You're a lemon. Like a bad car, there's something inherently defective in you. And you. And me! All of us here we're lemons! Big, juicy, acidic, ice-tea flavoring lemons! We look like everyone else but we're defective because when most people make a bet they want to win, while we, the degenerate gamblers of the world, we're subconsciously playing to lose. All humans like going to the edge of the abyss, but what makes us different is we go all the way and hurl ourselves off into the void! And we like doing it so much we do it time after time after time! Me? I always felt most alive when they were raking away the chips, and every one here knows what I'm talking about. People like us, even when we win, it's just a matter of time before we give it all back. But when we lose, and I mean the kind of loss that makes your butthole pucker to the size of a decimal point, there's a moment when you're standing there and you've just recreated the worst possible nightmare this side of malignant cancer for the 20th time and you suddenly realize -- hey, I'm still here, I'm still breathing, I'm still alive! In order to really live you have to be aware of your own mortality -- and a losing bet of a certain size is one of the best ways I know of getting that feeling. When you win, you defy death, but when you lose, you survive it, and that's remarkable! Us lemons, we mess stuff up on purpose! We need to constantly remind ourselves that we're alive! Gambling's not the problem, Your need to feel something, to convince yourself you exist, test what's really real, that's the problem!
- Two For The Money

I participated in the Ann Arbor Triathlon yesterday. I “trained” for it for a good 5 months. I say “trained” because I don’t feel that any of my “training” prepared me for this.

The Swim
The swim gets it’s own heading because an experience this terrifying needs to be respected. When I write, “I almost died” it sounds cliché. But it’s true. I Almost Died. Flash to me in January in the Stevenson High School Swimming pool doing math. The tri swim is a half mile. That’s 5,280 feet. Half of that is 2640 feet. The pool at Stevenson is 25 meters long. Let’s call it 25 yards which is 75 feet. So there and back is one lap which is 150 feet. So two laps is 300 feet. Eight times 300 = 2400 feet and 8 times 2 laps is 16 laps. Close enough. So if I can do 16 laps in this pool, I’ll be good for the tri. So that’s 4 non stop laps by the end of February, 8 by the end of March, 12 by the end of April and 16 by the end of May. So every week I need to add a lap since I only have time to swim once a week.

Flash to me skipping weeks cuz I’m exhausted from work and I don’t have the heart to leave my wonderful pregnant wife with a crazy 1 year old. Flash to me cheating and stopping to rest halfway between laps because I’m tired. Flash to me ignoring minor and major flaws in my stroke.

8:17am - Flash to a hundred or so chartreuse swim caps worn by 15-29 year old males up to their waste in Halfmoon Lake awaiting the starting horn. There is a lone red swim cap to the far right of the group. A red beacon of hope for me. A beacon of my despair for others who care about me.

Red swim caps are worn by 30-39 year old males. They are Wave 1 and their start time was at 8am. Light Blue swim caps are worn by women 35 and older and men who are 50 and older. They are Wave 2 and their start time was at 8:05am. Chartreuse swim caps are worn by 15-29 year old males, we’re Wave 3, and our start time is at 8:18am. White swim caps are worn by 34 and younger women, they’re Wave 4, and their start time is at 8:23am. Yellow swim caps are worn by 40-49 year old men, they’re Wave 5, and their start time is at 8:30am.

So the Red swim caps in Wave 1 left at 8am. All except one. One was still by me in my Chartreuse cap.

My friend Michael Antiporta was one of six roommates my sophomore year in college. He was my Keeper all through college Intramural soccer. Many a game of Squabble and Chess and real life have been pored over by our minds. He has been a confidant, an ally, a groomsman, an epic friend in difficult times. He said he’d stay by me through the swim. He’s 30, so he wore a Red swim cap.

I felt fine before the race started. The water was 72 degrees and the air was 70 degrees. We were all wearing wetsuits because anything less than 78 degree water and you’re allowed to. The wetsuit keeps you warm and buoyant.

When the horn sounded, I just started to swim as normal. We were supposed to swim clockwise around the 6 buoys.

3 4

2 5

1 6

START/FINISH

Halfway to the first buoy and things start to not be cool. Everyone seems to be swimming much faster than me. That’s odd. I’m getting tired too. What’s going on?

I’m at the first buoy now and the story is unfolding. I’m very slow. The water accumulating in the arms of my slightly too large wetsuit feel like 10 pound weights. I’m starting to hyperventilate. I’m kicking like I’m dog paddling. I flip over on my back to backstroke because I heard you could do that when you need to rest. I’m broken.

“Porta… nothing feels right.”

“You’re okay.”

“Porta… I’m… so… scared.” The fear in my voice makes me more scared.

“You’re panicking. You need to relax.”

I’m panicking, I need to relax. Okay, slow down breathing. Try to enjoy the water. Annalisa must be so worried. I can’t believe how slow I am. Okay. Try and swim again.
Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. This sucks, I’m a little past the first buoy and I’m exhausted. How did I get here?
A few more strokes and I’m on my back again breathing quickly. My arms hurt and I ponder taking off my wetsuit.
A few more iterations of stroke and on my back. I have a weak little system that now seems to be working. It incorporates stroking as much as I can normally and then flipping over when I get out of sync or scared. Maybe this will work.

I’m at the second buoy now. I’m spent. Something scarier is happening. When I flip over I start to get dizzy. I get scared of being dizzy so I try to swim normally. I swim normally and I get too tired so I flip over. The weak system is breaking down further.
I continue to struggle.

I’m tired so I flip to my backstroke. I start to say the Lord’s Prayer because that usually calms me down. “Our Father, who art in Heaven,” Then it happens. The blackness starts to creep into the peripheral of all my vision.

Oh my gosh. I’m passing out.

I flip over and start to swim normally to try and stop myself from losing consciousness. But I’m still spent so I don’t last long. I have to go to my backstroke again. When I do, a larger wave happens to wash over my face and I swallow a bunch of water. Panic. I try to maintain even though I continue to be terrified. The water is getting more agitated and more water is splashing in my face.

Oh no. They caught me.

The 34 and younger women in Wave 4 have caught me. They’re like a stampede of white caps. Kicking up more water and creating general chaos I’m sure I’ll be overrun, so I concede. I can’t do this. My arms don’t work anymore. I’m blacking out and swallowing tons of water. I’m thinking about how I can call the boat over to pick me up. I’m thinking about how to explain to Annalisa that I couldn’t do it. I’m thinking…

“Don’t worry, I’ll block for you.”

Porta. He said he’ll block for me so the girls won’t put me under. Oh man. So I try again. I go back to trying to swim normally and do the things I said would do when I was training. The shame of being caught by all the girls is strong, but the least of my worries. How do I tell the boat I’ve got nothing left? The white caps are starting to thin out when I hear a voice.

“Hey green cap! Hey green cap!”
I stop and wade. It’s the boat.

“Hey green cap! You okay?”

…

“UHHH…. YEAH! I’M OKAY!”

What have I done? I try to keep swimming as if I’m okay.
I can feel the boat watching me. I can feel Annalisa worrying. A few more minutes of the swimming façade and we approach the 3rd buoy.

“Here’s the turn, you’re doing good.”

I love Porta.
All the white caps have passed me now. I’m parallel to shore so I get a glimpse of land with every breath on my right. The water is more calm.

1,2,3, breathe. 1,2,3 breathe. 1,2,3 breathe. 1,2, panic, flip, backstroke, backstroke, flip. 1,2,3 breathe. 1,2,3 breathe. 1,2, panic…etc.

My stroke sucks. How did it come to this? I’m so far from shore. I’m kicking too much. I should’ve practiced more in this wetsuit. I can’t string together 3 lengths of breaths.

“You got it man.”

Porta again. Wow. I need to buy him something expensive. I’m halfway home.

The fourth buoy. Turn and go home. But I’m blind without my glasses and there are a few orange blobs in the distance to aim for. I pick the orange blob on the far left.

“One more buoy man.”

Porta told me when we started that you gotta take it one buoy at a time.

1,2,3 breathe. 1,2,3 breathe. 1,2 panic, flip, backstroke, backstroke… mouthful of water, splash, splash, gasp. Crap.

Wave 5. The Yellow swim caps. 40-49 year old men. They left 12 minutes after me and they caught me.

How humiliating. There’s no way that Porta could have anticipated how slow I was. He wouldn’t have said he would stay by me if he knew. He’s blocking for me again. I’m so ashamed. I figure I have to honor his effort by giving more of my own. It’s not much but I’ll give it to him.

Right when I get to the fifth buoy, I feel a large hand on the small of my back. It pushes me down slightly. Before I go under I see a large yellow cap go by me on my immediate right. I’m under for a moment and try to recover. I look to my back left and there’s Porta right with me. There’s a yellow cap to my left who is going slow. There’s a white cap on her back facing me, visibly struggling to finish. She’s gasping for air. It’s terrible I know, but their struggle encouraged me. I didn’t feel as alone or ashamed. I was just one of them trying to finish. So I just swam.

By the sixth buoy it occurred to me that I wasn’t going to drown or die. My stroke is still terrible. I never relaxed fully. I never found my groove. I never felt good. But I wasn’t going to die. So that’s pretty good.

I’m impatient to finish. I’m rushing and frantic. I’m doggie paddling, freestyling, backstroking, sidestroking. Anything to be done. Finally, the water gets really murky and brown. I spot land beneath me. I say screw it I know I’m still far out, but I want to touch the ground. So I try.

Nothing.

I thought the ground was closer but it’s still really far away. I just have to keep swimming until I know for sure. So I keep going a little further and finally I see Porta rising out of the water. I put my feet down and stand up. I’m completely disoriented. The beach is bare. There’s a few people cheering for us. It’s Ryan, Lorie, and Annalisa.
I’m dizzy and tired, sheepish and humbled. I wanted to hug them. But all I could say was, “Thanks.”

I had 14 miles of hills to ride my bike on, and 5 miles of trail I had to run still.

The transition area from swim to bike was on the top of a hill I had to run up. When we got to the top, Porta went to his bike and me to mine. I tried to wipe off my feet as best I could, but there was still a bunch of sand on my feet. I put on my socks and shoes anyways and I saw Porta go by me. He said something like “Pedal hard!” Hmmm… I love to ride my bike. Rowena called out to me and it turns out she was in the transition area still too. It was nice to see her. I downed a Gu pack and some water and took off.

I love riding my bike. The wind rushes in your ears and the sun shines and it’s fun to pedal. So I was gonna treat myself and have fun because even though I knew there were hills, I knew I wouldn’t drown on them. Plus, if I don’t have fun, I know I’ll never do this again. I’m about a mile into the bike and Rowena catches me. She says something like, “Just a joyride now!” She was right. It was a joy. But as I watched her pull away from me, I noticed she had good form. Her bike seat was set higher than mine and her back was bent low with her head down. Very aerodynamic. I was super Mary Poppins tra la la-ing. There were some big hills. Nothing crazy. I would just switch down to lower gears when it got too difficult. When I got to the top of some hills and rode the slope down, I was just short of sticking my feet straight out and yelling, “Wheeee!” Great fun. Some hills were quite difficult, and I learned that you can’t always switch gears when you want to. You kind of have to anticipate what you’ll need 15 seconds before it happens because if you get into a hill at too difficult a gear ratio, some times your chain won’t want to jump to the right gear mid climb. So I had to stand up sometimes and pedal hard and when I did I pretended I was Lance Armstrong on the Tour. I would smile big when I got to the top.

I tried to drink lots of water because I heard I would need it on the run.

There was one down hill where I know it was the fastest I’ve ever been on a bike. One rock or one bad bump in the road and I’m going flying. I did not stay low and aerodynamic. I let the wind hit me square in the face and chest and my eyes started to water. It was awesome. Whee!

Ryan, and Lorie, and Annalisa were right there when I finished the bike. They were all smiles and incredibly encouraging.

I racked my bike and had another Gu pack and some water. I ran off with two more Gu packs in hand.

The day was beautiful. It turned out to be 70 degrees and sunny all day. Not too cold for the swim, not too hot for anything else. The spectators didn’t fry either so that was nice. I would have felt terrible if Annalisa, just about 9 months pregnant, had to endure bad weather too.

My legs were a little achy, but I was just praising God for great weather. The day before, I had gone into the first quarter mile of the run with the group to see how it was. So I kind of knew how it would start. We’re not talking about a trail. We’re talking about a T-R-A-I-L. We’re talking 4 inches of dirt/gravel/rocks and then brush on your left and right. The trees cover most the sky but the blue and sun still peeked through. Occasionally, there would be flats of 2 foot wide sand to run on, but that never lasted long. Roots would stick up 2 or 3 inches to trip you. Fist sized rocks were everywhere waiting for you to turn an ankle on them. We were cautioned that one year, poison ivy leaned onto the heads of the trail runners and got them. You also didn’t want to slow down for very long or the mosquitoes would make you regret it.

The first mile marker goes by and I’m thinking, “Hey, that wasn’t bad.” So the trail got mad at me and began to punish me for running it.

All I can say is that the trail understood how to break you. Hope can get people through the most difficult times. When villains use hope as a tool to inflict more pain. Those are the most Machiavellian dramas. The trail knew how to use hope to hurt me.

The trail would tell a tale. She would whisper that this upcoming hill is indeed difficult, but if you were to endure it up until it disappears at the top around the bend, you surely will have a downhill slope to catch your breath. Being unfamiliar with her, I believed her sordid story. I believed that if I worked hard now, I would be rewarded at the top. So I worked and I battled, and I slipped, and maintained and as the top around the bend approached I anticipated looking down on a slope opposite the one I had just labored heavily to conquer.

Then her lie revealed itself.

Twice as high. Twice as steep. She had to be laughing at me, especially when I believed her again and again. The only good that came of all this deception was the fact that I was somehow distracted long enough to miss the mile 2 marker. There was no other explanation than I missed it or had my head down when I was trying to avoid treachery. I fully expected to see the 3 mile marker soon. There was an explanation though, and I broke again when I understood. Her deceit knew no boundaries. When the conspicuous white sign with the number 2 on it came into my field of vision I was angry I had been lied to again.

“I hate you trail! Die and eat my poop!”

Had I screamed this, I was so alone in the woods far behind the 34 and under women and 40-49 year old men, that only the trail would have been offended. I had a Gu pack. I looked at the top of my fist near my thumb. I had Annalisa write a word there to help me with perspective on pain. Another word was on my opposite hand.

Those words snapped me back. I remembered that I know pain, and this isn’t it.
Pain takes all your insides and makes it empty. Pain takes all your dreams and plans you had in your life and dangles it on a string. It lets go and watches you crumble when you understand your idea of how things would work out will never be. Pain stays in your mind and makes sunny days gray and children’s laughter annoying. Depression, psychiatric therapy, physical rehab, a deep and ominous feeling of loss, days weeks and years you can’t get back, this is pain. I know pain, I’ve seen pain in the eyes of my friends and family.

This isn’t pain. This is a jog through the woods. Calling it a “run” would be a disrespect to runners since I was going so slow.

This. Is. Not. Pain.

That’s the phrase I repeated in my head until the fourth mile marker. By this point I had convinced my self the cramp in my right quad was not pain. But it was actually quite painful. I had a Gu pack and the cramp almost immediately went away. Sweeeet. Go Gu.

When my no pain mantra got boring I would repeat,

You. Must. Love. Me.

Because I truly believe nature was meant to be enjoyed by humans. Especially beautiful days when you get to take a swim and feel wind on your face and the sun keeps you and your loved ones warm. Not every day is like this so I felt very loved.

The final quarter mile or so was on uphill pavement. Bye bye trail! I’ll like you more when I get to know you better. My mind determined that the end was near and started to systematically shut down parts of my body. First my left quad, then my right quad again, then my right hamstring. The final hundred meters was a downhill slope and my legs were done.

When I crossed the finish line, everyone was so kind and encouraging. It was great. They all waited for me. I love ‘em. I had to stretch my quads immediately because they were so cramped up.

Annalisa said I did a good job and that she was proud of me. What more is there?

My total time - 2:55:14
Swim – 32:51
Transition 1 – 4:54
Bike – 1:07:22
Transition 2 – 2:17
Run – 1:07:50

I finished 549th out of 560 overall.
I finished slowest in my 15-29 year old male age group.
I finished 1hour and 35 minutes behind the first place male.
I finished 1hour and 25 minutes behind the first place female.
I finished 55 minutes behind the slowest 55-59 year old females.
I finished 50 minutes behind the slowest 60-64 year old males.
I finished 17 minutes behind Porta on the bike.
I finished 13 minutes behind Porta on the run.

Lessons Learned

Train in open water for goodness sake. Don’t cheat yourself in training.
Train in your own wetsuit that fits you.
Buy the lower handle bars for goodness sake.
Learn to pedal correctly and keep your body in good form.
Train on hills and learn how and when to shift.
Buy a decent pair of running shoes. Don’t use the 900 peso pair of faux Nike shox from the Philippines.
Train on hills and use the muscles you’re supposed to use to get up them.
Have someone to train with you.
Learn to suffer well. Jesus suffered well. William Wallace suffered well. You can learn to push a little harder.

I loved seeing everybody. I loved going through that with them. Even though I went through most of it a little while after they did. I was reminded why I love soccer so much. A lot of it is that you’re going into battle together. I love to say, “It’s the struggle that binds.” When people go through things together it binds them in ways they can’t explain. In my opinion, the absolute best part about this Tri was the swim. It was so real and so terrifying and I could not have gotten through it without Porta. We are now bound. We are bound tighter now than we were having endured my difficult struggle. Only he and I know what really transpired on that water and we are bound tighter because of it. On your death bed I’m told you remember relationships you’ve made first and foremost before work and accomplishments. And what builds good relationships? You can say communication and honesty. But I say it’s the struggle endured together that builds great relationships. To have heroes, you need villains to battle. Some days you have neither. That day I had both.

I literally felt like I was going to drown. I had mentally and physically given up. What good is a friend if not to help you through difficult times? Now I know that there is one more person who would never let me drown, who is patient enough to stay with me, and smart enough to know how to help. When the time comes, I hope to do the same.

Michael Antiporta

Thanks and I love you man.

ps.
US over Italy: 2-1