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I embarked on this trip a long time ago. By the time gramma gave me the watch, I’d been running (sporadically) for about 3 years. I remember seeing a poster for a sprint triathlon in the fitness centre at the university. It gave distances that I didn’t think were too outrageous to contemplate. Of course, I’d have to work myself up to swimming continuously, but I had a bike and I knew I could run. I let the idea ferment in one of the less well used corners of my mind. Three years later I signed up for something called the Windermere Loop the Lake Triathlon. It was a bit longer than the race in my inspirational poster, but it still looked achievable and it didn’t happen until the beginning of August. In early spring the lovely and talented Pam (tlatp) and I started swim training. I hopped into the pool, expecting to rip off a quick 1000 metres, shower and go home. I had all the aerobic capacity I’d need and I remembered a lot of the details of my swimming lessons from the early ‘70s. It didn’t go well. Over the course of the next several months I worked myself up from swimming six lengths before gasping and seeing dots to swimming 80 lengths alternating breast stroke and something approximating crawl. By the day of the race I was pretty sure I’d make it across the lake without drowning and I did. The bike was hard but okay and then I almost melted into the pavement trying to run 12 km in 35° heat. I finished, so of course I started plotting my next attempt. For the next several years I raced one or two Olympic distance or sprint races a year. One summer I got very energetic and did three. Somewhere in there my two beautiful children were born and my gramma died. When Griff was showing signs of diminishing colic we were so punchy from lack of sleep that I asked Pam if she’d let me train for a half-ironman and she said yes. For the next four years the Great White North triathlon was the focus of my summer race calendar. Somewhere else in there I decided to run marathons too. So, I negotiated the terms of an Ironman with tlatp. We planned a late August vacation in Penticton so that I could sign up. The following summer I’d do the race. If I liked it, I’d be allowed to do another one no sooner than two years later. I’m a sly and tactical negotiator. Now tlatp wasn’t too jazzed with the idea of me training for crazy hours, but she was willing to carry the burden ‘cos she’s kind of cool that way. How cool became clear at Christmas when she gave me a week’s training camp in Penticton in July. This wasn’t trivial. The cost wasn’t the main barrier, the main barrier was her carrying all the child care for a full week in mid-summer. But she gave it to me anyway. I trained pretty hard on the run in February and March for an April marathon, then got my road bike out for some longer miles and started to build up to longer swim distances. After an excellent Olympic distance race in early June I started to get very excited about the training camp. The training camp was spectacular. As soon as I had registered for the race last August, I knew I wanted an opportunity to ride the IMC course at least once before race day. I had already run part of and driven the rest of the run course. Water is water - four kilometres of thrashing around and you’re done. The bike was a bit daunting though. Richter pass. Yellow Lake. Cawston out and back. All phrases I’d heard spoken in hushed tones or seen typed with obvious reverence. They scared me. The camp tlatp had picked out for me (Ironspirit) is run by people local to Penticton (Kevin Cutjar and Barb Scatchard) or ex-local (Cal Zaryski). They’re thoroughly familiar with the course and very impressive Ironman triathletes too. They designed a weeks worth of workouts that were intended to give us volume, build up confidence and familiarise us with the course. We got to swim the full IMC swim, bike the full IMC ride and run the IMC run (the run is an out and back, so we started partway out and ran 19 or 15 miles depending on desire). The week ended with the Peach Classic race on Sunday. This is a tough Olympic distance race that was the BC provincial championship race this year. It made for a total workout of 22 hours, my maximum ever weekly volume. It’s hard to describe the value of this experience. There’s nothing quite like hanging out with 35 or so other people who get it. We worked out together and tri-geeked a lot and shared pointers and concerns. Some of us were awake at oh-dark-thirty every morning to watch the Tour. We laughed. We yogaed. We were massaged. There was sweating. Some skin was shed. Tires were changed. We struggled into and out of neoprene. We drank Gatorade. We ate Clif bars. We slept well. Some of us took painkillers. We tried desperately to hang onto Gillian Bakker’s wheel. There were other, even more unlikely hallucinations. It was glorious. I still have respect for the IMC course, but I’m no longer afraid of it. You can gain a lot of confidence in a week. Since then it’s been back to a more reasonable 12 or so hours a week of working out. tlatp almost snapped there once when I started getting all Type A on her and blathering on about necessary workouts and going on tri-shopping trips and planning meals around carbohydrate content. I’m better now. There’re about two weeks to go and I’m consumed with tapering. I will behave myself. I will not do more miles than are good for me. I will enjoy the calm. When it’s all done I’ll try to gather up the energy to write a race report. It might not happen for a while. The watch. Oh yes, the watch. When I graduated from university, my gramma bought me this fancy shmancy Timex Ironman Triathlon watch. It had the words right on it and that goofy little m-dot thingy. I decided that I had to earn the right to wear it. Hopefully in about two weeks, I’ll be there. I hope she’ll be proud of me. Back to IronSpirit Camps |
