it was because of all the hard pedaling I had just done on the
uphills, which I had not adequately trained for. So there I was, heading out on an almost 3-hour run, and
I could barely walk! And just as when I encountered the choppy waters on the swim and the uphills on
the bike, I once again thought: What am I gonna do? How am I going to run when I can’t even walk?
But once again, God calmed me down. He reminded me of my training and my past experiences.
I knew that, after a long bike ride it takes me a little while to settle into the run. I knew that, after a few
miles, I would be okay. So I pushed ahead. I ran through the pain and I walked when I needed to. And
sure enough, after about three miles, the pain began to subside. I got my rhythm back. I took fewer
walk breaks. I began to feel good. And I think it showed in my run. At one point late in the run, as I
passed the few other runners who were still out on the course (many of whom were walking), one of the
race volunteers saw me running and yelled out, “You look too strong to be at the end of the race!” I
must say, I liked hearing that. I yelled back, “I had a bad swim!”
Now, even though the run was by far the best part (once I settled down), it wasn’t all great. The
run course was a two-loop out and back, meaning that we ran north on one side of the road, turned
back south and came down the same road on the other side, then turned back north and did it again.
Consequently, because I was near the end, I had to run looking at all the runners who were ahead of me,
going in the opposite direction. It was a classic example of feeling alone in a crowd. And it certainly
didn’t help when I came to the end of the first loop. The course takes you about 100 feet from the finish
line before you have to turn around and run another 6.5 miles. So, as I approached the end of the first
loop I could see all the runners with smiling faces as they approached the finish; I could hear the
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announcer calling out their names; I could hear the spectators cheering. And then I turned around – one
of the only runners to do so – and headed back north.
But it was okay, because I knew that I would finish. By this time I had my pace down, I knew I
would finish with about 30 minutes to spare, and I felt good. Seeing and hearing the finish line actually
emboldened me. I wanted that finish line, and I knew I could reach it. Less than 90 minutes was all that
lay in front of me.
When I ran around the last turnaround at the north end, I knew that I was now in the home
stretch. I knew that every step I took would directly bring me closer to the finish. I think it was
somewhere at that point that I thought of Eric Liddell, the Scottish Olympian on whom Chariots of Fire
was based. He had a great quote that I sometimes think of while running. He said, “God made me fast
for a purpose. When I run, I feel His pleasure with me.” It’s that second line that sticks with me. God
definitely did not make me fast, but I can still certainly feel His pleasure with me when I run.
And that’s what I felt like in that home stretch: I felt God’s pleasure with me. I felt that God was
pleased that, instead of me giving up on athletics just because I wasn’t good at it as a kid, instead of
letting my body go and forgetting that it is His temple, I chose to push myself and utilize the body He
gave me. I chose to face my fears and insecurities head-on and say, “I can do that with God’s grace.” I
think that pleases Him. I hope it does.
Okay, I know that I’ve rambled long enough, so let me come to the end. Because I had already
run the loop once, I now knew exactly where I was and exactly how far it was to the finish line, so I knew
when to kick it in (because I wanted to finish strong). And the one nice thing about being near the end?
I had the whole finish line to myself. I hope that doesn’t sound selfish or vain, but I can’t deny that’s
how I felt.
As I approached the finish the remaining spectators began to clap and encourage me (which I
greatly appreciated, and I wish I could have said that to each of them). And when I saw the finish area
with the word IRONMAN written everywhere, I heard the announcer say, “We have another finisher:
Robert Schultz!” That’s when I let go.
I started sprinting. I pumped my fists in the air and heard the announcer respond, “Yeah,
Robert!” I clapped my hands and raised my fists again. The smile on my face could not have been
removed even with surgery. I was ecstatic. I had pushed myself for a continuous 8 hours and 24
minutes, and now I could rejoice at the finish line. I had accomplished something that, just a few years
ago, I would have never thought possible. I was an Ironman finisher.
And as I crossed the line and slowed down, I bowed my head so that one of the volunteers could
put a finisher medal around my neck. I thanked all the volunteers who were congratulating me. Then I
walked over to the side, saw my friend Carol waiting for me, and I broke down in tears. They were truly
tears of victory. I didn’t let the choppy waters beat me. I didn’t let the uphills beat me. I didn’t let my
painful feet beat me. I beat them. I took on 70.3 miles and beat it. And there’s no way I could have
done it without God’s grace.
* * * * * * *
If you actually read all of this to the end, I give you credit! I hope I didn’t bore you. And I hope
that you can see that I write all this not to lift myself up, but to convey the message that with God all
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things are possible, that with God we can conquer our fears, and when we do that, life is so much more
exciting.
So, my message to you is: go do an Ironman. Seriously. And I don’t mean that you have to
necessarily do an Ironman race (but you can if you want to!) I mean: go do your Ironman. What is your
Ironman? What obstacle do you think you cannot overcome? What fear is holding you back? What is
something that you’ve always wanted to do but been afraid to?
Do it. Try it. Because even if you don’t succeed, if you believe in God then I promise that you will
find God in the midst of your struggle, which is often the best place to find Him. And you will be a
stronger person for it.
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