THE FINISH
I start to line up my finishing posture.
Let's see, no one in front for about 75 meters, and she's going my
speed - I won't catch her, so I've got a clear path for the photo.
But then I hear heavy breathing off my left shoulder. I sneak a glance
there, and see a blond head bobbing. Joe had blond hair - maybe it's
him! Whoever it is, they are trying to ruin my finisher shot, so I turn
on the jets - I always save a little for just this reason. I pull away
from the heavy breather, into the roar of the crowd. Mike Reilly's got
plenty of time to get my name straight. As he clears his throat for
another "You are an IRONMAN!" shout, I hold up both hands with four
fingers each, signifying either my eighth Ironman finish or my fourth
time here at Coeur d'Alene"
"And here comes Al Truscott, from Gig Harbor WASHINGTON, in his fourth
Ironman here at Coeur d'Alene". I fall into the arms of the catchers,
grateful for once they are here. Get my medal and Tee shirt and bag and
hat, and magically Cheryl walks up to me, saying "You look pretty good,
Ironman."
..........
My time, 11:55, is 15 minutes off my
best from last year, but then, it's about 15 degrees warmer. It's the
same time as two years ago, when it was about 10 degrees cooler. So I
feel good, all in all.
"You don't look like death warmed over," Cheryl says. Ever since the
first time she saw me finish a 1/2 ironman, 5 years ago at Pacific
Crest, after running at altitude in the
midsummer, mid-day sun.
"How do you feel?" Cheryl asked. "You look pretty good. You don't look
like death warmed over." Ever since I finished the Pacific Crest Half
at 3 PM in the blazing mountain sun, and nearly passed out in the
cooling tent at the finish line, she's remembered how bad I looked
then, all dehydrated, salt crusted and pale from exertion and
exhaustion. She hasn't forgotten that sickly death pall my face had as
I
pulled into the finishers' tent, and has tried to avoid the
finish line ever since. She's convinced I'm trying to kill myself, I
guess. So she checks my color: no pallor, not about to die.
"Actually, I feel pretty good. I'm just a little drained from sprinting
at the finish to get ahead of a guy who was breathing down my shoulder,
so I'd have a clear finisher photo. I actually fell into the arms of
the catchers, first time I've ever done that. But I don't feel bad. I
feel pretty good. Things got better there in the last mile or so. I
swear the temperature must have dropped at least five degrees about
6:45, just as I came up the hill from the lake. I wish it had been like
that for the last 10 miles, instead of just the last one."
I hobbled a bit as we wound our way through the maze to the pizza tent.
I grabbed two slices, a Gatorade, and went back to the tree where
Cheryl was waiting with in the shade.
I looked in the bag to see what goodies we got this time: in addition
to my medal and T shirt, I now had another wetsuit bag, and another
finishers' running hat. No LIVESTRONG replica wristband, like last
year. No towel, no nothing. No helicopter, fewer goodies ... I'm
sensing a trend here.
Done with the pizza (Cheryl ate the crusts), we headed into the
park
to pick up my stuff. We carefully crossed the run course, with people
going in both directions, all on their second lap by this time, about 2
hours after the bike cutoff. Walking all the way around the transition
zone, I entered through the security gate. Went right to get my bags.
As I entered the men's tent to change, I noticed they were striking the
women's tent. "Where are they going to change after they finished?" I
asked. Got no reply. Getting my bike, I waited in line to exit. The
guard noticed my wristband had no number left on it - must have been
washed off by the wet suit, the arm coolers, and the sweat on the run.
..........
AS I was waiting, I saw Mitch on the other side of the fence. His hair
was washed and combed, and he was in clean shorts and a finishers'
shirt - he must have had a great time. Telling Cheryl, "I'm going to go
over and talk to Mitch," I leaned my bike on the outside fencing and
gave him a big smile.
"Hey, how'd you do," I asked.
"It's over," he said with a smile.
"You can't fool me, you're already changed and all cleaned up, you must
have had a great time."
"Well, I finished in 10:55."
"Oh wow, that's great. You're going to Hawaii for sure! Do you know
what place you were?"
"I think I got fifth." The top four in his age group would
automatically qualify for Hawaii. He'd have to wait for the roll down
to find out for sure.
"So are you going to the roll down? You never know - there's a really
good chance you'll get in, you know."
Mitch seemed a little resigned. He certainly didn't want to get his
hopes up.
Just then I saw Tom Herron, coming out with his bike. I asked him about
his finish. After trying to avoid any semblance of feeling good about
his result, he said "I finished in 11:16."
"What was your run? Did you break 4 hours?" As a sub-3:20
marathoner,
he possessed the perhaps unrealistic belief that he ought to be able
to run the Ironman 26.2 in a "respectable" time.
"Ah, I was still over 4 hours." His only previous Ironman, the Grand
Columbian, had finished with a 4:07 run.
"That's great, Tom! You should feel really proud of that. What was your
place?"
"I didn't look. I'm still trying to find out how Verna is doing" - his
wife,
Verna was attempting this race 6 months after foot surgery - "and I
want to be there at the finish line for her."
"Well, 11:16 - that might get you to Hawaii. I'd look up your place,
'cause you just might make it in the roll down. Are you going to go
tomorrow?"
"Well, I don't know - we're staying in Spokane with Verna's sister, and
I don't know if we want to come back here again tomorrow. We really
want to get home to our kids."
"Well, check your place. If you're 7th - and you may very well be
seventh with that time - you've got a good chance to get a roll down
spot."
Tom certainly didn't seem convinced, either that he might have finished
as high as 7th, or that he should go to the roll down. He did seem to
be convinced that his day was not so hot.
"Tom, I'm really impressed with your race. Wow. 11:16, great bike,
great
run ... you ought to feel so good about that. Certainly better than
I've ever done." Which was true - my personal best is 11:41, done when
I
was 6 years older than Tom. "Well, if I were you, I would go to the
roll down - you never know." Tom looked skeptical.