robbalucas

I cannot say the past ten years have flown by.

(okay, eleven. But keep going, it’ll make sense later)

I have felt every single one of them.

And I want to be clear about why, because people tend to assume they know. They assume the weight comes from the struggle. From the wheelchair, the pain, the things that got taken.

The struggle was there. All of it. I’m not going to pretend otherwise.

But that’s not why I remember every year.

I remember every year because of the challenges I chose. Every single one of those. The triathlon within a year. The doing of the IRONMAN 70.3 (IM70.3 = half IRONMAN distance) I had been training for when I suffered the spinal cord injury. The wild idea of competing in the IRONMAN World Championships. Racing in the Boston Marathon.

The time didn’t fly. Not because of the struggles. Because of the chosen challenges.

ten years, one at a time

Year 1	A triathlon. Didn’t matter what it looked like. I did three.
Year 2	Discovered the power of the pressure sore.
Year 3	Finished IM70.3 Oceanside. Then said “IRONMAN World Championships” out loud, to people. That’s how it starts. Then I failed my first qualifying attempt.
Year 4	2nd qualifying attempt = Qualified for IM70.3 World Championships in Nice, France!
Year 5	Raced in France and DNF’d (Did Not Finish). Then COVID struck and all races were canceled.
Year 6	Qualified again — Kona this time. Then the world stopped again (COVID Omicron).
Year 7	Kona postponed. Pivoted to IRONMAN California. A bomb cyclone canceled it.
Year 8	Kona. Finally. Four chain derailments and a shoulder that had opinions. DNF.
Year 9	IRONMAN California revenge tour. Finally: “Rob Balucas, you are an IRONMAN.”
Year 10	70.3 World Championships in Taupō. Fourth place. Fastest American. Second from last overall. I’ll take it. Qualified for Boston Marathon at both Napa Valley and Chicago marathons.
Year 11(Bonus)	Diagnosed full-thickness supraspinatus tendon (rotator cuff) tear. Still crossed the line at the Boston Marathon!

Ten years. Not one of them wasted.

Those ten years were about proving to myself and to “the world” I could still pursue big hairy audacious goals from a wheelchair; and by extension, so can you.

That was the whole project. Every year had a version of it.

And I finished it. Not perfectly — there are DNFs in that list and they still sting — but I finished the project. I proved the thing I set out to prove.

There were valuable lessons — especially in the DNFs.

I found my edge.

It’s been a monumental decade … in a wheelchair.

hello god, it’s me robby

And then I started getting signals that the next ten years have to be about something else.

It started as early as training for Kona. The volume of solitary hours started to wear on my extrovert propensities. I was scraping the bottom of the streaming barrel to find shows that could hold my attention for a 2.5-hour interval session.

That was 2022. Today, it’s only worse.

The shoulder

Ten years of swimming [poorly], handcycling, and pushing a race chair adds up. Mine has been sending invoices for a while now and I’ve been very good at not opening them.

Last year I opened them. Full-thickness supraspinatus tear with SLAP II extension and Type III acromion impingement.

What’s that mean? It means I should have major surgery. But the doctor said the risk of re-injury for a wheelchair user in the first year is very high, so high that it isn’t worth the cost and effort.

That’s the nail in the coffin, but with an asterisk of course.

Swimming is out. That’s the primary motion that aggravates the problem. That closes the chapter on a Kona ‘finishing’ comeback.

what comes next

A couple of things are emerging for the next 10 years.

The coaching hat is going on.

Some of that is already happening — I consistently coach race chair, swim, and occasionally handcycle with Angel City Sports. Check the website for our regular track clinics! I’ve coached paratriathlon camps with Dare2tri. And there are the frequent conversations with parathletes about the many technical aspects of training, traveling, and competing.

Adaptive sport consulting.

I’m working with race directors on the actual mechanics — how to add a wheelchair division, where the course needs a real accessibility audit, what an accommodations plan looks like when it’s not an afterthought. And with brands on adaptive equipment design — right now that’s a hard travel case for handcycles, race chairs, and the rest of the gear that airlines love to destroy.

Because movement is medicine. Community is key.

Back to business

I’ve been lucky enough to have great clients like LiveChannel sustain me financially through these last few IRONMAN campaign years. But now I am taking my little website/online marketing agency, babaLucas Creative, to the next level in the age and face of AI. It’s ominous and exciting at the same time.

I’m “just” doing marathons

The asterisk mentioned before is that I’m still doing a few bucket list things while baby-ing my shoulder. I pushed the Boston Marathon this past April and came in last in my division. I did a 2:08, which is good enough to qualify for next year … but first place came in a full 50 (read: FIVE ZERO!!!) minutes ahead of me.

And, I’m working on one more that could possibly be the send-off race for a bit. Nov 1 I am racing the New York Marathon with my long-time friend and confidant Aaron Jasper to support the Challenged Athletes Foundation. Check the post-script on that.

the whole point

The thing was never the training plan or showing off the finisher medal.

It’s the framework. The way you look at an obstacle you did not choose and retain your personal sovereignty to decide what happens next. That transfers. It works on a race course and it works at the office.

Tragedy is guaranteed. Struggle is guaranteed.

Though we love us some stability, we have far less control than we want to believe.

Loss, failure, the thing you didn’t see coming — all of it is coming for every one of us. I’m not being dark. I’m being accurate.

What is not guaranteed is that you suffer.

Suffering is optional.

I don’t mean that in the toxic-positivity, everything-happens-for-a-reason kinda way. It’s okay to feel disappointment and all the other feels and work through them. If you’re reading this and feeling thankful that things are okay right now – drink it in; by all means.

I’m referring to the moment(s) when things don’t go right. I mean it in the way I’ve demonstrated with average athletic talent and average Joe lack of exceptionalism.

A spinal cord injury. 2 DNFs out of 3 IRONMAN World Championship starts. Multiple torrential rains [on my parade] during races. A bomb cyclone canceling another. Coming in last at the Boston Marathon.

None of that was my call.

What I did next was always my call. Every time.

That’s the difference between a hard decade and a full one. Suffering makes time heavy. Challenge makes it full.

Ten years, and I felt every one of them. And I’d do it all over again. No regrets.

#youcreateyourlife

‘Adulting’ has been a constant topic on my mind this past year and what is now 2 years since participating in the 2022 IRONMAN World Championships in Kona.

I haven’t written since finishing Kona. A few times people have asked – surprising faces in my community actually; I guess just not one’s that I might expect – about actually looking forward to race recaps and updates.

There are many due:

• year 8 recap

• Finishing IRONMAN California in 2023 in very wet conditions; my Kona DNF ‘revenge tour to finish’ is what I called it.

• Serving as a pacer for the lululemon 10K Tour in Los Angeles and the completion of my 2 years as the Malibu lululemon store ambassador.

• Finishing 3rd in the IRONMAN 70.3 Eagleman in Cambridge, Maryland this past June.

Most of those will come forthwith in abbreviated format.

That’s where adulting comes in. Kona was the big hairy audacious goal set in year 2 of my wheelchair journey. Apparently I also had an unspoken assumption that after Kona I was going to … adult.

But then I didn’t finish at Kona. 

And I had this deferred paid entry to IRONMAN California the following year. 

And I had worked so hard to build the fitness and skills to race the full IRONMAN distances.

And we had both earned and raised so much money for the expensive adaptive equipment.

And, I decided I couldn’t go out on a DNF (racing-speak for ‘Did Not Finish’).

So I committed to racing IRONMAN California.

And as last year progressed, my biggest challenge each day and week was to decide what was getting sacrificed: training, work, relationships, stretching, or sleep?

This is what defined my little adulting dilemma.

In the deeper existential sense, it was decision between doing the responsible thing, or continue pursuing the dream.

For the prior 7-8 years since my crash, I was really clear what pursuing the dream meant for me in this wheelchair life. I committed to the dream and I gave it priority.

It required a lot.

It required a lot of me, of course. It also required a lot of support from non-profits who’s charter is supporting people with disabilities like me; it required a lot from those closest to me; and it required a lot of crowdfunding (as long-time community know).

And ya’ll came through every time and my gratitude runs deep and will forevermore.

But a funny thing happened along the way on the IRONMAN California ‘revenge tour’. 

I looked up and realized I made more money in 2023 than I had in any year since my injury. Coupled with the fact that IRONMAN California was not on a Hawaiian island, continuing non-profit support, and work opportunities that have fortunately come my way; I was able to self-fund the trip.

It turned out, while I was stressing out over the proverbial race/life balance, it was actually balancing itself out over the course of the year.

It was yet another valuable life lesson learned from triathlon in 2023.

Then came 2024 … was it time to hang it up? I mean … hey … I’ve come so far and worked so hard to build a level of endurance fitness and invested so much. 

https://www.ironman.com/im703-world-championship-2024AND, the IRONMAN 70.3 (half IRONMAN distance) World Championships are in Taupō, New Zealand this year. 

AND, the qualifying race is in Maryland near some of my favorite friends.

So much for turning the corner to adulting.

I signed up for the qualifying race in Maryland, which was last June. After having a terrible swim (primarily because my leg strap came off) and coming out of the water last of the 5 in my division, I had my fastest handbike leg and run leg and overall race time in a half IRONMAN. 

I finished third.

I qualified for the New Zealand IRONMAN 70.3 World Championships this December.

Here’s the moral of this year’s story: we have to work for it, we have to figure out a way, but sometimes we can do both the adulting and the dream. It includes a lot of consternation and deciding sacrifices along the way.

—

Lastly, a humble brag: with only the financial support of my non-profit community, I’m self-funding my way to New Zealand. I say that not to brag. 

I say that to make a point to you, my friends & family who have supported me with funding at every ask, that my version of gratitude to you is to not have to ask anymore.

Adulting. Nailed it.

And I love ya’ll. Forevermore.

Post-script: the financial picture has always been top of mind for me. But it has been acute during this Paralympic season because major outlets have been reporting on the broader conundrum for disabled folk. Where living costs more, where participation in sport at any level be it recreational or elite, and where finding employment opportunities is ripe with discrimination.

I am one of the very fortunate exceptions that ‘make the rule’.

Read on if you are inclined:

Self Magazine: It Shouldn’t Be This Expensive to Be a Paralympic Athlete

NPR Marketplace: For many Olympians and Paralympians, the path to Paris is self-funded