Inside 24 Hours

Well, here we are.  Less than 24 hours until the start cannon.  A year ago, I was sitting by my computer, hitting the "Refresh" button every 15 seconds, waiting for the Ironman Florida registration to open.  (I registered in 4.04 seconds, and they tell me that the race sold out in something like 16 minutes.)  I put together a 52-week training program, and began the sacrifices.  A LOT of sacrifices.  Most of my training has taken place in the dark, hours before most people wake up.  After a long ride, I have to either go to work, or on the weekends, work on the shed for a few hours.  After morning swims, while I'm still blowing chlorine out of my nose, I'm sitting at my desk, making a living.  A good share of my "spare thoughts" have been dedicated to the details of the race:  How many calories? What exercises? Do I replace the shoes now? Do I wear the clear or shaded goggles?  To say that I've been obsessed with the race is an understatement.  I vaguely remember TV, but it's been so long, I wouldn't know what it looks like.

My family has also sacrificed.  A LOT.  Not every workout takes place during the wee morning hours.  It's hard to fit in a 5 or 6 hour bike ride without cutting into family time.  My wife has listened to my endless comments and self-absorbed concerns about the race for a full year.  At least 50% of my communication with her over the last 52 weeks has had something to do with this race.  Details about workouts, aches and pains, gear, swim technique, you get the drift.

Through it all, she has been so supportive.  I couldn't have gotten here without her support and her understanding.  I will owe her probably for the rest of my life for her patience.

Now back to the self-obsessed triathlon drivel ...

Here is the Assassin in the bike transition area.  Unlike regular triathlons, where you set up a towel and lay out all your gear, here they hand you a bag with all your bike gear in it, then send you to the "changing area."  When you come out, you run into this corral and get your steed.

Here are the various gear bags.  One each for T1 and T2, and two "special needs" bags.

You know you are an old man when your "Run Special Needs" bag contains hospital-dose Aleve, band-aids for the nipples, extra vaseline, and Preparation H wipes.  I have no shame.

And don't ask me how I fit 10 gels on my aero bars.  It's a regular breakfast buffet with a range of artificial flavors!

To have your name on your transition spot makes you feel like a professional.  That's like flying first class, except it's BYOB.

Two dudes ready to bring the hurt.