Timing and...timing

This past Saturday was the Central Illinois Open Water Swim, consisting of a 1.2- and 2.4-mile timed swim. Paula and I are learning timing for Planet Adventure, a local race organizer here in Indianapolis, and this event was our first time going solo. We really didn't know what to expect, but were planning on having some hiccups with the hardware and/or software, since that seems to be inevitable. We both wanted to arrive and get set up in plenty of time to deal with any potential glitches before swimmers went into the water.

After a much-too-early alarm of 3:15am and a sleepy-eyed 3-hour drive, we arrived at the race site in time to watch the sun come up over the water. Everything came together quite well with only one call to the Mother Ship for help, and we were ready to go. It was time to people-watch.

Swimmers began arriving and checking out the buoys, trying to get a mental picture of their upcoming swim. Some were visibly intimidated, others mildly anxious, others excited about the beautiful day and ready to go. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until...

An older (my age or so) swimmer came up and said, "My 93-year-old mother can't see so well. Can we ask the lifeguards to help make sure she finds the buoys?"

Yes, you read that correctly. 93 years old.

We directed him to the woman in charge of the lifeguards, who appeared to be as impressed as we were. She rounded up some of the people who were on paddleboards and kayaks, and let them know the situation.

The 2.4-mile group started first, and we got them off and on their way. It was time for the 1.2-mile swimmers to get into the water and ready to go. Number 162 walked by (the swimmers had their numbers written on their swim caps, arms, backs, and legs), and we decided that she had to be the man's mother. She was a tiny woman, trim, and her swimsuit was big enough on her that the rear end just kind of hung off her. Yet she didn't look frail, just old. The lifeguards and her son made sure she joined the rest of the group, and off she went. While she was in the water, we learned her name was Gladys, she was legally blind (she obviously could see something, but apparently not very much) and half deaf.

An hour and 43 minutes later, a kayaker and a lifeguard on a paddleboard herded Gladys into the finish chute, and she finished with a smile on her face. She was tired, but not exhausted. Her son brought her a chair and some water, and she sat for a while, resting and soaking up the compliments of everyone around her. I wish I had a photo of her smile.

In summary: The day started as simply another long-but-fun day. It ended with an inspiration. Gladys, I want to be like you. Ageless.