I originally envisioned this race journal to chronicle the tactical aspects to how I completed Ironman Brazil, but instead it became a powerful lesson of how “No” means “Not Yet.”

As Don Mentions in his IMB Journal, there’s something special about doing a race internationally: the customs, connecting with natives, understanding its terrain and climate. And with a DNF under my belt in my first Ironman try in Florida last November, it was a shot at overcoming the psychological hurdle of being a finisher.

In last year’s award-winning motion picture “Gladiator,” Russell Crowe’s character would reach down and rub the battleground soil in his hands before each challenge. It became very poignant in the battles where he was exiled from his native land. But, for him, it appeared to give him a sense of calm connection with his surroundings. It was a great distinction for me to become a finisher in my second try, even in a foreign land.

But it is a race of preparation and tactics. As any of you already know, it is awesome to have a powerful sense of purpose driving you during those hours of solitary training, but the moment you let emotion reign for an extended period of time on race day, you’re history. So in the six months between Florida and now in Brazil, I tried to acquire all the lessons--no matter how infinitesimal--I derived from the Florida project. With Don’s help on the run (getting a prep marathon completed in February), experimenting with race fueling strategies, and good ol’ fashioned technique and planning, I felt secure with putting all the right ingredients together as I boarded my flight to Brazil.

But of course, no race is complete without some adversity, with the first one starting even before the race started.

Race morning. I was a little interested by a couple of Brazilian racers who were swimming over an hour before the race was to start. Do they know something I do not know? I soon found out they did, as I noticed about 25 minutes before the race (my usual time to get some warm up swimming complete), everyone was required to wait—outside the water—at the start line. No warm up? Here’s a great challenge to learn flexibility.

	“	It is awesome to have a powerful sense of purpose driving you during those hours of solitary training, but the moment you let emotion reign for an extended period of time on race day, you're history.”
		— Roy Asfar

Waiting at the start, there was a lot of shouting on the PA system in Portuguese. “Wow, this race announcer is passionate,” I thought. I turned around to see a priest giving the race benediction with the ferocity of a soccer announcer.

“God does not speak English today. How cool,” I thought. I reached down and rubbed the beach sand in my hands, thinking of Gladiator.

The race finally began, and by the time I exited the water, I found race legend Greg Welch doing an Ironmanlive.com report in front of my bike. “Hey Greg, excuse me, I need my bike,” I said in what felt like the understatement of the year.

A couple of things to know about the bike, one of which is especially true if the swim is one of your slower disciplines: Be comfortable with the phrase “esquerdo”—“to the left” in Portuguese, which sounds similar to "izquierda" for "left" in Spanish—which I sang like a song throughout the bike during passes. Also, be ready for little kids chasing you through some of the less affluent districts…they want your empty water bottles.

I had one scare: at mile 100 on the bike, I felt the eyeballs of race officials on my back as I glared at a pack of riders in front of me. I felt good enough to let loose for another solid pass, and eventually shook off the pack…. and those pesky officials for what felt like the hundredth time.

Then, and all of a sudden, I felt a wobbly sense of unease. It was a hybrid feeling of tiredness and wanting to throw up. Thankfully, I was welcomed by a vision of my favorite workout back home: low gear, high cadence spin workouts, which I do every Sunday night watching ESPN Baseball or Hockey. So I geared down and coasted the last 10 miles. It was worth the tradeoff in time.

The run was a hilly course, about 25% of the overall course. Man, chicken soup never tasted so good at 30k.

Overcoming the last of those ugly climbs, nothing beats the exhilaration of heading for home at 38k (by the way, if you are getting ready to do your first international race, master the metric system). Then, amid a quiet neighborhood street, leaps a fit looking woman shouting encouragement, in English, right in my face.

It was Fernanda Keller! I later found her Web site and E-mailed a thank you, to wit she quickly responded with a very classy response. She is a great role model.

And the finish line was every bit as special as these races could be. About an hour more than I anticipated, but tactically, I delivered everything I brought to the race. So it was a mission accomplished on foreign soil. I calmly accepted my medal, t-shirt, and went to a quiet corner for my routine post-race prayer of thanks. Then, sobbed like a baby, it was finally okay to do so.

Since Ironman Florida, I used to get apologies and condolences from friends for my DNF, but I never understood why. “Heck, it was just a stepping stone race. What’s the big deal?”

But now, I understand. I guess the alternative could easily have been giving up in the six months since, an even greater misstep. Many would have. But then again, I never would have understood why.

Until now. This race is so fulfilling when we blaze our own personal path to getting the job done. I am so glad I had that setback. Not many things in life are sweeter than reversing a wrong, and getting even more juice from life than the first time.

Thank you, everyone, if you are connecting with these feelings, too. Enjoy all the leaps of faith you take in your future.

And remember, “No” means “not yet,” in any of your life’s pursuits.