ON TO MIDNIGHT
Back at the motel, while Cheryl does her shower, I open my laptop to
read the grim news of my placement. Fourth the last 3 Ironman races
I've done, I'm a little worried I'll lose my string on the podium.
Ironmanlive.com is up and running, and I move through the Athlete
Finder to check my results. I go for the Age Group view, rather than
looking at my individual page.
I'm stunned, almost catatonic by what I find. There, at the top of the
list of 55-59 male finishers, is my name. Not believing, I check
carefully at all the finishing times, to make sure they are all slower
than mine. I drop down the list of names; Evensen in 3rd, Nordquest in
4th - where's Joe Anderson? He's there in 5th, more than 1/2 an hour
behind me. What happened to HIM? I was only doing 11 minute miles from
the time I saw him to the finish - he would have had to averaged over
25 minutes a mile to come in that slow?
Confident I really am first, I open the bathroom door, and adopt as
deadpan an expression as possible as I tell Cheryl, "I'll give you $400
if you guess what place I finished." The $400 was a subtle clue to her
to guess 4th, as she assumed that's what I meant. True to form, she
tried 4th, then 5th, then gave up.
"Nope, I WON the damn thing. Unbelievable. Jaw-dropping." In truth, it
felt better to get a Kona slot, but, it's hard to argue with winning.
The problem with my personality type is, when I win, I tend to start
setting higher goals, meaning harder work. Positive reinforcement is an
evil taskmaster. Oh well, as my mother used to say, "It'll look good on
your resume´."
..........
We meet up with Joan down by the finish
line. She's trying to connect with Pat, who spent some time in the med
tent. Thanks to the miracle of cell phone technology, we all gather
outside the transition zone, and review our races. Cheryl has cautioned
me not to blurt out my good fortune to Pat and Joan, as they are trying
to deal with his IV hydrated recuperation at the moment. That's easy to
do, because I know that one's placement is more dependent on the
performance of others.
By the time we get Pat's bike, and walk up the hill to where our cars
are parked, it's nearly 10 PM.
I blurt, "You know, last year Cheryl and I ate a pasta dinner right on
Sherman Avenue, while the late finishers were coming down the hill.
Then we went over to the finish line to cheer in the final half hour to
watch the last people come in. You've gotta see this - it's part of the
Whole Ironman Experience. Mike Reilly pumps up the crowd, the winners
sometimes parade down the chute while we wait for the stragglers, and
they throw stuff into the stands."
"Yeah, I'm feeling surprisingly good now that I got two liters of fluid
in the Med Tent. I think I ought to do that after every long race I do
- it really perks you up, " Pat allowed.
"It's a real tonic, just like a blood transfusion. So you're awake and
alert?"
"Yes, I'm up for it, " Pat said enthusiastically. With that, Cheryl and
Joan could hardly argue. Among us, Pat had had the most trying day, and
if he was willing to press on, who were we to stand in his way. We
walked down 3rd Ave. The building next to us had been facing the sun
all afternoon. It's blank cinder blocks oozed back all that heat - they
were quite warm to the touch, and felt sauna-like a foot or two away.
It suddenly seemed very hot to me. I had forgotten the searing sun I'd
labored under all afternoon. The skin on the backs of my shoulders, the
place where the sun tan lotion never seems to work well enough, sizzled
and stung, prickling with the onset of a good second degree burn.
We cruised into Tito Macaroni's. They were, of course, doing a booming
business. Every five or ten minutes, another Sound Sound Tri guy came
by, and we traded war stories on the day. Most everyone felt good about
their finish, if not their time. Survival was the simple mark of
success at 10:30 PM on an Ironman day when the temperature was still
above
80.
About 11:15, we started up from the table, and ambled through the
indoor mall to the street. It was lined with people, cheering an
alarmingly large number of finishers home. Every ten or fifteen
seconds,
another one came down the chute. Some were beaming, some were
struggling, some refused to run, no matter how loud the imprecations.
But all looked proud. We crossed over to the other side, and went up
into the stands.
Still they came, more than a hundred in the last hour, way more than
I'd ever seen this late. There were so many, there was no time for the
Ironman crew to come onto the finishing carpet and throw stuff up at us
- or maybe they were just short on supplies this year.
At 11:59 (16:59 on the big finishing clock), Mike shouted, "Yeah,
baby, we've got another one coming in - I can see her up near 5th or
6th. Come on, folks, let's bring her in!" The crowd, which had been
cheering, whistling, and beating the barriers for the last 15 minutes,
went berserk. A slightly plump lady, with a severe hitch in her gait at
this point, was being pulled down that chute by the sheer force of the
crowd. As she entered the spotlights, we could see the growing grin and
tears on her face. This amped the crowd up even more. She moved as fast
as she could - which was fast walking speed, really, but she was truly
running. She was a first timer. Who knows what had conspired this day
to keep her out on the course for seventeen hours? But there she was,
going under the banner at 16:59:49 - certainly the latest finish I'd
ever seen. Talk about cutting it close! Much emotion is showered on the
family feeling of Ironman finishers, and the joy we all feel for
everyone who makes it, whether sub 8 hours, or barely within 17.
I'd thought it was a bit bogus before now.
I mean, really, what could I possibly have in common with these people
who swim slower than I can breaststroke kick, bike on the flats at the
speed I go uphill, and walk most of the marathon? Aren't they doing a
fundamentally different event then I am? I used to think so, but no
more. Everyone comes to the race at their own level - their life's
experience at athletics, their level of fitness from whatever training
they've been able to do, and their reaction to the day's vicissitudes.
We all succeed or fail on our own individual terms, no one else's, and
coming in under
17 hours, for the final finisher, is the crowning achievement of a very
intense episode on one's life, no less than my first place after ten
tries at this ultimately draining activity. I was as proud of her as I
was of Pat, as I was of myself.