Ironman 3- Journey to the Philippines: My Father

Ironman #3, Subic Bay, Philippines coming up in June 2018. Not just another Ironman, this one is far different. They all are but this one really is. After my last Ironman I felt like I was finished, complete. Happy to stick with 70.3 distance races. But I was already registered for IM Philippines. For me at the time that would be the hardest race for me. I would have to address my fears and train harder than ever to endure the heat and humidity. Really, it’s going to suck. No sugarcoating. I know I can do it but why? Why would I? I already know I can go well above and beyond my perceived physical and mental abilities. I already know I am strong. I have nothing to prove.

I am driven by something bigger. Something I really cannot identify at this point. I am driven by my father. I am driven by my Filipino brothers who I never met in person. All 3 have passed on. My father passed from lung cancer 12 days before my 16^th birthday. My oldest brother, Arthur passed in 2011 and my youngest brother, Joey passed suddenly last year.  I never interacted with or knew Arthur. I have gotten to know his beautiful family on Facebook. I did, however connect with Joey on Facebook and skype in 2013. I always looked forward to the day I would meet him and his family. I am not sure if I am doing this for some sort of spiritual connection. For answers to questions I have yet to identify. No clue. But there is something there.

My father did not share much when I was growing up. I didn’t really ask either. I knew about his first family. I knew some stories of his father/my grandfather or Lolo Pedro who died not too long before my father did. I saved two letters from my father when he returned to the Philippines. He always came back though. When I decided to follow this path to race Ironman i.e. when I committed and purchased the airfare a month ago, I came across one of his letters. I have not read it in years and now it had a whole new meaning. He listed an address of my grandfather. He asked me to write him. I don’t think I ever did- I was a self absorbed 15 year old kid then. I looked up the address on GoogleMaps and there it was. I felt a connection. I felt like I made the right decision to race. It was clearly not just another race and it was obviously bigger than just me.

                                             

Since then I have thought of my father a lot. I had sort of 2 separate fathers growing up. He was one person up until I was 8 years old. He was a very loved Cardiac Surgeon. He was always kind to me despite the dysfunction between my mother and him. They were divorced  since I was 2 and it was pretty intense with them. I always looked forward to seeing him on the weekend though. We’d watching boxing and I would fall asleep on the floor watching it bored out of my mind but content. We’d get ice cream, walk around the mall or I’d play pretend at his house. He had a pool and he would patiently try to teach me to swim. I only really learned how to backstroke. I just wanted to jump in and do flips. And he would patiently watch me do this over and over. Ironically the cardiac surgeon had a heart attack and underwent a 7 way bypass in 1981. He suffered a stroke and ended up paralyzed on the left side. His life was forever changed and he was a completely different person. He was disabled. The next 8 years were a different. In that time with the dedication and love of my stepmom, Joan he relearned how to walk and communicate. By the time he passed in 1989 he was able to drive and ambulate with a single prong cane. He was just like who he was before the stroke then. I quietly watched him relearn everything in those 8 years. His determination was fierce and inspiring. He always encouraged me to push myself academically and set high expectations. I was always rewarded and happy to make him proud. He was my example. He showed me that anything is possible