There is a running joke between myself and Rich Roll that there have been major obstacles for me to overcome at every single Ironman race I have ever done. The first Ironman I attempted was New York City in 2012. I'm not sure whether it was God, the Universe, or something else putting me to the test, but our drummer mixed up the dates that I was going to race and booked us to headline a festival show in Philadelphia the night before. It never crossed my mind to cancel either of them, and to add to it all I was racing with a stress fracture in my foot. I remember being on stage that night and people knowing that I was doing a triathlon in the morning; they kept asking me if I was going to take it easy. My reply: “Fuck no!” Our concerts are basically an hours-long MMA fight on stage, and that night we played one of the most insane shows in years.

I went right from the stage to my brother’s car, and he drove me home. I jumped in the shower and headed out to the swim start with no sleep. I caught the last ferry to transition, and it happened to be the ferry with all the professionals on it. They were all sitting around in their headspace, and I was walking up to them trying to chat. They must’ve been wondering who the hell let me on the ferry with them. It was pretty funny. At that stage I started to get a little bit nervous, but never once did I think I wasn’t going to finish the race. In my mind’s eye I saw myself crossing that finish line. I met my coach, and we sat together talking while we waited for the ferry to take us to the barge. It was August in New York, and it got hot really quick. The humidity was off the charts. My coach just kept reminding me to race my race and not to worry about anyone else. And that’s what I did.

About 10 minutes into the swim a dead body floated in front of me. Somebody had a heart attack and died, and the police boats had to come and hold up the race. I remember thinking “Oh shit, people die doing this?” By the time I got onto the bike I think it was about 96 degrees. I got choked up on the bike, I was in disbelief that I’d come out of my life and was able to do what I was doing. I recall T2 was very quiet that day - when everyone gets out of the water they’re all boisterous and joking, but when you get to T2 it gets serious. I laced up my shoes and took off. About 6 miles in is when the fatigue started setting in, and my foot began to ache. I said my mantras and kept pushing on. Every single memory of my life went through my head that day: coming from abusive foster homes to the streets to jail, being stabbed, my crack addiction. It was such a gift to be doing what I was doing, and I was not going to be denied.

When I saw that I only had a mile left the tears started flowing. As I was running toward the finish line, my mind went to the foster parents and their kids who abused us for nearly seven years. My inner voice said “Fuck you! You tried to break me, but you didn’t win. You hear me? You didn’t fucking win!” I crossed the finish line and heard:

“John Joseph McGowan, you are an Ironman!”

A burst of adrenaline went through my body. I got my medal and, in tears, hugged my chick and my older brother ‘E’. I’d seen Ironman on television in the early 80s and told myself I would do a race one day, and now I’d done it. I made a plan, executed it and got the desired result.

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