A Salute To Ironmen...And Ironwomen

For about 10 hours Sunday, I floated about the finish line of the first Los Cabos Ironman Triathlon. If I heard it once, I heard it a hundred times - "Congratulations, Nancy - or Kathleen or Christine or Molly or Heidi - you are now an Ironman." Would it have killed the announcer - and I have to say, he sounded as enthusiastic, happy and proud for each competitor at midnight as he had at 3 p.m. - to say "Ironwoman"?

Calle Valerio Gonzalez Canseco never had less traffic

But maybe that would have raised gender issues that Ironman sponsors would rather not address. On the other hand, the Ironman organization is recognizing its 35th anniversary this year, so it has been around long enough to already have debated and settled the matter. I don't have a clue. Only a few of the participating women grumbled about the slight; most took it in stride. Before Sunday, I'd never even seen an Ironman Triathlon. I'd certainly never participated in one.

I was drawn to this one in large part because it was the first to be in San Jose del Cabo and because the organizers had put out a call for volunteers. I signed up and put in stints each of the key days, Thursday through Sunday. The first two days I worked the registration counter, where I was to greet incoming athletes, verify their papers and issue their credentials and assorted other things to confirm their participation. I got to meet people from all over the world - Australia, Germany, Costa Rica, Ireland, Panama, Wisconsin, Colorado, France. I met a woman from Argentina so happy to be taking on this challenge for the first time she couldn't stop beaming, and a septuagenarian from New Jersey who was about to participate in his 130th triathlon; he wasn't smiling as much - "This is costing my wife and I $4,000." Some 400 were from the United States, another 400 or so from Mexico, including a large contingent from Mexico City. I was issued my very own stapler, but what made me feel like a real Mexican bureaucrat was when I got to shake my head over their lack of documentation and direct them to the table where they were to fill out another form, to the copy machines where they were to print out copies of their passport or driver's license, and to the booth of the Federacion Mexicana de Triatlon where they were to fork over another 125 pesos (about $10 U.S.) for a slip of paper I had to staple to all the rest of their documents before I could strap on their wristband (to sign up, they'd already paid $650 each). They indulged my weak joke: "Congratulations, you've just finished the first of the three legs."

I looked forward to seeing many of them again, or at least to learning how they finished. As a group, they were fit - no surprise there - but also persistently positive, not at all intimidated by the course that awaited them, a 2.4-mile swim at dawn just off the beach at Palmilla on the southern edge of San Jose del Cabo, a 112-mile cycling race on a course that wound about San Jose del Cabo and Cabo San Lucas, and a three-lap, 26.2-mile marathon in San Jose del Cabo.

Winner Timo Bracht and his wife Bettina

I didn't, however, want to see any of them in the medical tent where I was assigned the day of the race, but I did; the positively giddy Argentine woman was brought in by ambulance after she faltered early in the cycling segment. I made the mistake of asking her what in the world she was doing on a cot, at which point she burst into tears. I never did see the guy participating in his 130th triathlon, but the list of participants after the race indicated he didn't proceed beyond the cycling leg. When I wasn't in the medical tent, I generally was at the finish line, casually and quickly sizing up the condition of the finishers and escorting most of them to the recovery area. On the long serpentine path to the cooling pools and massage tables virtually every participant said the Los Cabos course, which included a total vertical climb of between 5,500 feet and 6,000 feet, was the toughest they'd faced, even more challenging than the world-championship route in Hawaii. It didn't help that Sunday also was one of the warmer days of the year in Los Cabos, with the heat complicated by stiff and erratic winds.

Despite the camaraderie I saw in the registration lines and at informal gatherings leading up to Sunday, participation in a triathlon is basically a lonely undertaking, with each competitor having an individualistic goal - to improve their time, to qualify for the world championships this fall in Hawaii, to simply finish. No one said a word about the $75,000 in prize money. More than one said triathletes almost without exception are "Type A" individuals, which was enough to explain their gumption, sacrifice and dedication.

A few other observations:

- The bigger the guy, the more likely he was to break into tears when crossing the finish line.

- By and large, Mexican competitors finished the course in stronger shape that participants from the United States. Don't know what to make of that, but a disproportionate number of the Mexicans looked as fresh and strong at the end as they had at the start; very few ended up in the medical tent. Maybe they simply were more acclimated to the heat and the sun.

- A surprising number of finishers volunteered that the volunteers were doing a smashing job of providing support while they were in town, particularly during the race. A lot of those volunteers, incidentally, were youths, who virtually to a person were conscientious, energetic and focused, though at the end I was ready to throttle the girl who at every opportunity seemed to be grabbing my red "Medical" shirt and urging me to hurry up and attend someone who was throwing up in the recovery area; generally, all they needed was a little time to catch their breath, turn in their tracking chips and get their "Finisher" t-shirt before easing onto massage table, recovery mat or ice bath. Actually, I admired her spunk. No matter how dazed and exhausted a competitor, incidentally, they all had enough wits about them to grab that "Finisher" t-shirt and check that it was the right size before relaxing.

Kathleen Calkins cools off with husband Shane, son Brady

- As an old newspaperman, I continue to look for the local angle. I found it when one of the persons I helped register early on was Kathleen Calkins, from Gold River, a suburb of the California's capitol city, Sacramento, where I live when not in San Jose del Cabo. Turns out that while the principal newspaper in our home region hasn't done a feature on her she's one of the world's high-ranking triathletes, finishing fifth among the professional women with an overall time of 9:46:55, just 11 minutes and 21 seconds behind the winning woman, Erika Csomor from Hungary. The winning man was Timo Bracht from Germany with an overall time of 8:26:48. Calkins, who purely by chance I spotted during the cycling segment before starting my turn at the medical tent, was one of those competitors who looked as fresh and relaxed at the end as she had early on in the race.

The day after: cleanup time

- There were glitches in the running of the triathlon, to be sure, such as no clear and comfortable area for friends and family to reunite with participants, particularly those who ended up for an uncertain stretch in the medical tent. On the other hand, most of the long-standing potholes in the roads that constituted the course got patched, and even dreaded topes - speed bumps - got resculpted so they wouldn't jar or throw speeding cyclists. From the standpoint of a volunteer, the most serious shortcoming was poor scheduling, coordination and communication early on; few volunteers appeared to be given a date, time and assignment beforehand, and, like me, just showed up at Ironman central to be directed to a specific place and role. Though volunteers took this lack of foresight in stride, it is something that needs to be rectified before next year's Los Cabos Ironman Triathlon, which, incidentally, is to be March 30.