Tears for the Ironmen

It seems like that every for the past few years I've managed without planning to watch the television broadcast of the Ironman Triathalon. It's usually 1 1/2-2 hours long, well narrated, showing the stories and highlights of the all-day event. I think I realized today that the sports I like are all amateur sports. I love the Olympics, marathons (when people don't lose their heads about it -- or should I say their lunches), triathalons, and the like. I like that there's not much equipment, no big paychecks, and relatively insignificant steroid use.

So today when I got home from school I turned on the TV and found the show half over. This year, a 6-time competitor from Australia, who narrowly lost last year, took first for the men. A first-time competitor, who started running to lose a few pounds, won for the women. I love the scenery, the sportsmanship shown by people competing in such a grueling event, the man-against-nature conflict. But mostly I love the stories. And inevitably, I cry watching the stories of the true amateurs -- the father who competes with his physically disabled son, towing him in a raft during the swim, carting him in a special seat during the ride, pushing him in a cart during the run. I cry at the 75-year-old nun who's done 300+ triathalons and more than 33 Ironmans, who this year didn't make the cut-off at the bike exchange to be able to finish the race. Or the Japanese teacher who missed the cut by 3 seconds and wasn't allowed to finish. I cry at the lady with cystic fibrosis who ran across the finish with a 7-year-old little boy touched by the same disease. At the first-timer who rolled across the finish line in honor of Jon Blais, who did the same thing when he finished the Ironman two years ago, sick with ALS and less than two years from dying. I cry at the 65-year-old blind grandfather who competed with a guide and finished with his three grandchildren in tow. I even cry when I see Andy Baldwin, the military doctor who was the Bachelor two seasons ago, finishing his 5th Ironman.

I don't know what it is about this and not other things that make me cry. I would never cry for a football game or a baseball game, although the national anthem almost always gives me goosebumps. It's not enough to make me ever want to try it myself, but I hope that for years in the future, I accidentally see the show on television again. It is, in the truest sense, touching.