August 9, 1998 - Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania
1.2
Mile Swim, 46 Mile Bike, 12.6 Mile Run
http://www.wilkesbarretriathlon.com
(a.k.a.,
The
Wilkes-Barre Goose Step)
I’ve
been doing the Wilkes-Barre Triathlon since 1996, and it has always been a great
race to come back to. It’s a brutal course, it’s got a staff that’s been
running the event since the dawn of time, and you get to use the Penn-State
Campus at Wilkes-Barre to take a shower after you finish. Heaven! When
they announced last year that they’d be adding a Half Ironman race for 1998, I
was giddy.
But
early this year as I sat and planned out my season (once into IMC), I felt that
a ½ IM 3 weeks before IMC was too much. Thankfully,
I was convinced otherwise by the kind and wise IM vets on the list.
This was going to be my last major effort before the taper of tapers got
a high kick-off on Monday morning...so I just wanted to test the motor, test the
food, test the clothing, test the bike, and test the mind (or at least, see if I
could leave it in T1 and get on with the day).
Driving
up with fellow Dead Mark Markley (watching for flying trailer parts, I acted as
spotter) was as always, a mellow and calming affair.
Grooving to Phish, Bare Naked Ladies, and near drives end a little
G&R always helps to get me ready to go.
We did the registration packet pick up bit, and meandered around the
outdoor expo looking for fellow Deads. I
knew Tom Downs was coming, as well as Michael Parente...but figured it would be
easier to find them at the pre-race meeting.
At
the meeting, Mark was wearing his Tri-Deads T-shirt, and we both had the
juggling balls out, trying to make a quick buck for gas money in the seats.
In exactly one minute and eleven seconds, Tom Downs came up the steps and
asked “Is one of you guys Bob?” Cool.
Mission Accomplished.
As
you all know by now the race meeting was a tough deal, having to hear of the
Goose revolution at Harvey’s Lake, but what could we do? I felt bad for Tom
since it was supposed to be his first ½ Ironman...and for Mark who had hurried
to get his wetsuit repaired after launching the zipper in his last race. Mind
you the loss of the swim was one thing, but now the numbers had me perplexed.
This was billed as a ½ Ironman, but the bike was short by 11 miles.
The run was short by .9 miles. The
swim was now non-existent. Doing
the math...my final semi-epic day was reduced to 2/3 of 4/5 of a ½ Ironman. Not being an engineer or a math guy, this calculating effort
gave me a migraine...so I decided to stop thinking for the rest of the weekend
and just ride and run until I saw pierogies, then stop.
That
night, Mark and I drove the course with Tom in pursuit.
After 5 missed turns (Sorry Tom! Hope
we didn’t scare the wife and baby!), 4 illegal U-turns, and stopping for
oxygen twice on summits on the long course...I knew tomorrow was going to be
epic, regardless of the distance. I
had never seen such a technical bike course before, so I stressed to Tom
afterwards to just “Ride your race. Stay
cool, and just get to the run.” I
was saying it out loud so maybe I’d listen to my own advice...something I
rarely do.
After
setting up our T2 (T1?) gear, Mark and I took the bus ride to the start at
Harvey’s Lake. It was a normal
transition area...rack after rack of tricked out bikes, cool veterans, first
timers staring out into space, the occasional mountain bike racked next to its
ebullient pilot just happy to be part of the scene...but there was something
missing.
As
much as we tried to look past it, there was this beautiful millpond of a lake
only 30 feet away...calling to us like the sirens called Odysseus.
You wanted to swim, you NEEDED to swim...but you knew there was just no
way. I spent most of my time
hydrating, and to warm up I chased a random goose around in circles until I felt
better. While dallying about the
racks, I met Michael Parente...whom I’ve known from Eric Weiss’ posts about
running with him. He was decked out
in the TRI-DRS singlet, and promptly showed me a yellow card for not wearing
mine. I tried to explain that I was
testing my IMC gear...but to no avail. *
Sigh
*
It
was a surreal scene...as 400 creatures of habit were trying to deal with a
mammoth break in their race-day routines. The
chatter between athletes was constant, upbeat, and about 500 words per minute.
When the pros went off on their 5k, the applause was focused and loud...
probably because at least we all had something to do now.
In a flash, the men were back in around 16 minutes...not a one of them
sweating. Jerks.
They ran out of T1 with their bikes faster than I can run, period.
Amazing stuff. The women
came back and left just as quickly...and now it was time to go play.
The
time trial start would be an athlete every 10 seconds...starting at number 700
(the lowest ½ IM number) and working up from there.
I was 732, so some quick math (ouch...my head!) told me I’d only be
waiting just over 5 minutes. Cool...no
time to freeze up or lose focus. I
had done Time Trials before in my previous life as a collegiate and USCF
racer...so this was kind of like a reunion with my old self...”Just pick ‘em
off on the road...like carrots in front of a horse...one after the other...”
Suddenly, the timer was at my hip. “10 Seconds!”
I grabbed my rig...9...8...7...6...5...I have to pee...3...2...damn, why
now...1...GO!
I
went trotting out, hearing Tom Downs yelled out “Go Hurricane!”
I replied with the traditional “Woo-hoo!” and plodded to the road. As I pedaled out of the Lake, I knew I’d need to go about 5
miles before I would get a chance to pull over and heed the call of nature.
I averaged about 28mph on the mild downhill run, and pulled over as soon
as there were no buildings in sight. As
I was doing my thing, it occurred to me that I had stopped in the exact same
place 2 years ago...and that Bruce Grant had a moment like this is him IMC race
report...and man this is a really long leak if I have time to think of all this
stuff...and then I heard the USA-Tri motor pull up behind me.
I suddenly began to wonder “Hmm...is this good for an unsportsmanlike?
I need to ask Charlie when I get home.”
When they realized I was okay...just getting rid of the 2 liters I drank
while not swimming, they moved on.
I
settled back into rhythm, and grooved to the opening 10 miles of the course.
I remembered them from previous years, and it was a real ego boost.
The road swooshed downhill for the most part, until a hairpin turn into
the first climb of the day. As I
made the turn, the State Trooper guarding the corner suddenly called out over
his loudspeaker “YOU IN THE WHITE!! STOP!!
STOP!!!” As I was wearing
a white sleeveless, I hit the binders, stood the bike on its nose.
“YOU’RE UNDER ARREST!” He continued...and I thought “Ohh, man...I
should have ridden a few more miles before I took that leak...shoot!
What a way to start a taper....” “YOU
IN THE WHITE TRUCK!! STOP NOW!!” Zoom! A white truck tore by the turn, and sped down the road.
The trooper took off after it...and I knew I was no longer a wanted man.
I guess that truck had someplace to be, and just nonchalantly blew
through the turn despite the police presence.
I clipped in and tried to settle back down...since I now had a 2-mile
haul to make my legs stop shaking.
The
climb felt good, and I was calming down. My
heart rate was in the 160’s, but that was okay.
I knew it would be high most of the day, and as long as I was breathing
comfortably, no worries. The climbs
went by one after another...after another...soon, I wasn’t even paying
attention to the mile markers on the road.
Climb, drink, shift, descend. Climb,
shift, drink, descend. The course
was constantly up, down, and all over the place.
90 Degree turns in 40mph downhills, Roads that were paved over old
farming paths, so they had no rhythm or steadiness...you just went from a subtle
grade to 14% grind, and back down the other side at 50mph before taking the turn
at the bottom to start the next ridge. I
was drinking a bottle overy 30 minutes, and taking a GU every 30 minutes...and
that seemed to be working really well. I
needed to stop and pee again at about mile 30 (it was painted on the road right
below me), and sure enough... another USA-T motor pulled up behind me.
I yelled out “Just hydrated!”, and I saw the ref nod his helmet as I
finished up. Hmmm...hope that
wasn’t another penalty...got to ask Charlie about this.
My
heart rate wasn’t plummeting like it had at Blackwater where it never left the
130’s for most of the day. Along
the whole ride, I passed about 12 people, and was passed by 3...so I knew I’d
had a good ride as I rolled into a T2 that seemed to sneak up on me.
At that moment, I became very aware of how much my Ironman training had
shifted my perception. 45 miles,
even a brutally hard 45 miles...I just rode it.
No sense of time or urgency...just of being in the moment, and turning
the gear over. I finished in
2:19:54 on my watch...and some more quick math (ouch) let me know I’d missed
averaging 20mph for the first time in my long-course career...I’d hung on for
a 19.2mph average, but that was fine with me.
I felt good, and it was time to trot.
THE
RUN:
As
I racked my bike, I knew this was going to be a tough run.
The course goes out into some beautiful countryside...but cruelly uphill
most of the way. As Markley quoted,
I call it the M.C. Escher run course...uphill all the way back to the start. As I trotted out of T1.5, I felt the weather for the first
time all day...it was warm, but not hot. It
was breezy, but not windy. I just
felt comfortable...not kick back with a pizza comfy, but good enough for just
off the bike. As I worked my way
out on the course, you could tell the locals love this race, and were having a
blast with the whole Goose-poop endeavor. Everyone
it seemed had decoys out on their lawns for runners to abuse, and more than one
hose had a sign that said “No poop in this water!” As I finished my first loop, I had run each mile within +/- 2
seconds of the previous, despite the hills.
I thought this was a good sign. I
finished my first loop in 59:30. Not
smoking, but a tempo I could sustain.
As
I turned to start loop 2, a woman named Sharon Holliday came motoring in from
her bike ride...as bubbly as can be after climbing all over Northeastern PA.
“Hey There!” she greeted me. “Isn’t
this great?” she said...and I knew I had found a running partner for my second
loop. Unlike Blackwater, where
Sarah and I didn’t talk for 11 miles, Sharon and I didn’t STOP talking the
entire loop. She was the only woman
in her age group (45-49), and cruising through her first ½ Ironman, which was
really 2/3 of 4/5 of...aww, screw it. She
was having a great day, and her presence just made my day that much brighter.
She raced for Cycle Sports in Doylestown, PA...the same home shop and
team of Tom Downs...and Rob Hacker and Todd Wiley, two fellows in my age group
that basically drive around and win everything they attend.
As a matter of fact, you can see Todd Wiley in the 1997 IMH...he’s the
guy in the black singlet and Speedo finishing in the background of the Sian and
Wendy drag-crawl.
I
was so grateful for her presence...the time just cruised by.
Before I knew it, the second loop for me was almost done.
Sharon started picking up the pace, and the talking stopped.
I had to ask; “Do you negative split your races?”
She replied “Well, I try to...I usually run my second half of a
marathon 15 minutes faster than my first...” And with that she wished me well,
and set off for her second loop. She
had told me she wanted to pick off at least 12 people before she finished...and
was well on her way. I turned for
home, and tried to hang on to the tempo Sharon had set.
As
I ran down the final stretch to the finish...I had so much strength left over I
knew I had done this race right. I
had eaten well, I had drank well...and I ran my race.
I asked myself “Can you go
out and run another 2 hours?” All
I could do was smile. I knew the
answer...and I quietly enjoyed that moment to myself.
21 Days to go...and I today told me I was ready.
As
I turned down the chute, I heard Mark call out my name, and I just pumped both
fists in the air. It had been a
long time since I enjoyed a finishing straight, and I just bounded my way to the
stripe. I clocked a 1:57:08 run,
and per Sharon’s tow I had negative split my second loop by a full minute.
Sweet!
AFTERWARDS:
I
drank. I drank more.
I drank more than more. I
heard Mike Parente finish while I was in a port-o-potty, and used the acoustics
to make sure he heard me cheer. I
met Fellow Deads, including: Matt
Beaugard...who had suffered a Jane-Fratesi based Aero-bar launch during his race
but soldiered on, Rick..um...Rick. I’m
sure you have a last name, and in my post race stupor I didn’t write it down.
John Keenan, who survived the Long Course, and of course Tom Downs...who
survived everything the day threw at him to become a ½ Ironman of sorts. It’s okay Tom...next year, you’ll get that swim in!
It seemed everywhere I went, I was being introduced to someone else
wearing a TRI-DRS singlet or T-Shirt. Thanks
Chris Wyrick...I know it was a lot of grief for you, but you’ve made it so
much easier to meet up at these things!
I
also asked an official “Umm, what kind of penalty can I get on the road if I
need to heed nature’s call? Is that an unsportsmanlike?”
The official laughed and said, “That was you both times, huh?
Well, it could be breaking the public nudity rule, but as long as you
attempt to be discreet about it, no foul.”
Cool enough.
Now,
it’s taper time. My SO has made a
list of projects for me for the next 2 weeks, and has bags packed to move in
with her mom should I start getting slightly more ‘edgy’ than expected.
If any of you need extensions built on your house, let me know.
I can also wash windows...dust...paint...walk dogs...walk cats...