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After a morning of perusing REI Seattle (the FAO Schwartz for the outdoorsy-type), we hit the road at Noon for Penticton. Lynda took the wheel for most of the drive North, while we marveled once again at the change in terrain and climate in only a few hours: From the lush green of the Pacific Northwest, to the beautiful sandscape of the Okanagan Mountains...at least, the mountains we could see. As we discovered on the way, there had been a long, dry summer in the Okanagan, resulting in lots of hard-to-fight fires all up and down the valley.

In several places we could see, smell, and almost taste, smoke plumes from the valley below. The normal crystalline air I'd remembered had been replaced by a haze that reminded you just how easy it was for hundreds of years of landscape to change in a matter of days. The smoky air lingered all the way to the bike course and Yellow Lake, and that gave me pause as to how the air might be on Sunday, but since this was Tuesday I knew there'd be plenty of wind before then to clear things out.

We made it to Penticton by 5:00pm, and checked into our room at the Spanish Villa. After Eric and I were supposed to stay there in 2000 (but were moved up the street to the Slumber Lodge when our room flooded) I was really looking forward to finally being there with everyone else: Eric and Amy, Tricia Richter, Bruce and Martha Grant, Wade and Cathy Blomgren, Mark and Beth, and Mike and Kim Kelly just around the corner. It was a short walk to the morning swims across the street, and the marathon course passed it at mile 25.5 and 25.8 - that meant a short stagger home after the finish.

Eric showed up shortly after we had, having flown all day from NYC. There was one issue: Only Eric had shown up, devoid of a bike, luggage, and any kind of snacks. The planes into Penticton airport aren't exactly 747's: They seat 16, and carry the luggage of 12 (you guess which 12). Thus, late deliveries of toys and clothing via truck is pretty common Ironman Week. The freight truck is met with Fantasy Island-like cries of, "The truck! The truck!" as it delivers bikes to all the good boys and girls on Lakeshore Drive. We had both been through this drill before, so it wasn't too annoying (for me, anyhow).

To help us all settle we piled into the car and loaded up on supplies for the week at the Overwaitea (the most amazing grocery store in the entire universe, or at least in B.C.). We had planned on a big welcoming feast at Earl's (the previous few years Tuesday night haunt), but once Mike and Kim arrived after long flight we pretty much realized we were all completely whipped - holding up a phone got to be too much effort in about a minute. In a flash pasta was whipped up in the room, dinner was served, and we all fell into our respective beds by 10:00pm. Eric's luggage was slipped under the door sometime after 11, but his bike was still nowhere to be found (due to arrive on Wednesday morning).

Wednesday was the first day of the morning swims at the S.S. Sicamous, and the usual 2-hour breakfast at the Hog's Breath Cafe. If you ever want to know why IMC is so popular, look no further then the Hog's Breath Cafe. This place opens up it's walls Ironman Week, and becomes Caffeine Central for 1700 buzzing triathletes each and every day. The place has the feel of "Cheers" where everyone who walks in becomes and honorary Norm for a moment, and doesn't want to really hurry off to anywhere just yet. One breakfast special and a latte or two later, I dropped my wheel off at the Bike Barn and left that worry behind.

After some milling about downtown with Lynda, Eric and I headed off to pick up his better half as she arrived at Penticton Airport. I chauffeured Mr. and Mrs. Amy Kriegsman-Weiss back to the Villa, and then Eric and I set about putting together, sabotaging, and then fixing each other's bikes. The Bike Barn called me at 4:00pm - my wheel was finished and ready to go, already! It was now back to round, cleaned, and ready for Sunday. These guys at the Bike Barn - can you ever say enough about how hard they work IM week?

The party continued to grow as Tricia Richter arrived amid minimal fanfare that afternoon. Just when I was thinking about going for a run both she and Wade came by and asked, "We're going out for a short run, you up for it?" Of course - why not? Eric completed the foursome, and we set off at a casual pace along the waterfront following what would be the final mile on Sunday night (or afternoon if you race like Wade). It was just enough to wake up the legs, and I was surprised at how good I felt near the end of my taper. Then again, I shouldn't have been - but I'd never really been this fit coming in, so it was all new to me.

Tricia wasn't racing this year, but she was there to take in the whole Penticton scene while waiting to sign up for the 2002 Edition (an event that had become wholly as big as the race itself, complete with people sleeping in line BEFORE the current race is finished). Wade was thinking about a Kona slot, but he wasn't really aiming for it. I mean, he was there to have a fast race (after qualifying in 2000), and if a slot came along he'd certainly take it, but it wasn't his sole goal for being there. Eric was there to try and improve on his 11:45 PR at IM-USA in 2000, but after getting married in April of 2001 his training time had been short, so he was his usual, sand-bagging self.

I figured he'd go 10:50, win the Nobel Prize, and develop a plan for cold fusion while coming back on Skaha Lake Road.

As we finished up our run the traditional Wednesday costume race (The Hogman's Splash and Dash) was in full-swing. It looked like Mardi-Gras on a fitness kick, all without being too serious about it. Judy Walsh came by us with what appeared to be a crown, a wand, and a 4-foot python draped over her shoulders. It still doesn't make sense to me to this day, but she looked to be having the right amount of fun with it.

Once we'd seen the last finisher come through we headed back to the Villa for dinner, deciding along the way to throw an impromptu "open-house" barbeque for everyone staying there. What was planned for 8 or 10 people turned into about 40 (or so it seemed) very quickly, but we managed to keep up. I don't remember much, but some of the highlights were another quasi-military invasion of the Overwaitea for supplies, Mark's stepfather Lou cooking the 20 pounds of chicken like a pro, my mother-in-law and Lynda creating a homemade salad dressing from nothing more then lemon juice and pepper, and Mike Valleriano's son deciding he'd had too much fun at the party, and collapsing into a perfect nap in the middle of our floor (while people stepped over him for the next 10 minutes). It was a great way to just chill out and see everyone at once, without being stuck at a table for 50 someplace. It's the little things like that - that's why I love IM week. The race (when it finally happens) is just a big bonus to everything else that goes on; A grand compliment to the week long summer-camp atmosphere.

Thursday morning brought about another short swim at the Sicamous, albeit with a larger group of early-morning dippers (a trend which would continue until Friday). Ron Gilcreast made his presence known, and at most we all swam about 300 yards. In lieu of yardage, I decided to test just how fast a wetsuit-clad Clydesdale could slide down a child's water slide on the shore. The answer is, "DAMN!" *splash* (Or something similar). As long as the suit is wet? Whoo! I bounced off the bottom of Okanagan Lake unabated, and in doing so tickled seismometers as far away as Tokyo...then did it again.

Another 2 hour breakfast at the Hog's Breath followed, and then we all made our way to registration for the usual pre-race ritual BAND SNAPPING. There's something about that moment that you can't explain, but you know what it's like when you've done it. It's a little plastic band worth about 12 cents. You can get one at a Theme Park, Collegiate Happy Hour, or Company Picnic...but this one, THIS is special. A volunteer asks you to hold out your wrist, they wrap it around and look into your eyes to ask, "Will that fit? Too loose, or tighter?" You nod, unblinking.

Click. Snip.

Just like that, you're handcuffed to the race. You're marked as one of 'them' the rest of the week. Everyone walks out of registration with that same look: "Wow. Now it's real. I'm racing an Ironman in 3 days. Holy Cow." From Iron-Virgins to Iron-Vets, it's the same wonderful, terrifying rush. All from a simple little piece of plastic that now reminds you everytime you move, "Race Day is coming!" whether you want it to, or not.

That afternoon (following another casual lunch to shake off the nerves from our arrest at registration) was the traditional run-course ride, a 20-25 mile jaunt up and down the marathon course. This time I went out with Mark Markley, Eric, and Jeff Campbell. We rode out into darkening skies, and I soothed Mark reminding him, "Don't worry - Mr. Kelly told me in 1999 that it never rains in the South Okanagan."

Mark replied, "Wasn't there a savage thunderstorm before the start that year that started a forest fire?" Oh yeah, I forgot about that.

BOOM! With a crack of suddenly expected (yet ironic) thunder, the skies opened up in a fantastic summer shower. The raindrops were the size of Twonies, and freezing! Eric pretty much dropped Mark and I like a bad habit and made for town. Jeff had turned back earlier, so Mark and I just splished and splashed all the way back with wet socks (and the dreaded 'Clammy Chamois'), coming into completely dry roads once we hit town. The downburst was so small, it missed Penticton completely...so we got some odd looks as we rolled down Main Street, dripping water behind us like we'd ridden through a Car Wash.

Once we dried off and enjoyed a little nap time (ahhh...God Bless the Taper), we all met up for dinner at Villa Rosa, a fantastic little Italian Restaurant off Lakeshore Drive. My in-laws came along to meet the crew, as well as Mike and Cathy Valleriano (plus Jenna and Mike Jr.), Tricia, Mark, Beth, Steve, Mike, Kim, and the rest of the usual suspects. While I sat with Lynda, we watched little Jenna Valleriano (at all of 3 years old) dive into a plate of pasta with both hands while her mom tried to keep her from making *too* much of a mess.

I knew that this was to be my last IMC for awhile, and that a Jenna-like creation would hopefully be coming along in the not-too-distant future for Lynda and I. I had a feeling that something as wonderful but challenging as that would make racing IM seem positively pedestrian, but I was ready to shelve everything about my life for the time being and give it my best. I mean, I'd planned on racing one - here I was at number 5. I'd already accomplished more then I'd ever dreamed - now I could focus on baby-planning with no regrets, right?

My mother in law sensed I was pondering and asked me, "Are you sure you're ready for one of those?"

I knew damn well I wasn't - who ever is? Someone who tells you they're ready for children is lying to you and to themselves. There's nobody who's ever really ready, so I figured my fear was pretty on the mark. I was comfortable in my backing away from racing until Cathy Valleriano took up the opposite shoulder and immediately let me know, "Oh - you can keep racing with kids! Sure you can!" Mike backed her up immediately: "Absolutely. Get them used to it - they travel well when they're little, and then you've got nothing to worry about. I brought Mike to races, and Jenna was there soon after she was born..." They made it sound so easy, I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to get sucked into believing that raising a child while maintaining my racing was easy. My mindset was that raising and infant was tougher then Calculus and Nuclear Science, in Latin. Child rearing and Racing were mutually exclusive...weren't they?

If a set of parents with 2 kids tells you that it's possible, shouldn't you believe them? Mike was faster than me - he'd been to Hawaii before! Couldn't I believe him?

I was too afraid to even think about it: I didn't dare allow myself the temptation. I'd already put Lynda through so much in our first 5 years together with my suddenly annual IM habit, I just couldn't bring myself to even THINK about such a thing. It was like the Isle of Sirens to me - the island of temptation I didn't DARE look towards, for I was all too familiar with my own weaknesses. I was happy play "Dad" for awhile - I owed her that much, at least. In my mind, I held my ground - barely.

As we walked along the Lakeshore Drive and stopped for Ice Cream that none of us had room for, Lynda's mom knew where I was. She'd taken in enough of the IM-week atmosphere to gain an understanding of what it means to me. She knew I was on the fence - unsure. She asked, "Are you sure you don't want to come back here? I mean, all your friends are here, it's just so much of what you do...how could you not want to come back?"

Of course she was dead-on: I'd love to come back - I'd come back to Penticton every year if I knew that my friends were all going to be there, but that's not fair. Yes, Lynda loves the traveling. Every time I've asked her if it was okay to go back, she'd reply without hesitation...but I just had this feeling that I needed to step back. I needed to take a year away. I needed to focus on something that wasn't 12 or 14 hours long at the end of the Summer. Lynda and I hadn't been to see her friends in London since 1998 - we'd done Canada every year since then. She was long overdue in her return, and I knew my racing was the reason.

I was NOT going to allow myself to even consider it, no matter how much everyone told me it was okay. I felt like an alcoholic in a bar - I would be fine, so long as people stopped offering me drinks. I would be fine, and I would do the right thing. One last dance and then I'd come back another time...once real life outside of triathlon had been given the attention it was so long overdue.

I knew I'd be back someday. Of that I was certain, but I could not deny the pull of being there. I guess it's when you're faced with moments of such pure temptation that you become an adult - when you're able to stare straight at something you love, but realize you've had more then your share of it already. That going back is desired, but there are other things that need to be taken care of. Knowing what you want to do, then doing what you MUST do regardless of your feelings - that's where true growth comes. It's hard - it hurts. Perhaps that's why maturity brings age and not vice-versa, and who those who are mature look like they've been through so much life.

Gulp. I'm beginning to sound like my parents. Where's a 12-step program when you need one? I think I need a drink.