SATURDAY, AUGUST 13, 2005

Race Report: Whirlpool Steelhead Triathlon, Half Ironman,

August 6, 2005

Lee Crumbaugh

The water was nine feet below our feet. I was flanked on either side by a line of fellow first-wave wet-suit clad triathletes, all of us perched on the north edge of the long pier jutting out into Lake Michigan. Water surged below us. It was almost 7 a.m. The time neared for the horn to blow signaling the race start.

“Wow, I am pretty anxious right now. I’ll be glad when we are actually swimming,” I said.

“Yeah, this is stressful,” answered one of the other guys. “I hope no one jumps on me.”

I hoped the same thing. Then I thought of the famous movie dialogue, when a pair of guys are trapped and cornered by a posse on a ledge at the edge of a steep rock canyon with nowhere else to go. They overlook raging rapids fifty feet below and are faced with a choice between a hopeless shoot-out and a near-suicidal leap.

Butch Cassidy (Robert Redford) (looking into the deep canyon and the river far below): We'll jump.

The Sundance Kid (Paul Newman) (after looking down): Like hell we will.

Butch: No, it'll be OK - if the water's deep enough, we don't get squished to death. They'll never follow us.

Sundance: How do you know?

Butch: Would you make a jump like that you didn't have to?

Sundance: I have to and I'm not gonna.

Butch: Well, we got to, otherwise we're dead….Come on.

Sundance: Uh-uh.

Butch: We got to.

Sundance: Nope! Get away from me!

Butch: Why?

Sundance: I wanna fight 'em!

Butch: They'll kill us!

Sundance: Maybe.

Butch: You wanna die?!

Sundance: (waving his pistol at the river far below) Do you?!

Butch: All right. I'll jump first.

Sundance: Nope.

Butch: Then you jump first.

Sundance: No, I said!

Butch: What's the matter with you?!

Sundance: (wildly embarrassed) I can't swim!

Butch: (guffawing at his partner) Why, you crazy - the fall'll probably kill ya!

Sundance shakes his head as he ponders the insanity of actually jumping to escape their pursuers. He grabs a gun belt held out by Butch, jumps with him in tandem, and wails: Ohhh . . . s - h - i - i - i - i - i - t !

The horn blew and the guys on either side jumped. I let them go, wanting to be the one who was assured not of being jumped on. I leapt out, plunged under water (with goggles and cap staying intact, another concern abated) and surfaced in a clear spot…and immediately found myself swimming crosswise with others. The first green buoy was nearby, but we all seemed to be swimming different directions to find it.

After thrashing through my competitors (no damage done), I curved around the first buoy and was able to sight on the arms of faster swimmers and the next green buoy. There was some wave action against us, but it was slight and not a problem. Last year for this race Lake Michigan was a pond, a huge pool without lane lines. This year I found the rocking from the slight surf even comforting, but I suspected that pure pool swimmers who had not logged the long hours swimming in Lake Michigan I had might find it a bit disorienting. I hope they realized this was a blessing compared with the much greater surf the lake could exhibit. Also, the water was a dream, about 72 degrees. Perfect day for a long wetsuit swim!

I stroked with great pace, maintaining rhythm. Between the wave action and my slight regular rightward drift, I kept turning toward the beach. I sighted every 10 strokes or so, and found myself continually correcting left. This meant I swam a very tight line, however, keeping the buoys on the right. I would tussle with a fellow swimmer from time to time, but no one swam over me, which meant I swam fast enough to hold off at least the bulk of the second wave.

The first buoys were green, then they turned to orange. We were told the buoy marking the point where we turned to the beach was green. After the initial green buoys the orange buoys never seemed to end. I swam and I swam and I swam. This seemed long, more than a half IM swim. Gee, how long would my Ironman Canada swim seem?

I was not fatiguing, however. I maintained my pace. I passed a few people and did not get passed later in the swim. The water temperature was perfect. The waves picked up a little, slowing progress slightly, but they presented no problem. The sun was a problem, shining directly over the beach and obscuring the buoys. Any sight of arms coming out of the water and I followed them. I just hope hoped they could see a buoy and weren’t off line.

There’s an orange buoy, slightly to the left. I pulled harder left and changed my angle to curve around it. Certainly this was the last one! But no, in fact, there were two more, and each time I thought, this was the last one, right, certainly I have swum at least 2,000 yards? Finally, the buoy in sight was a green one. Time to turn! I swung around it, seeing other swimmers but none in my line, and angled toward the beach. Interesting, my fellow swimmers were still angling more left than I would have to go straight in. Best to follow them, because I would bet they can see the buoys leading to the beach.

The bottom came up to me soon enough, but I thought it was a sand bar, so I was startled when I saw the swimmer next to me stand and start walking. I looked ahead to see spectators cheering at me, much closer than I expected, so I stood, steady instead of my usual instability, and began to run in, unzipping my wetsuit and peeling it off of my arms so it hung down, then removing my cap and goggles while running out of the surf onto the beach lip, across the timing mat, where I hit my watch to record the split (42:42, slower than last year because of the wave action not present last year) and charged up the sand on the long run to transition.

I don’t like running in bare feet, but the long path through beach area and the dune behind it to transition was not very stony. Soon enough I entered transition and found my bike in the first rack, spot #31. (A benefit for the old guys!) I had my usual slowness getting off my very tight Ironman wetsuit, despite slathering an extra helping of SportSlick on my extremities. I finished up what was a long transition (6:31), raced my bike out of the area, mounted and I was off.

We started on a rolling road and very soon up a hill, but then we were on the highway going north, where despite small rollers I could make time. I enjoyed the cool temps and didn’t worry too much about the faster guys from the two waves behind me passing me. 56 miles is a long way and I had plenty of time to crank it up.

One guy did get my attention, a lanky runner type who passed me and then fiddled with his bike or gear or something and slowed down right after the pass. I had to back off to avoid a penalty. I cranked it up and put him behind me. Or so I thought. In about five minutes, there he was, sailing past…and then slowing in front of me. Hmmm. I passed him again, saying “It’s me again” with a smile as I passed, and moved away. You know what happened. Another pass. This time he maintained a little better tempo, but in a few minutes I was back on him. OK, this is getting monotonous and is interrupting my “find the flow and just crank” approach to riding. Too much mental effort. By now we were approaching a bottle exchange. I was carrying all the Endurox I needed but he was not, so I left him behind at the exchange point.

By this time I was noticing in the flow that per usual I was stronger on the descents and flats relative to the other riders. Not that I was particularly slow at the 19-20 mph I was averaging. In fact, I passed one guy I thought for sure was in my age group and encountered no others.

We rode a long way north, then we rode east for an equally long time. The route became a little mixed up at that point, but I believed we would be working west and south, basically, in the back half. (That’s why I’ve got an MBA, to figure out such difficult things!). Mid ride I was not pushing hard, just going with the flow. In this section I was passed more than I passed anyone.

The roads were not great at the start but generally they were pretty good. In the back half the hills were fewer and the course was suited to my grind-it-out approach.

Over the course of the ride I took a gel every 30 minutes, drank a bottle of Endurox each hour, took two salt tablets each hour, and ate an energy bar at the mid-point. This was more nutrition than I had ever consumed in a half IM ride, but math I had done a few days earlier suggested that one reason I faded at the end of marathons and Ironman Triathlons was not enough calories consumed. Coach Mike had suggested that I work on my Ironman nutrition in this race, so I upped the consumption to see what happened. I felt a little bloated and even nauseous at one point later in the ride, but this passed quickly. I think eating and drinking more was a good idea for me.

I was having a good but not great ride. I had fallen into my sometimes stupor, where going with the flow was what felt right. However, after a couple of hours I looked at my average speed and my resulting time and it dawned on me I was “doing the race” more than I was “racing,” and I wanted to race. I knew I had held back enough that by going harder for the end part of the race I would not trash my legs for the run. Time to go and pass all those young studs who had been passing me!

About that time Mr. Lanky Runner Type passed me for the umpteenth time, and this time did not pause but moved smartly ahead. Well! I might not be able to catch him, but I certainly was not going to take that without responding. So I threw off the effects of my “go with the flow” mindset and was goaded into my true race mindset. Immediately my 20 mph jumped to 22 mph and as I progressed I got even faster.

Head down, cranking hard, near but not over the top, like my Wednesday morning intervals with bike buddies, this was at the raw edge of riding for me, which made it feel so exciting. I was laying it on the line and good things were happening. The old guy was romping and stomping! Guys who had flowed past me in the past hour or more suddenly were eaten up. I took no prisoners but just blasted ahead, not downshifting for hills but just powering over them. I was seeing 23-26 mph on my speedometer. Cool! Later I would see on my monitor the highest heart rate in the race for this section, 170. Heh, used to be that getting my bike riding heart rate over 140 was a real problem. Now I could ride at upwards of 170 and still not feel that I was riding all out. That’s what racing Ironman and Ironman training will do for you!

Yet by going for it at around mile 45 I had laid out a real challenge for myself: sustaining a great pace for more than 10 miles. Somehow, I managed to maintain. Toward the finish I passed riders who were fading while I was building. Great! As we approached the road that took us into transition a younger guy I had re-passed obviously had turned on his sprint and worked by me. As he passed he said, “When I get to your age I sure hope I can ride like you!” That comment made my day!

I dismounted at the line ahead of the chute into the transition area (bike time 2:38.49, 22.1 mph average), wheeled my bike into my nicely near spot, and managed to have a better but still slow transition (2:56) as I emptied my pockets of gel packets and refilled, them, swapped shoes, tied them, grabbed a gel to suck down and a bottle of cut Endurox to suck on so that I would hydrated well at the start of the run. I got moving and ran through the transition area and out the back onto the road leading to the long uphill out and back that marked the early part of the run.

As I worked up the long hill, runners were already coming back. They looked thinner, younger and faster than me. I wished I were that fast, but I was consoled that none looked as old as me. I passed a few runners and a few passed me. Unlike my last race in Springfield, IL, I did not feel I had “super-fast” feet after transition, but I was running variable mile times from 7.50 to around 9, depending on the terrain. Going downhill I tried to do my Boston Marathon downhill lean and this helped my speed a little. Along the way I dumped my Endurox bottle at a stop—too much of a pain to carry and Gatorade Endurance Formula seemed to be freely available as a good substitute.

The first miles went well. We eventually ran over the long bridge over the river from Benton Harbor to St. Joe. I was passed by a few people, all younger, whom I let go. Not time to push, that was for sure.

8:45

pace was what my bike-tired legs and semi-sore knees wanted at this point.

I made sure to alternate Gatorade Endurance Formula and water at each water stop and regularly consumed gels every 30 minutes and salt tablets each hour.

After the bridge we ran along the river and then re-crossed it into downtown Benton Harbor. This was probably the warmest section of the course, mostly concrete and exposed, but thank goodness the day was relatively cool compared to many days this summer. We soon worked our way east along river bank, being cheered by spectators, enjoying a good water stop (which I ran through, as I did every one) and seeing runners come back at us after they did the turnaround at the end of the road. I chatted with runners as I passed them and they passed me. A good day to be out there and a good place to be!

As I worked back from the turnaround, I continued to pass runners and see others coming at me. No one from the age group was visible or had been earlier. Maybe I was in first!

Just about then, my cocksure attitude was deflated convincingly when a grey-haired guy ran by and I saw the “1” or his calf, denoting the “old guy” first wave that I started in. He could have been younger or older than me, but looking at him I judged my age group. Drat!

Triathletes and runners who know me will be chuckling at this point. They know I am so damn competitive. They would realize that short of death (or at least a deathly cramp) I would give it my all to pass the guy.

I saw him motor ahead and reasoned with myself. “Lee, you have been cruising rather than pushing, 13.1 is a long way, but you know you can run harder! You only have 5.6 miles to go, so get with it!” With that, I picked up my pace. Not a lot, but as I cranked it up the gap that had opened between us mostly stabilized. He was 100 yards ahead, sometimes less, sometimes more, but always visible.

Hey, at least I was sensible in my approach. Rather than break into an all-out sprint right away, I kept going at the pace that maintain the gap. I thought, what’s the smart way to try to do this? The old saying that I had learned from both marathon training and Jim Spivey on his Olympic-level racing came to mind: If I hang in there at my pace and if he is pushing too hard, the race will come back to me. Plus, if I were to pass him now he might know I was a threat and could find another gear and really blow me away. So I stalked him.

Actually, I was running just above my comfort zone at the time and the only reason the gap did not get unreasonable was that he was walking the water stops. After he passed me we turned northward and ran down the main street and around middle of downtown Benton Harbor (Certainly not a garden spot but the rehabbed buildings were apparent and promised better things for the downtown.) Then we reversed direction and ran back to the river. At this point he was about 125 yards ahead, going up the bridge, and had been opening the gap a little. Another guy worked up to me and we chatted for a moment. I pointed to my nemesis and said, “That guy’s in my age group and I think when he passed me he put me into second. I have to catch him but I am not sure that I can.” My companion said the right thing, whether he believed it or not: “You’ll get him. Just hang in there. You will get him.” That gave me a little boost, enough so that I picked it up so my target did not further widen the gap.

After the one bridge we ran along the river west to downtown St. Joe and then turned to re-cross the river. At that point we passed the nine mile mark and I continued to worry that I would not close on my target. An occasional pre-cramp twinge from my leg muscles reminded me of what might happen if I tried to run too hard. Better to wait him out and hope for the best!

Soon we were back on flat ground and I was holding pace. A good thing about focusing so much on one runner is that it takes your mind off of the mileage and time. The back half of the run seemed to go by mush faster than usual.

I maintained my pace for the closing miles. Then we approached the final mile marker and the turn that would take us along the road to the beach. A water stop was right there and according to pattern my target stopped, took a cup and walked…and kept walking! Was this the break I was looking for? Moments before, another guy ran alongside me and we talked. I had explained my predicament and lamented that my opportunity to reel my target in was quickly disappearing. I asked him to “pull me in” so I could try to catch my age group threat. When he knew who my target was and saw him walking, my new buddy gt excited for me and said, “Let’s get him!” We picked up the pace…and my legs responded, thank goodness. By now my target had again began to run, but at a somewhat slower pace than before. My gosh, maybe the race will come back to me!

I picked it up so much that my new-found buddy dropped off the pace but blurted out to me, “Keep it up! You can take him!” The gap narrowed quickly as my pace and heart rate increased seemingly exponentially: 75 yards, 50 yards, 25 yards. At the mile marker I had worried that I did not have enough time to pass him, but this went quickly. Another runner came up on my right shoulder so when we passed my target I was somewhat screened from him. I don’t know that he even saw me go by, which I thought then was a very good thing.

However, I could not bank on him sleeping, so I kept pushing hard. So hard, in fact, that I worried about my legs locking up with cramps and so hard that I suddenly developed a side stitch for the first time in years. I was at red line for the end of a half Ironman (heart rate just in the 160s, maybe 10K race pace, but legs and body pushed as far as I could push them). A few younger guys were also in their end sprints and passed me. I gasped to one spectator, “How far back is the guy about my age?” He said, “Maybe 25 yards. Keep going!” So I did, even though I was not sure I could maintain the pace. We turned onto the drive to the beach and I started smiling. Whatever happens, this is really racing!

Just about then I tripped on a speed bump covered by carpet and very nearly did a face plant. As I stumbled my right quad promised to me, “Do that one more time and we will cramp!” Whoa, that was a close one!

I am sure to the spectators along the fence I looked like a drunken animal flailing toward the finish. I tried my best to regain balance, rhythm and composure as I approached the beach, rounded the corner and came up on the finish line. I was very very relieved to cross the timing mats. I stopped, fully winded and unsteady, just standing for a while trying to breathe and sort through what had just come down. Then I grinned. I did it! That was fun! I think I protected first place!

After my chip was cut off and I grabbed some Gatorade, I turned around and sought out my nemesis. Yep, he sure looked like a 55-59 age grouper. We chatted. “Nice race.” “You too” “You were running well when you passed me at seven and a half.” “Yeah, I was feeling good at that point.” “I stalked you after that. You were running faster than my comfort zone. It was a struggle to keep up. I am glad you walked the water stops.” “I was feeling it and it felt good to walk. I ran a marathon last weekend.” “You ran a marathon last weekend and then a race like this? Wow!” “Yeah, when they screwed up the distance at the Lakeshore Marathon I didn’t get my Boston time and I want to go back again, so last weekend I ran a marathon in 3:17 and got my time. By that last water stop I was pretty fried, so I thought I would just cruise in.” Wow, I was sure impressed. Then came my question. “How old are you.” “52.” Hah, hah, hah! The joke’s on me! Oh well, I finished about 23 minutes ahead of the next guy in the group (hey, there were 10 of us, so I was not “handed” the race, right?) and might not have had I not had Mr. Marathon Man to there to sustain my focus and drive my pace.

Post race I took a dip in the lake and then hung with fellow tri-dead Shelley McKee, who was in the medical tent getting a very sore ankle treated. After hooking up with Sherry and waiting far too long for the awards ceremony, I happily garnered my first place medal and a TYR swim bag. Cool! Especially for a guy who took last place in his first cross country race in high school!

Final results:

WHIRLPOOL STEELHEAD TRIATHLON,

SATURDAY AUGUST 6, 2005

OVERALL RESULTS

Place No. Name Usat Ag Div S Rank Swim

174 31 Lee Crumbaugh 89688 57 M5559 M 256 42:42

Rank Tran1 Rank Bike Rank Tran2 Rank Run Time Final

357

6:31

135

2:38:49

302

2:56

187

1:55:47

5:26:43

5:26:43

MALE 55 - 59 DIVISION

Place No. Name Town Sta Ag S Time Final

===== ===== ============= ========= === == = ======= =======

1 31 Lee Crumbaugh

Glen Ellyn

IL

57 M

5:26:43

5:26:43

There were 508 finishers.