If at first...

This is nothing new for me but I'm struggling to find the start. As Maria crooned in "The Sound of Music," the beginning seems to be a good place.

For those who know me, no explanation is necessary. For those who don't, none is possible. You see my name. You might or might not see a location, which really is immaterial. I am a lot of things -- brother, uncle, son, writer, drinker, driver, thinker, puppet, pauper, pirate, poet, pawn and a king -- but for the purposes of these infrequent screeds, an Ironman triathlete.

Today is Nov. 5, and tomorrow is Election Day. It's approximately 22 months before I toe the line at Ironman Wisconsin, which is the reason why I'm here. That might or might not be my last attempt at a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride, and a 26.2-mile run accompanied by 2,000 of my closest friends and my own worst enemy. I enjoy the training and racing, to be sure, but I'm wondering if I should direct my energies elsewhere. This is where the title of this blog comes in.

Lava is the basic element of all the Hawaiian Islands, a series of volcanoes in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Nowhere is that more evident than on the Big Island, Hawaii. It's coverered largely by a lava desert formed by eruption after eruption from Kiluea (the spelling of which I will check later). In Kailua-Kona, the Ironman World Championship takes place each October -- loftily, the organizers originally staged the race on the first Saturday in October after the full moon, but now I guess they shoot for between the 10th and 17th -- involving the best professional and amateur triathletes in the world. Only 1,700 people toe the line that day and you have to qualify to get there. Or you have to be famous or supremely wealthy, a nod to ex-Baywatch chick Alexandra Paul and ex-"Bachelorette" winner Ryan Sutter (chosen by Trista, you check the show title for me, eh?).

I want to be there. From the time we visited the Big Island on a family vacation in 1987, this race was foremost in my mind. Every time I walk when I'm supposed to be running, take an extra couple of seconds on the wall between intervals, or coast down a hill after an intense climb, I think: If I can't handle this lame-assed training ride, how am I going to get to Kona?

Go ahead and call me obsessed. I take it as a compliment. Some people have miles of model train tracks in their basements. Others can create scenes so beautifully you could swear they were photographing instead of painting. This is what I do. Whether it's who I am or not remains to be seen but I won't mind if this is how you want to define me.

So I've got 22 months left before the final exam and you're welcome to come along with me. The mission will become clearer as time goes on. Bear with me. It could be a hell of a ride. And run. And swim.