The journey began 10 hours ago. Or 9 weeks ago. Or 11 months ago. Or 3 years ago. It depends on how you look at it. What does it mean to be an Ironman? It means forsaking all others for training. It means giving all you have, and then when there's nothing left, finding more to give. It means persevering through trials and celebrating triumphs. It means having a passion that drives you forward, to keep pushing and reaching for that goal. It means being focused to the point of obsession. It means enduring when everyone else is throwing in the towel. It means never giving up.
I watched the swim start from the sea wall this morning. I watched as 1800 athletes lined up and treaded water until the cannon went off. I watched them attack the water with ferocity. When they were nearly out of view, I walked down Alii Drive to the turn around point. I watched the helicopter hover overhead as the pros made the turn and headed back toward the pier. I picked out the kayaks that I thought represented his group and watched them row slowly toward the last buoy and then head back in. Then I ran up to the Kuakini Hwy from the access road by our hotel to watch the cyclists come by at about mile 5. I watched as the first pros went by. I saw Chrissie Wellington, not yet in the lead, but already working her way there. I saw his TriScottsdale team mates pass by. And then I saw him. He waved heading up the hill and on his way back down the hill he blew me a kiss. I knew he was doing OK at that point. The swim didn't take too much from him.
I ran back to the hotel, went for a swim in the ocean, showered, ate lunch and then headed out to snag a good spot for watching the run. I was there in time to see the first pros come by, looking strong. CW ran by smiling ear to ear. This girl radiates joy. You can see it in her face when she runs by. Truly inspiring. I watched all of his team mates run by. And still no sign. A friend was keeping me posted via text and finally she announced that he was in transition, finally off the bike. I waited and waited. I was at the 1/2 mile mark and should have seen him coming. But no sign of him. I was beginning to fear that something was wrong, when I received the message that he was out of transition and heading onto the run course. Relief.
He ran down the hill and stopped next to me. Keep going I said. One foot in front of the other. You have suffered for three years for this day. You have to keep your head in the game. He was bloated and cramping. He was sick on the bike and had a flat tire. He was hurting. But he knows how to suffer. He has pushed himself beyond physical limits for 3 years. After he passed by, I gathered my things and began walking back to the hotel. I stopped for a smoothie, realizing that it had been hours since I last ate. I went up to my room and turned on my computer intending to watch his splits and meet him on the road at mile 9, in front of the hotel. After 2 minutes, with a lump in my throat, I realized that I could not sit and wait. I grabbed E'ly and threw on my helmet and shoes and hit the road. I biked down Alii toward the run turnaround (mile 5). I saw him heading toward me just after he made the turn. He was walking. But he was in good spirits. He was cheering on his fellow athletes and keeping a positive attitude. His Ironman character was shining through. I biked with him through mile 9 1/2 where they turn onto the highway toward the Energy Lab. I told him I was proud of him and I'd see him at the finish.
Now, back in the hotel room, I have dropped E'ly off. I am waiting to see him mile 17 split before I head to the finish line to see him come across. He has been through so much to get to this day. Though it did not go as planned, or how I'm sure he would have liked it to go, it is what it is. This is Ironman. It is a war waged within oneself over 17 hours. Or 9 weeks. Or 11 months. Or 3 years. Those who have what it takes will cross the finish line, come Hell or high water. He is one of those. He is my Ironman.
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