Ironman day.

This morning there are 2300 exhausted people in Penticton. No doubt they are still sleeping as I write this. I am not one of them but after digging the garden Saturday then being out in the sun from 11:00-6:00 on Sunday, running around with bikes, I am pretty tired.

It was the kind of day dreams are made of and dreams were broken. This year, I didn’t go to watch the start of the race, for nowadays I have but two days in the week that I can lie in past 6 o’clock and I wasn’t ready to give one of them up for anyone. Besides, I re-planted my herbs into bigger pots instead.

I went to the Ironman transition site at 11:30 to meet with the others and get our instructions. There was a wonderful calm-before-the-storm feeling in the air. All of the athletes were out of town on the bike section, many of their relatives and supporters taking the time to do some sight-seeing or swim in the lake.

We met under a big tree for our meeting. Many of the people get psyched out by the intro talk. When they’re told to hold on real tight to the bike so they don’t drop anyone. When they’re told that a lot of people will want to lean on you. When they’re told that many of the riders pee in the saddle so they don’t have to stop. Heather chose 20 people – all of last years catchers and some big male rookies to start the day with the pros. Though when I joined the line, I didn’t realise I’d joined the front of it (!) and ended up catching the first pro in. At least I did it with grace and enthusiasm and didn’t drop him. In fact, I gave him an early nod to tell him which way he was going so we did better than the others – so I say. Possibly I will be on national TV so if you’re reading this from Canada, check it out!

He had an excellent lead and it was a good 10 minutes before “the man called Clare” caught the second rider and then a good two hours before we were really in-business with riders coming in first in groups of 5 and 6, later in groups of 10-15.

The photos of the day have caught just a snippet of the fun.

Photos which I can't get to post right now..... BLOGGGGERRRR!

There were countless athletes who kept clinging to their bike as we tried to take it from them. With a reassuring tug (not so hard as to pull them over), and a gentle “I can take this from here”, their expression turned to a smile as they realised they didn’t have to pick their way through the lot to rack their own bike between 267 others sharing the rack. Tim sorted out this problem by welcoming every athlete with, “Valet parking service, I’ll take this sir/madam”.

The man who struggled through his fatigue to remove his pink squeaky dinosaur from his handle bars.

The man who leaned on me whilst I held his bike up and I removed his shoe (still clipped to the bike) because he hurt to much to do it alone.

The nice big thigh I had to rub to get the man going again.

The lady who said, “Thankgodfuck”, then apologised for her language at the end of the ride.

The man who recognised I was English by the fact that I said, “Well done” instead of “way-to-go” and said, “I thought you had to be Canadian to do this job?”

Managing to persuade a rookie that the power-bar melted to the top tube of the bike was actully vomit. Hahahahahaha. (sorry.)

The stream of athletes getting towards the cut off time who ran over the transition line screaming “I made it, I made it”, dancing and hugging their companions as they went.

Watching the winner on the bigscreen walk to the finish line, just lapping it up. If there was a roof, he’d have raised it.

The three people we had to catch after the cut off time who crossed the line then collapsed in tears as the officials told them the bad news. One woman’s husband was bike-catching and it broke our hearts. She walked up to him asking, “Did I make it honey?” “No, sorry”, he replied. Then they just stood there holding eachother until her legs buckled.

Bitching about the camera men filming the drama.

Watching them being taken away on stretchers. They weren’t badly hurt but hey, if they won’t let you finish, at least ride out of there on a stretcher to get your massage.

Watching the last woman who made it heading out on her run, hugging the crowd and taking high-fives from everyone giving them out.

Meeting Jackie, who was there from California, cheering-on her son. We saw him leave for the run on-time and in good shape. When I left to go and make dinner, she was trying to find somewhere to sit and watch him come in. She had 1.5 hours to wait.

Seeing my work colleagues giving it some in the organisation of the finish line volunteers and the announcing tent. I know some good people.

Not wearing sunscreen. I will have a kick-ass tan once the redness has gone.

I was watching a group of cyclists coming towards us. The guy next to me stepped forwards first and started gesturing to the first man to come to him, but he wasn't having any of it. The guy was coming to me and no argument. He was about 64 and said, "Cool, I get the hot woman to take my bike, what more could I ask for?". I got back in line and said to my fellow catcher, "that old guy was coming to me - and no mistake - he said, ;'great I got the hot babe'. He was a bit old for me though". "Yeah", said the other catcher, "but he was in great shape".

Again, looking out to a group of approaching cyclists, one guy was dismounting about 200 yards from us and I could see his innertube was hanging out of the tyre at the back so he started running. Realising this was my expertise area, I came forward to take his bike to carry it through the lot. Good job, because no-one else actually noticed him go running into the transition still with the bike. Undertsandably he was a bit minced up having riden through the city on a flat.