“What Could Possibly Hurt Worse…”

…than Ironman? Getting a tattoo!! Now you’re probably thinking “aw, c’mon…how bad could it be?”

Steve and I had decided 2 years ago that if I finished an iron-distance race that the Ironman symbol, the red “M-Dot”, would take its rightful place on my ankle. I’ve heard all the apprehensions about getting a tattoo “I know of no one who doesn’t regret it later” or “You’re getting a butterfly on your shoulder? Don’t you know it’ll be a CONDOR when you’re 80?!”

After completing the Great Illini Iron Challenge 4 weeks ago on September 15, we decided – apprehensions aside – it was time.

So I thought who better to ask than my friend and coworker Ian. Ian has this on his left leg…

Yowza! I exclaimed when he sent the photo to me. This guy’s an expert, I thought, so naturally he was my first choice to get the 411 on all things “tat”. Ian explained that the first step was to print the image if it’s custom “artwork” you want, eg, not found in the tattoo shop’s portfolio of existing images. No problem there, plenty of images to be found on the Internet. In fact he had no trouble locating one for me.

His next question was Where do you want it? When I mentioned my ankle he said “Oh…when I have any work done near my ankle it always feels like razor blades…” I thought precisely what you were thinking 2 minutes ago: How bad could it be? I’ve had razor blades near my ankle when shaving, no worries.

He found a reputable shop in Portsmouth (I happened to be at our corporate office in New Hampshire that week), and because the image was uncomplicated, I was considered a walk-in. No appointment necessary. Cool :).

We waited for about 30 minutes and while doing so, Ian explained to me that not all shops are created equal. Naturally things like using sterile products, surgical gloves worn by the artists, a clean workspace, etc, were the marks of a decent tattoo shop. The one we were at met all these requirements.

I brought the printout with me, and My-New-Friend-and-Tattoo-Artist Todd created a stencil that he then imprinted onto my ankle. It was to be used as a rough outline for the permanent image that would become the tattoo. I thought this is great.

Then he unfolded what looked like a massage table, so I could sit with my legs tucked under me, right ankle facing him and at table level. He could comfortably work and I could comfortably sit and watch him work.

I watched him unpack the needles, ink, gauze, (gauze???) and prep his tattoo gun. He put on a new pair of gloves every time he handled something not packaged or sterilized – a great sign; this guy was top shelf.

He put the needle into the gun, dipped the tip into the black inkwell, and proceeded to…….oh man…… RIP THE SKIN OFF MY ANKLE…!!!!

Not actually, but the moment the needle touched and moved along the thin skin above my ankle, all sorts of images flashed through my mind…things like the opening scene of nuclear bomb testing in Godzilla…lava flowing out of the active volcanoes in Kona…the alien mothership exploding in Independence Day…Steve McQueen in Bullet…(ok that was just a hot dude in a cool movie and doesn’t belong in this narrative)…The Second Coming of Christ (it must be – I’m dying here!)…mostly it was searing white-hot pain flashing right behind my eyeballs.

My head whipped around to face Ian; I heard myself say “MOMMY!!” through all 28 of my clenched teeth. Ian smiled cordially and proving his emotional maturity in a pinch said “Hurt a bit?” Though he may have been thinking them, the words “I told you so” never left his lips. What a friend – seriously :).

The pain was momentarily withdrawn and I looked down to see My-New-Friend-and-Tattoo-Artist Todd had lifted the tattoo gun and was wiping off (was that blood????) the excess ink from the thus-far completed image on my leg. I thought he must be finished with the outline of the M-Dot; surely I’ve suffered enough to be that far along.

Not so Bobby Joe – he had drawn a quarter-inch line that was the top of the squared-off M in the M-Dot. For a moment I stared and actually thought about bailing, but then I remembered how I had put over 140 miles on my body and persevered to the end of a glorious race just a few days ago. A voice inside my head (not unlike the one screaming at me a minute ago) said “What?! You’re not thinking of bailing are you? There’s no such thing as an Iron-Sissy!”

Turns out the pain was directly related to how close to my ankle Todd was – once he moved farther up my leg it was bearable – mind you, I still have trouble understanding how people sit for hours under the tattoo gun; I was having trouble withstanding a few seconds ­– but the moment he hovered back toward the ankle bone, my teeth would clench and the homicidal thoughts would return, each comeback more intense than the one previous – I was beginning to imagine how I was going to kill My-New-Friend-and-Tattoo-Artist Todd. :)

Not realy :). After 30 minutes (it seemed, though I’m certain I passed out somewhere along the way…:)), Todd said “All done!” I looked down and she was truly a beautiful thing to behold – the red M-Dot, a permanent reminder of a goal I had planned and labored several years to achieve.

And to think I actually “paid for pain.” :)