We did it. 

     On October 8th 2016, we completed the hardest one day race on this planet. The Ironman World Championship in Kona, Hawaii. Weather was hot, humid, and windy, just like Kona always is. It was hard. I say WE, because even though I was out on this infamous course relying solely on my physical and mental ability to keep going, I was only able to do it, with the incredible support of every one of you who took the time to think of me, send positive vibes, and even donate to the entire reason I was here in the first place. 

The Ironman in Kona is a life event. But fighting for the lives of those battling blood cancers, is something that moves Kona itself, into second place. What I've learned about leukemia and lymphoma in the last six months of the challenge bestowed upon me by LLS has been a life changing education. Blood cancer has been so close to me, for a long long time, and in many cases, I never saw it. But I do now, and wlll forever go out of my way to seek out to support those in the fight. Kona was the hardest physical and mental challenge I have ever faced in my life, bar none. But it still does not compare in any way, to what it must be like for someone in the blood cancer fight, to have to face that chemo dragon, stem cell or bone marrow transplant, just for the hope, and chance at sustaining life. That's a real fight. Mine, was just a challenge, for one day. Hard as it was, it's still taken with great perspective when placed against the backdrop of the bigger picture.Thank you one, thank you all, for your unending support. For the giving to LLS and the belief not only in their mission of finding better therapies and even cures. But the belief you put in me, to get this done. That was my one promise to each of you, and I did it, only with your love, support, and positive vibes through a six month journey, and endless long days of workouts. Very few ever get to say they tackled the beast and finished in Kona. You all have given me that honor, and you have my deepest thanks. But I will ask just one more thing of you. Don't let this be the last time you support LLS. Don't let this be the last time you think about blood cancers. It's everywhere. If not directly in your life, it's very close. I promise you that. Just ask, and you'll find out. Pray for those in the fight, for those who will be, and for the doctors and researchers working so hard to make terminal blood cancers a thing of the past. With your continued support, I truly believe we can get there. Mahalo my friends. It has been nothing short, of one of the greatest honors of my life. 

Doug

It's time.

Heart. Soul. Sweat. For 190 days, I've given everything I have, to honor these incredible heroes in the now fast approaching Ironman World Championship. The toughest one day race on this planet.

Nearly 100 miles swam, 1900 miles biked, and 600 miles run. Every stroke, and step, with many of these faces and names on my mind. These are my heroes. People who were just like all of us. Living their lives. Kids. School. Sports. Not a moment to spare. Big worries were what to cook for dinner. When can we get out of town to see the grandparents. What movie do we want to see this weekend. And then it happened. When you look at these faces, they are a reflection of any one of us. The only difference, is cancer chose them. We got lucky.

To those of you in this video, and the many others I've met along this journey, I am humbled. 

I can't fully understand where you draw your strength from. How you process such devestating news. How you continue to remain strong, and hopeful, and upbeat, often in the face of such hard news, or consequences. But you do. To say I'm inspired by each of you, just falls so short of how I truly feel. October 8th will bring a challenge that many athletes like me dream about, but so very few will ever get the chance. I'm so honored that this chance has come with the life changing journey of meeting you. You have impacted my family. You have given us greater perspective. You have shown us what true strength is. You have shared your vulnerability. You have opened your hearts to us. And you have done it all with grace, kindness, and honesty. We are better people because of you. I am honored to beat the drum, raising as much money as we can for research. You've shown me how that money helps. If not you, the next one who will be diagnosed. You've given me purpose. On race day, and well beyond, you'll be in my heart.

Of that, there is no doubt.

Anything is possible. Someday is today.  

With just six weeks to go until the Ironman World Championship, my mission to benefit the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, continues into uncharted waters.Every day I train, every step I take, is to do two things. Make sure I am able to represent LLS, and blood cancer warriors everywhere, with nothing but my absolute best efforts, on the toughest single day triathlon race course there is. And, to raise every dollar possible, to go directly to research, new therapies, and other benefits that LLS provides to those in the fight for their lives. People like Ryan Mims, who I met just a few weeks ago. 

This is a picture of Ryan, still in the hospital as I write this, at 4pm on August 26th. He's been in Cook Children's for his 4th, 24 hour dose of the powerful Chemo Methotrexate. It took weeks for his body to be ready to accept this latest dose. His blood levels (ability to fight off infection) were far too low for quite a while. But finally, his goal of making this 4th treatment has been met. But it's far from over. The next round of chemo he will enter is with something they call "Red Devil". I'm a father of two. I am beyond blessed to have healthy children. My heart just sinks when I think about what the Mim's family is going through, same as so many of my many honored heroes who inspire me to do my absolute best. They, are no different than the rest of us. They were living their regular old normal lives, when out of the blue, Leukemia chose Ryan. Nothing they did wrong. Nothing they could have done differently. 

But we have the power to do things differently down the road. The money being raised in this campaign, every single dollar, goes direclty to LLS. In turn, it's paying for critical research that is making a difference. Two cures for blood cancers discovered at UTSW in a research project there in the last two years. It's happening. We're moving at light speed with the technology researchers have today. How incredible, to be part of the push, that will someday have oncology caregivers reaching for bottles or bags that contain only cures, instead of chemo. It's not pie in the sky. We're moving in that direction. I thank you so much for your belief in my mission, in support of what we're doing, because none of us know who will be the next Ryan, or Hamilton, or Anne or Anna. But what we do know is that there will be more, and I'm proud of all of us have a chance to make a difference for those who will be next. Cancer fighters don't quit, and neither will I. #Kona4LLS 

    I sat and stared at the computer for five minutes. 85,001.31.

I kept trying to take in what this figure truly represents. It's a record amount raised for a single fundraiser in N. Texas. But what does that truly mean? As I stared, the pictures in my mind played the story, of why I'm here. What this moment and the moments ahead, represent.

I immediately thought about Hamilton Grant. My young friend who loves airplanes maybe even more than me. Who stood up to cancer, and took 3 years of tough treatment, and smiled more than any other patient possibly could. One tough, postiive, and precious little man. He's here, because somwehere along the line, money raised, went to research, which developed therapies, that have brought Ham to a point of remission today, where he is cancer free.

I thought about the famiiy I had just interviewed the day before we crossed the 85k goal. Their precious son, Ryan, is at the beginning of the journey. Diagnosed in February, he has a tough blood cancer that will require some serious fight. The Mim's are just like a lot of us. They were living their perfectly normal life. Paying bills, shuttling kids to sports, when in one singular moment, their life changed forever. Ryan is in the first round of what's called "heavy chemo". This picture is reality of what some of those hard moments look like. This is what a mom and dad see sometimes inside this fight. It is not easy. It's not fair. But it's a reality that LLS is fighting hard to change each and every day. There is no more helpless feeling when you are looking into your childs eyes, and his precious face, and you see this. 

And I thought of Chris Hales. Father, husband, teacher. He's two years into Multiple Myeloma. It's a terminal blood cancer. There is currently no cure. But the dollars being raised, being put to work in research, lead to hope. Chris' doctor told me that ten years ago, the Multiple Myeloma diagnosis would give a patient perhaps two years. When Chris was diagnosed in 2014, because of advancements made in just those 8 years, Chris' outlook has grown to a range of 8-10 years, with continuing chemo treatments.

So what does it mean? 

85,001.31.

It means more research, in a time when those cancer fighters in those labs are moving and discovering at light speed. It means it's not a dream, but a hopeful reality that the near future holds even better therapies for Chris, and God willing, a cure, for him, and all who are bravely fighting like he is. Better therapies and cures are coming at a pace we've never seen in the history of cancer treatment.What an honor, for all of us, in this effort, to be on the front line, of funding the future. In cancer, we don't get to choose who gets sick.It chooses us. But isn't it an honor, knowing that we CAN choose, to attack it with everything we have by funding the future.

So that someday, we will be able to say,

"Someday is today"

 and we were there, to help make it happen. 

 That, is what it means.  

    There is no easy way to describe how this all feels.

On the physical level, the mental level, and those spaces in between. After 16 weeks of good, tough training, there are now just 11 weeks until race week at the Ironman World Championship in Kona. It feels so far away, yet, the last 16 weeks have gone by in a flash. It will be here before I know it, but the question lingers every single day. Will I be ready. I can promise you I have left nothing on the table, in doing my absolute best to make sure I will be. But there is always doubt. Through the last 16 weeks, I've taken my mind and body farther, and harder than I ever have before. I've struggled. I've conquered. I've pumped my fist on the side of the road, all by myself, because I was so damned proud of what I accomplished that day. Not a soul there to cheer me on, save for myself. I've cried as I rode my bike and ran. Thinking of some of those who I have in some cases, only recently met, who are in the battle for their lives because of blood cancer. Their stories of suffering make my difficult moments during training, pale in comparison. What any of them would give, to be able to do what I'm doing right now. Not necessarily training for an Ironman, but I'm talking about living life disease free, able to choose how to spend their day without interruption from a team of doctors and medical procedures. Make no mistake, their are feelings of guilt along this journey. Guilt from being healthy. Guilt from knowing those I am fighting for, don't have the choice to say "thanks anyway" on some days. The guilt of not feeling the same anxiety, pain, fear, and frustration that they must. The guilt of knowing that I don't have to live each day, wondering if I will live the next. Wondering if a cure will come in my time. Wondering if the treatment will keep me alive long enough to see my kids grow. Wondering when the pain will end, and a new life will begin. That's what these amazing cancer warriors feel every day. With positive spirit and light they fight. They find the positives around them, instead of leaning on the negative. In my quest, completing the toughest physical and mental challenge of my life is the prize at the end of the rainbow. For them, it's being alive to see another day. I am so completely humbled by their support, their fight, and completely committed to representing blood cancer patients, warriors and fighters, with every ounce of me I can muster. That's why. #Kona4LLS 

The alarm rang at 5am. The bagel was already sitting in the toaster, pre-positioned just a few hours ago when I rolled in from work. On 5 hours of sleep, I moved through the house like a quiet mouse. Eating as I went, shifting focus between each element of this coming day to make sure I would take the least amount of time in between disciplines. All of my needed clothing laid out for what will be the first of a number of "Epic Day" workouts. Swim skin/goggles/cap first in line. 5:45am, I'm sitting on the side of the pool, feet in the water, wondering how I'm going to feel in just a few hours. The swim is planned for 1 hour. Steady, Ironman pace. For me, that will be somewhere between 1:45 to 2:00 per 100 yards. I hope. The water is warm, and on this day, it feels slippery. 30 minutes go by before I glance at my watch. Body feels great, making good time and distance. The day is starting well! But another voice inside my head, tells me to settle down. Don't get ahead of yourself. This long day will have bumps. They're coming, so keep your mind steady, not too high, not too low. Out of the water at 1 hour, 3400 yards swam. Right on expected pacing. I'll admit, I have a smile on my face. Endless hours of work in the pool are paying off. I am not tired. I feel strong, like I could go another hour. 

I'm in and out of the house, in 5 minutes. Bike is at the ready, Triathlon "kit" as we call it, laid out and ready to put on. Tons of sunscreen for this former melanoma patient, and we're off, on the longest bike ride I've ever done on my triathlon bike. 6 hours. Distance doesn't matter. This day is all about saddle time. In Kona on October 8th, depending on the various harsh weather conditions that I will encounter, I'll be on the bike anywhere from 5:30 hours on the best day I could ever dream of, to upwards of 7 hours or more, if all is going wrong. I need to plan for every possibility, and it begins with being able to sit on that uncomfortable saddle, laying down on the aero bars of my tri bike, for endless hours. We've planned for roughly 250-300 calories per hour. On this day, I'll take pretty much all of my nutrition, in liquid form. The heat index is 104 degrees. It doesn't take but a few miles, before I am sweating profusely. Water is leaving my body at a rate faster than I can take new liquid in. Salt is leaving as well. I am losing roughly 4 pounds of weight per hour. Taking in about 3 pounds. Negative deficit. The danger is that if your salt levels drop too low, you will get nauseated, and your gas tank can run completely dry, in an instant. In the hydration I'm taking in, there is 3 times the normal salt content, to combat the expected loss. I am taking in 48 ounces of liquid nutrition, every hour. The first few hours I meet up with a few friends, there is conversation, and a nice feeling of being among friends. So far, so good. 3 hours into the bike, the boys have left. Suddenly, it's just me. Hour 3 turns to 4. 4 turns to 5. It's amazingly hot. Hot like what I'm expecting in Kona. 

By now, I'm about 85 miles in, my shoulders and neck are hurting. Very sore in fact. My quads are tired. I'm sick of the sound of my chain on my bike, spinning and spinning and spinning. The taste of my endurance drink is now getting pretty old. I can't stop the water from dripping from the tip of my nose and my chin. It's incessant. My entire body has been soaked for hours now. Think of jumping in the pool, fully clothed, and the water never leaves your body. You'd be amazed how annoyed you can become by the simplest things, when you have begun to take your mind and body to places you've not been before. But this is part of learning, part of what I need to understand, so I can manage, when things look so bleak, when I face the toughest challenge of my life in October. 6 hours finally comes. 101 miles on the bike. I am so grateful to park the bike, but I am also so tired. All I want to do is go inside, in the cool air conditioning, and lay this body down. It's as tempting as anything I can ever recall. But I must now go and run 7 miles. 7 miles, after 7 hours of continuous workouts already. I'm so spent. I'm hungry. I am so sore. There it is, I tell myself. Another major mental test. When the body is screaming to stop, what will you do? That's when I turn to Ham. Anna. Anne. Roger. And others who I'm here for. Hamilton, 10 yrs old, 3.5 years of continuous chemo just to stay alive, and have a shot at a life. Body wracked in many ways by the devestating effects of chemo. Did he quit? You're damned right he didn't. And as loud as my body may have been screaming to be done, Ham's voice was louder. So was Anne's. Bone marrow transplant almost two years ago. She's coming up on celebrating her 2nd "birthday". When life began again for her, because of treatments and therapies developed because of money raised. Had she been diagnosed 6 years ago, Anne would not be here to cheer me on, and support me. But the transplant therapy she received, for her cancer, was part of a discovery just a few short years ago.  

With my honored heroes filling my head, it was time to run. All 7 miles, to finish the longest day of training I've ever done. There are more to come, but finishing this day was defining. It hurt. 8 hours and 30 minutes after this training day began, I was done. Physically, and mentally. There were without question times I wanted to just pull over and call it a day. But therein lies the definition of this mission. Just when you think you can't, you can. Just when you think you have nothing left to give, suddenly there is something left in the tank, but you have to be able to reach down, find it, and then use it. So metaphoric in the battle against blood cancers. I thought of a lot of people all day, but especially those last 7 miles. Those who have donated money to Leukemia and Lymphoma Society on behalf of my mission. Every single one of you who has gone out of your way to donate, you have put your faith in me. Faith that I will make good on my promise, to do my absolute best for LLS at the Ironman World Championship. Faith that the money we raise, will go to improving lives of people who have been, and will be diagnosed with a blood cancer. This is not something I take lightly. Your support, and prayers, are drivers for me. To look at this fundraising page, to see so many names I don't know, who actually believe in me. Your support of my mission and cause without so much as a handshake humbles me. Your prayers will carry me. I can't thank you all enough for helping those who are in the fight for their lives. Cancer warriors don't have the option to give up, I promise I won't either. #Kona4LLS