The last 24 hours have been rather relaxing, in a calm-before-the-storm, butterflies-in-the-stomach sort of way for George and Mike. I've heard George say--at least three times--that every time he thinks about the marathon, he wants to vomit.
I hear this, and I just chuckle.
Because I'm not running that marathon. He is. He volunteered to do this. He paid big bucks to do this. He trained for months to do this. He. Is. Going. To. Do. This.
And I am not. Which I find enormously amusing.
George and Mike signed up for next year's race this morning. Yep. These guys are already signing up for stormy butterflies next year. I'm starting to suspect that IM racing is an addiction. These guys know they will hate their beloved, precious bikes at the end of 112 miles tomorrow. These guys know they could end up in the medical tent getting IV fluids tomorrow evening. These guys know how hard they've sweated and trained to get here.
And they are prepared to do it all again next year. The rest of us are just going to have to scratch our heads and cheer them on, baffled but entertained at the same time.
|George paying big bucks for next year's race.|
Angela and I followed the guys to Monona Terrace this morning, stopping at Starbucks to get coffee for everyone. As we tried to find them in line, I asked a volunteer if we were going in the right direction for registration for next year, and she said, "Yes. You're joining the crazy people?" I replied, "No, we're just taking coffee to them!"
After registration, we went to the rooftop of Monona Terrace and drank coffee and watched as the buoys for the swim course were installed. In previous years, the swim was a two-lap loop, but this year, it's just one big (2.4 mile) loop. Those buoys kept on going, all in a row, spaced 100 meters apart.
George may or may not have made another comment about vomiting.
|On Monomaniacal Terrace|
By the way, autocorrect on my iPhone changed Monona Terrace to Monomaniacal Terrace when I emailed this photo to my computer. It's an accident that seems somehow deeply appropriate this weekend. Or perhaps we should coin a new word...tri-maniacal.
I like it.
This afternoon, I met a friend for (more) coffee. Nicole lives near Madison, and she's been so kind as to come to town when George and I come here. It's just wonderful to sit and chat for a few hours with another mom/stamper/blogger who is so nice and funny and charming! Plus, she brought me wine and coffee. YES! Sister of the heart, for sure!
People who do Ironman races and their support crews are good people. I've been chatting with people in elevators, on sidewalks, in line at the IM store while buying my Ironmate shirt. Smiling faces and friendly, warm conversation are just everywhere. I've heard people with British and German accents and every American accent possible. People see someone with a race wristband and offer up good luck. "Have a good race" and "good luck" fall easily from smiling lips.
Triathlon is a kind of insanity that brings out the best in people. I have no idea why all these athletes want to punish their bodies for 140.6 miles, but human beings are amazing and unique for simply doing things because they can. And the rest of us slugs are perfectly happy to encourage them.
Tomorrow evening, the Voice of Ironman Mike Reilly will be shouting "You are an Ironman" over and over and over as several thousand tri-maniacal men and women cross the finish line.
And it will be utterly cool.
Or udderly cool, depending on how you look at it.
|I love Madison. Mooooo!|