My movements were
pretty mechanical, due to the grogginess. I ate, brushed my teeth, packed the
last couple of items I might need and was off.
What the hell am I
doing up at 4 o'clock in the morning?
At the bus station, I
was able to catch the 6 a .m.
to Playa del Carmen and was seated near two guys from England who had obviously been
partying all night.
I saw the 7 a .m. ferry starting out as I
raced down to the ferry landing from the bus station and had to wait for the 8 a .m. to Cozumel .
And my day hadn't even
started yet.
---------------
About four years ago,
I bought my first bike: a mountain bike. I found a biking group and my second
ride was in a place called Punta Venado. I remember I sat eating the buffet's
beef fajitas with a guy from Veracruz .
This was where I first
met Carlos, who is now known by everyone as Tekilo.
He didn't come to that
many rides but I remembered there was a ride we did all along the coast of the
Hotel Zone. I didn't have my Camelbak so I used a bag that I got on a work
trip. It had printed on it the words, "¡Que rico es Irapuato !" (How Delicious is Irapuato !). As I biked
down the path, he suddenly zipped past me and shouted those words as he dusted
me.
On the beach, I saw
him up ahead of me and with quite a bit of momentum, I was able to speed past
him on the sand and I shouted back those same words.
And just like in the
movies, I laughed arrogantly as I zipped past, turning my head, only to open my
eyes wide in fear.
What I neglected to
notice was the wooden pier in front of me. I swerved and like a lonely little
cockroach, I fell over.
We both laughed so
hard, the name stuck. He may be "Tekilo" for everyone else but
between the two of us, we were always "Irapuato ."
---------------
And then one day, I
run into Irapuato
on the Hotel Zone. He explained with a bit of admiration to a friend that I had
done a 70.3. He had never done a triathlon but had read my chronicles.
He wanted to do one.
Since then, I've
become his "triathlon godmother" as he progressed through a number of
triathlons as well as running a half marathon everyday for a whole month.
And today, he was
going to do his first full Ironman.
---------------
Sensei, Lola and Alma at the Cozumel Ironman 2011 |
Lola, Sensei, Alma and I all took the
ferry over, our bikes stowed safely away. We arrived just when the pros were
finishing their first bike lap. Cheering everyone on in the shade of the palms,
we decided to move out and get to one of the aid stations.
At the aid station, we
ran into Susana, who was refereeing in the penalty box. After an hour of collecting
bottles out of the bushes and trees in the blazing sun, more just kept getting
thrown in. At one point, a triathlete who had just finished the water in his
bottle proceeded to throw it in the bushes.
It hit me square in
the thigh.
Another triathlete who
was right behind him shook his head.
"That was pretty
messed up," he said.
It only made me laugh.
There were a slew of
triathletes yelling for gels, water, Gatorade. A female triathlete with a
distinctly lilting Argentinean accent complained loudly, "A banana! Che, I need a banana!"
So do we all, darling.
So do we all.
I fielded a couple of
bottles out of the middle of the street so that the competitors won't have
unnecessary accidents. As I came back, I saw a woman bike by.
My jaw dropped.
She only had one leg.
That wasn't, as extraordinary as it was, the most extraordinary thing. The
thing that most shocked me was that she did not have a prosthetic leg.
She had pedaled 111.85 miles with only
one leg.
I am a lazy bastard.
-----------
We decided to go back
so we said goodbye to Susana. Towards the beginning the aid station area, we
met Grace from Texas .
Her boyfriend has lent her a tubular tire and she went through the spare. She
was waiting to hear if someone had a spare but she knew she was out.
We rode off and wished
her luck. She grinned back and accepted that sometimes, that's how things are.
About two miles down,
however, we stopped. Lola was still thinking about Grace.
She asked aloud if she
should go back and lend her the mountain bike so that she could finish.
I turned my bike
around because I knew Lola wouldn't stop thinking about it. And as I followed
her back, watching her sprint off, I knew that what Lola wanted was what
everyone who has ever competed in the race wants: to finish. Her honest and
innocent desire to give that woman every single chance to finish a monumental
feat as the likes of an Ironman had me sprinting on her heels.
Because I wanted her
to finish too.
We found out that
because every single competitor is photographed with their bike upon racking, a
bike replacement was not allowed.
"I really
appreciate the thought," said Grace as we shook hands.
I do too, Grace. I do
too.
------------
Fer Maraton at the Cozumel Ironman 2011 |
Back in town, the run
for the pros was well underway. We decided to park our bikes and get something
to eat before everyone else came back. And from the large windows of the
supermarket cafe, we watched the torrential downpour force everyone to take
cover as we ate.
After the rain, the
thunderous roar of biplanes flying had everyone looking to the sky. The planes
flew so close to the ground that had this been the States, the FAA would have
been going absolutely bonkers.
We walked a little
further up the street to wait and staked out a spot on the center island. I
turned just in time as Fer Maraton came running up. I was shouting at him like
a mad woman, excited to see him. He motioned urgently at his hand as he passed
a bundle of cloth he had in his hand to me.
"I LOVE YOU,
FER!" I shouted as he ran off. I was giddy with excitement.
That was, until I
looked at what I was holding in my hand.
That sort of looks
like a ... chamois from a pair of ... BIKE SHORTS?!
I was holding Fer's
sweaty bike shorts, inside out, with my hand right on the chamois.
"I HATE YOU,
FER!"
I promptly put the
shorts in a stray plastic bag and looked for something to clean my contaminated
hand with.
--------------
Ruben Grande at the Cozumel Ironman 2011 |
Ruben Grande, a
well-known local triathlete, ran by and I ran with him. My respect and
admiration for the man is something that I hold near and dear to my heart. He
was smiling when he commented to me, "You've lost quite a bit of
weight."
I marveled. He was
doing an Ironman, running the marathon portion where others were careening into
barriers because they were so depleted of energy and here he was, smiling and
talking to me as if it were a chat over two lattes.
I turned back with a
smile on my face.
----------------
Hanging out with Team
Tekilo, I found out that he had gotten a flat on the bike and was only just finishing
his first lap. When he appeared, I ran down with him to the bend and we ran
back with Heriberto, the two of us urging him on.
I ran with him until
he could run no more. The silence between us was filled with his determination
to finish and my words.
"You ran a half
marathon every single day for a whole month. Don't tell me you can't do this. I
won't accept this of you," I said. He walked and his gaze found something
interesting on the ground before him.
"You're my
hero," I said softly.
"No," he
replied. "You're my hero."
Heriberto and Irapuato at the Cozumel Ironman 2011 |
I bit my lip. I didn't
know what to say. There was a gratitude so great that filled all those empty
spaces in the air between us. How do you thank someone who has read your words,
heard your stories and wanted to feel what you felt and make it his own? How do
you thank someone who wants to emulate the passion you feel for something and
has far exceeded all expectations? It was the greatest compliment paid in the
humblest of all terms and shown with all the noblest intentions.
I was trying to not
speak so that he wouldn't notice how thick my voice had gotten.
He sent me back with
his half-finished bottle of electrolites.
"I'll see you at
the finish," he said and kept walking. I didn't have the heart to tell him
I had to go. That I couldn't stay on the island. That the last ferry left at 9
p.m. and it was 8 p.m. And I had to work the next day. I felt like a traitor
and tried to explain it to Joice. She said that he'd understand and that he
appreciates everyone being there for him.
And I thought about
the last two years, how Irapuato
was there with me in the final 500 meter stretch of the Cancun 70.3 Ironman.
And I wasn't going to be there for him.
I felt like a douche.
--------------
Triathlete, who pedaled 180km on a regular bike without a prosthetic leg, on the run |
He was completely
gaunt and looked like he lost a couple of pounds that day but at 12:04, Fer
Maraton finished his first Ironman.
And as we drank a
mojito, I thought about all the people who have ever read my chronicles and how
they start to believe that maybe, just maybe, the sky is the limit. How they
will never fall again because believing is contagious. And how powerful they
realize that they always have been.
---------------------
Maybe you've never
done more than just walk at work from your seat to the bathroom. Or maybe you're just starting to run. Or
maybe you're not willing to stop eating pizza to lose weight. Maybe there're a
lot of things that are stopping you.
But that didn't stop
Ruben Grande. That didn't stop the triathlete who pushed the one pedal of her
bike for 180 km .
And as much as they wanted to throw in the towel and stop the madness, it
didn't stop Fer nor Irapuato
either. Because even though it started being just about you, it has become
about everyone. About all those people who told you you were crazy. All those
who tried to convince you to drink well on into the night when you had get in a
cold swim early the next morning. All those who told you to get your ass on the
bike when you couldn't even get out of bed. All those who stood through rain
and broiling sun, waiting for you to pass by just so that you knew that someone
was waiting for you.
All those people who
wanted to remind you that it became about them as well.
All those people who
only want you to finish because they know how much it means to you.
All those people.
Like you.