Don’t be misled by the title of this Post. It’s not about Me. A “girl”, I am not. As for the “iron”, I may just plead half-guilty. Just like our menfolk, it’s okay, really okay, for women to be tough, if need be. But, today, my posting is about something far more important and interesting.
Just seven years ago, in 2004, Iron Girl athletic competitions were created “to empower women toward a healthy lifestyle”.
http://www.irongirl.com/home_211.htm#axzz1LOxGkYKW
Today, with Athleta acting as the primary sponsor of thirteen nationwide events, it’s been named by Triathlete Magazine as one of the top five women’s only events in the country.
The competition consists of a 800 Meter Swim, a 22.5K Bike Ride, and a 5K Run, stark evidence that this Post is not about Me. I cannot swim. Sad but true. Currently I am bike-less and awaiting the arrival of my new two-wheeler. Lastly, you don’t have the time to hear about my left knee injuries. Let’s just say that my left knee talks to me daily and, if I step out-of-line, there is shouting. I hike but do not run.
Thankfully, there are women who are Iron Girls, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Eight-hundred of those women gathered together last Saturday morning at 6:30 a.m. at Lake Las Vegas to compete in the Athleta Iron Girl Triathlon. You thought Vegas was all about casinos and desert, didn’t you?
While there are many activities I can no longer participate or compete in, I love being an enthusiastic supporter and cheerleader. Let’s not ever forget the importance of that role.
Last Saturday morning my neighbor, also a supporter, picked me up at 5:30 am. Were we crazy? Little credit, please. After stopping at our closest Starbuck’s for Double-Espressos, we headed west to Lake Las Vegas, a luxurious resort community located 20 miles from The Strip but close to our homes in Henderson. (Just so you know, Celine Dion lives in Lake Las Vegas. Betting that she decided to sleep-in.) Our friend, Susan, was competing in the Triathlon and we wanted to watch her swim, bike and run, or Die, whichever came first.
When we arrived at the shore of the 320-acre lake, it was all wet-suits and pink caps, 800-strong. The temperature of the Lake on Race morning was a chilly 63 degrees which didn’t seem to bother the Canadian athletes at all. Music was blasting. Dads, with kids in tow, were frantically looking for the coffee shop. There was excitement in the air and camaraderie on the ground.
We, of course, could not find our friend, Susan. But, we did find her husband Warren (he was one of those guys looking for coffee) and her two darling (and, sleepy) daughters, Lindsay and Cassidy, who knew exactly where their Mom was located.
When the starting gun went off, I was expecting bedlam and mayhem, but the women just calmly remained in their orderly queue, diving into that frigid water in turn. Why no frenzy? Each athlete was wearing a Chip timing device on an ankle bracelet which started when they began and later identified each one as she crossed electronic mats after the final run. The Lake was rough with noticeable waves. It was windy. No one turned back.
As each woman completed her swim and waded to shore, this is where I might throw in the bedlam and mayhem moment. Picture this. While running to her bike area about a block away, in wet, bare feet, each athlete was ripping off her wet suit, tossing goggles, hopping on one foot, then the other, finally grabbing the dry gear lying near her bike, dressing and rolling quickly out of the parking site. No makeup-repair moment. Can you actually train for these things?
By the time we spotted Susan, emerging from the water, and snapped our photo, we had to high-tail it ourselves to the biking area and got there just as she was rolling out her bike to hit the course. After she biked, returning to the same parking spot, and changing shoes, she set off running. We elbowed into position, along with everyone else, at the finish line. Honestly, this was not an easy race to watch. It was somewhat exhausting for us, too.
But, here’s the best part. As each of the 800 women began crossing the finish line, an exhilarating moment for them and their rambunctious supporters who were, by now, on caffeine-overload, the announcer would shout out their name….. and, their age. The older the woman, the louder the roar of the crowd. How did the announcer know? On the back of each woman’s left leg, in large indelible black magic marker, was written her age. Only in America, huh?
The big winners were the Canadians while Colorado women held their own. But, everyone took home a medal. That’s how the Triathlon competitors seemed to behave, not one winner, 800 winners, even the lone biker who was still on the race course as we left, with a run ahead of her. Odds are, she made it, and, she probably had some sisters, joining her, running right by her side, to be sure she did.
