The Parking Lot of Ironman

I wish I could have been in John's mind on that dark, misty journey out to Johnson's Beach. I'm hoping he might find the inspiration to write his story down here too, but I won't hold my breath. He is much too private. Due to darkness, we could only imagine the sweeping vineyards we were passing through, but there was some comfort that although a little behind schedule, others were in the same shape. I can't remember what was spoken on that drive out. I was focused on not losing the bagel that I was praying would somehow see me through the long morning. There was this overwhelming sense of "ill", nerves, adrenaline, worry, excitement, stress, pride...amazing pride. We followed the caravan of cars into a big, grassy lot on the other side of town from the river. It was dark, and time was flying by, and no one wants to be late to set up your stuff in the transition corral...but that was what was looming for us as the guys put together their bikes and filled tires in that parking lot.