Let’s make this harder than it has to be!
Historically, that’s been a thing for me
In Ironman triathlon. The key
Is underpreparation, usually,
But if that’s off the table, there’s a sea
Of flawed self-sabotage options, e.g.,
A streak of pentametric rhymes with “e”–
Let’s make this harder than it has to be.
Okay, let’s ditch the rhyme. It’s time to show
I’m capable of learning. After all,
At 56, I’ve made enough mistakes
To fill a book of epic poetry
That no one wants to read, including me.
(That rhyme was accidental; it’s a tic.)
Pentameter–iambic, even!–should
Be dumb enough to suit me, so we’re good.
This wasn’t my first Kona rodeo.
When Ronald Reagan was the president
I had some trouble getting off the bike:
The Tack Attack in 1983;
In ’84 I simply took too long;
A Hawi doctor’s note in ’86;
In 1988, the voices in my head
Said, “Quit the marathon! Let’s go to bed!”
A decade passed before I got it right
And crossed the Kona line in ’98
A year after I’d had back surgery,
With which I flirted two years after that
But finished Oceanside and Canada
While walking both the marathons because
I’d promised my back surgeon not to run.
Without that fear of failure, this is fun!
So now, each five-year anniversary,
I try to wave the Collins Family flag
By finishing the before the pumpkin drops
At midnight (more or less). Ali’i Drive
Plays host to quite a party as the time
Begins to run out. Late-arriving guests
Are guaranteed a welcome unsurpassed;
They save the greatest decibels for last.
I’ve been a swimmer since I was a kid
And though your cycling skills, per the cliché,
Are what you don’t forget, that’s doubly true
(Or maybe triply) as regards the swim.
Yet, even so, that first leg is the one
In which I’m most at risk of screwing up
By trying too hard to swim fast, and thus
Throwing the bike and run beneath the bus.
This time around, I tried to vaccinate
Myself from late-race drama with a plan:
I worked the run January to May,
And then, when summer came, I worked bike.
When both were feeling strong, my plan was then
To do each discipline four days a week
(Which I’m already doing in the pool)
From August on: Consistency, the rule.
Life happens. (Sh*t is simply what’s perceived.)
Late-summer wildfires made the air
To thick to breathe, so outdoor exercise
Was hard to come by, and without
An indoor option, all too soon I found
Myself inside the Hippocratic Zone
When trying to catch up sounds an alarm
Because the motto is, First, do no harm.
And so it came to pass that I arrived
In Kona in the best shape of my life,
Ironman-wise, expecting a P.R.
Unless an unforeseen event occurred
(An injury, or problems with the bike,
For instance). A conservative
Expenditure of effort should suffice
To earn an early night, which would be nice.
And then I met the cougher on the plane.
On Saturday, a week before the race,
I felt a tiny tickle in my throat;
By Tuesday I was on my back in bed
Except when I was obligated to
Attend a race-week function, at which I
Apologized for never shaking hands
With other athletes, VIPs, and fans.
By Friday I was feeling well enough
To climb aboard the bike for one short ride
To check the seat position and the bars
Before I turned it in at noon. I didn’t run,
And when I joined the crowd on Dig-Me Beach
On race-day morning, that was the first time
I’d touched salt water since, oh, early June?
I felt as thin and sickle-y as the moon.
And yet, no preparation is for naught,
And having done the work required to
Produce a record time (at least for me),
I had a firm foundation on which I
Could still construct a comfortable race
By making sure that my tachometer
Stayed in the green and well below the red
As much as possible. (Easily said.)
I told my masters friends I’d loaf the swim
To lower expectations, and it worked:
Though tempted frequently to pick it up
And drop the people swimming on my legs,
Instead I just moved left, beyond the crowd,
Not worrying about the extra yards,
And kept my effort at a warm-up pace.
My mantra: I’ve not yet begun to race!
Turns out, that was a sentiment I shared
With the official timers: Seems the chip
Strapped to my ankle had not registered
That I’d begun the swim, as I found out
As I prepared to head out on the bike.
(My parents clued me in, there on the pier.)
I stopped and asked the timers what to do.
Since one chip didn’t work, they gave me two!
The Kona bike course is notorious
For challenging conditions: Crushing heat
And unrelenting headwinds are the rule,
So, while I’d trained for a six-hour ride
On any other course, I’d doubted that
I’d better six-point-five during the race.
Great news (aside from oh-what-might-have-beens):
The day was overcast, with mild winds!
The fabulous conditions on the day
Placed every record for the course at risk,
And Patrick Lange and Daniella Ryf
Took full advantage, shattering the marks
That had been set since 1981;
In fact, the top three men and women all
Spent less time on the course than anyone
Of their respective genders had yet done.
For me, that meant the pressure was reduced
Significantly. All I had to do
Was hold my form, adhering to Plan B,
And I could disregard the cut-off times.
Instead of 18 MPH, 14
Would work, unless my ego played a role.
(Of course, it did: From mile 83
To 88 I showed off for TV.)
By mile 90, I was out of gas,
The week of illness having worn me down
To such extent that I could not afford
To act the fool for long. I throttled back
And took it easy till Transition 2.
A change of outfit to dry shorts and shirt
And two fresh pairs of socks (so as to keep
From getting blisters): Marathon, then sleep!
My plan had been to run Ali’i Drive,
An out-and-back along the water’s edge,
Then walk the hill at steep Palani Road
And watch the sunset from up on Queen K,
The highway that I’d just been cycling on.
Plan B, however, said that I should walk
Until the sun (and temperature) went down.
I made a friend and chatted all through town.
The Queen Ka’ahumanu Highway is
A long, straight path, with lengthy up-and-downs.
When Sandy from New Jersey waved good-bye
And chose to run, I tried to give slow chase.
To my surprise, my running stride felt great!
Until the downhill ended, at which point,
Each deep breath sparked a massive coughing fit;
I had to walk to make the coughing quit.
So, as the darkness fell on the Queen K
And fewer racers passed on their return,
I did the math, and knew the race was mine
If I but kept my cool. A pelting rain
Blew up at half-past-six, which cooled me off
And gave me leave to stop asking for ice.
It eased by seven, but to my chagrin,
My Gore-Tex shoes kept all the water in!
I haven’t blistered in, well, decades, now,
But that streak came abruptly to an end
Near mile 10. I felt the skin expand
Beneath my feet like wrinkled, sodden socks,
And every step to mile 26
Increased the discomfort. There was no pain,
But neither was there doubt that, soon enough,
The pain would come, and Sunday would be rough.
I found distraction from the long, wet slog
By cheering those few fellow triathletes
With whom I shared the road: “We’ve got this thing!”
They didn’t need encouragement from me,
But offering it was a selfish act,
As I felt stronger having said the words.
When finally no stragglers were left
I couldn’t help but feel a bit bereft.
At mile 22 or thereabouts
The party at the finish reached my ears;
By 24, I could make out the words,
You are an Ironman! Ali’i Drive
Was growing ever nearer. My concern
Was I could not assure my kith and kin
That I was fine. The timing chips should show
My progress. Was either working, though?
Turns out, they were. That’s right, the both of them:
I crossed a mat a mile from the end
And my name popped up twice; the finish line
Announcer asked, wait, are there two of him?
The last streets fell away: Palani Road,
Then Kuakini, then Hualalai,
One last right turn and I’m on Ali’i
And cheered into the arms of family.
My mom and dad both met me on the line;
My sister and my wife were right nearby.
The men’s and women’s winners both were there
To offer their good wishes, which was sweet.
Herr Lange’s fiancée (or verlobte)
Was also there, where he had just proposed,
Which served as a reminder that my day
Was only one of many underway.
In summary, I didn’t have the race
That I had planned or hoped for. That’s okay.
You’ll find no disappointment on my face.
I finished! And I’ll take that, any day.
TrollPants 2.0 