Crawl of Fame

by Julie Moss

  I wasn’t the only member of my family to eyeball Kona. Just a few months after completing the PCT, Mats decided he too wanted to race in Kona.

  Mats’s decision thrilled me. Sort of. He’d talked several times about fulfilling his personal legacy of racing Kona, a legacy laid down by Mark and me. I knew he could handle the challenge and training. But as a mother, I worried about how my son would fare, how much he would hurt and suffer . . . motherly concerns. While Mats might have expected Mark and me to jump up and down at his bold decision, we both know the euphoric ups and most devastating downs of Kona. We reacted accordingly.

  “My parents approached my decision in different ways, which I think reflects their respective approaches as parents,” Mats said. “My mom was more excited and supportive.” She offered all this advice and perspective, which I of course appreciate, not just because she’s my mom, but because she knows this race. They have two different roles, and it forms a nice balance. Right now, they see that I’m taking it more seriously, which is making them get more excited about helping out. My dad’s been a good resource, because he’s so close, he’s been coaching forever, he’s a great coach, and I’m not afraid to ask. My mom’s taken more of a role of seeking out different opportunities.”

  To Mats’s point, neither Mark nor I attended his first test, the Ironman 70.3 Santa Rosa. I wanted to go, but fulfilled a promise to attend the graduation of Lisette’s son, Mark, from the University of Colorado. I did track him on my Ironman app. Mats served notice, placing fifth in his age group. After seeing his results, I had some confidence he would reach Kona by 2018 or maybe 2019 if I could get him into a qualifier. Which I did, in Korea.

  Mats’s qualifier happened two months later, a few weeks before I returned to Kona. His recap speaks to his big day, and his self-awareness. “My goal for the race, beyond the end-all goal of finishing, was to qualify for Kona,” he said. “That was the whole point of Korea, to get into and do the Kona Ironman. Given who my parents are, I’m sure I could’ve gotten an at-large entry into Kona at some point, but I didn’t want or need that. I needed to earn my own way into Kona. What I didn’t expect was to win my age group and qualify by quite a wide margin. An Ironman is never over until it’s totally over—ask my parents—but when it became apparent I was going to qualify, I eased up. I have some work to do on that issue.”

  Plenty of expectation, pomp, and circumstance awaited when I arrived in Kona. The primary story lines focused on men’s phenoms Jan Frodeno and Lionel Sanders (who finished first and second in my hometown Ironman 70.3 Oceanside in 2018), and Daniela Ryf’s bid for a three-peat over Heather Jackson, Sarah Crowley, and Lucy Charles. However, I got some love too. I also had sponsor engagements for Hoka One One, competitor dinners, a couple of VIP events, and a houseful of friends and family—in other words, another crazy week at Kona.

  “One of the biggest differences between Mark and Julie was in how they approached their races, specifically Kona,” Lisette said. “Mark would go into his Zen space and that would be it—he checked out of everything except his own thoughts. You know, The Grip. On the other hand, Julie seems to feed off the energy and excitement, so that when she’s racing, it’s like she’s racing with your energy and mine, and your hopes and mine, almost as much as her own. That’s one reason she’s such a huge inspiration—we can feel her on the course, just as she feels our energy when she races.”

  I needed all the energy I could get for this race—and I was getting it from the people in my life, well-wishers, and triathlon friends. Days before the race, I received this from age-group superstar Cherie Gruenfeld:

  I have always been so impressed with how you’ve lived your life since 1982. That moment showed such courage and strong will, but I know it wasn’t the way you wanted the race to end and it wasn’t easy for you. You could have taken that moment and handled it in any manner of ways. But what you did was to embrace it and to realize the good you could make of it. And that’s what I’ve seen you do over the years. There are several generations of racers, women and men, who are in the sport because of you. That’s a legacy to be very proud of.

  I know how hard you’ve worked this last year to prepare for this Kona race. Without fanfare, you’ve simply gone about preparing and on race day, you’ll cross the finish line “in style,” completing the story you’ve so ably written. I’m very happy to know you and I am wishing you your greatest moment ever as you run down Ali’i Drive. The only moment to top this should be (2018) when Mats runs down Ali’i Drive to the finish line.

  —Cherie

  On top of that, Kathleen was coming back to celebrate our thirty-fifth anniversary of the Crawl of Fame race. She was there to help Mike Levine take another spin on a course he first ran in 1982, but this time while battling pancreatic cancer. Talk about a Superman! “This was a day to come together as a triathlon family to support Mike Levine,” Kathleen said. “We were greeted with leis at the finish line and we raised our ’82 throwback Bud Light cans in celebration.” Michael became the first recipient of a perpetual trophy Kathleen created to perpetuate living the dream through Ironman’s motto, “Anything is Possible.”

  I would have loved to join them, but I spent a year preparing to run a different race. If my goal was an airtight bull’s-eye, I was the dart zeroed in on hitting the red.

  Unfortunately, Kona had different ideas. Doesn’t she always? Because of the feedback from my training and racing, I had no doubt I would hit my specific goal. Hence my calm confidence. It allowed me to fine-tune my focus.

  What I didn’t count on was my body failing me.

  I got off to a great swim, and felt fantastic early on the bike. I was in perfect early-race position to challenge 11:10. Ten miles into my ride, though, my lower back tightened. This was unexpected, something I had only experienced while climbing steep mountain grades in training. I could deal with the lower back pain, but I did not anticipate the shredding quadriceps cramps that started around Mile 70—nor how they wore at my mental attitude like storm surf shredding a coastline. I never envisioned these hours of physical suffering.

  I finished the bike with my heart broken and my desire on empty. I watched the women in the change tent gearing up for the marathon battle, and I envied their determination and focus. My fight was gone. My goal of running a strong marathon was not going to happen. I could have walked/jogged the marathon, but out of respect to the race and my fellow athletes, I had to be one hundred percent clear about my choice.

  I never laced up my running shoes. I dropped from the race.

  The next day, I sent a long post on Facebook. It read, in part:

  Today is my 59th birthday and I thought I’d be waking up in Kona looking forward to a very celebratory day.

  I’m definitely going to celebrate, but this morning I’m taking the time for some introspection and reflection on the past year over my cup of coffee. My final Kona ended with the bike.

  Desire and passion will get you through almost anything. It’s how I got to the finish in 1982. This morning, I’m still clear and heart solidly steadfast in my choice.

  My goal was to put together an Ironman race in Kona that would be the bookend to 1982. It would be a testament to the strength of women as they age, to longevity in endurance sports, and to the pursuit of personal excellence and audacious dreams.

  Instead, my 35th anniversary Ironman in Kona will stand as a reminder that we don’t always get the fairy tale ending we script, the journey should be equal to the end result, and pursuing really big dreams takes risk but no matter how it turns out it will change you in amazing ways.

  Throughout the week, I have loved meeting you and hearing your stories. You will be one of the best parts of my Ironman week. We are all Ironman Ohana now and forever, with or without a tattoo! As for my personal ohana, the family and friends who traveled here to Kona and those who have support me back home, I love you and will be forever grateful for your generosity and kindness. I look forward to being your sherpa as yo
u chase your dreams.

  A friend, who happens to share my birthday, texted me that today is not the end of Ironman but the start of a beautiful life.

  In retrospect, there were reasons for my trouble. Even though I gave myself plenty of time to rest, maybe I dug a little too deep. You know how, when you’ve felt thirsty for a long time, when you finally take a drink, it might be too late? That’s how I felt afterward. My brother, Marshall, speculated my weight might be down. “I felt she went into Kona too light,” he said. “She was four or five pounds under her normal race weight. Those four or five pounds mean a lot; they can be the extra power and endurance you need. I won’t say that was the cause—it wasn’t—but I feel it was one of many factors.”

  While I struggled, another story unfolded in the lava fields: my son’s apprenticeship. Mats headed onto the run course with his father and Lisette to gather sage advice from Ironman’s greatest male champion. “When I went to watch, right after qualifying in Korea, I had a more personal connection,” Mats said. “It wasn’t just something my parents did and became famous for anymore. Now I was vested. It’s like the Super Bowl. It’s one thing to watch it as a fan, but another when you’ve played in it or know you’re going to play in it. Instead of just watching Kona through my mom’s or dad’s eyes, I was being totally nerdy during the pro race, checking splits with my dad. Seeing those athletes out there . . . those pro men went way faster than I did in Korea. I can look at that and think, ‘I’m a pretty athletic kid, I train hard, I went fast,’ but they’re still the next level higher.”

  Lisette was with Mark and Mats when race co-favorite Lionel Sanders, one of the breakout male triathletes of the past several years, fell apart. They’d heard bits and pieces of how and why Lionel had stopped . . . then started . . . then stopped . . . then started again. The Ironman shuffle; we’ve all been through it. Then Mats said something about the possibility of Lionel dropping out.

  “Mark stopped him right there,” Lisette recalled, “and said, ‘the one thing you can never do in your first Ironman is quit. If you quit, you will set the bar so high on yourself that it will be very difficult to ever finish an Ironman.’ Mark told Mats about how Julie’s race in 1982 was the heart and soul of Ironman. It didn’t start out as people trying to beat each other, but to push themselves, and to never quit.”

  After the race, Mats did his best to console me. This was more than a son comforting his mom; it was also a racer trying to plug my experience into his memory bank for future reference. “We talked about her quads not loosening up,” Mats said, “but I didn’t really say anything; I asked questions. I’m certainly not in any position to tell her she should’ve done something differently. It’s her race, and she ran it her way.”

  I was done. I’d given most of the past thirty-five years to triathlon, to hitting a time goal that would have astonished many . . . but then what?

  My fellow inductee in the USA Triathlon Hall of Fame, Missy LeStrange, started my process of finding a different perspective. I ran into Missy in the change tent after the bike. Year after year, she’s risen to the Kona occasion. She’s sixty-five, she keeps winning age-group, and she’s amazing. Her energy was so overwhelming that I was disappointed I couldn’t ride her coattails onto the run course.

  That moment triggered a notion: what if my 2017 Kona was a stepping stone leading in the right direction? What if my all-in goal of breaking 11:10 wasn’t a misstep—but a chance to peel back the layers of Kona itself. What is Kona? It’s not just about hitting a time. I thought I’d earned the right to do it my way, and I missed the mark. Sue Robison painted the picture: my goal was a tiny bull’s-eye, when my relationship with triathlon had always been about inclusiveness, running with others in mind, and the like. I’d become a dart on a dartboard.

  I didn’t want to end this way. Kona should be about giving something back by using my example to encourage others. I was missing that key piece. It’s not about performance alone. It’s about performance that inspires others.

  Another exchange came from Ironman age-group maestro, Ellen Hart, the former U.S. record holder in the 30K run. My life inspired a fictional movie, Tri which was released in 2016. However, they made a movie specifically about Ellen’s life, Dying to be Perfect: The Ellen Hart Pena Story. Our lives run an interesting parallel track. We’re both Ironman triathletes and age-group champions. We both overcame harmful situations, an eating disorder for Ellen, and clove cigarette addiction for me. We both found our way back, with Ironman a central part of the picture, and took it further. However, she’d never hopped on a racing bike until age forty-seven, when she also started swimming. She proceeded to win five consecutive age-group world titles at Kona from 2009–13 and is a top 60–64 age-group runner today. So am I.

  After finishing seventh in age group, Ellen posted a race recap far different from the flowing, fairy tale narrative she’d kept in her head and heart for months:

  This was my first over 12 hour IM, my slowest marathon by far, the first time trudging along in the dark, first time in any race I’ve ever had to walk, and, my favorite—my first glow stick! My daughter had seen me race once about 9 years ago, but countless times has heard the tales of triumph. I wanted this to be the best ever—to show her, at the biggest race in the world, what I do. I envisioned coming down Ali’i Drive in first place, and seeing how proud she was of me. I talk about dancing on the stage, or painting a picture with our talents and performances in this athletic realm. This picture says it all—it felt like an uphill climb all day. The women who beat me raced really well. I didn’t. And what then do you do when your best isn’t good enough?

  Ellen found perspective in her effort, and in the meaning of her one disappointing race in the grander scheme. She allowed me to share this:

  Suffering is universal—the refugee crisis in Myanmar, earthquakes in Mexico, hurricanes in Puerto Rico, violence in Las Vegas, sexual abuse everywhere. I am not presumptuous enough to compare my experience with anyone else’s. But I do know we all suffer. Last Saturday for me it was physical, and then even more, emotional. I struggled again with trying to believe I am more than a list of my achievements, that I am worthy and loved just for being me. For some reason that’s easy for me to give to others, and hard to give myself. It’s so seductive to measure oneself by external criteria. And it’s so false. I do this sport because it brings out the best in me . . . I do it for the community, friends, and people, and the challenge, healthfulness, and fun. Not very many people with serious eating disorders ever really come back to athletic competition, and hardly anyone gets to go out and do an Ironman at age 59. Hardly anyone, really.

  In my response, I noted that Kona and I weren’t finished dancing yet.

  Ellen,

  Just read your race recap and I was deeply touched.

  I saw you briefly at T2 . . . I think I was actually in your way as you tried to get into the tent. In a funny twist of irony seeing you was my brief moment of affirmation. As bad as I felt, I was still ahead of Ellen Hart!

  Reading your race recap was deeply moving and your struggle every bit as inspirational as the success you envisioned for your day. The lessons you learned will keep revealing themselves and guide you in all you pursue.

  Your heartfelt account has touched me deeply and your words will stay with me. It was like you were writing my story along with your own. Let’s go out and show the world what 60-year-old ladies can do.

  A few days later, I received this:

  Julie

  What a lovely message. Thank you. It’s funny, that moment in T2 I was thinking that as bad as I felt, I had caught up to Julie Moss! As sure as I was that this Kona was my last, I would like to end on a good note. Not necessarily a win, because I think I put too much value and pressure into that, but at least a happy satisfied feeling about my experiences there.

  You are one of my favorites in the sport, not because of 1982, but because of now, who you are, and the goodness you send into the world. Stay in touch.
Much love.

  After thinking about the exchange with Ellen, and then watching how Shalane Flanagan won New York a few weeks later, I returned to “beginner’s mind,” the mindset I occupied in 1982. If I went back to Kona, what do I have to do? FINISH. If I’d give up the time dream and start fresh, it would say more about my support for all athletes, and what triathlon has done for me, than hitting a personal time and calling it a career.

  I went back on Facebook. My message read, in part:

  On October 14th, I was very clear in my choice to not start the marathon in Kona. I knew going in I was being very finite with my goal of a finish time that rivaled my time in 1982.

  In retrospect, the goal of finishing Kona with a certain time missed the mark from the very beginning. I was too caught up in having the dream year with the Cinderella finish. And I became more enamored with the dream every time I hit another bull’s-eye, whether in a workout or in a race.

  The dream felt real.

  In Kona at my NBC interview, I said that my year leading up Kona and racing the World Championship was a love letter to Kona, a thank you for the past 35 years. I envisioned professing my love with a fairytale performance. When it went south on the bike I didn’t have the heart that Kona demands.

  Turns out this year it was a conditional love after all.

  I want another chance to rewrite my love letter. I need to rewrite my Kona ending. If I return to Kona for the 40th Anniversary, it will be with only one goal: to focus on the heart and soul of racing Kona.

  I see now that, as much as I trusted my heart to go for my dreams, I clearly missed the target in Kona. I had the wrong target. Kona is about having the heart to pick yourself up when you fall.