Friday, October 20, 2006
FRIDAY: THE DAY BEFORE
I’m up before dawn today, typing at 5:25 AM after breakfast. Yesterday, my eyes popped open at 4:55 AM; today, 4:30 AM. One of the advantages of being an obstetrician (or maybe one of the genetic advantages which allows me to BE an obstetrician) is my internal clock. I never use an alarm clock; I can basically wake up at whatever time I tell myself the night before that I want to wake up. Or, in this case, when my unconscious mind (the one that’s REALLY in charge) tells me I should wake up.
On the morning of an Ironman, it’s a good idea to be up by 4 AM. Eating three hours before the race allows one to get enough calories ingested with time for their actual digestion and absorption. Also, an hour or so for things like sun tan application, gathering stuff and generally fidgeting, then out the door at 5:30. In anticipation of that, I guess my internal clock said I’d better start getting used to being up earlier a few days in advance. Not one to fight the feeling, I went to bed at 9:50 last night, aided by my family, which just flew in from the West Coast, and was asleep by then (after midnight their time).
Today, I feel fully focused, lacking in any irony, glibness, arch humor, treacly romantic ideals or other entertaining or socially redeeming values. First, an update on the stories we’ve been following:
* The severe sunburn in my lower back is now fully peeled, quite pink and itchy. At least it doesn’t feel like sandpaper over a raw wound.
* I had a conference with my sister and brother-in-law regarding clothing options for Saturday, My sister, Leigh, is a fashionista, having spent nearly 20 years working for Nordstrom’s. I would have far fewer clothes (and look a lot worse) if it weren’t for her. She also understands the need for practicality and comfort when engaged in active sports; she’s a very accomplished skier and, until her foot surgery, inline skater. Her husband, Craig, tried hard, but lacked the fully nuanced outlook of his wife. Maybe that’s because he sells telescopes for a living, and is used to looking at things through a very narrow field of vision. Anyway, Leigh’s advice: one-piece race suit for the bike, then switch to thigh tights (actually, a nylon swim suit which goes down most of the way to my knees) and my South Sound Tri top for the run. That’s what I was leaning towards, and will probably end up in.
* The weather. The trade winds will not be returning until early next week. The wind on race day is predicted to be from the west at 7 MPH, not a big factor. The surf, though, is still a bit high, with 5-7 foot swells on south facing beaches. The swim does a loop, starting out southbound and finishing north. Swells I can handle; whitecaps and chop, much harder to deal with. The temperature, which rarely varies much, is predicted at the low end of normal, 85F. And the sky may have a fair number of clouds, building during the day. Finally, there is a 55-67% chance of rain. All in all, not a bad outlook, one that I’m ready for.
* The ambiance. Jittery is an understatement. Most of the Blue Band Tribe were walking around town yesterday carrying water bottles and towing a personal posse. We converged at 6 PM on the “Carbo Load Banquet” in the King Kam Hotel parking lot under balmy skies and a dying wind. The food was unremarkable. Seemingly half of the crowd were VIPs, who got seating at round tables in the front; those of us who are just doing the race were at long tables in the back. Cheryl, Annie, and I sat down unbeknownst in the Japanese section – they’d saved seats and gone to get their food. We were across from one young (38 y/o) man there with his wife and two children, 3 and six. He could speak passable English, and we exchanged some pleasantries and information (his fourth Ironman, first time at Kona, qualified at IM Korea.)
Then the fun began. The “Island Breeze” Luau group performed, highlighted by a stocky guy who twirled wooden batons lit at each end. Between the legs, behind the back, up the air and catch again – I was really impressed, being an amateur baton twirler myself. Except for one other spot, the remainder of the program (at least until we walked out at 8 PM) consisted of Mike Reilly and Bob Babbitt presenting a retinue of classic Ironman sob stories, all being prepped for the NBC broadcast, I assume. A soldier with one leg; a famous age grouper from the 80s, now dying of brain cancer; another cancer survivor, who is also an Iditarod racer; appeals for fund raising for Janus and the Ironman foundation. And on and on.
The one bright spot in all this, the one thing which fully riveted my attention, was a little vignette with Paula Newby Fraser. She’s won the race 8 times, more than anyone else. She’s a part of the on-line coaching team I’d signed up with, and I’ve learned that when it comes to mental approach and race strategy, as well in depth understanding of the race itself and what athletes go through, she has no peer. She articulated in a very personal way the essence of what I feel is the key to success in an Ironman. After briefly acknowledging that training, pacing, nutrition, and hydration are all important, she went on to what she felt was the final lesson she had learned on the big island – letting go of any thoughts or plans for objective outcome in the race, meaning time or placing. Humility, suppression of emotion, and attention to moment-to-moment detail, coupled with an underlying passion (which is best understood as understanding of and commitment to your fundamental reason for being there, not emotion) are the final keys to success. I believe I have learned this lesson at last in my last two races, and am ready to see it all come together here. There may be a stage beyond this, but, hey she’s won more times at Kona, and more races overall than anyone else, and if this is the final place she’s come to, who am I to argue, or look further at this point?
……….
So, tomorrow I’ll find out how far I’ve come in the last eight years, what I’ve become capable of. But first, there’s the little matter of today to get through. My schedule starts with a brief swim, an equally brief run, a short bike to make sure it’s working. Then prep my bags for transition (the stuff I’ll need to make the change from swimming to biking, and from biking to running), cart bags and bike down to the pier and drop them off. A Jamba Juice super smoothie (probably a 960 calorie Peenya Koowlada), some down time to think and worry, then off to bed.