Fighting Parkinson's and raising awareness through the sport of triathlon.

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I remember it like it was yesterday. 

It was late one evening in April of 2009. I was sitting in my recliner, tired, overweight, and aware that my physical health wasn’t aligned with the rest of my life. I knew myself well enough to know one thing: I need big challenges to motivate me. Small goals don’t move the needle. Never have. 

So I was sitting there trying to think of something big enough to shake me out of it. 

About five minutes later, an Ironman triathlon commercial came on. 

And that was it. 

I was instantly hooked. It was exactly what I needed—something so big, so intimidating, that it left no room for excuses. 

The problem? I had absolutely no business thinking I could do an Ironman. 

At that point, the longest I’d ever run was a 10K. I didn’t own a road bike. The only biking I’d ever done was on a BMX when I was younger. By any rational measure, the idea was completely delusional. 

But once the hook was set, there was no unthinking it. 

In November of 2009, less than eight months later, I completed my first full Ironman—a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike, and a 26.2-mile marathon to close it out. 

That decision changed my life. 

Over the next few years, I went on to complete two full Ironmans, six half-Ironmans, and a variety of other races. Training gave me structure. Discipline provided momentum. Movement gave me an identity I didn’t realize I’d been missing. 

Around 2015, my career accelerated. Travel increased. Responsibilities piled up. Training didn’t disappear overnight—it just slowly lost priority. Workouts got shorter, then less frequent, until eventually they stopped being part of the rhythm of my life. 

Life filled the space training left behind. 

For a long time, that felt normal. Productive, even. I was busy. I was advancing. I was doing what people are supposed to do. 

What I didn’t realize at the time was how much movement had been holding things together. I had community support, and that made a difference. 

In the fall of 2023, I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. 

The diagnosis didn’t arrive with a single dramatic moment. It came after a stretch of things that were easy to dismiss, explain away, or ignore. Looking back, the timeline makes more sense than it did going forward. 

This time, the challenge isn’t about getting off the couch. 

It’s about navigating progression. 

It’s about uncertainty. 

It’s about a body that doesn’t always do what I ask of it anymore. 

But the instinct is the same. 

I’m bringing triathlon back into my life—not to relive the past, not to prove anything, and not because I know how this story ends. 

I’m returning because movement is how I fought for myself once, and it’s how I choose to fight now. 

TRI to Fight is the name I’m giving to that decision. 

It’s a way to make this return public, intentional, and honest. A place to document the work, the setbacks, the data, and the reality of training with Parkinson’s—without pity, without heroics, and without pretending there are guarantees. 

For me, this isn’t about finish lines. 

It’s about refusing to sit back and let the disease define the terms. 

TRI to Fight starts here—with a return to training, one session at a time. 

I was open and public the first time around, sharing the journey as it unfolded—and I’m doing the same now. 

-- Scott Gibson