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Pique n' your interest

Some are made of iron, I’m not

Ever since I moved to Whistler I’ve been operating on this terribly false assumption that I fit in with all the athlete types who live here.

I’ve learned mountain biking, snowboarding and yoga, all things that I had never tried before when I lived in Toronto. I’ve "competed" (and I use that term very loosely) in snowboard races and Loonie races.

And some old friends say they don’t recognize the person I’ve become.

Well, when in Rome, right? These things are huge parts of the Whistler lifestyle and if you don’t join in, then you’re left behind.

But I think I was getting a little carried away with myself and my so-called new-found athletic abilities on the six hour drive to Penticton last weekend when I was actually thinking about one day competing in the Ironman.

In my daydreams I imaged the feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment of finishing an Ironman, knowing you’re at the top of your game, in peak physical and, most likely, mental condition. I thought of how great it would be to say I competed in one of the toughest physical challenges in the world with professional athletes.

This of course was on the Saturday afternoon before race began.

Then I watched the competition.

And now the word athlete has taken on a whole new meaning.

We were in Penticton to cheer on a couple of friends in the event. All I knew about the Ironman was that it would include a 4-kilometre swim, 180 km bike ride, followed by a 42 km run. I knew it was big but I didn’t know how big.

Those distances take on a whole new meaning when you’re staring at them from the sidelines.

Early Sunday morning there was a growing knot of tension building in the pit of my stomach as we planted ourselves along the beach of Lake Okanagan.

The air was getting heavier with the smell of the forest fires burning Kelowna. But the smoke and fires were the furthest things from our minds as we stood on that beach.

The countdown was on. In the distance, roughly 2,000 competitors stood in a crowd, looking like a pack of restless seals in their black wetsuits.

The national anthem did nothing to quell my nerves and worries about our friends in the race and the thought of what they were about to go through over the next 12 hours.

At 7 a.m. on the dot they were off in a pack moving en masse through the water. Those 4 km didn’t seem to be getting any shorter as their arms and legs kept kicking and propelling them forward at a grueling pace while I slurped my ice cappuccino on the shores.

This was a feat that seemed more and more impossible with each passing minute.

From the beach we moved to the road to see the competitors as they transitioned from swim to bike. Emotions were high along the route. Friends and family cheered loudly, signs aloft with messages to Uncle Kevin and Linda and Drew. Chalk messages were scrawled along the road, offering up encouragement like "We love you dad."

Even the competitors kept the emotions high as they encouraged crowd support, egging us on to make more noise.

It was so exciting seeing the Whistler competitors on the route, those we knew and those we didn’t. We cheered them all on.

The competitors only have two hours and 20 minutes to finish the swim. One friend didn’t make the cut-off and I could taste the bitter sting of disappointment when I realized she didn’t make it. It was so upsetting, knowing how much she had trained and worked hard for this day. At least she had the courage to sign up in the first place, I thought to myself. And I realized this was a prospect that was becoming more and more unlikely for me the more I watched the event unfold.

We saw the last of the riders on their way along the 180 km course and as they were on their way to Osoyoos and back for roughly five hours there was nothing left to do but go for breakfast – McDonald’s. Why not top off our feelings of inadequacy with some Egg McMuffin’s and greasy hash browns? There’s nothing like McDonald’s to make you feel better, in the short term at least.

While we packed up our tent, sat around some more, tried to find a grassy knoll for an afternoon nap and ate an ice cream cone, our friend was slogging through the heat and smoke on his bike. What a relief to see him ride past to the transition area so he could get on his running gear and begin his marathon. He even managed to lift his hands above his head as we cheered him on. Was this man doing an Ironman?

But we were under no false assumptions. A marathon was facing him now. And the sun was out, beating down on us all.

We saw him a few times along the route and he was looking better than most of his competitors. I would even venture to say that in some twisted way it looked like he was enjoying himself.

That night, driving out of Penticton there were a few stragglers still on the bike course. This was nine and a half hours after they had started their day. The fact that they still had to run a marathon was almost too much to bear.

I’d like to say all these people inspired me to sign up but let’s be honest, the thought of the 10 km Sun Run sends me into a total panic every April. I’d like to think I’m made of the stuff of Ironmen but I’m a little more pliable than that.

So rather than inspire me to sign up in a year or two, watching the Ironman taught me a few other things instead.

The most important lesson was that even the most seemingly ordinary and modest people like my friends John and Grace are capable of totally extraordinary things. John with a personal best record, coming in at just over 11 hours and Grace, who missed the cut off in the swim but didn’t let it beat her. They both signed up again for next year.

And you can bet I’ll be at the sidelines cheering them on again in 2004!