Passing down the Ironman

It was two hours into the triathlon. Patrick Chapin held tight to the handlebars as he plunged down the rain-slicked 6-mile descent of Papa Bear Hill.

Going full speed as the road disappeared around a tight bend ahead, he felt his bike shudder from a blast of wind that hit it from the side, just as a pack of other cyclists blew past him at 55mph. He didn't dare venture above 35mph — gaining a few minutes in speed wasn't worth smashing into the ground.

In that moment, Patrick remembered what his father taught him as they trained for marathons years ago: take it easy in the beginning but push yourself a little bit further each time.

"I was thinking about my daughter a lot during the descent," said Patrick, Winter Park Chamber of Commerce president. "Your ego is saying go faster, because everyone is going by you, but my ego was saying, don't worry about it because you've got too much to live for."

This was Patrick's second Ironman Triathlon consisting of a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bicycle ride and a 26.2-mile run.

When asked about the race, Patrick remains humble, insisting completing the race itself wasn't extraordinary.

"Anyone can do any of this stuff — it's not some giant accomplishment," Patrick said. "It's extraordinary, I think, that my dad is still around with everything he went through."

In 2001, when Patrick was training for his first Ironman, he received a call from his father, Bruce, telling him that he was diagnosed with cancer. Patrick questioned if he should even compete in the race because he wanted to go be there for his father. But Bruce encouraged him to continue and to compete.

"Someone who is sick does not want his or her sickness to extend beyond himself," Bruce said. "I think the worst thing you can do for someone who has an illness is modify your behavior too much, because then you make the other person feel guilty."

When Patrick solidified his spot in the 2010 Lake Placid Ironman, he immediately asked his father, who is now cancer free, to accompany him to the triathlon.

"My half marathon is your Ironman," Bruce told his son. "Maybe I would have tried Ironman if it was around when I was running marathons."

Bruce handed the running bug down to Patrick when he was a child. Running was something they did together and it created some of Patrick's fondest memories, running many of those pounding steps along the streets of Winter Park.

He recalls his father pinning his number on his shirt and seeing his father's face in the crowd, cheering him on, and telling him how proud he was afterward.

"My father never came to anything I did; I played a lot of sports in high school, and he was busy doing other things," Bruce said. "I always wished that he was there so it's just one of those little promises you make to yourself that if you ever find yourself in the same situation that you're going to do it differently."

And Bruce was there for all of it: the little league games, the basketball games, the fishing and the marathons.

"When they were growing up, there were those long spring and summer evenings when we wouldn't get home for dinner until 8 p.m. because of all those little league practices," said Linda Chapin, Patrick's mother. "It was a family affair and none of us ever wanted to miss a game."

And just as he did when his son was small, Bruce was there, standing on the sidelines, cheering for his son every step of the Ironman Triathlon.

For Patrick, he said the swim was the most violent thing he ever experienced.

He said 2,700 people migrated into the water all at the same time, each resembling fish with red caps on their heads. Patrick stayed calm by looking at the divers beneath him. He said he laughed to himself as he remembered a horror movie called "Lake Placid".

But the cycling portion presented the hardest challenge for Patrick.

"I wasn't happy going down the hill fast, but I wasn't happy going up a hill slow either," he said.

His happiest moment of the triathlon was getting off that bike.

"The joke is by the time you ride the 112 miles, you'll do anything to get off that bike," Patrick said. "You'll even run a marathon."

Twenty-two miles into the marathon, he hit a wall. Exhaustion was taking its toll on him. Everything ached, from his toes to his legs, and then his calf went stiff while running uphill.

And like a scene in a movie, with a few miles to go, he saw the crowd ahead. Suddenly his energy was back.

Signs screamed "Go Daddy" and "I love you, Daddy." They reminded him of his daughter, so he kept on running. He heard some of the crowd shout, "Go Patrick," so he smiled, waved and kept on running. Little children had their hands out, waiting for a high five so he ran over to them, gave them high fives and kept on running. He saw people barbequing and jokingly said, "You guys are killing me," and kept on running.

He crossed the finish line at 12 hours and 12 minutes. In that moment, pure exhaustion took over. This time, his father was there to see him finish.

After completing local marathons as a child, Patrick and his father, dripping in sweat, would walk into a local gas station and celebrate by drinking a Gatorade.

Bruce leaned in with one hand clasped over half of his mouth and winked.

"It was Gatorade then, now it's Budweiser."