Why Dead Last Isn't So Bad

I was talking to a complete stranger at the swimming pool yesterday, as you do when you have to share a lane and you (the girl) end up being a lot faster than he (the younger, rather muscular guy) is. And he wants to know why you’re faster and what your tips are for him to get faster. And you try to figure out how to explain to someone what you have learned mostly through muscle memory and practice over the last 30 years of your life.

I gave him my best advice, and suitably frightened him about his upcoming half Ironman race which is, in my opinion, the toughest race bar none on the planet (although I haven’t actually done ALL of them, of course). In particular, the swim is in a reservoir where it turns out if you’re lucky the temperature is 50 degrees and your extremities will be rock solid ice by the time you attempt to mount your bike and you have to use your teeth to change your gears. (If you're unlucky, the winds are so bad that you don't care what temperature the water is because you're pretty sure the water never ends and you watch as the rescue boats start to sink and the buoys marking the course disappear.)

Then I mentioned that I have actually written a book about training for triathlon called Ironmom, that I have helped my husband and kids get through races. I said that when it’s your first race at that distance and you’re doing something really ambitious, you should make sure your only goal is to finish, and not push so hard that you end up on the side of the road waiting for an ambulance.

He said, “I’m fine as long as I don’t finish dead last.”

And what is wrong with dead last? My oldest daughter was dead last in her first Olympic distance triathlon a couple of years ago. She was so far behind everyone else that they were coming up behind her, taking down the cones that marked the course. The aid stations were deserted (though they did leave a few cups of water on the tables). The finish line was already taken down, and the photographer had left. The awards ceremony was over, and my husband had to go up to get her medal before they took those away, too.

She was dead, dead last, and I have never been prouder of her. She won first place in her age group. Why? Because no one else her age was doing that distance. She was the only 16 year old who could manage to finish a full Olympic race. And she did it without support or people cheering her on the sidelines. She did it without giving up and walking. She walked every five minutes for one minute like clockwork, and she ran the rest as fast as she could go. She smiled like a baby when she finished, and she smiled all the way through. I’ve never seen someone who smiled through so much pain. I admire her for so many things, but that is one that sticks in my mind.

There is nothing wrong with finishing dead last. If you’ve never stayed at an Ironman race to watch the final people crossing the finish line just before midnight, you are missing out on the whole point. Sure, the pros finish in 8 or 9 hours. Yes, they are inspiring. Yes, they have perfect bodies. But near midnight, you get to see the real heroes. You see the people running with a prosthetic leg. You see the eighty year old grandmother who knows this is her last race. You see the guy diagnosed with (Jon Blazeman) Lou Gehrig’s disease who won’t live to come back next year. You see an older couple who is renewing their marriage vows at the finish line, who has gone every step (and every stroke and every pedal) of the race together. You see people who are carrying an extra two hundred pounds to the finish line.

Dead Last is a badge of honor, and don’t you forget it!