Dear Linsey Nora,
It's me, your biggest fan. Not the fan who watched you cross all your Ironman finish lines, although I was there for that too. I'm talking about being a fan of your truest self – even the bad parts. Today, you complete your 42nd lap around the sun. I've been your trusty sidekick for 22 laps. You've taught me a lot of lessons over the years.
Everything changes. We're not the same people that stumbled into each on that fateful day at the University of Montana. We've changed, and the world has changed with us. Yet, two-plus decades later, we're still doing what we can, with what we have, where we are. Together.
Be Curious. On our first micro-date, I bought you a Dairy Queen Blizzard and opened my Arkansas topo map to lecture you on the best places to fish in the Ozarks. On our first mega-date, I bought you flowers and took you to the Cracker Barrel. You greeted these experiences with the same intrigue that put you on a jet plane by yourself to Japan just two short months ago. I recently asked you about your curiosity, and you said: "it's not only about being curious; it's about being open to all ideas." Amen.
Explore. Before we met, I'd visited one of the seven continents, North America. As I write this, we've traveled to six of the seven, and to my surprise, you mentioned a boat trip to Antarctica last week. I'm in. We've learned life lessons at each stop along the way. Like wear sunscreen in Chile in January, or don't each too many meat pies in Australia, or tread lightly on the Irish oysters.
Break it down. On more than one triathlon pro panel, I've heard you offer the simplest of race day advice to nervous athletes: "you can't think about the bike when the gun goes off in an Ironman. Instead, focus on your next swim stroke and the first buoy. Six hours later, when you arrive on the run course, you focus on your next step, the next aid station, not the finish line." That's how you won your Ironman titles, and that's how you live life. Stay in the moment, and focus on the process, not the outcome. The past is gone, and the future hasn't arrived.
Do hard things for the hard part. I've also overheard athletes ask you what you do during the rough patches of the race. Your response has remained the same: "that's why you sign up for an Ironman. Just know all Ironmans are going to have deep, dark parts. Embrace them, and realize they will eventually pass." The same is true of life. Our greatest joys come on the other side of the hard parts of hard things.
Get back up. We tied the knot on August 26th, 2006. On the 28th, you were hit by an SUV, leaving you with some new stitches, a severe concussion, and a broken clavicle in four places. One month and a few days later, you crossed the finish line of your first Ironman World Champs. You don't stay down, you never have, and you never will.
Be loyal. Your first triathlon sponsor, Clif Bar, remained your sponsor for all 17 years of your triathlon career. The same holds true of your second sponsor Saucony. I think the loyalty of these contracts is another triathlon record you hold. The performances helped, but the bonds you formed with these brands are what truly survived the test of time.
Work with Integrity. You can't have a competition without someone cutting corners to win, even Cornhole. Triathlon is no exception. Of all your achievements in the sport, the one I'm the proudest of didn't earn a trophy. You made yourself relevant professionally for a very long career using good old-fashioned hard work and fish oil. Win or lose, you refused to sacrifice your integrity.
All gas. The first time I got into your Volkswagen Jetta (Circa 2000), I learned something new about you. You don't use the brakes. It was true in the Albertson's parking lot and it's true in life. You'll break your own femur (a few times, actually) before you ever consider tapping the breaks. Using only your gas pedal has created some pain along the way, but it's also made you great at everything you do.
Passion trumps talent. You were the third-best runner on your high school cross-country team and then ran track and field at UC Davis (not Stanford, not Oregon) before hanging up the cleats and transferring to the University of Montana. You swam your first pool lap at the age of 25 and then became one of the most decorated long-distance triathletes in USA history. You have some natural gifts, the greatest being your passion for doing the work every, single, day.
Begin Again. Nobody hits the restart button better than you. I've watched you reset bad Ironman races into wins, and as I type these words, I'm witnessing a reset of your career as a culinary creative. Anyone can do it at any time. You begin again.
Adapt. You've evolved from my backpacking college girlfriend into a record-setting triathlete, back to my wild n' free camping wife. The last six months have been the best six months. No, really, they have. I've always been fascinated by human's ability to adapt as a species, and you're the best of our kind.
Last year, I condensed all my life goals into one: leave the world a better place than I found it. At the ripe old age of 42, you've already achieved my only goal. And you're just getting started.
I love you. I'm proud of you. Happy Birthday.
Your biggest fan,
Chris Corbin