My Iron Men

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My two sons did a half Ironman race in Waco yesterday. That’s Colin, the oldest on the left, and Jamie, my third child on the right. They were cheered on by their families, and I was a bit sad I couldn’t be there for the family fun. But I well know race days are long days.

I think mothers always worry about their kids, no matter the age—and I won’t tell you how old Colin and Jamie are because it makes me sound so old. These two will tell you their mother always worries for sure for no reason. But sometimes you hear of people collapsing during a race. One of my boys has a pre-existing condition which always makes me worry a bit more, though he brushes it off.

A half Ironman consists of a 1.2-mile swim, a 56-mile bike ride, and a 13.1-mile run, for a total of 70.3 miles. What I’m glad I didn’t think of until they told me last night was the effect of all the rain and flooding in Central Texas. They cancelled the swim because of swift current and debris in the water. Colin was bummed because the swim is his best event, the bike ride his hardest. Do you suppose they were actually going to swim in the Brazos?

I think they look pretty darn good for just having done what they did. Jamie texted me after the race, and Colin called on his way home to Tomball.

Once years ago they entered a half Ironman in Austin, along with Megan’s husband, Brandon. They got up at some ungodly hour, checked in with their bikes. It commenced to rain and rain and rain—and it was cold. Jordan and I were staying at the Holiday Inn right on Town Lake, and we kept worrying about that nasty, dirty, greenish-gray water. Fortunately, the entire race was cancelled; everyone went back to bed and met later for brunch.

I’ve always known I was blest—and the pictures from the race brought it home again—by four kids and their families who genuinely love each other and can’t wait to be together again. They usually include me in the fun. I’ve known too many families where there are estrangements, and I think it’s the saddest thing in the world.

I have, like most of us, had friends drop out of my life, and I often quote Ann Lamott, who wrote that when people disappear from your life it means their part in your story is over. I can, with regret, accept that with friends, but never with family. I want to hold them close all the time.

Half the family

After the race,  presume