Then there is the wait – the excitement of the swim over, where lots of fans are rooting for their loved ones – kids asking ‘is s/he here yet?’ – sprinting from the end of the swim to the bike transition point, trying to catch a glimpse, a smile, a ‘hey you – you did great’ moment – supporters relieved that the first stage is over. Excitement. Adrenaline pumping. Lots and lots of chatter.

Then the mass exodus – some of us with nowhere to go just ramble around the town, looking for a quiet spot to read, dream, sleep. Families discussing their next move. Hoards climbing into buses to continue the tracking of their athletes – the waving, the shouting, the encouragement. Volunteers getting ready for the next stage – food, refreshments, setting up for the next transition, cleaning up after the first stage.

But the time flies quickly enough – after all there’s lunch to be had, and you know there must be a glass of wine with your name on it somewhere. So you do the responsible supporter thing – you pack up, take a cool breezy walk around the town, find a restaurant and monopolise a table for as long as you dare.

But your brain can’t really function in this supposed relaxed environment. You are enormously aware that your athlete is running the race of a lifetime. You check the tracker, over and over again. If there’s a glitch, you quietly curse the race organisers. If there’s a slow down in his time, your mind races to imagine all sorts of reasons for the delay. You spend your time moving from one part of the course to the other until you realise that ‘Waiting’ is, in essence, the name of the game.

Your only option at this point is to work with what you have. Line up, like all the other supporters, and congratulate and cheer on those who are already crossing the finish line. Soon enough, your athlete will be making that last trek across the red carpet to the finish line receiving the now coveted acclamation of

“John Doe – You. Are. An. Ironman.”

(Some pics in and around Chattanooga)

There’s much attention paid to the athlete during an Ironman race and rightly so – with tips upon tips of how to train, what to wear, what to eat, when to eat. Lists upon lists of what to bring, where to put it, when to put it. But I’m yet to see anything addressing the needs of the supporter on race day. So here I am thinking it couldn’t be that hard – just do what the athlete tells you, when they tell you to do it and just don’t answer back. Fair enough, I thought. I could do that.

But as easy as it seems, it’s really not that easy. So here I am with a few tips for the supporter – actually just one tip.

BE PREPARED.

Be prepared to be the supporter of the race. First of all, you will need to identify yourself as a supporter. A cute outfit, a backpack with all sorts of stuff and a fancy camera looking like you know what you’re doing is just not enough. With that alone, you just look like someone stalking the athletes and wishing you were one of them.

You will need attire that screams SUPPORTER – in the first instance you will need to identify who you are and who you are supporting – and include a few words of encouragement as well. You will need supporter gear – placards, pom poms, arrows, flags, and a bell – don’t forget the cow bell – whatever will make you stand out from the crowd. It’s not really important for the athlete to see you – because believe me you are the furthest thing from their mind – as much as it is for the other supporters to feel that they’ve been ‘out-supported’.

You see no one tells you this but there’s a competition within this competition – the SUPPORTER competition.

Having understood this from early o’clock, I contented myself with the fact that my athlete didn’t care much about that. He knew his #1 supporter was there, rooting for him, praying for him, knowing that no matter what happened in the race, I couldn’t be prouder of his commitment, his determination, his strength, his courage. A true IRONMAN. MY Ironman.

(Some pics of true supporters)

Ironman – What does it take…

If you ever hear your spouse or loved one utter the words ‘I’m going to do an Ironman’ – RUN. Far, far away. And don’t come back until it’s over.

LOL just kidding….

You see, the energy needed to prepare for an Ironman is not only required of the athlete themselves, but those closest to them as well. The patience, the sacrifice, the ongoing support, can be physically and mentally challenging. Simply put, it’s a race that both of you will be preparing for – and similar to going through the renovation of a home together, this can take a toll on both of you.

In the first instance, know that there’s no list for a supporter – the focus is always entirely on the athlete. As it should be I guess, but sometimes we just need to take into consideration the athlete’s other half.

Take for example these simple questions –
• How many weekend excursions am I going to need to forego?
• How many hours of sleep am I really going to need – (8 hours every night for one year? Come on, that’s a lot of hours)
• How many going-out opportunities will I need to cut short?
• How many training stories will I need to listen to, remember and comment on?
• How many training schedules will I need to memorise?

The other side though is that you learn a lot of interesting facts –
• The number of calories in just about anything – one preserved date, one granola bar, 300ml of Gatorade, 10 Craisins
• You actually start reading the caloric values on menus at restaurants and choose the meal with the highest number of calories – go figure – because now it’s the highest number of calories that now matter.

But as an invested supporter you go with the flow, knowing that at the end of it all, the experience of the race is like no other, the excitement of each stage keeps your adrenaline pumping and, like a proud parent, you beam from ear to ear as if you too, have actually run the race of all races – the Ironman.

(Some pics from the start of the race)