It was Big, It was Hot, It was Tough...It was Kona.

And it is DONE!

"CHECK"!

It was everything I expected Kona to be. Apprehension about the swim start kept me up most of the night and totally lived up to its daunting expectation; the black lava and wind on the bike course were as ominous and ever-present as rumoured, and the run - well actually, aside from a horrific blister, it was better than expected and the trip down Ali'i Drive up through the blue bannered, tropical finish line stage was the highly anticipated end to a wonderful journey.

The Trip

The ten days that we were in Kona were a whirlwind of race prep, taper training, adventure water and land activities, laughter, fun and good times, all woven around that ominous Ironman event. There was a wonderful contingency of Austinites at the event plus 6 dear IronSherpa friends and one IronMate husband that made it all possible (poor Leann didn't make it past ABIA after her wallet and ID were stolen even though Obama had given her clearance to travel.) However, Toni, Beno, Kristen, D, Justyne, Mark and 'Frieda' did make it out of Austin and all learned the duties of IronSherpa's, but not without some 'learning curves' that were great for entertainment value while there.

The Friday before the event the town was transformed into the stage for IM Kona. Barricades were going up, bike racks, astroturf, tents and showers were placed on the pier for transition, the chute for the final mile was built, banners were everywhere, and the huge scaffolding and blue draping with silhouettes of hula girls were erected at the finish. It was slow and go getting anywhere as downtown Kona literally became the stage for this 33 year old world reknown endurance event.

As afternoon approached we all had our duties. I had to get my bike staged and gear bags dropped off during a specific time frame, Beno had volunteered to do the shopping for dinner, Steve was helping get me and gear where I needed to go when I needed to go there, and the girls were busy plotting strategy for the big day while researching food and shopping venues throughout the town.

I tried to rest for about an hour before dropping my bike off, but race prep was on my mind, so taking advantage of down time didn't come easy. Instead, I got up and got a 'rather specific' grocery list together for Beno. With his organizational skills and military attention to detail, getting 5 or 6 items at the store should be a pretty easy sherpa task. We reviewed the list together and he didn't seem too overwhelmed with the task, so adorning his new m-dot sherpa cape, off to the store he went.

In the meantime, the girls were ridding their pre-race jitters by shopping as Steve and I rode our bikes to town to drop everything off during the allotted time slot.

We arrived at the intersection of finish line and transition chaos, workers busy preparing and athletes scurrying around with gear. I dropped into line at the transition chute waiting for the infamous walk in where industry leaders would make note and take a cumulative count of what bike, saddle, wheels, tires, power meters, helmets and any other gear they can set their eyes on that athletes are using. Once past the counting section you are then appointed an escort by name to walk you to your designated bike, run and bike gear bag locations. You are given a personal tour of the pier now home away from home of where showers, changing tents, potties, bike out, bike in, and run out are located. It is quite a maze of triathlon real estate so the directionals are much apreciated.

After discovering I would not have access to my run bag in the morning (even though it would be only 50 feet from my bike) I track down my IronSherpaMate to bum his bike and zip back to the condo, now leaving him on foot to fend for himself. Of course, he bites his tongue and doesn't give me 'the look' for messing up and 'peacefully' disappears on foot into the crowd of pre-race compression and spandex to figure out something to do for the next hour or so.

All things work out for a reason because as I was squeezing my liquid carb run buffet into flasks to take back to transition, Lt. Col. Sherpa calls to confirm the exact nutritional content of a specific package of spaghetti (of course, with this precise of a question from a novice sherpa I am now recognizing the fact that IronHusband has given Beno a crash course on things that can throw 'An Ironman' over the edge the day before the big event making his/her life miserable along with everyone around them by bringing home the wrong spaghetti.) So the visual of Beno standing in the isle of a foreign grocery store with arm stretched beyond normal extension, standing tall to read the oh so fine nutritional value content on numerous packages of spaghetti into his phone for me certainly qualifies him for IronSherpa ranking.

We hung up the phone with the plan of me returning to transition on Steve's bike with the remainder of my necessary gear and Beno would then meet us downtown to tote everyone without bikes the 1.5 miles back to the condo. The plans and details to move 6, soon to be 8, of us around town in synchronicity certainly took some energy and discussion, much of which was much better of a cold beverage with a small umbrella in it :-)

I high-tailed it back to transition, parked Steve's cruiser, was appointed another transition escort and dodged back to the run gear bag rack to drop the rest of my stuff. Now to find the IronSherpas so I could go back to the condo and put my feet up and rest. The clock was ticking to bed time and then race start.

Perched on the deck of a bar overlooking the transition circus there they were, prefueling and 'hydrating' for their big day tomorrow - and of course "planning". I joined them while we waited...and waited...and waited for Beno, our ride back to the solitude of the condo. Finally he shows while explaining he couldn't answer our calls because he was canceling his credit card that someone had decided to use to charge over $8k on at a couple Targets. After making sure it wasn't Toni's Kona shopping that had 'compromised' it, we were thankful it had been caught and cancelled!

Back to the condo we all went to get supper going and toast Justy and Mark to the island. Toni and Justy got dinner going; it looked fabulous and was just what was on the list: "non-whole wheat spaghetti, turkey meat, sauce, salad and beautiful PLAIN WHITE french baguettes. The baguettes were extremely noteworthy as we later found out that FoodSherpa Beno, having already scored high shopping marks for attention to detail, realized he had purchased 'plain white (generic) sliced bread' in attempt to get the literal version of my request for 'plain bread' to go with the spaghetti dinner. Apparently this thought donned on him some time while parking the car in one of the very few places available downtown and getting the phone call about his stolen credit card. So with the speed and cadence of an ArmyMan gone IronMan Sherpa, he high tailed it on foot uphill on Palani to get what he now realized to be the correct bread for the pre-race dinner. I am quite certian he was quietly thanking Steve for the pre-event Sherpa schooling as to not get this wrong. Good Sherpa.

We laughed our way through the rest of dinner, got the kitchen cleaned up as I got the rest of my event day buffet bottled up and I was in bed by nine. I slept awesome...till 11. And that was it. The swim start was preoccupying every thought I had. Not the bike or run, as I knew those would roll out and progress in a different manner and I would respond to the best of my ability to what I was delivered.

But that swim was haunting me. I am sure in reality my apprehension was overriding jitters for the entire event, of the reality that this was it, this was the dream, the event I never thought I would do...the Big Kahuna that shook me to the bone as a spectator.

So for five hours I laid there. In my mind I heard the cannon, saw the whitewater, felt the chaos, had the sensations of not being able to breathe in that mix of swimming, bobbing, kicking, hitting (aka stroking) and was nauseated by the time I finally gave in and got up at 4.

The Race

I took a couple tums and a ginger tablet (than you, Nan ;-) and tried to eat. When it came time to leave I asked Steve to pray with me and we did. Then we both cried. Neither one of us commented about it, but we felt it - it was heavy, it was scary, it was relief, it was almost over, but it had to start first. The emotions were undescribable for both of us as we headed out on the cruisers to transition.

The IronSherpas had strategized getting me to the start line as easily as possible. Lt Col Sherpa Beno graciously gave me his bike and hoofed with his proven stride. Through various grocery store, we had all discovered he had the Spangler Stride of a giraffe and could get most places on foot faster than we could in a car!

As Steve and I rode down the final quarter mile of the run course on Ali'i Drive, I once again got choaked up. The next time I would see this spot it would be under the lights, through waves of cheering people, to the tune of Mike Reily's announcement that "I Am an Ironman". For some reason, hearing this in Kona would have a whole different effect.

I was jolted out of my sentimental moment to cheers from the Sherpa's from the sidewalk on Ali'i. They were energetic, happy and EARLY! How the heck had they beat me to the start line?? What time did THEY get up?? But glad they had so they could keep my head on straight and dry up my sappy eyes. Good gracious! I hadn't expected such emotions BEFORE the race!

We all gave hugs as if I was going on a mission rather than going to do a triathlon. Steve and I gave up our bikes so they could be 'licked up' tight (according to Kristen's auto-correcting text)... and they were - for most of the race. Apparently IronLocker D had secured them so 'snuggly' that the combo was jammed and they had to sit there throughout most of the day until Jack could cut the cable off (of J&A Bikes - didn't want you to visualize Jack The Snowman taking care of that ;-) That left the Sherpas with 50% of their wheels. Hmmm...a DEFINITE penalty for the IronSherpas.

The Sherpas were procuring key viewing start line real estate by the harbor while Steve walked me to transition. It was a very somber walk. My stomach was a mess. The darkness of the unknown loomed ahead. As we approached the chute for Steve to pass me off to the destiny of the day, we hugged. And held and held...and for some odd reason both cried again. Steve doesn't cry easily and to see the tears on his cheeks and the tremble of his chin made me realize even more the sacrifice, dedication, discipline, time and family commitment we had all made to get here. And how what others who have done this have told me... the magical, mystical powers of Kona have a way of rocking your soul.

I lifted my chin, took a deep belly breath and walked away from Steve towards the athlete staging area. There was an eary silence and mumble taking place. Others bidding their good byes, holding, kissing , separatimg from each other to embark on their journey. Silly. This is just a triathlon. A swim, a bike and a run. It felt more like a death march. I had found perspective in a devotional earlier in the week that talked about things we worry about, and we need only really worry about things that really mattered eternally. And if Jesus was in our heart then eternity was taken care of so truly we had no worries. I knew this somberness of my spirit wasn't worry, but was born more of a commitment to finish a journey, share in an experience and grow from the ride.

Body marking, weigh in and special needs bag drop went fine. But still feeling a bit nauseaus and weary. However, while walking to my bike looking out at the Pacific to my right and rising sun over the mountains to my left, I began to find regularity to my breathing. I set my bike up and did some yoga in the isle. I got my swim gear together, put swim skin on and breathed my way back to normalcy. Finally. Welcome back self. Just in time to stage for the swim start.

The hype of the Ironman Kona race start was beginning. Thousands of spectators lining every shoreline, helicopters circling, Hawaiian tribal drums beating...every noise reverbed in your soul. But my renewed calmness overrode it and I was ready to get this thing started.

The pros began 30 minutes ahead of age groupers so they began herding age groupers in the water about 20 minutes to race start. Treading water for 20 minutes was a daunting idea to me, but for some reason I was now at peace with it and found myself walking down the steps to the beach of D-day. Everyone was just standing there and few were out in the water, thus, I decided to go ahead and get out there where I could be a bit more in charge of my destiny. If I was lucky, perhaps I could hold on to a buoy or SUP. So out to the front lines I swam and began treading. The salt water was nice and buoyant but no buoys were to be found and no SUPs were stopping. They were all too busy keeping everyone behind the floating island with the Ford Escape. But the swells were large and the current kept pulling us up past the cars. The chaos started in with people trying not to pass the cars, SUPs herding everyone back and others letting the current pull them where it may. The 15 minutes of treading went very quickly, thank goodness. I treaded, floated on my back and treaded more. Floating on my back, looking at the sky with my ears underwater was the most peaceful part of my day. The BOOM!

The cannon fired and all 2000 of us went from vertical bobbing to 5-7 feet of horizontal bodies trying to swim. The salt water bubbled in commotion, arms, legs, feet were flying. This was true survival mode, every (not feeling so Iron man) for himself. As I swam over a scuba diver with a TV camera perched at the bottom of the Pacific, my only solace was that if I went down (literally) hopefully there were enough cameramen planted around and the water was clear enough below that I would be seen.

But I stayed on top and held my own. The seas were rough, the venue crowded, but on we all surged together. It was 1.1 miles straight out, .2 miles across and 1.1 headed back. Between the big ocean swells, the wave chop and all the people, sighting was really only the feet in front of you. But there was a catamaran mast at the turn around point and occasionally I'd get a glimpse of that. Having started the swim thinking I'd stay far left, I suddenly found myself hugging the inside buoys of the course. But I was afloat and moving forward, so all was good.

About an hour twenty two later I felt my toes in the sand again as I finished the swim. THANK YOU GOD! My biggest dread was over. Now where's that bike? I ran through the showers, past my bike bag that the handler didn't pull for me - so I went back for it - then to the women's tent. I remember wanting to clean my feet off, but there wasn't a towel around, so I got help pulling my swim skin off and then popped my bike shoes on and ran the 70 yards or so out the other end of changing, to the other end of the pier and then back up the other side to my bike rack. Grabbed it and I was off. We looped through town and then headed up Palani - the infamous Kona hill that we would bike and run - but not bad at all in my hill dictionary. The Sherpa's were on the hill cheering everyone - and D was even taking pictures - all the way up the hill of a stranger she thought was me riding up the hill. Go Team.

At the end of all the cheering and support on Palani we took a left on the Queen K - into the quiet, the dark, the vast lava fields. I'd be back here in another 100 miles so.

It was pretty easy sailing for the first 30 miles; I was averaging about 21mph. It was everything you see on TV; huge fields of lava, scorching summer heat, TV cameras and photographers everywhere, people getting blown from the winds...NBC had prepared me well for this part of the course. The hills were long and very gradual. It was more of a wind play than a hill ride. As we neared the turn off to Hawi the winds began picking up significantly. Fifteen miles from Hawi it was all uphill with a huge head/cross tradewind. Not the direct hits from the side that I had experienced Tuesday, but definitely more from ahead, but they'd still gust you to the side. Hands on hoods, I headed up. My mph had dropped a bit by the time I blew into Hawi, averaging about 17 mph now. I made the U-turn in front of the restaurant we had shared laughs at 4 days before and headed back towards Kona. I remember thinking, "Wow. This highly anticipated event is almost half way over for me. So far, so good really." I hadn't realized we had been climbing so much until I turned around. It was a long, quick descent with still dicey crosswinds to be concerned with. I rode cautiously, figuring it best to arrive in one piece than not at all.

We all enjoyed the rewards of the descent until the Kona turn off - another 35 miles home. My skin felt like it was blistering - the black asphalt and the black lava oh so hot. Then those tricky tradewinds did just what they were predicted to do, and had turned around to a head wind. I had picked my mph back up to almost 20 at this point, but riding the last 35 home in that wind dropped me back to an 18 mph bike average. I had eaten almost 2000 calories on the bike and taken in more than 3400mg of sodium to help me get through the remainder of the day. Food is hard to take in on the run, but seeing the salt rings on everyone's clothes, I was continually reminded of the need to keep fuel and electrolytes going down strong.

I rode through the chute of cheering spectators, stepped out of my shoes, dismounted and handed my bike to a handler. Running across the astroturf, again, down the super long pier back to the other side of the changing tent to our run gear bag, I remember thinking my left foot felt very "hot" on the ball below my middle two toes. Why was there a hot spot? Was it just the astroturf?

I got my shoes on, was slopped with sunscreen (because I felt like I was blistering between the sun, salt and heat on the bike ride). I grabbed my fuel gear, strapped it on me, through my cap on and off I went. Through "Run Out" up the hill and around the corner. There were the Sherpa's - Go Team!

As I rounded the corner to head towards the drop down road to Ali'i on the way out of town my legs felt great. No transition cramps, no heaviness, but something was wrong with my foot. The hot spot was screaming and I knew already I was getting a raging blister. Here it was. One of the "Unknown's" that can rock your IM dream. So now what? I was 2 miles into the run and thinking, well, actually starting to believe, I wasn't going to be able to finish running. Around mile 4 D came cruising by, "How are you?" Well, this is always the million dollar question to ask anyone at IM and D asks me every IM. Do I tell the truth - 'Uh, I feel like hell. I thought I was going to be part of a burial at sea while getting the snot beat out of me swimming 2.4 miles in ocean swells and then traveled through a lava field in 120 degree temperatures in 40mph tradewinds only to turn around and come back to do it again. Then I started running only to find the sand and salt had rubbed a hot spot blister into the ball of my foot.' The truth wasn't pretty and certainly weren't the words I needed to hear.

So I answer the question as I always do, with a quasi-smile and nod of my chin. But she's lucky early on, because usually by mile 15 or so she doesn't even get the little smile or chin nod - its just about focus and moving at that point.

Around mile 6 Mark and Justyne come hauling by on the other 2 bikes that are not "licked up". And there she is "Frieda". Justyne's got her waving and smiling and all dressed up for the event (Frieda is our mascot life size blow up doll - she travels to all our events and is definitely a crowd pleaser). Justyne and Frieda get a bit more of a smile because I hear what bystanders are saying (and thinking ;0) about her. I run past Mark, Just and Frieda and am secretly waiting/praying for Steve to show up so he can console my blister issue and let me know that its "ok" to finish this thing walking - because I really don't think I can run another 20 miles with this blister pain. I needed permission and support to do what I could to just get through this - and only Steve could give me that.

I trudge on, looking for Steve. Then Justyne bikes up from behind me - then Mark - with Frieda hitched to his waist like a life-size back pack, with her hula skirt blowing in the wind and Justyne saying "There's no telling where we'll pop up next!" I giggle at the sight and let her know as long as its not Mark that "pops up", I'll look for them. The smile and conversation with good friends gave me energy for a few miles.

Steve never "popped up" either. So on I kept running. I felt like I'd NEVER make it up the Palani hill with the blister, but it actually felt better on the incline. And I saw Steve. But I didn't say a thing and kept on running.

Left on Queen K - back through the lava fields and on to the infamous "Energy Lab" turnaround. It was about mile 11. My blister felt like it just kept billowing up, then popping and then doing it all over again. I thought it was flattened out and doing better around mile 11 when suddenly I felt it bubble up between my toes and then juice out on top of my foot. Yowzee. But onward. The Queen K was pretty deserted and I had hoped the Sherpa's would show up here. And they did. Up comes Pinky (Kristen) like she's out for a festive cruise. Thank Goodness. The company was good out here. Even though you aren't "supposed" to support or follow athletes up here, one could certainly get away with it if they just rode from point to point and not beside their runner. Kristen has lots of great experience with this. Aside from the fact that we've run together for a long time, Kristen knows me really well and around mile 13 asked me if I wanted her to stay with me. A forward wave of my hand and a nod of my head said it all and she never was farther than 100 yards from me. Its good to have good friends.

D and Justy got the drift and came to join her. They rode and cheered and helped many of us get through those quiet miles to the energy lab. Around mile 16 I finally decided that I was going to have to stop and go to the bathroom. One port-a-pottie. "Occupied" Knock Knock. "Are you going to be in there long?" No response. "Hey, have you been in there a while?" Yes. "Are you going to be much longer?" I don't know. Not the answer I was looking for so I kept moving. About 20 yards to a huge bouganvilla bush on the side of the road. It was on an incline sprouting out of huge lava rocks and tall dried grass. I saw a little head with a visor squatted behind it and thought I'd pop in on the other side and join her. Justyne stopped with us. We both heard this horrible screaming coming from the little visored head. "Are you ok?" Justyne asked. "Yes" this sweet little feminine voice would respond, then more screaming. I kind of knew the feeling she was experiencing but didn't have the energy to explain it all to Justy at the time. But Justy kept asking and she kept "trying" and screaming. It was a rather tedious place to be perched anyway, the lava rocks like shrapnel on any skin that touched them and the dry, pokey grass, well, poking. As she kept screaming, and Justy kept trying to make sure she was ok, I was very relieved to wrap up business and commented on the lack of green vegetation to wipe with. The little feminine one had just wrapped up a finishing scream and said, "Here, you can use my sponge when I'm done with it." Did she really just say that? I furrowed my eyebrows and looked hard at the dry ground again. "Uh, that's ok, I'm sure I've got something here that will work," and I felt like Patsy Cline at Esther's Follies as I dug deep into my tri top and found my own sponge deep down below my sports bra. "Sharing sponges" has a whole new meaning now.

"Even Bears Poo in the lava fields" I shouted to the GirlSherpa's as I ran off towards the energy lab feeling much relieved! A couple miles ahead I turned left into the lab. I hadn't been down this road, but I'd seen masses of people parked at the intersection throughout the week. It was a private environmental testing lab and no cars or bikes could be in there, but leading up to the race folks had come out to test the grade that brought you from the Queen K down to the ocean's edge. And it was much farther down that grade than I expected. It wasn't much of a decline/incline to worry about, but it was just a long out and back to the bottom of the hill to the turn around. About a mile in the chip mat beeped as folks entered the chute to make a U-turn to head back up. As I entered the chute written in chalk in the ENTIRE space was "Go Cindy, 794!" and a huge 8 foot chalked drawing of Jack. Denise and Kevin T. had snuck out here and chalked the road, ironically in just the spot the timing mat chutes were going to be placed. It was impossible to miss and gave me a big smile as I made the turn and headed back.

Our special needs bags were half way back up the hill and I grabbed mine to get some black tea and a ginger tablet out of it. The caffeine was a good hit for me training and I was looking forward to it now. Kristen said a spectator at the top said it must be a doozy of a distance in there because everyone enters running and comes out walking :-) She caught me walking through the ice station as I poured out my water, filled my bottle with ice and then transferred the tea into it. Yum. Ice cold Texas tea.

Out the lab we went and back down the Queen K towards Kona. It was about 18 miles from here and I was counting down every single mile marker. My blister continued to eb and flow, but my legs really felt fine. Then, oh, no. The pressure. I had to go to the bathroom again. Of course, there was none to be found, so when passing through a rest stop intersection I spotted a CLEAN sponge, picked it up and headed to a big lava rock. Not much coverage, but after almost 134 miles I could care a less if someone saw my toosh.

Around mile 21 I looked west and saw the sunset. What a spectacular view. Even Kristen pulled over to take pictures (although she hadn't received the Mark Biddle class of photography yet so I'm not sure she captured the moment ;-) Seeing the sunset over the pacific was humbling, it put things into perspective that there was so much more out there beside this moment, things that were bigger and more eternal than this. It was a peaceful feeling.

The miles 21, 22, 23...The SherpaGirls were counting them down for me. "Run rest stop to rest stop" Kristen coached. "Go catch the guy in the orange shorts!" Justy yelled. I don't know who the heck she was talking about, but I was taking them down from here. One by one, I was passing folks and my pace was increasing. My legs really felt great. At no time had I entered the dark places I had in my prior to IM's. Other than my blister and simple fatigue from a long day, I really felt good, but I was ready for it to be done. My eyes were wanting to close - after all, I'd been up since 11pm last night. I knew once I got to Palani the hype of the crowd would get me going down that hill and take me to the chutes at Ali'i. But where was Palani? "Where's Palani?" "Do you know where Palani is?" I'd ask anyone I passed or saw. I sounded lost. But I was wanting off my foot and ready to finish this thing up.

"It is those yellow and red lights up there" Justyne finally came back with the news. I'm on it. We reeled it in, turned right and there it was, the last mile. "Go get it, Cin! We'll see you at the finish!" my dear girlfriends, who had just spent over 3 hours riding their bikes all over Kona and the Queen K making sure I made it through the toughest part of the day, shared the news with me with excitement.

Down Palani my pace increased. I took a left on the same road I'd biked earlier and there was Steve. Still not on a bike (and why did he rent that bike for the event?? I guess God had D jam up that bike lock for him so I wasn't able to get his permission to walk the run! Love God's sense of humor! Hah! He knows me better than I know myself!)

I saw Steve and grinned HUGE! He stepped out to take my picture and I gave him a huge, sloppy, sweaty, gel & sodium laden kiss. YUM! On I went. Right turn. Down another hill. Running faster. There was the street sign: Ali'i Drive. Right turn.

There was the big banyan tree. The church steeple behind the building. The crowds growing - then the finish chutes. I was running my pace and feeling good, still passing folks, closing in on the end of a dream. I had been able to hear Mike Riley's voice from the top of Palani bringing people across the finish line "So and so...YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!"

I could see the lights illuminating the sky ahead. I could hear the crowds going crazy. I was here. This was it. "There's no time like your first time down Ali'i Drive" veterans had told me. And there was no time like the present. I wanted to take it all in.

The high fencing was approaching and right before it was Steve. He was pushing past a security guy (well, as much as you can imagine Steve 'pushing') handing Jack out to me. I grabbed Jack and continued through the chutes. There had a been a girl I'd seen way in front of me coming down the last hill before Ali'i, and running my pace I continued to close in on her. We ended up crossing the finish line together at 11:36:37. I stopped at the top of the finish stage, held Jack up high and took it all in with a huge smile of relief, appreciation and gratitude.

Two escorts approached as I walked down the ramp. A sweet lady put an orchid lei around my neck and then began to escort me to recovery. Before leaving the finish area, I stopped and told them I needed to take it all in for a moment. Under the jumbotron I turned around and watched the next person come in, the faces on the hundreds of people jumping up and down, clapping, making noise. I saw the expressions of those that had finished before me and those that finished after me...and I cried.

It had been a long day but it was nothing in comparison to the journey it took to get here. The support of Steve, Cade, Colt, my mom, friends and community humble me. The friends that traveled to Kona to be with us during this event leave me speechless. Ironman, especially Kona, is not about the event. Its about who you become because of it and what you choose to do with it. The journey humbles you, grows you and leaves you with a whole new perspective of life and potential. Its a journey that I've been blessed to share with so many.

The Sherpa's met me in recovery, Mark with a six pack of cold Ultra - the NONsweet, recovery drink of choice. There were people everywhere and one lone chair on the beach with no one sitting in it. Aah. It felt so good to sit down - and get my shoes off.

We hung out for a bit, took pictures, shared stories and then headed to eat. I was nauseated for quite some time, wishing I'd just puke then watched as they ate dinner. At 10pm we went down and got prime placement at the finish line for the final two hours. THAT is what Ironman is all about.

We stood for 2 hours straight, cheered, clapped, danced, yelled, whooped, hollered and felt blessed to share in the accomplishment of so many individuals. There were so many folks in their 70's, so many folks with amazing bio's and stories - all focused and determined to get across that line before midnight, before the 17 hour time limit of Ironman.

We cheered as Gayla, 71, from Georgetown was not only trying to beat the 17 hour cut off but also win first in her age group - after tripping towards the end of her run and receiving a laceration down the left side of her face. She made the cut off and won her age group! We were amazed as 81 year old Lou not only finished his 23rd Ironman but won a foot race to come back from 2nd place in his age group in the last half of the marathon to win it. And we were touched as a gentleman who had lost his wife to breast cancer fulfilled his promise to her to get in shape, lose weight and complete Ironman. We watched him as he finished the race but not his journey; he stopped only to receive his lei, then kept moving without much escort, through the finish chutes, straight out the back and to the beach, to deliver his wife's ashes to the ocean to complete his promise.

The Ironman stories never end, and never cease to amaze. Ordinary people, like you and I, making a decision to accomplish something bigger than we are, to fulfill a dream, to make a statement that we are not limited in life by circumstance but only by choice. It doesn't take a special person to "be an Ironman" or finish Kona, just a special reason that is bigger than we ever thought we could be...in our wildest dreams.