A worn bike rack sticker marks the location of a previous racer in an Ironman past. I wonder how Tod did?
Fifteen hours before race start, athletes begin to disappear from the streets. No longer are they jetting about on their bikes or running the last few miles. Training is over, it's time to rest, to prepare for the mental and physical challenge that is most rapidly approaching. Most are shrinking within themselves, looking for moments of peace and tranquility.
The Ironman roadies are working to transform Louisville's Fourth Street into the the race's finishing line. Streets are closed off, tents, flags, lights, carpets, music, all worthy of a Hollywood movie production. I looked at the worn carpet that marks the finishing line and couldn't help but wonder how many people have struggled to cross over it. How many people have spent months and months of their lives working and training; countless solo miles, following the endless black line in the pool, all to just arrive at this very same place?
A quiet night tonight. 0430 will come early enough.