Kentucky is a strange place. It's one of those states, like North Dakota, Oklahoma and Arkansas, that are hardly known to anyone outside the US; in reality, they are hardly known to those within. The image of this country can sometimes be of a lot of rednecks in the middle, bordered by the intellectuals, and if this image is true, Kentucky by definition contains many of these said rednecks. Every place has its own charming secrets however, there is a lot that makes Kentucky nice.
Four years ago I had no connection to this part of the world. It was one of the many places in the world that simply exist, and that I would probably never go. Then my dad married a lovely woman from there -- herself with two children -- and four years later I spend Christmas here with a new family. Step families are an interesting concept, usually forced regardless of level of connection, and there are plenty of horror stories when this goes terribly wrong. For whatever reason, I got lucky, and coming to Louisville for Christmas could be a lot worse.
I really got to know this city a year and a half ago, when I strategically choose my first Ironman. It was not the easiest race on the circuit, but from day one it felt right. On a lovely day in August, I swam in the Ohio, biked through the rolling Kentucky hills, and ran the marathon past Churchill Downs before a spectacular downtown finish.
It was a different city then than it is now, because no city is real during an Ironman. 1,500 of the healthiest families on Earth pour into the hotels and short-stay apartments, devour meals at the local restaurants, creating a mirage of fitness where the natives once sat. As anyone will say who has spent time around these races, it is all a very emotional experience. It was a lucid day, every one of those 140.6 miles, and Louisville will always be special to me.
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