The Lion-King

Training for the triathilon had been my life. At 30 years old, 6’5 and 225 pounds, I felt like a lion. My abdominal muscles exploded from body and chest looked and felt like steel. Everyday I worked towards a goal of being cardiovascularly, physically, and mentally fit. My mornings would consist of 3 mile runs along trails that surrounded the hills of Northern California. I could feel the pulsating beats of my heart in my throat as I pushed myself beyond the threshold of utter exhaustion. I could hear the overexpansion of my lungs in my plugged ears as I pushed towards the standard that would make me king. I swam lap after lap knowing that if I would just put in more effort than any of my peers, I would succeed. I never thought bleeding from my ass would change that forever.

It was 4 am when I realized something was wrong. Excruciating abdominal pain awoke me from my sleep. I figured it was just some bad steak I ate that night that was giving me hell. I entered the washroom thinking that I’d get it out of my system and it’d be all over with. I left the bathroom in sheer terror with a toilet bowl full of shit and cups worth of blood.

Forgive me for my frankness, but you asked me what happened. I didn’t tell anybody at first. How could this be happening, you know? I had read that when you put a lot of stress on your body, you can get something called hemmoroids and that you just need to take it easy for a while. I didn’t think much of it. I figured taking a couple of days off of my intense triathilon regimen was all I needed. So, I took those days of and got back to work. Needless to say, trip after trip to the bathroom left me with a prize of bloody shit and things weren’t getting better. Wonderful.

My girlfriend started noticing that I was losing weight in my face and that I “didn’t look right”. I didn’t want to eat anything, could only run a measly mile in the mornings before I’d be spent, and I was losing weight faster than Lindsey Lohan preparing for her next “big hit.” Did I mention the blood gushing out of my rectum? Right.

She begged me to see a doctor, which ended up in a huge fight. “I am an athlete. Things like this happen all the time. I can conquer anything. Don't you understand! What’s funny is after that fight, I stormed off slamming the door behind me feeling like a tough guy and ended up 5 minutes later setting off an explosion of red only Mr. Cheney would’ve been proud to have accomplished. I rested my head on the sink and cried a little.

So now, I weigh 180 pounds and look like a gazelle. The “shit hit the fan” in terms of my training, (no pun intended) and I’m really sick. And that’s why I’m here. You say you put a camera inside right? Medications for how long? An illness that I’ll have to work through for years and that can come and go? Flare-ups? Cancer in the future if I don’t do what? Panulcerative Colitis who?

Ok, so just tell me this. Is it something that I can overcome? Is it something that I can work to defeat? Is it something that through mental toughness, perseverance and patience, will succumb to me? You see, I have to remind you of something. Things have never come easy to me. And I will beat this.

As I finish my conversation with the mirror, I take my slew of medications, give my girlfriend a kiss, and head out for my run. I have a triathilon to win.