Iron Man

1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike ride, 13.1 mile run. I stare at the numbers in awe, mouth gaping. A runner only, and having completed one 26.2 mile race myself, I still look on at the athletes surrounding my daughter and me and feel incredibly intimidated. I couldn't imagine running 1.1 miles after spinning for 60 minutes, much less biking 56 miles and then running a HALF MARATHON! In a few short hours, my husband would be testing the limits of his physical endurance by pushing his body 70.3 miles along with 1,300 other incredible athletes.

It is an incredibly warm day, and after three hours riding in a car, A and I, who have both apparently had a run-in with melted chocolate, decide to walk around the expo instead of waiting in line with T. A is running and screaming, shouting no to anyone who stops to comment on her cuteness. I'm beginning to think with A 's antics plus the fact that we have chocolate all over the back of our shorts and A's shirt, that keeping us from embarrassing T, might actually be a more difficult feat than the half-Iron. So, I take A to the lobby to wait for her daddy. The sweltering weather does not look like a good indication for the next day's race.

A and I sleep through the early morning wake-up call and miss seeing T off for the big day. Fortunately, his dad accompanies him to the start of the swim. T's mom, A, and I hurriedly get ready, though, and wait for the phone call to let us know that T is out of the water and on his bike. The heat and humidity are already high at 7 a.m., but the clouds block the sweltering rays of the sun. I say a small prayer and hope that T can get through the run before the sun breaks through the overcast sky. Papa calls to let us know that T is finished with the swim and should be passing us shortly on the bike. I breathe a huge sigh of relief (sharks, hundreds of people swimming in the rough surf at once), and A, Gigi, and I run outside to cheer for T. He zooms by on his bike looking strong and content.

Just a few hours later, we are able to watch him pass back by on the bike, and we rush toward the transition to see him start the run. By now, the sun is breaking through the clouds. The temperature is easily 85 degrees. My husband smiles and waves, as he passes, though, so I push the worries to the back of my mind, for now. After a 1 hr. 30 min. finish in the Mercedes, I plan on trying to make it back to the transition in about 1 hr. and 45 min. The time passes quickly, at least for A and mom. I coat us in sunscreen, and T 's parents, A , and I head back out to the finish line to watch for T . We have a lime green sign with sentiments of our support ready to wave when he passes by.

The heat is oppressive and the worry begins to creep back into my mind. The first aid golf cart has made several trips to the course, and it has been more than two hours since T started the run. We each take turns leaving our shady spot to go watch for him. Finally, I see his bright yellow shirt. "Here he comes!" I scream to the others, and we all crowd the street waiting to watch him cross the finish line. As I see him, I am suddenly overcome with emotion and pride and begin to cry. I squeeze A 's hand, lean over, and whisper, "That's your daddy little girl. That's your daddy."

T looks exhausted, and I know it has been tougher than any of us could have imagined. I am so overcome with pride knowing what he has just accomplished that I just embrace him. He's done it, a half-Ironman, and he finished in the top 1/3 of the competitors. After a shower and lunch, he tells us about how tough the bike ride was with the wind and how miserable the run was with the sun and heat, but I know he, too, is proud of his accomplishment. Just a few hours removed from that race, though, he is already talking about what he could do differently next time and starting to plan for a full-Iron. Like a true athlete! I just smile and think of how I can support him even more this time. I just ask that he waits until after our new little one arrives, so we'll have an even bigger cheering section.