Catalyst. Creative. Triathlete. Speaker. Cigar Aficionado. Amateur Behavioral Psychologist. Fresh Spring Roll Addict. Paraplegic at the moment.
So what you’re saying is we get to start at AT&T Park, push our #racingwheelchairs for a 10k down the waterfront Embarcadero of SF – which is blocked off for us AND we get a police escort – all the way to #Pier29 and back? Yes. In. For sure. What’s that? I’m supposed to cross the finish line inside the ballpark? … Yeah, missed that part.
Thanks #teamCAF Challenged Athletes Foundation // Kelly Brush Foundation // SFPD // SF Giants
Big props to fellow wheelers Steve Lau & Steven Toyoji
I went back and read last year’s recap about this race and I was livid at the end of that race. By ‘end’ I mean when I threw in the towel after the 1.2-mile swim and 56-mile bike. I didn’t even start the 13.1-mile run (push). A friend of mine told me she was really concerned about me mentally the days following, with good cause. It’s tough to put in so much work and sacrifice and not finish the race.
The week leading up to this year’s race, I heard Tony Robbins say on his podcast, ‘Most people overestimate what they can do in a year and they underestimate what they can do in two or three decades.’
Most people overestimate what they can do in a year and they underestimate what they can do in two or three decades. #iamnotyourguru
— Tony Robbins (@TonyRobbins) October 25, 2016
And this is 100% my pattern in goal-setting. I rarely get what I want when I want it.
I get it AFTER I want it.
Could be ‘right after’. Could be ‘not soon after’. Could be ‘a long while after’.
If I’d just extend my timeline in goalsetting by 200% I’d probably be a constant, consistent achiever. It’s a testament to me about the zen of persistence. Also, it’s a lesson in being realistic.
Why do I bring it up in this post-race recap?
Because I officially finished my first IRONMAN 70.3. I qualified for the IRONMAN World Championships in Kona, Hawaii.
I GOT my goals for 2018 this past weekend in June of 2019.
I started coaching this year with Carlos Moleda (5-time IRONMAN WC Kona Champion) and Dr. Ralf Lindschulten at Nexus Endurance. We started with a very specific and measured analysis of my endurance and fitness.
Using that baseline, we set goals. Better said, I set my goals and they set my timeline.
I flirted with the Olympic path these past 10 months and I’ll talk more about that in another post.
But I decided to put IRONMAN 70.3 Lubbock (formerly Buffalo Springs Lake) on the race schedule for two reasons. (1) it’s a well-supported handcycle-approved IRONMAN and (2) it will give me experience on the course I need to complete to qualify for Kona – which is the ultimate goal.
…and maybe (3) redemption.
‘And if Kona is the ultimate goal, then the timeline is 2020.’, said coach.
I COULD go if I qualify, but I would most likely just have a miserable experience because my swim needs more work. That’s not the type of experience I want to spend time, money, and effort to create.
It was really tough to say, ‘no’ in the moment … but I did.
That opened the door for us to go to the IRONMAN 70.3 World Championships! (this is the ‘half’ IRONMAN distance = 70.3, as opposed to the full distance in Kona = 140.6)
As for the actual race, everything was different this year.
The temperature was 95°F on the day, versus 103°F last year.
The morning had no wind, versus last year with 20+ mph sustained wind.
There was 2 of us in the handcycle division this year, versus 5 last year.
My buddy John is an amazing sherpa, but my girlfriend Erika is an exceptionally detail-oriented person, not to mention we have more room in the hotel with only one bed. For those of you who haven’t met her, she competed on the UCLA Triathlon Team and so having this sport and general fitness in common is an incredible connection for us. Having her there at every transition was special … not to mention she carried my gear.
… mile 9 of the bike when my hand pedal came off. All I could think was, “I’m not stopping. I’m not having another DNF.”
So I slammed it back on and made it work so I could keep going. Every now and then it would flick off on a hill or abrupt gear change. I would slam it back on and keep going.
And I did it. I completed all 56 miles of the bike. 47 miles with a loose hand pedal.
Major kudos to Marti and Mike Greer, who put have put on this race for 30 years. They have always been conscious of making sure their race is friendly (note: not easier, just accessible) for handcycle division athletes. Though there was ‘new course’ learnings, they do great by us year after year.
I secured my spot in the 70.3 World Championships in Nice, France on September 6 & 7.
Continued training ensues.
And once again, I need support.
As you can imagine, the cost is going through the roof of what I can afford alone. I have a new list of needs to make a showing in Nice. There’s continued coaching, equipment maintenance/upgrades (new hand pedal), travel, entry fees, and so on.
I’ve decided to create a crowdfund through this site, using PayPal and Venmo, instead of going through the crowdfunding websites that charge in excess of 8% of the funds raised. After all, website design is what I do for a living.
I’ll be posting updates, tracker, comments, and other info to this page: robbalucas.com/teambalucas2019
How else do I say, ‘I can’t do it without you?’ I hate this process. But it works. And every time this tribe says, ‘It’s okay. We want to support you.’ So here I am again. Can we do this?
One last note: post images to the teambalucas 2019 page about the support. Comments about the race below. Thanks!
“It’s not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.
The credit belongs to the person who is in the arena.
Whose face is marred with dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly … who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly…”
When I’m riding on my handcycle on a given day and not competing, I sometimes wonder what people think I’m doing. I get all kinds of facial expressions. I have boiled it down to a few choice guesses as to what people might be thinking.
My favorite is this: the confused stare.
I think the confused stare is thinking, ‘Man, he really wants an arm workout.’
‘There’s a million ways to work out your arms. Maybe he just really wants a tan too.’
And then today of all days, it happened.
While I was taking a break on my ride, this older gentleman started up a conversation and asked if I do this to work out my arms.
I wanted to say yes and go with it. You know I would have done that with a completely straight face. But I didn’t. I explained that I’m paralyzed from the waist down, etc, etc.
My gopro just happened to capture it all:
Today is the 3-year anniversary of my injury. No milkshake commemoration like year 2. No chicken fried steak commemoration like year 1. I’ve been off the wagon in both diet and workout since the last IRONMAN 70.3 flame out, so I’ve exhausted my appetite for gluttony.
I am about to embark on back to back to back weekend riding/racing for the rest of September including the Giants Race, Nautica Malibu Triathlon, and BORP Revolution Ride. So I’ve got a lot to focus on and that’s fine.
Last month I rode the hill I crashed on, as I plan to do every year, during the Marin Century ride and that sparked off a lot of introspect as to what was it that drove me to rebound so quickly back into my life and not spiral into the depths of despair like many do and many others expected me to do.
I believe it’s the fluidity of my perception of who I am. My identity.
I have actually spent a lot of my life thinking about my identity and taking a proactive, ownership role in who I believe I am. I spoke about it, in part, a year ago at an event for Filipino-American college students.
I say ‘in part’ because my mixed ethnicity is only one dimension of who I am. But it kicked off the awareness for me at a young age because I looked far more Filipino in grade school and was raised primarily by a single, white Mom. You can watch the speech I gave for more about that.
But that led to a lot of awareness and understanding of how others perceive me. Somewhere around the end of high school and the beginning of college, I realized I could shape that perception and began to experiment.
And that experimentation continued deep into my twenties.
I tried on corporate life, I tried on entrepreneurship, I tried on real estate investing, I tried on teaching, I tried on speaking, I tried on living in the big city, I tried on living in the big city on the East Coast, I tried on triathlon, I tried on open water swimming, I tried on dating women an earlier version of me would have shamed me for, I tried on dog ownership – the list goes on and on.
What I learned was that none of those things are my identity.
My identity is something far more core.
It’s composed of values and priorities.
It’s refined and discovered by me trying on the list of stuff above.
And then, the shit hit the fan. I broke my back and added titanium rods and screws, wheelchair, rehab, transfers, constant neuropathic pain, catheters, bowel programs, erectile dysfunction, standing frames, hand controls for driving, being 4 feet tall and looking up at the world, amongst many other spinal cord injury-related things to the list I’ve tried on.
When my accident first happened, I was very quick to reconcile that this injury and the growing list of aforementioned atrocities do not change who I am.
… if I don’t let them.
I believe I have a choice. I get to decide who shows up in the ICU, in the rehab hospital, in the wheelchair, and in my life.
I wrote about my intentionally-crafted and battle-tested values and priorities awhile ago in another blog and you can read that at this link.
My point is that I have come to believe I get to decide what my identity is.
In many cases, people who suffer spinal cord injuries have a really hard time coping with their new circumstances. I understand why and I believe that’s perfectly okay to have happen.
I’ve seen that for many of those people, it’s a crisis of identity. They believe their identity is in the motorcycle they just crashed, in the arborist job that they had when they fell from that tree, in the club dancer they were before they were hit by a drunk driver, in the military uniform they wore before that IED went off.
The truth is, their identity is in their values. The value of riding free, wind in the hair; of working hard and making things beautiful and safe; in having a good time; in the being the warrior who is brave and willing to protect others.
And the application of that identity can be applied to anything.
It’s a matter of being willing to be adaptable and roll with the punches.
Spinal cord injury is a masterclass in being adaptable.
My accountability partner, Lili, and I have been in some form of holding each other to account since 2005. One mantra that’s come out of our partnership is this Spanish: ‘Yo soy un lider.’
I am a leader.
One interpretation of this mantra is this:
Based on how I lead my life, others will follow.
If all I ‘lead’ with is complaining about how hard it is to live in a wheelchair and lament all the atrocities I mentioned before (and side note to acknowledge: it IS difficult and real and painful) then people will follow and say, ‘I couldn’t imagine. It must be so hard. Poor baby.’
And so goes my life.
But if I lead with a smile – the same smile from before my accident. If I lead with the same values of challenge, endurance, and growth that I learned from triathlon and apply that to rehab, living with a disability, and now paratriathlon; then people have said, ‘Wow that’s amazing! Go get it. How can I support you?’
And so goes my life.
¿Eres un líder? // Are you a leader?
#youcreateyourlife
—
PS – I had to have something to eat to commemorate after I started writing about it. I ordered in Vietnamese Fresh Spring Rolls this year because I’m addicted…and they were nommed five paragraphs ago.
One of the first things I was anxious to do, after getting out of rehab, was get back out on the road and cycling. I was pointed to BORP in Berkeley where I could ride their handcycles while mine was on order and being built. Their crew there and other riders were an immediate support group for the goal I had to do a triathlon before the one-year anniversary of my accident.
They allowed me to borrow a handcycle for 4-hour indoor ride and for my first triathlon in Oakland.
They enabled my goals and I could not have done it without their support. I’ve met countless others in the Bay Area who also benefit from there opportunities to participate in a variety of sports.
Will you support BORP? (imagine my doe eyes) I’m riding my handcycle with a team during their annual Revolution Ride on Sept 22. Every bit helps kids and adults have the opportunities I’ve had after a catastrophic life event.
Even better: come ride with us. If you’re a cyclist then join the team. I’d love to have as many people there as possible riding with me.
Here’s the link, do $25. Or $50. Every part gets me to my goal and gets people in my circumstances back into life.
BORP is a 501c3 non-profit, so contributions are tax-dedutible.
In 2015, before my crash, I was in a training program towards my first Half IRONMAN and we quickly bonded as a group.
We met up Tuesdays and Thursdays at dawn to ride out of San Francisco, across the Golden Gate Bridge, up Hawk Hill, down the backside to the YMCA, out to Rodeo Beach, and then back.
If you’re a cyclist in San Francisco, you know this ride really well. And you post pictures of the sunrise. And you get really grateful to live in such a cool place.
But if you’re us .. you take it to the next level. You give yourselves a name, you make it a club, make it semi-exclusive (meaning when people would ask we say yes), and then start talking about making cycling kits for no real reason except you really love how funny it is.
There is another group in our neighborhood of cyclists who would pass most of us on those morning climbs. They are called Fat Cake. We decided to call our team …
Chubby Donut.
While I was in rehab we designed a logo and cycling kit. It was purple, pink, accented in sprinkles, and said ‘Fresh and Tasty’ across the butt.
The Marin Century Ride goes up and over and back down the hill I crashed on two years ago. With the support of Team Chubby Donut, I ride in the Marin Century and we ride together down Lucas Valley Road from Big Rock to commemorate the occasion.
The Marin Century happens every year about a month before the anniversary of my crash and a couple of weeks before my birthday. So it’s a very introspect time.
Team Chubby Donut wanted to do the 60-mile metric century route of the ride this year. Last year Peter and I did the easy 25 mile route.
The distance was fine. I’ve done 60 miles in my handcycle before.
But what intimidated me was the climbing. 3,600 ft of climb, which is 1,000 more than I’ve ever climbed before. But I told the team .. if you’re willing to rock the hills at 3.3 mph with me, then I’m down.
And rock 3.3 mph we did. Until the last hill, Red Hill Rd in Petaluma. Different things started to strain, the road got narrow and curvy, the heat of the day pounded on my chest and face, and I took a bunch of breaks. That’s where I hit about 3,000 ft of climbing and thought this could be where we have a support vehicle pick me up.
But I hadn’t descended my hill on Lucas Valley Road.
So I got really present. Take breaks if needed. Take fuel. Go a little more and a little more. Keep cranking. Don’t tell me you think we’re near the top, Peter.
And what comes after a climb? A descent. I got to take a rest while traveling upwards of 35mph with my butt 6 inches off the ground. In the video, it’s towards the end where you see Paul catching up with me on a long road.
After that was only one more climb that mattered. The climb to Big Rock and then down the other side where I crashed. Ironically that climb, while not nearly as difficult, was made easier by a deep, involved conversation with Sarah and Peter.
We paused for a break at the top and to turn on all our GoPros. And then we went down the hill:
A mentor once said to me, ‘Nothing has power except that which you give it.’
I recently met someone who doesn’t ride places they crashed. They give power to those places.
I decided that that hill is just a hill. There’s nothing inherently evil about it. The hill didn’t do anything to me, it was just there. It was there long before me and will be there long after me. So decided not to give any power to this hill.
The guide for this ride says about this descent: “This hill dislikes males age 25–39 (yes, you guys crash here).” I have a secret to not crash like I did: go slow.
So that’s it. We went slowly down the curves at the top. After that was a few miles of 25mph straight descent – and that’s the fun part.
Relive ‘2018 Marin Metric Century’
Honestly, I don’t feel much. I think about people who think it’s amazing that I’ll ride this hill again. I wish I could show them how powerful this idea – this tool – can be. This hill as no power except that which I give it. And so I decide to give it none. And life goes on.
Now, what else do I give undo power to?
What do you give power to?
—
Not two or three weeks after my crash, I got a text from someone at CAF who’s since become a great mentor and friend.
Since then CAF has supported me by sending me to a paratriathlon camp; awarded me grants for coaching and travel to IRONMANs; gotten me entry into the Escape From Alcatraz Triathlon twice, the Oceanside 70.3 IRONMAN, the CAF B2B NorCal Ride, the Xmas Coma, and numerous others.
Needless to say, this Foundation enabled my goals in sport which I realize more and more every day how much that meant for my recovery overall from this spinal cord injury and paraplegia.
Will you support CAF? (imagine my doe eyes) I’m riding my handcycle with a team during CAF’s San Diego Triathlon Challenge in October. Every bit helps kids and adults have the opportunities I’ve had after a catastrophic life event.
Even better: come ride with us. If you’re a cyclist then join the team. I’d love to have as many people there as possible riding with me.
Here’s the link, do $25. Or $50. Every part gets me to my goal and gets people back into life.
CAF is a 501c3 non-profit, so contributions are tax-dedutible.
works too »