my hawaiian fantasy

there is one time a year that i am sure to cry. it's during the coverage of the ironman triathlon. i love the ironman with a passion. which is a weird attachment for a short little chubby little couch potato like myself. ah, well, the heart wants what the heart wants, eh? my inner psychologist tells me that what really moves me is the don quixote nature of the thing.

the ironman is impossible. a triathlon itself is impossible. but a triathlon...over lava fields? good heavens. what are these people thinking? they are thinking that they can do the impossible. the ultimate triumph of the underdog.

you see, it's not just the story of the top finishers that'll getcha. it's the story of the everyday schmoes that's impressive. don't get me wrong...i love the intensity of the people at the top. geez, louise...

the defending male champion this year? two flats in a row during the bike portion. he chose to drop out, and who can blame him? i really wish he had just finished the race, but can you imagine training all year long only to have forces outside your control smash you over the head? but see, that defeats the whole purpose of the ironman, in my mind. the spirit of the event is to finish. against unbelievable odds. winning is an honor, for sure...but it almost discounts the achievements of everyone else if you are capable of finishing and simply opt out. in the woman's race? the winner had a penalty of four critical minutes coming out of the bike race (she was drafting). she served her "time" cheerfully and set out running with a smile on her face. when she passed the leader, she gave a few kind words and then surged ahead. all of them do that, you know. say something nice as they pass. i think they know that it is grace that allows their bodies to be pushed that far, that hard, that particular day.

even better? the stories of the little guy. the running nun. cheesy, yes, but not in that pitythatpoorchile way. the eighty year old man who started running to be close to his kids, who narrowly evaded the cut off time at the end of the bike (seriously, by minutes). he took his time and finished. at eighty. wowza. this is where my fake fantasy life kicks in. i calculate my age. i wonder how long it would take me to reach that kind of shape. how many laps in the ymca pool? sure it would take more effort than, say, my back-up plan (curling), but it would be worth it, right? he's eighty for cryinoutloud.

the guy who was diagnosed with als blew me away. did you know that doctors have little more information today than they did when they first diagnosed lou gehrig in the 1930's? as soon as you're diagnosed, the clock starts ticking. it's pretty much guaranteed that your body will shut down in 2-5 years. he made it across the finish. a golden moment. he added his own touch by lying down a few feet before the line...and he rolled over it into the arms of his crying parents.

of course you'll find the guys who do this on wheelchairs, but another person with a physical handicap joined them this year. she ran the triathlon last year, but was thwarted by the time cutoff before the biking event. this year? she got a custom made bike and made it in time. a switch of legs and she was off running.

as darkness falls, they hand out large glowsticks...and you can see the runners. one by one they continue on into the night.

the finish line is the best part of the race. the crowd goes absolutely batshit crazy. families jump the barriers and run with the competitors. their names are announced. they're festooned with leis. and the director of the television coverage cuts to silence and slow motion to really capture the moment.

they start at seven a.m. and end at midnight. i cry buckets through the entire span of the coverage. it's like waiting to see the name of the keygrip at the end of a movie. i'm sure it's me and his mother. do you know how hard it is to make it in hollywood? something like seven percent of the screen actors guild is employed. that's including your big name stars. i'm sure becoming a key grip is really difficult, too. they don't break away and tidy up and go home after the winners and the touching stories. there's always a montage of faces at the finish line. each one amazed at their abilities.

i know i'll probably never compete. but someday? i'd like to be there at midnight. cheering away.