It started innocently enough. I decided to check out the volunteer site for Ironman Wisconsin and was elated to find they were still looking for help with this year’s event. I had originally not known whether I would be in town or in Sioux Falls where my husband is currently working, but once our plan was set I figured I might as well do something useful and fun while my husband was 400 miles away. Cleaning the house and doing laundry weren’t nearly as exciting as watching 2500 athletes compete in the greatest triathlon race.
Then Ironman started seeping slowly into my veins. On the Thursday before the Sunday race as I drove to work I noticed the buoys in Lake Monona marking the course. It’s 2 loops of 1.2 miles each, but it may as well been swimming the English Channel. It looked long, the water looked cold, and I couldn’t imagine starting that swim, thinking, “Where the heck is the buoy?”, finding it, then thinking “I have to swim this how many times?”
Friday on the same route to work, I watched a few dozen athletes line up to swim the course in Lake Monona. I got chills. The sky was as grey as the water, and I imagined those first few strokes in the cold lake as feeling both exhilarating and anxiety-ridden as they prepared for their 1.2 or 2.4 mile trek around the buoys. I sent a text to Jeff from the car. “My wheels are turning”. That's our code that one of us is starting to get thoughts in our head...I started wondering what it would be like to train for months & months to get to this point – 2 days before the race – and take those practice laps around the lake.
Sunday came around and my day started at 5:30AM. My shift for bike sag started at 7:45 but the swim start was at 7 and I wanted to get down there, meet my friend Valencia, and try to catch a glimpse of Bev, Valencia’s lane partner in our twice-weekly swim class since February. Valencia and I stood on the shore with hundreds, probably thousands, of spectators and listened to the announcer challenge the 2500 bobbing heads in the water “Two minutes to go. Are you ready to be an Ironman today?” The cannon went off and the sound of the swimmers was astounding. They sliced through the water and I tried to wrap my head around a 2 ½ mile swim. Awesome.
My shift with the sag was slow, which made me happy for the riders because that was a good sign. We did pick up 1 rider. He had come all the way from Mexico to race the Ironman in Madison, and his bottom bracket broke off his bike 40 miles in. He was disappointed. He told me “I trained for months and months to do this race. My body is ready. I didn’t expect my bike to break.” He vowed to come back next year, and he said “I hope I don’t see you next time because if I do, it means my bike broke again!” I laughed and wished him luck and he headed into the hotel to shower then go find his wife who was volunteering at one of the run aid stations.
At 12noon, my shift started on the bike course. I was standing at mile 111 of the 112 mile course with a partner, Joel. Our job was to direct spectator traffic. I also made it my personal job to cheer every rider on as they went by. I couldn’t see their faces, know how much they had overcome to get to that point, and not try to push them that last mile before they started the run. I saw the full range of emotion you would expect from an athlete who had been going non-stop for the past 6 to 10 hours. Tears, exhaustion, weary smiles, relieved smiles, excited smiles. Some thanked me for volunteering, which I thought was incredibly kind and unexpected. I hoped I had been thanking the volunteers at my sprint triathlons this summer and had a sinking feeling that I hadn’t. For these athletes to even think of thanking us, and to have the presence of mind to verbalize it, left me in amazement. I got to see Bev come through and noticed on my watch that it was earlier than she expected. What a relief to know she was 2/3rds done to becoming an Ironman! She definitely worked hard for it, and undoubtedly deserved it.
A spectator approached me and asked, “Have you ever done one of these?” I answered, “No. I think it’s amazing but I’m not sure I could do it.” He replied, “Me too, but I think I’m going to try next year.” I smiled and wished him luck. That’s a big endeavor to take on and I wondered if he would really sign up.
When my shift ended at the course cut-off time at 5:30, I hesitated to leave my station. I knew athletes were still out there. They would come to the stark reality that they had not made it to the run in time and their race day would be coming to an earlier end than anticipated. I imagined what that would feel like – coming all that way and not being able to finish it. It made me sad, but hopeful that they would not get down on themselves because they had come so far…and that they would come back next year like my friend from Mexico, to tackle the course again.
When I got home I jumped online and watched the finish line action in real-time. At around 9:30PM, Bev crossed the finish line and tears were in my eyes. I didn’t expect to feel so emotional, but knowing someone who is pushing themselves for over 14 hours really got to me. I was so happy for her and in awe of her achievement.
I went to sleep and dreamt of everything Ironman – every face, every story, every emotion.
On Monday I woke up with a sore throat. No surprise there. It would evolve into a full cold in a day or two. I starting thinking about Ironman. Signing up. Doing it. I was also on my way to Michigan for recruiting with a meeting scheduled during the open of online registration so signing up was improbable. But I wondered about it. I got online before my meeting and it wasn’t open yet. I thought about it all day.
On Tuesday back in the office I went up to Valencia and said “I want to do the Ironman next year.” She told me to sit down.
“Mimi, let’s take it one step at time. Next year let’s do a few halfs and see how we feel.”
“V, I don’t want to do a half. I want to do the Ironman.”
She gave me the look. “Did you talk to Jeff yet?”
“No, but I will tonight.”
“Ok, I’ll talk to Kerry too. Let’s sleep on it.”
I went back to my desk and looked online for the Community Fund slots. Each Ironman sets aside a few hundred entries for folks who don’t make the general entry cutoff, but would like to raise money for the communities who sponsor Ironman as well as secure an entry to the race. It opened Wednesday morning at 9am. I texted Jeff and he said, “I’m sure you could do it if you trained enough. Most people build up gradually though.” Me: “I have a year. Do you think it’s enough?” He said “I don’t know. Don’t want to discourage you but seems like an awful lot to me.” Me too.
I printed the application. The next day, Valencia did the same.
And here we are. With 1 year. Two supportive husbands. Big dreams. One goal.
Oh trainer!
