I wrote this as a team post months ago, and someone happened to just read it today and comment on it, and I decided to post the story here, to keep it close.
For those who don't know what an Ironman race is, it's a 1 day (17 hour) event where participants swim 2.4 miles, ride 112 miles, and then run 26.2 miles. If you see any of those 140.6 bumper stickers anywhere and wonder what they mean, it's that someone inside earned the right to call themselves an Ironman. (To be fair, there are 140.6 mile races that are not sanctioned by Ironman, but IM is the name most people know and they hold races all over the world, including the annual World Championships in Kona, HI.)
This is my story as a volunteer for the 1st Ironman Lake Tahoe, CA in Sept of 2013. It was written the day of the 2014 IMLT, which was cancelled at swim start, moments before the race was to begin because of the poor air quality from the King Fire. A whole other layer of tragedy from this awful fire. My heart was just breaking for all these athletes. Over 3000 triathletes, primed and ready to go. Over 4000 volunteers, ready to go. Thousands of spectators, ready to cheer. Full communities ready to support this event. Intellectually, we all knew this was the right decision - but it didn't make it any easier to think about at the time. I know how hard I trained to do 20% of that distance... it's hard to wrap around. I was ready to go and work the afternoon and evening shift at run station 8.
In the story I'm going to post below, please excuse all the grammar errors... I wrote it like I was speaking it... so there are lots of incomplete sentences. But I hope even my former English teachers would forgive that for the feeling of the story The good news, is that many others have gone on to write IM history for themselves at other events, or are planning for next year's race. --Audra
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IMLT 2013 was the best day of the year for me... I always promised Kal the story why so long ago... so here goes...
I went up Saturday afternoon with my friend Maggie. We made the volunteers meeting and went to the Expo. We then checked into our hotel and went for a quick late afternoon run in the rain - yes - snow fell later that night! It was freezing! We had dinner with the rest of the Tri Club volunteers that night at Squaw. We stopped by the store to get some food for the morning and next day and retired early. We had a 3:30 wake up call. We were out the door at 4:45 - after defrosting the car windows, which were frosted over. It was 29 degrees when we hit the road to Squaw Valley. We parked the car and made out way to the busses to head out to swim start at Kings Beach. Neither of us had been to an IM event before, so we wanted to experience it all. So we stood on the beach, cheering, as athletes rolled through the starting arch into the deep blue waters, which were far warmer than the outside temps! We weren't really able to pick out any team members... unfortunately, it was just a sea of black wetsuits coming out of the water and up the transition ramp. We stayed until the last person made it out of the water, then got back on a bus towards Squaw.
Unfortunately, there were soooooooo many cars and busses trying to do the same thing. We were so worried we weren't going to get back to Squaw for our volunteer shift, which started at noon. Fortunately, our bus driver was on the radio with others, and found us a way around some of the traffic, and we made some progress. Along the way, we got to see athletes on the bike course, climbing some crazy hills (Brockway Summit). Our bus driver dropped us off as close as she could to the intersection of 89 and Squaw Valley where we were going to be working. We jumped off, bought some extra bottled water at the nearby 7-11 (since we weren't able to get back to the car as we had planned) and got to work – 20 minutes early even! This intersection was the first ever IM "clothing drop" - because it was so cold in the morning, many of the athletes were wearing multiple layers of gear. As athletes would come down the gentle hill towards us, they could stop and shed layers. We would help steady the bike, peel off arm warmers, leg warmers, jackets, help repack gels into uncovered pockets, add sunscreen, take gloves... absolutely ANYTHING they needed. For that brief few minutes, we were getting to assist them on the most important journey. We gave them encouragement, support, shared in the joy, buoyed spirits, promised to take excellent care of what they were handing over. I had one lady hand me her finishers jacket from another event... and she was so worried about it. I told her I was tape up her pockets, label her gloves, and her jacket and she would have it all waiting for her at the end of the day. She said "okay" because she saw that "I would take good care of it." Had athletes get off the bikes, lay down, and say "pull" to get off leg warmers and shoe covers. Had people toss items at us, yelling bib numbers as they road by. It was chaos, but so well organized. We ran up and down the line, tagging items and putting them into piles based on the bib numbers. We ran water and food to each other. We shared information on people we knew who were out on course. We had a medical emergency with one athlete and had an ambulance call. Some very worried moments before they got his blood sugars up and he finally continued on his way. As people were finishing their second loop and heading back to T2 (transition), we moved from the side of the road to the middle of the road, yelling at people to SLOW DOWN, SHARP LEFT and waiving our arms. Some would be so intense it would sometimes take all 6 or 7 of us to get them snapped out of it. Some would sit up and realize they were so close and thank us and we’d all cheer as they would ride by. Some looked happy, some looked weary, some looked determined. It was such a range of emotions… the next day, my arms were sore from waving them up and down on this line – no joke! And then came 2:30. At 2:30, our intersection became a cut-off point.
Just a note about the intersection, this is the entrance to Squaw Valley, site of the 1960 Winter Olympics. The Olympic rings, signage, and flame burn there. It’s a site to see. One that always makes me well up a little bit with pride in our athletes, our country, the spirit of the Games. So to be standing there, and witnessing the greatest sporting event I had ever seen, was overwhelming anyway. But add now the emotion of telling athletes, that their dream of finishing Ironman today was over… it was gut wrenching. We had to tell them to “slow down,” that they would be stopping at the lights. One guy had been standing, just past the clothing drop areas, for a very long time. Finally a woman in a grey jacket came riding in towards us, and I said, “slow down” and she said, “I know. I know I’m over time.” And she rode right into the arms of the gentleman waiting. He threw his arms around her and held her, bike and all. And I bawled. There was a guy who tossed a rain jacket at us as he screamed by on his bike, only to be stopped at the intersection. He came back for that jacket, devastated by missing the cutoff by a minute. Angry, apologetic, sad… and all we could do was hand his jacket back over and say how sorry we were. But words, in that moment, just not enough. I finally walked down to the intersection and told the lady in the grey jacket how sorry I was. And she said it was okay, that she had given it her best, but the course and the cold was just too much on that day. And she ended up comforting me.
We eventually bundled all the gear into bags and loaded it all onto a truck, tagging each bag clearly so that it could all be returned to the athletes at the end of the day. Once our shift was over, we hitched a ride back to Squaw Valley. Finally back at the car, we had a chance to regroup, and we headed onto the run course to the EPIC Tri tent. The run course was a two loop out and back. The tents for clubs that had a large group of volunteers were on course around mile 1 on the way out, mile 25 on the way back in for the final time. So we got to see people pass sometimes coming in finishing the first loop, heading back out for the second loop, and heading back in with the finish line cheers calling to them, just a mile away. I rang a cowbell until I could hardly hold it anymore. I yelled encouragement until I started to lose my voice. We clapped, cheered, celebrated as each people passed. Sometimes catching names on bibs, sometimes calling out teams or clubs on gear, anything to help them keep putting one foot in front of the other.
And then came Tony… one of our club members. He was having the DAY of his life. He was filled with joy. As he came by us at the end of his first loop, he ran past us jumping for joy, sort of springing along sideways, cheering for us, cheering for him. On his way back out, he stopped and hugged us all along the fence. Completely relishing in every moment. I will forever hold that image of him in my mind. When he came back in, with just a mile to go, one of the coaches took off running along with him towards the finish line. Screaming, cheering, celebrating. Tony was an Ironman that day. Strong physically, but more so mentally. I will forever carry that sense of Tony's joy with me, on every course or event I do. And I will draw upon his strength that day, to get me through.
We stayed until 11 – just an hour to cutoff. We were taking another club member home with us, and we had to work Monday, and had a two hour drive ahead of us. And it was freezing. It was 35 when we got back to the car. And while Maggie and I had some extra insulation (side effect of carrying a few extra pounds), Mark, a multiple IM finisher himself, who was going back with us, did not… I almost thought we were going to need to huddle with him or get him a silver blanket to get him warmed up. As we left Squaw, we could see all the headlamps bobbing along the trail, or runners still on course. It was another image that will always stay with me. The light of people so close to finishing. They were going to make it. It was early enough that they could have walked the last 2 miles or so and realized a dream. But we knew there were probably others, others we had seen struggling on the way out on the second loop who would not. And in the cruel sport that’s Ironman… that midnight cut-off is just that… a cut-off in the dark. We sent out our best wishes to all those headlamps bobbing past in the dark.
The day was super emotional for me. I honestly had a really hard time for about a month afterwards. My work, in accounting, seemed so insignificant to what I had done that day. It was about supporting someone, being the most important person in that moment to help them succeed. It was a job with a real purpose. Not finding some penny in an account in the wrong place. It was about doing the impossible. Reaching for dreams. Finding joy. Seeing sorrow. Being part of something that was so incredible, so breathtaking in magnitude, a staggering achievement. Witnessing triumphs, determination, the best of the human spirit. I had never seen or felt something quite like it.
So when I think about today’s event being canceled, I think of all those stories that aren’t being written. There should be headlamps out on course right now, bobbing in the dark, making their way, in the last hour, to the finish line, where “YOU ARE AN IRONMAN” would be said countless number of times. Where finishers would be wrapped in a silver blanket, given water, food, and that all so meaningful finishers medal to celebrate 140.6 hard earned miles. It’s another tragic side-effect of this horrific fire.
I had someone ask me, “wasn’t it gross touching all those people and all the sweaty clothing?” And I kid you not, but until I was asked that question, I seriously hadn’t given it ANY thought. We had a job to do. We had to be the support for someone who was following a dream. There wasn’t anything gross about it. It was an honor. An absolute honor. I would challenge anyone who hasn’t been to an IM event to find one. Spectate. Or better yet, volunteer, too. It’s a selfless thing to do. It’s inspiring. It’s incredible. It’s memorable. I’m writing about something that happened a year ago, and in my memory, I can see it all. I can feel it. That energy. I’ve been in crowds of thousands of people before. But this was different. It had a life, a pulse, a connecting thread that brought every single person out there together. I won’t ever forget it. And that's why it was the best day of 2013 - and one of the best days of my entire life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A follow-up comment to my original post:
I was shocked at all the different volunteer positions at IMLT. I had already heard that there were scuba divers in the water watching the swimmers from below, and that there were wetsuit strippers... but there were even people who put sunscreen onto the athletes' faces before they headed out onto the bike course. People giving out special needs bags, people just doing crowd control, people just picking up garbage... The people at the finish line wrapping the athletes in blankets, getting them water and aid, giving them medals, and making sure they're medically okay. So much goes into it... and I'm sure I still haven't seen half of it.
I'm glad that you enjoyed my story. It was the perfect day to finally write and reflect on it. And it's definitely heartbreaking that so many stories weren't written this year - but hopefully it's just a lot of dreams deferred. Of the 4 first timers I know who were racing IMLT this year - one is locked into next year's race. One has transferred to IM Arizona in Nov, one to Cozumel in Nov, and one has transferred to IM Coeur d'Alene (ID) next Spring. (FOLLOW-UP - the November races in AZ and Cozumel went well - all club members doing those races reached their respective finish lines and had amazing stories to tell of the day they became Ironman finishers.)
And yes, I think every volunteer out there is just as invested in the athlete as the athlete is - especially at such an event... truly, if you ever get to go, you must. It's really something to experience. You can find races near you on Ironman.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment