The Finish

So it was more of that jog past the horse grounds and around the bend and up the hills back into town and then Main Street! I kept my jog going up the hills, and despite the darkness and the hour there were still people out to cheer us in – god bless them – I’d hug everyone if I could (and still make it in by midnight!). I took off my long sleeve shirt and tied it around my waist, people could see my name again and began to call it out – I thanked them and was happy for it, I was getting close, I could feel it. I could smile at the thought of finishing. With the smiles came the need to choke back the sobs and fight back the urge to burst out in tears, for the first time I felt like I was going to make it.

I reached the top of the last hill and the turn onto Main Street, and with that corner came the Buffalo Triathlon Club cheering section – I can’t believe so many of them stuck it out in that weather ALL day – awesome job to all of them, and the sincerest of ‘thanks.’ What a difference from the last time I passed – it was so long ago. As I reached the turn there were a bunch of folks in the street to greet me – I think I remember high fiving Sergio & Laurie and then Warren was there again with his camera and jogged along with me for a bit – was this really it? I could hardly believe it … I had been told how the crowd would carry you at the end, and while there weren’t a ton of people on Main Street there were some, there were enough. It hurt less to run, and I think I managed a run, rather than a jog, down main, I felt lighter – I think I was having fun.

I slapped some hands and could see the lights at the skating oval (the finish) and hear the crowd in there I was on the verge of being euphoric, then the cruel twist came, logically I knew I still had about 2 miles to go, but I didn’t realize 2 miles was SO far. Instead of heading to the finish I had to turn right and head the other way, I was SO close and now I had to run AWAY from the finish, which also meant I'd have to run back, with every step I was getting further away and every ache and pain of the previous 138 miles was back with a vengeance. The crowds near the entrance into the oval dissipated as I moved further away and I was back among the triathletes that had been struggling along with me for the past several miles. I saw Cynthia up ahead and was wondering when she’d passed me, and I was glad to see Eric of the BTC on his way into the finish and wished it were me.

I managed to keep moving but felt the jog down Main Street had used whatever resolve I had left – my brain and body had gotten all kinds of signs and signals that we were almost done, and now we weren’t, we had another 20+ minutes and I felt things breaking down. My stomach started jumping – please god don’t make me use one of these port-a-potties at this late stage – surely it’s been several hours since they’ve been filled to their capacity. The fear of that actually did wonders to settle my stomach, but back and hips and knees and shoulders and every other joint, bone and muscle had had enough. I passed the last aid station without stopping or taking anything, worried about my stomach, but asked one of the volunteers “how far to the turn around” ‘just around the bend’ was her reply. I saw a bend but when I got there I still couldn’t see the turnaround – I began to beg, please let it be soon. I finally saw it – thank god, but it was a few hundred yards away, it seemed so far. I felt myself fading fast, and my only hope was that I would get some kind of mental or physical boost after the turn.

I finally made the turn and jogged another 20 or 30 steps before I just stopped dead in my tracks. I stood there and looked down the road and looked down at my legs. On and off over the last half marathon I had a weird feeling in my left leg, like it wasn’t actually attached very tightly at my knee. I felt it now and could feel the ‘wobble.’ I wanted my legs to run, but I was wondering if they could still hold me up, for a moment I felt like the bottom of my legs were cast in cement and nothing could move them. I was sure I was going to collapse right then and there and I just started to cry because I couldn’t believe I was so close and wasn’t going to finish.

I don't know what went through my head at that moment, but I knew I couldn't let it end with me crumpled in a ball on the pavement at mile 25 or, I guess more appropriately, mile 139. I knew I was the one who had the power to change that so, somehow, I tried to walk, but that hurt, a lot. So I tried to get running again and managed a pathetic kind of shuffle. I was still far from the finish, the road was only dimly lit by the streetlights and there were no spectators, a few people passed me as I struggled to keep moving. I started counting my steps, I’d make it to 100 and then start over and I kept that up to keep my self moving for the next several minutes. Then finally the barricades resumed, there were still no spectators but I knew there would be, I was getting close and that was a very good sign.

Then there were people again, I didn’t know them, but I didn’t care, I still felt like they were there for me. They were cheering and I was happy, I moved over to slap every hand I could find, I came to the split: left for the second lap, right to finish. HOLY SHIT! I was going to finish. It was the Red Sea parting, it was a miracle, it was a moment that was never meant to be, that no one would believe. I kept slapping hands and I saw the entrance to the oval and could hardly believe it myself, yet I’m pretty sure I was there... I turned onto the oval and the location didn’t go unnoticed, I might as well have been Erik Heiden on his way to his fifth gold medal, I doubt he could’ve been more excited. I picked up my pace to what I thought was a nice easy run, and NOTHING hurt, I could move. As I made the turn onto the cement of the rink Mike called out to me and he and Jaclyn were cheering me on and running along with me on the far side of the barricade. I was happy to see them and hollered out to them asking if they could manage the few hundreds yards run that was left. As I rounded the far end of the rink I lost sight of them but was taking in the fact that it was bright in here, and there were many people cheering, and whether they were or not, they were cheering for me. I wasn’t winning this race, merely finishing it, after many, many hours, yet I was sure they were cheering for me, I’d never experienced anything like it – I’ll confess, it was very, very cool.

I made the last turn into the finishing chute and saw Nick first and then everyone else who’d been there at every lap for me – Ann & Cindy, Bob and Mary. They definitely were a sight for sore eyes, it seemed days since I’d seen them last at my teary start of the last half marathon. I couldn’t begin to describe how thankful I was that they came here and seeing them at the finish is truly one of the most uplifting points of my life. From that moment everything happened so fast – and now I know why people, even people who have more than an ounce of energy left at the end, often take their time in the chute – because 1st or 1859th it’s very fun, and very much a moment worth savoring. Of course I, unfortunately, was unaware of that little bit of information and fluttered it away with a so called ‘sprint’ to salvage some minor moral victory. So finally, here are the last moments of my race.

After catching a glimpse of my family I wanted to high five and slap hands but glanced down and saw all the water on either side of the lane, I remember that, stayed in the dry center, the rest is kind of a blur. From there I look up and finally see the inflated finishing arch and then below it the clock. WHAT? 14:59:XX .. I was only sure of the 14, but think I see 14:59 and can’t register the seconds, OH NO! I pointed at the clock and said “does that say 14:59?” Not hearing a definitive answer among the roar of the crowd I realize I still have to run. I definitely swore, but will refrain from repeating it here. For a split second I felt myself prepare my body and “rev up” as if I was swinging back my arms, and like the Road Runner, circling my legs before being propelled forward. Not knowing how much time there was before it clicked over to 15:00:00 I knew I had no time to spare. Before I knew it my legs were flying forward and like the cartoon, my body was fighting to keep up until I found myself in an all out sprint. I don’t know what it looked like to the crowd, but as far as I could tell, I was Michael Johnson in his golden shoes, I was the fastest person on earth, surely I was a blur, I hope my friends and family could tell it was me!

When I later relived my sprint to Cindy, I asked her how fast I was going and her reply was “Well, you were ‘running.’” Hmmm, ok perhaps I exaggerated a bit here, but you can be the judge (video of the finish feed on the scoreboard courtesy of Warren Hale).

I reached the tape and heard the buzz of my chip timer and nothing else. For the first time in a race I raised my hands in victory, my victory…and cheered for myself along with the crowd.

I am an Ironman.