Saturday—6:30 p.m. (12 hours to race start.)
I took my son Stevie, my 10 year old, for a walk to the Olympic Oval. Crews were putting the finishing touches on assembling the finish line which included a 12 foot arch over the finish line. This structure has a display that announces the finisher and their race finish time. It makes for a lovely picture. The red and black carpet of the last 400 feet to the finish was in place and I led Stevie down to the finisher shoot, the path to the finish line where the carpet begins. I wanted him to feel what I felt. I wanted him to understand why I have been working so hard on this goal and I wanted him to understand that I was sharing my world with him. Right there, at the top of a hill, as the sun had dipped below the tree line nearing sunset, I searched for the words to let my 10 year old into my world. I could not take him with me on the journey and I could not film it for him to watch later.
I proudly pointed out where I would be entering the Olympic Oval after my swim and he nodded, but I was not sure just how much of what I was telling him he understood.
Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. served in the Civil War and recalled that “We have shared the incommunicable experience of war, we have felt, we still feel, the passion of life to its top. In our youth our hearts were touched with fire.”
I have not served in war, I have not served in the military, but I have been captivated by the idea of trying to express the “incommunicable experience.” Anyone who has been moved by how a song made them feel understands the challenge, the struggle of putting into words that which transcends language. Indeed, every time I sit down to write my column, I wrestle with language, trying to bring my readers where I have traveled.
From where I stood with my son we could see the steep descent for the bikes out of the oval onto the bike course. There is a sharp turn, so steep that bales of hay were laid out as cushion for those riders who refused to heed the warning sign, “SLOW—SHARP TURN AHEAD.”
Stevie followed my finger as I traced the start of the bike portion.
“Ooooh, that’s dangerous.“ Stevie replied.
“Yes, yes it is, for riders who don’t follow the rules.”
“I know that you follow the rules, Dad.”
I nodded as one does when they want to confirm that their child understands.
(“Incommunicable experience.”)
I led Stevie onto the finish line carpet. Red and black with the Ironman MDOT logo.
(Tony Stark?)
No, that’s “Iron Man.”
A man with an Ironman staff ID badge beckoned us over. He was holding his walkie talkie in his hand.
In my head I thought, “Here it is, we are about to be asked to vacate the area.”
He looked at my competitors ID band on my wrist and then he turned to Stevie,
“Are you up here for the Ironman tomorrow?”
“Yeah … My dad is racing. It’s going to be a long day for him.”
Maybe I had succeeded in expressing the “incommunicable experience.”
“Would you like a present?”
Stevie paused. He didn’t say anything.
“It’s cool,” I said, “Go ahead.”
As Stevie stepped forward, the staff member took his ID badge off the lanyard and gave the lanyard to Stevie.
“That is so cool! Thank you.” Stevie replied.
We started our walk back to the hotel; Shabbos would be ending soon.
“What are you thinking about Stevie?“
“You should do more Ironmans.”
“Why?”
“Because we get to do stuff together.”
After seven months of training that included pre-dawn cycling and running in subzero temperatures, I felt that I was properly prepared to race the next day. After taking my 10 year old down to the finish line, I felt that I had properly prepared him too.
David Roher is a USAT certified triathlon and marathon coach. He is a multi-Ironman finisher and veteran special education teacher. He is on Instagram @David Roher140.6. He can be reached at [email protected].
