2004 Ironman USA Lake Placid Race Report
Ironman USA Lake Placid
Lake Placid, New York

Sunday, July 25, 2004

This was our fourth consecutive July in Lake Placid.  Although it’s a seven hour drive it’s still our “local” Ironman race.  It’s nice not having to worry about over packing or breaking down the bike or any number of things.

I posted short notes on the goings-on during the days preceding the race, so I won’t rehash those days here.  I guess I might as well just get started with race morning.  Actually, I’ll start with the night before.

Dinner was a little later than I would have liked.  Renate, Vincent, and Jody had gone to Mass and that ran a bit long.  (As a side note, I sent my Saint Stephen and Saint Sebastian medals along with Renate; it had been awhile since they’ve seen the inside of a church.  I asked her to give them to Vincent when he went up for the blessing of the athletes.)  I had a pint of Guinness to wash down the spaghetti.  I figured that because I was peeing every five minutes (it seemed) I must be pretty well hydrated.  And, heck, I wanted a Guinness.  And, after all, my marathon PBR, set in Dublin, involved Guinness the night before.  From my point of view there wasn’t as much tension around the table as last year.  Vincent and I were the only ones competing the next day, and I already had my Kona slot.  Last year Stuart was part of the household and, I believe, Jon Powell and Jason Bologna stopped by for dinner.  More athletes makes for more tension.  Plus, Stuart and I were in the same age group competing for Ironman slots.  This time, just some light banter and quiet conversation.  I guess I ended up calling it a night about 9 PM.

And slept the normal sleep of a wired up triathlete.  I woke around 3 AM and figured that was it as far as sleeping went.  Quietly getting up so as not to disturb Renate.  A most excellent . . .  Then into the kitchen where I turned on the coffee for the others.  (I drink it most mornings, just not for races.)  Then I saw something I really didn’t want to see.  All of Vincent’s water bottles standing around waiting to be mixed and filled.

Last night at dinner, the issue of mixing up fuel bottles for the bike came up.  I said that I mix mine the morning of the race because I had read somewhere that as soon as water is added to the powders or gels, they start to lose some of their caloric value.  I don’t know if that’s really true, but I’ve been in the habit of mixing things up in the morning rather than having them sit around all night.  Vincent would normally do his the night before.  This time he didn’t.  That in and of itself would not have necessarily been a bad thing.  Except I mix up two bottles three times normal strength using just HammerGel (which I put in the bottle the night before), Perpetuem, and Endurolytes along with water.  Not a whole lot involved.  Vincent mixes up six bottles, planning on one per hour, and seems to have more ingredients.  I saw Vincent’s bottles on the table and thought to myself “Crap.  Next time keep your $#%^@& mouth shut.  Don’t do anything to screw up another’s pre-race routine.”  Nothing I could do about it now.

So I mixed up my bottles while eating my Pop Tarts.

Which was a new breakfast choice for me.  I had some issues after the bike at my last two Ironman races and at the very end after the Blackwater Half Ironman race.  In Lake Placid last year I had a long T2.  In Hawaii I had to make a stop early in the run.  Since my goal for this race was to get on the stage at the awards banquet, any minute spent in the smelly little boxes would be a minute I wasn’t making forward progress towards that goal.  I tried Pop Tarts for my long training days with good results so, Pop Tarts for breakfast before Ironman it was.  Blueberry-Yogurt flavor for those that care.  Four of those along with some orange juice gave me a nice 1000 calories to start the day.


Renate & Steve
  
Roger, Renate, Mary Ivy, & Jody
The Sherpa Crew
Vincent & Jody
  
Breakfast was followed by some light stretching, some puttering around, and a few pictures.  Then Renate, Roger, Mary Ivy, and I told Jody and Vincent (I think he was done mixing by this time) that we’d meet them by the lake and we headed off.  We walk right past the special needs drop off area on our way from the rental house to the transition area.  I don’t have any bike special needs and all I have in the huge run special needs bag is a little gel flask.  I drop that off and join in with the rest of humanity heading to body marking.  Roger and Mary Ivy take the chairs and my swim bag and go stake out their normal section of shoreline.  Renate and I continue on.  She’s carrying the bag with all my fuel. 

Body marking is painless.  (Imagine if it wasn’t.  “Hold still . . . we’re going to permanently tattoo your race numbers on.”)  The smell of magic marker fumes early in the morning.  I take my stuff from Renate and go find my bike.  Rita is a little on the damp side; early morning dew.  I put my fuel bottles in the cages.  Fill up the JetStream with water.  Check my tires.  Zero out my computer.  Make sure I’m in the right gear to start.  And then head out.  I know I checked my tires more than once, but I didn’t do it nearly as much as I’ve done in the past.  Then it was over to the gear bags.

And that was way too tight.  I had noticed that the bag racks were very close together on Saturday when I had originally hooked my stuff.  I just thought it was going to be temporary, for Saturday, and on Sunday they’d spread things out a bit.  But, no.  One person couldn’t walk down a row without turning sideways.  Now, imagine people going in both directions trying to get to their bags so they could put stuff in before the race.  And one guy who set up shop and was mixing his stuff right there.  I ended up circling around a bit to get to my bags.  And all I wanted to do was put a couple of gel flasks in the run bag so I’d have them for the start of the run.  I got that done and got out of there as quickly as possible.  I guess, at least for the actual transitions, people would all be going in one direction.  And, hopefully, not stopping to inventory their bags.  But, things were just crammed way too close together.

I re-found Renate.  We saw Vincent and Jody at body marking as we headed over to the lake and the rest of the crew.  Who were sitting patiently, sipping on their home-brewed coffee.  The timing wasn’t perfect, but since the line was manageable, I decided to get my pre-race sit-down in the smelly little box out of the way.  And just hoped that it would be the last time.

And then it was time to wait.  The morning was cloudy and chilly.  I was shivering a bit.  Some of that was pre-race tension.  Some was because I wasn’t dressed properly.  I only had a thin sweatshirt.  An additional long sleeve T-shirt would have been nice.  I knew the water was warmer than the air, there was a mist rising from the lake, but it was too early to venture in.  I quietly killed time people watching.  (Which is better than quietly killing people time watching.)  An hour before the start I had a gel packet.  The young lady next to me said that I looked so calm.  She asked how many I’ve done.  Her eyes bugged out when I said this was my 13th Ironman race.  It was to be her husbands 1st.  I didn’t see him, but she looked to be in her early twenties.  I assured her that her husband would do fine.  Along with the 799 other Iron Virgins.  At least that’s what was announced.  Eight hundred first time Ironman competitors.  That’s 40% of the field.  How did so many sign up?  Didn’t they see the weather last year?

Forty-five minutes to go.  I start putting on my wetsuit.  Which involves first turning it right side out.  (The bright red duct tape didn’t do so well following the pre-race swim of the other day, so I’ve decided to use the hole for cooling purposes.)

Thirty minutes to go.  I have another gel packet and a bit more water.  I have to pee, but I know I’ll be in the water soon enough.  (Ew.  Gross.  Do you really do that?  Iron Virgins and their fans have a lot to learn.)  A few more pictures.  Kisses.  Hugs.  Handshakes.  Then Vincent and I head off to start our Ironman day.  He’s not quite ready to get in the water.  I am.  A handshake.  “Just a walk in the park, Kazanski.”  I cross the timing mat and head into the water. 		        
Only Two Dragons This Year

Commercial Interlude:  Man, can I ramble.  All this wordiness and the race hasn’t even started.  I have to get up and stretch a bit.  And go fetch another beer.  For those that care about such things, I’m currently drinking a Saranac Adirondack Amber out of my Ironman Lake Placid pint glass.

The Swim

I swim a little to warm up.  I find a place on the far side where I can stand for the national anthem.  I move a little closer to the front and tread water waiting for the start.  With no warning that I heard, the cannon starts the race.

There are close to 2000 people in the water (reading the results later showed that 1961 people started the swim) all trying to squeeze through what might be a 50 meter wide opening.  (I’m just shooting from the fingers with that guestimate.)  This is just about the least amount of fun during a triathlon for me.  The trick is to get through the washing machine start with as little physical and mental wear and tear as possible.  I thought I was far enough to the right to avoid all the people hung up on swimming along the cable.  I wasn’t.  Next time I think I’ll stand in the road.  That would be far enough right.  It was a fairly ugly swim for most of the way out to the turn.

And the turn and the short straight and the other turn.  On the way back I was able to swing out a little bit and could find some clear water.  I was able to sight on the people on my left so I didn’t lift my hear very often.  It was almost enjoyable.  Then came the end of the first lap.  And more congestion as people Darwined from fish to mammal.  The big clock said 37 minutes and change.  I was hoping to be closer to 35 (after all, I had turned into a swim stud based on my training swims), but with the horrible first length I had, I wasn’t too beat up about it.  My watch was all whacked out from the contact and it took the whole run from the end of lap one to the start of lap two to get it back.

Lap two was really uneventful.  The problem I had wasn’t from all the people, it was from cramps in my lower right leg.  It seemed that the only way I could keep them away was to lock my ankle at a 90 degree angle.  Now, I don’t have a great deal of flexibility in my ankle anyway, but throwing out a sea anchor during a 2.4 mile swim doesn’t make for smooth sailing.  I had mentioned in earlier notes that I wanted to push the second half of the swim a bit.  That plan went out the window.  I wanted, instead, to relax and get through this portion of the day.

And, I did.  The clock said 1:14:xx (1:14:53 to be exact), another 37 minutes and change for the second lap.  Kind of a normal Lake Placid swim for me.  I get stripped and start the jog through the streets and down to the transition area.  Lots of screaming spectators.  Lots of fellow competitors.  A tight squeeze through the bag racks.  And into the change tent. 		          
The Cannon Has Thundered


Here We Go Again - Lap Two


Stripped and heading to T1

A very crowded change tent.  According to race statistics, I was in 1108th place getting out of the water.  It appeared that all 1107 people in front of me (at least those who were male) were in the tent changing into bike clothes.  I couldn’t find a seat to sit in, let alone a volunteer to help me cram my swim stuff into the bag.  I just stood in the aisle between rows of chairs and put on socks, shoes, and race number, put the wetsuit and goggles into the bag, grabbed my helmet and sunglasses and headed out.

Leaving the transition tent and heading over to pick up Rita for a nice ride in the country.  A volunteer has her all ready to go.  He tells me I’m doing great.  I thank him for being out there.  A short jog to the end of the transition area, across the timing mat, click into the pedals.  And away I go.

And now, a little numerical interlude.  First the introduction.  I am a numbers geek.  I have an engineering degree.  I was a computer weenie.  Now I’m studying to be a math teacher.  Numbers are neat.  Anyway, I didn’t know any of this numerical information while I was racing.  I just crunched things when I got home.  So, without further ado:  My 1:14:53 swim put me in 1108th place out of 1961  (101st out of 190 in my age group).  Despite my somewhat pokey 6:25 transition, I moved up to 941st place (78th in the age group).

The Bike


The Start Of The Bike
Towards The End Of Lap One
Towards The End Of Lap Two
Why am I bothering to put three almost identical pictures here?  I really have no idea.

The start of the bike is fairly technical.  Steep and twisty and roads in a bit of disrepair.  Fortunately, unlike last year, they’re dry.  Also, fortunately, no one is being an idiot this early in the race trying to gain that one second advantage in a 5.5 to 6 hour ride.  There are lots of cheering spectators.  Some even cheering for me.  Pretty quickly we leave town and things quiet down.  As far as spectators go.  There are lots of bikes.

Lots and lots of bikes.  Immediately after town the course is kind of tough.  It’s not flat and it’s not downhill.  That pretty much leaves one thing.  That might be a little exaggeration.  Some might generously call it rolling.  But, let me tell you, it rolls a whole hell of lot more up than down.  I can deal with the terrain.  It’s the number of bikes that’s frustrating me.  Out there as far as the eye can see.  I am very paranoid about getting a penalty in situations like this.  I’m pissed that I’m such a sucky swimmer and I have all these people in front of me.  (If I could just swim five minutes faster I would have been ahead of 300 more people.  Obviously, it’s time for me to start working on that.)  So, I’m passing people.  Trying to get over to the right when there’s an opening.  Although my heart monitor isn’t working correctly, I know I’m way over the zone I want to be in.

It was during this section, where I’m passing people and the number in front of me seems to be increasing, when I got seriously tired of Ironman races.  The swim start and the first part was way too congested.  The gear racks were crammed so close together you couldn’t walk between them.  The change tent was a teeming mass of humanity.  And, now, bike upon bike upon bike.  I was thinking that it could get pretty ugly if there were this many people trying to get down the long hill into Keene.  I have absolutely no animosity towards the other bikers on the course.  It’s not their fault I can’t swim.  I guess my complaint is with the total number of people in the race to begin with.  I don’t know if penalties were handed out on that section.  It can’t be made into a penalty-free zone, because then people will blatantly draft and block.  I spent the majority of the section riding to the left, passing people.  I don’t think I blocked anybody.  But, I couldn’t ride the race I wanted to ride.  And it was a mental hassle as much as physical.  Bottom line, it all comes back to improving my swim.  Ok.  My rant is over.

Things did clear up a little and the big section of down hills into Keene wasn’t as bad as it could have been.  It was still bad, though.  I’m not the greatest of down hillers, I think I maxed out in the 43 mph range.  I got to the edge of my comfort zone and stayed there.  It was unnerving to have packs of five or six guys, some on their aerobars, passing by.  A couple of times, on the steepest sections, I backed off a bit because I didn’t want to pass someone with all these packs going by.  I’d wait until the road flattened out a little.  It wasn’t worth it to me to ride that aggressively.

Plus, I was freezing.  I didn’t want to bother with arm warmers in transition and I didn’t want to wear them for all the hills.  But, it was a bit colder than I expected it to be.  That, coupled with the tension of all that steep down hill riding, made for a less than relaxing ride.  (Ok.  I can’t swim and I can’t ride fast downhill.  Maybe I ought to become a Florida duathlete.)

Finally, after making the left turn at Keene and heading towards Jay I was able to relax and get back into the spirit of Ironman.  A good shot of calories.  A little singing of the Magical Trevor song.  (Everyone loves Magical Trevor ‘cause the tricks that he does are ever so clever . . . Look at him now disappearing the cow . . . Where is the cow?  Hidden right now . . . Taking a bow it’s Magical Trevor . . . Everybody’s seen that the trick is clever . . . )  Enjoying the scenery.  And the weather.  Now, bikes were starting to get strung out a little bit.  I could pass people ones and twos at a time.  I still didn’t have a functioning heart monitor, but I could tell that I was riding more in the zone I wanted to be in.  This section of peacefulness wasn’t going to last forever, but it would be long enough for me to re-group both physically and mentally.


The Crew Waiting For Us To Come Through On Lap One
"We got up at 4 AM to do this?  Is the bar open yet?"

And I was fine for the rest of the loop.  Taking the hills conservatively (at least I thought I was being conservative).  Staying fueled and hydrated and emptied.  (I forgot to mention to that newbie Ironfan about not stopping on the bike.  She would have really screwed up her nose over that.)  Avoiding catastrophe at the aid stations.  Chuckling over the mid-morning moons.  (Three girls with letters scrawled on their butt cheeks.  I thought it said “R O C K O N” but apparently it was “R I D E O N”.)  Dealing with the two cherries and the three bears, the five named hills heading into town.  The big crowd on Papa Bear.  Making the turn onto Northwoods.  Lots more noise.  Someone calling me by name.  Melanie?  Was that you?

Onto Mirror Lake Drive.  Past special needs and that bit of congestion.  Past the cheering crew.  Then the twisty turny part near the Olympic Center.  Crossing the timing mat.  Behind the High School.  And one more lap, just like the other one.

I was feeling pretty good.  I still had that Magical Trevor song stuck in my head.  I’m not sure when I passed Dave Decker.  I thought it would be close to Jay on the first lap and then I could have given him the song and released it from my mind.  But, calories were going down well.  The crowds of bikes had long since dissipated, although there were still some groups and some drafters.  I was glad to see, afterwards, that one guy got nailed for two penalties.  I don’t know what they were, but if they were for drafting, he deserved them.

I thought the wind picked up a bit on the second lap.  I noticed it when I made the turn at Keene.  It also seemed that the bug traffic increased about this time.  Several had to be forcibly ejected from my mouth and a number of their friends splattered against my sunglasses and helmet.  I thought the intermediate mile markers, from about 15/71 to 50/106 were off by about a mile.  Then everything got synched up at the 55/111 marker.

There was some guy doing the YMCA dance on his bike at the turnaround on Haselton Road.  (Obviously that was the song that was playing on the speakers there.)  I thought to myself, “That’s a Bob Mina type of thing.  He’s really having a great race.”  Then I remembered that he wasn’t racing.  That’s why the weather was so good.  (Sorry, Bob.  I couldn’t resist.)  Back to the YMCA guy, I couldn’t do that without hurting myself.  Heck, I put myself and others in danger when I reach for a water bottle.  So, we’ve now established that I can’t swim, I can’t go downhill fast, and I can’t take water bottles at aid stations.  Fortunately, those talents are not quite as critical for my age group in an Ironman.

The mooning girls were not there for the second lap, or they were and had covered up.  I passed a few pro women.  I don’t entirely understand their rules, I know they’re a little different from the age group rules, but it’s weird passing someone on the right.

All the hills were steeper on the second lap.  I don’t know how they get that way, but they do.  It was nice to make the turn onto Northwoods.  That last hill on Northwoods is a pain, though.  Then the last trip down Mirror Lake Drive.  The bit through town.  And off the bike right after the high school.  Thank Rita for a good day.  Hand her over to the nice volunteer with surgical gloves on.  Take off my bike shoes and jog over to the gear bags.

Bike Numerical Interlude:  The 2:37:43 for the first lap (by my watch for mile 1 thru 28:  1:15:02, and for 28 thru 56:  1:22:41) was about five minutes faster than I had as a target.  I don’t know how much of this was because of going a bit harder at the start.  The 2:52:22 for the second lap (1:19:12, 1:33:10) was about 15 minutes slower than my target.  I had a total time of 5:30:05 (20.36 mph).  I would have liked to have broken 5:20.  It was an improvement of about 20 minutes over last year’s rain-soaked time.  I had the 117th fastest bike split overall (7th in age group).  That moved me up to 240th place overall (15th in age group).


Mary - What A Smile
Vincent - With A Smooch For Jody
Just to show that there were actually others in the race.

Moving through the bag racks wasn’t quite as tedious this time.  Mostly because all the swim to bike bags were gone.  It did take me an extra second to find my bag, but then it was into the change tent.  A fairly empty change tent.  I had a seat.  And, better yet, a volunteer.  I dumped everything out and he started putting things I took off (good thing for surgical gloves) and things I didn’t need back into the bag.  I opted to change my socks, but I don’t think I’ll do that again unless they’re super bad.  I also changed my shirt and I’m still on the bubble with that.  And I still had to make a visit to the smelly little box.  Though, and I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for this since the Pop Tart breakfast, not for a sit down and read the graffiti visit.  Then it was across the mat and off on the run.

T2 Numerical Interlude:  I wasn’t happy at all with my 5:12 transition.  Changing socks.  Changing shirt.  Pee break.  I dropped 20 spots overall to 260th place (and 2 age group spots to 17th).  Fortunately passing people on the run can be done without fear of drafting or blocking penalties.

The Run

My thinking, when setting my time goals for the race, was that if I could start the run at a race time of seven hours or less then I could achieve my goal of 10:30.  I had about 6:57 on my watch, so I was in good shape.  The second part of my goal, actually the main part, getting up on stage, well, I had no real idea about where I stood.  All I could do was run and pick off any 45-49 guy I saw in front of me.  So, I ran.

I was thinking I’d start off at 7:30 pace and see how that felt.  I was looking at individual mile times, but I was really basing my splits on five mile intervals.  So, I wanted to see 37:30 as a split at the five mile mark.  I was running smoothly, taking in some calories (HammerGel) and water.  I touched the gold medal.  I had passed a couple of my age groupers.  Right about this point, near the gold medal, there’s an aid station with an announcer person.  My name was announced.  The guy right in front of me, my age group, asked if I was the same Steve Noone that got the Kona slot at Blackwater.  I said I was.  He was two spots behind me there.  He was hoping to get a slot here.  We ran together for about 50 yards then he eased up a bit.  (After checking the preliminary results, it looks like he should have gotten a spot.)

At the five mile marker, I hit my split button.  35:50 at five miles.  That’s a 7:10 pace.  Way . . . way to fast.  I know it’s a net downhill over that stretch, and I was feeling great, but that split kind of scared me.  I made an effort to slow down a bit.

I saw Don on the Riverside Road section.  He was heading back to town while I was going out.  He appeared to have about a 25 minute lead.  My goal was to see if I could keep it at that gap.

I tried counting guys who I thought were in my age group (based on bib numbers) as I approached the turnaround.  I counted about four.  Some fairly far in front.  Well, this was not even the six mile mark, yet.  Plenty of time.  I was running well.

The way back on Riverside Road to Rte. 73 was uneventful.  It’s kind of up and down, but not really all that bad.  It’s a little bit warm, but, again, not really all that bad.  Nothing a couple of sponges soaked in cold water won’t cure.  I’m trying to pay attention to calories, but not doing a great job.  I might be taking in too much water.  Still, I’m passing people.  And when I approach someone in my age group, I take a couple of seconds to gather myself, then pass strongly.  If he wants to come along, fine.  Otherwise, he’s now one place down in the standings.

Right after the turn onto Rte. 73 there’s the first of the two big climbs on the course.  It’s got a few spectators, but not many.  There’s really no place for them until you get right to the top.  I put my head down and take short, quick steps.  (I don’t wear the heart monitor for the run.  I go strictly on how I feel.  At this point I’m doing well.)  No one is really walking up this hill, it’s the first lap and we’re kind of at the sharp end of the pack.

The ten mile mark is somewhere on the flat after the hill.  I get a split.  36:15.  I did that five mile section at 7:15 pace.  It included more net uphill than the first five miles.  I’m not sure what to think.  I’m feeling pretty good, not great.  My legs are pretty tired and sore, but I’m not really having any internal issues.  I’m not as confident mentally as I should be.  There are still 16 miles to go.  I still think I’m running too fast too soon, but I can’t seem to put the brakes on.  Looking back, I should have been able to view things in an extremely positive way.  “Steve, you’re doing absolutely great!  You trained hard to get into this position and you’re getting the result you deserve.”  Instead, there was a little negative gremlin lurking just below the surface.

Soon enough I was at the bottom of the big hill in town.  There was going to be ½ to ¾ of a mile of uphill running.  About half of that very steep, then just gradual uphill until going past the Lake Placid Brewery.  Lots of spectators here.  Lots of noise.  One fan tells me to catch the guy in the tutu.  I take a glance up ahead.  I have no idea what he’s talking about.  And I’m just starting to get a little fuzzy mentally.  I continue to run steadily up the hill.  A couple of guys have started to walk, not many, and others are slowing.  I’m passing a few people on the hill.  I get cheers.

(The Ironman folks did a pretty nice thing this year.  We get two bib numbers for the race, one for the bike and one for the run.  Or one for the bike/run if you so desire.  On one number, in addition to the number, our last name was printed.  On the other, our first name.  This gives spectators the opportunity to cheer the athletes by name.  I wore my last name on the bike figuring there really wouldn’t be much specific cheering.  Though, on the run, it was sometimes tedious to try and acknowledge all the “Go, Steve” yells.)

On the not so steep part of the climb there’s a misting tent set up.  That feels nice to run through.  The right turn onto Mirror Lake Drive and past my cheering crew.  Renate tells me she thinks I’m in third place (in age group, obviously).  The inhuman Joe Bonness is in first and Don Fink, my coach, is in second.  That’s great to hear, but I know it’s hard to track bib numbers so I’m going to continue to see who’s out there.

This is the area for the run special needs.  Remember, all I had in my bag was a gel flask.  I hadn’t finished the one I was carrying and I still had a spare in the pouch around my waist, so I didn’t need to pick the one up from special needs.  But, I thought better safe than sorry.  The volunteer reading numbers and passing them down to the people fetching the bags misreads my number.  He yells 1448 instead of 1458.  The nice bag lady is holding out the 1448 bag waiting for someone (me) to take it.  As I’m passing her I mention that the wrong number was yelled and that I’d get my bag on the way back.

Approaching the 12 mile marker, right before the Mirror Lake Drive turnaround, I see him.  The guy in the tutu.  And, not just a tutu.  He has a wand and is wearing some kind of tiara.  (Simon Lessing, the overall winner and a Brit born in South Africa, asked, during his speech at the awards banquet, “Raise your hand if you saw the fairy.”  I’m pretty sure all the hands went up.)  That riled me a little bit.  Obviously the guy is a good swimmer and/or biker.  But, even if he wasn’t, treat the event with respect.  Hell, treat yourself with respect.  I passed him.

Right after the turnaround I caught, and introduced myself to, Martin Avidan, a fellow client of Don’s.  I had seen his name on Don’s list of clients who have qualified for Hawaii.  We chatted for just a bit then I resumed my pace.  By the way, Martin is in my age group so that was another pass for position.

Now, I’m getting near special needs, going the wrong way, so to speak.  Where the very nice volunteer is holding my bag out waiting for me to come along.  It might have been roughly five minutes from when I passed her the first time until I came back, but she’s there, with a smile on her face, handing me my bag.  I take it and thank her profusely.  I put my mostly empty flask in the bag and take out the full one and then toss the bag off to the side. 

A bit further on I crossed the half-way mat and glanced at my watch.  Race time was right about 8:30.  At that point I was fairly confident that I was going to break 10:30.  I figured I had a two hour half marathon in me.  I passed my fans at the Lake Placid Brewery again.  I came to the point where you go right to finish and left to go run another lap.  I went left.  This is also the point where I started merging with runners heading out on their first lap.  Now there would be no way to tell if anybody I passed was on the second lap like me, or on the first lap.  All I could do was run.

And that almost ended right there in town.  There’s a crosswalk for spectators to get from one side to the other.  I’m pretty sure there were volunteers directing traffic, waiting for a suitable gap between runners before allowing people to cross.  There’s a gap in front of me and people are crossing.  No problem.  Then I get near the crosswalk and people are told to stop.  Well, somebody’s mom and dad go sprinting across anyway.  And little junior, clutching his mountain bike, doesn’t want to get left behind so he goes across as well.  The problem was that little junior damn near ran me over.  I had to semi-stop and hop to the right to avoid him.  Fortunately, no real damage was done.  One fan even commented on my counter-moves.
          
Coach Don Fink


Our Hero


Speedy Jason Bologna

I continue on the steep downhill out of town, around the bend, up a little hill (quite a few people walking this hill), and onto the flats.  I’m just starting to get a little uncomfortable internally.  Not the “I have to visit a smelly little box” uncomfortable.  More the “I have stuff in my stomach . . . it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere . . . I know I’m going to need more calories and water . . . how is that going to happen” feeling.

By the 1/14.1 mile marker (I think I mentioned in an earlier note about the little numbers and the big numbers on the mile marks and how it would be great to be using the big numbers)  things were getting a bit worse.  Some serious discomfort.  I had a few side-stitch episodes and I was beginning to feel a little light headed, a little bonky.  I switched over to Gatorade to see if that would help.  I passed the 15.1 mark and recorded a 37:50 split on my watch.  That extra tenth of a mile was screwing up my ability to calculate pace, but I knew it was about 7:25 per mile.  I didn’t have a great deal of confidence that it would stay anywhere near that for the next five mile interval.

On the Riverside Road out, after touching the gold medal for a second time, I heaved a couple of times.  No action, just a bit of noise.  I’m not sure exactly when it was, but I decided to try some coke at the next aid station.  And they didn’t have any.  I remember thinking that, if they didn’t have any this early in the run for most people, it was going to be a long day for them.  This was probably closer to the turnaround, but it’s a little fuzzy as I try and recall.  I do remember seeing Don as he headed back and thought he looked a little beaten up.  Still running strong, but with more of a pained look than earlier.

Now, back to the search for coke.  Fortunately, the next aid station did have some.  I took it with mixed results.  At this point I was beginning to walk through aid stations.  I continued to look at my times for each mile and I was still attempting to do some mental calculations, probably too hung up on all of that, and I thought I had a great shot to break 10:20.  I just had to run more.  I was having some difficulty getting that fact to register.  A couple more heaving episodes didn’t help matters.


I made the turnaround and started back to town.  I got a split time at 20.1 miles.  My watch read 41:30 for the last five miles.  I knew 37:30 was 7:30 pace.  I was running a little faster than 8:30s.  And it was a bit of a struggle to even manage that.  Somewhere a couple of young ladies, calling themselves the fashion police, thought it was nice that my running shoes matched my shirt.  See, Bob, Dave, et al, those bright yellow shoes are noticeable.  I’ll have to see if I can find a yellow running hat for Hawaii.  I noticed a guy heading towards the turnaround running extremely well.  He was wearing a COLBY singlet.  It was Jason, but I didn’t recognize him.  I was thinking, “That guy is a runner.”  (He ended up passing me somewhere on the flat near the 23.1 mile mark.  He was the only one to pass me on the run the entire time.)

Finally, and this was totally out of the blue because I didn’t expect it to be out relatively early in the evening, a volunteer asked if I wanted any chicken broth.  There aren’t too many things that beat warm chicken broth towards the end of an Ironman marathon.  Ice cold beer after a few hours of yard work.  A hot cup of coffee on a cold winter Sunday morning while reading the paper.  But that warm chicken broth was just about perfect.  I guess it was the tail end of Riverside Road.  Because I was able to make it up the first big hill on the way back to town with just a slight bit of difficulty.  At this point I knew I was going to blow the doors off a 10:30 Ironman.  Breaking 10:20 was going to be tough.  It could go either way.

I vaguely remember having another hit of chicken broth before heading up the last big hill of the day.  As I was starting out I heard lots of “Go, Steve” yells.  And then someone mentioned a “run of Steves.”  Turns out there were about five of us right there (remember, we had our names on our bib numbers) and not all the cheers were for me.  I did get a quad cramp towards the top of the hill, pretty much the same exact place on the course as last year, and I had to walk a stretch until it released.  Then the right hand turn to go through the out and back section next to Mirror Lake and a last set of cheers from my fans.  At the 25.1 mark I got my last five mile split of the day, for no particular reason.  I don’t think I even looked at it at the time.  It was a 43:40, about 8:45 per mile.  Good thing it was almost over.

          
Mary After One Lap
"Hey, Tim, did you catch any fish?"


Vincent After One Lap
Practicing that right side breathing technique

Towards the end of the race, the signs that I saw the first lap that made me cringe now brought a feeling of relief.  At the sign for “1 Mile To Go” my watch read 10:12:30.  I knew I didn't have a 7:30 mile in me, so I just kept a decent pace.  Jody and Tim were still at the tennis courts as I ran past and they cheered.  Then it was the fork in the road.  Go left for the second lap of running.  Go right for the finish line.  I turned right and then a quick left and I entered the oval.  A volunteer congratulated me on a great race.  Around the turn of the oval.  Lots of spectators.  Lots of noise.  The clock was at 10:20 and whatever seconds.  No sense sprinting.  Just relax and cross the line.  My 13th Ironman finish.  I probably didn't smile.  I'll have to wait until the pictures are posted.

Run Numerical Interlude:  Like the bike, the first lap of the run, 1:34:03 (7:10 pace), was about five minutes ahead of target.  A great run would have been 3:19:00 and I’d still like to learn how to negative split an Ironman marathon.  (Heck, any marathon for that matter.)  The second lap, 1:50:02 (8:23 pace), was a bit of a survival thing towards the middle of that lap until the finish.  The 3:24:05 (7:47 pace) total was a couple of minutes slower than last year.  It was the 50th fastest run split overall (3rd in age group).  That moved me up to 96th place overall (4th in age group).

The Aftermath

I felt pretty good when I finished.  The volunteers at the end were great, but I told them they didn't have to worry about me.  I wandered over to the food area.  No coke there, either.  A cup of chicken broth then a short wait until Renate, Roger, and Mary Ivy made it down from the stage.  Renate is definitely the "World's Greatest Sherpa" as she had a couple cans of coke.  And my dry clothes bag.

I went into the change tent and, as I was sitting there decompressing, I noticed one guy getting all ready to start out on his run.  I really didn't know what to say to him, so I said nothing.  I just silently wished him well and said a quick prayer of thanks for my abilities.

I gathered up my gear bags and Rita and headed over to my waiting crew.  Renate took the bike (I just told her not to touch the seat) and Roger and Mary Ivy took all the bags.  We headed off to their station across from the Lake Placid Brew Pub and next to the tennis courts.  Jody and Tim were there waiting for Vincent and Mary.  It was such a great day and I was feeling pretty good and someone offered to fetch beer so I just sat down and enjoyed myself.  I was chatting with a lady whose son and daughter-in-law (or the reverse of that) were both doing their first Ironman race.  She was both nervous and excited.

There was a USAT official in his bright red shirt in the area.  I asked him what time and where the penalties would be posted.  He told me.  And then asked if I thought I had one.  I mentioned that I’m always paranoid about getting something.  I don’t think I did anything to deserve one, does anybody?, but sometimes situations arise.  Mostly at the beginning of the bike and on the uphill sections.  He asked my number and when I told him he mentioned that he hadn’t given me a penalty.

I had more beer.  I called my brother Morgan (aka Fuzzy, except in Lake Placid where he's Ralph).  He looked up my finishing position.  I was 96th overall and 4th in the age group.  I was three minutes ahead of fifth and five minutes ahead of sixth.  Now I was even more paranoid about a penalty.  Or even two.  One and I’d still be on the stage.  Two and I’d be outside looking in.  I had more beer.

Renate took Rita to the house and brought back jackets.  I had more beer.  I wanted some fries, but the Brew Pub didn't have fries to go.  I ate some pretzels.  I got a bad cramp in my leg and then found it comfortable to stand and cheer my fellow competitors and drink more beer.

Mary had long since passed, finished, gone back to our house to shower, and come back with Tim to cheer for Vincent.  When Vincent passed on the way to the last turnaround, Jody, Renate and Mary Ivy went to the finish area to take pictures.  I hung around the brew pub cheering.  Bill Hauser bought me a beer.  Thanks, Bill, I owe you one.  The brew pub had run out of plastic cups so this was in a styrofoam cup.  (Looking at the finishing times, Dave Decker must have run back and forth right before Vincent, but I missed him.  Probably drinking beer at the time.  Maybe one of my post-race trips to the smelly little box.)

Renate came back to tell us that Vincent had finished in under 14 hours, a PBR for him, and he was feeling great.  Mary Ivy was staying with Jody to help Vincent with his stuff, so Renate, Roger, and I, along with Tim and Mary headed back to the house.

The first thing I did, even before getting a beer, was fire up the computer and check the results on Ironmanlive.com.  First for Mary, 3rd in her age group, and then for me.  Yep, still 4th.

Then a beer.  Turn on the TV and watch people finish.  Vincent, Jody, and Mary Ivy make it back.  Renate heads out for pizza.  Eat.  Drink.  And be merry.  Finally, a little after 11 PM, sixteen hours into the race, twenty hours of being awake, I’ve had enough.  A quick shower to rinse the day off and then to bed.

The Day After

I didn’t sleep well at all.  I’d fall asleep.  I’d move.  Something would ache.  I’d wake up.  Finally, at 5 AM, I got up for good.  Made some coffee then fired the computer back up.  When I noticed that I had moved up two positions overall, to 94th, and that I was still 4th in the age group, I figured that penalties had been posted and I didn’t get one.  It was a nice feeling of relief.  Then I found the overall results and confirmed things.

Vincent got up shortly afterwards.  Now, I’m not a morning person.  I don’t like to talk and I don’t like to deal with humanity.  Vincent is worse.  But, that morning, we were chattering away like two little old ladies.  Rehashing the race and the way yesterday went.  He wanted to sign up right away for next year, but he wanted Jody to race as well and he wasn’t sure how well they’d do as a couple both racing the same Ironman.  He wasn’t sure if Jody even wanted to race.  I told him I knew of other couples who had managed fine.  And, I told him that, since it was only 6 AM, he had four more hours until on-line registration opened.  So he had some time before a decision had to be made.  Theoretically I was racing Lanzarote in 2005, although that’s looking less likely, and Lake Placid wasn’t going to happen for me.

The others started moving around and the morning just kind of progressed.  Jody was on the fence for next year, more on the side against than on the side for, but she told Vincent that if he wanted to race then go ahead and sign them up.  That wasn’t quite the enthusiasm Vincent was looking for.  He told her to contemplate it on her bike ride.  And Jody set off to ride one loop of the course as training for Kona.

Roger and Mary Ivy wandered into town to play tourist.  A little later Renate and I went over to the high school to get the finisher certificates for Vincent and me.  We stopped by the list of Kona qualifiers just to see my name above the cut off line.  Then we went to meet Roger and Mary Ivy at the Lake Placid Brew Pub for lunch.  Service was a little slow, but we were really in no hurry.

When we got back to the house, Jody was there and Vincent was taking a nap.  Jody said that while she was on her bike ride she had convinced herself that it would be neat and fun for both of them to race next year.  And she told that to Vincent.  Who promptly went in the opposite direction and wasn’t sure anymore.  It was actually pretty funny.  I put the registration page up on the computer.  It had also been decided, by Renate mostly, that if they did the race they would need Sherpa services and that would require Renate’s presence.  And, if she was going to be there, I might as well race since I surely wasn’t going to do any sherping for Vincent and Jody.  I think that between Renate, Roger, and Mary Ivy they could sherp for three racers.  It would give Roger and Mary Ivy the chance to be head Sherpa for somebody.


Steve, Mary, & Vincent
Mike Malloy, Jody, & Vincent

Nothing was decided and soon it was time to go to the awards banquet.  That was nice, though drinking Michelob Ultra Light Beer out of a can was a bit of a come down from the freshly brewed Lake Placid Brewery samplings.  And, $3 a can was a pain.  (One good thing, and there are certainly many, about Kona is the beer at the awards banquet is from the Kona brewery and is free.)  They announced at the banquet that there were only 200 slots left for next year’s race.  I think we all looked at Vincent to see his reaction.

Then it was time for Mary and me to go stand in line for getting on stage.  Before getting in line I had called Morgan since he wanted me to call him when I was on the stage.  He told me to act like I belonged there.  The rest is kind of a happy blur.  I accepted my award.  I stood where I was told.  I shook hands with my fellow competitors.  I raised up my plaque when I was told to.  I left when they said to leave.  And I sat back down.  I don’t think I stopped smiling for the rest of the evening.


Mary getting congratulations
from Paula Newby-Fraser
Mary & Tim
  
Acting Like I Belong
  
  		 Congratulations From Coach Don
At last year's race I set the goal
for us to be on stage together.		 With The World's Greatest Sherpa
I couldn't do any of this
without you and your support.


Then it was time to leave.  Somehow the decision had been made that we were going to register for Ironman Lake Placid 2005 as soon as we got back.  So, I fired up the computer and pulled up the registration form.  Renate brought over beers for Vincent and me.  Vincent sat down in the driver’s seat to register Jody.  And the tension slowly rose.  Vincent, whom I love like a brother, is not a virtuoso of the computer keyboard.  He’s hunting and pecking and picking and poking and . . . time’s a’ wasting.  The joke is that by the time he gets Jody registered the race is going to be full and she’ll be the only one doing it.  Finally she’s in.  Vincent relinquishes the driver’s seat.  (He’s such a romantic when it comes to Jody.  He wanted to make sure he did the entry for her.)  I take over.  I get him in the race.  (He’s decided on a new career, by the way.  But that’s a story for another day.)  I get me in the race.  Another round of brew.  And then exhaustion set in and it was off to bed.

And that pretty much covers the Ironman USA Lake Placid adventure for 2004.  I think I probably set a new record for myself with the verbosity I’ve written.  If you’ve made it all the way through, well, congratulations.  Give yourself a finisher’s medal.  Or a coffee cup.  On the drive home, Renate made reservations for the same house for 2005.  I’ve dubbed us the Mt. Ash Marauders.  Now we need a logo and a slogan for the T-shirts.



          
Mike Malloy
Champion - Men 60-64

Thanks, everybody, for reading.  Hope you had a good time.

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