The
Blackwater Eagleman 1/2 Ironman
June 3, 1999 - Cambridge, Maryland
1.2 Mile Swim, 56 Mile Bike, 13.1 Mile Run
Executive Summary:
Finished
in 5:22:00, (5:18:00 without penalty). Swim:
39:46, T1 2:40, Bike 2:26:47, T2 2:26, Run (Meltdown) 2:06:23.
This
was to be my 8th try at this distance, and after my decent race at Columbia...I
felt as ready and prepared as I'd ever been to finally break the five hour mark.
I'd been close before (5:12 PR), but with last years wind and waves a
47:07 swim trashed any hopes of a decent time at Blackwater. Tupper was going well until I lost my GU during the run and
be-bonked my way in for a 5:14. This
time, I had a plan: 30 minute swim, sub 2:30 bike, 1:55 run.
Two sub 2:30 transitions would be needed to seal the deal, but I felt
that wasn't unreasonable. Friday night was spent with a close friend and former roadie
teammate, working on my positive mental imaging for Sunday.
I felt calm, focused, and relaxed. Unusual
for me. Saturday morning we mounted the bikes on St. Lynda's car (the
only one with a roof rack), folded Eric up and shoved him in the backseat, and
headed South.
We
arrived at Sailwinds park around 4:00pm, and were pleased to see that there were
no real lines for Bike Inspection. We
saw Mike Kelly and Rick Denney, who's number I was lucky enough to draw for my
inspection. With religious zeal he poked, prodded, bent, kicked, dragged,
tweaked my handlebars... trying to loosen the endplugs.
When I mentioned "Umm, Rick? Those
are AirStrykes?" (Which are made of one piece...no ends in sight)
he muttered something about knowing fake endplugs when he could smell
them...so I let him finish quietly. He
gave Mark's bike the same abuse...and Eric somehow got off lucky by buying an
entire case of Quic Discs and getting the Bonzai "Get your bike passed if
you give us a ton of cash!" special.
We
picked up our goodie bags, T-Shirts...and an added bonus: This year they used
wrist bands to mark the competitors...so the race had that "Ironman"
feel to it. Of course, this brought
about a problem for Iron Pete Priolio, who now had to figure out where to put
the most recent band as he was still wearing his IM New Zealand wristlet.
At this rate, he'll be able to get into any college bar of his choice in
about a year or so. (NOTE: That was
Mike Kelly's joke. I borrowed it.
You can have it back now, Mike!)
The Pasta Party was a meeting place, as always. We met Dead's and RST'ers (in no particular order): John Keenan, Mark Swanlon, Brad Spierman & Dad Spierman, A.J. Katinsky, and a few others. Vig's slide show was the same as always:
(Example profile for the bike and run: -------------------------------------- )
...and
soon it was time to head for the homestay.
I've
been doing the homestay program since 1997, and was very happy to head back to
the same host for the third year in a row: John Root Hopkins, a retired attorney
and artist living on a mile from the nearest quiet road next to the Choptank
River. Sleeping in your own bed,
with nothing but crickets, the breeze, and silence?
Can't beat it. Eric and Mark
quickly knew why I had raved about the homestay...it really makes Blackwater a
standout race.
RACE
DAY:
Mark
and I roomed together, and popped awake at 5:29am.
Eric, who had somehow survived the night despite sleeping beneath the
watchul glare of Dr. Kevorkian, awoke at the same time.
We filled bottles, ate some nervous breakfast, and headed out into the
already warming morning light. At
the park, we were all a bit quiet and focused putting bikes together, taping
GU's, mixing Cytomax...each doing our last routines before a long day.
In walking to the racks...I was still fairly relaxed, but that would soon
change. We all split our separate
ways...and I never got to wish Mark good luck.
I felt pretty bad about that...but I drifted into focusing on my race,
and hopefully so did he. Eric did
the same...except when he found me at my rack to steal some sunblock. Mike Kelly
and I chatted a bit...mostly about how very different the feeling is at an
Ironman qualifier: Much more
intense. Almost unnerving. All the toys in place, I was ready to go.
For
the swim, I was really hoping to go under 30:00.
I'd done a 31:33 before, and the current was supposed to help us today.
I lined up conservatively...about the third row, in the middle.
Mike Kelly found me...and we agreed not to kick, punch, or speak unkindly
of each other the entire swim. Of
course...I could make no such deal with the other 159 in my wave.
At the horn, the beating was on.
*BEEEP*
Stroke, stroke, *PUNCH* *OWWW!* God
#%(%#! 4 years of racing, and this
was the first time I'd been punched in the face.
Dead on, right on the nose. It
wasn't a foot, it was a wayward arm. I
still can't figure out how someone could be that far over the centerline on
their stroke. I quickly switched to Maytag Mode...and fought for some space
as my eyes reflexively teared up and filled my goggles. It was not a happy
start...but by the first turn, I had found some peace. I was feeling good, and
settled into my groove. The water
was smooth...and the wind was nearly non-existent.
Compared to last year, it was a cakewalk.
Problem
was...it felt like a looooong piece of cake.
I felt good, but the final turn wouldn't get any closer.
As I headed up the final 100m to the boat ramp, a glance at my watch told
me I was in for a 39 or so minute swim. "Argh!
Once again, I'm behind the schedule from the beg-"
*WHAM* Before I could finish
my thought, a yellow capped 30-34 swimmer from the wave behind me decided to
stand up using my head as a push point. Good
Luck, buddy. Way to show me the
Ironman spirit. Boy, do I aspire to
be as fast and cool as you someday. Sensing
my mood getting bitter...I focused on deep breathing, and looked forward to the
windless bike ahead.
T1
went really well for me, and I was on the way out in a bit over 2 minutes.
I hopped on Phoenicia...and *CROINK*
My right cleat swiveled 90 degrees out of place.
I fumbled, leaned, and finally engaged the shoe...after about 100
graceless yards. After the race I
would find two screws and Look washers in the bottom of my gear bag...so now I
had one left, and I didn't know by how much.
Considering I'd had them all tightened before Columbia after a similar
occurrence, I was really puzzled. To
be safe, I made a note to myself to 'tread lightly' when taking an 'out of the
saddle' break during the flat, flat, flat 2:30 ahead.
I
settled in immediately, and my mood began to change.
My Heart Rate was holding 145-150, and my breathing was relaxed...all of
this at a pleasant 24mph. I
grinned, knowing if I could keep my cool, I'd cruise in under 2:30 with plenty
of room...and more importantly strength for the run.
At 8 miles into the ride, I needed to make one of the few sharp turns on
the course, a 130 degree righteous bend. As
I wheeled in, the officer at the junction stopped everything, and I had the
whole road to myself. Thinking in
terms of keeping speed, I cut a wide line...enough to carry me through the
corner without touching the binders. Without
even thinking about it...I cut across the double yellow, and carved the line I
wanted, spot on. It wasn't until I
heard the motorbike coming that I thought "Oh, #($...I think I just screwed
up my whole race." I raised my
arm, and the official came up. I
said "Hi! I know I just did a really dumb thing.
Is that an instant DQ? Or
will I get some bonus time? Or by
self calling and being brutally honest and apologetic, can you just, like, warn
me?" By now, the official was grinning from beneath her
helmet...but rules were rules. I
knew that. "I can't discuss
any infractions, but I'll let you know. Sorry!"
As she wheeled up the road, I began to think about how a long training
day would be good for me anyway *sigh*. I
was so embarrassed. Duh. Stupid. 3
years, first penalty.
I
kept on keeping on, since there wasn't much else to do.
Every 45 minutes my watch let me know it was
time for a GU. I grabbed a bottle
of Perform at every aid station, and basically just rode tempo based on the HRM.
Wheeling into the park in 2:26 (my watch) I was happy to have met my bike
goal, at least. I knew I had saved
my legs for the run, and if it really went well...a 1:52 run might just get me
under 5:00, still! Last year I'd
done a 1:50:40, so it was possible. As
I trotted to T2 (having left my undisengageable cleat and shoe stuck to the
pedal), something in my stomach said "Oh no, it isn't."
Must've been all the meatballs from the pasta party...but I needed a
porta-potty. NOW.
Nuts. Another unplanned,
unpleasant, mid-race first. After a 2:21 T2, and not being one to pass up a clever
metaphor, I turned to a volunteer and said "Here's how a mime would
describe my race so far..." as I ran straight into the s@*tter. About 5 seconds later, he got it, and I could hear him
laughing. "If nothing else
goes right today, at least I nailed one punch line." I thought.
2:49 later (and feeling MUCH, much better) I was on my way.
THE
RUN
Mile
1 was an 11:20, but minus the potty stop, an opening 8:31 was a good start. Mile
2: 8:41. It's warm, but not overly
hot yet. At mile 3, I saw Rob
Hacker chugging away, looking over his shoulder.
Someone I didn't recognize was in second, and Bustos was barely in third,
no more than 10 seconds back. It
looked like a good duel to the finish! I
set back into my rhythm, and moved on down the road.
Well before I thought I'd see him, Mark Markley came trucking in looking
much, much stronger than I did in my first 1/2 IM.
by my math, he'd ridden in under 2:50!
We cheered to each other and moved on.
By
mile 4, I was feeling a lot warmer...and I'd unzipped my skinsuit all the way to
get a breeze moving. Memo to self: Sunblock UNDER the skinsuit next time.
I think it'll be November before the belly button-to-neck-V-shaped
sunburn fades. I spotted Cary
McConologue trucking home the other way, looking strong.
Suddenly, there was a tap on my shoulder: "Hey." said the
voice. The grin. The shadow.
The fact that I had to look up told me all I needed to know:
I'd been run down by Weiss, again. I'd
forgotten about The Duel. I started
doing the math: 5 minutes gone. 5
miles. He'd beat me by 13 minutes
at this rate...the same amount I'd built up at Columbia.
What else could go wrong today? I
was afraid to ask. He looked great,
and said he'd broken 2:30 on the bike course!
Wow. How he had that sort of
motor on NO training blew my mind. I
began to think about the effort at Columbia, the effort of an 85/10 brick in the
heat last weekend...and started getting crazy ideas.
I decided that I wouldn't just settle for fading like a candle running
out of wick...and I stepped up the tempo. My
HR went from a controlled 145 to around 160.
I fought to find more speed from my legs...trying to think of the 10K I
had run in April, and how I suffered there but persevered.
The
alarm on the HRM was set to go off at 165, my AT.
It started beeping right after I made the turnaround...as the wind came
from behind now. With a tailwind
and no shade, the temp on the road was near 95 degrees...and I was running as
hard as I could. The alarm was constantly warning me to slow down, so I shut it
off. That's right. It was annoying me, so I shut it off. How's that for clear thinking after 4 hours in the sun?
Believe it or not, I held on to this ill-conceived pursuit for another 2
miles, running 2 consecutive 8:01's in the process.
During one of these, I saw Mike Kelly...and he looked better than I did
heading for the turnaround, a sign that I was in real trouble.
At mile 8, trouble arrived.
With
no warning, no symptoms, no nothing, I vomited.
Explosively. Perform, GU,
Vanilla Power Gel and water, all at once. I
leaped as I did, somehow pulling the neat trick of clearing the whole mess with
both feet on the fly. One heave,
and no more. I couldn't believe
it...another unexpected and unpleasant first (so you think you sense a theme
here? I did too).
I walked to the next aid station, knowing I had just committed the
Cardinal sin of Long Course racing: Abandoning my plan for (1) Ego and (2)
Someone quicker. Double Duh. As I
stood and waited for my legs to stop shaking, I drank a few cups of water and
started walking. I was going to
finish, but it certainly wouldn't be under 5 hours.
My mile pace slowed to 10:45's...walking some and shuffling when I could.
Strangely
as I passed mile 11, I felt at peace. It
was without a doubt the worst race I had ever participated in, but I still felt
pride in getting the job done. I was thinking about the finish, and how I had
found out exactly where my limits were. I
could ask for nothing more from my tired body on this day...I just wanted to get
it home, get the medal, and grab a Chocolate shake and Super Size fries on the
way home. Such is Tri, in Bob's
world.
Mike
Kelly wheeled alongside around mile 12. He
asked "Are you okay?" in a tone that told me I must have looked pretty
freaky. I said "Oh, I'm in a
special place in hell right about now..." and told him of the "HRM
that annoyed me so I..." story to which he pretty much summed up the day
for me: "Duh"! I sent him
off after a pleasant chat...the finish wasn't long now for either of us.
I
turned the corner to the pier and shuffled to the line, I could see the two
finish line photo guys waiting. Usually
this is a moment of sublime personal triumph; Today, I just wanted to finish and
go home. I put my hands on my head "Bullwinkle" style, stuck
out my tongue, and kept on trotting. When
they laughed and said "Got it!" I
thought "Good. 2 for 2 in the
punch lines today."
Final
Time: 5:18:00 on course, 5:22:00 with the added "Duh" penalty
(thankfully not a DQ, at the head ref's discretion).
With Eric finishing in 5:00:03 (Ouch!), he now carries a 4:00 lead into
Tupper Lake. Wow, again!
That's a lead change. Mark
came home having battled dry heaves and beating the heat in a proud 5:57.
He also joined the I.V. League on his first try!
Eric and I were so proud.
Lessons
Learned:
1.
Blackwater is only a fast swim when the tide is going OUT.
2.
Check the shoes before the ride.
3.
No meatballs (or at least, not 11) at the pasta party.
4.
The HRM is not there to annoy, it is there to warn.
5.
The double yellow line is NOT meant to be crossed.
6.
Don't run at the tempo of others; Don't abandon your race plan.
7.
WEAR SUNSCREEN
8.
Always super size those fries. Any
finish at this distance means you've earned them.