THE BIKE
Previous years, I have motored through
town and out to the lake shore drive. This time, I try to rein it in a
notch, and stay totally, stupidly slow. Meaning I'm going about 20 mph,
and passing more than I get passed. I keep checking out legs and race
numbers, but don't see anyone in my age group in the first 15 mile loop
along the lake. About 7 miles out, Mitch Hungate, whom I race against 2
out of 5 years (he's three years younger), roars by me. Mitch is a
compact little guy, who can barely reach the handle bars from his
saddle, so he's got a distinctive low flat posture on the bike. I yell
his name as he goes by, hoping he's cruising well to a good day. It's
all my fault he's here. Two years ago, after he did the Troika Half in
5:03, I told him he would do well in the Ironman, if he just committed
to 12 weeks of focused training in the spring. He saw himself as
basically a Sprint/Olympic distance dabbler, and didn't understand that
he was speeding up while his peers were slowing down or dropping out.
"But Al, we like to do rock climbing - we're just getting into it in
the
spring, when the snow is just exposing the lower walls." He and his
wife are inveterate Northwest mountaineers, climbing, hiking, camping.
More logger than lederhausen, though. "I don't even know how to train
for it!"
"You did really well there in Spokane, Mitch. You've got a great chance
to make it to Kona with your 1/2 IM time - you'd just need to commit to
15 hours a week for 2-3 months. You've got the swim speed, so you don't
have to add any swimming to what you already do. All you really need to
do is just throw in 3 or 4 long runs of 2-3 hours, and 3-4 bikes of 5-6
hours. Otherwise, just what you'd normally do when you start training
in the spring. Coeur d'Alene still hasn't filled up yet - just go sign
up on line this week!"
Damned if he didn't do it. And damned if he didn't finish 6th in his
first IM in 2005, just missing a Kona slot in the 50-54 AG. Apparently
he saw how close he was, and signed up again right away for this year.
And here he was, passing me 7 miles into the bike.
"Hey, Mitch! Hungate!" I yelled as I saw him flow by. He looked around
at me, but didn't seem to recognize either my voice, my bike, or my
face. Just then I thought, "Wait a minute. He ALWAYS beats me in the
swim. What's going on here?" Of course right after that I said, "He's
FLYING by me on the bike - I must not be ready for this race." Then,
the moment passed, and I went back to cruise control.
..........
Slipping around the hot corner, by the
big crowds in town, it sounded kind of quiet. So I raised my left arm
up a few times - it always works: I got a big wall of sound as I
started up the gradual grade out of town. On up to the first hill, I
ratcheted down my expectations, and resigned myself to getting passed
by all the younger legs. But wait! There's a leg that says "58". His
race bib says "Evensen".
"Even Evensen!" I hollered. "Good to see you back out here." I'd never
met Even. Back when I did my first IM Canada, I researched previous
years' finishers, and found his name among the Hawaii qualifiers. He
was from Philomath, OR, a Portland suburb. Strictly a long distance
guy, I never saw him in regional 1/2 IMs nor Olympic distance,
like I did other Portland racers. Then one day about 3 or 4 years ago,
I saw a little news item on RaceCenter.com, which is based on Portland
but covers the whole Northwest, that Even Evensen had been in a
car/bike accident, suffering a broken pelvis and vertebrae. He was in
traction for months, and his triathlon club was asking for donations to
help him cover medical expenses. I sent him $50. I've got a strong spot
of empathy for someone my age getting hit by a car out on the road;
I've seen two of them die in races I've done. Maybe this was a way to
keep the jinx off me.
Six months later, I'm watching TV in my library, and get a call from
... Even Evensen. Now that's a name you never forget, so I knew who he
was. He was calling, he said, all the people who'd contributed, to
thank them and give a progress update. He said he had pins in his back,
and was going to get back on his feet, get riding again. "My goal is to
do another Ironman". I could say little except express sympathy and
encouragement.
Then last year, I saw him in the race list. I worried, as usual, about
the effect on MY chances, given he was more than an hour faster than me
in Canada. He did not finish; his swim and bike were each a minute
slower than mine that year.
As he went by I yelled, "I sent you money when you were laid up."
He slowed up a bit (easy to do on the uphill slope), and asked "What's
your name?" I told him and he said, "Al, I will be forever grateful to
all the people who supported me then. I'm just so glad to be back here
again."
"Well, you're looking good. Keep it up!"
"Thank you so much for your help, and for remembering me."
"Well, I thought at the time, 'You know, there but for the grace of
God...'"
Even pushed on up the hill. One guy at least in front of me. I assume
there's at least one other, maybe two, so I'm in 4th now, or worse I
figure. And drop that thought, as it's not helpful in moving on.
..........
One other bike in my AG passes me up
that hill, but I keep to my plans. No pressure, just live with the
heat, and set up for the run. Keep hydrated, fed, and positive. Don't
race other people, but find someone at a compatible speed to stay with.
Don't ever feel like you're working. These are the tasks at hand, and
take all of my attention while biking.
On the second lap, Richard Ling from our South Sound Tri club goes by,
again on the first hill. Odd, as Richard is usually out of the water
ahead of me in shorter races. He sees me first, and hollers, "Hey Al,
you're looking good."
I think about asking about his swim. Knowing he's really intent on
success in this race, I keep the thought to myself. Instead, "How's it
going, Richard? You're looking good up the hill." He should - he's
about 3 inches and 20 pounds smaller than me, and can blast a sprint
tri bike about two minutes faster than me.
"I'm doing OK, just sticking with the plan," he says as he flies by.
It's baffling, but there he is, much farther back than he should be.
Soon after, Tom Herron motors on past me, saying hi. Tom is another guy
I've corralled into this race. He's an awesome runner, going 3:21 this
year at Boston as a 50 y/o. For two years I've been trying to get him
here, and finally he registered last September, just a week before
entries closed. He's got Kona speed in him, if he'd just believe in it.
The bigger story, though, is his wife, who trains and races with him.
She underwent foot surgery in January, and is back in the race now,
doing her first ever Ironman (Tom did the Grand Columbian two years
ago, finishing in a lonely 12 hours.)
"Go, Tom! Keep it up - you're gonna break 11:30 easy the way you're
going." Tom and Richard are both doctors, so they will tend to finish
what they start.
..........
It's usually about this time I start
finding my own little peloton - sometimes we're as small as two. Either
I pick someone going just a teeny bit faster than me up a gentle slope,
or (more often) I find myself gradually leapfrogging with another
rider. Most often it's either a woman, 35-50, or a guy 25-30. This year
it's a lad named "Kubiak", who seems to be the only one who can hang
with me as I step up the intensity out of the hills onto the Appleway
flats. When we hit the Centennial bike path, I know I can get a little
closer, as there is zero chance a motorcycle referee is going to follow
us along here - no room. Then the dog track, where I often drop people,
but he's still hanging with me into Post Falls, and onto Pole Line
road. Up the last hill to the aid station, and I wish him well as he
goes by - "Enjoy the downhill tail wind up ahead", and he says back
"I'm sure I'll see you again."
And I do catch him, just at the bottom of Huetter Rd, and we cruise on
in the last six miles along Seltice and Northwest Boulevard. I
intentionally slow down the last two miles, and he floats on by one
last time.
"Thanks for the company" I say, when what I really mean is "Glad to
have someone to push me just ever so slightly, and to pull for me with
that little Ironman Draft."