Iron Angels

We were at a birthday party this weekend and I had the opportunity to chat with an IronMate (Amy) about her husband's experience at IMLOU a couple of years ago (we'll call him Mike). I asked Amy to chat with Doug about her experience as a Sherpa/IronMate. "Maybe you could chat with my husband about what he's in for during the next 20 months. . . ?" I suggested. She smiled and patted my arm. "It's probably best he doesn't know," she said. Yikes. Just yikes.***

I laughed and asked about his race. She told me an incredible story. It went like this:

Mike really had a hard time at Lou. He had trained hard and knew what to be prepared for, but he wasn't really prepared for the hills. He knew what pace he needed to keep on the walk in order to make the cutoff, but the hills. He just wasn't prepared for them.

He was behind a guy on the bike who bonked. Of course he had no way of knowing the guy was bonking, but boom. There he was, lying in the road. He had fallen off of his bike right in front of Mike. Mike didn't have a chance. He barreled into the guy, flew over his handlebars, and wound up in the ditch. He sat there in the ditch, stunned. "Well, there goes my Ironman," Mike thought. "This is just something I can't help. I did my best and apparently, today wasn't my day." As Mike stood up, he realized nothing hurt. He wiggled his fingers and his toes, stretched out his back, and said a prayer of thanks. He was uninjured. No bumps. No bruises. No pain of any kind. "Wow. If I'm in this good of shape, my bike must be totaled." Nope. Bike was fine. Fine. 100% fine. "Well. I guess I'll climb back on this bike and see what happens."

Mike tooled on down the road and was making decent progress, but he was worried about making the cutoff. The hills were really taking their toll and the unexpected stop had eaten into his time. He was getting a little discouraged when a pair of tri angels happened upon him. "You look like you're struggling there, friend." Mike admitted that he was and he was worried about making it in. "You stick with us. We've been training on these hills and we'll pull you through. Stick with us. We'll get you there." These tri angels never left him and got him through the last of those 112 miles, well under the cutoff.

Mike began the "walk," as Amy called it. He did the math and knew he needed to maintain a 15-minute mile to beat the 17 hour cutoff. As he caught and passed people who were struggling, he would repeat the same phrase the tri angels had said to him. "You look like you're struggling there, friend." Competitor after competitor confided in him that they were done. They were tired. They had stopped too many times. They weren't going to make it. Mike repeated the same mantra, over and over. "You stick with me. I've been training at this pace and I'll pull you through. Stick with me. I'll get you there."

Mile after mile, Mike encountered more people just like him. People who had encountered the unexpected and were giving up on their dreams. Mile after mile, he kept on encouraging. Kept on pulling. Kept on moving forward. As the clock neared midnight, Mike and his new friends approached the finisher chute. Thirty new friends. They began to peel off, one at a time, and give it their all to finish their race. Mike had pulled THIRTY people through the deep, dark night of Ironman and brought them home. Because two tri angels had given him support and encouragement when he needed it most, Mike was able to do the same for thirty people who were moments from giving up on their dreams.

Isn't that incredible? Isn't that what this whole sport is all about? Individual achievement through community? Stories like this resonate with me. Stories like this stick with me. And when I'm in the deep, dark hours of my Ironman, I hope I remember this story and plug forward, making new friends and achieving my dreams. Maybe even thirty new friends.


***Amy does have six children (whom she homeschools) and her husband travels. Not exactly apples to apples, here.***

IronKids

Last week, we went to the beach with our friend Jenny. Jenny is an early elementary school teacher and really gets my kids. She's genuine and honest and so very pretty and kind and my children just love her. Our ride to the beach was dominated by my children vying for Jenny's attention. "Miss Jenny! Do you know what a capacitor is?" Miss Jenny did not. "Miss Jenny! Do you like my kitty?" Miss Jenny did. "Miss Jenny! Do you know what a transistor is?" Miss Jenny had a good guess, but Daniel had a great time explaining this one anyway. "Miss Jenny! Have you tried a PLUM-o-granite?" Miss Jenny had not. It was an eventful ride.

Our time at the beach was spent burying mom in the sand, chasing birds, watching people get their SUVs stuck in the sand, swimming, jumping, running, snacking, leaping, whirling, and generally wearing ourselves out. It was perfect.

By the time we headed home, my kids were whipped and miraculously enough, my kids were quiet. This gave Miss Jenny and I a chance to chat about what we wanted to chat about, a rare and precious gift. She asked me about Ironman, my goals, and why I was doing what I'm doing. I really can't put into words all of the why behind what I'm doing, but I have a few good reasons of why I want to complete 140.6 before the sun sets on my life as a triathlete. One, the tattoo. Yup. I said it. I want it. A big, ol' red brand on the back of my calf. Fan girl? Maybe. Do I care? Not even a little. Two, Mike Reilly and those precious four words. Jenny had never heard of Mike Reilly and I regaled the tale of how "YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!!" came to be. It goes like this:

Mike was calling in Kona one year (don't ask me what year). He had a friend who was racing who had gone through a down spell just before the race. Let's call him Joe Schmoe. He confided in Mike that he didn't think he had what it took to be an Ironman. Mike gave him a pep talk, talked him through the day, and wished him well. Days passed, Joe went through all of the pre-race stuff that we all go through (I'm too old/young/fat/slow/new at this/blonde/brunette/smart/stupid to do this. I am going to OWN this! What was I thinking? It's just 140 miles - the hay is in the barn! It's going to be too hard. It won't be too bad. I can't ride my bike 112 miles. This is going to be the best day ever! What was I thinking???), and Joe ultimately showed up at the starting line. Mike was doing his thing, calling people in and dancing and celebrating with people who were seeing the realization of a months/years/decades-long dream. I have no idea what time it was or how many people had come in, but Mike saw Joe coming down the chute. He got emotional and was so excited for his friend! He sees him coming and says something like this, "And Joe Schmoe, from Encinitas, California - YOU.ARE.AN.IRONMAN!!!!" Joe covers his face and then thrusts his fists to the heavens, tears streaming as he crosses the finish line. . . and the crowd goes absolutely wild. And Mike sees Jane Doe coming down the chute and he says, "Jane Doe! YOU are an IRONMAN!" And the crowd goes wild. Mike see John Doe coming down the chute and says, "John Doe! YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!" And the crowd loses their minds (again). And here comes Amanda Hugginkiss and Mike says, "Congratulations, Amanda! You did it!" And the crowd is aghast! How could he NOT say "YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!!"?? They boo and whine and chant for him to say it again. So he does. Again. And again. And again. And BOOM. Just like that - a tradition is born. 

People all over everywhere train and dream and fantasize about THE voice of Ironman calling them home. They don't remember hearing the words, but someone - father, wife, child - captured it on video and it's immortalized. This moment, this pinnacle of success, these four words that tell us what we all want to hear - that we did it. That we are worth it. That we are strong. That we persevered and we didn't give up and we fought hard for what we wanted. That we knew the road would be long and dark and lonely, but we kept moving forward and we earned that tattoo, that finisher jacket, that bumper sticker or key chain or medal or hat or whatever it is we wanted. That feeling of success that can never be taken away. The right to call ourselves an Ironman. The privilege to know that our obituary will include phrases like, "dedicated mother, devoted wife, and Ironman finisher." 

Ok. I get it. I just went all sappy and weird and crazy. But this is what I think about and this is what I told Jenny. 

The next morning at breakfast, we were talking about our plans for the day. Gym, library, lunch, whatever. Daniel asked what I planned to do at the gym and I told him I was going to spin class. Lia asked why. I said, "To make my legs stronger so that I can one day be an Ironman." A few minutes later, Lia said, "Is there a little kid race? One like Ironman?" I said that there was - Ironkids - and that she could sign up for it in April when I race at Galveston again. She said, "I want to do it, mama. And I want Mister Mike to call my name. Will he say, 'Lia Carey - you are an IronKid!!"? I have no idea whether Mike shows up to the IronKids races, but someone will be there to call my baby home. 

Knowing that I spoke passionately about my passions and that kindled a little flame in my baby's heart is beyond priceless to me. I often wonder if I'm inspiring my children or if this dream I chase is just something they'll resent later. I know there's a strong possibility that they won't give a rip in the world about Ironman or triathlon or any of the things I find important. I know there's a chance they'll hate it - that this is just something that takes me away on Saturday mornings and Thursday nights. I know there's a chance that they'll wind up on a couch one day, talking about how I used to ignore them while I spun my legs out on the trainer (which is absolutely untrue - we do homework, spelling words, piano practice, and all kinds of things while I'm on the trainer). But. . . knowing that there's a slight possibility that I'm leading them down a path that they will come to love and cherish - a path to a healthy lifestyle where fitness and nutrition is important to them - is enough to keep me moving in this direction. With any luck at all, my babies will be IronKids before mama is an Ironman. 

I really don't have any profound way to wrap this up other than to remind you that they are always watching and they are always listening. Fill their eyes and their ears with hope.