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Oley Sheremeta Damien Hill Tjalling Ypma |
Tjalling Ypma Tjalling Ypma |
Mike McQuaide Tjalling Ypma |
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Oley Sheremeta I did my 2nd Whirlpool Steelhead Half last weekend in Benton Harbor, Michigan. Last year it was a hot race with 518 total competitors. This year it was a 70.3 Series event with 1447 in the half, 51 in the aquaman and 40 teams. 2005 Results: 2006 Results: NET -11:04 -:20 - 7:42 -1:23 + 2:55 - 17:34 So, I guess I'm happy with the results, but I still have a long way to go....... Analysis: 1. The swim (last year) was actually 1.4 miles, so my 11:04 time saving this year was due to two tenths of a mile less swimming, not becoming a better swimmer (yet). But I did manage to improve in the overall field a bit from the bottom 9.6% to the bottom 25%)
HOWEVER: This years "Big Lesson" didn't come until two days after the race: After taking the following day completely off, Sharon & I planned on a nice leisurely ride of 24 miles after doing a short (2mile) hike and the annual trip to "Sleeping Bear Dunes" http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleeping_Bear_Dunes_National_Lakeshore (a short hike up a huge sand dune). The hike up the dune was first, with an ambient temperature of around 80 degrees. So Sharon, her brother, sister-in-law and niece took the slow pace up while our 13 year old nephew and I did the fast walk to the top of the steep section, waited for the others and then did a moderate jog up the rest of the way. After taking in the view we decided to follow previous years traditions and race back to the others...... I'll tell you what, I haven't felt that good for years. I was moving well, keeping ahead of the 13 year old with relative ease and saying to myself - wow - I moving right along.... Right up until my left hamstring said enough and "tweaked" me to a sudden halt. Now four days later and almost able to walk without a limp the moral of the story is: No racing 13 year olds two days after a race! | ||||
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Damien Hill Yesterday I competed in the Lake Stevens Ironman 70.3 race. It consisted of a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, and 13.1 mile run. In my age group (20-24) the top four spots qualified for the Ironman 70.3 world Championships in Clearwater, Florida. I tried to keep a cool head before the race and not stress, but it was a little difficult knowing that this was my highest priority race to date and I had been training for over 7 months for it. The swim was an out and back loop in 77-degree water. I was in the 4th wave that started nine minutes after the first wave, so I was swimming over, under and around people for almost a half hour. I was first out of the water in my age-group. My transition from the swim to the bike went smoothly and I started to pick more people off on the first lap of the bike. The second lap I realized I was alone and I was no longer passing small groups of people. I knew that I was in the front of the race somewhere but knew that I was not in first because I remember seeing a carbon fiber bike with an Australian sticker fly by me earlier in the race (professional Luke Bell). After two and a half hours of climbing up and down hills on my bike I transitioned to the run. By this time it was well over 80 degrees, the high of the day was 97 degrees. I dodged from one tree to another trying to stay in the shade; my fragile Alaskan skin doesn?t enjoy the sun too much. I started out the run too fast and felt my quads spasming and cramping so I had to slow down a bit and get some more fluids in me. Halfway through the run I started to feel better and picked it up again, picking off more people who had slowed down considerably from the bike to the run. I crossed the line in 7th place but I ended up in 5th place after the adjusted time (some people in earlier waves came in before me.) In my age group I placed second, qualifying for Worlds in November. I was happy with the race because I didn?t use a heart rate monitor, and I took my bike computer off so I performed by the way I felt instead of some numbers. It was also after an extended break to Alaska, where training is sometimes hard to come by. There are still many things to work on and dial in before Worlds in four months. I missed a turn on the bike course, started to fast on the run, shifted wrong on the bike a few times which slowed me down on the hills, the list goes on. My next race will be the Alaska State Triathlon Championships on August 6th in Knik, Alaska, then down to Bend, Oregon for about 2 weeks of training in the heat and elevation. After that the Half-max Tri National Championships on September 16th in St. Louis, Missouri. The last race of the season will be the Ford Ironman 70.3 World Championships in Clearwater, Florida on November 11th. Swim 27:31 T1 0:48 Bike 2:30:35 T2 0:34 Run 1:29:24 |
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Tjalling Ypma Fate has decreed that my long races this year will occur on the hottest days. That may be better than having them on the coldest or wettest days, but the 97 degrees that prevailed at Lake Stevens did not make for a particularly pleasurable experience. The Lake Stevens 70.3 was essentially the Dannonman I raced last year, repackaged as part of the WTC 70.3 (read: half-ironman) series. As the race announcer never tired of proclaiming to the assembled masses, they were 'giving away' 100 slots for the 70.3 World Championships at the race, which actually meant that 100 athletes would qualify to pay $250 on the spot for the privilege of racing in Clearwater, Florida in November. I had no interest in this aspect of the race at all, with my visit to Clearwater in 2000 having been quite enough to last me a lifetime, and I was less than pleased by the 40% price rise that accompanied the attendant hype, but the hoopla did have the virtue of drawing a much larger and stronger field than raced last year. The course was unchanged except for the bike route, which was a mile shorter and absent one climb and some sharp turns in the initial section of each of the two laps, making the bike substantially faster than before. The race started at 7am, so I picked up Damian at 4am for the hour drive down, leaving plenty of time to collect race packets and get transition organized. The water temperature was 77 degrees, making the swim just marginally wetsuit legal. The wave starts, three minutes apart, with each group consisting of only about a hundred athletes, ensured that we had a relatively low-contact swim. The course was simplicity itself: follow the orange buoy line to the end, then turn around and swim back down the other side of the buoy line. What made it a bit more confusing was that the day also featured an 'international distance' race, with shorter distances in each discipline, and for those swimmers they had put some yellow buoys in the midst of the orange ones to mark their turn-around point. I couldn't resist doing the math: the half-ironman swim is 1900m, while the Olympic distance is 1500m, so to get the additional 400m the orange buoys had to extend 200m beyond the yellow buoys. I was thus puzzled when I found myself swimming for an interminably long time to get to the turn-around point once I had passed the yellow buoys, from where it took a similar lengthy time to get back to the yellow buoys. Either somebody miscalculated something badly, or they had some other notion of what constitutes the 'international distance', a term which as far as I know refers to either the Olympic (short) or Nice (long) distance. Judging by my swim split, we swam about 200m extra. The sun was in our eyes on the way back, destroying all distance vision, but fortunately the buoys were close enough that we could navigate by picking out the silhouette of the nearest one and thus following the line. When I finally got back to the yellow buoys I found myself tangling with the errant navigation of some less competent swimmers in the shorter race, turning the last part of the swim into a hybrid of a slalom course and bumper cars. I was a trifle irritated but nevertheless generally happy with the way things had gone as I hauled myself up the steep boat ramp and trotted into transition. Transition seemed to go poorly, but the official time split is quite reasonable so maybe my troubles were purely mental. Anyway, I was glad to get on the bike for the two loop ride that was really the only reason for me to do this race. It is a very challenging bike course, winding through the woods and hills with quite a bit of climbing, lots of variation in terrain and scenery, and rarely a stretch where you can just put down your head and hammer. Traffic was very heavy on that first lap, since my relatively strong bike skills allowed me to plough my way through large portions of the waves that had started the swim before me, as well as passing many of the short-course athletes who had started later but swam less. I went rather faster than I had intended, largely because I often found myself in situations where there was some prospect of being deemed to be drafting so I accelerated hard to get away from the various packs. I actually saw no draft marshals, but at the same time I didn't see any obvious drafting; it seemed like a clean race. A younger fellow and I found ourselves leap-frogging one another; whenever he passed me I got the message that I had been slacking, and I passed him whenever he was having a hard time; it was a good way to stay aware of progress. We must have passed several hundred riders as we went through that first lap. About 14 miles into the ride, with the most twisting, forested and hilly sections of the route behind us, we received welcome bottles of cold water from an aid station, just in time to tank up before the one really nasty climb of the course. That long straight grinder is followed by two amazing roller-coaster dips that have you pulling big G's and big eyes as you power through the bottom; you have to be brave and a bit foolish to go through those at max speed since many tri bikes get twitchy at high speed and the consequences of a mistake would be very ugly. I still felt quite fresh as we went up the last very steep and brutal climb and turned onto the lakeshore drive for the end of the first lap, quite satisfied with a 1:20 split for those first tough 28 miles. The aid station at the halfway point seemed utterly disorganized; I could see Gatorade bottles I would have liked to receive, since the day was heating up fast, but they weren't being held out as I flew by. I did manage to grab a bottle from a hand near the end of the line, but it just contained water. No problem, I still had some left-over Gatorade and I remembered that the other aid station had handed out waterbottles, so I just poured the water over my head, tossed the bottle, and rolled on. Traffic had become a lot lighter by then, since the short-course athletes had finished their ride and I was now amongst the faster long-course folk, so there was less immediate incentive to push hard. My lower back was feeling the stress of working hard in the aero position and I rather welcomed the opportunity to stretch when we got to the steeper hills. I finally dropped my leap-frogging buddy in the woods and shade at the back end of the course. I was over two hours into the ride when I got to the mid-loop aid station again, looking forward to another bottle of ice-cold water to see me through the last 12 miles. Imagine my dismay when all I got was a paper mug with an inch of tepid water in it. I cursed long and loud, but there was nothing to be done; the last stretch was going to be done dry in the full heat of the day. Halfway up the long grinder I chanced upon a rather familiar little butt; sure enough, it was attached to Kelly. We exchanged tired pleasantries as we dragged our bodies ever higher; she passed me at the top as I tried to wring a last drop from my waterbottles, and I got by her again at the bottom of the bigger and faster and scarier of the dips. From there it was a matter of hunkering down to make it to the end of the ride without expending too much energy, since a long run in broiling heat lay ahead. A couple of guys passed me on this last stretch; they were clearly strong riders who were doing negative splits in a very impressive display of self-discipline. The last climb didn't seem too bad but the lakeshore ride had largely lost its scenic appeal as I hammered towards transition and a cold drink. I was happy to see that my total bike split on this hard day was still well below 2:45. It was weird to find Cathy ambling about the bike racks as I pulled in, and even weirder to realize that she had already finished her shorter race while I still had a half-marathon to run. My legs didn't feel too bad as I set off up the first moderate hill, but the sun seemed to be burning holes in my sleeveless shoulders despite the masses of sunscreen I applied. I ducked into some welcome woods to commune with nature, ignoring Kelly's taunts as she trotted briskly by. Back on the road things became tough; the long uphill stretches of shadeless pavement were hard to handle, and I slowed to a walk, only marginally slower than my 'run', in between patches of shade. Fortunately the run aid stations were very well supplied, with chilled Gatorade to swallow and cold water to pour over your head. Things felt a lot easier on the long and gentle downhills of the course, there were a few shady sections, and the very vocal crowd at the mid-point of each loop provided much appreciated encouragement - I picked out the yells of Marti and Harvey as I staggered by, trying to look tough. I was hardly into the second half of the first loop when Damian came roaring by in the other direction, passing several guys in the last mile as he ran his way into 4th place overall and second in his division. The fast times put up that day were all the more impressive given the heat and hills; it was all I could do to keep it moving. I was by no means the only one having trouble; there must have been many ugly sights that day though I didn't see the roadside carnage typical of a really hot full-ironman day. I was glad to reach the last turn-around knowing I faced only one more hill and less than two more miles to go. A brisk walk uphill in the sun, a jog down to the bottom where the last aid station awaited me at the lakeshore, and then a slowly accelerating shuffle as I traversed the final mile and the finish line became increasingly tangible. To my surprise I found myself passing people, my shuffle apparently being marginally faster than theirs, and as we neared the crowds lining the last few hundred meters I determined not to let those folks pass me back. I pushed it hard through those final corners; there was still something left in my tank and legs, and when a young woman made a bid to pass me in the last two hundred meters I was able to surge a few times and hold her off up the final slope and over the line. It had been a far from glorious day, and I was disappointed to experience yet another meltdown on the run, but in the circumstances I was happy to finish with a time that was still within moderately respectable bounds. Overall this was a good event. The bike course is really terrific and reason enough to do the race despite my distaste for WTC hype and tactics. Clearly the organizers need to pay attention to the bike aid stations, and refigure their swim course measurements. I heard from several short-course racers that their event was poorly organized in many respects, such as a lack of course signs and transition being closed when the first bikers came in; clearly a lot needs to be done if this shorter component is to be brought up to snuff. |
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Tjalling Ypma There were few passengers on the 6am ferry from West Seattle to Vashon Island, but the knowing smiles and the race t-shirts soon revealed that everybody on board was headed for the Xterra triathlon that morning. It was good to renew acquaintances with folk I had met at the Solstice Xterra a few weeks before, and since many of them had previously done the Vashon Island race all I had to do was follow their cars south from the ferry to Dockton Park to find myself at the start. The race setting was magnificent, with the warm sun shining on the placid salt water of Quartermaster Harbor, embraced by two long forested arms of land and dotted with small yachts at anchor. It is a beautiful sheltered bay with very little traffic; an ideal place for the 800m swim that was to start our day. The morning of the race featured an extreme low tide, with the wide muddy stretches of shore thus exposed creating headaches for the organizers in terms of locating the start and exit of the swim. Fortunately the field at Xterra races is small and the atmosphere casual, and everybody was quite content to relax and wait until the organizers had figured things out. Eventually we were instructed to go out to the end of a long jetty for the start. I like to get my temperature adjusted before the start, so I jumped into the pleasantly cool water, not quite realizing that I would be treading water for the next 15 minutes or so as the last of the competitors made their way over and the final race announcements were made. The ad hoc swim course was marked by a few small buoys that barely broke the surface, but since I am not usually in the lead on the swim that was not a major concern for me. The starting signal was given and off we went through the buoyant salty waters. Our first turn was at a small floating dock which I didn?t see until I almost crashed into its side, forcing me to squeeze between it and the other guys cutting the corner as tight as possible. The next buoy was totally invisible to me so I just swam along in the convoy. At one point I saw a small buoy to my right that might have been a course marker, but there was no way to tell. I did manage to find the buoy that marked the point where we had to turn sharp left to begin the shoreward leg, but exactly which path to select between the anchored yachts was a matter of guesswork. It didn?t seem to matter, and I was really enjoying the swim in that beautiful setting; the buoyancy making me feel fast and the few bodies around giving me a sense of competition without having to fight for space. I soon found myself dragging my fingers over the shoreside shallows, but still way out from dry land, so resorted to some undignified dolphin leaps till I got close enough to shore to be able to run without having to wade through too much water. The soft mud was slippery, inviting runners to fall flat on their faces, with bits of shell and crab waiting to damage bare feet, but I made it to transition unscathed and sorry to end this part of the experience. I have really enjoyed all of the relatively few salt water race swims that I have done. As I transitioned I checked the bike racks to see if the guy I wanted to beat was ahead of me. I was not able to tell, but halfway up the long paved climb that led to the start of the single-track I saw and passed him. There was motivation for me to turn up the heat on the climb, where I am fairly strong, in hopes of holding him off on other parts of the course where he might be stronger. I hit the single-track at the same time as young Luis, who I gave the go-ahead so I could draft off him. We tore through the first tight sections of the course, which were technically easy but required constant braking and acceleration as we twisted through the bush. As we were spat out onto a jeep track we were amazed to see a bunch of guys ride up the track from the right, evidently having missed a turn and taken a shortcut. While I am sure their error was unintentional I was annoyed when none of them admitted their error to the officials after the race, since they knew what had happened and certainly saved themselves quite a bit of time, correspondingly skewing the results. I was dismayed to find my competitor right behind me just as we entered the next narrow stretch, and he passed me when I made a mistake and wound up in the bushes. Moments later he nose-dived into a gully and I shot by, with several guys on my wheel blocking the track and keeping the competition well behind. Traffic was fairly dense on that first part of the track, with the short swim not having spread out the field much, so any minor crash or major obstacle led to a pile-up of riders. Fortunately significant technical challenges were few, though some very sharp unannounced corners and a few logs spiced things up. The riding was on the level of Lost Giants on Galbraith, fairly flat but narrow and twisty with a few very fast straights, and hemmed in by thick dense vegetation at most times. People were pleasant, giving way or asking to pass as appropriate, and the pressure to push hard diminished as a succession of crashes spread the racers further apart. When the trail surface changed to soft sand I knew we were near the end of the first of our two 6-mile loops. That meant a fairly steep winding descent on a very loose surface, culminating in an ugly little drop with considerable endo potential into the parking lot. I knew enough to fly fast over the drop and onto the safe runout, with my butt over the backwheel and my belly behind the saddle. A dash across the road and between the cones to have my number marked for completing the first lap, and off I went again on lap two. Things went well at first, with less traffic meaning I was more relaxed and had more time to see obstacles ahead. Knowing the course now made it easier, and watching the familiar landmarks slip by made it seem shorter. Just as things looked good I began a succession of minor crashes, caused by the chain slipping on the worn middle chainring just as I was putting on the pressure to overcome some obstacle. I had to pick myself out of the nettles several times and waste a lot of time sorting myself out and walking the bike past stuff I ought to have simply blown by. Trailing bits of bush I plowed over the last sandy humps, unable to crank over the top as the chain slipped. I was thoroughly frustrated at getting physically beaten up and needlessly losing hard-won ground to folk I thought I had put away safely but who now came back past me. Fortunately the guy I had targeted was not amongst them, and I tore through transition with the firm intention of keeping him at bay. The four-mile run starts with a good climb on a fairly wide smooth surface, but it was hard to get up much speed as the muscles tried to adjust from biking to running uphill. I was glad when the course leveled out and dove into the bush, soon becoming a narrow twisting trail. I pounded along as hard as I could go, accelerating downhill and retaining momentum in the corners, all too aware of the competition coming up behind. Up and down on the narrow path, leaping over roots and rocks, and anxiously consulting my watch since that was the only way in which I could tell how far I had gone based on a likely speed of 7.5 minutes per mile. The minutes crept by painfully slowly while the pain accumulated depressingly rapidly. Only one or two guys passed me, but I passed several and I was pleased with my efforts; if that guy passed me he was going to have to work very hard to do it. A glance behind on a short straight stretch of road showed that he was not in sight, so I relaxed a little more as I flew back into the bush and the last stretch of steep sandy downhills and nasty little drops. I was tiring as I finally emerged from the bush, so I told the girl who had been on my heels for the last section that she had free rein to take the line ahead of me. She moved ahead but failed to launch a good sprint on the downhill finish, so I yielded to temptation and my long legs carried me past her. I was a mess at the end; covered in dirt, sweat, scratches, blood and bruises. It felt great. It felt even better when a look at the interim results suggested that I had won my division. As it turned out I only got second, but the splits were interesting: at the last transition the guy who won was 30 seconds ahead of me, while I had another 30 seconds on the next guy. Despite my running as hard as I could the guy ahead gained over a minute on me, but I was pleased to see that I had put a minute a mile on the guy behind ? a nice reward! The swim in this race was great, though it would be nice if more clearly visible turn buoys were provided. The bike is fun and not very technical, though a whole lot more technical for high-speed riding than I had been lead to expect. The one problem there is the maze of tracks through the dense bush which makes course marking and following a major challenge. The run is very enjoyable, with firm footing on a very twisty track. I did enjoy the race and the goofy stuff at the finish (including a push-up competition), and the incredibly beautiful bayside setting of the race will stick in my memory for a long time. |
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Tjalling Ypma The weather had not been kind to us this Spring, and my mood was equally foul as I looked at my tent standing in the rain beside Morgan Lake in the late afternoon the day before the race. Not only was I contemplating a soggy night and a soggy race, but my plan to pre-ride what I had been warned was a very technical mountain-bike course had also gone down the tubes. I had briefly ventured out onto the course, but after taking a hard fall onto rocks within half a mile and getting thoroughly bruised and mud-soaked I beat an undignified retreat. As I stood in the lake washing the mud off my bike and body I wondered whether I was cut out for this off-road stuff. If I couldn?t handle even the first mile of a hilly rain-slicked 15-mile course I was looking at a long day of extended agony. I have really enjoyed the long off-road races I have done, but they have all been events like The Big Hurt that involve a lot of different disciplines including kayaking. This was my first standard off-road triathlon and also my first ever race in the Xterra series. The Solstice race has a reputation for being particularly tough (?not for the inexperienced? says the course description, along with ?whiners not allowed?), so I was a bit nervous about the whole enterprise. I was stunned when my race entry was confirmed by a hand-written letter from Race Director MaryEllen LaBerge; I cannot recall ever getting such personal treatment in a race. I had the opportunity to meet her and the rest of the 60-or-so racers at the pre-race spaghetti feed she hosted at her home that night; she is a formidable lady and wiry athlete who usually wins what she disparagingly calls ?the old women? division, and she has the good citizens of La Grande organized into an efficient volunteer corps to the extent that she participates in her own race while they take charge of race-day on-course duties. My fellow racers were an intimidating lot, mostly younger and more rugged than the usual lean endurance freaks that characterize triathlon, and the badass bikes adorning the weathered SUVs lining the road were yet more frightening. La Grande is a small town of about 10,000 souls nestled against the eastern foot of the Blue Mountains in the north-east corner of Oregon. It is the home of Eastern Oregon University and on the major rail and interstate link between Washington State and Boise, Idaho, but otherwise the world has largely passed it by. The gently decaying main street is stuck in a 1950s timewarp, lined with slightly tired mom-and-pop businesses, and the residential areas intermingle bright new homes with dusty relics of the more rural past. You can still get a hotel room for $35, though I was told that you don?t get much more than your money?s worth in those places. The race is centered on Morgan Lake, which is a couple of miles outside and above town, at a height of about 5000 feet on the plateau cresting the Blue Mountains. While most races involve climbing in the first half and then dropping back down to the finish, this one reverses things and you start both the bike and run with a drop down into a valley, and finish by climbing back up onto the plateau. Race day dawned dry and warm, and my outlook improved correspondingly. It got even better when I watched some of those gnarly dudes on their warm-up get off their bikes and walk the bit of trail that had tossed me down; maybe I wasn?t quite as incompetent as I had feared. Feeling slightly more confident that I would not totally disgrace myself, I squeezed into my wetsuit and braved the chilly lake. With a water temperature of 56-degrees I was glad I had brought my neoprene hood as I waited, shivering, for the start. Some kind of signal was given, and off we went on the triangular 1000m swim course. With so few participants there was little body contact and we soon formed a long line snaking around the lake. I cruised along at a leisurely pace; my left shoulder had been painful recently and I needed to save myself for the ironman race I was due to do the following weekend. The water was a bit opaque but otherwise clean and pleasant enough. I had some trouble spotting the low-lying buoys marking the rather featureless swim exit, and this sub-optimal navigation contributed to my glacial 20 minute swim split. I was nevertheless still in the middle of the field as I stripped off the wetsuit and prepared for the ride, struggling a bit with heavy mountain bike shoes not designed for fast transitions, and I took time to wrestle bike gloves onto damp hands for the rough terrain ahead. Because the field was small and spread-out by the time we got onto the bikes I never found myself under pressure from those behind to ride faster than my comfort level. I played it very safe, getting off at obstacles that I might have been tempted to ride in other circumstances but now not worth the risk of injury in view of my imminent ironman race. Once through a few short rock gardens a bit of road brought me to the top of the first major descent I had been warned about, a jeep track down a pipeline right-of-way carved straight down a steep hillside. This turned out to be much easier than expected, perhaps because the organizers had removed quite a few boulders from the track in the preceding days. I was much too conservative on the drop and got passed by several less-timorous fliers before I hit the gravel road at the bottom of the final muddy winding downhill. The long climb that followed offered no technical difficulties, but I was surprised at how it taxed me; it was one of those apparently innocent climbs that turns out to be relentless, and I could tell by those I passed that I was not the only one feeling the strain. But I like climbing, and my confidence grew rapidly as I could see myself making good headway and coping with the easy terrain. On a long hillside traverse I caught up with a young fellow from Zimbabwe with whom I had shared southern african experiences the night before, and we traded leads until I pulled away on the climb to the head of Suicide Hill. Suicide Hill is a very steep descent down a loose winding trough; brakes are no more than marginally effective on the stony surface, and you definitely want to stay off that front brake, so control was largely a matter of hanging your butt way out over the back wheel and praying. About a third of the way down I decided that the chances of doing an endo were excessive, so I dismounted and ran the rest of the way. En route I passed Owen the Zimbabwean lying in the bushes, having accumulated considerable flight-time while executing the aforesaid high-speed endo. He was alright, since the bushes had cushioned his landing, and we rode the subsequent fast and easy traverse and moderately steep but much more manageable winding descent together. |
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Mike McQuaide Four months ago at the Chuckanut 50K I was a study in no-funski contrariness, focused so much on my finish time, I spend most of my 5 hours and 53 minutes out on the course in a high state of irritability. At my discomfort. At my inability to maintain my goal pace (a rather odious phrase, don?t you think?). At my fellow racers. Etc. That day, when I started up the Chinscraper?the gravity-defying, mile-long slog that begins at about mile 20?a fellow runner good-naturedly asked, ?Where?s the escalator?? To which I grunted and said nothing, hoping he?d go away. A few hundred yards later, after the pitch had only steepened, he cheerily posed the question: ?Where?s the elevator?? To which I, swimming as I was in a pool of negativity, so, so desperately wanted to respond, ?Where?s the mute button?? (i.e., Shut the h*** up!) After that race I was bummed beyond reason for not reaching my goal (5:30), but four months later, after having one of the best days of my life at Ironman Coeur d?Alene, I thank my lucky stars for that stinky day in March. It got me out of the TIME!!! ? TIME!!! ? TIME!!! mindset and returned my focus back where it should be such a crazy-long undertaking as an Ironman: 1) Just finish. 2) Just have fun. And that?s just what I did. On a blistering-hot sunny Sunday in late June in CDA, I was the annoying guy in the ultra-upbeat mood, exhibiting cheery (and perhaps, cheesy) behavior along the way. Some samples: At aid stations and various points along the run, I?d flex my muscles and, while still able to do so, kiss my biceps, and generally partook in sundry mock macho-man poses to spectators, volunteers, high school cheerleaders and the like, all of whom egged me on with cheers and whistles. I reveled in their support and swear I received jolts of energy from all of it. Which only made me carry on even more. At about mile 50 of the bike ride I was quite excited by a pair of ospreys?which seem to be everywhere in CDA?returning to their nest. I pointed it out to a couple of other riders. Who were not at all interested. At mile eight of the run, I spotted Bellingham?s Alaine Borgias, there watching the race. ?Alaine, I'm in Burma,? I shouted in my best J. Peterman voice. (?Seinfeld.) ?You most likely know it as Myanmar, but it will always be Burma to me.? And I totally cracked up every time I saw the Red-Hot Mamas near the start and halfway point of the marathon. There were about 10 of them, these 40- to 60-year-old women dressed kinda like housemaids (I think), and who looked like they?d broken into a Maybelline factory and, rather than cart their haul off, decided to cover their faces with as much of it as they possibly could. Wearing giant hats and oversized rainbow-colored feather dusters, they did ridiculous choreographed dances to popular songs (I witnessed ?R-E-S-P-E-C-T? and Van Halen?s ?Jump?). The Mamas credo?"Dedicated to the Exploitation of Merriment and the Enhancement of the Ridiculous"?fit my mantra of the day (Just Finish-Just Have Fun) to a T. It was the perfect way to start the marathon, which, given the oven-hot 92 degree temps and relentless blistering sun, had the potential to be one of life?s epic unpleasant experiences. Instead, it was tolerable, and at times, even enjoyable. My strategy: at every run aid station?each a mile apart?I dumped ice water down my back and over my head, stuffed my shirt with wet sponges so I looked like some ?80s chick sporting linebacker shoulder pads. Plus I swallowed Enduralytes by the dozen. Literally. Three an hour on both the bike and run and whether that?s recommended or not, I care not; I didn?t have a single cramp. (No blisters either, which is really weird b/c I?m usually king of the bottomfoot bubbles and black toenails.) With about a mile to go, the run went from tolerable to seriously splendid, when I could hear the crowd cheering and Mike Reilly announcing the finishers. In mere minutes, he?d be announcing my name! The last 10 blocks or so at CDA are slightly downhill and you can see the finish so if you?ve had a pretty good day, it just seems to prolong the experience. In a good way. With three blocks to go, I spotted my wife, Jen; sister, Kath, and my 7-year-old son, Baker. I grabbed Bake?s hand and the two of us chugged it in together again. We?d done the same thing at Ironman Arizona just 14 months earlier but looking down at him this time, he looked different. So much bigger and more grown up. (I could?ve sworn it was just 15 minutes ago when I?d first held him in my arms just moments after he was born and marveled at his long eyelashes and fully cooked fingernails.) But he wore the same proud, happy, excited smile he wore in Arizona?he knew this was something special and he liked that. And being human, I succumbed to another level of joy when I saw my time?13:12?just under an hour faster than I did IM AZ. (And for those of you scoring at home, Chumbawamba?s ?Tubthumper? was playing when we crossed the finish.) *** Actually, my mantra had a third F to it, Family. (WARNING: Even more extreme sentimentality likely to weave itself in and out of the remainder of this report.) Ironman Coeur d?Alene is a great because not only does the town totally embrace it, but also the course passes through the heart of the city multiple times. Without straying too far from the transition area, Jen, Kath, and Baker were able to cheer me on about eight times. They went bonkers each time and after the first two sightings, it occurred to me that if they?re having a blast now just seeing me pass by, if I finish this thing, they?ll go absolutely nuts. Seriously batty, and it?ll be this terrific memory we?ll all share for the rest of our lives. I had family in Connecticut, New York and California keeping tabs on-line too. So finishing, even if it took me until midnight?which was not out of the question given the heat?had a true sense of purpose to it. Which was a terrific feeling b/c that?s something I struggle with when it comes it comes to an endeavor such as this. For while I love triathlons and the whole mystique of the Ironman, I confess to feeling guilty and a little embarrassed given how darn time-consuming, kinda narcissistic, and selfish I sometimes feel given all the training, money and energy that goes into it. So it was a terrific to have a reason for doing this beyond just my own interest. I was able to give something huge to my family just by going swimming, biking, and running for a few hours. Can?t beat that! *** As for the race itself, let?s see ... I had a great swim. (For me.) Started way far to the right. Practically in Post Falls, it seemed. Race day 62-degree water felt way warmer than the 60 degrees of three days earlier when I did my practice swim. Like night and day. AC/DC?s ?You Shook Me All Night Long? played during our midway intermission?get out, run across the chip mat, jump back in?Angus? crunchy chords got me pumped for the second half. Finished at 1:15. Before the race, one of the other 2,200 swimmers near me tried to jump in the water wearing swim booties, which I?m pretty sure are verboten. Two other swimmers approached her and strongly (STRONGLY) suggested she check to make sure whether they?re legal or not. (I was glad I wasn?t in her booties.) The ride was hillier than I thought. About the same elevation gain as the Skagit Century. (3,700 feet.) One hill (which is actually two since you do the loop twice) feels about the same as the one from Lake Samish to Galbraith Lane. Another is shorter but steeper and the second time through I saw several folks walking it. Kinda cool: some guy sat above this hill and spent the whole day playing bongos, cheering on the riders. I didn?t see this but my family did: some very bummed cyclist rode into town on his seat post holding his saddle in his hand. The heat was hot. Ninety-two degrees, no clouds, no shade. Asphalt temp had to have topped 100. It felt like you were wearing some kind of all-over hot bodysuit that you couldn?t take off. My feet were really hot on the ride; I saw a cyclist riding with his feet on top of his shoes (which were still clipped into his pedals) b/c his feet were so hot. Also saw a runner running in his socks while carrying his shoes. With aid stations a mile apart, on the run, it seemed that all I had to do when I left one aid station was run for a few minutes before I?d see the next one. And once I saw the next one, I just kind of let it draw me to it. There, I?d load up on water, ice, and sponges and head for the next one. That?s all, folks. See ya? out there! |
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Tjalling Ypma The annual WWU Triathlon improves every year as the organizers gain experience and the rough edges get smoothed out. One of the major changes this year was the layout of the pool swim: instead of doing repeated laps in one lane of the WWU pool to cover 400m, this year we went up and down each lane once and then switched to the adjacent lane until we had covered the width of the pool. This replaced the previous wave starts by a time-trial format, starting swimmers at 25 second intervals seeded by their expected time over the shorter 300m course. The aquatically-challenged like me appreciated the shorter swim - hardly long enough to get wet, as a faster competitor complained. The down side was that it took almost an hour to get all 125-odd competitors underway. I was number 37 to start, giving me almost 15 minutes to watch the faster folk churn up the water ahead. I started between a nose-ringed male student and a female member of the WWU Cycling Team. I got the countdown and set off under the critical eyes of the remaining ninety starters still standing poolside. The new format took some getting used to; pool swimmers customarily circle to the left, but when changing lanes we had to turn right and go under the lane-lines instead. As a creature of habit I stuck to my usual open left-hand turns and simply over-turned to streamline across. The clear pool water and the swim layout made it possible to see how those ahead and behind were faring, providing incentive to keep clear of the chasers. I saw the guy ahead pull slowly away, and the girl behind made up a bit of water, but I stayed well clear and emerged with my honor intact. The bikes were staged on the large grass field across from the student rec center this year, making for a slightly longer run but providing more space. I had a quick transition till I got the bike onto the road, where I had to get mounted and start on a minor uphill. It took a few seconds of frustration to get properly clipped in and moving, but it felt good to be on solid ground again and start hunting the rabbits ahead as we accelerated down Bill McDonald. The roads were dry and traffic-free on this early Sunday morning, reducing my unease about racing bikes in an urban setting. I picked off the opposition one-by-one; hardly surprising since many of the faster student swimmers were riding mountain bikes - I felt guilty blowing past them on my semi-pro machinery. I had decided not to push hard on the bike, in part because this race was not important to me and also because I knew that we faced a brutal run course, so I kept the level well below the redline down 30th Street and along Donovan. The bike course is only 10 miles long but very hilly, but I like climbing and have been doing lots of mountain biking so I enjoyed the 14th Street hill and subsequent climbs past the Armory, up Laurel and Garden and finally back up 21st. Things went smoothly, the course was well-marked, and it was nice to have all those targets appear ahead at regular intervals to provide both motivation and satisfaction at their passing. I knocked off two more just before transition, and then set out onto the run. The run course changed considerably from last year, starting with the very steep climb up West College Way to Highland Drive. This climb was sheer agony on legs pumped from all the climbing on the bike; undoubtedly much sweating and swearing occurred on this stretch. Blessed relief in the form of a long descent down Garden Street followed, though there was that nagging thought that at some point we were going to have to regain most of that lost height. Sure enough, the right-hand turn onto Maple brought us to the foot of a wall, but fortunately it was only a short steep block, and the long ascent up Indian Street that followed seemed easy compared to the two murderous climbs we had put behind us. I was feeling surprisingly good as I turned onto the brick path at Old Main where the ground finally leveled out. This was very familiar territory, with the trail along the bottom of Sehome Hill part of my regular lunchtime runs. I had only passed two runners so far, and nobody had passed me; I didn't look behind to see if I had any close pursuers until I got to South College Way. Nobody was in sight, so I was to be spared a finish line battle, but I could see a girl a few hundred meters ahead and decided to go for her. I got real close, but in the end I didn't want it badly enough and she still had some room to spare when she crossed the line in front of the new Communication Building. The time-trial format made it hard to tell how you had done until everybody had finished. I was pleased with my finish somewhere in the low-teens, since my long-distance focus means I rarely work at the intensity needed for success in such sprint races. It was good to be beaten by more than the usual community suspects; a handful of students also beat me, attesting to the growing interest and level of ability in triathlon at Western. Much of that rapid growth is thanks to the efforts of the WWU Cycling Team, who organized the WWU triathlon. Their energy and national-level collegiate success has put road cycling firmly onto the radar screen at Western and attracted the attention of some good long-distance runners too, bringing talented people into the sport. The race was well organized, it attracted lots of enthusiastic newbies as well as a good turnout of local veterans, and it's a great event to have on the local sport calendar. The quality of the Lance Romo Show associated with the distribution of draw prizes at the finish was somewhat more variable; one of these days the PC-police are going to catch up with this serial offender ;-) |
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