Twas the night before Ironman, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The gear bags were packed in the transition area with care, In hopes that an Ironman I soon would become. The athletes were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of finishing glory danced in their heads. And Crowie in his recovery boots, and I in my compression tights, Had just settled our brains for one last night. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen pollen Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature tribike, and eight tinny triathletes. With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be Norman Stadler. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name! "Now Dasher! now, Carbs! now, Orca and Cervelo! On, Trek! On, Zoot! on, on Newton and 2XU! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to their bikes. So up to the start-line the coursers they flew, With the tribike full of Gu, and Norman Stadler too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the road The grinding and pedaling of each little pedal. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chute Norman Stadler came with a bound. He was dressed all in spandex, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with salt and Gu. A bundle of Gu he had flung on his back, And he looked like a newbie, just starting out. His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the salt line on his top was as white as the snow. The wrapper of a Power Bar he held tight in his teeth, And the aero helmet encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a lean belly, That didnt move when he threw his bike, like a thrower throws a shot-put! He was lean and muscular, a right jolly old German, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself! A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the bento bags, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, snot went flying! He sprang to his tribike, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew down like a peloton. But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he rode out of sight, "Good luck to all, and to all a good-night!" Good luck to all the Flying Irish who are doing Ironman CDA tomorrow!!!
Posted on: Sun, 23 Jun 2013 01:00:05 +0000