One extraordinary success that stands out for me was that accomplished by Stephen Glaus. Glaus, 29, is married to Nikki Glaus and is the father of Caedyn, 9, and Lincoln, 2; the family lives in Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania. Glaus has been the director of fitness for my MS Fitness Challenge charity since 2019, and despite some really terrible MS flare-ups and debilitating symptoms, he never stopped dreaming that one day he could be an Ironman! I’ll let him tell you how that dream turned out.
In His Own Words: Stephen Glaus’s Ironman Experience
In August 2018, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. At the time, I could barely walk, my vision was all blurry, and I was even wetting the bed every night, because I had lost control of my bladder. My doctors told me that within the next year or two, there was a pretty good chance that I would be wheelchair bound for the rest of my life. But that’s not what happened. On October 10, 2020, a little over two years after my diagnosis, I was 300 yards away from completing a full Ironman Triathlon — comprising a 2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike ride, and a 26.2-mile run, all in succession. I was about to achieve what many would have thought impossible. Interestingly enough, my ambition to pursue the “impossible” Ironman Triathlon was awakened by my MS diagnosis. Knowing that MS is a progressive disease, I realized that the time to buckle down and do an Ironman was now. While no one in life is ever promised tomorrow, with MS, the future is even less certain. I count myself blessed to have met David Lyons and gotten involved with the MS Fitness Challenge. He was one of the few people who supported me and encouraged me to accomplish my mission. When I told him that I wanted become an Ironman, he didn’t flinch.
The Ups and Downs of Training for an Ironman When You Have MS
The journey from my commitment to the race to actually crossing the finish line was anything but smooth. I barely knew how to swim when I started and had to spend countless hours in the pool not only learning to swim, but also figuring out how I could swim 2.4 miles without exhausting myself before doing a 112-mile bike ride. I also fought through several significant MS flare-ups during my training that set me back for days and even weeks at a time. As my Ironman date inched closer, my training intensity increased. On several weekends I would run and bike for a combined eight hours. On one of my 56-mile training rides, I ended up flipping over the front of my handlebars, shattering my helmet, and suffering a nasty concussion. Scraped up, bleeding, and dazed, I did the not-so-smart-thing and finished the remaining 20 or so miles anyway. Nothing was going to stop me from achieving my goal. Or so I thought. Only three weeks before my sanctioned event was set to take off, I got the notification that the race was canceled due to the COVID-19 pandemic. In that brief moment, it seemed that all of my training, blood, sweat, and tears were for naught. I wasn’t sure if my body could survive another year of such grueling training or if my MS would hold off for that long. Fortunately, the Ironman Foundation launched a virtual platform that allowed athletes to compete in virtual events from the comfort of their own homes (via stationary bikes and treadmills) or in their local area. Two weeks after my race was canceled, I received notice that there was going to be full-distance virtual Ironman event the second week of October.
What It’s Like to Race Alone, Thanks to the Pandemic
Doing a full Ironman Triathlon is an extremely challenging endeavor. Doing one that lacks the energy of thousands of onlookers and the support of a well-equipped volunteer race staff is even harder. Nevertheless, I wanted to put my training to the test. With just a handful of people there to witness it, at about 5:30 a.m. local time, I started my virtual Ironman attempt at Blue Marsh Lake — water temperature: 60 degrees — in Reading, Pennsylvania. After an hour and 35 minutes in the water, I got out and warmed myself up in preparation for the 112-mile bike ride. My bike course traversed the hills of South Central Pennsylvania. The steep slopes pushed my legs to their limit and slowed me down significantly. After seven and a half hours on my bike, I arrived at my designated running trail in Marietta. I was fortunate enough to have my dad with me throughout the race as my sustenance support and morale booster. He stationed his car at 10-mile intervals during my bike ride and then rode his own bicycle to follow me during my full marathon run. I surely wouldn’t have been able to make it the whole way if he hadn’t been there for me that day. Nearly 15 hours and 30 minutes after I had started my swim, I found myself less than a mile away from my finish line. I ended up having to walk the last two miles, as my left leg went completely numb and felt like it was being electrocuted. At a sanctioned Ironman race, the finish line is furnished with lights, music, and a rowdy crowd of supporters. There would be none of that for me, and no one to proclaim an epic decree of my triumph. But I didn’t let that stop me. In fact, I sprinted those last 300 yards. I closed my eyes and ignored all of the pain coursing through my body. As my GPS tracker ticked past the 26.2 mile mark, I collapsed onto the ground and gazed into the starlit sky. I had done it. I was an Ironman.
My Thanks to God, My Wife, and My Supporters
There are so many people, organizations, and factors that went into my successful Ironman finish. First and foremost, I give God all the glory for what He was able to do through my weakness. My wife also deserves massive kudos for putting up with my endless appetite and the hours upon hours of grueling training that often put my body out of commission. I count myself so blessed to have had the support and prayers of so many people through this journey. I am hopeful that this achievement is just the beginning of what will prove to be a wondrous masterpiece by God. That through me, He will show off how strong even the weakest person, someone with an incurable progressive disease can be. My story has only just begun!
