They came from Venezuela, Canada, Australia and across the United States — in everything from Abercrombie T-shirts to business suits and company badges — to register for the inaugural Memorial Hermann Ironman Texas competition. Nearly every hotel room in The Woodlands had been booked for a solid year in anticipation. Some registrants had several Ironmen behind them; a few brave souls hadn’t completed even one triathlon. Several just seemed anxious.

I was a registration volunteer. Which meant that, over and over, starting last Wednesday, I took a yellow number card from a soon-to-be Ironman Texas participant and handed it to a “runner,” who pulled a packet while I was Sharpie-anointing a folded swimcap (green for men, maroon for women) with the registrant’s last two numbers followed by the first two on each side. (Once on a head, the full number shows correctly in the back and in the front.) With the retrieved packet, I wound through my spiel like a telemarketer, pouring its contents out onto the table and explaining each item.

I quickly learned that everyone had a story.

Number 2442 had run the Pike’s Peak marathon numerous times, swearing it was even more difficult downhill than up: “Catch a root, a rock, and you’re flat on your face.”

Number 1220, a self-described “Whataburger-lovin’ alcoholic” two years ago, has lost 300 pounds since then, and completed numerous triathlons, but this was to be his first Ironman.

An Argentinian with five Ironman races under his belt came in to register along with friend and translator #1433 — Gonzalo Portas-Hernadez , who’d done 27 of them.

Number 1841, Houstonian Pete Neubig “came out of retirement for this one,” training with Trent Stephens of Shama Cycles to get himself back into Ironman shape.

There’s good shape; then there’s Ironman shape. Some keep super-fit between races; others don’t.

“You work out 20-25 hours per week,” said fellow volunteer Amy. “Yeah; these people are ready [for the race]. They’re about to jump out of their skin, they’re so ready.” Amy had done Kona; Amy had done Cozumel. “They’re prepared,” she said, of the nervous ones. “They just don’t believe they’re prepared.”

All body types and ages

Though many registrants had the expected sinewy body types, overall, the athletes’ bodies were as varied as their age range (from 17 to 70). One who stood out, even among this athletic crowd, was #54 — UK professional Corinne Abraham, sponsored by Trigirl clothing — who was excited to be “in the Lone Star State — Lance Armstrong Country!” and has a body type so perfect in musculature it compels a double-take.

In the world of Ironman, Kona (the Ironman held in Kailua-Kona every October) is a big deal. Amy considered herself extremely lucky to have won the lottery to be able to compete in it. Ironman Texas is a qualifying event — 65 slots to race in Kona will be offered to participants — which has helped make it so popular among participants that its slots sold out.

“Road To Kona” T’s were on sale in the merchandise tent, along with so many other appealing items that one contender, upon reaching the register after 15 long minutes, let out a whoop and yelled, “Made it through the line! The race is gonna be easy!”

Tents outside of registration and merchandise included Powerbar, TriggerPoint Therapy, Blue Seventy swim gear and others: all race prep buying needs anticipated and covered.

Thursday saw many more bikers on Woodlands streets than usual. Business lunch had one uninformed diner wondering, “What is up with The Woodlands? Are y’all just all über athletes, or what?” Local residents are a relatively healthy group, but this week the super-fit men and women, veins bulging, had invaded Market Street. Though not known to eat “comfort food,” gourmet or otherwise, a number of hardy bodies were dining at Jasper’s, perhaps to store up some calories for the competition?

Early Friday night was a time for participants to mix and mingle even as the finish gate was being constructed. I caught up with Carrie Barrett and her group from FOMO Training in Austin. FOMO, listed in the UDD as “Fear Of Missing Out,” is also “Forward Motion” or “A Future of Motivating Others” to this group. I asked about the influx of new bikers I’d been seeing everywhere, and they told me those must have been short rides, “just to make sure the gears work.” Further, “we’ve been tapering [training] for three weeks, and now we’re all feeling fat and out of shape.” Hardly.

Armed with Sharpies

Early Saturday morning, about 60 of us volunteers — some dressed in the designated disco theme — were armed with Sharpies and prepped to mark each body for visibility in water and into the afternoon running portion. The race number went on each upper arm; the age-at-end-of-year (USAT age) on left calf.

“If it’s their first race or they’re really anxious, you’re the sympathetic bartender they might see for a few minutes” as a body marker before the race, according to fellow volunteer Bob. But, what we witnessed at 6 a.m. was joyful, not jittery. The Doobie Brothers were blasting. The atmosphere was lighthearted.

Number 695, age 56, approached us, saying, “I need two young guys!” Upon request, smiley faces were drawn onto her right calf. When one athlete asked that we also marked his elated young son, we did, using his father’s number on the small upper arms, and an “8” on his lower left calf.

The loud rock music pumping through the jacked-up speakers on top of the start gate, the excited crowd of spectators, and the insanely large number of green caps bobbing in the water getting ready for the “go,” while hundreds more entered the gate, brought the energy to a crescendo. And then, as the waves of undulating green disappeared into the horizon, everyone left, crossing the bridge over Lake Woodlands in search of the Market Street Starbucks and the next transition area.

High — and low — points

“It’s important to know that there’ll be more than one low point,” says native Houstonian John Neese, who began doing marathons since 1997 and triathlons last year. “It’s not like you’re going great, you hit a low point, and that’s it. You have ups and downs. Tris prepare you for that.” So, what does an Ironman tell him- or herself, when that low hits? “Just go, go, just keep going,” says Amy. “It’s so mental.”

Just by following the crowd, the bike transition area was easy to find. Swimmers came through one by one to become bikers, finding their bike by number in a sea of them. The streets were lined with spectators who spent hours watching and clapping during biking and more hours watching and cheering during the marathon final 26.2 miles of the race. I recognized a few of the runners. They looked very different than they had when I’d drawn their number on their legs and arms early that morning: Tired yet determined.

A euphoric electricity circulated as the 2,500 competitors marked an end to training, balancing on the edge of a major accomplishment, taking a risk that their bodies would hold up and “You are an Ironman” would be spoken. It was a contagious excitement.

Something about Ironman Texas up close and personal made me want to (1) get to the gym, (2) attempt a half marathon, and (3) ignore any fatigue that starting the day before 4 a.m. might have caused. After all, these thousands of people were running a full marathon in 90-degree heat, after they swam in a current for over an hour, followed by roughly 60% of the MS150 bike ride. Very inspiring.