Successful Timberman! Next stop – Ironman Lake Placid!
For my equally obsessed Tri buddies, Timberman is a must do! It is fun, well run, challenging and the locals are amazing! I cannot begin one of these race reports without thanking, first and foremost, Sheila for her love and support. She is amazing! Coach Deb, I hydrated and hydrated and hydrated and hydrated some more, but with temperatures over 90 and relentless sun plus humidity, it still wasn’t enough. Pete, Adam, Joan (I swam sub-48 minutes, a real highlight!), Megan and Carla, your support and expertise is awesome.
Three days after my Tinman race, I turned 50. Sheila and I hiked up Cascade Mountain near Lake Placid in the Adirondacks. As we hiked up higher and higher, the same thought kept recurring to me, “If I could only have imagined at 40 what I would be doing and feeling at 50, I would have started sooner”. The great news is that I started at all.
Timberman is regarded as the best 70.3 on the North American circuit and with good reason. It is terrific! Sheila and I drove down on Thursday, heading straight into the forecasted path of Hurricane Bill. The drive was uneventful and the closer we got to New Hampshire, the prettier the drive became. New Hampshire has for years been one of our family’s favourite places. After all, it is the home of our special Christmas getaway, “The Teddy Bear Condo”. We stayed at a B & B, called The Glynn House in Ashland, NH. It was a beautiful place; an old mansion built on 1896, about 40 minutes from Ellacoya State Park, the race site. The whole place was lovely and maintained to perfection. The owners, Pam and Glenn, had lived in Europe and Asia; she is a Brit, and he an American. They were gracious and fastidious innkeepers who clearly had been guests elsewhere and often. Every detail was perfect!
After a long drive, we unpacked and then headed out on a 45-minute ride along the river. We passed the location where “On Golden Pond” was filmed. The area was beautiful, green and calm. We dined at The Camp, a cute little restaurant, themed as a summer camp. It was good fun. We then fell into bed.
Friday was the beginning of the interesting weather. We headed for Ellacoya State Park for a swim. Sheila went for a run (her definition of a run!), while I swam. The water was warm (75 degrees), but still “wetsuit legal” according to the USAT. Then we headed to the Gunstock Ski Resort, the race headquarters, to register and chill. As we waited in line to register, the first wall of rain hit us. Against some the blackest skies I have ever seen, the storm crested the ski hill in front of us and headed our way, fast! You could see a perfect line of rain heading straight at us like a blurry picture. Even more amazing was the sound of the wall of rain coming at us. The raindrops were huge, and it poured! This routine repeated several times over the next two days. As we toured the “expo” (shopping), I chatted with John Blais’ parents. The “Blaisman” was an Ironman who raced Kona with ALS. The legendary finishing ritual to memorialize John is to roll across the finish line as John did in 2005. John died at age 34 in 2007. I also met the Hoyts – the dad pushes the son, who has CP, around various racecourses. The Hoyts have completed more than 1,000 races of all varieties to raise money and awareness for CP. Triathlon is full of inspirational stories and people. After a while, we had dinner at the event and listened to several of the pros talk about their experiences, poke fun at each other and themselves. It was good fun.
After an excellent breakfast at The Glynn House on Saturday morning, it was time to ride the run course and then run off the bike. Those were my last two tune-ups before the big day. The weather during the day was fine until late afternoon when the bottom fell out of the sky again, and the rain lasted into the evening. After I proudly attached my race “bib” number, 2380, to my faithful Trek bike and “racked” my bike at 2:30 p.m., we headed out to drive a good portion of the ride course. It was a wee bit daunting – the climbs were long and plentiful not to mention steep! Then back to the B & B for organizing! Organizing time is good. It gives you time to fidget as the anxiety and anticipation begin to build. I packed up my red milk crate with all my gear, packed my dry bag for after the race and my “special needs” or “emergency” bag for the second loop of the run. It is a time for precision. We then relaxed before dinner. We headed out for the ritual pre-race pasta meal and then back to make my race “potions”. I tucked my 5 water bottles with different mixtures into the fridge with the big turkey sandwich and chocolate milk, which I wanted for after the run. We went to bed early for what turned out to be a restless sleep. We almost had a “Home Alone” moment. It was 9:30 p.m. ish and we had just turned off the light. I was just drifting off to sleep when Sheila asked “What time did you set the alarm for?” OH SHIT! Despite all my meticulous preparation or as the girls frequently put it “Daddy is OCD’ing again”, I had forgotten to set the alarm. So we both set our Blackberries for 4:15 a.m. In reality, I hadn’t needed to set the alarm(s) at all, as I saw most of the hours between 10 and 4. The obnoxious blackberry alarm went off at 4 a.m., and it was time to get going, I was already wide-awake.
The weather was muggy and humid, and the sky was dark, as the sun would not rise for almost two more hours. The drive to the park took over an hour as the line-up to enter the park stretched for over 2 miles. This was the only glitch. We managed to get one of the last dozen or so parking spots at the park – whew! (Otherwise, it was a 15-minute drive up to the race HQ at Gunstock and a shuttle bus ride back down to the Park!) Access to the car was a big benefit for Sheila. I headed to the transition area with my crate as Sheila headed off to find a port-a-potty. The feeling in the air was electric! I walked into transition down the long bike in / out lane. Just before I entered transition, I was body-marked by a very enthusiastic young girl. My bib number, 2380, was penned onto the back of my right hand, my right shoulder, and my right thigh and my age “50” on my right calf. This is always a proud moment because from here, there is no turning back, not that you would anyway. I arrived at my bike with my 2,500 fellow competitors and I set about my routine of laying out my lucky army green transition towel. Triathlon is an obsession as are many of the pre, race and post actions. I have as meticulous a way of setting out my stuff as I do packing my crate and mixing and labeling my bottles – bike-mix, bike-H20, T1/T2 (first transition and second transition), pre, post – each serving a different purpose and blended to serve that purpose. Once my towel is flat, my crate is placed upturned to act as a seat for transition. It is great in transition not to have to sit on the ground to change your shoes. I count out my gel packs and divide them between pre, bike and run. I have my two “special” caffeinated blueberry pomegranate Gu gel packs for just before the swim and for just before I head out on the bike. My running gear is laid out on the left – hat, shoes, socks, gels, and sunscreen – each stacked on top of the other. On my right are my riding cleats, socks, and a small towel to dry my feet as putting socks on wet feet is tough at the best of times but is really tough after an hour in the water and rushing to get out on the bike. I have abandoned riding gloves, as they are a pain and with all the riding that I am doing, I don’t need them anymore. I place my bike helmet, upside down on my handlebars, and put my weird bandana (for sun protection) in my helmet with my sunglasses. My wetsuit, swim cap (this one is metallic blue) and swim goggles are in a neat pile as I head off to drop off my special needs and dry bags. A special needs bag contains anything that you think that you might need to survive at the half-way point of the run – blister packs and bandages, dry running gear and extra gels. The dry bag contains your dry clothes for après race. I make a quick stop at the “Make a Wish” VIP port-a-potty. I donated 100 bucks for the privilege of using this special private potty. Glad I did – no line-up!
Then, the long wait for my swim wave to start began. It was now 7 a.m. Sheila and I made our way to the beach and chatted with a couple from Newfoundland whom we had met on the beach two days before. His name was Keith, and he was a wonderfully friendly Newfie, there with his wife and young daughter. We also chatted with a couple that was staying at our B & B. He, a Scot, and she an Aussie are just finishing a 2-plus year stint in D.C. and he wanted to get a last race in “Ammairicer” before they returned home. All pleasant small talk. All the while, we were people watching – that is fun to do. Some racers have huge entourages while others are there solo. The race start was delayed for 30 minutes due to a bad accident out on the bike course, which had nothing to do with the race, but the Sherriff’s department had to clear it away so they had enough deputies available to marshal the racecourse. The racecourse goes over a wide area so traffic is inconvenienced. Most drivers are patient and encouraging, but a few are not!
At 7:30 a.m., thank God, they got the all clear and the first swim wave – the Pros, hit the water. I had been in and out of the water staying cool, at least physically cool. I floated, I swam and I just hung out in the water with Sheila a few yards away on the beach. I was in the 15th and final swim wave, with my fellow Clydesdales; we are the big men, over 200 pounds. A happy and jolly lot! We had an hour and ten minutes to wait before it was our turn. The music was blaring and the atmosphere was festive. It was time! I kissed Sheila and headed to the swim start gate and across the chip mat where the timing chip strapped to my ankle beeped for the first time. We entered the water where the fun really began. Our “greeter” was a big, animated guy, who looked like the actor, Jeff Daniels. He was dressed in a bright red satin bustier dress, sporting huge, pointy stuffed boobs and a bad long blonde wig. He was high-fiving all of us as we got wet. I grabbed the left boob and gave it a squeeze. A trend developed.
The music was the Rocky theme song and the announcement came for “2 minutes”, then “90 seconds”, then “one minute”, then “30 seconds”, then “go, go, go!” We were off. This was my fourth tri with a swim, I can’t believe it, and so the swim is now “old hat”. I was relaxed and calm and feeling great. The first third was swimming into a “chop”. As we walked into to the water, one fellow, said, “You are my people, we big men have manners, we don’t kick, punch, bite or swim over each other, do we!?” He was correct. It was an orderly group, with excellent manners! The long swim leg was pleasant and relaxed. I just stroked and stroked, no stops. The return leg of the 1.2 miles was where I got excited. I had glanced at my watch as it passed in front of me and I saw that I was doing well. I stepped it up! I exited the water in 47’44”; I had bettered any of my training swims, which was awesome. I ran to the strippers! No, the greeter was not taking off his clothes. This was a classy race! As you emerged from the water, if you pulled your wet down to your waist then just as you entered the transition area, you dove onto an Astroturf mat and 2 volunteers pulled your wetsuit off. I hit that mat and rolled and was told that I was “the most acrobatic”.
I need to back track – as I emerged from the water and ran to transition, I got my first taste of big race fans. There were hundreds of people lining that transition run – all cheering and giving encouragement. What a rush! My transition was okay, not fast enough, but in these big races the distances and areas are longer to cover. I had trouble with my right sock I originally put it on sole up. There is always something! At Tinman, it was getting my race number belt on, so this time I wore it under my wetsuit – one less thing to worry about. I was feeling good, as I ran with my bike out to the mount zone. I took off, out of my saddle, dancing on those pedals. Hundreds more screaming spectators and cowbells were frantically ringing. Sheila blew me a kiss from behind the barrier at the end of the exit chute; I had seen her as I flopped for stripping too. It is nice to know that she is there. I settled into my ride up the first of many, many long uphills. While I know that what goes up must come down, there never seem to be as many downhills as uphills. I thought about Coach Deb’s instructions – high cadence, easy gear, don’t mash away or you will blow up! I was drinking and eating gels; the sweat was pouring off me. It was hot and the sun was beating down relentlessly, and it was only 9:30!
The bike is a very solitary time in a race. At about Mile 8, Bjorn Anderson came bombing down the hill I was climbing, led by the “Race Leader” car, followed shortly after by Andy Potts, the eventual Timberman winner (in 3 hours and 51 minutes!) They were on their way back. Bjorn would later have trouble on the run (he bonked) where Andy caught and passed him. These guys are remarkable. As an aside, while these guys were far ahead, please remember that I started a full one hour and ten minutes after they did, so I wasn’t doing so bad to only be at Mile 8. The bike ride was just one uphill after another, tough going. On the biggest climb was the live webcast camera, so I shouted out a greeting to Toronto as I rode past. I emphasize “rode” as many of my fellow competitors were walking up this hill (I will never walk, Pete). I can’t imagine getting off the bike and then getting on – not in my routine. I had a decent ride and I did pass a bunch of people. It is fun to pick people off. Okay, it is competitive; it’s just human nature!
As kids, we all worshipped our sports heroes, at least I did. Mine were hockey players, always Toronto Maple Leafs. I remember the Leafs’ last Stanley Cup win, so that makes me old! I remember hours and hours of ball hockey on Brookdale with Michael Smythe; we took turns being Dave Keon and Mike Walton, our particular heroes. We would take turns making the lead pass to the other, always Keon passing to Walton down the left wing and then Walton would streak to the goalie-less net from Al Wright’s Sporting Goods store at Fairlawn and Avenue Road. Now, some 45 years later, I have some new and much younger heroes – Lance Armstrong and a host of triathlete pros, and endurance athletes in general. This preamble has a point. Okay, I am not sure that I should write this next part but what the hell, it is part of the experience and it is something that you learn from the pros, learning to pass from Dave Keon (with his straight stick) or a snap shot from Mike Walton.
What do you do on a long downhill when you gotta pee? You just let it fly, like a little kid, kinda fun actually. Then at the next aid station, you grab a couple of extra water bottles, stuff them in your shirt and hose yourself down as you ride away. No time lost. Trust me, it is more pleasant than over-used port-a-potties on a blazing hot day.
The hills continued, up and down. I got to Mile 50 feeling pretty good. I gunned it home! There were some good downhills to finish and I hit 80 kph on one of the last hills. Man, it felt great, as the breeze was awesome. As I made the final turn into the return bike chute, Sheila was waiting with her great encouragement. The crowd was awesome. The “Make-A-Wish” people went nuts. It was all great. I got off my bike and headed into transition (T2).
The bike had been long, hot and hard, but it was nothing compared to what lay ahead. It was around 1 p.m. and it just seemed to get hotter and the sun more relentless! I changed into fresh socks. I was so wet that for a brief moment the dry socks felt good. It would not be long though before my shoes were soaked – every stride made that squelch sound as my soles hit the pavement. The crowd was really noisy as I ran out the run chute for my first of two loops for my half-marathon. I felt quite good. I was eating a gel as I approached the 1st aid station. These aid stations are a blessing, one per mile. The Gatorade was cold, the water was cold, so it was paradise. I took in as much as I could – each time at least three full cups, Coach Deb’s orders. I dumped water into the Gatorade to cut it, as straight Gatorade is gross. At the second aid station, there were small sponges, full of icy cold water – these were wonderful. You stuffed them in your shirt, down your shorts, under your hat or anywhere else to cool off. The locals at this race were incredible. Most of the run was through small residential areas. The locals were out with impromptu aid stations, with their hoses to soak us down. There was a couple singing – really well. Two guys drumming African drums. Dozens and dozens of elderly people clapping, ringing cowbells and cheering us on. Two of the aid stations in the first half of the loop need special mention. The first was themed as the Flintstones and a large group of locals were dressed up like the Flintstones, singing, encouraging and just having fun with it all. The second aid station to deserve honourable mention was manned by the Laconia Leafs’ hockey team. They had a huge pile of snow that they were offering up. As one guy remarked as he left the aid station, “That snow is money!” When I said that I was from Toronto, I got special treatment. They were all Leaf fans in Bruins’ territory. There were a few brutal hills, but the killer on the run besides heat and sun, were long, long gradual up hills. The course jogged up to the highway, and that was ugly, as there was no shade. As I ran along, they were calling for an ambulance, as a competitor was down and suffering. By the time I circled back, he was on his way to hospital. I hope that he is okay! The run came down off the highway and we headed for the turn around on to Dow Road. Down Varney Street to Wildwood and then on to Dow Road. This is where the action was. Dow Road was a short cul-de-sac, well-treed with modest homes and with residents with big hearts and high spirits. As I turned left, at the t-intersection, on my right were 4 elderly gentlemen, gathered in a semi-circle, singing a lovely a capella version of “Proud to be an American”. For those who know me best, you know that I love to sing, so I joined in, as best as I could. It is hard to sing while running and exhausted, but I got some applause and a tuneful “way to go” in perfect, spontaneously harmony from the gents. Next was the “Hose guy” (with a capital “H”) – he was a character. Most of the locals along the way sprayed you gently. You could easily tell whose hose was directly from the lake (it was warm) and whose was from a well (it was cold)! Hose guy was far from gentle and he hit you with a blast of very cold water. He did it with gusto and this short, elderly man cackled with delight as your body winced with the shock of the icy cold water hitting your sunburned skin like sharp little icicles. I thanked him, but I am not quite sure if I was grateful or glad that I was past him. I heard him say “see ya again on the way back”. As I trotted along Dow Road, the houses, perhaps a dozen of them were themed – pirates, Surfin’ USA, more Flintstones. Each house had music; some had unofficial aid stations doling out water, Gatorade, pretzels, salt and vinegar chips, jellybeans, suckers, gels and more. Each lawn was lined up with lawn chairs with multiple generations clapping, cheering, dancing and just having fun. Some folks were in costumes while others were wearing Dow Road Crew shirts, identical to the official race volunteers. Clearly this was an annual Timberman ritual, so perhaps the race officials rewarded these wonderful fans with shirts. It was fun to take it all in.
The run of a tri is memorable because you are most aware of your surroundings; the swim is dark, the bike is generally fast and when not fast, you are climbing so it is hard work that takes your concentration.
As I departed from Dow Road, knowing that I would be returning while on Loop 2, Hose Guy was waiting. As the icy water hit me in the chest, causing me to gasp in shock, all I could hear was that cackling voice saying, “You again!” It was like being in an old comedy skit. The icy stream followed me as I turned back out to Wildwood, this time hitting my back – that was yet another shocking experience. While it actually felt good, I was glad that his hose wasn’t any longer, so he couldn’t chase me.
The return three-plus miles to the end of the first run loop were more of the same. I did a little walking; I enjoyed the party atmosphere with relish. Out on the hot stretch of the highway, the downed athlete was being sped away in the ambulance. That was sobering. More gels (I took in 18 in all over the day), countless water cups and bottles and Gatorade cups and bottles, my own “potions”, sodium caps – a healthy diet? I rounded the last corner of Loop 1 into Ellacoya Park to make the trek out for my second run loop. It was hotter; you had to run down the finishing chute, with other competitors on your left in the finishing lane. The crowd was loud! I spotted my new found Newfie buddy, Keith, intensely screaming encouragement. “You got it, buddy,” he yelled with his distinct accent from the Rock. He gave me a strong high five-hand squeeze as I lumbered past. Wow, the rush was incredible, and I stepped it up. Then boob guy was directly in front of me, high fiving me and directing me out to the left for my second loop. I gave the right boob a grab this time, and he called out from behind me, “That’s the spirit!” I ran back out the bike chute to the roar of hundreds more wonderful supporters. As I passed special needs, I thought to myself, “Should I grab that dry shirt? Nah! It would be soaked in moments anyway”. I continued on, I had a more energy albeit for a brief time. Sheila was at the turn, and it was great to see her, especially as the next time I would see her wonderful smile, I would be finishing.
Back on the road, it was quieter as many of the athletes were already finished. It had been a long hot day and some of the locals had called it a day. Their hoses were still going, propped up as showers. The aid stations were still there, but not as vibrant and busy as earlier. The Laconia Leafs were still shoveling out snow – they were heaven-sent. I plodded along, some more walking and run now. As we approached each other, those of us later finishers, we good-naturedly dueled with each other passing and re-passing. We exchanged words of encouragement. Some athletes, who were long finished, rode past us giving enthusiastic words and shouts. A fellow NRG athlete, Jason, I believe, rode past and having noticed my NRG singlet and shorts gave me a special boost! The downhills became harder than the uphills as those big leg muscles felt the heat and the effort of the day. The first Flintstones were still out with cold sponges. The sun was damn hot as the mid-afternoon heat took hold. The highway stretch was even more brutal – a long gradual downhill that would all too soon reverse and become the toughest part of the course, as I would head “for home”. The Dow Road gang, at least some, was still “holding the Fort” as one man called out. Hose guy was gone, and I missed him. I rounded the turnaround crossing the timing mat for the last time as my chip “beeped”. This was it, only the finish line was left! The last three plus miles were a “mixed bag”, I plodded, I walked, I ran, I doubled over to touch my toes – a feat that six months ago was impossible for me. I knew exactly where mile markers 10, 11 and 12 were, and that kept me going. I actually ran up that long highway climb with my heart rate below 150. Back into a bit of shade for a few brief moments. There were only two hills left and then downhill to the finish. Mile 11 came up mercifully fast. There were still runners heading out toward the turnaround as I passed Mile 12. At that point, I over-heard two race officials communicating bib numbers of those who at been cut off at the bike T2 (tri “lingo” for the second transition). Boy, that would suck! I was bent over at Mile 12, gathering and stretching myself for a moment, when a coach from a popular tri-club, Tri-Life, distinguishable by their red uniforms, asked me if I was okay. I replied, “Just getting ready for a big finish”, and he responded, “I like to hear that, it is downhill to the finish, strong now!” I was pumped despite now “running on fumes”. I headed home, and just before I got to the turn into the park, I stopped in the bushes one last time. You can guess why. Then to the grassy chute, and Sheila was there, her beautiful smile beaming! She snapped a couple of pictures and then sprinted just ahead of me outside the barriers along the finishers. I felt a little like the dog chasing the rabbit at a racetrack. The finish line was an awesome site, the crowd was cheering, and my Newfie buddy’s family was there as Sheila later told me, but sadly I missed them. I was pumped and the whole thing went by fast. Boob guy was there, and as he thrust out his huge fake boobs, I high-fived them both, and that got an extra cheer from the crowd. I raised my arms in personal victory as a bit of a tearful wave of emotion flashed over me, also typical for those who know me well – I am a softy. I smiled for the webcast as my chip beeped for its final time.
I walked down the post finish chute where they took off my chip. Hell, I wasn’t about to bend down now as I might have gotten stuck there. I collected my cool wet race towel around my neck; I dumped my souvenir water bottle, full of cold water, over my head and accepted my medal (a nice one)! After a couple of official pictures, Sheila caught up with me for a congratulatory kiss, no hugs; I was grossly wet and grimy. She headed off to grab my special needs and dry bags as I headed for Lake Winnipesaukee for a plunge in the water. The clouds were gathering and the sun was no longer a factor, of course after I had finished. I flopped into the water. Fully clothed with shoes on. It felt great. I chatted with a few fellow finishers, one sporting a six-inch blister on his heal – OUCH! This really is fun. I made my way back to my bike to pack up my crate and to pull on a dry shirt. Sheila carried my crate and I wheeled my bike out of transition to the car. We arrived back at the car just as “the bottom fell out of the sky”. It rained hard.
We drove away from the Park feeling a great sense of accomplishment, I say we because I share it with Sheila – I could do none of this without her. One more of her wonderful ways of making our lives the Best (pardon the pun). I downed my post race chocolate milk and gulped down part of my huge turkey sandwich. BIG MISTAKE!
The next several hours were unpleasant. The fatigue, the heat, too much sun and then food made me feel horrible. I was unsettled and the ride back to The Glynn House was long and I felt every bump in the road in my stomach.
While it was unpleasant, it did make for some entertaining moments. I settled in lying on the bathroom floor, not knowing what was next. After a half an hour or so, Sheila was downstairs being sociable for cocktails. I was alone and I tried to get up. Well, both my hamstrings started to seize as I attempted to right myself. I rolled back to the floor, on my back and managed to stretch and wedge both my feet up at forty-five degrees elevated against the wall. My muscles loosened a bit. I was in a half-dressed state, and I was sipping water and post-race protein “potion” through the corner of my mouth. I lay there for almost another hour; I must have been quite a sight. I was feeling better but chilled. It was the effects of way too much sun – not an unfamiliar feeling for me from the past. Sheila had covered me up with a bathrobe. I was content not to go very far. I sipped and sipped. I was feeling better, I thought. Then I tried to get up again. What an adventure – this time it was groin muscles. I rolled over and crawled to the bed then pulled myself onto the bed in “Child’s Poise” in an attempt to stretch out my groin. Thanks Megan – it worked for me “butt” not for Sheila. For any of you who know the story of me being stung by a Bee in the butt on our Honeymoon, this was déjà vu, sans the Bee stringer. Me, bare butt up on all fours on the bed. Not a pretty sight but funny on some level.
The rest of the evening was uneventful, but as I drank and drank, I felt better. Despite all that liquid during the race, the heat still sucks it out of you. At around 8, I was famished but I did not want to go out as I still felt the heat exhaustion, I was craving Fritos, Pepsi and plain ground beef. Sheila managed to fill the order. I drank a can of Pepsi, ate a half a bag of Fritos and I munched on six plain Burger King mini burgers – the dinner of Champions. I was asleep by 9 and didn’t stir all night. I had an amazing sleep!
We woke up early and got on the road as we headed to Jackson, New Hampshire, a bit out of the way but we had arranged to meet the Dinneen’s, Mike and Peg, the owners of our beloved Christmas Mecca, The Teddy Bear Condo, for the first time. It is hard to believe that after fourteen years we finally connected. Sadly, Peg was ill but Mike greeted us warmly, and we had breakfast and chatted. He is a lovely guy and we look forward to finally meeting Peg on Boxing Day this year. When I arrived, I was wearing my post-race knee-high Zoot compression socks. I am not sure what Mike might have been thinking as I gingerly walked up to greet him. The only ill effect of the race is a sore Achilles. The socks may look kinda goofy but they feel great. I remember both my Mom and Nan wearing them. Wow, that is a “did I just say that” moment.
Well, that’s it for now, I know this story was long but I hope that you found it entertaining. I have now successfully completed 5 tri’s, including two half-Ironman races. My run and bike times were not stellar at 3’33” and 3’15” but considering the heat and sun, I am happy and proud. I have learned more as this season comes to a close. I will soon begin to get going for next season. Lots of planning and training with races, including, I am hoping, the Disney Marathon at Disney World in January.
I can’t believe that I have completed two half-Ironman races in 57 days!
My next big goal – Ironman Lake Placid!
Thanks for reading and sharing this experience with me. I love comments and feedback, so please don’t be shy.
Bill Best
August 25th, 2009