Race report - Oilman 70.3 VOLUNTEER

***Let me be perfectly clear - this is my race report from my morning of VOLUNTEERING at my first 70.3 experience.***

Now that I've conquered the Olympic distance triathlon, my sights are set on HIMTX - the Galveston 70.3 race in April. Before I committed, I wanted to at least see a half iron so that I would have my head firmly wrapped around what I was stepping up to. Enter Oilman 70.3.

I woke up this morning at 3:30. 3:30 in the morning. You know. Like 30 minutes before 4:00 a.m. Anywho, I drove 82 miles without passing a single place to stop and get coffee. Dunkin Donuts snubbed me. McD's snubbed me. Hell. Even the gas stations snubbed me. It was brutal. Dark. Early. 39 degrees. No coffee. No breakfast. No adrenaline (because of the no racing thing). Two miles before my destination, I finally found a gas station that was open. Incidentally, every athlete on the way to Oilman found this place, too. The parking lot was a bike porn fantasy. After I snagged some less-than-stellar coffee, I finally made it to La Torreta.

I made my way to the volunteer area where I spent the next hour and a half directing folks to T1 and to the timing chip line. Not exactly glamorous, but I did get to see a ton of awesome athletes, bikes, and transition bags. When T1 closed, I was directed to the swim start with a bag full of extra caps. Of course there was only one guy who dropped his cap on the way, but I was glad I was there to help.

While we were standing on the edge of the water in the now-40-degree howling wind, I met some pretty amazing people. First, this guy's family. They were there to commemorate the two-month mark of Matt's passing at the Bridgeland Triathlon. Matt's brothers and sister-in-law completed the relay. Inspirational stuff. Then I met the guy who isn't Mike Reilly, but he still gets to say, "YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!" hundreds of times a year. His name was Mark. He was wearing a pink sock hat that said #MEOW. I learned a lot about racing from Mark and I hope to find him at another race some day soon. Somewhere in there, I saw Adam Ring and wished him a great race. It's so cool to see people you actually know at a big race! I also met Alan from Austin who was sporting bib number 512. Serendipitous, he said. Alan was a para-athlete who had lost his left leg. Doing what, I know not. But it really doesn't matter Alan was embarking on his first 70.3 race and he needed somebody to keep his leg safe and make sure it made it to the swim finish. I was his girl. I followed Alan to the water, helped him pack up his leg, and told him I'd pray for him while he was in the water. Alan did amazing. He finished right in the middle of his age group. Go Alan, go! I helped him get out of the water and over to wetsuit stripping, where he reassembled himself. I can't wait until they post results so I can see how Alan did for the bike and the run!

While I was waiting for Alan, I had 40-ish minutes to observe, cheer, and learn. I learned a few things.

First - people are amazing. I believe the field was almost 900 folks. Of those 900, I think I watched at least 850 climb the ladder out of the water. Totally amazing.

Second - people are jerks. I witnessed the single-most jerk-like thing I've ever seen in my life today. At Oilman, they have the ladies swim first. This can be super cool if you're really worried about making cutoffs. If you're worried about the more aggressive men swimming over the top of you, this could be a not-so-cool thing. If you're worried about the most asinine jerk on the face of the planet PHYSICALLY REMOVING YOU FROM THE LADDER as you try to get out of the water... well, that was this guy. There were two ladies at ladder 1 of 6. This dude swam up behind them, pushed the first lady out of the way, and grabbed the second lady (who was easily 3 rungs up the ladder), and tried to pull her off the ladder. She screamed, "HEY!" at the dude as I simultaneously leaned over the edge of the dock in my super official CREW shirt and said, "NO SIR - there are FIVE other ladders if you're THAT anxious." Can you imagine swimming 1.2 miles and having some creeptastic twit pull you off the ladder? Holy cow! Poor woman.

Third - I can totally do this. I will do this. I cannot wait to do this. April will be here before you know it and I will be the one standing on the water's edge in my wetsuit instead of my CREW shirt and wind pants.

Fourth - you should always take two seconds to thank the volunteers. For every dozen racers who didn't thank me, the 13th racer who did made it worth my while to drag myself out of bed at 3:30 and drive 84 miles to stand in the cold to make sure that everybody out there had a good race.

Fifth - smile. Seriously. The people who were smiling were moving so much more nimbly. It was incredible to see the difference in the posture of the athletes who were smiling versus those who were grimacing. We do this for fun. Smile = fun. It's simple.

Sixth (and last) - if you choose to volunteer, go out of your way for someone. Whoever had chip number 128 lost the chip before he or she ever set foot in the water. I snagged it, found another ankle strap, and strapped it to the racer's bike. I don't know who number 128 is or whether that person had a good race (although I will know tomorrow when I check the results!). I don't know whether he or she was a smiler or a scowler. Heck, it could've even been jerkface who pulled that lady off the ladder. But just whatever man. When that person got to TI with no chip and found that some tri angel (ahem... moi) had strapped that chip to the bike racked at 128? I sure hope that person sighed a huge sigh of relief and had an incredible bike knowing that there was somebody out there who cared enough to lend a hand.

So there ya have it. My first 70.3 experience was super rewarding and very educational. Now if you'll excuse me, I got up at 3:30 this morning. I have a rendezvous with my pillow.