I have always dreamed of
competing in an Ironman Triathlon.
When I discovered that Singapore
would be hosting the first Ironman
Singapore 70.3 I registered.
Only after clicking the "Submit"
button did I consider the amount of
time and energy it would take to
train for the swim and run portions
while cycle touring through
Southeast Asia.
Somehow I managed to squeeze in
afternoon runs after hours of
pedaling and found places along
the coast of Malaysia to flap around
in the sea to prepare for the swim.
As the big day approached and
fellow competitors began arriving in
Singapore I discovered that I would
be the only athlete doing the cycling
leg on mountain bike with touring
racks.
The gun sounded exactly on time
and thousands of swimmers took to
the diesel streaked sea.
Among the swimmers in the fist
wave was a young man who
appeared tentative from the start.
While the entire field rushed ahead
he slowly waded into the surf and
began performing what would best
be called a bobbing dog-paddle.
Looking on from shore as the clock
counted down to two minutes
remaining for my wave, I admired
his courage to brave the rough
waters of the Straits of Singapore
with such meager swimming skills.
Looking toward land I searched for
Amanda in the crowd as a
collective gasp spread through
those looking toward the sea.
The dog-paddler had gone under.
A hundred feet off-shore a tiny hand
waived frantically to the safety
kayakers. The surf was rough and
the kayaks were focused on the
faster swimmers. With just a
minute until our start my entire wave
group yelled to get the attention of
the rescuers. Two or three
competitors sprinted from shore to
attempt the rescue, prompting a
warning from the unaware
announcer, "Wait, Wait, we still
have 45 seconds."
competing in an Ironman Triathlon.
When I discovered that Singapore
would be hosting the first Ironman
Singapore 70.3 I registered.
Only after clicking the "Submit"
button did I consider the amount of
time and energy it would take to
train for the swim and run portions
while cycle touring through
Southeast Asia.
Somehow I managed to squeeze in
afternoon runs after hours of
pedaling and found places along
the coast of Malaysia to flap around
in the sea to prepare for the swim.
As the big day approached and
fellow competitors began arriving in
Singapore I discovered that I would
be the only athlete doing the cycling
leg on mountain bike with touring
racks.
The gun sounded exactly on time
and thousands of swimmers took to
the diesel streaked sea.
Among the swimmers in the fist
wave was a young man who
appeared tentative from the start.
While the entire field rushed ahead
he slowly waded into the surf and
began performing what would best
be called a bobbing dog-paddle.
Looking on from shore as the clock
counted down to two minutes
remaining for my wave, I admired
his courage to brave the rough
waters of the Straits of Singapore
with such meager swimming skills.
Looking toward land I searched for
Amanda in the crowd as a
collective gasp spread through
those looking toward the sea.
The dog-paddler had gone under.
A hundred feet off-shore a tiny hand
waived frantically to the safety
kayakers. The surf was rough and
the kayaks were focused on the
faster swimmers. With just a
minute until our start my entire wave
group yelled to get the attention of
the rescuers. Two or three
competitors sprinted from shore to
attempt the rescue, prompting a
warning from the unaware
announcer, "Wait, Wait, we still
have 45 seconds."