Tupper 2007

Dang.

Brian Gatens looked at me and yelled out, "Mina, you'd better move it!" No kidding!

"1...GO!"

The entire wave rolled towards me, and I just did a backstroke start (lousy one), rolling over as quickly as I could. Like John Goodman's character in 'Raising Arizona,' I spent the first 200 meters screaming into the water, swimming as fast as possible to stay out of the way of the sub-30 minute guys I'd accidentally started in front of. Amazingly, it worked out pretty well. I didn't get hit at all, and found my way to the buoy line pretty quickly. Once I knew I was clear of the mess I slowed it right down - nice and easy. After all, it was my 6th swim of 2007. No need to be a hero - there were still plenty of miles to do that.

My 10th Tupper Lake Tinman in a row was a different affair. Many of the usual suspects didn't make the trip, so there was a new cast of characters there to paint the picture. Katie Hobson - back after her DNF in 2006, after an early flat tire and roadside yoga session with Eric Weiss (the former causing the DNF - the latter just ticked her off); Brian Gatens, my newly-found dueling partner. I didn't want to duel with anyone, but Brian had decided that we would be having a Deathmatch, and had already started the day's smacktalk by sending the following message to my cell phone:

"5:45AM - Wake up Mina! Time to hit this thing like it owes us money!"

Then there was Coach Debi Bernardes: A multiple Ironman Hawaii finisher and notoriously fast runner, who had decided that she would run both Brian and I down before the day was over, despite our 10-minute headstart. Also returning for her 12th Tupper Lake (in a row!) was Lynn Kapusta, but nursing a sore everything (according to her), she opted to race the Olympic Distance instead.

So after settling into a decent groove on the swim, I made my way to the turnaround buoy. When I looked at my watch, it was at precisely 16:00 - not bad at all. Little did I know that when I popped my head up to look, Brian was right behind me. He yelled out, "Hi Bob!," but I didn't hear him - I had the sun in my eyes (another Tupper Lake swim tradition). I slowly made my way back to shore without getting lost, slowing down, or getting hit. I managed to catch two different color caps on my way in, so I knew I was having a decent swim.

When I came ashore in 34:01, I was very happy. In 2006, I'd gone 33:59, and I was actually going to the pool once a week to prepare. Hah!

Swim Out:
http://www.brightroom.com/stf.asp?EVENTID=14071&PWD=&ID=37618165

So into T1 I motored. When I got to my rack spot, I began the fight with the wetsuit. I hadn't worn the thing in a year, so it had taken an act of Congress to get into the thing - now I needed an equally ridiculous effort to get out. I hopped. I pulled. I tugged. I grunted. Circus music blared over the PA. A golf-cart filled with clowns pulled up to my rack spot, then they ran around in circles. With an audible "POINK!" I finally got out of the thing; I was more winded from that than the swim. Sheesh. A quick rinse of the feet with a cup of water from the volunteers, on with the gear, and out onto Route 30 - no traffic stop for me this year. T1 time - 2:14. It felt quicker than that - maybe the wetsuit was a little tighter than I thought.

"Whoa! Cold! Cold!" As I took my first pedal strokes, the air was positively chilly. It was probably in the mid-60's, but considering I'd done all my bricks in the mid-day, Mid-Atlantic heat and humidity, my body was used to operating about 30 degrees warmer. I just focused on riding out of town, then up the uber-climb at 5km. When I got to the top, I could feel my heartbeat in my ears and neck, but I wasn't breathing that hard. I could tell my body was in "Great Big Freakout" mode with the cold start, so I'd just have to be patient and let it warm up.

Rolling out of town:
http://www.brightroom.com/stf.asp?EVENTID=14071&PWD=&ID=37624215

Summit of first big climb:
http://www.brightroom.com/stf.asp?EVENTID=14071&PWD=&ID=37622929

I knew Brian was chasing me, and so was Debi, but I knew they'd be cold, too. That was a wash. My race plan was a simple one: Steady swim in 35:00 (done!), steady bike in 2:35, then a 2:00 run to seal it. With transitions, a 5:15 was possible if I didn't race like a dipsh*t, but since I was being chased? Dipsh*tdom was always lurking around every corner.

It was breezy out there. Not windy, but there was definitely enough air moving to keep you interested in steering a straight line. Plus, it was a crosswind. Hoooo-boy. I knew that meant work in both directions (out and back), with no real tailwind. Hey, everyone would feel bad. Suck it up, cupcake.

I'd ridden a 2:30 on this course - 2:35 was do-able in the right weather. Maybe this wasn't right, but it wasn't bad. I just knew I'd have to be honest and steady in the first half, and then really hold on for the second half. Eat, drink, and be smooth. Like Vanilla Ice, only smoother. And faster. With less hair. And a better tan.

I rotated with several guys on the way out. One particular fellow really gave me a good fight; he'd spin by me on the climbs, then I'd zip past on the next descent. Since Tupper Lake is nothing but climbs or descents, this made for frequent pass-and-repass moments. Around the 5th rotation he looked over and said, "We should get to know each other. I'm Eric."

Had to laugh at that. That's the third time I've been dueling with someone on the bike in a race, and it turns out to be an Eric. Even if "the" Eric isn't there, there's always someone out there keeping up Eric's race motto, "To Annoy and Torment." Weiss - you should be proud - your influence is everywhere.

Just before the turnaround I heeded the call of nature once again. I'd barely sipped one bottle on the way out, and it was still nice and cool - no need to be insane with the fluids today. After a 45-second peetstop I was back on the road, and looking at the rest area turnaround. 28 miles down - 28 to go.

First half split - 1:21:51.

Brian hadn't caught me yet, and neither had Debi. On my way down from the turnaround I managed to see Brian (about 4 minutes back), I spotted Katie Hobson (it's gotta' be the white shoes), but I missed Deb. I kept to my race plan (boring, I know), and just sipped water, taking the occasional gel. I kept thinking back to my Boston effort - the first race in 11 years where I had a race plan, stuck to it, and dadgum, it actually worked. I knew I had to just be patient - the run was coming. If I didn't do anything overly stupid on the bike (like ride it as if the race ended in T2), I could actually have a decent run. For once. Wait, check that - for the first time on the "new" Tupper run course...a course that had destroyed me three times in a row.

Bike, Mile 30:
http://www.brightroom.com/stf.asp?EVENTID=14071&PWD=&ID=37621049

I took on the hills one at a time. I caught and passed Eric one last time (Ha-ha! Take THAT!). On the final long, sweeping descent into town, I tucked into the aerobars and held on all the way through the bend, whooping past some spectators and hoping they actually heard a Doppler Shift as I went past.

(WARNING: NERD ALERT, for use of Doppler in a race report. I'll take my penalty drink later).

As I rolled into T2 under a bright, beautiful Adirondack sky, I felt some sense of relief - neither Brian nor Deb had caught me. Now I just had 13.1 miles to seal the deal, and hang on for dear life.

Second half split - 1:20:50 (negative split by 1:01, but taking out the pee break on the way out, 16 seconds).

Total Bike Time - 2:42:41 - 20.6mph.

Entering T2:
http://www.brightroom.com/stf.asp?EVENTID=14071&PWD=&ID=37618820

I wobbled back to my rack spot, and there's nothing better than the sight of nearly empty racks waiting for you. I parked Hermes on the rack, and once again, the circus music started blaring over the PA. Despite working on transitions all through the early summer, I managed to put both socks on upside-down, forget how to work my lace-locks, and then start running with the helmet on. At least I remembered my number belt on the way out...

T2 - 2:07. Yeeearrrrrgh.

I hate the Tupper Lake run course. Hate, hate, hate it. Like Brussel Sprouts with Broccoli on the side, I hate it. It's mean and nasty and horrible to start, and then it really gets you by the short and curlies. You climb, climb, climb for the first 2 miles, then you get dumped onto the exposed, wide-open, sunsplashed shoulder of Route 3/30 for another mile of climbing. If there was anywhere in the race I would lose time like Skylab losing altitude, it would be in the first 5 miles. I just put one foot in front of the other, and tried to get them done.

Amazingly, things started to look really good.

Mile 1 - 8:52
Mile 2 - 8:26
Mile 3 - 8:26

I felt okay - I was running smoothly, controlled, and the cool day actually felt fantastic. It was like running in air conditioning. Then I remembered that all of the mile markers at Tupper Lake should have a little sign below them that says, "For Entertainment Purposes Only - Not Really Sure About The Measurements." For after running 3 uphill miles, imagine my surprise on the nice, easy, descending 4th mile...

Mile 4 - 9:33. Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot? I decided to keep taking splits, but not to really worry about them. As I rounded the corner from the first "out" loop and started heading back towards town, I spotted a tall, orange figure simply mowing through people. While folks ahead of her looked to be jogging, she was running. Head high, shoulders back, carving a line through the runners like Alberto Tomba through slalom gates.

Coach Deb was on the move, coming my way. Little did I know - she'd already lost 10 minutes on the bike changing a flat, so my 10-minute headstart had become 20. Still, she was easily running a minute per mile faster than I was. I tried to do the math on the time gap, but kept coming up with an answer of "Eli Whitney and the Cotton Gin." Despite eating and drinking enough, my brain was stuck on the Industrial Revolution - there'd be no more math today.

I put my head down, I ran on. Just then, I spotted Katie Hobson right behind Deb. Before I could say anything she called out, "Great job! I'm sucking." I was impressed by that. Most people would say, "I suck." when having a bad day, but Katie - professional writer - properly constructed her mid-race review to separate the action from the person. That impressed me, considering my earlier math/history brain cramp.

Mile 6:
http://www.brightroom.com/view_user_photo.asp?EVENTID=14071&PWD=&ID=37619209

Through the middle miles, my legs started to get heavy. Not falling apart, but feeling like they'd pretty much been taken as far, and as fast, as they were going to go. My mile times were all over the place, but that's because the mile markers were only accurate to plus/minus 1 mile (give or take). My pace was the same, I just felt like I was doing something very big. And I smiled.

I was.

I was racing my 10th Tupper Lake Tinman in a row. I was basically taking a body that had no sleep for 2 years, some consistent training, and smart pacing, and asking it to do something that 95% of the US Population would never even consider. And to me, this was just a "good" day. Riiiiight. Being tired meant I was right where I needed to be - right on that edge of going too hard, and going too easy. That heaviness meant I would probably finish with nothing left - who could ask for a better plan than that?

Approaching mile 8, a woman came by and said, "Hey, I just have to say your bike was AWESOME. You dropped me and disappeared - it was great to watch." I was very flattered, for a second - then I replied, "Thanks! But that's the end of my talent. You see, I hear that a lot. From people, like yourself, who are in the process of saying 'Nice ride!' as they run past, and make me go, 'Wow.'" She laughed, I laughed, and then - BOOM. She was gone.

* sigh *

I managed to truck over the little insulting hills at mile 9 (I finally got past them without walking), and then entered the ATV Trail section. I heard footsteps coming up behind me, and did my best to yield right and give a passing lane. I heard the guy behind me say, "No problem - I'm not in a rush. This is my first triathlon."

"Wow!" I chirped. "Your first tri is a Half Ironman? Awesome! You're doing great!" He replied, "Yeah, and I've got Lake Placid in three weeks - don't need to get hurt here." And again - poof - he passed, and was gone. Wotdahell. Who are these guys? They're good.

What happened to taking 2-3 years to learn the sport? Racing Sprints, then Olympic, then Tinman, THEN Ironman? Where's the learning curve? What's the hurry to start with Everest? Does this make me sound curmudgeonly? Should I finish by telling these kids to get off my dang lawn, and turn down that music? Yeah, I thought so.

Back on Route 3/30, I was at mile 10. Just 3 miles to go - under 30 minutes for sure. My race clock told me I could get under 5:20 if I kept it moving; I'd started the run at 3:20 race time, so I was right on plan. If I could just keep it going...

Miles 11 and 12 passed, and I entered the last, merciful mile. Passing a crowd at the Tupper Lake Civic Center, someone passed me and said, "Hey, it's Hurricane Bob!" Now my day was complete - a good effort, good weather, less than a mile to go, and a sighting. Whoot! Just then, someone else called out, "Hey BOB!" and waved. I looked back - through salty Oakleys I could see...

...Mike Kelly?

Could it be? Mike and Kim live in Maryland, but Mike's been here before with me (in 1999). His brother-in-law was racing the Olympic, so maybe he came up to surprise him? It could be! I yelled back, "MIKE! MIKE! HOLY SH*T! What are you doing here? AWESOME!" He waved, smiled, and I turned my way up the road - just the final right turn and descent to the finish.

An aside, if you will (we'll get back to the race in one second). So I call Mike post-race and ask him, "Hey! Where are you?" thinking the answer will be, "Main Street." or "the McDonalds across from Transition..." or, "Right behind you!" Instead, Mike tentatively, curiously offers, "Chicago?" It was more of a question than a statement...leading me to think, perhaps, no, that definitely was NOT Mike Kelly.

Thanks to an email from not-Mike-Kelly, I would later learn that not-Mike was really Andrew, someone I'd gone back-and-forth with pre-race via email. He was lucid enough to recognize the green/yellow/white Crayola box of my trisuit - I was not lucid enough to do the same.

Whew. So where was I? Oh, yes - the finish.

For the 10th time I made the turn, rolled through the descent, high-fived the NY State Trooper letting us through, and hit the grass. There was nobody ahead or behind, so I finally relaxed - I'd "won" both battles. Neither Brian, nor Deb, would catch me. As I approached the line, I turned my number forwards and looked up, and spotted the photographer changing his memory card.

So I stopped. 70.29 miles covered, and I stopped. Sometimes I think being a poser has to be genetic. I didn't think about this - it wasn't planned - it was a reflex. So as soon as the camera was reloaded, I resumed my stroll to the line.

Poser-cam:
http://www.brightroom.com/stf.asp?EVENTID=14071&PWD=&ID=37624921

Total Run - 1:56:17
Total Time - 5:17:24.

Not fast, not slow. Very solid - right down the middle. 29th of 85 in Age Group, 166th of 700 Overall. Swim was 100th overall, Bike was 124th overall, and run was 325th.

After passing through the line and getting some water, I started the watch. Brian was coming - it was just a question of how soon. Sure enough, he came through just over 10 minutes later. However, his bike split simply BURIED mine - he'd gone 44:36, 2:35, 2:03. It was an impressive ride on a breezy day, but even so, that didn't stop him from immediately offering for...

"...Rematch? Next year?" In the finish chute, medal in hand. Ya' gotta love New Yorkers.

Later that night, we all met up at the Lake Placid Pub and Brewery to refuel, and then followed it up with a brief stroll through Lake Placid to Ben and Jerry's for the most important part of any race - dessert. After 5+ hours of racing, ice cream is nearly intoxicating, isn't it?

Next year will be Tupper #11 for me ("This one goes to 11, you see.") Who's in? Who wants a piece of me? Take a number, and be warned. I might actually be sleeping by then. Maybe. Sort of. Then again, I thought that about this year to, so call it 50/50 odds.

Hurricane Bob
* Solid. *

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