A brief autobiographical sketch: Ken Shelton, a high-stressed, smoking, drinking, McDonald's-eating couch potato who never exercised, let himself balloon to 240 pounds and had a heart attack nearly four years ago at the age of 44. He now finds physical salvation doing triathlons and marathons.

March 6, 1992 was a great day. I had noticed a pattern in a stock I follow and was certain that it would happen again that day. Sure enough, it did and I made a very nice five-figure profit in less than 24 hours. Stopped at the stereo store on the way home and bought a new component system for the rec room. Took the wife out to our favorite restaurant and celebrated with dinner and a few scotches.

Arrived home about 10 p.m., hooked up the stereo and began to play with the remote. "Geez, I've got one hell of a case of heartburn. The Chef's Special did not go down right at all." Fifteen minutes later I was in the kitchen cabinet looking for Alka-Seltzer for the increasing "heartburn." Twenty minutes later and no relief. By this time I was sitting in the living room and my wife said, "You don't look very good. You're pale as a ghost." Indigestion was getting worse. Felt like someone sitting on my chest, with the pain extending up to the floor of my mouth. This was not good. "Hon, please get me to Englewood Hospital."

Ninety miles an hour down a rain-slicked Route 4 ... "Please don't wreck my Legend." Into the ER, they heard "chest pain" and immediately put me on a gurney and started sticking IVs into the backs of my hands and pasting wires on my chest. A bunch of MDs wandered in, started having a debate over the readouts and ordered up a milk of magnesia. No help. More readouts and one of the doctors decided that I had a heart attack.

An angiogram the following week showed a 100 percent blockage of the right descending artery and a 75 percent blockage of the left descending artery. A double bypass operation was scheduled for two weeks later and we began discussing how many pints of blood to bring for the operation.

In the meantime, I began to question the surgery. My cardiologist and I agreed that, if I could manage my diet, weight, and blood pressure for five to 10 years, the state of the art would advance to lasers, clot busters, and other non-surgical procedures to clear the blockages.

After getting out of the hospital I went on a low-fat diet and began walking around a local high school track. Got up to walking 10K daily. Then walked a lap, jogged a lap. But my knees began to hurt so I bought a bicycle--a Schwinn hybrid. Had not been on a bike for nearly 30 years and found that I really enjoyed it. Took longer and longer rides on Saturdays and quickly realized that the old bike was not going to cut it. Bought a racing bike. Started riding up to 50 miles on weekends, shorter during the week. Began looking for a challenge.

Then I remembered our vacation on Maui a couple years earlier. We took one of the tours where they truck tourists to the top of the Mt. Haleakala volcano to coast down on mountain bikes. On the way down we passed several bikers pedaling up the mountain (a 38-mile ride to 10,200 feet). Challenge found.

Six months after the heart attack we booked a vacation to Maui and Kauai for October 1992 but in September Kauai got blown away in Hurricane Iniki and we changed our plans. We went to Maui first and had a ball riding up Mt. Haleakala. Shipped the bike home, went to the Big Island and ended up in the middle of Ironman week. Our hotel, the Royal Wikoloan, asked guests to volunteer to work their aid station; we handed out water bottles for six hours on the bike course. Went into Kona the next day, met and spoke with a few triathletes--the next challenge had been found.

Returned to New Jersey, went to the local YMCA and conned my way into the Masters Swim Group. I imitated the people in the next lane and began to learn to swim. (I'd never learned how--I never had to.) Turned out that the Masters Coach (Genny Allard) worked by day in my wife's office; she gave me extra work and my swimming began to improve. Called Ironman in November and asked for an application.

Bought "Galloway's Book on Running" for myself for Christmas, read it over the holidays. Went to the track New Year's Day and ran three miles. Began increasing distance, but my knee pain increased as the mileage increased. Went to orthopedist who said an old auto injury to my knees would probably prevent me from ever running pain-free.

Ironman application arrived in February, returned in March.

Began reading everything I could about triathlons; the Masters Swim group had many triathletes and they were very kind, sharing information about the sport. A list of local triathlons was produced and circulated and I began lining up a schedule of races for the summer. I won the Ironman lottery in early May. Now what do I do?

Hired a coach, Mike Llerandi, who mapped out a 23-week plan based on heart rate. Knee pain was getting worse. Went to podiatrist. Got orthotics and knee pain went away.

May 28th I did the Fairview Lake Camp YMCA triathlon in Sussex, New Jersey: half-mile swim, 18-mile bike, six-mile run. I found out that I am phobic of open water and it took 30 minutes of swimming from safety boat to safety boat to do the half-mile. In total it took 2:56; I finished 105th of 108.

June 19 Did the Wyckoff, New Jersey, triathlon: half-mile swim, 15-mile bike, 5K run. Could not do the swim--panicked in the water. DNF.

Next month worked on open-water swims with Genny Allard at Lake Sebago in New York. Was getting used to water. Took longer and longer swims up to a half-mile.

July 25 Did the Greenwich Tri, a half-mile saltwater swim with wet suit. Better. Two stops at safety boards, but got through it in 25 minutes. 2:02 total.

August 8th Did the Hispanic half-marathon, Central Park, New York. 1:58.

August 15 Did the Seaside Heights YMCA Mid-Summer Swim. 1.5-mile ocean swim. Was not too happy, but did it with no assistance in 56 minutes.

August 29 Did the West Point Triathlon. Sprinted distance, no water problems, 1:44 total.

September 12th Did the Skylands Triathlon, sprinted distance, no problems, 1:40 total.

September 19th Did the Philadelphia half-marathon in 1:51.

September 25th Did the Jersey Devil Century. Got lost but did 105 miles in 5:50.

October 16th Ran the Atlantic City half-marathon in 1:59.

October 22nd The Masters Swim group throws an Ironman send-off party.

October 29th Did a practice swim off Kailua Pier with Stephanie Kozowyck, Kona-based swim coach. School of wild dolphins swam around us; I knew that I would have no problems the next day.

October 30th The IRONMAN. Had the time of my life. Swam great. Bike was tiring. Run was painful--hamstrings went into spasms at Mile 2, walked the remaining 24 miles. Feet blistered badly, but sprinted the last 400 yards. Did it!

The diary zooms ahead one year...

November 7, 1994 Cramped into the center seat of an Alitalia Jumbo-something jet on my way to Rome on business. Seven hours jammed in like a sardine; every seat is filled and I had to climb over two people if I wanted to stretch my aching legs. Did the New York City Marathon the day before. Wasn't at all happy with the result of 4:51. This was a full 40 minutes slower than the Atlantic City Marathon I did three weeks earlier. Maybe that was the problem, two marathons in three weeks. Should not be doing this kind of damage to myself at the age of 47. But it was fun, more than fun, it was... was... was... an event. Couldn't wait for next year.

January 1, 1995 Midnight, Central Park, New York. It's the New York Road Runners Club (NYRRC) Midnight Run--five miles through Central Park with 5,000 other maniacs. Fireworks and champagne. Real reason was to stop by the post office on the way out of the city to mail my marathon application request. Postmarks before 1995 are not accepted. Wanted to be at the head of the request list.

May 14, 1995 Application arrived. Filled it out, called training partner Lisa Ariemma; she received her application also. We head for New York City after swim practice. At 10 p.m. we dropped the applications at the post office across from Madison Square Garden. First in, first out--or so the story goes.

July 1, 1995 Thank you Mr. Postman. "You have been accepted..." Good stuff. Now I had a good target for the fall. Immediate target was to get through the Alcatraz Triathlon on August 5, with a 10-mile run at the end. A good start for NYC.

August 5 1995 The Alcatraz Triathlon (1.5-mile swim, 18-mile bike, 10-mile run). Ten-mile run was great. Felt a lot better during the second five miles than I did during the first five--one hell of a lot better than when I was caught in a current 200 yards off San Francisco and was heading for Hawaii.

August 13, 1995 Hispanic half-marathon in Central Park of New York (13.1 miles). Why did I keep doing this race? Third year in a row I had done it and each year I died in the heat. Of course it's hot--it's August. Duh.

September 10, 1995 Staten Island half-marathon. Better than the week before, a couple of minutes faster. Nice course, mostly flat, not too hot, ran faster in the second half than during the first. Stepped it up from Mile 8 to the end.

September 17, 1995 Conflict, conflict. What should I do today, the Skylands Triathlon (half-mile swim, 14-mile bike, 3.1-mile run), or the Philadelphia Distance Run, a half-marathon? Had done Skylands the last two years and it was fun, but I really needed the run. Philly it was. Did it two years ago, in fact it was my personal record (PR) for the half. Things were different this year: pouring rain at the start. My shoes were filled with water, they weighed about three pounds each. No PR--about three minutes slower. Just happy I finished under such lousy conditions.

September 24, 1995 Liberty half-marathon, Jersey City, New Jersey. Great run! New PR in the half by just over 30 seconds. Felt good throughout and ran a lot faster in the second half than the first. At Mile 10 saw that I could attain the PR and began to push it for the last 5K. Really felt good. This was coming together.

October 1, 1995 Jersey Shore half-marathon. Oh man! I broke my PR by over four minutes. I was flying. Everything felt good, my 5K and 10K splits were PRs themselves. The training had really paid off. I couldn't wait for the marathon.

October 8, 1995 NYC Marathon 30K Tune-up Run. Three times around Central Park (18.6 miles). How boring. How tough. Central Park has some hills that, on the third time around, seem to go on forever. Was still tired from last week's effort. Not a stellar performance, but adequate.

October 15, 1995 Big Island of Hawaii. An eight-mile run gets dangerous. It was hot, dry, and there was no water out in the lava fields. Visions of buzzards flying overhead. Struggled back to the hotel and jumped in the pool with running shorts on to cool core temperature down.

Week of October 22, 1995 Maui. Not as hot as Big Island, but not much better either. No water on the roads around the hotel. Tried running on the hotel's treadmill, shoes filled up with perspiration at 10-mile mark.

October 29, 1995 Home with two weeks to go before the marathon and I had not gotten enough long runs in. Only had one run longer than 13.1 miles when I should have three. Was fighting jet lag, not getting the weekday runs in either. Had not had a really good run since Jersey Shore Half. Did I peak too soon, burn myself out five weeks ahead of the real race? Fear, uncertainty, and doubt.

November 5, 1995 One week to go and another business trip, this time to San Diego. At least the weather was perfect and the terrain and running paths were flat. Got up early each morning for nice, steady eight-mile runs. Everyone runs in San Diego. God's country for runners. No wonder all the pro triathletes live there.

November 9, 1995 Three more days. A little jet-lagged. Was carrying a drinking water bottle loaded with carbohydrate drink with me everywhere. Dual purposes: carbo load (each bottle was like eating four bowls of pasta) and to hydrate my system. The two enemies during the marathon are dehydrating first and running out of fuel--hitting the wall--second. Weather forecast for Sunday was sunny, 50s, breezy. Two out of three were perfect. I'll take it.

November 10, 1995 Annual ritual: got a massage. Had Christine work out knots and lumps in calves and hamstrings. Listened to her talk about the 100-mile ultramarathons she does and wins--26.2 miles is a training run to this lady. Met up with friend Sue Egg who flew in from Monterrey, California, that morning just to do race. We headed for New York Coliseum to pick up our race numbers. Line to get in snaked around the block but it only took 25 minutes for us to advance to the head of the line. The New York Road Runners Club has this down to a science and the pick-up was painless and quick. Plenty of vendors tried to interest me in their wares, all of which promise to help me run faster. Yeah, sure. Nothing is going to put the miles in for me. There is no actual selling at the Expo, so the larger sporting goods stores in New York had chartered buses to ferry runners from the Coliseum to their stores. Doubts about Sunday were more frequent. I'm still short two long runs. Weather forecast suddenly turned grim: Rain Saturday, possibly into Sunday. I hate racing in the rain!

November 11, 1995--Race day was just about here. I'm going to put a leash on my water bottle and give it a name. We have been spending way too much time together. Started laying out what I need to wear, but the weather forecast was making choosing the proper clothing difficult. Late afternoon: weather service warnings started scrolling across the TV screen. High winds, heavy rains, and flood warnings, followed by rapidly dropping temperatures throughout the evening and overnight. No word if it will get better by race time. The late news ended the weather forecast with piece on hypothermia. This did not sound as if it was going to be a fun day.

November 12, 1995: RACE DAY 6 a.m. Up and eat a big breakfast. Not going to get much to eat until late in the day. Go outside to get newspaper; everything is still wet from last night's downpour, and it has gotten very cold. Clothing selection is going to be tough. Put on first choice and go outside and walk around. No way! Much too light. Second choice better but will freeze waiting for start. Add a layer of old sweats that I can throw away at the start line.

8 a.m.: Lisa picks me up and we head for Sue Egg's house. Her brother Victor will drive us to the start line at the Verrazano Bridge on Staten Island. The discussion in the van centers on how many layers of clothing we are wearing and the weather. Halfway to the start we drive through a lingering rain squall. Everyone is concerned that we will have to run in the rain.

9 a.m.: Verrazano Toll Plaza. The exit ramp to the staging area is already backed up onto the highway. We jump out in the plaza and run across 24 lanes of traffic and head into Fort Wadsworth. NYRRC volunteers everywhere directing the runners. On entering the fort they scan the bar code on your race bib; something new this year. Last night's storm made a mess out of the staging area. The circus tents are on the ground, the grass areas are a sea of mud. We work our way to the front of the "red" start line and settle ourselves into almost two hours of waiting until the start. The temperature has dropped into the 30s and the wind is gusting 30-40 mph. We concern ourselves with staying warm and psyched up.

10:30 a.m.: We begin to move up to the start. The NYRRC does an amazing job of moving 27,000 people from the staging area onto the Verrazano bridge in four starting groups. We manage to get within 200 yards of the start line before the crowd stops our progress. Seven helicopters circle overhead. A babble of voices surround us: French, Portuguese, German, Norwegian. The wind has picked up to a steady 40 mph and it is very cold.

10:50 a.m.: BOOM. The cannon goes off. I start my watch, and we do not move. I can see the runners at the starting line begin to run. Thirty seconds later we start to move forward, but at a walk. I cross under the start line at 2:05. The bridge is an arc and as we get to the top the winds increase to 50-60 mph--luckily it is at our backs. With each running stride both feet are off the ground for an instant. I feel that I'm not landing where I normally would. Either the bridge is swaying or the wind is taking me for a ride. Several strides take me several feet farther than normal. Runners are stumbling, swaying, a few fall. People are discarding clothing and the plastic bags they had been wearing to keep warm. The roadway is an obstacle course. I get to the Mile 1 clock at 12:47. I want to average 9:00 today so I start doing the math for what I need to make up per mile to get back on pace. As we come down the bridge the winds abate and we start settling into the race.

Mile 3: Sue and I are running together at a comfortable 8:50 pace. We stop for a second to take off the sweat pants we both have been wearing over our tights. She gets hers off in a second. Mine hang up on one shoe and I start hopping around on one foot fighting with it. A spectator runs over and pulls it off for me. Thanks, buddy.

Mile 6: Still with Sue and running a little under nine minutes. At this pace I can get back onto my 9:00 average. Water stops are every mile and I use each one. Discarded paper cups are caught by the wind and skitter down the street, sounding like a million castanets. The spectators are great, cheering, dancing, high-fiving the runners.

Mile 9: I've been picking up the pace and am getting ahead of Sue. We split up here. I begin to push a bit. Run the next few miles at 8:30-8:40 and cross the 13.1 mile halfway mark at 2:01. I start to think that I can hit my goal of under four hours.

Mile 14: The 59th Street Bridge. I hate this bridge. It is a steady climb for a mile and it never seems to end. I was reduced to walking it last year but take it strongly today. 9:18 pace for the mile, good for an uphill mile.

Mile 15: First Avenue. This is where the famous NYC crowds line the course. Today they seem fewer and more subdued. Thirty-something temperatures with wind chills in the teens will dampen your enthusiasm to stand around outdoors.

Mile 17: Sue's mom and dad and a few friends are waiting at 79th and First. I spot them, say a quick hello, and keep moving.

Mile 20: 10K to go. I've begun to slow a bit, about a 9:00 pace. Over the bridge and into the South Bronx. Small but enthusiastic crowds. Salsa music with a great running beat.

Mile 22: Harlem. Exactly at the mile marker my right hamstring knots up. I scream in pain, startling the hell out of a couple of runners near me, and I nearly go down. I hobble to the curb and try to straighten the leg out. It wants to stay bent. I stretch it against the curb and it begins to loosen. I have to get moving forward. I shuffle for 10 yards, then walk a couple, then race-walk for a hundred yards and finally begin to jog. I still have four hours on my mind.

Mile 23: Into Central Park. The last couple of miles of this race are cruel. Central Park is very hilly and the narrow park roads make for crowded conditions. Each time I try to increase the pace my hamstring starts to spasm. The left one is also beginning to twitch.

Mile 25: The mile clock clicks over to 4:00 just as I pass. Damn.

Mile 26: I'm still shuffling, jogging, whatever. I'm not going to stop at this point for anything. The last two miles are the longest I have ever run. Cruelly, it is uphill. The finish line is just up the rise but it seems to take forever to get there. Finally, the finish line. Push the stopwatch button: 4:13:28. Not great, two minutes off my PR, but given today's conditions, I'll take it.

Volunteers urge you to run through the chutes to clear the finish line. C'mon lady, I don't want to run any more. Lots more volunteers follow, giving out finishers' medals, space blankets, water, Gatorade, food.

Medical people all over the place looking at the finishers' eyes, looking for people in distress. A number of runners are on the curb shivering with the cold. Others on the ground being attended to by other runners or medical personnel. Dangerous day, but the organizers were prepared. Sue's mom and dad are at the family meeting area and have my bag of dry clothing. Dry shirt feels wonderful. After a few minutes I begin to loosen up and start dancing in place to the rock band to keep warm.

Sue comes in with a 4:25 finish. She held her pace the whole way and finished with too much to spare, in her opinion.

9 p.m.: Home. Sore. Hobbling around the house. Barbecued a steak for dinner. I never eat steak, but tonight I wanted some beef and fat. Drank three beers. I don't do that often either. Read the Sunday New York Times sports section. The writer, who has done the NYC Marathon a number of times, says to forget PRs in New York. The course is too hilly and crowded to run a good race. He says that middle-of-the-packers should deduct 7 percent from their finish time to get their true time. Let's see ... 253 minutes less 7 percent is 3:55. I love it. So that means that next year I'll really be running a 3:39 when I cross the finish in 3:55. This never stops.