One More Night.
July 29, 2000
One
by one, the names started to gain faces.
Trevor Shand and his Red/White and Blue Do; Kurt Egli and his speedy
Shelley; Rick Denney and the little Red-Haired Girl we'd all heard about
(Karla), Scott Rosen, Chris Baucom, Dr. Iron Byron Walthal, Marc Swanlon, John
Keenan, Lisa Miller, Renee, Annie...it was pretty much impossible to keep
meeting new people without completely screwing up the names...
As
Marc Swanlon will attest to.
I called him Jeff Mazer for 3 days – even on the run course (Duh) while
he was top-5 in his Age Group.
He was polite enough to go "No, Marc." as he ran by at mile
21...while I was at mile 8.
Next
time I may I suggest name tags for the morning swims?
It'd help someone as bad with names as I am.
The
week passed on, the swims grew shorter, the meals grew longer, and it got to be
time to do some planned field-trips for the E-Group and TRI-DRS list.
On Thursday, we met at the Best Western for a tradition Eric and I stole
from the IMC plan: The
Ride of the Marathon course.
Sure, we'd ridden it every day before...but now this was the 'official'
ride, and we had a group of about 15 heading out under cloudy skies.
I saddled up next to Rick D. as we made the turn onto the out-and-back
portion of the run course by those towers, and I wanted to make sure he was
doing okay.
Of
all the IronVirgins at Lake Placid, I was the most worried about Rick. His
mindset in several posts had told me that he was following in my footsteps from
1998 - he was feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The IM was looming before like a breaking wave... and he was paddling on
a balsa-wood board. Of
course his training had been enough all around, but the first time it just feels
like NOTHING you do could be enough, and everyone is more fit than you, and why
can't the cutoff be 7:00am the next day....I knew it well.
We
rode out and I made sure to point out every aid station, and I made sure that he
was able to break the course down into easier to handle segments. "From
town to the jumps is 3 miles. From
there it's 2.5 to the turn, then back to the jumps, then back to town.
Once in town, 1 mile out...1 mile back....voila!
First loop done."
I wasn't sure if it was helping, but it was all I could do.
Mark was cool as a cucumber, and Michael?
Well – he was still acting as if it was just a sprint on a Sunday - no
biggie by him. Scott Rosen had us pose for some pics at the big, blue M-Dot in
the road that we'd all see enough of on Sunday...and then we noodled back into
town, minus a stop for Trevor...who'd suddenly developed a case of Spinergy
creepage. His bearings had come unglued (I mean his wheel - not that the dye was
going to his head or anything), but he just rode the wobble-mobile right to
B&L bikes...and that took care of that.
That
afternoon my mother and her friend Frank arrived...and then Lynda's parents
finished their trek North, and I had the entire Bob Tifosi in place and safe in
Lake Placid. This
would be their first IM's as spectators, and I was thankful to have 2 IMC's
under my belt so that this time, I had the spare energy to explain everything
that was going on without having to really think about it too much.
Lynda was the perfect hostess and showed them the house while I was out
riding about with the E-Groups Peloton, and we met them for dinner that night at
Jimmy's by the lake.
Feasting
over a plate of Gnocchi, I was able to really reflect on everything that was
happening for the first time:
My mom and my in-laws were in town to see me do something I loved.
St. Lynda would be there at the end as she's always been, and I was
feeling the most prepared and confident of any of my IM attempts.
To see a plan - a vision that you've had for a few months, coming
together with no major problems - and to be awake enough to see it all as it
happens? I
couldn't ask for anymore...
...although
there was that matter of the weather forecast.
Each day during the week, the Sunday forecast had gotten worse and worse.
I had watched it go from 'cloudy' to 'chance of showers' to 'all day
rain' to 'FLASH FLOOD warning on Sunday?'....and that was the bee in my bonnet
that I couldn't shake free.
I stressed out about the weather channel like a day-trader watching the
ticker, and soon Lynda had to declare martial law and keep me from the TV
whenever the local newscast brought up the weather.
When
I brought my worries up to my mother, she simply said "It won't rain. It
won't rain on my Ironman.
End of discussion." And that was that.
I repeated her words to everyone in the house whenever they brooded about
the rain, and it became a house-mantra "Mom Mina says no rain.
Mom Mina says no rain..."
She had been pulling weather miracles since I was a kid...when I actually
used to believe that she was a Weather Goddess as well as my mom. Some mom's
knit, some mom's join the PTA - my mom can move weather patterns on a whim.
29
years old or not...I was now banking on that Weather Goddess belief for all I
was worth.
Friday
morning's swim was a quick one, for some of the men had other things to attend
to. At 8:30am
at High Peaks Cyclery, a once per Ironman gathering of bold athletes occurred.
30 men, clad in nothing but their beliefs, their sneaks, and their...Froot
of the Looms...the 2000 Lake Placid Underpants run would be making it's rounds
through town.
I
was daring (Read: stupid) enough to do it, and I had managed to cajole Eric,
Mark, and Tom Downs into joining me (or more accurately, I bought 'em all tidy-whities
and said "If you think I'm doing this alone, you're #($ing nuts.")
Poor Tom had arrived the day before, and was banking on the fact that his
wife and son were still sleeping back at the house as we essentially streaked
through the heart of town - twice.
Arriving
just in time, Eric, Mark, Tom and I stripped down to our skivvies...and in an
attempt to boondoggle my mother's attempt at any pictures, I asked her to hold
all of my clothing. Of
course this didn't work...as like most mom's she's capable of balancing
no fewer than 39 things at once...and I heard the camera go 'clickclickclickclick'
"HEE HEE!" as I ran away at the back of the group waving to Tommy and
Lynn Kapusta, and for some odd reason, blushing.
As
Tom said in his race report - remember that dream you had where you showed up
for school naked? It
was *exactly* like that (only colder) with people on the streets stopping to try
and figure out what the heck they were really seeing.
Some applauded, some ran for cover, and one embarrassed female
professional in a suit covered her face and walked right into a street sign.
Some guy in a Honda took one look at us, locked his brakes, and just
stared in slack-jawed awe as he slid past headed down Main Street in the
opposite direction.
It
was a blast.
We
headed down the hill, now gathering in numbers...and tore right through the
Morning Swim at the lake.
Of course, the only person talking there was the DJ who said "Oh
look - heres the Underpants Run!", but that was it.
Whether it was the blinding white of the underwear, the blinding white of
our un-tanned chests, or the lack of reaction a group of 30 almost-naked men
evokes... the only sound I remember hearing was the 'pliffpluffpluff' of our
feet on the sand as we trundled by.
Maybe they were all just swimming or something...
Right
after that, I saw my future in-laws... ("Everyone?
Wave to my in-laws, please!")
Then
I saw Frank with a camcorder...("Everyone?
Say 'Hi Frank!'")
I
made a memo to myself that any future runs for political office were now out of
the question...but as the run finally slowed down enough for me to catch my
breath, we all posed for group pictures to the assembled crowd...and I could
tell by the smiles on everyone's face that it had been childish, stupid, and
exactly what we all needed with 2 days to go.
I hear there's going to be one in Penticton, too...hee hee hee!
Got
Chalk? Yes,
Chalk. It's an
integral part of IM Week – another tradition that Eric and I borrowed from IMC
and ported East. Following
the plan, we piled some of the TRI-DRS and E-Groups crowd into a caravan of
vehicles (although we forgot the snack stop on the way out of town), and drove
one loop of the bike course.
Partially so that you can get a look at things for one last time...and
mostly so that you can stop on any grades with a shoulder and write silly notes
to other people on the road.
I
picked on Eric.
Eric
picked on me.
Amy
cheered for Eric.
Karla
cheered for Rick.
Scott
Rosen's honey wrote to him.
Michael
Parente defaced things.
Stephen
Dragoni wrote things about England we didn't get.
"ZABEL
ZABEL ZABEL ZABEL!"
"Dance
on the pedals!"
"Registration,
9:00am tomorrow - pass the needle."
"Yes,
this is the hill"
"One
more lap!"
"Eric
is Super Hunky!"
(*skritchsktichskritch
*)
"Eric
is Super Chunky!" ("Michael!
What are you doing?")
Unfortunately...it
rained between Friday and Sunday, so none of us got to see the messages when we
needed them. But as Rick said...it's the heart that went into the message that
counts, and passing over that road 2 days hence and just thinking about what was
there would be a good thing, for a smile on the tough parts helps make even the
heaviest of bodies lighter (And as a heavy body, any help is good help).
After
finishing the loop, some headed to the Pasta party, and some of us just went
home...but I had a plan to follow.
Mom and I took a walk around the Ironman Village, and I showed her all of
the areas we'd motor through on Sunday - just a simple walk-through.
"This is where we come from the swim, you'll get your best view from
here. Once I
come out of that tent I'll take my bike and head out of the back...then when I
finish the first loop I'll pass by and start again..."
It took about 45 minutes, and then the planning got serious:
"So where am I standing for the run to the finish?"
she asked.
Back
in February, when I invited mom to Lake Placid, I also asked her if she'd like
to run in with me - and before I even finished the word 'me' she said
"YES!" Since
then she'd undergone an amazing transformation:
She started walking, and then she started running.
She dropped a classified amount of weight, and began to tell friends
about how she was going to "Finish an Ironman with Bob!"
It was so neat to watch someone who had made a profession of worrying
about me in races...suddenly and completely getting bitten by the bug.
"You'll
wait right here. I'll
pass you at mile 11, 13, and then again at 24.
Lynda and her parents can go into the oval and get into the Ironmates
area...but you just wait here and in 20 or so minutes, I'll be back and in we'll
go, right through those gates."
"Will
they let you? I mean, it's allowed, isn't it?" she asked.
"Sure!
And if someone tries to stop me, I'll knock 'em out."
I replied.
Of
course, I had no idea if it was allowed or not...but with 195 pounds of me
moving towards the line after 140.5 miles?
You'd have as much chance of stopping me as you would stopping an Amtrak
Metroliner with some wet Kleenex and rubber bands.
I had made a promise to my mother...and I would keep it at any cost.
Saturday.
The
calm before the storm.
Bag
check.
Bike
check.
"Goodnight
Apollo."
Don't
look back.
Don't
think.
Don't
worry.
All
systems go.
A
Bobsled ride to calm my nerves.
Rain
on the way home.
Mom
says rain today - none tomorrow.
Worry
about bike in rain.
Eric
and Amy cover Apollo - I don't even have to ask.
Volunteers
cover the bags - nobody has to ask.
Parade.
Wave. Smile.
Meeting.
Don't draft, or prepare to introduce yourself to Mr. Crawford.
Pancake
dinner at 4:00pm.
Galaxy
Quest.
Laugh.
Write
notes.
"What
number is Lynn? Rick?
Mark? Tom?
Cards
from St. Lynda...
Cards
from Oscar!
Looking
at Mark, Michael and Tom...and taking a chance on their chances...I give them
one last bit of encouragement: as we headed to our rooms for that last night of
no sleep: "Lads? Tonight
will be the last night you sleep as Virgins.
Tomorrow night, you'll go to bed as Ironmen."
I'm
proud of all of them for coming this far, and my hopes and prayers for all of
them are the last things on my mind as I stare at the ceiling...and I
stare...and I stare...and I stare...and I stare...
It
was the last time to think.
Tomorrow,
it would finally be time to do...again.