2005
Tupper Lake Tinman
June 26, 2005
-- Tupper Lake, NY
1.2 Mile Swim, 56 Mile Bike, 12.1 Mile Run.
http://www.tupperlakeinfo.com/tinman
My favorite race on a hot, hot, late June day..
Originally Published to TRI-DRS on July 19, 2005.
I am face down on the ground.
While I'm surprised, I know exactly how I got here, and that just makes it feel worse. Falling on your face is one thing. Falling on your face during a race is another. But falling on your face, in T0 (pre-race), while carrying an entire day worth of gear and wheeling a bicycle? Now THAT is a tough way to start things.
The night before when I'd checked out my rack space I told myself, "There's a big hole to the right - watch you don't step in it." Check. Found the hole. Stepped in the hole. Biffed, but somehow I didn't drop a thing. I imagined that to the volunteers rushing over I must look like I've gone elastic since my right arm is still stretched straight up to the saddle of the upright Apollo, even as I lay there pondering my first pre-race crash in my career.
The volunteers helped me up, and I tested my very sore (but previously and hopelessly sprained) right ankle. I figured as long as I kept moving, it'd be okay. I asked the volunteers to put a cone in the hole or something and they responded - by the time I'd racked up and readied myself there was a large, orange piece of wood sticking out of the hole. Well, at least you could SEE that.
It was my 8th time at Tupper Lake for the Tinman, and this weekend would be exceptionally absurd. Not only was I planning on racing the Half-Ironman on Saturday, but Dave Jones and Mike Peerless had left their respective offices for a weekend to come out and race as well. Then we would ride a loop of the IM-USA bike course on Sunday. Then on Monday, if I had anything left at all, I would race the Monday Night "No Frills" series race in Lake Placid. Three days, three events, and a whole lot of calories to replenish. When all else failed, I always had that going for me.
First things first - the longest day of the weekend. Tupper Lake is without a doubt my favorite race of the season. Last year it was the ONLY triathlon I did, and I made sure I signed up well in advance for 2005. While this Spring had been consistent and goal-oriented on Boston, my summer plans had been only somewhat slightly less-so. Tupper wasn't exactly an "A" race, but it wasn't a "B" either. I wanted a good showing - a solid effort, even if it wasn't a PR.
Then Mother Nature stepped in. With race-day temperatures forecasted for the mid to upper-80's, my thoughts of a 'Surprise' PR slowly went out the window. I thought of the weekend like a stage race - no sense in destroying myself on day one when I can't get out of bed on day two, eh?
Aside from my pre-race, one-man pileup, I was really looking forward to this. Wagers had been made: Mike and Dave were starting 10 minutes behind me. If I could hold Dave off until mile 3 of the run, and Peerless off to the end, I would win something. Probably beer. I knew I could swim well, and maybe even ride well, but the run? Well, what's a race without a hint of drama?
So what that my IT Band had been as tight as a piano string for two weeks? So what that I had to bail from my midweek brick because I couldn't run a step? So what that because of work, my first run in a pair of new shoes would be LEAVING T2? All just elements of a good story. At least, that's what I told myself as I waded into Tupper Lake and swished around a bit to warm up.
My training swims had gone well so I seeded myself in the front row, and struck up some nervous chatter with the guys near me. Pity that while I was chatting away like a tourist the back of the field sort of crept past me...making my front row start a mid-pack start before Lynda's very eyes (but not my own until it was too late). She captured the entire progression on film - even caught my, "WTF?" expression as nearly half the wave started ahead of me. Where'd they come from?
How Not To Start A Swim in Four Easy Frames
Images by St. Lynda Hennigan
Click on the thumbnails for an essay on precisely what was going
through my mind.
So as the siren wailed and we jumped forwards, I was immediately in the spin cycle. Arms, legs, bodies, all headed in random directions. As I tried to influence my way forwards, I took a huge beating. I spent about 100 yards just working my way up, and finally found a rhythm and some clear water. Well, almost clear. Tupper Lake has the unique tint of rust because of the leaves that fall into the lake each September, so your visibility is about two feet.
Which is why when someone from the wave ahead of me stopped to look around, then took a big, sweeping, breast-stroke kick to get moving again, I didn't see it until it was one foot away. His foot. Right in the grille. WHAM!
Right in the Seal Mask. I've been racing for 10 years and had never been kicked until this season. Now I'm 2-for-2 in kicks to the face for 2005. At least it didn't come off - didn't even leak!
The rest of the swim was fairly uneventful, with a few exceptions. I made the turn and per the tradition at Tupper Lake, started swimming directly into a rising sun. I sighted a little more often than usual on the way back, just to be sure I was on course. I could tell several of the guys ahead of me were having a rough go; their Blue caps had started 5 minutes ahead of my wave, and they were all over the place. The kayaks were actually herding several of them like sheep, but one determined fellow plowed right into the kayak with a very satisfying sounding "WHUMP" and popped his head up, then turned around and started swimming back AT me, with the kayak in hot pursuit.
It was the dance of the directionless, and I was stuck in the middle of the floor...again.
I
kept it close to the line and managed to come out of the water in 31:50 - only
30 seconds slower than the best I'd ever done here in 2001! I shuffled towards
the racks, missed the hole and the potential to impale myself on the orange
stick, and fought my way out of the wetsuit. I took my time - dried the feet,
put on the socks, loaded the pockets, and then heard St. Lynda call to me! She'd
made it from the swim exit to the transition area, so I grabbed Apollo and
headed for her. Two volunteers, catching sight of a 6-foot tall, 200 pound
Sprite can headed the wrong way in T1, jumped ahead of me and cried, "STOP! THAT
WAY!" pointing back to the exit.
Lynda captured the entire ballet of my transition - click on the
thumbnails for each picture.
I countered their point with one of my own and said, "I'm kissing her goodbye! You want one, too?" They moved, immediately.
*smooch* Off we go!
After a brief time-out at the bike exit to allow the traffic to go (about a 30-second or so break), I settled into Apollo and got down to work. No HRM, no computer, no watch. This would be a pure 'by feel' ride. I'd ridden a 2:32 here in 2001 that way, so I figured it was worth a shot.
I knew I was capable of a decent ride here - maybe a 2:35? I just would have to be steady and focused. One thing I was concerned about was the lack of people ahead of me. I was starting in wave 3, which meant there'd only be 150 or so bodies ahead of me when I started riding, at best. I knew Dave and Mike would be passing numbers closer to 600, so advantage to the Canadians. So much easier to chase than to be chased, too.
Sure enough, after 10 miles of picking off bike after bike the passes grew farther...and farther...and farther apart. From miles 15 to 20 I passed one bike. From 20 to the turnaround, I passed none. However, I was only passed by two people the entire time, so I had that going for me. But otherwise, it got really lonely, really fast.
And it was getting hot. I knew if I was hot on the bike, well, urgh.
I started counting bikes heading for the turnaround; I took the turn in 36th place. Not that it meant anything at all with the wave starts, but it was nice to see so much of the race behind me, even if it was just for the moment. I had been very good at eating and drinking all ride - I even finished off a bag of Pringles to keep the salt supply happy.
With the entire world coming up the road, I had a good time watching for Dave and Mike. They were easy to find, since they were both wearing those Louis Garneau helmets that make people look like Aliens, or bike-riding sperm (depending on how salty your shades are). Peerless was really easy to find - he was the giant Alien/sperm headed up the road on a Cervelo P3, holding a Blackberry plaintively towards the sky, with a black, unmarked helicopter hovering at 1000 feet.
Once I'd managed to wave to both pursuing Canadians, the field roared past...and I was back to just a Bob on a bike on a sunny, summer day. The return to Tupper Lake was the hardest 28 miles I've experienced there. Not because of the wind, not because of the heat, but because the field had strung out so far, I didn't see another soul. To stay focused - to stay on the gear, and keep spinning along with nobody to chase - that's just mentally draining.
At
least I managed to spot St. Lynda and Tommy Kapusta twice - Tommy was there with
Lynn (who was racing her 10th or 11th Tinman!), and now he and Lynda have a
routine. They see their foolish spouses off in the morning, hit McD's for
breakfast, then cruise the bike course in the Grand Caravan. What could be
better? (A lot of things, I know - but work with me here).
I was smiling, generally feeling good, and just working the power the best that I could. When I passed Lynda she told me, "You're even with David!" or "You're working the Raven!" or "We're going to a rave!" I couldn't tell. I pretended it was good news, and carried on.
As I slowly went grinding up the final climb before the sweet plunge into Tupper Lake, I could feel the heat baking off of the pavement into my shoes. My feet were actually burning with each pedal stroke, and they were no closer than 5" to the road surface. I chuckled to myself as I approached the top; "Hoo-wee, that run is going to be FUN!" Not a cloud in the sky. Got to be close to 90F by now. Epic! I'll take it! Beats being cold and wet.
I tucked into the aerobars and did my best Franz Klammer back into town, hoping I'd had a decent ride. I could tell that it probably wasn't fast - it just didn't FEEL fast - but I'd hoped it was solid. When I dragged the binders and brought Apollo to a halt, the news was good - the racks were still pretty empty. Almost virtually empty. Nice.
Bike Split - 2:38:31, or 20.8 miles per hour (53rd out of 690).
I plodded to the rack and could already tell my legs had started to hang up the "Sorry, Closed!" sign...but there was no time for that. I changed shoes, re-packed the pockets, put on the hat, and then took some extra time to fiddle with the laces. I'd done my best to set them right in the hotel room the night before...
I made a quick stop in a little green box on the way out, and all of that made for the slower T2 in human history - 3:25.
I started running: That lasted about 50 feet. Then I started shuffling. That lasted about 1/4 mile. Then I started shuffling more definitively, uphill, away from Tupper Lake. Then, oh then, did I realize, just how hot it was. I was already soaked, and my hat was dripping from the brim within the first mile. I refused to walk, but my run/shuffle/plod was really just a walk disguised to look like running from really, really far away.
At least one thing was good: I was so hot, I hadn't noticed that my IT Band was behaving - no pain at all. Rick Smith, I owe you $1.00 - new shoes did the trick!
In my head the race plan went from "Sub-2:00 run" to "FINISH" in less time than it takes to say the word. I'm not pushing it to end up fried. I'm not getting an IV, or walking 10 miles, or DNF'ing. I'm going to just enjoy a training day on the surface of the sun, and make sure that I have room for dessert tonight.
As I turned away from town and trudged along Route 3/30, the road dropped away from Town and started a long, interminable climb towards the next ridge. Imagine a highway that climbs straight before you for about 1.5 miles. Make sure there's no shade. Make sure there's no wind. Make sure the next aid station is 2 miles away. Then put some people ahead of you on the road. Lots of colorful dots, getting smaller, smaller, smaller, so small that near the top of the climb you can't even really tell people from the road because of the heat shimmer. Remind yourself that you're at mile 2.
Then start laughing. That's what I did.
Or if you're the guy ahead of me, just stop. Turn around, and quit. He stopped in his tracks, put his hands up in the universal gesture for, "I'm DONE!", spun on his heels, and started running back. I put my arm out and said, "No, no, no - you can't quit! We're all in this together like the idiots that we are!" He smiled and said, "Nope! Done! Finished! Bye!"
I, and many others, carried on. Somewhere on this absurd stretch of reality someone passed me, patted me on the back and said, 'Hi, Hurricane Bob!" I didn't even get a chance to ask who he was - he was moving pretty well at the time - but I did manage to stammer, "Thanks! That was so nice of you!" Whoever you are - thanks. I needed that.
I shuffled on.
Somewhere heading back into town, I crossed paths with Peerless. At least, I think it was him. He was running along staring disbelieving into what appeared to be a blank Blackberry...but the wind from the helicopter hovering overhead was nice as we went our respective directions.
By now I was very thankful that I didn't have a watch - I think I would have been depressed at the mile splits I wasn't exactly picking up and putting down. My ignorance was bliss, indeed. Somewhere in-between miles 5 and 6 I fell in-step with Eric. Not the Eric you would expect, but Eric from Watertown, NY. Army Ranger. First-timer. Ye Gods. I explained to him that not all races were like this, and that usually things were somewhat slightly cooler. He said, "Yeah, but cold and wet would be great right about now." Recalling all-too-well my experience at Lake Placid in 2003, I shared with him my philosophy on precisely *WHY* hot weather was so great.
"When it's hot, you just slow down. Everyone can slow down. Everyone loves to slow down! Going fast is hard work. Going slow is easy! When it's cold and you need to speed up to stay warm? That's not good, especially when you CAN'T speed up anymore." Eric sort of agreed, but dumped some water over his head just to be cooler, regardless.
As we trotted along we picked up Jim. Jim was from Boston. Jim was also in his first Half Ironman. Yumpin' Yiminy. What a rough day to be there!
I knew now what my job would be - I could certainly set the pace and keep these guys moving, and enjoy the day getting them to the end. They didn't seem to mind the company, and Eric was more than happy to chatter away. Jim, on the other hand, was happy just to keep moving and not say a word. Having been there before I told him, "Tuck in, and just run in the slot. We'll carry you in."
And so the three of us just got on with it. Jim and I talked about why we do this, what brings so many seemingly sane people to push themselves so hard on such a grim day, but then I had to say, "You're a ranger. C'mon. This is like a day off for you, isn't it?" He just smiled and said, "Yeah, but in a few months I'm headed to Afghanistan. This will seem pretty easy by then I bet."
The next mile was pretty quiet for both of us. All I could say was, "You're a braver man than I'll ever be, soldier. Thanks." When I looked him up in the results, I found that he was in the 20-24 age group. He's much braver than I'll ever be.
Soon Eric and I were talking again, and it was here that someone ahead of us turned around and said, "He never stops talking, does he?" It was a familiar Canadian sound, but what was it doing ahead of me? "Dr. Jones?!" I half-asked, half yelled. "What are you doing up there?" When did he pass me? Must have been during one of the aid stations before. "Hey, Bob - I've been walking. Lots. See you soon." With that, he carried on. At least I'd nearly made it to mile 8.
Eric, Jim, and I just carried on. We ran, we walked, we drank. When Jim dropped off the back, I'd tell him, "You're a Red Sox fan, right? You see Big Papi's Grand Slam last night?" He'd usually grind his way back to us when he thought of it...just with the smile it brought to him.
I shared my Pringles. We just kept on ticking the miles off one at a time. Past the old turnoff for the finish line; across the rail-trail on the other side of town. Into the woods and across the 'new' ATV section. One mile at a time, one step at a time, we plodded along.
We tried to get others to join our little laughing group, but most people weren't in the mood to talk by mile 10. Come to think of it, neither were we. It was then, without the chatter going on, that I first heard the sloshing. So did Eric. I knew it wasn't me - when I stopped moving for a moment, the sloshing didn't - it followed Eric. It WAS Eric.
Eric kinda' looked at himself quizzically and said, "Maybe I should stop drinking two cups each time?" I agreed. Jim nodded his head left to right, kinda' diagonal. I figured it was a definite maybe from him.
While it wasn't pretty or fast, we just carried on and got the job done. At mile 12 Jim roared to life and said, "Thanks for pacing me - I'm going in from here..." and took off. We wished him luck as he picked up the pace for about 20 feet, but then, oh but then, strange things were happening in the legs of Jim. He looked like one of those early Mercury Redstone rocket tests where it gained about 3 feet, then stalled. The only thing missing was a small parachute going "Pop!" out of his hat.
He came back, tucked into the slot once again, and the three of us headed for home. Jim managed to say, "You know, you ran three races today. Thanks..." but I understood. I just made one thing clear: "Either of you guys start sprinting, I'll kick your @ss as soon as I catch up." There was immediate agreement - no sprint. That was good - I wasn't really sure I want to pick a fight with a ranger, anyway.
We
crossed onto the field. I saw Lynda and asked, "Everyone! That's the wife -
everyone say Hi!"
Dave Jones heard me coming. "I bet he hasn't shut up ONCE, has he?" he asked.
I took a step back, and let Eric and Jim finish ahead of me. I crossed just behind in 5:39:50 - my 2:23 run not exactly a run, but I'd survived, and that was enough for me on a day as absurd as this one. Eric and Jim were in the wave ahead of me, and now both had 5:44 Tinman times in their CV's. I was proud of both of them for not giving up, and getting it done. On some days, that's all you can ask for. Overall I was just happy with my race - it was the best I could do on a pretty rough day, and helping get two newbies to the line for the first time? That made it all worth it.
Day one, done.
The beloved St. Lynda and I, and a shot of Dr. Jones, myself, and
Mr. Mike Peerless (esq.)
The next day dawned clear and hot - just like the day before it. Jones, Peerless, the Kapusta clan, Neil and Julie Cook, and Lynda and myself made our way to The Lumberjack Inn for the traditional post-race breakfast. Who knew that this weekend there would also be a Harley-Davidson Bike Week in Tupper Lake?
Picture a local diner. Remove all the locals. Fill the place on one side with triathletes - shaved legs on the guys, funny tan lines, and road tash scars.
Fill the other side with lots of leather. Black leather. Occasionally, leather that's 3 sizes too small for the occupant. Hairy legs. Hairy bodies. Tattoos.
Anyone who walked in without knowing what was in town would have thought there was a music video being shot, or perhaps that Cirque du Soliel had invaded.
Regardless of the absurdity, pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sausage were ordered and consumed in huge, nay, biblical amounts. I knew this would be my 'last meal' as it were, before saddling up for a long loop. I'd only worked out the day post-Tinman once. In 2003, when I'd ended up walking most of the run, I felt compelled to run the morning after to 'make up' for my poor race the day before. Just 25 minutes - this would be somewhat slightly further.
Jones was getting ready for IM-USA. Peerless was getting ready to sue someone (probably). I was just trying to get the miles in on a course that tried to drown me in 2003. I was nervous - I was definitely more stressed than I thought I would be when putting the bike together on the roof of the Hilton in Lake Placid; I was probably recalling the last time I'd ridden with Dr. Jones.
August, 2004. His IMC "Push" weekend. He'd promised a long ride through the country. Said it was scenic. Said it would be training pace. Unfortunately, that would be HIS training pace. 110 miles in 5:30. Lynda said I was green at lunch, and grey when we met up at the house post-ride. Another mile, I probably would have gone plaid.
We rolled out of town, and I was already pleasantly surprised - my legs didn't feel bad at all. Probably because I'd "run" a 2:23 split the day before, but I was happy just the same. The initial climbs felt OK, and Dave was being good about keeping his watts low. Peerless was desperately looking for a WiFi hotspot. I rattled down the badump-badump-badump descent to Keene (SO much easier in the dry!), and started enjoying the ride towards Wilmington.
IM-USA 2003 left a mark on me. It's the only IM I've ever done that I didn't enjoy. It was miserable. I had mostly wet, cold, bleak memories of the ride and run. To now be on that course on a sunny, dry, okay - frickin' HOT day - well, that was fine by me. I could look around. I could see Whiteface. I could see the peaks. I could ENJOY the ride.
It was all beautiful again. The out and back. The Ausable River. The Notch. All gorgeous. Even when I thought I'd dropped Jones and Peerless heading up Route 86, only to have Jones blow my doors off at High Falls Gorge (chirping, "F'ing HOT!" as he rolled past), only to lose 6 minutes to him in 8 miles, it didn't matter.
I groveled my way up 86, jersey fully unzipped, sweat rushing down my face and onto the top tube. I felt like I was climbing something in Le Tour. I felt alpine. Epic. Alive. I was starting to get exhausted, but I loved every miserable, beautiful second of it.
"God, this is so COOL..." I smiled. Salt on the shades. Sunburn on the skin. The good, deep hurt in the legs. It's why I love this sport. It's what training is supposed to be. Thank God we were only doing one loop.
When we rolled back into town on Mirror Lake Drive, Jones asked, "Hey - I want to ride another 13, the run course. You guys interested?"
We voted him off the island, and rolled back to the hotel.
Day 2, done. One to go.
The last day of my Mini-Mina Camp was an easy one. St. Lynda and I had breakfast, walked a lap of Mirror Lake, and then found some Adirondack chairs to sit in by the lake, in the shade. We sat. For the first time in what seemed like months, we sat and let life just pass us by.
For three hours, we did nothing but move the chairs when the sun moved closer, and stare at the lake. It was grand. We needed it. I seriously considered not getting up from the chair, but since it wasn't raining, I figured I should at least show up at the High Peaks Monday Night Sprint, give it my best shot, and work up room for dinner.
After the two previous days I didn't expect anything...who would? This would just be a fun, no-frills deal - 400M swim, 12 mile bike, 3.4 mile run. Maybe an hour and ten minutes? Just right, even if I took it easy and went closer to 1:20.
I didn't bother with a wetsuit for the swim - I would spend more time taking the thing off than it would save me. After some brief instructions from the ever-hysterical RD (who's been doing this for 25 years, I'd later learn), we got ready to go. I looked back and waved to St. Lynda, who was busy counting the starters: 60 of us were ready to go.
I didn't hear the horn - I saw the two people next to me go, so I jumped right to work with them. After Saturday, no WAY was I missing the boat! I found a good pair of fast feet, and settled in right away. The swim is a simple out and back around ONE buoy, so it was easy to see where I was.
Imagine my surprise when I took the turn in fourth place.
Imagine my surprise when I came ashore in fourth place, hanging with two relay swimmers who tagged their cyclists, and promptly fell over. Swim split - 7:04. For 400M? Ah, well, give or take a few...
"Oh, NO. OH NO." I thought, strangely...as any thoughts of taking it easy were suddenly pushed aside by 517 gallons of recently refined testosterone. "Now I HAVE to race! ARGH!"
As I ran for Apollo, I had to suddenly elevate my focus and get to work - "You gotta' go - you gotta' go - YOU GOTTA' GO! If only I could get my @(#*! socks on these wet feet!" You see, Lynda had asked me for my towel pre-race so she could sit on the grass and stay dry. I wasn't taking this too seriously, so why not? Hop-thrash-hop-hop-hop-POING!
(By the way - why socks on a sprint? I race in Sidi shoes. Road shoes. Roadie shoes don't have the padding to go sockless, and I have the scars to prove it from my 'test' ride in May. Socks. Always.)
When I'd finally managed to get my feet set, I pointed Apollo down the road and got to work. Just ahead of me was Flamer Man. I called him Flamer Man not because of anything in particular, except for the flames on his jersey. Flamer Man was riding a standard bike - no bars, and turning an impossibly HUGE gear. I failed to notice (while fighting my socks), that he was completely dry.
I didn't care. I focused on catching and dispensing Flamer Man - it was now my mission in life. I was RACING. I managed to climb out Northwood Road and turn onto Route 86 at speed, now descending the "Bears" and "Cherry" climbs in reverse. On the plunge I caught and passed Flamer Man, and gave him a "Good job! Strong!" on the way by.
The next turn off Route 86 put me on River Road. I didn't know where I was going until I saw the creek...then the ski jumps in the distance. The marathon course! I'm on the marathon course! AND IT'S NOT RAINING! I was now a smile-powered, large green Sprite-can shaped missile, FINALLY, after three years, getting to see my Adirondack sunset on River Road. The mountains to the left were absolutely gorgeous - bathed in the evening 'magic light' that photographers love...
WOOSH! While I was having my Ansel Adams moment, Flamer Man took the position away.
"Farging Bastage!" I tucked down harder and thought about re-passing him as we neared the Red Barn - the last flat section before the right turn and climb past the jumps. I knew that the climb would be a place to make a move, so I waited. When he turned, I kept Apollo in the big ring and hoped for the best.
Side-by-side, turn for turn, crank for crank, we sprinted up from the jumps. I knew I was breathing hard, and I could hear Flamer Man was pretty much ready to blow a gasket as well. Nobody was giving an inch, but I had nothing more to give - I couldn't finish the pass as we rolled towards the IGA, so I backed off and waited, while trying to un-cross my eyes.
Up, up, up IGA Hill...right at the top, and STILL climbing. "I just don't have the legs...I don't have the legs...just keep him there. Just stay here. Ride your ride." I stayed with him up 86, taking the turn onto Northwood Road with 1 mile to go on the bike having held my position all the way - thinking of the line from Monty Python's Holy Grail, "Okay - we'll call it a draw." As I spun down by Mirror Lake towards T2, I knew I was still in a good place.
When I came off the bike, Lynda held up 4 fingers. "Fourth!? Nice!" Just as I wobbled into T2, Flamer Man did the same...tagged his runner...and doubled-over.
I'd been schooled by a Relay Cyclist.
"RELAY! You're a RELAY!? I've been busting my nay-nay's for 12 miles to catch a RELAY?! And now I gotta' run?! That's just WRONG!" I was laughing about it - at least he'd given me something to chase! Bike Split - 33:05
Now it was time to seal the deal. I was in fourth overall. I knew at least one of the runners ahead of me was a relay. I didn't look back - I just started running as hard as I could. I didn't have the legs, but I had adrenaline - that was enough. I would be able to see cyclists coming in on Northwood Road as I ran out...at least, I would have if they were coming. 1 minute. 2 minutes. FINALLY, the next cyclist came in. "Gap. You've got a BIG gap. Be steady. Run hard. Don't panic!"
That same smile from The Notch came back. "I should be exhausted. I should be sore. But now, here I am, RACING. How cool is this?" I kept my foot on the gas as I made the turn up Mt. Whitney Road, away from Northwood. 13 telephone poles to the turn. 12. 11...
The dirt road was slightly uphill - just enough of a drag to make me feel off a bit, but I figured that was normal - it was a sprint. I was SUPPOSED to feel bad. When I reached the turnaround, I knew for sure I was in 4th. I wasn't going to catch 3rd, and I had a good gap over 5th. "This is SO COOL!" Smile away - power on!
Back on Northwood Road there were still people coming in on the bike, while I had less than one mile to go. One mile left to the weekend. I just wanted to hold it together - I just wanted to finish strongly in front of Lynda, and place well. I had to be near the top, right? Two relays? I've got second? Maybe? I just have to get there...
Passing the back of The Boathouse, I heard the footsteps. I knew they were closing in, but I didn't look back. I wasn't GOING to look back. I picked it up...or tried to. Inside my head, that small effort - that little request for just that hint of more power - it was my straw. Suddenly, the mother of all side stitches started creeping from the right side of my body...across the midline...all the way to my left hip.
I couldn't breathe - I kept telling myself, "Relax! Relax! FLOW! FLOW LIKE WATER! FLOOOOOOW YOU IDIOT!"
I'm still going to need some work on my Zen, I reckon.
My stride started to crumble, and my face started to twist. I think my nose moved above my eyes for a moment as 4th place turned into 5th...and there was nothing I could do about it but keep moving and hope nobody else caught me before the line.
Thankfully, they didn't. To applause I rarely hear, I finished in 5th overall in 1:05:05 with a run split of 24:56. Immediately after the line, the man who took 4th was right there to shake my hand, only 5 seconds ahead. "Dude - nice race." He said. "I saw you coming apart there - sorry to do it." I understood, "Hey man, that's racing! I would have done the same."
I ended up placing second in my Age Group, and THIRD overall when the two relay runners ahead were scored correctly. I made the podium, and in front of St. Lynda! That's better than a hole-in-one with a witness in my book. I still can't help but smile when I think about it.
I finished my favorite race.
I ate pancakes.
I rode a gorgeous loop on a sunny, dry day.
I RACED.
I placed. With a witness.
I ate more.
I had two desserts.
I loved it. Every last second.
Not a bad weekend, eh?
Hurricane Bob
* Lance was right - Every second counts! *