The Tupper Lake Tinman

July 16, 1999 - Tupper Lake, New York

1.2 Mile Swim, 56 Mile Bike, 13.1 Mile Run

http://www.tupperlakeinfo.com/tinman 

"Really...we can fit all of this in there...can we just leave Eric here?"

It was a perfectly weird start to a race weekend I'd been looking forward to for nearly a year, since my last visit to Tupper Lake in 1998.  It's Friday morning about 7:15am, and there are bikes, wetsuits, duffel bags, bottles, spare wheels, and other various triathlon debris scattered all over the parking lot of my apartment.  It has the look of a transition area done by Salvidor Dali...nothing is pointing in the same direction, and it's already warm enough for most of the gear to start melting.  Eric Austin and Mike Kelly had made the drive up from DC the night before and slept all of 5 hours before being assaulted by Oscar...wondering what the heck these lumps were sleeping in his house, and more importantly if they were capable of feeding him.

Mark Markley, Michael Parente, and Eric Weiss had shown up at 7:00, and now all we had to do was pack 6 bikes into 2 vehicles.  Nothing that Pythagoras couldn't handle...but that early on 1 cup of coffee each?  Thoughts were hazy, and much luggage Jenga was being played.  Lynda sat back and watched the whole thing...as well as most of my startled neighbors who wondered what country we were going to invade.

By 8:00am, we were all packed and on the road with the firm of Markley, Parente and Weiss in one car, and Austin, Kelly and myself in the other.  411 miles later (interrupted by Lunch at the Troy Pub and Brewery...single point of investment for most of my workstudy $ in Grad School, and just as good now), we arrived in the lovely town of Tupper Lake...a small hamlet nestled in the Adirondack Mountains of Upstate New York.  It's been hosting the race since 1985, and with the arrival of IM-USA in less than a month, was undergoing a pleasant surge of attendance.  Last year there were 174 people in the race...this year there were expectations of over 400!  As we pulled into the Tupper Lake Country Club to sign in, the full parking lot of bikes was a pleasant site.  We untied Weiss from the roof of Parente's wagon (it was easier to put a bike in the backseat), and checked in.

In no time at all, Deadstock 99 was under way.  Last year there were all of 5 Deads at this race: This time around we had more than 20, and the group seemed to grow every time I turned around.  Cary McConologue, Pete Priolo, Peter Zein, Scott Rosen (!), Shadetree Jane Fratesi and Robert, Mike Plumb, Dave Cotting and Chandra Mason, Tom Downs, Roland Drier, Lisa Miller, Lynn Kapusta and hubby, Jim Hutzleman, and a few others my limited brain power won't let me remember.  We all sat around in the setting sun, eating pasta and applauding politely to the startled golfers that were playing in front of a most-unexpected-yet-warped-gallery.  The moment of the meeting was easily the presentation of a special present from Jane to Eric of a jar of mysterious pills that were supposed to help him seal the Duel in short order.  Whether or not the ingredients of the "Manhood Plus" tablets are on the UCI Banned Substance list was of no consequence...you could just FEEL the love between Jane and Eric.  It was a special, touching moment for all of us to be a part of.

Soon it was time to check into the hotel, which (unfortunately for the desk clerk) we all did at once.  Shaeen's Motel was turned into the Tri-Dead sleepaway camp in a matter of minutes.  Numbers were attached to bikes, bottles were placed, and nervous test rides were looped around the little parking lot until well after dark.  Having taped a spare tire, pump, and tire lever to my Softride beam, I was a bit nervous about having reduced my new rig to a Swiss Army Bike...but Apollo seemed to feel fine and ready to go.  Off to bed by 10:30...there was a Duel to be revived in the morning.

Started last year at this race, The Duel (after a brief and out-of-control growth spurt into a list wide stage race) was back to a simple challenge:  Eric vs. Bob in 4 races.  This was round three...and after my meltdown at Blackwater, he was coming in with a 10 minute and 2 second lead.  For all the time we've spent racing and training together...those of you who know me know that I love him like a brother: The brother I'm glad my mother never had.  It's a great balance: We swim very evenly, I ride better, he runs me down...usually smiling.  After seeing how well he could run off the bike during our DC training camp last weekend, I was worried...but I tried to keep such thoughts out of my head.  This was the race I was going to try and break 5:00 for the first time, ending (hopefully) a 0-for-9 streak of near misses (5:12, 5:10, 5:14...).  I was going to do something I'd never tried before, I would race this one without a watch.  Pure HRM data and nothing else: If I focused on that and let everything else fall where it might, at least I'd be a little less stressed.

As usual the alarm went off at 5:30, one minute after I'd popped awake.  I looked over to see if my erstwhile roommate Markley was awake yet...and the bed was empty.  I sprang awake in a panic: "Did I miss the start?  #%)(*!  Why didn't he wake me up!"  Of course, it never occurred to me that it was dark out and still only 5:31am.  When he stepped out of the bathroom, I made sure I got my heart back out of my throat, and with that much adrenaline I thought to myself that I didn't need the cup of coffee already brewing across the room.

As I stepped outside, I could feel the energy just idling below the surface of a quiet morning.  Shaheen's was it's own little Triathlon city as we all scurried about, lifting bikes on roof racks, filling bottles, saying nervous 'Good Mornings', wondering for the 14th time if there was anything we'd left in the rooms.  After just a short drive to the start, and there was plenty of time to get ready.  The race organization at Tupper is pretty sharp: I was through body marking and bike inspection in 3 minutes.  I had my rack spot reserved by number, and the lines for the port-o-potties didn't stretch to Vermont.  I managed to say hi to Jane, who was stylin' in her red DeSoto skinsuit (chosen for its Canadian color, I was told).  Lisa Miller wasn't the bundle of nerves she was last year... more quiet and focused, but no less excited despite the doubling of her longest race distance. Mike Plumb was nearby, and I pretty much expected him to krieg the field into the Milky Way right after the swim.  In my mind I was already visualizing what it would be like to see the leader whipping back down the course, cheering twice as loud as normal because I know that guy!  Lynn Kapusta was keeping busy, reminding me that she was going to finish "By any means necessary."  Mike Kelly and Eric Austin we're being themselves...Mike happily goofy and optimistic, Eric a bit more quiet, introspective, but just as goofy when the right situation would arise. Cary was busy running laps around the field to warm up, as Mike Kelly and I yelled "5 hours isn't enough for you?"  whenever he passed by.

I couldn't find Parente, Zein, Cotting, Rosen, Markley, or Weiss until just before we piled into the water.  Eric and I managed a firm handshake before the start, and he showed me both of his blank wrists: No watches, no HRM. He was going on pure feel this day, and I chuckled to myself at the water's edge thinking of Obi-Wan's line of lines: "Who is more the fool?  The fool that leads or the fool that follows?"   With that thought, the horn sounded...and the splashing and dashing from the beach was underway.

THE SWIM

I had started on far left side of the course, with the buoys off to the right.  It has always cut down on the traffic, and gives me a chance to swim a pretty unobstructed line to the first marker.  Once more, it worked pretty well.  I was able to settle into a rhythm without too much thrashing...and focus on making the turn.  The sun was behind us all the way out, so it was easy to sight the buoys on the way out...through the copper colored water (Tupper Lake is the only place I've ever seen with it).  About 2/3rds of the way out, I started feeling like I was swimming through spider webs...cotton candy like tendrils of something.  I wasn't sure if I had crossed the route of some migrating Pine Needles, or was it seaweed mowing day?  I decided in my infinite wisdom that I simply *could not* let any of these thingies get near my mouth, so I held it shut...even as I tried to breathe.  A tip for those who might think of trying it someday...it's impossible to get enough oxygen using only your eyelids, ears, and nose.  I just tried not to think about the things rushing by my mouth with each breath...in the words of my sweetie "It's ick!"  As I made the turn, I figured I'd only be feeling this skeevy for another 300 yards...I could deal. 

Once again, that bright, beautiful Tupper sun was situated DIRECTLY over the transition area, making sighting on the return pretty much impossible.  Last year was the same deal, so this time I was mentally prepared to turn into a sun-drenched, snowless whiteout.  I took my best guess, and tore off towards where I thought shore should be.  Luckliy, there was a small group about 30 yards ahead of me...and I was able to follow their splashes for most of the return leg.  The cotton candy seaweed ended...and before I knew it, I could see the run-out. That sort of Zen dissociation is always welcome in my book, and I easily cruised in...wondering "Is this when I finally crack 30:00 for a 1/2 IM swim?"  The answer was close, but no banana yet: I clocked a 32:05 at the beach.  A minute better than last year, so that's a good start!  A quick run to the bike, off with the wetsuit, on with the helmet, shades, shoes, and away we go!  T1: 1:59 (10th of 58 in my AG).

THE BIKE

This is my home. This is the part of the day where I can make a difference...and the hillier the course, the better.  It has taken me 4 years to find that belief in myself, but I can finally ride with confidence...and let that result charge my entire race.  As I accelerated out of town, I was already visualizing the first long climb of the day, a 3/4 mile grinder out of the Lake valley.  My HR came up cleanly, and settled in at 145 on the money.  Without a computer or a watch, I felt strangely free...I wasn't chasing the numbers, worrying about the splits, or doing the math.  I was riding as fast as I could, nothing more.  It was pure, liberating, and more relieving then I thought it would be.  I stood up as we hit the rise...and powered by rider after rider on the way up.  Holding 165 on the climb, I already knew that it was going to be a good ride.

The worst rollers on the course come early, within the first 15 miles.  I would stay in the aerobars as long as possible on the downhills, and use all the power that I could popping up the other side of each set.  When the HR hit 160, I'd sit, downshift, and climb the best that I could.  The sun rose higher in the sky, and my shadow grew a bit sharper on the road below.  I was as relaxed as I'd ever been on the bike, and I was having fun picking off rider after rider...just watching the numbers...shifting up with glee whenever I saw anything below 140.  I had no idea how fast I was going, and I didn't care.  I was in my space, riding my race...and couldn't ask for more than that.

On one of the longer grinds, I came upon a rider on a Giant TCR1, complete with radial carbon spokes.  The machine was mighty trick, and as I noodled on past, I couldn't help but notice that the entire stem had been coated with Clif Bars.  Not a single square millimeter of metal was showing...so I had to make a comment: "Wow!  Is that the new Clif Bar stem I read about in Triathlete?"  I looked to the rider (lets call him Pierre) for a reply...and with a smile he looked over at me and said "Pardon, monsieur?"

Uh oh.  Language issue.  Hmmm...lets see...I took French in high school...that was only 14 years ago...let me see...Hola senor?  No, no...let me think...French...French...French...

In a moment of oxygen starved bliss, I looked to Pierre and said "Le stem du Cleeef Baar?"  as if suddenly speaking like Inspector Clouseau would magically translate clearly out here in the middle of the ride.  For my brain's near miss in the translation, I received another funny look and a "Quoi?"  from Pierre.  I decided before I started a war between Quebec and New York...I'd better shut up and ride.  "Au Revoir!"  I said, completing the pass and hoping to myself that he wouldn't catch me for the rest of the day.

It took me about 10 more miles to stop smiling, as I kept thinking of other dumb things that I couldn't translate, such as Le suit de wet, La Ade de Gator, Le O'de Speed, Le Glide du Body...and anything else that crossed my mind.  Soon, it was time to eat...but my plan wasn't working.  I'd set a countdown timer in my skinsuit pocket to go off every 30 minutes, so just by ear I would know when to eat.  As I rolled over the '25' mark painted on the road, it occurred to me that unless I was averaging 53mph (not likely), I was late.  Turns out that with the wind noise...I couldn't hear the watch.  I changed the plan and just ate every 10 miles for the rest of the day.

WOOOSH!  The first rider went whipping by...and I didn't even get a chance to see who it was.  I looked now, and started counting.  I figured I'd be around 40th or so...2...3...4...was that Cary?....5...6...where's Mike?....7...8...9...10...Neon? Pete!  Go Pete! 12...13...14...Wow...there's the turn!  Oh my goodness, how can I be up here? 19...20...21!  Me!  Holy #$&! I'm in 21'st?  Get the ^&# out of here!!!  This is too cool.  "Apollo...you rock!"  I said out loud as I turned into the Rest Area for the turn-around.

I grabbed a bottle, and made the turn for home.  I was less than a mile behind Pete...and if the HRM would let me, I was going to catch him...even if all I could do was pull up and say "Hi!".  I looked back down the course, and there was a lot of space before I saw the next rider.  Yes!  I began to look for Deads...that guy looks like Marco Pantani: "Austin!"  I yelled as Eric waved to me headed up the hill.  Next came Mike Kelly, followed quickly by Mark Markley in hot pursuit.  Suddenly it occurred to me...where's Weiss?

Eric is a definitely a decent cyclist...and he should have been up somewhere in the middle of all of those guys.  I kept looking, and looking...and looking...bike after bike.  I saw nothing familiar...and found my mind wandering into worry time and time again.  I wondered if he flatted...or crashed...or if I just missed him?  It was not a good feeling.  As much as we jab and pester each other I'd hate to see him have a mechanical, or worse.  As I rolled over mile 35, I saw what looked like a giant purple bike...complete with Shark on the bars.  "Thank God!"  I yelled, as he yelled something that sounded like "Flat got worst!" I did a quick check on the math:  I'm at 35...he's at 21?  Something must have happened.  He must have flatted.  That sucks.  As it turns out, he had been sick most of the ride already, and was yelling my position to me: "Twenty First!".  Even in the worst moments of his day, he was still cheering me on.  Like him or hate him, the boy has class.  Suddenly, 'The Duel' didn't matter.  I was just happy to know he was okay...but little did I know what a battle he was in for.

As I rolled on, I saw Peter Zein having a pleasant day...taking pictures with a pocket camera!  He spotted me first, and all I could do was wave as a looked back to see "Who wazzat?"  With the tailwind on the way home, the miles were ticking off quickly.  Before I really expected it, mile 50 whizzed below my wheels...and I had to start thinking about the run.  I was sort of sad to see the bike end...I hadn't been passed by anyone on the way out, and only 3 on the way back to town.  I knew the confidence I was feeling wouldn't last long...but I focused on a good start, and a smooth run...this time, listening to the alarm on the HRM should it warn me.  Spinning out the 12-tooth on the final downhill, tucking out and just flowing along as the bike danced in the breeze coming off of the lake...I was curious to know if the ride had been as good as it felt.  As I dismounted into T2, I looked around...and saw plenty of open racks (okay, wires).  I may not be able to run with the speedy guys...but I'll always savor the little moments of victory I can get along the way.  Total time on the bike: 2:30:50, avg. of 22.3mph, 30th out of 340 overall. Despite the roughly 3,000 feet of climbing on this course, I was only 5 minutes slower than my tabletop-flat Blackwater bike split.  I popped off the helmet, emptied all of the Cleef Baar wrappers from my pocket, put on the sneakers, grabbed the hat, 2 packets of Quic-Discs (thanks to Eric Weiss for fueling me)and walked to the run start.  Total T2 Time: 1:38 (33rd out of 58).

THE RUN

I was in no hurry to start.  I needed to make sure I was hydrated, and the one minute walk/drink/drink/drink/walk break was fine with my legs...which were feeling a bit heavy to start.  A bit too exuberant on the bike?  Perhaps...but I was glad to have not seen a clock as I left T2.  I was still unaware of my time, and thus, had no pressure to calculate a pace.  I settled into a stride, got the HR up to 145 fairly quickly, and started the long climb out of town.  The sun was pretty hot now, and the tailwind that had carried Apollo and I home on the bike was now cooking me on the run.  I knew it would be this bad for the first 6 miles...so I tried not to worry about it.  Up, up, up...that's all I could think about as I climbed out of town.  Miles 1-3 seemed to come by quickly, and I took water at each one.  I popped a Quic Disc at mile 2, and it went down super fast. These things rock!  Like big Sweet Tarts...and I'd do one every 2 miles all the way home.

I longed for the shade I knew was coming at mile 4, as we entered the abandoned highway portion of the course.  Passing the gate, I was as happy as I could be on a run.  By now the field was spread thin, and it was like I was running around Valley Forge on the Mt. Misery trail.  The wind was passing through the trees, and the shade was a welcome relief.  Bouncing over holes, rocks, and ripples on the old roadbed gave my head something to do other than stare straight ahead.  I knew halfway was coming soon...and it was almost sad.  Sure, I was hot, I was tired, and I'd like to stop NOW...but this was as much fun as I could remember having in a race.  Heck...whenever I felt bad, all I had to do was think of "Le stem du Cleef Baar?"  and I'd giggle to myself.

Coming up on mile 5, I heard a fast pair of feet closing in (what a shock). I moved right (as any good truck should when crusing in the passing lane) to let this particular speed merchant cruise on by.  As I glanced down, I noticed that this guy was wearing the same one-piece, Blue and White DeSoto skinsuit I was, so I quipped "Hey, nice suit." From below a PowerBar visor...I saw this grin.  I knew this grin.  All I could do was stammer "Huh?  What the hell are you doing back here?"  Mike Plumb had decided to stop by and say hello.  To my tired brain, this just did not compute.

"Did you flat?"

"Umm, nope."

"Have a bad swim?"

"Nope.  Actually broke 30 for the first time in 4 years!"

"Man...so what are you doing here?"

We chatted as we danced over the stumps and bumps, making the miles pass even more quickly.  Turns out that he was cursing along...and he just came to a point in his ride that we've all been at before:  His mind just simply said "Mike, why are you doing this?  You HATE long-course races."  *Poof*.  There's goes all your focus and desire.  He had been carrying on, just getting in the miles when he saw me plodding along, and came up to say hey. Not to sound sympathetic...but I felt bad for him.  I have no idea what it's like to be able to win on any given day like Mike, but I do know what it feels like to just know that you aren't 'In the groove', and you're going to fall short of your hopes and expectations.  To keep going just feels pointless...but quitting isn't that appealing either.  I was glad to have him along, and I hoped that I could at least provide some company along the way. 

He asked me "Is this pace okay with you?" and I checked the HR.: 145.  Right on.  I remembered a line from Tricia's IMC report: "At the morning swim...you see that Mike Plumb's heart rate when standing still is 46, and you tell him you hate him."  I had to ask. "So...where are you? Go ahead.  I can take it."  He looked down, and grinned that grin again.

"119."

You're right Tricia.  I hate him   :)

Miles 7,8,9, and 10 just breezed on past.  My HR stayed in bounds, and we kept on chatting up the miles.  We talked about IMC, and whether or not he should even go. It was interesting to hear, because I could tell he was trying to work out a question as we moved along. I just tried to add what little advice I had, and kept telling him what a great party he'd be missing if he skipped it.  By mile 11, I think we had reached a conclusion that it was OK to head out and race only to break a PR, to hell with what the rest of the field did!  I was just glad to hear that he was still going...how could you miss that party?  Crusing down to mile 11, we picked up the downhill and started heading back through town.  Mentally it had been the easiest race I'd ever had...and the most enjoyable.  Whether it was the Quic Disc's, the company, I'd never felt so fresh coming in to the finish of a 1/2 IM.  We groaned as our quads did on the downhill at mile 12, and waved to the nice man in his truck that didn't run us over at mile 13.

Turning into the park, we were still talking like 2 old men on a porch, and we almost missed the finish straight!  A volunteer steered us in, and we chugged for home.  As I crossed the line, I hesitated to make sure that my saint of the run get credit for being ahead of me, forgetting that he'd started 5 minutes behind me...and would be ahead anyway.  Finish time: 5:08:53, with a 2:02 run. Good enough for 20th out of 58 in my AG, and 84th of 340 Overall. Not all that fast, but a new PR for the distance regardless.  0-for-10 at sub-5, but I wasn't all that disappointed at all.  I had really had such a good time, how could I let a clock ruin my day?  Shaking hands with Mike as we got our medals, I couldn't thank him enough for getting me home.  Chances are, I'll never be that close to him in a race ever again...and I made sure he knew how much I appreciated his pull.

As I headed for T3 (the food tent), I met Pete and Cary...both of whom had smoked the course: Cary was 19th overall, and Pete was 20th!  After 4 Cokes, I was feeling like a new man...and it was time to settle back and bring the Deads home.  Tom Downs boogied on home, looking strong in front of his coach.  The Austin and Kelly show came in as a pair, having made it through the run together.  Markley followed soon after, having carried a balky stomach all the way along the run.  Shadetree came sprinting in, going for the style points.  Lisa Miller finished her first 1/2IM with a smile...and later found out she was 3rd in her AG!  Whoo!  I missed Dave Cotting, but met him in the food tent.  As the clock rolled near 6:30, I started that worry again..."Where's Weiss?"

Michael Parente came in, nursing a troublesome ankle he'd been worrying about for weeks.  Damn.

Where's Lynn?  Where's Eric?  Where's Peter?  The time kept on ticking.  The Duel no longer mattered to me.  I had visions of Eric DNF'ing for the first time, and I just felt terrible.  What happened?  The clock rolled past 7:00...and we started checking with race control.  All they could tell us was that Number 330 was last on the course...and that wasn't him.

Damn.

To keep myself busy, I started lugging all my gear to the truck...when Markley said "Hey...there's three people...is that Eric?"  Sure enough...here came the Three Amigos: Weiss, Kapusta and Zein.  The Deads had carried each other home, and I was as relieved as could be.  I yelled out "TRI-DEADS!!!!" as loud as I could, and said "You scared the hell out of me Weiss!  I'd heard you DNF'd!"  He looked back and said "I did!  But she wouldn't let me!" pointing at Lynn.  Peter just grinned a grin that said 'You wouldn't believe the day we've had', as they walked off to get their medals.  Whew!

EPILOGUE

Eric had a pretty epic day, I would find out later...but I won't steal the thunder for his report.  Let's just say that he wins my perseverance award, nolo contendre.

As Downs and Markley said, we all retreated to the hotels for a college-style pizza and beer bash, complete with Twinkie throwing, story-telling, and plans for other races we could try this sort of gathering.  The mini-golf tournament was reduced to those who were brave enough to fight the mosquitoes...but there's always next year.

The next day we gathered for breakfast at The Lumberjack, and nearly ran the place out of food...and I'm pretty sure we ran the waitress out of her mind.  As we said our goodbyes...it was tough to think of next year already...but it seemed to be the phrase coming out of everyone's mouth.  Was this a good experience for everyone?  During the 8+ hour drive home...Eric Austin, Mike Kelly and I never once turned the radio on.  We just kept talking and talking and talking...I wondered how things were in the other Philly-Dead mobile, but since they'd strapped Eric to the roof again, I figured it was a pretty quiet drive.

Speaking of Eric?  Now that I know you're okay...I currently have a 2 hour, 1 minute, and 2 second lead for the run at IMC.  See you on the way back to Lakeshore, I hope!  :)

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