To all my loves…this is for you.

Ironman.

When I did my first triathlon in 2011, I knew people who had done the race and I thought they were nuts. It seemed inconceivable to me to be able to get your body and your mind to do something so extreme. And I thought – why would you want to do that to yourself?

Famous last words…

Now here I am…one of the nutcrackers. Or at least tomorrow I will be. I think Tim Don said it best in his documentary; “The best goals are the ones that are a bit crazy. Maybe to some people a bit unachievable, but that’s what drives us. It is doing what people say or think we can’t. It is pushing our bodies to the max.”

But of course this journey for me has more meaning than just doing something extreme that seems out of reach to the everyday person. After my races in 2013 I took some time off from the sport. I was going through a lot of changes in my life and I didn’t feel I could make the commitment that the sport really demands if you’re going to do it right.

In 2014 my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and it was as though my boat; my being, had sprung a leak. As she deteriorated so did I. I could feel the joy, the life, and the essence of me just dripping out of me like a leaky faucet. The grief washed over me like a wave. I was swept up in a current of depression and grief that to this day, I’m still not out of, but I think it’s in these moments where your biggest, most poignant decisions are made. Who do you want to be in this moment? How do you want to handle this? You can’t fight everything. You won’t always get it right. You can’t change what’s happening, but you can try to change how you deal with it. It might not always work. There will still be days where you will lose. But you must decide: Will you fight anyways? I made the decision to fight…to live. Or for fuck’s sake – die trying. So I jumped back into this sport as an outlet for my grief and as a tool to make me feel alive. A place where I had more control. A place where I could live boldly. A place where I am free.

I jumped back into triathlon to save my own life.

And I won’t lie…I am a changed person because of what’s happening to my mother. Somedays I’m convinced that I’m not a better version of myself. There is much less joy, laughter, or happiness than there was before…or perhaps it’s just more fleeting. There are days where the depression and grief win and I stay in bed and cry or sleep. Not many, but a few. I’ve cried at work, I’ve cried in the shower, I’ve cried in my bed, in my boyfriend’s bed, on the subway, on the bus, on a bike ride, while running…hell even while swimming. Grief is annoying that way. It doesn’t leave you alone…not even for a minute. I’m crying while writing this just thinking about how much I’ve cried over all of this. My boat…or my being…whatever you want to call it, is still leaking. And yet…I’m still trying. And trying is progress. And it feels weird. And sad. And wrong. But it also feels exciting. I miss my mom. As she was. Everyday. I am heartbroken that her journey has gone this way. I am heartbroken, but I am also grateful. For this sport. For this community. And for all of you.

There is absolutely no doubt that at some point in this race tomorrow I will want to give up. Things will start going south on me and I’m going to want to quit. I’m going to want to stop. I’m going to convince myself that it’s okay to stop. It won’t matter how many holes I dug myself out of during the course of the day, I will hit a wall nearing the end where I will doubt my ability to keep going and finish the race. Some people might accept this and maybe they will indeed stop. But for me, this is where I find out what I’m really made of, and more importantly, this is when I will think of “the why I do this” or my “one thing that keeps me going.” And that one thing is you.

Yes you.

All of you.

Thoughts of you will keep me going when shit starts going south.

Because YOU are the why. I will see my parents cheering me on in spirit, but I will also hear all of your voices willing me to keep going. You all have stuck by me, supported me, loved me, cared for me, listened to me, pushed me, challenged me, kept me afloat financially, and most importantly – you got into this trench of grief with me. This journey is an isolating one, but so many of you never let me drift too far from you.

You are the why and I won’t stop. You have my word that unless I’m incapacitated in some way, I will finish. When the darkness comes, I will hear you and get to work. I will take a deep breath and begin again. Tackling each mile as it comes. I will solve one problem… and then the next one… and then the next. And sooner or later I will hear them call my name saying: “Susan Bos – You are an Ironman!” I will have crossed that finish line having grown stronger with more humility, more appreciation, and more love for those who were in the trench with me.

One of best girlfriends and I saw the documentary, “Won’t You Be My Neighbor” this week and I want to leave you with something Mister Rogers shared with us that impacted me greatly:

“I’d like to give you all an invisible gift. A gift of a silent minute to think about those who have helped you become who you are today. Some of them may be here right now. Some may be far away. Some, like my astronomy professor, may even be in Heaven. But wherever they are, if they’ve loved you, and encouraged you, and wanted what was best in life for you, they’re right inside yourself. And I feel that you deserve quiet time, on this special occasion, to devote some thought to them. So, let’s just take a minute, in honor of those that have cared about us all along the way. One silent minute.

Whomever you’ve been thinking about, imagine how grateful they must be, that during your silent times, you remember how important they are to you.”

To my parents, Flossie and Otto, or as they are lovingly called, “Flotto;” to my KIS Performance Team teammates; to the rest of my family, especially my sister Remy, who was the first person I thought of when I took my silent minute at the end of watching the documentary; to my love who has held me so times as I cried in agony and who holds my mom’s hand whenever she asks; and to all of my loving friends all over the world who never stop lifting me up – tomorrow is for you.

I love you.

Onward.