3. The Race

It looked as if a sea monster was plowing the Mediterranian. The first 15 minutes the swimmers stayed tight together but then they started to stretch out more and more. After an hour and a half I went down to the area where the swimmers were getting out of the water. I was trying to find a good spot for taking pictures. Then I waited. After 1 hour and 56 minutes since the beginning of the race, I spotted Scott. I could tell he had a rough time. He looked exhausted. I cheered for him as he paused for a moment to rinse under the shower. He looked at me with almost a smile and off he ran to his next battle. Ironman race is a battle. A battle of body and spirit. These guys don't compete against each other, they compete against physical pain and weakness. With each mile of the race they are becoming stronger. Not so much physically, but spiritually. It takes an ironwill to become an ironman. Another question - why do they need to go that far?

But let's follow Scott. I am running parallel to the wire fence with him on the other side, shooting pictures, yelling support and encouragement. In the rythm of the race he unzips and gets out of his wetsuit, pulls on his fancy bright green compression socks, then bike shoes and a helmet come on. Every move is a move forward. There is no time to waste, not even time for water and an energy bar. He picks up his bike and after one more smile he is already pedaling in the direction away from me. He is on the way to his new challenges and achievements. Here, in Germany, one of my friends told me: "It's a man's passion to conquer the world, do heroic deeds, prove their abilities." It seems like such an absurd philosophy of men. But nature arranged it so it would work. We love men for this craziness and not for lying on the couch.

Well, with the swim behind us, I started walking toward the apartment, relieved. We have a beautiful day ahead of us. Clear skies, blue coast, green mountains starting their ascend at see level - what a beautiful scenery! Scott will have an opportunity to see 180 km of Southern France! Of course, it's not an easy breezy bicycle tour, but I was a bit jealous.

The kids were already up, raiding the refrigirator. After breakfast we decided to observe the Sabbath and read an article from the Ensign conference issue. I tried to keep kids' attention to the spiritual lesson but kids tv chanel soon prevailed. I did not feel like going out with four kids. It was too hot and crowded outside. It's stuffy and boring in the apartment. But at least, everybody is safe inside and I don't have to constantly count heads. I was angxious for this day to be over. Vacation time is so much more energetic with our Dad.

...

Watermelon juice trickling down naked bellies, sticky hands are everywhere, soggy diapers running around, baby laughs get switched to screams and back. Nap time is over. Nadia and David are spread out on the floor trying to cool off, watching High School Musical for the 3rd time. Time to get out of here. Where is Scott now? I can't wait to meet him at the finish line.

The walk down the Promenade is beautiful. We pass the port with nice boats parked there. The evening sun splashes them with golden orange. The Mideterranian is magnificent torqouise blue. It conveys such serene yet mighty feeling. We steer our stroller around the bend where the whole Promenade is in view and, oh, my! The place is packed! The loudspeakers are booming, beaches are packed with tourists and Ironpeople's support groups.

Nice beaches are not stroller friendly. The stairs down from the bank are steep and the pebbles are challenging even for our 3-wheel drive super Bob stroller. We know that because we actually took those stairs, risking the lives of our babies when stroller got out of control and almost tumbled down. We also learned that pebbles are not only painful to walk on but also can be a deadly weapon in the hands of our twins. Just watch my innocent babies pick up warm smooth rocks only to smack them into my head. Ok, if it's mine. They almost hit a lady peacefully sunbathing nearby.
 
Mideterranian, as inviting as it looks, is quite deep right off the shore. It was another dangerous attraction for my kids. Nadia, a good swimmer, rides on the waves like a mermaid, which did not make me feel any less fearful. David was cautious enough to play right where the waves hit the shore, I just had to hope he would not get washed away. The twins were unstoppable little engines with no breaks. Seriously, these two need a polizei attached to them to make sure they don't hurt themselves and those around them. It's a good thing my Mom was with me. Time can't go any slower. I so need Scott to be done and help us out. Neither me nor my Mom had a chance to swim in the sea, not even once.

Babies are starting to fuss just as we sit down at the French restaurant. The first one we see. David insists on trying the sardines widely advertised in this area. Mom wants soup, and the only thing on the menu is the Poisson Soup (fish soup). It takes forever to get our food. Is it because the place looks fancy or is it because they had to go catch David's sardines?! Babies behavior is starting to draw unwanted attention. Mom buckles them in the stroller and takes them on a walk away from tablecloths and fancy goblets. 8 pm. I am thinking about Scott finishing any minute now, I am so ready to go to the finish line, where is our food?!

Sardines turned out to be a big dissapointment. Too many bones and they smell like "garbage" said Dave. Bread was great. Especially with suspiciously looking Poisson soup. That fish soup was not any old fish soup, it was da bomb! Authentic, French, yummiest one ever! Everyone turned their attention from sardines to my Mom's bowl of soup. We also ordered pizza to go for Scott to eat after the race.

After dinner Mom took Ethan and Levi back to the apartment while we sped through the streets of Old Town back to the Promenade where the finish line was set up. It was getting darker. I was afraid we might have missed him. We found a place where kids could jump out and run the last bit with Dad. He likes that. So here we were, waiting, straining to see our Dad's green socks. . .

It was 9 pm, 9:30 pm, 10:00 pm, at which time the race was officially over. But we stayed where we were, still waiting, because more people were still finishing, and maybe Scott was among them. The fireworks celebrating the end of Ironman Nice 2011 did not feel right. Cheerful sounds of the after the race party moved further and further away from us. It was dark and we were among the last few left, still hoping to see him.

Then, it was time to proceed to plan B. We agreed that in case we don't see each other at the finish line we'll go to our meeting place, which was the naked guy fountain on Malaussena. 11 pm, on we go, our feet are sore from walking, David is starting to whine and Dad's pizza is getting cold.

Scott's not there. I start to panic, but we walk back to the finish line, where we start asking the organizers to check if the yellow bike number 1499 is still there. It is! And the bag with his wetsuit and bike helmet and shoes is there too. It means he had finished the bike! He did not crash! He was either still running or being helped at the first aid station. I asked them to make phone calls to find out where exactly he was at the moment.

Waiting again, eyes fixed into the endless blackness of the sea, holding hands tighter, praying silently. . .