(Not a) Race Report
The view from the other side – volunteering at IM Frankfurt.
A 02.30 alarm on a Sunday is never good, but as my seven hour volunteer shift at Ironman Frankfurt
started with a briefing at T1 at 04:00, it was essential. Also, as the weather was forecast to top 30
degrees in the afternoon, the cooler early morning shift suddenly seemed quite attractive.
T1 volunteers cover everything from giving you the ‘go’ at the swim start, to collecting special needs
and after-race bags, to applying sunscreen to athletes before the bike start. I had done the bag drop-
off tasks before, so put my hand up for that.
First thing; change into the thoroughly unflattering volunteer t-shirt and hat, before setting up the
bag drop station with tables, signs, spare bags, etc.
And then it starts – first a small trickle of bleary eyed, nervous-looking athletes. Right now, we have
the time to answer questions and help with split bags or lost number stickers. As the numbers of
athletes slowly increase, it is all we can do to keep up with the sheer number of white after-race bags
that need to be put into the back of the truck that will take them to the race finish.
The pros are out in force – Kristian Blumenfelt, Cam Wurf, Magnus Ditlev all hand their bags in early.
If you have ever been stressed at a race start, it might help you to know that even these guys get
nervous, and forget fundamental things like writing race numbers on the Special Needs bags (I’m
looking at you, Gustav Iden )
As the race starts, we form a human chain and get over 2500 bags into the van.
A quick break, and then get in place to take the blue transition bags from the swim finishers. At first
the athletes are clearly chasing good times, and sprint from the changing tents to the bikes, flinging
their bags at us on the way so as not to lose any time. Then the mood starts to shift, and we see the
athletes who are taking their day at a slightly more relaxed pace. There is laughing and joking, and a
lot of high-fives for us, as they set off on their 180km bike ride.
As the sun gets hotter, the pile of blue transition bags grows ever larger, and so does the number of
distraught athletes running back to us from their bike as they realise they have forgotten their bike
computer / race belt / nutrition / sunglasses. Armed only with a race number, we then start to
rummage through the identical bags desperately looking for the right one. It is like the jumble sale
from hell. We find every bag; some athletes have to wait longer than others, but all are extremely
grateful, and carry on with their race.
As the last athletes get on their bikes, the happy mood shifts we start to see those who have not
finished the swim at all, or who have not met the cut-off time. I am asked to escort the last woman
(who did not make the swim cut-off) to collect her bike. She is in the 65-70 age group, and tells me
that she started this race a few years ago, but did not finish the bike in time. She has flown all the
way from her home in China to try again. She then starts to sob as the reality of a second DNF hits
her. I get quite emotional at this, give her a big hug and say that I hope to see her again next year – at
the finish line.
As we come towards the end of our shift, we break down the changing tents, remove the race
numbers from the bike racks, and load another 2500 bags (blue ones this time) into the van.
By 11:00 we are finished – hot, tired, and enjoying a cold drink.
For two days I dream about transition bags.
Roll on next year.