Pondering The Leap.
July 26-28, 2000
Somewhere
in mid-air, my still-sleeping brain asked of nobody in particular
"Hey...how cold is that water, anyway?"
*
SPLASH! *
"Oh. Really #)$*&#! cold.
Thanks."
Once
the shock wore off at least I was no longer sleepy.
We had decided to keep the IMC Tradition of a 7:00am swim (for dialing
into the Official Race Start Time) alive for our week in Lake Placid, but I had
forgotten one key point: It's a lot easier to wake up with 3 hours of jet-lag on
your side - doing this on the East Coast, um, really sucks. With pillow-faces and morning-hair tucked under caps, and
armed with cups of coffee that often weren't surrendered until the wetsuit was
on (and in the most extreme cases, they usually made it to the dock), we made it
in...one at a time, usually with running starts and battle cries off the dock
into the frigid, clear, and chilly morning
air.
One
change that has come to the AM swims - they are no longer the spontaneous
meetings that they used to be. Granted,
I'm only going on 2 previous races, but since 1998 I've seen some changes in the
IM Machine...and there were some big-time items to be seen now.
Namely, a DJ on the dock (who cranked out "London Calling" so
loudly on the first day, hotels at the *other end* of Mirror Lake complained.
It was great!), a Gear and Bag check by Gatorade, the Seal Mask people
offering test-drives, and a complete Ironman Wetsuit booth setup...also with
lots of trick gear available for testing. Such
is the price of popularity I reckon...and at least we now had the town's
blessing to blow off the 'No Swimming' signs every day.
Following
a good breakfast back at the house, it was time to go see the expo...and watch
the building of the Ironman City begin in the oval.
This is the part that always gets to me - this is when the first
butterflies start to show up in the stomach.
Walking into the oval...treading on the surface that Eric Heiden used to
write his name into the history books. Knowing what I'd be feeling in 4 days if
I was lucky enough to get there. Watching the grandstands come in on flatbed.
Watching the fences come up...one section at a time.
Knowing that a village was coming together for us - it made the whole
experience that much more present and real.
I
was so nervous, I quickly sought the triathlete antidote for nerves:
I filled my arms with schwag and melted my VISA straight through the
center of the Earth. I encouraged
Mark to do the same (sorry, dude), and St. Lynda - now a professional at the
Expo Game, even bought herself some serious gear at the IronGirl tent.
:)
Later
that day, we planned on taking our first ride of the run course. Since the run
at LP is a 2-loop affair, the 13.1 miles was a perfect test-track for nervous
legs: Short enough to be done in less than an hour - long enough to
make your nerves go to sleep...for a bit. Getting
Apollo ready for the ride, I was grateful to have been within driving distance
for this race - none of us in the house would have to deal with airlines, the
heartbreak that is UPS, and the re-assembly of their bikes...
..unless
of course, your Michael Parente.
You
see, Michael and his wife Pat had arrived home from a vacation in Italy, done
some laundry, and jumped in their car for the drive to LP within 14 hours.
While Michael would be doing the race, Pat had brought her bike as well -
being the author of several cycle touring books, her research never really
stops...and Lake Placid would be full of some wonderful roads to
explore.
She
had her bike together in about 20 minutes.
Michael,
umm, didn't.
You
know that rule about never trying anything new on race-day that you haven't used
in training? Michael is a
photo-negative of that rule: If he
doesn't try something brand new, he's sure to have bad luck.
It's strange, but Michael just isn't bothered by such silly
superstitions. Of course, he also
doesn't show up in mirrors, really loves hills, and at the age of 50 can run
faster than most men 1/2 his age...but that's another story.
He
had showed up with a completely dis-assembled bike in 47 pieces with a new
headset to install, and 2 new Specialized Tri-Spoke wheels he'd never ridden. Of course, the tri-spoke was an 8-speed and his deraileur
levers were only 7...but with some tinkering and tuning we made it work (7 out
of 8 cogs, anyhoo). Of course the
headset was the wrong size for his head tube, so after much convincing that he
couldn't just MAKE it work, Michael had the good folks at Placid Planet drop in
a new one.
All
the while, Michael was his same, steady, un-ruffled self.
It was uncanny - of all the Virgins in the house, Michael was the one I
was the least worried about - Nothing, I mean NOTHING, ever got to this guy.
Pat had the line of the week about Michael and the Ironman: "I just
hope he's tired. I mean, 20 years, I've never seen Michael actually tired
after a race. If this doesn't do
it? There's nothing that can on
this planet."
While
Michael was busy putting Humpty-Bicycle back together, Eric, Mark and I rode
out. I noticed that the course was
downhill out of town...almost all the way to the turnaround. This would be good to start, but I had chills thinking about
how evil lap 2 would be, uphill all the way back to town. At least the ski-jumps provided some visual distraction on
the way back. My legs felt
awake...but I kept looking up at those towers, and letting my mind wander.
The
ski-jump towers were built in 1979 for the 1980 Olympics.
They simply dominate the Lake Placid landscape, and shine like
lighthouses from all sides. We took
the elevator ride to the top of the 120 meter tower, and it was simply the most
amazing view you could imagine - you could see all the way back to the Ironman
Village 2 miles to the left, and the road out the turnaround stretching out 3
miles before you. The wooden
beam that jumpers would rest on before launching themselves down the ramp was
only a foot away...and it was easy to imagine yourself getting ready to do
something that man wasn't intended to do with 100,000 people watching - soar
like an Eagle down the face of a mountain.
On
the 90 meter ramp to the right, there were actually some guys jumping - doing
practice leaps into space, landing on some DuPont fake snow so they could work
on form year round. They were
between the ages of 12 and 14, and getting ready for their someday effort to try
and make it to the US Olympic Team. Just
like we would lace on our sneaks and go for a run, these guys were just hurling
themselves into space at 60mph like it was nothing.
I looked at them with muted awe, much the same way some of my Non-Tri
Friends look at me when I tell them about doing Ironman...
...and
that thought made me smile: It's all about taking the leap and finding out how
far you can go, isn't it?
With
3 days to go, I was sitting on my internal beam...waiting for the green light,
again.