Yesterday, the inaugural Ironman Boulder took place. Boulder has long been considered by triathletes to be the "Mecca" for triathlon, so it only should be natural that there's an Ironman event in the place that so many triathletes call home.
T and I wrestled around with the idea of signing up for it, but with Ironman Arizona being the priority, we figured training for it would be too tough. Also, this area is generally predictable in August: hot, hot, hot, and more hot. Therefore, we wanted to see what it'd be like before we took the plunge.
I bid for the day off and we signed up for our friend Carlos's bike marshal station. The job was pretty simple, all things considered. I kept people going straight at mile 109.9. In addition to helping out a lot of cyclists, I was looking forward to seeing fellow MX12 athletes out there, as well as my friend Richard.
So for 6 hours, I stood, waved my arm, clapped, cheered, and was simply inspired. At one point, standing out there, I realized that the Ironman is my arena. It's where I belong. If you didn't read my last blog post, I bluntly describe my year and why I'm in the place that I'm in. Yet yesterday, watching these athletes ride, I realized I was in this place not 9 months ago. I was there. Pumping my legs, finishing my bike, knowing that I was going to be an Ironman at the end of the day.
I told a lot of the athletes late in the bike that they made me proud. Because they did.