I exited the woods and looked up the long, endless, seeminlgy uphill shoulder of Route 30 back to Tupper Lake. Any run I had left in my legs was long gone, and this would be the toughest part of the day. I was 4 hours into the Tupper Lake Tinman (at least - I had no watch to tell me the bad news), but clearly this was going to be a slow day.

I started thinking about how I'd write this in my race report, but then under the shimmering sun and deep blue sky, I started thinking of something else. What would happen if I had someone else write my race report for me? I began to think of a list of spin doctors to take the keyboard and let the world know what had happened on this day in their own style:

Furloughed Iraqi Information Minister Muhammed Saeed al-Sahaf: "This was a wonderful day! Bob was heroic from the start of the chaotic, blinding swim, through the ineffectual hills of the bike course, and on the endless prattle of the run course, Bob never slowed down, wavered, or walked. No-one passed him! No-one! Do not believe those bloodthirsty hawks that lie for sportstats.ca and their arrays of endless numbers. Their timing mats are wrong! You'll see! Bob won this race, and won it convincingly! No-one else was even near him! Do you understand? When he crossed the finish line there were adoring people who love him, screaming friends, and a beer truck filled with Saranac! Would there have been such a festival had anyone else been in the lead? No! We would have welcomed them with shoes and tubes of JogMate!"

From the Pope: "Bob who? I don't know this Bob. Has he been to confession recently? I don't think so. No wonder he can't run - his conciense and soul are burdended with the guilt of all his sins. Maybe if he'd come back to the guilt and repression we tried to - wait, make that the wholesome values taught by the Catholic Church, he'd have something more to cling to."

From George W. Bush: "I understand that Bob wasn't able to find any weapons of mass destruction in Tupper Lake, but don't worry my fellow Americans - this isn't something we intend to ignore. Tupper Lake is near that great flaky 51st state called Canada, and Lord knows what they're capable of. Our forces are massing on the borders of Altamont and Saranac Lake as we speak, and all 73 citizens of Tupper Lake are being given one more chance to surrender their weapons now....what? What was the question? Hang on - I need to call my Dad and see what he'd do here..."

From any Nascar Driver: "Well I tell you what, the Alltel Rice Krispies Nextel Mobil One Dupont Fritos Vegimite Liederhosen Dewey Drinkum And Howe Napa K-Mart K-Tel K.C. and the Sunshine Band Chevrolet was a good car today. It was good on the swim, so-so on the bike, and we were just biding our time on the run until our shoes burst into flames and burned to the ground. I know we were in 743rd place when that happened, but this is racing. We'll get 'em next week at...where are we next week? Cleveland?"

My Mom: "This is all my fault. I don't know what he's running from, but at least he could be faster at it. He's in pain! I wish he'd just stop and get me a grandchild for once and for all. He needs to stop this running, it looks like it hurts! Ohh, stop, stop, stop!"

And just like that, I made the turn for home off Route 30. 3 miles to go. That was fun!

Tupper Lake is my favorite Half Ironman in my entire season. The long drive always gives me a chance to just leave work and the stress of everything behind under a stack of CD's, a change in temperature and scenery, and a throwback to simpler days when I was in college in Upstate New York. I always stop and have a pint at a brewpub in Troy, NY, and look up the bluff at Rensselaer - my grad school. I laugh - they said I'd never get out! Don't tell me what I can't do - you might give me a reason to do it.

After 8 hours in the car, I rolled into Shaheen's Motel for the 5th time in a row and checked in. It seemed that everyone I knew from the list was there already: Lynn, Tommy, Renee, Lisa Miller, Neil and Julie Cook, and more to come shortly. The registration was a mere ½ mile up the road at a local Elementary School, so I made my way there to take care of the business of the day.

I knew my friend Rich was going to be doing the sprint - his first triathlon, ever. We'd been college teammates on the swim team at Utica: He was my counter for the long events. For 4 years, he was the only guy that got splashed 20 times in the 1000 Free, and 33 times in the 1650 to the end. When I was last, he was there. When I got my first win, he ran up the side of the pool on my last length, waving a towel over his head in an image I can still see 11 years later.

After gradutation we stayed in touch over e-mail. Rich got married, had 2 kids, and gained 40 pounds. Then one day in 1999 he started reading my race reports. He ran a 15K. Then he ran a marathon. Then he lost 40 pounds, and decided he wanted to do an Ironman before he was 35. When I walked into the middle school, Rich's brother Sean was there - it was fate. We had no plan to meet, but I'd finally get to see him before his first race.

Travelling in true Italian style was Rich, his wife Melissa (also from the UC Swim Team), his 2 kids, his mom, his brother Sean, and his wife. It was so great to see them all! Rich looked great, and as I pretty much expected his mom was beside herself (just like my mom would be). I did my best to let her know that her boys were going to be fine out there on Saturday - but I could tell she was still going to worry until they made it home. I was so proud of him for making the change, and of Sean who was going for it just the same.

I said a quick hello to Steve and Liza Wyle, both of whom had made the trip from Maine to officiate for the day. I seriously think they are the two most pleasant people I have ever met. If you don't end up smiling after you talk to Liza for 5 minutes, you seriously need to make sure you're breathing.

Back at the hotel, I was trying to figure out what to do for dinner, when Lynn and Tommy came back from their traditional pre-race pizza meal. Lynn had a box with some leftover slices, and without any hesitation, "Here! Take it. I'm full." Dinner was solved!

Patially to settle my nerves, and partially to work out the kinks from being in a car for 8 hours I did a little baby bricklet: 20 minute ride, 10 minute run. Just enough to break a sweat and make sure the bike was right (and that my legs were moving). As I looped my run past the middle school, there was a screech of tires, a cloud of blue Goodyear-tinted smoke, and a voice in the middle going, "Whoo, eh? Strong brakes." Dr. Dave Jones and Father Dave Jones screeched to a halt beside me, having made the 7-hour drive from Toronto in 4 hours and 11 minutes. "We had to stop for Timbits at the border. Cost us 84 seconds."

We got Dave all checked in, and headed back to the hotel. I tried to call St. Lynda and let her know all was well, but my nationwide plan from Nextel apparently ends somewhere about halfway up New York State. I shamelessly borrowed a phone from Lynn and Tommy Kapusta, and then actually had to use everything I'd learned from Carrot Top about making collect calls (shudder).

I wasn't sure what kind of race I would have: I was still tired from a HUGE training weekend the week before, which came a week after another long ride, which came a week after Eagleman...so I was definitely running on fumes after a pretty righteous cycle. The weather had finally turned from Winter to Summer by me, and I was making up for it as much as I could.

I was looking forward to the day, regardless - Tupper is too much fun a course to have a bad day on. You could be slow, but it would still be a good day.

The alarm rang at 5:00am, and I wandered across the room to start the coffee. The bike was already on the roof, my backpack was packed, I just had to put in my contacts, eat some Pop-Tarts, and get on with the day. As I opened the door, nobody else was outside. The air was still, clear, and cold. It wasn't a slap, but a firm pat on the cheek - there's nothing like an Adirondack Morning.

Since Dave's dad wanted to borrow the car and see if he could make it to Colorado and back before the swim start, I loaded Voldemort onto the roof and gave the fine doctor a lift to the start, which was about 5 minutes away. We put the bikes together, got body marked, and racked in under 15 minutes - the blessing of being at a race with 800 people compared to the 2000 that I'd been parking with at Eagleman 3 weeks prior.

I managed to find "Iron" Pete Priolo before the start - he was only 'coaching' today, and would be all over the course. We had two mutual friends that would be starting Western States (a 100-mile, mountainous trail race) at the same exact time I'd be starting my swim. Both were multiple-IM finishers, and one had done WS before, but it really made my race seem TINY. "Just think, Pete. No matter how slowly my day goes, Joe and Bruce will be running on for at least another 19 hours. DAMN."

I waded into the shallows for a quick warmup, and I didn't really need one at all - the water was WARM! I would be racing in my fullsuit, and for the first time all year I wondered if it would be too much. No way to change that - I only brought the one suit, anyway. The sun was strongly rising behind me - no clouds in sight. The return leg of the swim would be the traditional, "Where the @#(*! am I?" challenge of getting back on course.

As I lined up in my corral, I managed to say a quick hi to Greg Sullivan and Ryan Jones, two of the fastest guys from PA. Ryan won this race last year, and Sully had been to Kona twice. Ryan is always a guy I want to see, just to hear what he has to say before he gets down to business. This time was no exception: A friend grabbed him and said, "Jones. What are you going to remember not to do today?" Ryan replied, "I'm not going to race like a dipshit." Mind you, this kid had outsplit Tim DeBoom at Eagleman. If that's racing like a dipshit, I need a little more dippiness in myself.

We waited for the countdown, and I looked down to the watchless wrist waiting below. No watch, no worries, or as my brother-in-law likes to say, "No brain, no headache!"

They hit the siren, and we were off. I settled in immediately, and felt HOT before 200 yards. I was cooking in my wetsuit, but at least I knew Lynn would be happy. Lynn Kapusta hates cold water like I hate asparagus. When she came out of her warmup, she was looking at the sky repeating, "God is GOOD! God is GOOD to me!" I slowed down and paced myself the best that I could - at least it wasn't the hypothermia of Columbia! I could handle this.

I held my position to the turn buoy, and then made the change right into the heart of the sun. It was easy to know when I was on course - when I couldn't see a darn thing, I knew I was on the lay-line headed for home. It always amazes me how you can be surrounded by people headed to the turnaround, but right after you make that turn things totally calm down. At one point I stopped to look as if to say, "Where the heck is everyone?" I was on course, alone. Wasn't I?

I was. I came ashore in a somewhat slow 34:21, a bit slower than the Eagleman split of 34:04. This year I didn't fall down in the shallows trying to get out of my wetsuit - I saved the topple for the bike racks so I could look like a proper idiot in front of the people I race with, as opposed to the spectators. I hopped about, but managed to get free and onto the bike in 1:44 - a decent T1 for me!

Of course, this was wasted when I got to the mounting line. A local officer told everyone running out, "STOP! We have to let the traffic pass." What? Never heard that one before. 5, 10, 15, 20 seconds...there were 10 of us waiting, and lining up! I'd never seen anything like it, but I guess the locals complained last year, so a compromise was needed. Bummer.

As I rolled out of town, I tried to find my rhythm. I rode little gears. I rode big gears. I stood up. I sat down. I sprinted. I spun. I mashed. As I headed for the first climb of the day, I still hadn't found a 'good' place to be. "Uh-oh." I got in the little gear and hauled my butt over the 3/4 mile ascent out of the valley, wondering if my legs would come around later. "Just keep riding..." I thought to myself. "They'll get here." I hoped.

As the rollers of the bike course started coming at me, things weren't getting any better. In previous years I'd 'surfed' the rolls: Work the ups in a short sprint, recover on the downhills, and repeat. This time I couldn't even think about standing up - there was no power to be had. I spun the little ring and stood up when I could - recovery had to be coming!

As I climbed up one ridge, I was getting bounced around on the rough pavement...and cut left into the regular road lane. An official came by, so I asked her: "Hey - where does this course start? Can I be here?" She told me I was supposed to be as far to the right as I could ride at all times, but when the pavement was shaking things out of my pockets...I could do what I had to.

As we were having this nice little chat, Sam Kane noodled on down the road about 500 yards back. He saw this guy waving and gesturing at an official and thought, "What a jerk. Stop arguing! Take your penalty and ride on!"

And then it got really stupid.

While I was having my chat, someone came up behind me and blew by me on the right side, ignoring the fact that I'd left about 15 feet of room between the official and my wide-load butt. I watched him roll by, without a word. I looked at the official, who looked at me, who looked at him, and then I couldn't help it. "Is that the dumbest thing you've seen today, or what?"

Then it got even MORE stupid. He was sucking on a GU, and nonchalantly tossed the wrapper on the side of the road. At that point the official hit the driver, who hit the gas, who took off, notepad flapping in the breeze, while I cheered like Arsenio, fist-waving and all. Sometimes, the bad guys DO get dinged.

After that little diversion, it was time to think about a drink. I'd started the race with one bottle, and finished it pretty quickly. When the first aid station rolled into view, it was a VERY welcome sight. I tossed my empty and grabbed for some Powerade, snagging the first bottle I saw. The rider ahead of me did the same, but then it appeared that he'd been hit by a mosquito wearing chain-mail armor.

His bottle exploded in a cloud of blue Powerade - the lid flying to the left, the bottle to the right, and he was waving his hands in front of his face to clear a space where he could breathe. I tried not to laugh at his misfortune, but it sure looked funny as I squeezed my bottle...

...and the top immediately launched into my nose with a sound somewhere between *SPLOOOSH* and *SPLORF*. The bottles they had at the aid stations were little 'Elite' bottles for narrow cages, and had very little threading for the cap. It only took a slight squeeze, and *BOOM*, you were wearing your Powerade. I was drenched, sticky, and still very thirsty. I grabbed for a bottle at the last person, who made a great lunge to get it to my right hand. I went to slip it into my cage, but it WOULDN'T FIT! It rattled around with ½" of room on all sides! I couldn't imagine riding on like that - if it dropped out it could get under my rear wheel or someone else's front wheel!

I picked it up, sqeezed the top, *POOF!* Downed the whole thing Jurgen-Zack style like a pint of Ben and Jerry's, and tossed the bottle where it would still be cleaned up. Somewhat stickier but feeling no faster, I rumbled on down the road.

Approaching Cranberry Lake and 28 miles, I had a feeling that this day was going to be slower than most. I just didn't have the legs for it after a long and solid June, so what more could I do? I rode tempo the best that I could, and enjoyed the scenery. I looked around for people that I knew, and counted down the miles until I was headed for home. The last 3 miles to the turn felt like an endless false flat, so I knew there'd be some descending on the way back - something to look forward to!

I made the turn, power-chugged another grenade-bottle, and got ready to head...back uphill? Huh? Somehow I'd forgotten that you are actually descending to Cranberry Lake, and now climbing on the way out. It was official - it was uphill both ways for me. Mentally, I surrendered and reduced my speed to maximize my tanning time, and enjoy my day. I used the little ring on almost every hill on the way back to town. I thought to myself, "Hey, this is smart. You'll have lots of leg left for the run! Good thinking! Yeah!"

Maybe. At this point, taking a nap seemed to be a good idea. I rolled downhill and back into town with the slowest ½ IM bike split I've ever had - 2:45. That counts the year I flatted here, too! Yikes! Just the run to go now, and it's a fun run - always varied, always changing. I wouldn't be bored!

As I chugged out of T2 following a leisurely 3:something change and choice of snacks for the road, I knew that my 'save it for the run' strategy was not going to play out. My legs felt like two big bags of sand, and it seemed that I had magnets on the bottom of my shoes. Each step was an effort, and I knew it wouldn't get any better.

"It's not raining. It's not cold. It's not Columbia. Buck up!" Very true. As I rolled uphill past the 1 mile mark, a woman in a Yellow DeSoto stopped ahead of me and turned around, shouting that "UGH!" we've all had when it's just plain BAD. She started walking downhill towards me, but I spread my arms out and blocked the way. "NO WAY. Nobody quits. Are you hurt?" I asked.

"Noooo..." she wailed. "I'm just having a really, really, really, really bad day." Since I was too, I refused. "No, you don't. C'mon. Run a mile. See how you feel. Then run another. By then, it'll be fine. You'll see! Hey - I'm not blowing flowers up your @ss, either. I feel like complete and buttered toast. Let's go." She groaned, but rolled on. She slowly ran away from me...and kept on going to the first aid station. She stopped, and I caught up. "So?" I asked. "Well, I don't know..." She wondered. It was time for the heavy stuff.

"How will you feel in the morning if you quit now?" I let that hang there. She tilted her head to one side, probably debating, "Slap him? Run away. Slap him? Run away." She said, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Gotta' go." With that, she was gone. I ran on, but she went out of sight in less than the next mile.

I plodded along the best that I could. I ran when I could, I walked when I couldn't. I ate, I drank, I swatted at Black Flies. Entering the woods my friend Robin passed me as she always does. Robin has run me down in 9 consecutive races, and made sure I knew each time. "Robert, Robert, Robert..." She piped. It sounded like a teacher correcting a student who'd made a mess on the blackboard.

"C'mon - run! Run!" The scary thing was, I WAS running when she said that. Before I could reply she whirred past, and was headed up the road. "You know Robin? That's your 9th pass of me. Any woman who makes 9 passes at a guy without asking him to dinner? C'mon, woman!" She heard me - she shrugged. I laughed. As I walked down the path I muttered to myself, "I'm here all day. Try the bananas..."

As I covered the rough ground on the trail-section, I was constantly getting passed. I was passed on the left, the right, and 4 times on BOTH sides at the same time. My body markings got sucked off my shoulders and legs. I went back in time. I think I might have actually aged in reverse through some Einsteinian deal. Either way, the woods ended and I hit the road.

I wrote my race report as different people to pass the time.

I made the right turn for home off of Route 30, and another long day started to write its final notes into my memory. The road back to Tupper Lake passes an endless field of wildflowers off to the left, with the looming peak of what used to be the Big Tupper Ski Area still cut into the ghostly South side of the mountain. The area is bankrupt, and each year the woods take back more of what was there before. I love the view, and make sure the take it in as much as I can every year when I hit that stretch.

This year, I think I was there long enough to have painted an oil-based still-life...but it was still a thing of beauty, and made me pine for the stretch of River Road during IM-USA that has a similar view. 30 days. Wow. So soon? So far.

As I headed back to Route 30, I thought to myself, "Don't I usually meet Cathy Taylor here?" Sure enough, a figure in a floral shirt with a hand-bottle came determinedly chugging down the road, headed out. "CATHY!" At the same time, she asked, "Bob?" It was pretty funny - 3rd year in a row, same place. I was in no hurry, so we had a nice chat!

I also managed to see Neil Cook and Lisa Miller on their way out, each getting through the day with a smile. That always makes me feel good - to know that everyone is getting through the race, and would have stories to tell later on...only 2 more miles until my long story ended. I walked up the last steep climb of the day, and then picked it up for the downhill to home.

It wasn't pretty, it wasn't fast, but it was my 16th Tinman finish. As I approached the line, there was a guy on a mountain bike looking for a friend, rolling along. He looked at me and said, "Good job!" I thanked him and said, "This is always the best. It's easy to smile now! It's almost over! 70 miles behind me, and a pizza ahead! You know what this feels like? This is like 'Hey Jude' at the top of your lungs with the windows down, and you don't care who hears you. THAT'S what this feels like."

"RIGHT ON!" He beamed, and high-fived me as I rolled past. I turned onto the field for the line, and just started singing to myself. "Naaaaa, naaaa, naaa, naa-na-na-naaaaaah....na-na-na-naaaaahhh, Heee-heyy-Jude..."

I crossed the line smiling in 5:38:12, the slowest half I'd ever raced. Who cares? I was still singing as I walked through the chutes.

"Naaaaa, naaaa, naaa, naa-na-na-naaaaaah....na-na-na-naaaaahhh, Heee-heyy-Jude..."

As I got a bottle of Powerade, there she was. Yellow Skinsuit, Finishers medal in her left hand...telling someone the story about, "This guy wouldn't let me quit!" I wanted to sneak away - I was privately stoked that she'd made it, but then she saw me. "HIM! DUDE! BLUE MAN! This is the guy!"

"You've got the hardware! Way to go!" I beamed. I never got her name, but I didn't need to - that she had the medal was all I needed to see.

I had a drink and headed over to pack up my things. In my helmet was a note: "2:29:50. I made it! Thanks for all the support - Rich. p.s. — Tinman 2004!" My buddy was hooked. I couldn't stop smiling. Sure I'd been slow. Sure, I'd set a Personal Worst. It was sunny. All my friends were going to make it. If I could find no more fitness before Lake Placid, so be it. I may not have it, but I get it. Bring on July 27th - for better or for worse, it'll be another great day.

As I wheeled all my toys back to the car, I remembered something: I had no idea where I'd parked. Dave had long since finished and headed back to the hotel with his Dad. I stood there and for 15 minutes had a, "Dude, Where's my car?" moment.

I walked up and down the aisles. 4 times. I wished Eric had been there. At least I'd have someone to laugh with (at) me, and maybe someone who'd bother to remember where I'd parked. I finally found it (after enough people had left), and headed back to Shaheen's.

Later that night there was beer, pizza, chips, nuts (the kind that race), nuts (the kind that come in a jar), and cookies. Stories out on the parking lot, and the savoring of a day that comes so quickly, and seems to leave even faster. Over breakfast the next day there were promises to see each other in a month's time at Lake Placid, and once more in 2004.

I wouldn't miss it for anything.

Hurricane Bob
* I may not have it, but I get it. *