The Gloves and the Little Girl
There were no dark clouds foreshadowing doom before I began the bike portion of the Ironman race. I had been tapering for two weeks prior to race day, had biked 112 miles three times before the event, and was better prepared for the big day than I had ever been before. And yet by mile 70 the 100 degree heat was getting to me and I had to get off of my bike and lay down because my legs were shaking and my stomach had cramped up. It was either get off the bike on my own volition or risk passing out and falling off the bike. I laid in the grass for 20 minutes and, only when my head wasn't spinning any more, did I pick up my bike and try to ride again. I was so exhausted that for the rest of the race whenever I hit a steep hill I had to walk up it. This, by the way, is anathema to any triathlete. You should not dismount from your bike until your 112 miles are up. By the time that I had reached the aid station at mile 80 I had to lay down again and, as I did, I could see my dreams of finishing the race beginning to fade. I wallowed in self-pity for a while and then rolled over on my stomach, forcing my way up onto my hands and knees, finally getting back onto my feet in the most ungraceful and humiliating of ways. The volunteers at the aid station had set up food and drink for the triathletes and so I asked for a cup of ice water, poured it over my head to give myself some temporary relief from the heat, and then remounted my bike to slog on. Even after this episode of self-inflicted torture was over I still felt like I could finish the race.
And then, at about mile 90, I felt my tongue swelling up. The back of my throat was so dry that it felt like it was collapsing or constricting so that I was having some difficulty breathing. The 100 degree heat was relentless and I had to stop the bike again. There is a gazebo at the front of this small neighborhood called Old Taylor Place and, because I had done my training on the Ironman course, I knew that this was a safe place for me to go and lie down for a while. After passing out for about a half hour I woke up and willed myself to walk back to the road. A family was there watching the bicyclists ride by and their little girl had drifted behind the distracted adults. The little girl noticed me as I walked by and she waved at me. Now I am a big guy and scary looking even when I am not covered with sweat and my face bright red from the exertions of the day. The sunglasses and helmet make me look even more intimidating and so I was impressed with the bravado of the little girl who was unafraid of the scary looking Ironman. I self-consciously waved back at her. Then she asked, with the innocence of a five-year-old, ‘did you have a nice nap?’ It was the cutest thing that I have ever seen and the question lightened my spirits. The little girl then gave me a Popsicle from her own stash of treats. I took it, grateful for the combination of ice and sugar, and eagerly ate it, full in the knowledge that the race organizers would penalize me for receiving outside help while on the course if they found out. I didn’t really care if I was penalized because I knew that there was no way that I was going to be able to run a marathon after this horrible bike ride and so I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to finish the race. After thanking the little girl and her mother for the Popsicle I got back on my bike and made my way back to Louisville.
Once I got back to the transition area I went to the medical tent to get an IV. Even after laying on the cot for an hour I still wasn't feeling well and so the nurse put a second bag of saline water into me. Finally I started to feel better and, after another half hour went by, I was fully hydrated and the nurse took the needle out of my arm. I left the medical tent to begin the long walk back to pick up my bike and my other stuff and made my way back to my car. There was no way that I was going to let my triathlon career end on such a sour note and so I decided, even before I got home, that I was going to give the Ironman another throw in the following year. And I was dedicating my race to the brave little girl who wasn’t afraid to help the scary looking man who was in distress.
While training over the winter I had time to reflect on the horrors of the heat on Ironman Day but I also remembered the angel who had helped me. I decided that if I saw the little girl and her mother again then I was going to stop biking for a few minutes and give her a present. There isn’t a lot of room on a racing bike for gifts, and I wasn’t sure that I would even see the little girl on the course again, and so the only thing that I could think of to give her if I saw her was my riding gloves. I had ordered these expensive gloves especially for race day. They had the word ‘Ironman” stitched onto the side and that alone made them unusual. Sure enough, mother and daughter were out on the course, again in front of their house on Old Taylor Place. They didn’t recognize me at first and so I introduced myself while taking off my official looking Ironman gloves. As I handed my gloves to the little girl I thanked her again for the Popsicle and the mother said that they had Popsicle’s again this year. I responded with “Thanks, but I don’t need help this year because I am feeling pretty good.” With that I remounted my bike and continued on to Louisville so that I could begin the marathon.
I did finish the race but I had been disappointed that the little girl didn’t seem to appreciate my gift of the special gloves. The gloves were worn and sweaty and maybe it wasn’t as cool as I thought it was to receive them as a gift. In my view, the men and women who compete in the race are warriors and I thought that any piece of equipment that we used on Ironman Day would be treasured. Apparently the little girl didn’t react because she was naturally reserved but her mother found me on Facebook the following week and told she told me that her daughter was so proud to own the gloves of an Ironman that she brought them to school the very next day for show and tell. It made me feel good that I could return her act of kindness and that the gift of the gloves was truly appreciated.
