Volunteer

A couple months ago, my group of training buddies and I had just finished IM Coeur d'Alene and had entered the 'recovery' phase of the training cycle. That means we were either drinking wine or eating ice cream while watching preseason football with our feet up on the couch. At least, that was my interpretation of 'recovery'. I mixed it up one time and poured red wine over vanilla ice cream. It's pretty good. I let the ice cream melt a little then stirred it up and drank it like a milkshake. Don't knock it until you try it.

So one day, we were trying to figure out how long we could extend the recovery thing before we clogged up some of the important arteries when somebody decided that we should sign up for Ironman Arizona 2013. At the time, it sounded like it might be sort of fun and it was so far in the future, it didn't really seem like a big deal, so I said sure, let's do it. In retrospect, it's like Archduke Ferdinand deciding to take a couple days off in Sarajevo. He probably asked himself, “What's the worst that could happen?”

So a few weeks ago, we are making plans to sign up for the event. All I want to do is pay 700 bucks for the T-shirt. It really is that simple. I could save myself a lot of pain and trouble if they just asked people if they wanted to pay the 700 and compete, or pay the 700 and get the shirt. I bet a lot of folks would go the easy route. I could save a lot of people a lot of pain and injury if they would just listen to my good ideas.

The problem with IM AZ is that it sells out within a few minutes. If you don't get in, you don't get in. There isn't a waiting list. So what you have to do is volunteer for the event the year before you want to compete. You fly down to Tempe, get a place to stay, show up the day of the event and hand out water or whatever it is they need help with. Volunteers get first shot at signing up. Duane and Jim and I did that. John followed a more circuitous route, but he is getting to the same end.

So we are getting on the airplane to go to Phoenix and there in the seat next to me is my buddy Tim and his wife Carin. Tim works for WSU. Tim and Carin and I went to school together. I think Tim is a president of this or that for WSU, I can't really figure out what he does. I think universities are like corporations, they hand out titles like Halloween candy. Whoever comes to the door gets a title.

Brrrinnnnggg! Brrrinnnngggg! “Trick or Treat!”

“Here you go, Mr vice-president in charge of watercooler consumption monitoring. Here you go Ms vice-president in charge of self validation and attitude optimization.” I think that is how it works, but I am not the vice-president of anything so what do I know?

I asked Tim and he told me what his title is but I immediately forgot because it was like seven words long. So I asked him what he actually does, but it doesn't make sense. He said he has to go to all the Cougar games and talk to people. That is his job. I call bullshit. Nobody has a job going to football games. Maybe if he held the yard marker sticks on the side of the field, I would buy it, but he said no, he goes to the games and talks to people. He doesn't announce the players as they run on the field, he doesn't hand out the football or flip the coin or hand out a face towel. He goes to the game and talks to people. And they pay him for this. Like I said, I call bullshit.

I don't know if it's me or what, but I think the Hindu's nailed it with the whole karma thing. It seems like for everything under the sun, there is balance. Remember that point, we will get back to it.

So while we are on the plane, I am talking to Tim and Carin and they ask if I am flying down Phoenix to go to the game. I had no idea it was an option. Apparently, the WSU athletic department heard I was going to volunteer for IM AZ, so they scheduled a football game in Phoenix so I could go to the game and volunteer too. Isn't that nice? Going to the game all the sudden seemed like a great idea. It was like I was walking through a parking lot and found a nickel and two pennies on the ground. All I had to do was pick up the money. It's free. That made my day. This trip was perfect and nothing bad could happen. I should have known better.

All is well. We were living off the fat of the land. With no effort or forethought, we fell into the perfect 78 degree, sunshine blessed perfect day. We left the rainy deluge that is Seattle and found ourselves in that dry, sun of the southland, you can be outside if you want to kind of day. We were all smiling and didn't know why. We laughed just because we were happy to be alive. So then, we pay 35 bucks to sit in the stands at ASU and watch the Cougs put the hurt on the Sun Devils. Some young ladies, beautiful in body and spirit, sit in front of us and giggle. All is well. Then, without warning, the sky opened up and doom descended and cast it's foul hand upon me. The game started and the smell of death passed my nostrils. I had to watch a bunch of thugs kick the living crap out of my Cougs. It was a disaster. On the first play, they sack our quarterback. On the second play, they sack our coach. On the third play, our coach's dog is pregnant. It wasn't good. So that was karma event #1.

We left at halftime crying like school girls. Speaking of school girls, there is a bar somewhere in Phoenix called “The Tilted Kilt” When I heard we were going there, I asked why it was called that. Somebody, I don't remember who, it might have been Duane, said he heard it was a pub with a tartan plaid interior decoration scheme. I think he said that there were bibles on all the tables and the servers were elderly snobirders looking to augment their fixed income. If we were lucky, we might get one of the servers to sing a Scottish folk song. Some of those octogenarians can really belt out a melody. Sounds perfect, I felt like I could drink a beer there and find solace in those peaceful surroundings. I was misled. They don't have a plaid color scheme at all. The walls are plain and if truth be told, not very clean. Well over half of the servers are not octogenarians at all. Anyway, we get there and whatever happened there is a mystery. I have no memory at all except it was about 4pm when we got there and we walked out five hours later and I couldn't see very well. It was dark and cold and I threw up a little bit in my mouth. I smelled like ladies perfume and chicken wings. So that is karma event #2.

We get up the next morning at o'dark thirty and drive to our assigned station to volunteer. We put in 5 hours of volunteer time. That gives us the right to sign up for IM AZ. So we thought. It actually isn't that clear cut. What it really does is it gives you the right to get in line to sign up. The logic goes like this; there are only so many spots available in any race. I don't think they publish that number, but I am guessing that it is around 2500 – 2800 racers in any race. The racers from the current race get first shot at the next race. That sort of makes sense. If a guy races 10 years in a row, and the race gets more popular, he should get first shot at the next race. It isn't his fault the race got more popular. So lets say there are 2600 slots and the race is full. Half of this years racers are going to sign up for next year. So there are 1300 slots open for next year. Now, there are 4000 volunteers and almost all of them I met were volunteering so that they could sign up for next year. Somehow, the math isn't working out. Anyway, we get in line and we estimate there are 1200 -1500 people ahead of us. It's hard to know for sure. It was a big line. We did eventually get to sign up and that's good, but I tell you all of that because while we are standing in line, we were talking to the people around us and mostly to three gals who were also volunteering so they could sign up. They were nice and seemed friendly. That is sort of the thing about Ironman. Nice people.

Anyway, as a wrap up, I am shooting for IM AZ 1 year from now.  I gotta start training.  Maybe tomorrow. After all, what't the worst that could happen?