That’s exactly what it felt like when I read the e-mail after class, me as Chuck and running up and down the street in Santa Monica, looking for someone who would understand exactly what it meant - to be allowed to race in Kona - to get ripped by the course I’ve seen rip through contenders as far back as I can remember, sitting on a couch and watching the race unfold on some calm, lazy December day, helplessly crying and crying because I couldn’t take it, because I was so inspired by it - the sight of bodies crumbling and failing and enduring, utter destruction and triumph of the human spirit. It was always so beautiful to me. Now I’m going there, to participate in it. It’s breaking me now, just typing this…
I think it’s important to say this on paper — even though I’m not going to Kona on a qualification (though I’m not ruling that out in St. George May 9th), at some point in the last year, I went to bed thinking that only in my wildest dreams would I be able to compete in both Boston and Kona in the same year, THIS year. Only in my wildest dreams. And now here we ar
