Ironman USA Lake Placid Race Report--Preamble

The rest will come out in a separate installment--there may be separate installments for swim, bike & run--not sure yet.

Please be sure and visit my Flickr page if you haven't already seen the photos that go along.

Wednesday, 7/18

My flight was scheduled to leave at 6:05PM. Got to the airport, and things looked good—called-for rain was holding off. We boarded on time, and then got out on the runway, only to find it had started raining, rather hard, and that there would be delays. We were queued about 30 deep, and so I listened to the tower chatter to get a handle on when we would leave. We ended up leaving about 2 hours late, and I found out when I got to Albany that we were one of the last planes to get out of O’Hare, as the weather got so bad they couldn’t get anyone out. Now, all I had to be concerned with was whether my bike had made it on the plane or not.

Since I was supposed to take off at 6:05, I had only bought a sandwich to eat around 5PM, and of course while we were on the tarmac there was no food or beverage service, and now I was beginning to be pretty hungry, but what are you going to do?

At Albany International, I waited patiently for the baggage to get off the plane, and got my rental car while that was happening. Slow fucking line. Retrieved my bike and checked bag while waiting for the rental to process. On the plus side, I got $20 bucks off because they had my Hertz Gold Card information in the computer.

Get everything in the car, and left the airport at 11:30. Easily make it to I87 north, and it’s a really nice road except it’s fucking foggy. So I’m tired, hungry, thirsty, and driving on a road I’ve never been on in thick fog. BRILLIANT! It made me feel like I was on an adventure (which, of course, I was).

Drive, drive, drive, trying not to be paranoid or fall asleep, because it’s so fucking dark and foggy and staring at the white lines and reflectors has got me hypnotized. I stopped at a rest area to score some caffeine, but the fucking machine ate my money. So I just took off and kept driving. 101 miles on I87 north, so at least I didn’t have to keep looking at a map. Exited onto 9N which turned into 73, and 27 miles on that, and I’m almost there. I start recognizing the bike course. Isn’t that amazing? Here I was last here 6 years ago, and I’m recognizing the bike course!

Thursday, 7/19

Get to the hotel about 2AM, and find out my room is on the second floor, so I just left the bike case in the car (leave the gun—take the cannoli). Schlep my bags upstairs, take a few things out and pass out after several cups of water. Starving, figure that’s what will wake me in the morning.

Nope—the sunrise woke me up. But I still managed about 4 hours of sleep or something like that—I’m not really sure. I figure I can catch up tonight. Besides, I have things to do. I head out to score coffee at McDonald’s and get a breakfast sandwich, too. I shouldn’t be eating this crap until AFTER the race, but oh well, I needed food RIGHT NOW. That did the trick! Get back to hotel and run into Shelley. How nice to see her! She’s looking all buff and happy, and I think from that point on it was non-stop chatter between the two of us.

Shelley and I had agreed beforehand we would run in the UPR (UnderPants Run—originally staged in Kona because of all the guys running around in Speedos, this fun run features mostly guys in their tightie-whities running through town), so we suited up to find out when/where the hell it was and went into town. We went down by the swim start and ran into Graham Fraser (the head of Ironman North America or North American Sports or whatever the hell they call themselves today), who remembered me from my mooning incident at Ironman Wisconsin in 2005 (it didn’t take much reminding!). He called Paula Newby-Fraser, who consulted with Paul Huddle, who said there was not going to be a UPR. What the fuck, people?

So Shelley and I head to the expo. Went to Inside Out Sports to get bottles, CO2 cartridges and reflective dots (which we ended up not using or needing). Then, we score some coffee from Green Mountain Coffee Roasters. At first I lined up 4 shot cups, but then I realized I needed to carry it with me so I just filled one of my new water bottles with ½ Espresso and ½ Mountain Blueberry (a delicious combination, if I may say so myself). Got a nice photo with the guy representing. The coffee was excellent, and so I started getting my caffeine buzz on.

Next it was off to the TP Massage Ball booth to reconnect with Cassidy, a friend of Kurt Egli (I know Kurt from an online LISTSERV group called TRI-DRS). Cassidy was at Ironman Wisconsin 2005 and witnessed the infamous mooning incident, so of course he was all over Shelley and me taking some photos with hardly any clothing. As we were stripping, a crowd began to gather around the booth for some reason. Graham Fraser showed up (the guy stalks my butt, I swear). We get some frontal shots, and then I tell Shelley it’s time to hang a moon. She declines, but I happily drop trou and the audience was pleased, I think. We put our clothes back on and nonchalantly walked away to go register.

Registration was no big deal—it was in the high school at the top of the oval. Found Colossal Quads (Nick), my first official hottie spotting of the day and got a nice photo of him. After registration (it was pissing rain), Shelley and I split up and I connected up with Cindy. We agreed to meet for lunch, and meanwhile I went to McDonald’s to partake of their fine, free WIFI (well it’s only supposed to be free the first time, but I’m going at different times of day so no big deal), and then I go to Cindy’s hotel for more WIFI and chuckles.

I bought these TY pink poodles with clips so you can hook them onto bags or whatever for both Cindy and Shelley (and one for me, too). The poodle is part of the “pinky” collection, and was named Pinky-Poo, but I crossed out that name on the label and wrote “Fucking FeFe.” FeFe is my Slowtwitch user name, and I happen to like the color pink and also poodle paraphernalia, although actual poodles are not my thing unless they are standard size—I’ve been bitten by two toy poodles. Shelley got me some panties (she is always buying me panties—people, it’s OK to send me panties if you have my address—size small, I like red, pink, Hello Kitty, Joe Boxer, Nick and Nora, anything unusual).

Anyway, Cindy, Jovan (Cindy's husband) and I head to lunch (their son, Matthew, is off at kid’s triathlon camp). We go to the Great Adironack Brewing Company in town. Jovan and I order beers that are in souvenir glasses, and each glass has a quote on it. Mine says “I feel sorry for people who don’t drink. When they wake up in the morning, that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day.” Said by Frank Sinatra. I ask the waitress if we can have the glasses and she says you have to pay for them. I wink at her like maybe I want it without paying, but I’m on the up and up. Jovan and I each have another beer, and the waitress flips my fork onto the floor when refilling my water glass, so I tell her I should get the beer glass for free due to my “incredible inconvenience.” She laughs and I know we will work something out. When the bill came (which I picked up since Jovan and/or Cindy are always buying me shit), I told the waitress I’d just tip her extra for the beer glass, and Jovan and I each kept ours.

After lunch, Cindy needed to do shit like register, so I went back to my hotel and then McDonald’s to download photos and upload to Flickr and do a blog post. I had dinner plans with the Canadians at Tale of the Pup, and hoped Kurt Egli and his wife, Shelley, would be there. The crowd assembled, and yep, Kurt and Shelley were there, and also somebody and his girlfriend who won't stop pestering me. Meeting Kurt was a buzz. Right out of the gate he’s calling me names, and I think I was right back at him. Damn smartass! Well, I guess I am, too. He kept calling me a weirdo. What the fuck, man? I may be many things—Crackhead, attention whore, etc., but I don’t consider myself a fucking weirdo. Oh well, I guess coming from Kurt that’s a compliment.

I spot a giant fake lobster, and of course, since I love all things crustacean, insist on Shelley taking photos of me with it. The lobster pictures were fun, the food was good, the company was great, and then I head back to the hotel, and my next “to do” is to wait for my pimp (AKA my coach), Rich, to arrive. Several calls about “where the hell are you on the road” and such resulted in my telling him how to get here from I87 and that I’m in room 16 and I’ll leave the door unlocked and he can just come on in. I was pretty tired from not sleeping again, and I was happy that I passed out around 9:30. When Rich walked in, I was a bit disoriented, but I didn’t think it was the midnight stalker. He just said, “Hi,” or something, and then I sat bolt upright in bed to get my bearings and then I realized it was him. This was a good thing, because now I had my bike, my coach, my friends, and everything was assembled in Lake Placid to do a race. Finally!

I never did work out on Thursday—it pissed rain most of the day, and then with getting the bike put together and the meeting up with old and new friends and waiting for Rich and no sleep, there was no point in working out.

Friday, 7/20

Despite my midnight guest arrival, I managed to sleep pretty well, but I still got up before 5:00AM, because I’d just been used to it for weeks, so why stop now? I tried to be as quiet as possible, and I snuck out and headed to McDonald’s (again) for some coffee and WIFI. I figured Rich needed to sleep later, and I already know he’s a pretty good sleeper (bonus: he does not snore and looks cute sleeping), and I figured I’d bring him some coffee back. I don’t remember if I got another breakfast sandwich—I shouldn’t have, but the call of the wild McD’s can be like a siren if you’ve got an impending Ironman.

I went back to base camp around 6:30, and delivered some coffee to Rich. When I was packing for the trip, I told him I was bringing Nutter Butters and he told me not to, because he was back on the good eating wagon, but I brought some because I thought *I* might actually eat them. Well, I never did eat any, but Rich hit them first thing Thursday morning, and when I asked him what’s up with that, I think he just grinned like a little imp and said, “I’m eating Nutter Butters for breakfast.” Whatever, dude, who am I to be critical? After all, I was the one eating Twinkies with whipped cream on them a few weeks earlier.

I suited up to swim. Shelley and I headed down to the swim start and met up with Cliff and Darren and assorted other hotties. I ended up swimming 1.2 miles in a pretty decent time. The water was very nice and cool and flat. Shelley headed back to do some stuff, and I stuck around to mostly just watch (I don’t need to listen anymore) Rich yak and take pictures. I waited until he and Patrick McCrann (his business partner) were done. Finally, Rich came up to say hi to me, and I told him I just wanted to meet Patrick in person, and we discussed our respective plans for the rest of the day, which didn’t include lunching together (no big deal), but Rich invited me to dinner with someone else he coaches, and I said I’d go. I didn’t know if it was an afterthought to invite me or what, but I suppose that’s a guy thing anyway, so again, I’m not getting worked up about much of anything.

A few peeps came up to me and either shouted “Sheila” or “Hey, Crackhead,” and either way I knew they were looking for me. I met Swordfish and Dan English and then Kurt showed up again and I asked him to take a picture of my new Hello Kitty panties but his eyes and hands were not on the same wavelength, so the picture came out weird.

I finally headed back to the hotel, calling Shelley on the way to see if she was still available for riding, and she was. I suited up in my brand-new Ironcamp kit, which nobody else owned let alone had worn yet. It looked really cool with my bike, and Shelley looked great on her bike, so us two Iron Beeyotches took off (Eh?) to ride a bit. With all the fucking traffic into downtown Lake Placid, and us not having a chase car, we decided to just bike the run course, which was fine. We had a grand time, but even before we got out of town we were spotted by some peeps we know (Mike and others) and I got a lot of comments about both my Bitch and my kit. I knew I was styling, what the hell? If I’ve learned one thing in this sport, is that you have to LOOK GOOD!

So we get the hell out of town and ride and have a great time observing others out doing the same and all that. The memories are coming back—I remember the run course—how fucked up is that? I guess Ironman memories are pretty strong.

When we are finished, I tell Shelley I need to run and she said she’d chill and we could go get lunch together. So I ran about :25, starting uphill from the hotel, which was excellent. I let myself have my emotional moments, since I needed to get that out before race day, and it pissed a little on me, but I didn’t care. The run felt good, and when I got back to base camp, I asked Shelley if I had time to shower and change quickly, and she said yes.

So then we all head out to try for some lunch, and place #1 is flat out closed. It’s 1:30PM, people, what the hell??? So then we ask for a recommendation for another place, and we go there, and it’s got like 3 tables which are full, so we are shut out, and I suggest why not just go back to Tale of the Pup, since they will be open and we know they have good food? That worked, and we went back to the scene of the Thursday night crime and we were happy.

We drank some beers (why stop now?) and were getting our buzz on (to wash away my caffeine buzz from earlier—ask Shelley how big of a motor mouth I had while I was workin’ the caffeine gig), and I started thinking about making signs to put out on the run course, and I just had an outpouring of ideas. Shelley needs to remind me of all of them, but here are a few:

• Your Dad Sucks
• You’re so Fat—I can’t hear you
• Titanium Bike: $5,000. Zipp Wheels: $1,500. Aero Helmet: $250. 25 pound beer gut? PRICELESS.

I can’t remember the rest of them, but I know I wrote down at least 15 ideas. Shelley’s son, Eric, was a hoot, because he was just encouraging me. The kid should hang out with cheap Ironman drunken women more often! Most of the ideas did not come to fruition, which was probably a good thing.

We head back and I don’t remember what I was doing—maybe I went back to McDonald’s for some WIFI—oh yeah, I did that, and I just got some (blech) Powerade to claim I was a first-timer and could I get the free WIFI, please? Of course, I got it and posted more crap to the Internet, because, well, you know I have obligations to fulfill. I decided I needed more beer, so I went out to get some, and I went to a Wine & Spirits place, but in New York State they don’t mix beer and wine (what the hell is up with that?), so I was admonished to visit another establishment for the beer, and I scored a 12-pack of local stuff.

When I get back to the ranch, Rich is laying in bed reading, and he sees the beer and he’s like, “You’re drinking?” And I say, “Yeah, what the hell.” So I offer him one and he takes it, and I open one for myself. I tell Rich that there are two things that I will not do without a beer in hand: 1) pack or unpack my bike in the box and 2) make up Ironman transition bags. Rich was well aware of the whistling ban while I’m making up the bags, but I think I let it go this time. Having already done 8 Ironman races, my bag packing is now like clockwork, and I just don’t put much in there, so I was done in a flash and could relax and partake of a second beer before dinner.

At some point Rich just sits bolt upright and says, “Ready?” Well, I am still a girl, and I want to look nice for the others, so I quickly change into my white Target whore pants (hereafter known as TWP’s) and a tank from Athleta. I was feeling all lean and mean and skinny and whore-ish. What the hell? I got the figure to pull this off, I may as well. I don’t remember whether I was wearing underwear or not. I may have gone commando!

So we drive there and it’s a really nice place and I meet the peeps and we sit down in this really nice restaurant called Kanu. As soon as we are all seated, the waitress brings us “complimentary sparkling wine” to toast. I guess she must have known some of us were doing the race. I can’t turn down a good sparkler, so I partake. And then we start jabbering, and wine is ordered, and I’m asked if I want a glass, and I’m like sure, why not, and I turn to Rich and say, “Good thing we started drinking earlier, huh?” And he smiles and we got some really great food and had some great conversation.

10:30PM and we’re back at the hotel, and boy did we need sleep! I passed out in about 10 seconds.

Saturday, 7/21

I don’t remember whether I had set an alarm clock or not—I doubt it, because at this point I could use some sleep. Wake up a bit groggy and hung over—oh well, it’s not race day so I can deal. Rich offers to drive me around the bike course, since he has to pick up a loaner bike to ride at a place that’s just off the bike course. I’m all over that, and we stop just at the end of town and I get coffee, water and Gatorade for the rest of the day.

The ride was beautiful. The rain had finally stopped altogether, and it was nice to be out just looking around. Rich was giving me pointers about this and that area, and I think I paid attention maybe 50% of the time. We talked about a bunch of stuff, and he’s convinced me to do a Wildflower double—1/2 Ironman on Saturday and Olympic on Sunday. Sounds right up my alley, right? And then we are both doing Triple T at the end of May (Rich has not done it before). Now I’m thinking maybe I should try and sneak in a visit to Colorado Springs in between those two events, so maybe I’ll return from California via Colorado.

I told Rich about my first triathlon coach and how he had been engaged to be married and his fiancé was in a car accident and when she came out of it, she never remembered her fiancé and how angst-ridden the man was. Rich made some comment about how he might try that tactic at some point. Um…I can forget if you can forget :). I think it was Friday he told me he bought himself pink socks that say HOTTIE on them, and I was like, at least I wouldn’t buy something like that for myself. Oh wait—yes, I would. Sorry, Rich, I lied to you.

Aaaaaaaanyway, when we finished driving the course, we stopped to have breakfast (about 11:00AM) in town, and despite some slow service, we had a good meal. The day appears to be going in slow motion—I am as calm and relaxed as can be, no cares in the world. I think part of that was due to having a hangover, but the other part was, hey I’ve done this many times before and also knowing that the weather was predicted to be fucking excellent.

After driving the bike course, Rich doesn’t exactly feel like riding the bike that day, and I don’t really need to do anything, but I do want to go for a short run, which I manage to do despite having eaten so close to it. I figure this is another opportunity to be tough—running while full of eggs and trout and toast and potatoes. The run sucked a bit, but I still got it done. I needed to do something!

Rich said he’d drive me to bike check-in, but I wanted to ride down there and then have him pick me up. Turns out I picked a good time to go (around 1PM), and car traffic wasn’t too bad going into town. I sported my Ironcamp kit, because I need to look good at all times when I’m representing! I had arranged to meet Steve (the guy who got me to sign up for my first Ironman) at transition. He said he was at my bike spot, which I playfully referred to as the “end zone,” as I was in the very last rack.

I see Steve and we have a hug. Some other women are fixing up their bikes. Me? I just rack it and cover the saddle and bars with plastic grocery bags. DONE. I’m looking at all these other bikes that have tons of crap on them, and my Bitch weighs NOTHING. So I playfully say to Steve, “See? I don’t use an aerobottle anymore.” So this chic then asks me what do I do if I don’t use an aerobottle? I walk over to my bike, and point at (video here would be priceless) the cage on the seat tube, then each one on the XLAB, saying, “BOTTLE…BOTTLE…BOTTLE.” I think Steve was just about losing it at this point. So the chic then asks me, “How do you drink?” I make the universal hoisting a beer sign, saying, “Like this.” OK, people, yes I know I sometimes make fun of newbies, but this was all in good fun, because I was laughing the entire time, and I did answer all questions asked, and come on, the woman was just setting me up!

Rich had forgotten the battery charger for his laptop so he asked if he could use mine. At first, I wanted to get it back so I could do my daily religion of downloading photos and writing a blog post, but then I reconsidered and told him to go have at it and come back whenever. I spent the next hour or so fixing my bottles (I love my fucking bottles—and no comments from the peanut gallery about them, you understand me???) and taking photos of my bottle shrine. I decide I want to eat dinner early, even though I should still be full from lunch, so I head out to try a place Rich had recommended, only it’s just closed at 3:30 (what the hell), so I try another place, and it’s also closed, and finally I try this small pasta place called Villa Vespa. I guess that means “house of little Italian scooters.”

Anyway, this restaurant is one that was recommended to me by my very first triathlon coach 7 years ago, but I didn’t go there in 2001. Today was the day. I got a dinner for me and one for Rich to go. I headed back to the hotel and chowed down on spaghetti with sausage and meatball, some bread, a little salad, and some water. Then I gathered up my CD player (no, I still do NOT have an iPod, sure call me dumbass—I don’t care) and a beer and went outside to gaze at some clouds and get into my happy place, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I’m still out there laying on the grass when Rich waltzes up and tries to flag me down like I’m way off in the distance. I see him and just wave. I need to keep a bit more of this up, and I stretch and I’m feeling all great.

Finally about 7:00PM I go back into the hotel and now it’s business time. Rich asks me when I need to get to sleep and at first I say 8:00 but then I back off until 8:30. He’s watching some Transformer/Vampire movie thing, which I’m not really interested in and I did doze off a bit around 8:00, but then got up and watched a bit more before actual bedtime. Then I get asked what time am I getting up and I say 3:30 and he says, no really waking up and I say THREE THIRTY. That’s how I do this. So the alarm is set and it’s all over but the race.