by Julie Moss
So, here’s to dusting myself off and starting over by looking to the past for inspiration.
I set my new intention: to say goodbye in a way befitting this race and what it means to the athletes. It’s all about finishing.
I began by assessing Shalane Flanagan’s brilliant victory over Mary Keitany in New York. Shalane took Mary down out of respect for Mary’s greatness. When you approach an opponent with such respect, and rise above them, that’s empowering. Shalane took her “costume” off, connected to the Wonder Woman within, and won. It is such an intentional, humbling place to be.
That’s a great contingency plan for a marathon or Ironman. I didn’t have one. Even as I rehearsed what I needed to do—getting my nutrition, backing off the bike if needed—I did not anticipate muscle failure. Instead of beating my 1982 time, I should’ve said, “That has served me so well, I just have to finish.”
If I went back, a goal time would be the last thing anyone heard from me.
I signed up to requalify for Kona at the 2018 Ironman New Zealand, but then a thought hit: could I write Diana Bertsch, the Ironman World Championship director, and get into the fortieth anniversary race? I prefer to qualify the old-fashioned way, but I have earned some stripes in this sport, and it is okay to cash them in for special occasions.
After initial pleasantries, I got to the point:
Thank you again for the incredible (2017) Ironman experience and memories that I made with my family and closest friends. I can honestly say it was one of the best times I’ve ever had in Kona despite not finishing the race.
I told the Legacy Athletes that each and every one of them already possessed the most powerful and compelling tool needed to get to the finish line . . . their passion for Ironman. I said their passion would help them find a way to push past their limits and discover their inner excellence.
Sadly on race day when my body failed I lost my passion and it left me heartbroken. And as you well know Diana, you can’t get to the finish in Kona without heart.
I would like another chance to do what I didn’t do this year . . . return to Kona fueled by passion, gratitude, and appreciation with the humble goal to get to the finish line, no matter what!
It would be an honor to return to race Ironman’s 40th Anniversary and share the finish line with Mats Allen and all my Ironman Ohana.
Mele Kalikimaka
Julie
Diana’s reply couldn’t have been a sweeter, nicer Christmas gift:
One of the most amazing marvels about this event is once you have crossed the finish line on Ali’i Drive, it is really never over. It wasn’t your time to be ‘done,’ and not finishing was how the island will bring you back. The joy you had while here, and the learning lessons I am sure you gained, will continue to inspire not only you but others.
I was back in the race.
CHAPTER 23
My Iron Twin
What’s with all the shopping bags?
The two sets of aero bike handlebars grabbed my attention first. They were loaded with shopping bags. However, neither the owners nor their bikes were ordinary at all: top-of-the-line Cervélo bikes can run up to $15,000. As I stood at the Hoka One One booth during the 2017 Ironman 70.3 Oceanside expo, and watched these two stroll my way with their overloaded bikes, I had to say something.
“Gentlemen, I hope you’re not going to try and ride your bikes home with all those bags hanging off them, because that’s a recipe for disaster,” I said.
The men were starkly different in appearance, one from England, the other from Morocco. The Moroccan looked at me, then at the Hoka One One poster with my picture and name in large bold letters. “Hello, my name is Khalil Binebine,” he said.
“Hello, I’m Julie Moss.”
He broke into an electric smile that, I later learned, was typical. And contagious. “Dahhhling, we’re meant to have dinner this week.”
“Oh, you’re Khalil!” OMG . . . the man about whom Jimmy Watson texted me!
Jimmy had just dined with Khalil Binebine and his spouse, Gwilym Hall, in their home near San Diego. Gwilym was the other merchandise-laden athlete in Oceanside. As they talked, Khalil brought up triathlon, his newest consuming passion, something he never tires of discussing in a life that includes overseeing a far-flung, global collection of very cutting-edge companies that can and will change the world in rejuvenating, life-sustaining ways.
“I have someone you need to meet,” Jimmy told him. “Julie Moss. She’s a friend of mine.”
“My goodness! I’ve always wanted to meet her. She’s the lady who literally made Ironman IRONMAN!”
“I’d been inspired by this lady for a very long time, decades before I did an Ironman,” Khalil recalled. “I mean, the whole planet has seen that [Wide World of Sports] video. In my heart, Julie won it with her remarkable effort.”
“I’d love to meet her,” he told Jimmy.
Jimmy texted me from the dinner table. After I responded, he looked at Khalil and said, “Okay, let’s have dinner here. Next Wednesday.”
“Okay!”
“She’s competing in the race in Oceanside this weekend,” Jimmy added.
Just like that, I had a dinner invitation from a man I’d never met—but one who would become a major part of my life, quickly.
Serendipity speeds up what is meant to be. Thanks to my poster and Jimmy Watson, Khalil, Gwilym, and I found each other. After chatting for a few minutes, they scooped up their favorite Hoka running shoes (and mine), the Bondi 5, in every available color. So much for my admonition to not be burdened by shopping bags!
Four nights later, I arrived at their majestic home for dinner. When I walked through the door, I was delighted to see Khalil in his traditional djellaba, a loose-fitting robe customary to North Africa, paired with his not-so-traditional Gucci velvet loafers. I took a look at a beautiful array of sculptures, paintings, Persian rugs, and an indoor dining table for twenty. Khalil’s house is filled with fabulous art. When I entered the foyer, the first thing I noticed was a huge, twenty-four-foot-tall kiswa tapestry, embroidered with silver and gold wire thread. Every year, a kiswa about fifty feet high is commissioned to cover the Kaaba, a small shrine made of granite in Mecca and located next to the Sacred Mosque, which Muslims consider the most holy spot on Earth. It costs about $4.5 million to make. The previous kiswa is cut into pieces and presented as gifts to visiting Muslim dignitaries. Khalil received quite a big piece from the Saudi friend who gifted it to him.
I also beheld large paintings and sculptures by Mahi Binebine, Khalil’s brother, who earned his PhD in mathematics at the Sorbonne prior to pursuing his true love of painting, sculpting, and writing. His work is on permanent display at the Guggenheim Museum. His book, Horses of God, was made into a feature film and, in 2013, selected as the official Moroccan entry for best foreign language film at the Academy Awards. Khalil’s and Mahi’s beloved mother, Lala Mina, cared deeply for them while their father was secretary to the king of Morocco for thirty-seven years.
Along with Mahi’s large art installations, there were a couple of smaller originals on the far dining room by Marc Chagall and Pablo Picasso.
Despite all the amazing art on display, Khalil’s favorite thing to show visitors is his home gym on the lower floor. As you walk past the garage toward the gym, the vintage 1969 Rolls-Royce and new Bentley are hard to miss, but it’s clearly the dueling Wahoo KICKRs, stationary trainers that can mimic Ironman courses worldwide, that catch Khalil’s fancy. Next door to the gym is a yoga studio where he ends most days under the guidance of Melody, his private instructor. Melody’s husband, Ryan, ran his first marathon, the New Orleans Mardi Gras Marathon, and is training for his first Ironman. Khalil casts a wide net of motivation by his example.
I learned my lesson about being a smart-ass when we popped into the home theater just off the gym. I jumped into one of the plush recliners and mentioned how unfortunate it was that there wasn’t a pashmina to throw around my shoulders while watc
hing a movie. We ended the tour and returned upstairs. Just before dinner, Khalil walked into the living room with three pashminas stacked atop each other. “Dahhhling, don’t ever assume we don’t have pashminas, now you have three, to match all the colors of your outfit.” Lesson learned!
Clearly, these men lacked for nothing. I grew even more ecstatic when I saw platter after platter of delicious Moroccan dishes carried out of the kitchen and assembled on the patio dining table overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Remember how much I love food and gatherings around food? This was nirvana, a Moroccan feast.
An intimate dinner for twenty or more is a nightly occurrence in Khalil and Gwilym’s home. They are Ironmen in their ability to host friends, business partners, family, and guests from around the world. Typical dinner conversation involves an eclectic group from as many as ten countries, the discussions always compelling. For those who can speak eight languages, like Khalil, the evening becomes a feast for the ears as well as the stomach. (Besides his parental tongues of Arabic and French, he also speaks German, Spanish, Portuguese, Hebrew, and English—plus Mandarin Chinese, which he learned when he found himself in a business arrangement with Chinese speakers. Try that sometime!)
Khalil honed in on how I could help him reach his goal of becoming a top-ranked Ironman age grouper—and earning a berth in Kona. We also realized the beginning of something more important. We’d not only become new friends, but found our other Iron Twin: we share an October birthday. Everything happens for a reason, and everything happens when it’s time.
It was time. I had no idea just how remarkable our friendship would become . . . or that “when it’s time” meant “you’re linked from now on.”
Dr. Elkhalil Binebine is one of the most remarkable human beings I know. His accomplishments are vast; he was born a fully faceted diamond, ready to shine and gleam in many ways. Khalil started bridge lessons at age three, played with his mother at five, and partnered with her to become a world champion—at nine. Predictably, he didn’t stay in secondary school long; he was a college freshman at France’s University of Bordeaux by age fifteen. After graduating, he earned a medical degree from the Sorbonne University, took his orthopedist credentials to the United States, and became the personal physician and friend of the billionaire Forbes magazine publisher Malcolm Forbes. Thirty years later, in 2016, Khalil was honored with an entire tribute issue of Forbes’s English language Eastern European edition, featuring interviews and writeups from more than thirty people who know and love him. Including me.
In 1989, Khalil threw a seventieth birthday party for Forbes in Tangiers, Morocco, that drew international media attention: Forbes sat side by side on a throne with the other “royalty” in the house, actress Elizabeth Taylor. Two hundred horsemen from the royal guard of Morocco performed, and Khalil arranged for the seven hundred party guests to be flown from and to New York on three charter jets.
Khalil’s friendship with Forbes set the stage for his life that followed. Forbes advised him on ways to invest wisely, and also helped him develop a business contact list that any CEO on earth would covet. Soon Khalil was an influential investment adviser, his charm and insatiable curiosity always a big asset. So was his ability to make you feel like the most important person in his world at that moment, no matter what your station in life or how busy his schedule. That’s an amazing gift, which speaks to the vast empathy and spirit that gushes from his heart and soul.
Khalil also loves sports. He has played tennis constantly since age fifteen, becoming a regional pro, and later a pro beach volleyball player. He swam, rode bikes, and ran occasionally, without ever putting the three together. Sports served as an outlet, which he needed: it makes me dizzy to think of his daily workload. The night before our Ironman Dubai 70.3 in 2018, he slept for ninety minutes, after taking a meeting he’d been pursuing for six years. His vision is vast too.
By 2000, Khalil left medicine to focus on a formidable venture capital fund he had built. Soon, lightning struck again, in the form of Dr. Finian Tan, the then-deputy trade minister of Singapore. Finian’s formidable government task? To turn Singapore into the Silicon Valley of Asia. He did it. In 2005, after a series of remarkable investments while heading the Asia-Pacific Department for Draper Fisher Jurvetson, where he oversaw a $1 billion government fund, Finian founded Vickers Venture Partners. Khalil already knew about Finian, having received five visits—with self-imposed month-long stays—from a persistent friend imploring him to get on board. Soon, Finian and Khalil met in Bordeaux.
Khalil has been the vice chairman of Vickers since. One fund, Vickers-IV, includes more than thirty start-up companies in biotechnology, telecommunications, media, and consumer and financial services. Among those companies is Samumed, the brainchild of Turkish businessman Osman Kibar (the Zen term samu loosely translates to “concentration while doing a routine task”). Samumed is in early- to late-stage trials on drugs designed to reverse and eradicate our most debilitating diseases and ailments (arthritis, osteoporosis, cancer, and Alzheimer’s disease, among others). The focus is on the so-called Wnt gene, the communication system of our body cells. The Samumed team aims for a state of disease-free living, part of Khalil’s world vision of healthy, peaceful, loving people who get along. Nothing routine about this concentrated task!
I love many things about Khalil, and this statement reflects why. He’s a billionaire with endless generosity in his heart and soul. What could be more generous than reversing the paths of our most debilitating diseases and disorders—and doing so on a scale that, he says, “will change the lives of over 400 million people”?
Khalil’s entry into the triathlon world began in early 2016 during a discussion with his nephew, Bashir. “Bashir was doing the Ironman 70.3 UK,” Khalil recalled. “When I saw him, I asked, ‘What are you doing? Why would anybody do that? You shouldn’t be doing this.’ I was talking to him as an orthopedic surgeon, as well as his worried uncle. He ignored me, and kept doing his sports.
“Some time later, I was having dinner with him in Hong Kong. I asked him, ‘This insanity of yours . . . how long do you need to train per week?’
“‘Twenty, twenty-five hours, sometimes thirty before a race.’
“‘Wait a minute. Twenty-five hours a week?’ Then I thought of my own sports. I was playing tennis two hours a day, training on the elliptical one hour, and lifting weights for an hour or two, six days a week. I was already putting in the time. I was also intrigued by a question: how far can a human being push their body? ‘Well, I’m going to give it a try,’ I told him.
“I came back to California, and saw a friend of mine, Dave Love, who’s done twenty Ironmans. I said to him, ‘Listen, I would like to try this, but I would like to do it in a very professional manner. I need a coach. Can you get me a coach?’ He got back to me with Terry Martin. She’s been my Ironman coach since.”
Khalil is the center of his family members’ lives in many important ways; anything he does can affect them. Like swimming, biking, and running 140.6 miles . . . “Half of my family didn’t agree with my choice, and the other half started doing it!” he chuckled. “The others are afraid something will happen to me. I address that by getting thoroughly examined every six months at UCSD, and I do nuclear medicine too, so I have a 3-D image of every cell of my body, it seems. I talk to my cardiologist, my internist. If I didn’t think for a second my body could do it, I wouldn’t do it. That’s not what Ironman is about.”
While trying to negotiate that discussion, Khalil had to run it by a more immediate family member—Gwilym. “I’m going to have to be away for four or five hours a day. Is it okay with you?” he asked.
“Not only is it okay, but I’ll do it with you, so we don’t have to be apart for four or five hours a day,” Gwilym replied.
“Gwilym started training with me, and he lost 32 kilos [70 pounds],” Khalil said. “Eleven months after we began training, we began with a modern [Olympic] triathlon, then the Ironman 70.3 Vichy, then the Ironman Bar
celona.”
A few months later, we ran into each other at the Ironman 70.3 Oceanside.
I began to deeply appreciate Khalil’s determination and passion in May 2017, during Ramadan. Traditionally, Ramadan lasts thirty days, but Khalil holds himself to a strict spiritual standard and always observes for forty days. As an Ironman triathlete in serious training, proper nutrition and hydration are the highest priorities, along with rest and recovery. When you can’t have any food or water from midnight until the following sunset, a stretch of about nineteen hours, and you endure that body-taxing discipline for forty straight days, training can be tough. In the hot, humid May conditions of Southern California, it became a serious challenge for him to run or cycle without taking in water or calories.
For several Sunday afternoons, I arrived at Khalil’s to be his running partner. We ran anywhere from ten to fifteen miles with no food or water. I ate and drank before I arrived, but I always felt too guilty to drink or eat in front of Khalil. “How is he doing this without nourishment?” asked my coauthor after the three of us trudged up the mile-long hill to his house to end a fifteen-mile run.
Good question. Can you imagine not eating all day and still finding the energy to ride your trainer for hours or run in the late afternoon heat? Khalil may love his creature comforts, but underneath those designer labels, he is diamond tough. I learned so much about his toughness, tenacity, and devotion on those runs. I was now mentoring, befriending, and running, swimming, and biking with him, while leaving the overall Ironman coaching to Terry Martin, who was a fine pro in the 1990s.
We were just getting started. What moved me, and took this friendship into my heart, was his generosity of spirit despite profound calorie debt and dehydration. I imagined he’d be cranky and irritable, like most would be after running fifteen miles with no food or water, but he was the exact opposite. Khalil took the time to smile and say hello to everyone he passed. That can be a mini-event unto itself. He wears his race gear while running, so picture this man pulling up to an intersection near you in a one-piece white lycra tri-suit contrasting with his bronze skin, neon pink headband, and knee-high neon compression socks. The guy stands out. However, it’s his zest for life, his joie de vivre, which shines brighter than any amount of neon. His passion is his secret weapon, along with a famously wicked sense of humor, which meshes very well with my occasionally sharp, sarcastic side. I usually find shared jokes on email very tedious, but when one arrives from Khalil, I know it will make me laugh out loud and I can hardly wait to pass it along. Khalil can tell a joke like a pro. Most of his humor suggests it could go down an adults-only road, only to take a surprising turn and finish with a positive G-rated punchline.
