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 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 your
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-locals (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 a week 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.
Darryl, who is heading to Okanagan Falls with a song in his heart