{"product_id":"against-the-odds-isbn-9781578264261","title":"Against the Odds","description":"Completing a triathlon at any age is a major achievement; finishing an IRONMAN® Triathlon in your sixties is nothing short of inspirational. A true account of John Pendergrass’ impossible goal of completing six IRONMAN Triathlons on six continents, all while in his sixties, \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eAgainst the Odds\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e will shatter your preconceptions of what a man in his golden years can accomplish.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor most people, their sixties are a time to slow down, take things easy, and reflect on a life well lived. Not for Pendergrass. As his sixtieth birthday loomed, he longed for a challenge that would push him to his limits and drive him to achieve something that few people had ever done before.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePendergrass found his answer in the IRONMAN Triathlon, the world’s most difficult endurance event: an intimidating 2.4 mile swim in open water, a grueling 112 mile bike ride, and an exhausting 26.2 mile run—all in the same day. A total of 140.6 miles, nonstop... a monumental task for men half his age.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eAgainst the Odds\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e follows Pendergrass through each arduous step as he struggles against time, doubt, and his own physical limitations to arrive tired, but victorious at the finish line. From the deserts of Arizona to the bush of South Africa, from the beaches of Brazil to the coasts of New Zealand, this journey chronicles not only the races themselves, but also the breathtaking countries that host them. Told with modesty and humor, \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eAgainst the Odds\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e is a story of impressive drive and incredible courage that will inspire you to new heights many could only dream of reaching.Prologue \u003cbr\u003e Foreword by Brett Favre \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 1: China on My Mind \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 2: Looking for a Challenge \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 3: “Whoever Finishes First, We’ll Call Him the IRONMAN®” \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 4: Triathlon 101 \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 5: The IRONMAN Mystique \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 6: In the Pool and On the Road \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 7: Adventures in South America: Brazil \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 8: No Country for an Old Man: Switzerland \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 9: Hurricanes and Hip Fractures \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 10: Back on the Road: South Africa \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 11: A Land of Great Surprises: New Zealand \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 12: A Crowd in the Desert: Arizona \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 13: The Sixth and Final Stop: China \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Epilogue \u003cbr\u003e Acknowledgments\"\u003ci\u003eAgainst the Odds\u003c\/i\u003e is a remarkable story, a tale of courage and perseverance told with humor and honesty. There must be thousands of athletes who have finished an IRONMAN® race faster than John Pendergrass, but there can’t be very many who have had as interesting a journey.\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eBrett Favre\u003c\/b\u003e, former Super Bowl champion NFL quarterback\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"In \u003ci\u003eAgainst the Odds\u003c\/i\u003e, John Pendergrass describes in vivid detail what it is like to mentally and physically train for an IRONMAN® Triathlon. John decided to compete in the sport after he reached his sixties and went on to compete in six IRONMAN Triathlons on six different continents. John’s story is as inspirational as it is compelling. John is not only admired for his super human feats and accomplishments in the sport but also for his contribution to this great sport with this book\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eDon Mann\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Complete Guide to Adventure Racing\u003c\/i\u003e and Director of the Eastern Shore 140 Ultra Triathlon\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eAgainst the Odds\u003c\/i\u003e is an easy read with so much self-deprecation and humor that you can easily lose sight of the fact that it's a story of remarkable achievement. Six IRONMAN® Triathlons on six continents after discovering triathlon in your sixties? That's amazing. But the biggest takeaway from Pendergrass' book is just how much fun it was for him. He never takes himself too seriously, a refreshing change in the triathlon world, and it's easy to imagine him being an unintentional hero for those who simply wondered what was possible, even if there were some moments when it seemed like simply getting up out of a recliner was a bit too much to ask.\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003eJordan Rapp\u003c\/b\u003e, champion triathlete and Chief Technology Officer at Slowtwitch.com\u003cb\u003eJohn Pendergrass\u003c\/b\u003e is an ophthalmologist who lives and practices in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He has currently finished more that 50 triathlons and continues to seek out new races and new challenges, big and small.\u003cb\u003eExcerpt from Chapter 7\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e [...] Race morning finally  arrives. The hurricane-like winds that I  experienced on arrival are a  distant memory. The weather is great,  temperature in the mid-50s, low  humidity, just a little breeze. It seems  like I landed in Brazil years  ago but it has only been three days.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It’s a solemn group in the  men’s changing tent. Everyone has finished  their pre-race preparation.  Most have slipped into their wetsuit and are  waiting for the start.  Nobody is laughing or smiling, many look worse  than me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There  is no doubt a very difficult day is in store. There  will be pain and  suffering in varying amounts for absolutely everyone.  No one gets a  pass in an IRONMAN® Triathlon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I spend much of this  time  praying to the Lord to help me survive and finish. My faith is  plain  and unsophisticated, I’m not above bargaining. If He wants me to  drop  those long Sunday morning runs and start spending more time in  church  I’ll do it. If the money for my new running shoes needs to go in  the  collection plate, so be it. I’m very open to divine intervention.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It’s going to be a long day and I need all the help I can get. “Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The swim course is made up of two laps separated by a short run on the   beach. Each lap is supposed to be rectangular in shape but it’s really   hard to tell. The buoys are small and not in a straight line, making   them difficult to follow. I decide to stay in a crowd; I feel as long as   there are a lot of swimmers around me, I should be okay.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMore  than  1,000 athletes are off at the sound of the gun. I wait near the  back of  the pack and soon find a comfortable spot. The swimming is  easy, this is  the first event and I’ve had lots of rest in the last few  weeks, so I  have no reason to be tired. Soon, the butterflies are  gone; this is the  best I’ve felt since I arrived in Brazil.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The  location of the buoys  still has me a little confused so I choose the  longest route to make  sure that I don’t cut the course. I’m not taking  any chances. I’ve been  behind the curve since the day I arrived. I’m  afraid of making a  mistake.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The first lap is done in around 52  minutes. I had hoped to  be a little faster but I’m glad I still feel  fresh. I’m about to start  the second lap when the two race leaders  emerge. They have completed two  laps in the time it took me to finish  one. These Big Guys strip off  their wetsuits in no time at all and  vanish up the beach. I wobble on  unsteady legs before heading back into  the water.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My second lap, not  surprisingly, is worse than the  first. A strong cross current develops  and keeps pushing me laterally.  If I want to reach a buoy straight ahead  at the 12 o’clock position, I  have to swim in the 2 o’clock direction.  It becomes a chore to keep  swimming in a straight line. I find I’m  trying harder but going  slower.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I’m delighted to see solid ground  when I finally  finish at 1 hour, 56 minutes. This has been a pretty hard  swim and  quite a few people missed the 2 hour 20 minute cutoff time and  had to  drop out of the race.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Soon I’m out on the bike, aiming to  stay  out of trouble. I’ve still got flat tires floating in my brain.  It’s  hard to believe that less than 24 hours ago I wasn’t even sure that  I  would have a bike to ride. Now I’m riding smoothly, almost on cruise   control.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This leg of the race takes forever, sometimes even  longer  if you have a flat tire. Each of the two laps has three nice  hills going  out, a tour of downtown Florianópolis, and then the same  three hills  coming back. It’s late morning on a pleasant Saturday in  May, and many  people are out and about shopping. The roads are full of  traffic and  there is just one lane blocked off for cyclists. Everyone  in  Florianópolis is tending to their own business; no one seems to  notice  the triathletes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The first 56 mile loop goes by quickly.  I’ve got  fresh legs, they’re working fine at present, but in the back  of my mind I  know they could reach their expiration date at any moment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I’m  really worried about getting dehydrated. Everything I’ve read and  heard  says drink, drink, drink, so I really press the fluids,  alternating  water and Gatorade™. This results in three pit stops on the  first lap  alone with no toilets available on the route. I stop on the  side of the  road, act like I’m alone in the Amazon rainforest, and go  about my  business. The passing motorists all honk; maybe they are  paying  attention after all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne or two miles before the end of  the first  lap, the two leaders pass me on the bike. They’re finishing  the final  lap. It’s a very impressive sight. They are escorted by eight  fully  uniformed motorcycle police. The Big Guys, separated by a couple  of bike  lengths, are flying. Lights are flashing, sirens are sounding,  these  boys are moving. It’s like the tortoise and the hare, but I’m  under no  illusion, this tortoise has no chance. The hares will win  today.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs I  head out on the second lap, I seem to handle the  trio of hills  surprisingly well. I’m some eighty miles into the bike  leg and I’m still  feeling decent. I think to myself, maybe I’m in  better shape than I  thought, maybe sixty really isn’t that old. Each  month I read the AARP  magazine and learn that seventy is young, just a  brief interlude before  those exciting eighties. Still, I keep getting  solicitations for a  strange variety of products— long-term care  insurance, hearing aids,  trousers with expandable elastic waist bands. I  wonder, will I ever need  those old-timers goods? The way I’m feeling  now, I could ride this bike  all the way to the great transition area in  the sky.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs I turn  around and head back in for the final 30  miles or so, the reason for my  burst of energy and optimism becomes  obvious. A nice tailwind had popped  up on the outward bound leg of the  second lap and pushed me along. Now I  have to fight the big hills  coming back directly into a headwind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m beginning to get  tired; it’s a long struggle, the hills are much  steeper, there’s no one  to draft on. My seat is sore. When a senior  citizen like me really  needs help, where the hell is the AARP?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI  glance down at my  odometer, ninety miles in the bank. Hang in there. I  ride and ride and  ride. I must be near the finish. I look again at the  odometer, 91.5  miles. The miles go by so slowly. Will it ever end?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s around  4:00 p.m. when I finally arrive back at the transition area,  some nine  hours or so after I started. On the bike, I pass lots of  runners, some  heading out, others close to finishing. The winner has  been done for  about 30 minutes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI hand my bike to a race official  and head  into the tent to change into my running gear. My back hurts, my  legs  feel like rubber. I’m all hunched over. I wish Daniela was here to  help  me, but I know she is probably back at the hotel preparing for   Martin’s post-race massage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI struggle onto the run course and   continue to encounter runners headed toward the finish. This is very   discouraging. Why can’t I be fast like them, why can’t I be a Big Guy?   Fortunately, I do see some other cyclists returning; at least I’m ahead   of a few people.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEventually my back loosens and I’m able to  stand up  straight. I’ve lost the hunchback shuffle, I no longer look  like  Quasimodo’s long lost brother. The sun is setting and the air is  crisp  and cool as the shadows fall. It’s very beautiful in Brazil. I  run a few  miles to the first aid station and stop for food and drink. I  start up  again, go for a short distance, and then stop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy gas  tank is empty;  I don’t have the energy to go very far at a time. I’m  reduced to  running a hundred yards or so and then walking for about  twenty yards.  There are still twenty-four miles to go and I feel awful.  Run and walk,  run and walk, there’s no relief. My agony will last  hours and hours; the  hardest part of the triathlon has just begun.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo  I putt along,  trying to take food and drink, but my appetite just  isn’t there. Bits of  bananas and swallows of water and Gatorade are the  best I can do. As  the night lengthens, things get progressively worse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt  one aid  station I grab a cup from the table. It turns out unexpectedly  to be a  warm, thick chowder and I reflexively spit it out. The aid  station  workers laugh and laugh, this is probably the most interesting  thing  that has happened to them all day. This crazy old American  doesn’t know  how to swallow his food, what’s he doing in an IRONMAN®  Triathlon? Take  him back to the nursing home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe miles click  by at a glacial pace.  Every step hurts. The course is marked in  kilometers, and I have trouble  converting the distance to miles. It’s a  very simple mental calculation  but my mind is foggy and works no  better than my body. I’m in survival  modes and I really don’t know what  finish time to expect, maybe 15 or 16  hours, I just want things to  quit hurting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEventually I turn onto  the main street, with just  one kilometer to go. I make a determined  effort to run the full  distance. As I head into the finishing chute,  there are a few dozen  people milling around, a handful yell words of  encouragement and a few  clap.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat’s it. I’m done. I’m an IRONMAN finisher—14 hours, 20 minutes, 15 seconds. 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