70.3 miles of Mountain Madness
By Chad Dunigan, father to Jaxson
[caption id="attachment_257" align="alignright" width="300"]
Mountain Madness - The swim[/caption]
This past May, I had the honor of joining Team Miles for Smiles as a participant in the Mountain Madness Triathlon. The race was a half-Ironman 70.3 mile distance race, consisting of a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike and half marathon. I chose this as my first triathlon based on the encouragement of Team Miles for Smiles Head Coach, Deanna McCurdy and because FAST was supported by the race.
Those who know me know that I have never had any real interest in running, or swimming, or cycling. So, the logical question my friends would always ask was, “Why?” In the days leading up to the race, I wrote a short story, recounting the day when we first learned of Jaxson’s diagnosis and the immediate rollercoaster of emotions that ensued. I thought this would be the best way to explain why.
[caption id="attachment_258" align="alignleft" width="300"]
Jaxson Dunigan[/caption]
A little over five years ago, I was playing baseball in the front yard with my oldest son. I remember the day so vividly, like it was yesterday. It was a warm late afternoon day in May… the sun was just beginning to set. The pitch to my oldest son had been struck well over my head. I re-positioned myself upon our makeshift pitcher’s mound. Our “mound” was really just a tattered piece of white plastic we had found lying on the ground; but in that moment, in his eyes, I may as well have been toeing the rubber at Wrigley Field. As I began to wind up for delivery of the next blazing fast ball, I caught a brief glimpse of my wife standing on the threshold of our open front door with the phone positioned tightly against her face. I could see the tears welling up in her eyes.
On May 6th, I will be competing in the Mountain Madness Half-Iron Distance Triathlon, to be held near Carter’s Lake, in Georgia. This event will be my first triathlon race. And, for those of you counting, that’s 70.3 miles of swimming, cycling and running. Although I have certainly played more than my fair share of baseball, I had never been a runner…. or a cyclist… or a swimmer. I have legged out plenty of doubles and triples… and even swiped my fair share of bases. Still, none of that left me prepared to run a half marathon… after biking 56 miles… after swimming 1.2 miles. Oh yeah, I haven’t played baseball for over 15 years. So, when I proudly and confidently announced that I had signed up to compete in a triathlon, my friends and family – rightfully so – thought I had lost my mind. The most common response was one word… “Why?”
I dropped the ball where I stood. The Wrigley fans that had been cheering our every pitch grew eerily silent. My young slugger said absolutely nothing as I walked towards the sadness. On some level, even he understood something was very wrong. Every step towards my wife felt slower than the last. Her eyes conveyed all I needed – but did not want – to know. We positioned the phone in between us, and my wife asked her to repeat the news. I could feel my wife’s warm tears against my face as I began to listen. The doctor began, “We have a diagnosis…”
My training started in October. Every lunch hour was spent running. Every run ended, as did most nights before bed, with my knees wrapped in ice. Then there was the problem with my heel, which was followed by a nice bout of shin splints. Then the chronic knee pain kicked in. No… actually, the knee issues were from my IT band tightness. Or, was it my hip? A weak gluteus medius? What does that even mean? Bottom line… I’m not as young as I used to be and my ego was trying to cash checks my body wasn’t yet equipped to write. As I sat at my desk at work, leg up with ice compressed around my knee, the one word response from my co-workers kept coming… “Why?”
[caption id="attachment_259" align="alignright" width="225"]
Jaxson with mom and FAST Vice Chairperson, Maiddy Dunigan[/caption]
I couldn’t comprehend what we were being told. I mean, I understood… but none of it made any sense. Certainly, we were talking about someone else’s child. Not MY son. Not My boy. Not MY Jaxson. He’s just a couple years away from playing with us at Wrigley Field. We have his glove already. His name is permanently written on the lineup card. He’s going to be our clean-up hitter… and our starting pitcher. In fact, one day, he’s going to pitch a perfect game in the 7th frame of the World Series. He’s going to be president of the United States… right after he wins the Pulitzer… after accepting his Nobel Peace Prize… after taking home his 5th Grammy… Right? In that moment, there was a death of expectations. The doctor continued, “It is a genetic disorder…”
From January through February, reoccurring injuries kept me from running. The knee pain was just too much to work through. So, I hit the pool and I bought a bike. For nearly two months, I couldn’t run more than a mile without being shut down by the pain. This is crazy. I should just stop. I’m too old. I’m out of shape. This is just too hard. I will never be ready. It was during this time that I found myself regularly asking, “Why?”
The lights at Wrigley Field loudly shut down. The fans had long-ago exited the now darkened stadium. The driving rain now soaked the empty beverage cups, crushed peanut shells and shattered dreams that had been left behind. The cascades of cheers had been supplanted by the stark agony of the good doctor’s words of discouragement. It went something like, no it went exactly like this… "He will never talk. He will never walk. He will never live on his own.” As we hung up the phone, there was so much uncertainty, so many emotions, and so many unasked questions… not the least of which was, “Why?”
In March, I resolved my IT band issues, which I had learned were the root of my knee pain. My training was back on track, and I was beginning to notice improvement. I was getting stronger, faster and gaining much needed confidence. By this time, I had completed several trail run races, ranging in distance from six to ten miles. To my own astonishment, I even won a race. On that particular day, as the finish line came into sight, I could see Jaxson. Thoughts from that fateful day at Wrigley were overwhelming… how it felt walking off the mound… how it hurt to stand in the darkness of that day’s rain storm… and to know how hard our clean-up hitter had since worked to prove the good doctor wrong. It all came rushing over me. Fortunately, I will forever have the photograph taken after winning that race… Jaxson giving me an “atta boy” by gently placing his forehead against mine.
The great storm that drenched Wrigley Field that day has passed. The crowds have slowly returned. Sure, there are still the occasional rain delays that force the grounds keepers to temporarily cover the field. But the delays are shorter now. The rain and tear drops are not so drenching. I still take the mound at Wrigley. My oldest son still drives the ball well over my head. And, after five long years, our lineup card remains unchanged. We still have our clean-up hitter. We still have our Jaxson. We still have our son. We still have our dreams.
On May 6th, I will swim. I will bike. I will run. I will do it for him because he would do it for me. I will give everything I have because that is what he deserves. He is my clean-up hitter. He is my son. He is my hero. I will do it for him. That is why.
Although the Mountain Madness Triathlon has concluded, my training, racing and fund-raising efforts and hope for a cure continue. I will compete in my second triathlon in August. He would do it for me…
[caption id="attachment_260" align="alignleft" width="300"]
Chad with Miles for founder and Head Coach, Deanna McCurdy[/caption]
[caption id="attachment_261" align="alignright" width="169"]
Finished![/caption]
As you have probably gathered, inspired by Jaxson, Chad finished the gruelling 70.3 mile course (as did Miles for Smiles Coach and fellow Angelman Syndrome parent Deanna McCurdy!) and is now training for his next challenge!
Mountain Madness - The swim[/caption]
This past May, I had the honor of joining Team Miles for Smiles as a participant in the Mountain Madness Triathlon. The race was a half-Ironman 70.3 mile distance race, consisting of a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike and half marathon. I chose this as my first triathlon based on the encouragement of Team Miles for Smiles Head Coach, Deanna McCurdy and because FAST was supported by the race.
Those who know me know that I have never had any real interest in running, or swimming, or cycling. So, the logical question my friends would always ask was, “Why?” In the days leading up to the race, I wrote a short story, recounting the day when we first learned of Jaxson’s diagnosis and the immediate rollercoaster of emotions that ensued. I thought this would be the best way to explain why.
[caption id="attachment_258" align="alignleft" width="300"]
Jaxson Dunigan[/caption]
A little over five years ago, I was playing baseball in the front yard with my oldest son. I remember the day so vividly, like it was yesterday. It was a warm late afternoon day in May… the sun was just beginning to set. The pitch to my oldest son had been struck well over my head. I re-positioned myself upon our makeshift pitcher’s mound. Our “mound” was really just a tattered piece of white plastic we had found lying on the ground; but in that moment, in his eyes, I may as well have been toeing the rubber at Wrigley Field. As I began to wind up for delivery of the next blazing fast ball, I caught a brief glimpse of my wife standing on the threshold of our open front door with the phone positioned tightly against her face. I could see the tears welling up in her eyes.
On May 6th, I will be competing in the Mountain Madness Half-Iron Distance Triathlon, to be held near Carter’s Lake, in Georgia. This event will be my first triathlon race. And, for those of you counting, that’s 70.3 miles of swimming, cycling and running. Although I have certainly played more than my fair share of baseball, I had never been a runner…. or a cyclist… or a swimmer. I have legged out plenty of doubles and triples… and even swiped my fair share of bases. Still, none of that left me prepared to run a half marathon… after biking 56 miles… after swimming 1.2 miles. Oh yeah, I haven’t played baseball for over 15 years. So, when I proudly and confidently announced that I had signed up to compete in a triathlon, my friends and family – rightfully so – thought I had lost my mind. The most common response was one word… “Why?”
I dropped the ball where I stood. The Wrigley fans that had been cheering our every pitch grew eerily silent. My young slugger said absolutely nothing as I walked towards the sadness. On some level, even he understood something was very wrong. Every step towards my wife felt slower than the last. Her eyes conveyed all I needed – but did not want – to know. We positioned the phone in between us, and my wife asked her to repeat the news. I could feel my wife’s warm tears against my face as I began to listen. The doctor began, “We have a diagnosis…”
My training started in October. Every lunch hour was spent running. Every run ended, as did most nights before bed, with my knees wrapped in ice. Then there was the problem with my heel, which was followed by a nice bout of shin splints. Then the chronic knee pain kicked in. No… actually, the knee issues were from my IT band tightness. Or, was it my hip? A weak gluteus medius? What does that even mean? Bottom line… I’m not as young as I used to be and my ego was trying to cash checks my body wasn’t yet equipped to write. As I sat at my desk at work, leg up with ice compressed around my knee, the one word response from my co-workers kept coming… “Why?”
[caption id="attachment_259" align="alignright" width="225"]
Jaxson with mom and FAST Vice Chairperson, Maiddy Dunigan[/caption]
I couldn’t comprehend what we were being told. I mean, I understood… but none of it made any sense. Certainly, we were talking about someone else’s child. Not MY son. Not My boy. Not MY Jaxson. He’s just a couple years away from playing with us at Wrigley Field. We have his glove already. His name is permanently written on the lineup card. He’s going to be our clean-up hitter… and our starting pitcher. In fact, one day, he’s going to pitch a perfect game in the 7th frame of the World Series. He’s going to be president of the United States… right after he wins the Pulitzer… after accepting his Nobel Peace Prize… after taking home his 5th Grammy… Right? In that moment, there was a death of expectations. The doctor continued, “It is a genetic disorder…”
From January through February, reoccurring injuries kept me from running. The knee pain was just too much to work through. So, I hit the pool and I bought a bike. For nearly two months, I couldn’t run more than a mile without being shut down by the pain. This is crazy. I should just stop. I’m too old. I’m out of shape. This is just too hard. I will never be ready. It was during this time that I found myself regularly asking, “Why?”
The lights at Wrigley Field loudly shut down. The fans had long-ago exited the now darkened stadium. The driving rain now soaked the empty beverage cups, crushed peanut shells and shattered dreams that had been left behind. The cascades of cheers had been supplanted by the stark agony of the good doctor’s words of discouragement. It went something like, no it went exactly like this… "He will never talk. He will never walk. He will never live on his own.” As we hung up the phone, there was so much uncertainty, so many emotions, and so many unasked questions… not the least of which was, “Why?”
In March, I resolved my IT band issues, which I had learned were the root of my knee pain. My training was back on track, and I was beginning to notice improvement. I was getting stronger, faster and gaining much needed confidence. By this time, I had completed several trail run races, ranging in distance from six to ten miles. To my own astonishment, I even won a race. On that particular day, as the finish line came into sight, I could see Jaxson. Thoughts from that fateful day at Wrigley were overwhelming… how it felt walking off the mound… how it hurt to stand in the darkness of that day’s rain storm… and to know how hard our clean-up hitter had since worked to prove the good doctor wrong. It all came rushing over me. Fortunately, I will forever have the photograph taken after winning that race… Jaxson giving me an “atta boy” by gently placing his forehead against mine.
The great storm that drenched Wrigley Field that day has passed. The crowds have slowly returned. Sure, there are still the occasional rain delays that force the grounds keepers to temporarily cover the field. But the delays are shorter now. The rain and tear drops are not so drenching. I still take the mound at Wrigley. My oldest son still drives the ball well over my head. And, after five long years, our lineup card remains unchanged. We still have our clean-up hitter. We still have our Jaxson. We still have our son. We still have our dreams.
On May 6th, I will swim. I will bike. I will run. I will do it for him because he would do it for me. I will give everything I have because that is what he deserves. He is my clean-up hitter. He is my son. He is my hero. I will do it for him. That is why.
Although the Mountain Madness Triathlon has concluded, my training, racing and fund-raising efforts and hope for a cure continue. I will compete in my second triathlon in August. He would do it for me…
[caption id="attachment_260" align="alignleft" width="300"]
Chad with Miles for founder and Head Coach, Deanna McCurdy[/caption]
[caption id="attachment_261" align="alignright" width="169"]
Finished![/caption]
As you have probably gathered, inspired by Jaxson, Chad finished the gruelling 70.3 mile course (as did Miles for Smiles Coach and fellow Angelman Syndrome parent Deanna McCurdy!) and is now training for his next challenge!