Dips, Turns, Splashes, Dashes, and Hope.
August 26-29, 1998
The
Sicamous dip. At first, it sounds like a flavor of the day at Baskin-Robbins.
Little did I know, this morning ritual would become one of my fondest
memories of the week. It’s
7:00am, but since you’re an East Coaster…even the clock seems to be kind to
you this early. The sun is just
stretching out behind the peaks to the East, but is still a bit shy at this
hour. The roads are empty, the sidewalks quiet.
The sandstone cliffs on the sides of Okanagan Lake hold the calm waters
in, as the mountains that surround the lake stand like guardians.
The world outside of their perimeter doesn’t exit or matter here.
At
the beach, there is a flurry of activity that contrasts the calm that surrounds
this place. There, people are
talking, laughing, introducing themselves to each other like long-time friends.
New faces, old names. Despite
my hate of early morning workouts, this is just too much fun to be work.
Each day, the group grows…the names become harder to remember, but the
positive energy is so unmistakable…you don’t dare miss its growth each
morning. Even as your body adjusts
during the week and 7:00am feels like 7:00am again…it’s still fun.
Cannonballs.
Vogue-ing.
Wetsuit seams that split at the worst times.
The first sunrays of the new day dancing through the water.
The
sandy bottom…30 feet away…that you can see.
I’m
already learning the big lesson: IMC is not a just a race…it’s a happening.
The race itself is just the most famous part.
After
the swim each day, the entire group finds its way to the Hog’s Breath Café.
Located at the 26 mile mark of the run course on Main Street, it serves
as the official breakfast meeting place for all triathletes on the planet in
Penticton that week. There are a
few tables outside on the lawn that are meant for 3 or 4 people at a time…but
not when we get there. After 2
hours of arriving Deads, RST’ers, and new friends, invariably a table for 12
comes together. The stories don’t
stop, the coffee keeps flowing, and the energy keeps growing.
The sun is warmer now, but not hot enough yet to be anything but a
comfort that just adds to your smile. “Hey
Jason…what’s the plan today?” we ask of our pied piper…and each day, a
plan was hatched over Peach muffins, Café Mocha, and the number 7 breakfast
special.
Today, the Splash and Dash. Tomorrow, the ride of the Marathon course with 40 people. Friday, the Bike Course Caravan. You look into the sun…and it smiles at you. Yup…it really is as good as it feels…for now.
As
someone who has finished last on several hundred occasions, I wasn’t at all
prepared for the worry I was hearing. I
had forgotten that not everyone loves sympathy applause…especially when
you’re new to the multisport game. “I’m
not worried, I just don’t want to finish last!
I’ve never finished last in anything!
I’m going to be the laughing stock of Penticton!”
No…it isn’t me on Sunday morning…it’s my honey…an hour before
the start of the Hog’s Breath Splash and Dash (500m swim, 3k run, and feast).
I had thought that if we did this race together…it would be a fun way to share
the multisport racing vibe.
Whoops.
Must have planned this one at the same time I imagined putting my bike
together with half of my tools in a hotel room would be a piece of cake.
“Hon…it’s
a costume race! You won’t be
last…I promise!” She stares
back at me. 1,102 miles to my
North, a glacier unfortunate enough to be behind me suddenly melts 12 feet off
its top. I figure that this is a
good time for me to shut up.
In
the start area, Eric Weiss has on a chef’s hat and spatula.
Mike Randall and Theresa are coming up with a swim strategy that involves
ducking underwater, breathing through straws, and sneaking back to the finish.
Gerry Kuse, Jane Fratesi, and Jason are just taking it all in. I have my
juggling balls for the run…but no goggles for the swim (duh). As we wade into the water (following the parade of athletes
complete with Bagpiper), I see people standing at the shallow turnaround.
Cool. I decide to run the whole swim, clearing a path for Lynda along the
way.
For
me, it’s simple: Have fun, and make sure we don’t finish last.
For
Lynda: Go like hell, and don’t finish last.
The
gun goes off, and I’m running, er- wading for all I’m worth.
Lynda takes off like the Miss Budwesier Hydroplane…and is swimming a
helluva lot faster than I can wade. While wading the other way, Eric waves his
spatula at me and heckles me for running! Mike and Theresa disappear…with
these 2 reeds moving together back where we came from.
Lynda
and I finish the swim in the middle of the field. The New Zealanders perform a complete Haka (Maori war dance)
before the run. I juggle.
We’re passed by Hogopogo (4 people in one costume), 2 overgrown peaches
throwing candy, and a man in a Toga. Martha
Grant waves ‘hi’ as we shuffle by one of the turns and are stopped by race
officials to bob for apples. As the
finish nears…the ugliest men in the race, The Spice Hogs, close in…but Lynda
hits the jets and drops me in the sprint. Not only is she not last (goal #1),
but she has run faster than any training run during the summer! (goal #2). I’m
proud of her…and over her first post-race dinner, I sense a quiet glow of
accomplishment. It may have been a
tad stressful before the start…but I could see it…that first taste of
post-race sweetness. It really is the same for everyone, regardless of the
distance covered.
One of our goals met…one to go.
Thursday
is the long-awaited ride of the marathon course. My bike appears to be behaving (for the moment), and this
should be the final shakedown before Saturday.
As we roll out of town 30 or so strong, Bruce Grant leads us down by the
canal that connects Skaha Lake and Okanagan Lake. Tubers are out enjoying the sun…and all applaud, yell,
whistle, and wave as our mini-peloton rolls past.
It feels good, and the energy is totally infectious.
As we get away from town, traffic becomes less and less of an issue…and
the field splits into smaller groups. At
the front are those who have serious ambitions for Sunday…pulling along at
22-25mph into a stiff, stiff headwind. I
hang for a bit, but after seeing my HR hit 177, I decide that’s enough and
stylishly drop the chain to the little ring.
After the meeting the group at the turnaround and picking up the
tailwind…I ride back with to town with Jason, Dave Barclay, and Tricia
Richter. I make note that the
marathon seems long on a bike…but the scenery provides ample distraction.
On the way home, Jason’s bottom bracket starts creaking like a Kenmore
in a dorm basement, so we decide to hit Bike Barn for a checkup.
As we come rolling into town, Tricia and Dave start singing Blur’s
‘Song One’ (“WHOOOO-HOOO!”). I
don’t know any of the words…so I just ‘whooo-hooo!’ along at the right
times.
Jason
unclips and carries his steed into the shop for a quick check.
Jason
returns and says “All is well…they say ride it until it breaks.”
Did
I mention that Jane Fratesi arrived in town on Tuesday night?
Back
in the parking lot at the Lakeside after everyone leaves, my rear wheel goes ‘klunk’.
It shouldn’t do that.
Not now.
I
shake it side to side, it goes ‘klunk’’klunk’’klunk’.
Loose
bearings.
It’s
a new wheel.
This
is a bad thing.
Back
to Bike Barn for the 3rd time this week.
At
the Bike Barn, the mechanic says “Hey…where’s the rest of your pump?”
Instead
of a mini-pump, I have a cylinder with no handle on it.
It
was there this morning.
My
headset is also strangely loose.
I
weep openly, and without shame.
Phoenicia
will stay overnight at Bike Barn for repairs…but I need to get to the heart of
this matter.
The
next morning at the final group swim, I hand deliver one bag of Hershey’s
Cookies and Mint bars to Jane Fratesi, and beg for her curse to be lifted from
my faithful steed for race day. This is getting bad enough to give me
nightmares…and it must be stopped. As
the whole group gets a good chuckle about Jane’s Jinx and my bike woes…
I try not to think about the stem. I really try not to think about the stem.
Friday…only
2 more days of stress to go. During
this Ironman week, a troubling pattern has developed for me.
More thank bike woes or jitters…The day starts out well as always with
the dip and the breakfast meeting…but then as the day progresses, things just
go South. Sometimes late in the
day, sometimes early…but something always happens.
I just suddenly find myself an emotional wreck for the most ridiculous of
reasons: how can I finish if my bike keeps breaking…I haven’t run this
week…I don’t belong here…what if I DNF…I’ll be failure to all my
friends…all sorts of random, bullshit thoughts.
I’m
learning that the Ironman will wring your soul out of anything and everything if
you let it.
I
ask around to everyone I can…is this normal?
Am I going crazy?
Eric
Austin summed it up perfectly: “Hey
man…this week, you’re married to the race.
Don’t worry about it. Everyone feels like that.”
I feel bad that Lynda has been putting up with a lot of mood swings…and
now I find myself just wanting to get to Sunday and get this damn thing overwith
before it gets any worse.
My
father comes to meet me that afternoon. After
a 7 year bike racing career and 4 years of college swimming, this will be the
first race of mine he’s ever attended. He’s run 4 marathons…and pretty much knows where my
mental state is right now. I figured he’d join me for the Bike Course Drive,
but he takes one look at me and sees a head spinning with far too much to
process. He just smiles and says
“Go with your friends this afternoon and don’t worry about it. You need to get away from all this. Really.”
Eeek…I didn’t know I looked that bad…but Lynda agrees, so despite
instincts that tell me I’m abandoning my duties to make sure everyone I
brought here has a good time all the time (reasons #23-44 why I’m a walking
nervous breakdown), I go.
The Caravan? Picture a college road trip, but with older kids. The Overwaitea food stop…the ultimate grocery store. Ice Cream from the Husky station at Richter. Chalk. Pictures. Our van: John Kuhn and wife way in the back. Dave Barclay. Tricia Richter. Monty Python. Mike Tennant telling me he user to live in the Statue of Liberty as a Ranger. More Monty Python with Dave. Tricia telling up to stop the Holy Grail recital before we made her sick. More chalk. Fruit stand stop. Eric scribbling stuff for me. I scribble back. Mountains, mountains, mountains. This course is hilly, but looks pretty…just like the marathon course. Yellow Lake seems long in a car…but I figure I’ll be so spent by the time I get here…it won’t matter. The downhill looks inviting…and Tricia says that if you ride slow enough, you can see the marathon on the other side of the lake as you descend. I make a note to check right come Sunday.
At
the carbo-loading dinner Friday night, the race organizers put together a
tribute to a gentleman named Don Lorimer…a triathlete who will be doing his
first Ironman Canada on Sunday…posthumously.
This past Monday…he had a fatal heart attack swimming in Okanagan Lake,
and passed away. In tribute…the
directors ask for everyone to applaud and cheer…as if Don was coming in to
finish his first Ironman. The place
erupted into such a moving ovation…I just started crying right then and there.
I wanted to get this man across…just like I wanted everyone in the room
to finish, but I knew that on race day that just couldn’t and wouldn’t be
true. Hearts would be broken and dreams would die out there….
…and
it scared the hell out of me that mine might be one of them.
That
night in the room, packing my gear bags…I was thinking on only one thing:
2 more days, and this will all be over.
2 more days, and this will all be over.
2 more days, and this will all be over.
Saturday
morning, I handed in my gear bags and my bike.
As I watched my rig get rolled to her rack spot…I felt different.
All
around me…volunteers were finishing the setup of the transition area and
finish line.
In
a moment, I caught a glimpse of the wisdom of so many Iron Veterans:
It
was simply too late for me to worry now.
All
I had to do was show up on time, and give it all I could.
As
I turned and walked away from 1,791 dreams all lined up in their rows, I
didn’t look back.
I
had the deepest and most peaceful sleep of my entire week on Saturday night.