Saturday—11:30 p.m. (6 hours to race start)

The truth is these few hours before bed were the calm before the storm of uncertainty. I had done this race eight times before and never did I take for granted that success was inevitable.

Uncertainty lurks behind every turn. It is coiled up like a serpent, waiting to strike at any time.

All we can do is anticipate the possible forms the monster will take and hope that we packed the right antidote for the snake’s venom.

(This is how you went to sleep?)

I drifted off to sleep replaying every contingency in my head and how I would deal with that “serpent.”

Sunday—5:15 a.m. (1.25 hours to race start)

On race morning I knocked on Ruth’s door.

After a double and triple check that Ruth had everything, we joined the other, half-awake athletes marching down to “transition” where 3,000 bikes were waiting for their owners to make last minute adjustments before the race.

Some athletes were carrying their wetsuits on their backs, some with it slung over their shoulder like some neoprene animal skin and some were wearing theirs already.

(That sounds smart, doesn’t it?)

No, no it does not. The air was 65 degrees which means in a matter of minutes those neoprene clad bodies were going to overheat like a school kid’s home-packed lunch that had been sitting all day in the sun. Last year it rained before the race and I was walking around before the race start, trying to stay dry and warm. This year I was enjoying the predawn glow of the horizon. I embraced the calming effect of the rainbow sherbet colored sky. I was at peace … but Ruth’s panic levels hit DEFCON 3 right as I started to pump my tires.

It was Ruth’s first Ironman, so it was my job to show Ruth around. It was also my job to make sure that Ruth didn’t wander off. Ruth had informed me that when the stress of crowds gets too high, Ruth needs supervision.

(Babysitting?)

Yup.

Now Ruth was tethered to me … by my T-shirt. It sounds funny; It looked funny, but as the athletes were exiting the transition area on their way to the swim there was a real danger Ruth could have lost sight of me.

(Just how big was the crowd?)

There were 3,000 wetsuit clad athletes.

(March of the penguins?)

You get the picture.

Sunday—6:00 a.m. (30 minutes to race start)

With my cell phone tucked into my bike gear bag, it was time to make our way down to the swim start.

I had told my other athlete, Shimon, to meet us at the entrance to transition and we were looking for…

(March of the Penguins?)

Yeah, 3,000 athletes in neoprene do look like a group of penguins.

Thankfully, Shimon was standing where he said he would be, in the archway of the entrance.

Now I was leading Ruth who was holding onto my shirt and Shimon was holding onto Ruth’s wetsuit. It was the equivalent of almost losing your child in a Grand Central Station crowd as you made your way from the train to the Lexington Street exit.

6:30 Pro Start

We were 10 minutes away from the “age group” start.

(Wait, what?)

Competitors are divided into three categories:

Pros.

(Those who get paid to do this.)

Elites.

(Those who are almost as fast as the pros … but have to pay to do this.)

Age Groupers.

(Those of us who are not as fast as the pros … but have to pay to do this.)

Once the dozen or so pro athletes started there was a 10-minute break…

(Great, just what you needed, a break.)

…to avoid any elites getting in the way of the pros.

(So, if an elite could catch a pro, let ‘em.)

The pro athletes were racing for a chance to go to the world championships in Kona, Hawaii.

The elites were racing for a chance to go to the world championship.

The age groupers were racing the 17 hour cut off clock.

All non-pro athletes enter the water in sets of four at a time. This is done to minimize group swim dangers. Right before we walked over the timing mat that started our race clock Shimon turned to me and said,

“You had one job; get me to the start line, not injured. You got me here. Thank you, Coach.”

That caught me off guard. In 10 years of coaching, no one had ever said that to me at a race start. I wanted to tell him how touched I was by his words, in my long-winded verbose way, but all I could muster was,

“That was beautiful and I appreciate it.”

6:43 a.m. My Race Start

“Quick, grab my hands!” I called out to Shimon and Ruth. And like that, we entered the water together.

It would be the last time I would see either of them…

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].