"Just once, I'd like to go to one of these where they have the older age groups first - I mean, you should be held up as role models for all the younger folks to admire and strive for," Cheryl is saying, echoing what I've thought for years. Not only do I usually have to wait 1/2 hour or more to get the medal for whatever, but usually most people have left by the time I get my award. I'd like a little more recognition for the grit it takes to race past 55. Sigh!

"I know, I know. But at least everyone stays around for the whole banquet at the Ironman," I reply.

Finally, M.C Mike Reilly starts the Clydesdale/Athena awards, and warns those 45 and over to start gathering to the right of the stage. I give it about five minutes, then walk by Mitch and tell him to come along with me. Once there, we self-select into age groups and order of finish, from 5 thru 1. Funny how we all know our finish placement, even though they never posted any results! We're all so secretly competitive.

I start chatting with Even again, as he tells me more about his efforts at recovery. Then Joe from Ogden comes up, and I say, "Hi".

Even before I get to ask him what happened after our encounter at mile 23, he launches into, "Boy, yesterday was just so hot. I don't know what happened after I saw you. I got down the hill into the shade in the neighborhood, and lay down on the lawn under the first tree I saw. I must have stayed there for half an hour. I just couldn't get going again. I guess I was way behind in my fluids, 'cause I kept getting dizzy every time I tried to get up. If I'd gotten more to drink out there along the lake, I don't think I would have slowed down so much ...." He went on like this for an uncomfortably long time, interrupting the casual little conversation I was having with Even. It was almost as if, in his number 5 spot leading us up onto the stage, he was trying to tell us he was the real winner. After all, he had been leading the race up until mile 23 of the marathon.

I was smiling and trying to console him when Even almost pulled me aside, turning me back to my place at the other end of our little row. As we walked, he said, "Don't listen to him. You won the race - it doesn't matter what he did or didn't do out there, you're the one who figured out how to get to the finish line first. You do not have to feel bad about his effort or your success. Look at me - I've got pins all over my body, it hurts every time I take a step out there, but I love to race so much, I still do it. And I'm just so damn glad to be out racing again, and finishing. You should feel very good about your self today." He smiled, and dropped me off next to the number two finisher.

Before I got there, my mind went back to the Xterra World's Championships on Maui in 2005. There's a guy from Reno, Kent Robison, who is a monster swimmer and mountain biker - he always wins the Xterras he enters. In 2004, at our little Vashon Island Xterra, I got beat by a little guy, Gary Mercer from Redding CA. So small, his friends call him the Hobbit. He was just getting into off-road triathlon, and ended up coming in 2nd to Kent in everything that year. He worked his butt off, and in 2005, got a lot closer, but still second. At the Nationals, in Tahoe (Kent's home course), Gary gave such a scare to Robison that Kent flew off his bike and broke a few ribs. He still won, but had to bow out of the Maui World's. This enabled Gary to win in Maui. I saw him after the race, at the awards ceremony (I was third), and he seemed a bit morose. He was going on about how Kent wasn't there.

"Look", I said, "you won this race. You should feel very proud of what you did. You're the one who managed NOT to break your ribs in Tahoe. Look at it  this way - the REASON Kent fell in Tahoe was he was so scared of you coming up his rear, he pushed it too hard down that hill, and fell. You're the one who managed to keep yourself whole for this race, and you deserve the win for all the hard work you've done getting yourself to where you are today."

My own words, heartfelt then, coming back to me from Even Evensen.

I popped out of my reverie, and saw Keith Greenough, of Burnham, England, a little gnome with a bald head, standing about 3 inches shorter than me. No wonder he ran 9 minutes faster! He had a big smile and twinkling eyes as I introduced myself.

"You're happy with your day?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah! This is such a beautiful part of the world; we've never been here before."

"Yeah, the people here just love having us - the crowd support is great. Are you going to Hawaii?"

"Well, actually, I already qualified earlier in the UK, so this is just a bonus. You?"

"Uh,  I qualified last September, at Wisconsin."

His eyes widened at this news. "The heat didn't seem to bother you, now did it. You must have had a lot of time to train for this."

"Well, actually, I've only been training for 7 weeks - I started my training for Hawaii in the second week of May, so I'm kind of surprised by how I did today."

"Well, you did all right."

Our line edged leftwards as we moved through the 45-49s and on to the 50-54s. A staffer came by to make sure we were all the right age, and in the right order.

I asked, "Are you following a specific training plan for Kona?"

He smiled even more broadly, and laughed a bit as he said, "Oh, no, I've just retired, and we've been going around the world doing Ironman races. We just did New Zealand in March, and that's where I qualified. I guess I'll just keep on with what I've been doing." He apparently meant his wife, Glynis, who'd done the swim in 1.5 hours, and DNF'd, finishing last in the women's 50-54.

We'd arrived at the stage steps. Volunteers were making sure each of us was who we were supposed to be, that we got our plaques, and that we knew when and where to go on the stage.

Finally, Mike gets to, "And winning the 55-59 year old age group, Al Truscott of Gig Harbor Washington! Swimming 1:06.22, biking 6:02.33, and running 4:38.42, Al went 11 hours and 56 minutes. Congratulations!"

I get to amble into the center stage, holding my giant plaque. I spy Cheryl up front, and smile for her picture. I look out over the crowd, beam, and hold the plaque high over my head. My Big Dog shirt feels smooth and silky as it slithers over my arms while air from the stage fan baffles it against my back, cooling off the sweat from the already 90F day. I bask for a second, and marvel at what it's taken me to get here. In the end, I had to let go of any thoughts of racing, and just stay in the moving forward moment.  After the applause stops, we turn and walk left, down the steps and back to our friends and families.