This was my fourth Steelhead Half Ironman Triathlon, which last year became a Ford Ironman 70.3 qualifier and therefore a big deal. My time of about 5:31 last year was similar to the prior year, but my finish spot went from second to fourth in the age group.
Sherry and I drove up to St. Joseph-Benton Harbor, Michigan, last Friday. I got Walter Payton's numberr 34 and racked my bike. Then we had a great dinner with friends Brad Webb and Kathy and kids, and Kevin Kelly and Mary.
At 5:15 on Saturday Brad picked up Kevin and me up at our hotels, so we had some good guy time together pre-race.
The water and weather were about ideal - neither too hot, no real waves, just a little breeze.
No pier start this year - we grouped by waves on the sand and entered the water wave by wave separated by a minute or two. I was in the first wave after the pros. Despite my encouragement to "be early," Brad's 5:15 pick-up was not early enough given the traffic congestion getting to parking pre-race. We were bused from parking to the transition area. I was pretty organized and methodical in setting up my transition space and gear and preparing, but with the time squeeze I had a little less time than I am comfortable with to get myself metally prepared. They had us walk the 1.2 miles down the beach to the start area near the pier, which I very much enjoyed. Wound up walking with a Canadian who had just come back from watching the tour and riding a stage in a race ahead of the tour - this guy also will be at Ironman Canada, so it was great to connect. Our delay getting to transition came to a crux when as I neared the start area they were calling my wave to form up behind the pros. I did not have my wetsuit on yet and had to run to the start area and get suited up very quickly. Luckily my wetsuit went on easily, which is not always the case. Little time to think about the swim or get nervous. Invocation, bang the pros go, we are herded to water's edge, bang we go!
As swims go, this was pretty enjoyable. Not too much contact even though as the race went the faster younger folks swam by me. I found some feet to draft behind just a little. Otherwise, a nice solo swim in near ideal lake conditions. I did wander some - the buoys were tough to see in the sun - it cost me time. Overall I had a slow swim - but I had not been swimming for a few weeks so no surprise. I enjoyed it and did not cramp, in any case.
It's a long run to transition up the beach and then through the dunes to the park. Because I did not cramp my transition run was better than usual - I was passing guys. In transition I set no records but on the other hand my wetsuit came off easily and I had no glitches.
I started the bike without pushing hard, wanting to save something for the run. Brad started in a later wave and passed me on the bike at maybe mile 18. (I caught him soon after and zipped by him climbing a hill - I teased him about having to haul too much up the hill and he called me a "little squirt!" But then he powered away.) After Brad passed I started paying attention to my average speed and heart rate and realized I had a shot at what for me has always been the gold standard of a great longer distance bike leg - 20 mph average. My average was 18.8 at that time. Over the rest of the race and especially after the halfway point I built my average speed, trying not to lose too much going up the hills and to pedal the downhills (many people coast and don't realize they can gain a lot if they pedal as much as possible downhill). I especially hit the flats, where my bike and riding style let me fly relative to others at the same level. I hit 20 at about mile 48, only to drift off it a little in some up and down over the next few miles. At mile 50 I knew I had to push hard through the remainder if I was going to make and hold 20 average. In the last mile at 19.9 I knew I had to go all out to lift it to 20 and hold it through the slowdown to transition. So I did and was really flying for me, I would guess 27 mph, as hard as I have ridden in a race since 7-8 years ago when I had an all-out race to the line with another guy in the Shelbyville Sprint Triathlon. Wow, that was hard...and really fun! I hit 20 at about 1/2 mile to go and held it to transition.
Bike to run transition went well and even with a porta-potty break the clock said I had a little more than 2 hours to make sub 6 hours overall. Perhaps doable.
Coming out of transition, I discovered the price for being undertrained for the swim and my 27 mph finish and 20 mph average at my current level of bike conditioning. A muscle in my lower back starting hurting. If I tried to pick up the pace, it hurt a lot and going uphill put stress on it and it hurt more. So I was walking the back half of the first hill when Matt Dell ran up to me and started walking with me. Matt is a Healthtrack buddy/Glen Ellyn guy/former Ironman and fantastic biker from years ago/out of shape overweight guy recovering from a stress facture and from some other physical problems. He was a great companion, since he was doing Steelhead just to get back into racing, specifically for the swim and bike. He expected to do no more than 1/2 the run and less if he started to hurt in any way. He was happy walking, talking and running slowly. So after we walked the hill Matt ran with me for about 5 miles. Every mile or two I laid down on the grass and stretched - it helped. Over time the cramped back muscled released some and I was able to run a little faster - but still very slow. Eventually I bid adieu to Matt because I could run faster than he could . I slowly ran the balance of the 13.2, "passing rocks and trees like they were standing still" as ultramarthoners say, watching my shot at sub 6 hours fade away and then be long gone. 6:31, I think, was my finish time, about an hour slower than last year when I took 4th in my age group. Oh well, I know I was way undertrained, I had a great time (except for the first half of the run) and I finished the race.
On to the final training for Canada!
Brad won the Clydesdales! He was very happy with his race - 5:18 I think. Kevin cramped badly on the swim and the run was a real crampy trudge after an OK bike. But he too finished.
My red Cervelo P3 is wonderful. I bought the bike because it is "just right" for me: stiff aluminum, 650 geometry, light and very fast, top quality Dura-Ace and other components. After my horrendous crash in August when I landed on the pavement and the bike was cushioned by landing on me, I put my bike away - after friend Joe the mechanical engineer triathlete inspected it and pronouced it "OK." Oh, I have been walking around it for months in the garage and even mounted it on the trainer once, but it did not get ridden. All my riding has been spin at my healthclub. Well, with tri-camp brewing in a week or so I hauled it off to my bike guy Rich at The Bike Shop where one of his wrenches tuned it before shipment to Carlsbad, CA. "Lee, Anthony needs to talk to you." Hmmm. So I talked to high level wrench Anthony. Besides the eighth inch of aluminum ground off the side of the handlebar that Rich noticed when I brought the bike in, Anthony proceded to show me the bent dropout, the bent seat stays and how the back end of the bike was out of alignment. The wrenches consulted one another in my presence and decided the bike likely could be successfully straightened...but this was not for sure. I gave the go ahead and have heard nothng since, so the straightening exercise must have been successful and my bike is now in transit to the West Coast. --Lee Crumbaugh
At Torino the sport I am drawn most by is speedskating. That's because speedskating was my sport before taking up triathlon. If you have not speedskated, I doubt you will know how painful going all out with maximum lactate build-up feels. I have never achieved this level of non-injury hurt in running or tri. A 1500 in speedskating is all hurt, gutting it out, dying by each push. The skaters at Torino may not show it on their faces, but what they are doing is hard, hard, hard and it hurts, hurts, hurts! But it is so satisfying to give it your all (and not fall!).
The lesson for me has been that no matter how bad a maximal push to pass on the bike feels or a too-long end run sprint to the finish line feels, it's possible to feel even worse and you can sustain this level of hurt longer than you think.
The water was nine feet below our feet.I was flanked on either side by a line of fellow first-wave wet-suit clad triathletes, all of us perched on the north edge of the long pier jutting out into Lake Michigan.Water surged below us.It was almost 7 a.m.The time neared for the horn to blow signaling the race start.
“Wow, I am pretty anxious right now.I’ll be glad when we are actually swimming,” I said.
“Yeah, this is stressful,” answered one of the other guys.“I hope no one jumps on me.”
I hoped the same thing.Then I thought of the famous movie dialogue, when a pair of guys are trapped and cornered by a posse on a ledge at the edge of a steep rock canyon with nowhere else to go. They overlook raging rapids fifty feet below and are faced with a choice between a hopeless shoot-out and a near-suicidal leap.
Butch Cassidy (Robert Redford) (looking into the deep canyon and the river far below): We'll jump. The Sundance Kid (Paul Newman) (after looking down): Like hell we will. Butch: No, it'll be OK - if the water's deep enough, we don't get squished to death. They'll never follow us. Sundance: How do you know? Butch: Would you make a jump like that you didn't have to? Sundance: I have to and I'm not gonna. Butch: Well, we got to, otherwise we're dead….Come on. Sundance: Uh-uh. Butch: We got to. Sundance: Nope! Get away from me! Butch: Why? Sundance: I wanna fight 'em! Butch: They'll kill us! Sundance: Maybe. Butch: You wanna die?! Sundance: (waving his pistol at the river far below) Do you?! Butch: All right. I'll jump first. Sundance: Nope. Butch: Then you jump first. Sundance: No, I said! Butch: What's the matter with you?! Sundance: (wildly embarrassed) I can't swim! Butch: (guffawing at his partner) Why, you crazy - the fall'll probably kill ya!
Sundance shakes his head as he ponders the insanity of actually jumping to escape their pursuers. He grabs a gun belt held out by Butch, jumps with him in tandem, and wails:Ohhh . . . s - h - i - i - i - i - i - t !
The horn blew and the guys on either side jumped.I let them go, wanting to be the one who was assured not of being jumped on.I leapt out, plunged under water (with goggles and cap staying intact, another concern abated) and surfaced in a clear spot…and immediately found myself swimming crosswise with others.The first green buoy was nearby, but we all seemed to be swimming different directions to find it.
After thrashing through my competitors (no damage done), I curved around the first buoy and was able to sight on the arms of faster swimmers and the next green buoy.There was some wave action against us, but it was slight and not a problem.Last year for this race Lake Michigan was a pond, a huge pool without lane lines.This year I found the rocking from the slight surf even comforting, but I suspected that pure pool swimmers who had not logged the long hours swimming in Lake Michigan I had might find it a bit disorienting.I hope they realized this was a blessing compared with the much greater surf the lake could exhibit.Also, the water was a dream, about 72 degrees.Perfect day for a long wetsuit swim!
I stroked with great pace, maintaining rhythm.Between the wave action and my slight regular rightward drift, I kept turning toward the beach.I sighted every 10 strokes or so, and found myself continually correcting left.This meant I swam a very tight line, however, keeping the buoys on the right.I would tussle with a fellow swimmer from time to time, but no one swam over me, which meant I swam fast enough to hold off at least the bulk of the second wave.
The first buoys were green, then they turned to orange.We were told the buoy marking the point where we turned to the beach was green. After the initial green buoys the orange buoys never seemed to end. I swam and I swam and I swam.This seemed long, more than a half IM swim.Gee, how long would my Ironman Canada swim seem?
I was not fatiguing, however.I maintained my pace.I passed a few people and did not get passed later in the swim.The water temperature was perfect.The waves picked up a little, slowing progress slightly, but they presented no problem.The sun was a problem, shining directly over the beach and obscuring the buoys.Any sight of arms coming out of the water and I followed them. I just hope hoped they could see a buoy and weren’t off line.
There’s an orange buoy, slightly to the left.I pulled harder left and changed my angle to curve around it.Certainly this was the last one!But no, in fact, there were two more, and each time I thought, this was the last one, right, certainly I have swum at least 2,000 yards?Finally, the buoy in sight was a green one.Time to turn!I swung around it, seeing other swimmers but none in my line, and angled toward the beach.Interesting, my fellow swimmers were still angling more left than I would have to go straight in.Best to follow them, because I would bet they can see the buoys leading to the beach.
The bottom came up to me soon enough, but I thought it was a sand bar, so I was startled when I saw the swimmer next to me stand and start walking.I looked ahead to see spectators cheering at me, much closer than I expected, so I stood, steady instead of my usual instability, and began to run in, unzipping my wetsuit and peeling it off of my arms so it hung down, then removing my cap and goggles while running out of the surf onto the beach lip, across the timing mat, where I hit my watch to record the split (42:42, slower than last year because of the wave action not present last year)and charged up the sand on the long run to transition.
I don’t like running in bare feet, but the long path through beach area and the dune behind it to transition was not very stony.Soon enough I entered transition and found my bike in the first rack, spot #31.(A benefit for the old guys!)I had my usual slowness getting off my very tight Ironman wetsuit, despite slathering an extra helping of SportSlick on my extremities.I finished up what was a long transition (6:31), raced my bike out of the area, mounted and I was off.
We started on a rolling road and very soon up a hill, but then we were on the highway going north, where despite small rollers I could make time.I enjoyed the cool temps and didn’t worry too much about the faster guys from the two waves behind me passing me.56 miles is a long way and I had plenty of time to crank it up.
One guy did get my attention, a lanky runner type who passed me and then fiddled with his bike or gear or something and slowed down right after the pass. I had to back off to avoid a penalty.I cranked it up and put him behind me.Or so I thought.In about five minutes, there he was, sailing past…and then slowing in front of me.Hmmm.I passed him again, saying “It’s me again” with a smile as I passed, and moved away.You know what happened.Another pass.This time he maintained a little better tempo, but in a few minutes I was back on him.OK, this is getting monotonous and is interrupting my “find the flow and just crank” approach to riding.Too much mental effort.By now we were approaching a bottle exchange.I was carrying all the Endurox I needed but he was not, so I left him behind at the exchange point.
By this time I was noticing in the flow that per usual I was stronger on the descents and flats relative to the other riders.Not that I was particularly slow at the 19-20 mph I was averaging. In fact, I passed one guy I thought for sure was in my age group and encountered no others.
We rode a long way north, then we rode east for an equally long time.The route became a little mixed up at that point, but I believed we would be working west and south, basically, in the back half.(That’s why I’ve got an MBA, to figure out such difficult things!).Mid ride I was not pushing hard, just going with the flow.In this section I was passed more than I passed anyone.
The roads were not great at the start but generally they were pretty good.In the back half the hills were fewer and the course was suited to my grind-it-out approach.
Over the course of the ride I took a gel every 30 minutes, drank a bottle of Endurox each hour, took two salt tablets each hour, and ate an energy bar at the mid-point.This was more nutrition than I had ever consumed in a half IM ride, but math I had done a few days earlier suggested that one reason I faded at the end of marathons and Ironman Triathlons was not enough calories consumed.Coach Mike had suggested that I work on my Ironman nutrition in this race, so I upped the consumption to see what happened.I felt a little bloated and even nauseous at one point later in the ride, but this passed quickly.I think eating and drinking more was a good idea for me.
I was having a good but not great ride. I had fallen into my sometimes stupor, where going with the flow was what felt right.However, after a couple of hours I looked at my average speed and my resulting time and it dawned on me I was “doing the race” more than I was “racing,” and I wanted to race. I knew I had held back enough that by going harder for the end part of the race I would not trash my legs for the run.Time to go and pass all those young studs who had been passing me!
About that time Mr. Lanky Runner Type passed me for the umpteenth time, and this time did not pause but moved smartly ahead.Well!I might not be able to catch him, but I certainly was not going to take that without responding.So I threw off the effects of my “go with the flow” mindset and was goaded into my true race mindset.Immediately my 20 mph jumped to 22 mph and as I progressed I got even faster.
Head down, cranking hard, near but not over the top, like my Wednesday morning intervals with bike buddies, this was at the raw edge of riding for me, which made it feel so exciting.I was laying it on the line and good things were happening.The old guy was romping and stomping!Guys who had flowed past me in the past hour or more suddenly were eaten up.I took no prisoners but just blasted ahead, not downshifting for hills but just powering over them.I was seeing 23-26 mph on my speedometer.Cool!Later I would see on my monitor the highest heart rate in the race for this section, 170.Heh, used to be that getting my bike riding heart rate over 140 was a real problem.Now I could ride at upwards of 170 and still not feel that I was riding all out.That’s what racing Ironman and Ironman training will do for you!
Yet by going for it at around mile 45 I had laid out a real challenge for myself: sustaining a great pace for more than 10 miles.Somehow, I managed to maintain.Toward the finish I passed riders who were fading while I was building.Great!As we approached the road that took us into transition a younger guy I had re-passed obviously had turned on his sprint and worked by me.As he passed he said, “When I get to your age I sure hope I can ride like you!”That comment made my day!
I dismounted at the line ahead of the chute into the transition area (bike time 2:38.49, 22.1 mph average), wheeled my bike into my nicely near spot, and managed to have a better but still slow transition (2:56) as I emptied my pockets of gel packets and refilled, them, swapped shoes, tied them, grabbed a gel to suck down and a bottle of cut Endurox to suck on so that I would hydrated well at the start of the run.I got moving and ran through the transition area and out the back onto the road leading to the long uphill out and back that marked the early part of the run.
As I worked up the long hill, runners were already coming back.They looked thinner, younger and faster than me.I wished I were that fast, but I was consoled that none looked as old as me.I passed a few runners and a few passed me.Unlike my last race in Springfield, IL, I did not feel I had “super-fast” feet after transition, but I was running variable mile times from 7.50 to around 9, depending on the terrain.Going downhill I tried to do my Boston Marathon downhill lean and this helped my speed a little.Along the way I dumped my Endurox bottle at a stop—too much of a pain to carry and Gatorade Endurance Formula seemed to be freely available as a good substitute.
The first miles went well.We eventually ran over the long bridge over the river from Benton Harbor to St. Joe.I was passed by a few people, all younger, whom I let go.Not time to push, that was for sure. pace was what my bike-tired legs and semi-sore knees wanted at this point.
I made sure to alternate Gatorade Endurance Formula and water at each water stop and regularly consumed gels every 30 minutes and salt tablets each hour.
After the bridge we ran along the river and then re-crossed it into downtown Benton Harbor. This was probably the warmest section of the course, mostly concrete and exposed, but thank goodness the day was relatively cool compared to many days this summer.We soon worked our way east along river bank, being cheered by spectators, enjoying a good water stop (which I ran through, as I did every one) and seeing runners come back at us after they did the turnaround at the end of the road.I chatted with runners as I passed them and they passed me.A good day to be out there and a good place to be!
As I worked back from the turnaround, I continued to pass runners and see others coming at me.No one from the age group was visible or had been earlier.Maybe I was in first!
Just about then, my cocksure attitude was deflated convincingly when a grey-haired guy ran by and I saw the “1” or his calf, denoting the “old guy” first wave that I started in.He could have been younger or older than me, but looking at him I judged my age group.Drat!
Triathletes and runners who know me will be chuckling at this point. They know I am so damn competitive.They would realize that short of death (or at least a deathly cramp) I would give it my all to pass the guy.
I saw him motor ahead and reasoned with myself.“Lee, you have been cruising rather than pushing, 13.1 is a long way, but you know you can run harder!You only have 5.6 miles to go, so get with it!”With that, I picked up my pace. Not a lot, but as I cranked it up the gap that had opened between us mostly stabilized.He was 100 yards ahead, sometimes less, sometimes more, but always visible.
Hey, at least I was sensible in my approach.Rather than break into an all-out sprint right away, I kept going at the pace that maintain the gap.I thought, what’s the smart way to try to do this?The old saying that I had learned from both marathon training and Jim Spivey on his Olympic-level racing came to mind:If I hang in there at my pace and if he is pushing too hard, the race will come back to me.Plus, if I were to pass him now he might know I was a threat and could find another gear and really blow me away.So I stalked him.
Actually, I was running just above my comfort zone at the time and the only reason the gap did not get unreasonable was that he was walking the water stops.After he passed me we turned northward and ran down the main street and around middle of downtown Benton Harbor (Certainly not a garden spot but the rehabbed buildings were apparent and promised better things for the downtown.)Then we reversed direction and ran back to the river.At this point he was about 125 yards ahead, going up the bridge, and had been opening the gap a little.Another guy worked up to me and we chatted for a moment.I pointed to my nemesis and said, “That guy’s in my age group and I think when he passed me he put me into second.I have to catch him but I am not sure that I can.”My companion said the right thing, whether he believed it or not:“You’ll get him.Just hang in there.You will get him.”That gave me a little boost, enough so that I picked it up so my target did not further widen the gap.
After the one bridge we ran along the river west to downtown St. Joe and then turned to re-cross the river.At that point we passed the nine mile mark and I continued to worry that I would not close on my target.An occasional pre-cramp twinge from my leg muscles reminded me of what might happen if I tried to run too hard.Better to wait him out and hope for the best!
Soon we were back on flat ground and I was holding pace.A good thing about focusing so much on one runner is that it takes your mind off of the mileage and time.The back half of the run seemed to go by mush faster than usual.
I maintained my pace for the closing miles.Then we approached the final mile marker and the turn that would take us along the road to the beach.A water stop was right there and according to pattern my target stopped, took a cup and walked…and kept walking!Was this the break I was looking for?Moments before, another guy ran alongside me and we talked.I had explained my predicament and lamented that my opportunity to reel my target in was quickly disappearing.I asked him to “pull me in” so I could try to catch my age group threat.When he knew who my target was and saw him walking, my new buddy gt excited for me and said, “Let’s get him!”We picked up the pace…and my legs responded, thank goodness.By now my target had again began to run, but at a somewhat slower pace than before.My gosh, maybe the race will come back to me!
I picked it up so much that my new-found buddy dropped off the pace but blurted out to me, “Keep it up! You can take him!”The gap narrowed quickly as my pace and heart rate increased seemingly exponentially: 75 yards, 50 yards, 25 yards. At the mile marker I had worried that I did not have enough time to pass him, but this went quickly.Another runner came up on my right shoulder so when we passed my target I was somewhat screened from him.I don’t know that he even saw me go by, which I thought then was a very good thing.
However, I could not bank on him sleeping, so I kept pushing hard.So hard, in fact, that I worried about my legs locking up with cramps and so hard that I suddenly developed a side stitch for the first time in years.I was at red line for the end of a half Ironman (heart rate just in the 160s, maybe 10K race pace, but legs and body pushed as far as I could push them).A few younger guys were also in their end sprints and passed me.I gasped to one spectator, “How far back is the guy about my age?”He said, “Maybe 25 yards.Keep going!”So I did, even though I was not sure I could maintain the pace.We turned onto the drive to the beach and I started smiling.Whatever happens, this is really racing!
Just about then I tripped on a speed bump covered by carpet and very nearly did a face plant.As I stumbled my right quad promised to me, “Do that one more time and we will cramp!”Whoa, that was a close one!
I am sure to the spectators along the fence I looked like a drunken animal flailing toward the finish.I tried my best to regain balance, rhythm and composure as I approached the beach, rounded the corner and came up on the finish line.I was very very relieved to cross the timing mats.I stopped, fully winded and unsteady, just standing for a while trying to breathe and sort through what had just come down.Then I grinned.I did it!That was fun! I think I protected first place!
After my chip was cut off and I grabbed some Gatorade, I turned around and sought out my nemesis.Yep, he sure looked like a 55-59 age grouper.We chatted.“Nice race.”“You too”“You were running well when you passed me at seven and a half.”“Yeah, I was feeling good at that point.”“I stalked you after that.You were running faster than my comfort zone.It was a struggle to keep up.I am glad you walked the water stops.”“I was feeling it and it felt good to walk.I ran a marathon last weekend.”“You ran a marathon last weekend and then a race like this? Wow!”“Yeah, when they screwed up the distance at the Lakeshore Marathon I didn’t get my Boston time and I want to go back again, so last weekend I ran a marathon in 3:17 and got my time.By that last water stop I was pretty fried, so I thought I would just cruise in.”Wow, I was sure impressed.Then came my question.“How old are you.”“52.”Hah, hah, hah!The joke’s on me!Oh well, I finished about 23 minutes ahead of the next guy in the group (hey, there were 10 of us, so I was not “handed” the race, right?) and might not have had I not had Mr. Marathon Man to there to sustain my focus and drive my pace.
Post race I took a dip in the lake and then hung with fellow tri-dead Shelley McKee, who was in the medical tent getting a very sore ankle treated.After hooking up with Sherry and waiting far too long for the awards ceremony, I happily garnered my first place medal and a TYR swim bag.Cool!Especially for a guy who took last place in his first cross country race in high school!
I went to Missouri looking for hills. I found them.
In early June Sherry and I drove down from Chicago to the home of our long-time friends Chris and Dick Kemmer, who live in Wildwood, west of St. Louis near Eureka (and Six Flags). I have run the hills around their house. You know when the roads go up to something called "Knob" you have some up and down. So I was not ignorant of what was in store at Halfmax Triathlon at Innsbrook, a beautiful planned community out in the country just beyond St. Charles County.
Saturday morning before the race Dick drove us out to Innsbrook for my packet pick-up.We noted the meandering lakes and wooded hillsides with large vacation homes nestled along the various shorelines. We jounced over numerous speed bumps. The car nosed up and down on the narrow roads, across dams, around turns. The planned community offered the hills I was hoping for in a race that would be good Ironman Canada.
At registration an older slim and very fit woman lined up behind me. Sister Madonna Buder! Age 74, vet of 30 Ironman races, an Ironman icon who was blown off her bike at Ironman Hawaii a few years ago. "Hi, Sister Madonna, glad to see you here," I blurbed. "Yes, it's great to be here," she replied, being nice to someone she could not place. We had been introduced at Ironman Canada by Bob Mina. "My friend Bob interviewed you for Xtri," I explained. She asked how Bob was doing and I said well, not having time to explain about Bob's melt down at the Boston Marathon, his redemption race at Columbia, his hard core crit bike racing and especially the joy of Bob and St. Linda (his ever so understanding spouse) finally being pregnant.
Sherry surprised me by volunteering for finish line duty and enlisting Chris to join her.She volunteers every year at Ironman Canada but except there and at Boston rarely watches me race.I understand.Tri and road running are more participant than spectator sports.Volunteering at least is more involving than just watching for hours.
I drove out alone early on Sunday morning.Sherry and Chris would come out to work at Noon. The drive took a full hour, a little more than I had planned, in part because I encountered a driving rain storm. By the time I parked, the rain was long gone but the sky was still more cloudy than blue. I put the front wheel on my bike, pumped my new (gently used, actually) HED race tires (tubulars!) and wheeled my red Cervelo P3 (“Zephyr”) and lugged my bag to the transition area.I stopped at the entrance to get body marked with my race number on arms and legs and my age on my calf, and to get my race timing chip.
Rack room in transition was gone near the bike exit, so I went the other way and racked just next to run out and not far from swim in. I patiently set up my transition area: bright green (visible) towel, bike shoes with socks in them in front, gels for bike on one side and run on the other, sandwich bag of sodium/potassium capsules next to each pile of gels, water bottle on one side and diluted Endurox bottle on the other, race number belt with race number on top, bike shoes behind, turned over and stuck mostly under my bag in case it rained, helmet on bike bar-end levers with glasses stuck on top of the helmet. I made sure the bike was in the lowest gear for the climb out of transition. I had already lubricated under my tri-suit and at ankles and wrists to ease wetsuit removal, but I had yet to put on sun block, so I did it then.I hung my wetsuit over my bike temporarily and tucked my goggles in the suit. I looked for my swim cap. Shoot! I forgot to remove it from the packet I got at registration when I put my numbers on my bike, helmet and race number belt. The packet was in my car. Just then, by luck, the announcer said, "If you need a swim cap, they have extras at the entrance to transition." They did not have dark blue left, so I turned out to be the only guy in my wave wearing a light blue cap.
Just about that time the announcer started shooing us out of the transition area to the beach. I grabbed my wet suit, goggles and light blue cap and walked down the hill. I struggled next to the beach, talking a long time getting my wetsuit on. I think my high-end Ironman wetsuit is terrific, but its tight-glove fit makes it tough to maneuver in and out of. A woman next to me was having similar problems. I looked at her, bemused, and said, "It's really good that the first event in tri isn't putting the wetsuit on. I'd be in bad shape if that were the case."She laughed and agreed.
Soon I was standing on a sandy bottom in shallow, cool water for a while, looking at all the athletes flowing onto the beach in front of me. Eventually I pulled up the top of the wetsuit and had a guy zip me up. I waded out a bit and swam easily for a few minutes. Nice! The water was not too warm, and was clean and clear. I loved the long glide as I stroked languidly.
Then I was back on the beach with everyone else.The announcer was highlighting various athletes doing the race and I heard a name that sounded familiar.“Suzie is here!” I thought.I scanned the crowd and eventually found her with her buddy, a pair of Missourians I had befriended while waiting in a line at Ironman Canada two years ago, great people who raced Ironman for the joy of it.We caught up for a while and then wished one another luck as we were herded behind a fence and grouped into waves by cap color…except, of course, I was the odd duck.There’s always one, right?I made a crack about this and wound up talking with John Brinker, a racer from St. Joseph, Michigan, in the age group below mine.John and I talked about how much we enjoyed his hometown half Ironman race, Steelhead, which runs in early August.He invited me up to ride with his group when we were going to be vacationing in southwestern Michigan in July.Cool!
The race director gave a pre-race talk.He said there were hills on the bike and the run course was flat.We laughed!Sister Madonna offered a prayer (very non-denominational, which I found interesting coming from a nun).Then a huge boom sounded, startling us all!The first wave, already standing in the water, took off to our applause.Then a few minutes later another “boom!” and the second wave was off.Now it was our turn, the older guys, to wade into the lake and await the start.We were told: “30 seconds.”“10 seconds.”“Boom!”
I had lined up more to the left in the pack to have a direct line to the buoys which plotted a stretched-out oval counter-clockwise course around the lake.I was a row or two back in the pack.This was the fairly aggressive position I had started taking in the past few years as my swim had become stronger and I realized that almost wherever I started I would get entangled with other swimmers so I might as well not try to avoid it but instead get a little advantage out of the chute.
Run, run, run, now dive, stroke, stroke, dig!, dig!, stroke, hands on feet in front of me, slide to the right and pass, stroke, sight ahead to be sure I am aiming at the first orange buoy, stroke, dig!, dig!, stroke, a body bumping me, a hand grabbing my arm, a body sliding by me on the right, elbow bumping my goggles just a little so some water seeps in.I kept swimming while lifting my head and swiping one-handed at the goggles to be sure they are seated.Stroke, stroke, pass another swimmer on my left, sight again, stroke, dig!, dig!, thinking I need to get into a distance racing rhythm soon because I can’t sprint all 2100 meters, stroke, stroke, slide off another swimmer whose space I enter, forging ahead and again sighting.
This wasn’t too bad as long as I still had my goggles.Once I cleared the opening body bumping, I got into a terrific distance racing tempo and felt very strong. I was a smooth swimming machine.The water was flat and clear, the temperature was comfortable with clouds keeping the sun mostly at bay, and I could just swim long stretches without worrying about other racers. My path had a slight right-hand drift to it, which meant that over the longer stretches between sighting I was moving a little away from the buoys. I increased the power of my pull on the left side and this helped, but I still had to make course adjustments. Nonetheless, I swam a pretty straight course and had little but sighting, some toe tickles and a few bumps to interrupt hundreds of yards of strong and consistent strokes.
I maintained a strong focus on my stroke and direction, so random thoughts, while present, did not lead to long internal soliloquies, as sometimes is the case for me in distance swimming or solo biking.Soon I had rounded the farthest buoy and the shorter stretch across the lake and was headed back, noting a very slight change in surface currents, but nothing that affected my tempo or breathing.I continued to pass some swimmers as I had on the way out, more having the cap color of the earlier wave.Few swimmers slid past me, the fastest from our wave leaving me early on.
I encountered a common problem, a swimmer just slightly slower than me who kept drifting across my line.This guy was swimming left to right and then back left in a zig-zag, making my right side passing attempts futile because he would drive me off my line.But having dealt with this so many times before I knew what to do.I slowed down, let him cross over in front of me, stoked hard aiming toward the buoy line and was not in his space as he zagged back toward the buoys.
After this it was clear sailing and I maintained my tempo.The balloon arch at the beach exit grew larger and larger and soon I was eyeing the bottom under me, trying to see where it became shallow enough to stand.I stood and was only in calf deep water, suddenly unstable.I teetered briefly, then found my legs and loped up on to the beach, unzipping my wetsuit and pushing the lap button on my watch as I ran under the arch to cheers and the announcer calling my name.Later I would see that did the swim in 37:06, 1:46 per 100 meters pace, good for me and third in my age group.
I ran up the hill, pulling my wetsuit to my waist, into the transition area and directly to my bike.Oh, did I want an Ironman Canada wetsuit “peeler” to push me down and peel off my wetsuit!But no such help was offered, so I struggled to get my arms free and then to peel the suit off my upper legs, calves and feet.This was taking forever!
I finally shucked off my wetsuit and tried to get into my transition flow. Socks on, bike shoes on, gel and salt tablets in my pocket, race number belt on with number on back, glasses on, helmet on, bike off the rack, run it through the transition area across the mount line, on the bike and go.My swim-bike transition took far too long, 3:57, slowest in my age group.
I rode down a short stretch and then the road turned left, uphill away from the lake. Good that I had shifted into my small ring before the race. I easily cranked up the hill and then got onto the main road and continued uphill for a bit. Then the road briefly flattened and I shifted into my big ring for harder gears where I could power my way past some of the riders ahead on the course. What? I shifted, but nothing happened. Let's try that again. Nope, the shifter just wiggles and nothing happens. I am stuck in my small ring. The effects of this were immediately obvious when the road swooped downhill. Normally in a big gear I would push downhill to increase my speed quickly. Now I found my legs spinning chipmunk like, and I had to coast very quickly as the speed outmatched my ability to spin at such high cadence. I thought about Lance Armstrong's cadence--he tends to spin at a higher rate than most other racers. I thought of the former US Cycling coach who would not let his riders even use their big ring until May each year, teaching them to spin. I guess I was going to find out how a race at high cadence would be.
The first six miles were very up-and-down, with the down hills fairly short.My gearing was not too bad for this, since the ups required being in easier gears and the down hills being so brief that little advantage could be gained from pushing a big gear.I was negotiating these hills when one swooped steeply downward, to the left and then immediately back right again, a blind curve in the woods which suddenly opened up onto a sunny road across a dam.A rider was down, crumpled on the ground, his bike cracked up against the railing edging the left side of the road.Spectators were running to help him.I slowed quickly, taking a lesson from his fate, hoping he was OK, and then remembering that this was a two-lap course so I would enter this treacherous zone again.
A few minutes later a biker passed me and said. “You lost your spare tire a while back.” I very briefly thought of turning around for it—dropping anything on the course was a reason for disqualification, if you are seen by an official doing so—but the biker added, “No one else saw it.”So I just lamented losing my new tubular spare tire and hoped I didn’t flat later on in the ride.Something to tend to after the race: I needed a better way to carry to tire than just stuffing it between my small bike bag and seat.
Soon I was out of Innsbrook and on to country roads.The pavement was smooth and the roads were fairly flat, with a few decent hills but nothing like the resort area.This is where I really missed my big gears.I spun as fast as I could and maintained good speed, but was still slower than usual.Also, with all the spinning my legs started protesting even before the mid-point in the ride, hips and quads aching a little, signs of possible cramping to come.When this happened I changed my sitting position and pulled my knees in more in an effort to change the muscle usage enough to fend off the cramps.It worked, at least on the bike.
We again rode through the resort hills (I slowed at the “crack-up” turn and there was no sign of the accident) and I was being passed with some frequency by faster bikers, a higher number than was usually the case for me in a race.At the mid-point my average speed was around 19 mph, good but not great.Out back on the country roads my speed rose some, and despite the high spin rate I was enjoying the ride.But then a little wind crept in and we reentered the resort to finish the bike.My speed decreased inevitably, and soon I was looking at 18.9 mph, probably my lowest bike speed in a race in years except for Ironman Canada. (With out the big hills and using my big ring---though not using my highest gear much of the time, but that’s another story--I averaged 21 mph two weeks later at Springfield Ironhorse.)
As I rode toward the transition area a van driven by “Mom and Pop” was slowly motoring down the middle of the road.I assume “Ethel and Edward” were wondering what the heck was going on here.I was yelling “Move it!” when they suddenly saw in their rear view mirror that I was on a Kamikaze course for their back bumper and they accelerated past the point where I turned in to the transition area.
I wheeled up to the dismount line, hopped off, found my legs and pushed my bike into transition, running the full length to my rack spot.I didn’t stop to look then but saw later than I rode the 56 miles in 2:44:54. I was determined to have a better second transition than the first and I did, with some flow in my movements:bike racked, helmet off, bike shoes off, run shoes on, swipe the used gel packets out of my pocket, grab the new gels and salt tablets and stuff them in, off I go!Except I had to use the port-a-potty, which added more than a minute to my transition time, for a total of 3:42. The best laid plans…
I ran out of transition and up the hill to the main road.As I was turning left a car drove alongside me.“Go Bear!” yelled Sherry and Chris, who were looking for a place to park! What were the odds?“My race is going OK but I had a mechanical problem on the bike and I had to spin way too much but I’ll be fine,” I blurted, trying to encapsulate what had already been about 3:46 of racing in one run-on sentence.They cheered me on as I rolled down the road, struggling to find running rhythm on deadened legs.
The first six miles of the run were uneventful, even if they were difficult.The hills were certainly steep and some had length to them, like I run at the Morton Arboretum in the winter, except a little longer and a little steeper.It was hot, as well, though the heat was not something I focused on or even gave much thought to.In retrospect, the heat, which was getting into the 90s, as much of the hills was my nemesis on this run.But that did not register on my brain in its zen-like focus at that time.I tried to maintain a good pace and pushed up the hills and ran down them like I tried to at Boston, with some forward lean so as not to brake unintentionally, just rolling with it.I was a little disappointed to see myself turning out slightly over 9 minutes per mile pace, but attributed that to having to spin hard for 56 miles on the bike.I ran through the water stops, alternately grabbing cups of water and Gatorade, and I took two salt tablets early on in the run, just as I had on the bike.
At about mile five I was brought out of my zen focus by a guy running by with "57" on his calf. My age group, first guy in it that I had seen! He was moving. I picked up my pace and finally started to match him, moving into what I figured to be the 8 minute per mile pace range, but he was 50 yards ahead. At this point a woman, who had been running fast and then walking off and on, passed me for umpteenth time. "I'll bet you are getting tired of passing me," I said. "You're running well," she replied as she motored ahead. "I’d be doing better if I could catch that guy in my age group who just passed me. Could you go talk to him and slow him down?" She replied, laughing, "Sure." This was more work than my legs wanted, but I could do it. But could I close the gap? I thought, the race will come back to me. So I just stayed at it and, sure enough, on the next long hill he suddenly started walking halfway up and I passed him and kept going.Yes!
The next uphill was long and steep.I started to motor up.Oops.That’s an inner quad cramp coming on, I thought.I needed to walk.No choice or I would wind up standing dead still in agony.So I walked.Pretty soon who went by but Mr. 57.Darn!I crested the hill and very gently trotted. Ok, no cramp.So I picked it up a bit and soon the mid-run turnaround approached, Mr. 57 in the distance but not coming closer, unfortunately.
The turnaround took us downhill off the road on the grass, and then back up on to the road going back the way we came.As I ran onto the grass, there was Sherry, cheering hard for me. I did not convey that I was cramping, but just greeted her, smiling, and ran back up hill.Just then a small cramp started, which I tried to ignore as I got back on the road. I t would be bad form to cramp in front of her!About 50 yards later it flared into a big cramp.I stopped for about 30 seconds, hoping it would fade.It did.I gently started running, bereft because people I had passed in the first half of the run passed me.Just as I started, Sister Madonna passed me.Great, I thought, a 74-year-old nun is beating me!Of course, I did not recognize then that she was on lap one while I was beginning lap two.But at that point she was outrunning me.
I slowly picked up my pace to the water stop about a mile out.I made a pint of grabbing both water and Gatorade and drinking both cups down as I ran through. There was Sister Madonna, walking.I passed her and never saw her again.(I know, it’s pathetic to be thrilled to out-run a nun, much less one that is well my senior.)
As the run progressed I held back my pace and changed my stride and turnover, seeking to dissipate the cramping.For the most part, it worked.By leaning forward, lifting my knees higher, tracking my feet closer to one another, shortening my stride and increasing my turnover I could even run uphill, slowly, without cramping.I still walked the steepest parts, along with most other runners by then, many of whom were also cramping. In retrospect, many of us were trashed by the heat.
I didn’t both to look at my mile splits as I worked through the second half.It felt long and slow, and the areas which were not shaded were hot to run through.I partly unzipped the front of my tri-suit and soldiered on, feeling like I was in an Ironman run, not a half Ironman run.Soon enough, though, I was in the end stretch, being passed and passing people at the same time.I congratulated those with faster paces and offered encouragement to the walkers.I certainly was not using all my aerobic capacity so I could talk without a problem!
I turned off the road and up the finish chute, glad I was done.I picked up my pace a little but not much.How would it be to cramp to a stop 20 yards from the finish?I definitely did not want to risk doing a Julie Moss-type Ironman Hawaii crawl to the line!
As I crossed the line Sherry assessed my condition, saw I was OK and put a medal around my neck.Chris gave me some liquid to drink.This was personal service!
After the race I hung around the beer truck where they posted the results.Yeah, really, I l kept looking at the results.(Yes, I did pour myself a couple of beers!)
Soon I realized that I had scored second place in my age group with a finish time of 5:49:08, despite a very slow run time of 2:19:31, 10:39 per mile, which even at that was third fastest in the age group.I guess it was hot!(For comparison’s sake, I averaged 7:29 per mile in my cooler tri two weeks later.)Even with just riding in my small ring I had the fastest bike split in the age group.I was third in the swim.Go figure.
As I was having a bike guy look at my dysfunctional gears, Sherry had to collect a prize that I won:free entry into three Max events races in 2006.She was embarrassed that she was not properly attired, but her volunteer shirt and hat worked in her favor as she was complimented for volunteering.When I collected my placement prizes they included a $50 gift check to a tri-store web site.I won cash!My hurting had an unanticipated payoff beyond the satisfaction of finishing.
On the way back to the Interstate I passed a temperature sign.It was 94 degrees.I guess it was hot at Halfmax.And hilly.I think I wanted that for Ironman training.Or did I?
The race materials had said previous winners would be in the elite wave. Well, I had placed 4th two years ago and second last year. Did that make me a “previous winner”?
Turns out it did. I asked the woman running registration. She checked my number, my cap color (blue) and a list. “Yes, you are in the elite wave.” Gulp. Revise self image! Elite wave! If only the guys in high school guy class could witness this!
I inspected the competitors’ list to see who my competition might be. There he was. John Burrell. Last year John ran up to me at mile 3. We ran several miles together, neck and neck, and then he dropped me. This year with my Achilles much better, I wasn’t going to let that happen if possible. Whatever the outcome, a great race was in the offing.
I had driven up to Lake Zurich larte Friday afternoon to pick up my packet and to see who my competition might be in this year’s Lake Zurich Triathlon. Race Director Steve Skora had altered the swim course to get an Olympic distance swim. The bike course was still about 21.8 and the run course had always been 6.2. Nearly an Olympic distance race.
Sunday morning dawned with perfect weather. Friend Dan Brown and I had decided that he would drive. This was his first Lake Zurich (and maybe my 6th), so I was his tour guide.
We unloaded our bikes, wheeled them into transition.
I set up right next to the bike exit, a great position. It’s nice to be elite!
For the swim, we grabbed a bus which took us to the other side of Lake Zurich. I was a bit fidgety waiting with Dan for the bus, but it was not tension from the unknown as often is the case—it was energy building as I looked forward to taking on my “elite” status and hoping to best Mr. Burrell.
In the park on the far side of the lake I wandered down to the start after finding the weeds behind the porta-potty rather than the long line. At the swim start I had fun talking to other competitors and then I swam a little to warm up. Very soon, being first wave, we gathered into a group and were sent off. (This was different than past years and what the other racers did this year; Lake Zurich uses a time trial start, sending off competitors three at a time. Anyway, for me the start was not turbulent—after what seemed like a long run I quickly found swimming room and settled into a hard pace that I hoped to sustain throughout. We swam a long line straight ahead and then turned left for another long ,line that took us into the finish. The swim seemed long—but since my previous races had been half Ironman distances, not overly long. I maintained my pace and did not get passed by many swimmers. However, I am sure I was toward the back of the elite wave and we got some space between us and the time trial starters behind us.
MALE AGE GROUP 55 - 59
Place No. Name Ag S Rank Swim Trans1 Rank Bike Rate Trans2 Rank Run Pace Final
===== ===== ================= == = ==== ======= ======= ==== ======= ==== ======= ==== ======= ===== =======
1 139 Lee Crumbaugh 56 M 2 27:09 4:06 3 1:04:00 21.1 2:11 3 47:24 7:39 2:24:49
2 134 John Burrell 58 M 6 35:01 2:24 1 1:00:51 22.2 1:31 1 45:10 7:18 2:24:55
3 243 James Dicker 56 M 3 28:20 3:06 2 1:03:16 21.3 2:05 7 55:24 8:57 2:32:08
4 136 Fredric Carlson 57 M 10 37:28 2:56 6 1:10:58 19.0 2:14 2 45:41 7:23 2:39:15
5 130 Kenneth Austin 56 M 4 28:54 3:22 4 1:10:15 19.2 1:47 9 1:00:32 9:46 2:44:48
6 161 Jim Thiese 58 M 8 35:33 5:17 5 1:10:56 19.0 3:20 6 55:07 8:54 2:50:11
7 246 Bob Achille 57 M 5 33:36 3:39 9 1:17:09 17.5 2:43 5 53:12 8:35 2:50:17
8 247 Frank Spenko 58 M 9 36:29 4:32 8 1:14:32 18.1 2:52 4 52:38 8:30 2:51:01
9 245 Art Stefans 56 M 7 35:11 4:34 10 1:17:27 17.4 1:28 8 58:29 9:26 2:57:08
10 240 Gary Silkaitis 55 M 1 25:19 3:41 7 1:12:37 18.6 5:59
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