Breakfast Club: Summer Session Week #6

Lyle! I thought you were my one and only! Come to find out, though, when you're not around, Joe seems to think it falls to him to keep me humble. Scott, too. What do you guys do? Draw straws before each practice, to see who gets to run the drills, who gets to keep Slenzak in line, and who buys the coffee? Please don't tell me I'm the short straw...

Free hockey alert! Free hockey alert! If any of you boys can bear the thought of even more chicks on ice, then keep reading. If you can't, then I'll let you know when it's safe to start reading again... On Sunday September 7th 6:30-7:30pm, there will be a free "moms and daughters" ice hockey clinic at Suburban Farmington for any and all females who have wanted to give hockey a try but who thought she couldn't do it, or she didn't have the equipment, or whatever other reason or excuse might have been holding her back. This is for kids and adults, so long as you're not a boy. The rink will suit you up with everything you need, including skates, helmets and sticks. Visit hockeymoms.org, or call Geoff Bennetts at 248-888-1400 for more details.

OK, it's safe to start reading again...

I missed my usual Wednesday class due to a work meeting (note to self: remind all those mere mortals, again, about where my true priorities lie). Lucky for them, I was able to forego immediately tendering my resignation, because I went to the Thursday class instead. And lucky for me, I still have that day job, because I have yet to be able to buy me a wrist shot.

Ah, but I digress...

We warmed up the goalies with our three lane drill. Joe wasn't content to see us lose the puck on open ice straight-aways, however, so he added a little blue-line-and-up S-turn into the mix to get us in the right frame of mind. That being, you rarely if ever get an open ice straight-away in a game, so why should you practice them? Hmmm, good question. Too bad it's too early in the morning for me to fully grasp those kinds of ironies. I'm just grasping at straws at that time of day. Or, to be more precise, reaching for the water bottle even though I hear you should have been skating much much more harder than I did before you can deserve to get a drink of water.

Splitting into groups, we did some transitions and some game situations. It's all a little complicated to try to describe here, but I'll try my best. For the game situations, we first ran 3-0's and then 3-on-1's in the half ice zone. The goal was, well, to score a goal, silly! This drill is where I was politely reminded to (ahem) shoot the flipping puck, woman! It would seem that it is apparently best to shoot when you are wide open and unopposed, than to look for a team mate to pass to in the hopes that he will be as well-positioned as you for your otherwise freebie shot. Go figure! Life is just full of teachable moments.

Transitioning to transitions, Joe seemed to think it was important to be able to manuever transitions from front to back to side to up to down to left and right and all kinds of any which ways, all the while keeping the puck under control. OK, OK, you've got me there, Joe. I will grudgingly concede that those skills may occassionally come in handy in a game. But did I mention that it's early in the morning? I hardly think any ankle-bender that I'd be matched against could bust a move like that on me at this time of day. Oh? What's that? Ooh, got me again there, Joe. Yeah, I guess it would be nice if I was BustaMoves instead of the other guy.

We ended it all with a little clothing-optional scrimmage. Oops, sorry, I guess it wasn't yet safe to keep reading after all. Now it's safe. All you boys who don't think girls belong on the ice, you can start reading again now because I'm done for this week.

So until next week, keep your head up and your eyes on the goal.

Tale of an Ironman: This Summer's Off-Ice Adventure

Bob Finger is one of the Breakfast Club goaltenders. He recently competed in his fourth Ironman competition in July. While the BC offers a challenge on the ice, Finger shares his experience of this summer's off-ice adventure: Lake Placid Ironman 2008.

Lake Placid Ironman 2008

Lake Placid is my fourth Ironman, and with the notable exception of a mechanical failure on the bike in Wisconsin , I’ve finished every time. So it’s curious that I felt the pressure of this attempt more than any previous race.

There are many reasons to be intimidated of Ironman USA (Lake Placid), from the long narrow swim course that seems to draw athletes in towards the buoy line, to the punishing twelve mile climb on each loop of the bike, and finally finishing with a run course that includes a steep (200’ of elevation) climb at the twelve and twenty four mile markers.

But, in spite of all that, the course is not outside of my athletic ability, at least as an age group finisher. As race day approached, I had radical swings in confidence levels that went from believing I would set my personal record to a spectacular failure on the first loop of the bike.

In 2007, I finished the Wisconsin Ironman in 15:10:42, so I decided to make 15 hours my goal. I honestly didn’t know if I could do it or not. The hilly course favors lighter athletes and at 210 pounds I am definitely not “lighter.”

It seems incomplete to gloss over how much fun we had hanging around Lake Placid in the days before the race, but it is equally impossible to tell about the myriad of details that go into those days. I’ll just say that we spent several days laughing and enjoying ourselves in between moments of abject terror when thoughts of the race suddenly interjected themselves into our consciousness.

I had my daughter with me, and my cousin and her husband showed up Saturday afternoon. Matt’s sister’s bought shirts that said IronMatt on them, and screamed IRONMAN! every time either of us approached. It was a huge amount of fun, and made me laugh every time.

Even with all of the fun, the building intensity of the race could not be ignored. There was a long and difficult course in front of us, and the anticipation could be seen on the faces of every athlete in Lake Placid . I was no exception to this rule.

Pre-Race Morning

Matt and I spent a few minutes with Sabine, and then she went off to finish her own pre-race rituals. There are plenty of last minute things to do, including body marking, pumping the bike tires, dropping off the special needs bags and finally climbing into the wetsuits.

We did all of this on autopilot, making small jokes and last minute “nervous stomach” runs to the porta-johns. Then, finally it was time to walk down to the water to await the starting cannon.

Before we could even get to the lake, the cannon fired!

BOOM!

The race had started without us! Matt and I exchanged panicked looks and then laughed. That was the start for the Pro race, and we had 10 minutes before our race would start.




The Swim (2.4 Miles)

I waded out into the water, gave one last “terrorist fist bump” to Matt before swimming out to find my starting position. Normally I ask the people around me how fast they expect to swim. If I am surrounded by people who swim an hour and five minutes, and I swim an hour thirty then I know to move back a bit. The faster swimmers won’t wait for me, so if I don’t want to get run over I had better start behind them.

This race was different, though, because the faster swimmers were all lined up along the starting line and the slower swimmers lined up on the beach. There were more than fifty yards between them, with only me and one other guy floating in the middle.

I looked at the other guy and said “Aren’t they going to move up?”

"I am from France ! Third time! Good Luck!” he replied in his thick accent.

I laughed and gave him the thumbs up, then moved up to the starting line. It would be half a lap before the people on the beach could catch up, even if they were ten minutes faster than me. I had saved 2 minutes even before the race started!

An interesting thing about the swim in Lake Placid is that there is a yellow nylon rope ten feet below the surface linking the buoys. Whatever it’s intended function, it serves the same purpose as the line on the bottom of a swimming pool. You don’t need to navigate, just swim the line.

Unfortunately, everyone wants to swim the line and there is just no way for twenty five hundred people to swim there. It’s a meat grinder, and if you swim the line you are going to take a beating.

I moved off the line and got ready to start the race.

BOOM!


This time, the cannon was for me and I started out with a lot of power in my stroke. I was directly behind some very fast swimmers, and I wanted to take advantage of the draft for as long as I could hold on.

I was really taking a pounding, but I could feel the speed through the water. If I could stay here for a while, I’d have a pretty good swim. Then I looked down and saw a yellow line under me. Good God, I’m swimming the wire. A hand landed on my legs and shoved them down. I pulled with my arms and kicked harder. An elbow struck my head. I ignored it and focused on the wire.

In addition to easy navigation, the wire is the shortest way to complete the swim. I may be getting beat up, but at least I wouldn’t be swimming any extra distance. There was no way for me to get off the wire, since swimmers were all around me. Like it or not this is where I would be for at least the first lap.

I wasn’t getting beaten too badly but I did have a few times where I got run over. I also ran over a few people, but in all I felt I was having a pretty good swim. The wire wasn’t so bad.

At the end of the first loop we ran out on to the beach and across the timing mat and the guy next to me said “I want to apologize. I have been beating the crap out of you for thirty minutes”

“Have I been giving as good as I am getting?”

“Yeah.”

“No worries, lets do it again.”

With that, we dove back into the water and made a bee line for the wire. The second loop was more of the same and I came out of the water with a personal record of 1:21:44. Ten minutes faster than my Wisconsin time! It was shaping up to be a great race!

The Bike (112 Miles)


I ran through the crowds pumping my fists in the air, I’d already broken one record and was excited to get going on the next event. I saw our superfan families wearing their silver wigs and yelled “PR SWIM!” as I ran past (they heard “blahblahswim!” but cheered anyway).

For the first time, I realized that it was raining. It wasn’t a light drizzle, but a full downpour. I though that it was good that it was pouring rain, because rain this hard wouldn’t last very long.

As it turned out it didn’t rain for long... only fifteen hours.

I grabbed my bike and got started on the ride. In the first several miles of the race, we climb from 1,600 feet to 2,202 feet. The grade isn’t super steep, but it seems to go on forever. I pushed hard on the pedals until I realized that my legs were starting to burn. Oops, it’s not a good idea to burn on the first 10 miles of a 112 mile ride. I backed off the power a little and got into a lower gear. I was able to spin out the hill but my legs were still pumped.

The downhill to Keene is amazing. In dry conditions I would have been doing sixty miles an hour, but in torrential rain I didn’t dare. (Matt dared, he zinged through the section at full speed... woah). I grabbed the back brake and continued to accelerate. Then I grabbed the front brake too, and still continued to speed up.

Finally I squeezed hard on both handles and brought the speed down to a fast but comfortable pace. I sailed downhill for five or ten minutes. My legs recovered nicely, and my heart rate came down to a resting rate. If it wasn’t for the rain pelting my face it would have been a very pleasant section. I tipped my head down to take the rain on the helmet instead of directly in the face and zoomed down the hill.

I grabbed a garbage bag from an aid station to use as a raincoat. It was going to be a long day and I didn’t want to be cold.

The next section wasn’t too difficult but I was careful to leave some strength in reserve. At the end of the loop there would be a twelve mile long climb that went from 800 feet of elevation to 2000 feet of elevation. Of course, it would also be at the end of the second loop. I needed to save something for that climb.

On the out-and-back section of the course I could see how many athletes were in front of me. It looked like half the field, and I added some power to the pedals. Given my running, I knew that if I was going to improve my position in the race, it would have to be on the bike.

I cheered to Matt as we passed and yelled “Go Fast!” Then I realized that “Go IronMatt” would have been better. Oh well, maybe when they make the movie I’ll tell them to change that bit of history.

The next few miles were great. I was passing people two at a time and my legs felt strong. Then I made the turn past our campsite. This was the beginning of the long hill and it was time to use the reserve energy.

I don’t want to pretend that a twelve mile, 1200 foot climb is easy, but when I got to the top I was surprised that it wasn’t as bad as I had predicted. I was at the end of the first loop and I hadn’t blown up. The thought inspired me.

As I sailed through Lake Placid , waving to our superfan’s in silver wigs, I decided that the first loop didn’t hurt too bad. That was a bit of a problem, since every section of an Ironman is supposed to hurt. I didn’t push hard enough to hurt, so I hadn’t gone as fast as I could have. I could go faster and I decided do exactly that on the second loop.

The second loop was a more difficult version of the first. I used more power and higher gears, and passed a lot of people on the hills. The second time, the twelve mile climb hurt. It was just what I had planned to do, and I knew that I had done well on the bike.

I finished with a 7:07:00 at an average of 15.7 miles per hour. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was ten minutes faster than Wisconsin . I was still on track for the fifteen hour finish time.

The Marathon (26.2 Miles)


I grabbed my running shoes and trotted out of the transition area, and as I did I tossed the plastic bag I had been wearing into the garbage. The rain was finally starting to lighten up and I hoped I would see the sun.

I didn’t.

The rain never stopped, and by the second aid station I was wearing another plastic bag which I wore for the rest of the race. I used my typical run-walk-run style, and I wasn’t feeling great. The run course is very hilly and my feet had been soaking wet for eight hours. I could already feel blisters beginning to form.

I saw Sabine on the end of her first loop, and Matt a few miles behind her. We shouted encouragement to each other and kept going.

At some point, a guy named Joe caught up with me. He was doing his first Ironman, and was a much faster runner than me. We started playing a game where he would pick a point and then blast off towards it at an eight minute per mile pace. I would run my typical eleven minute pace. He would stop running at whatever landmark we picked, and I would keep running until I caught up to him.

It was miserable but effective. Using him as a pace setter forced me to push myself and we were making progress. We used this game for miles and miles.

Eventually, late in the second loop, I was no longer able to keep up with Joe, and waved him on. He waved back and kept running.

Now, my legs were cramped and my feet blistered. I was feeling the chill of the rain even inside the garbage bag rain coat and every step hurt. It was hurting like hell, and in a strange way it was comforting. I knew I was going as fast as I possibly could, and that’s all anyone can do.

I came across a runner who was shivering and walking at a snails pace. I asked him if he was OK, and he said “I’m hypothermic. I have to get out of the race”

I gave him my plastic bag in spite of his protests and told him to finish. He was only a few miles from the end, and had hours to get there. I hope he did.

At the next aid station I got another bag, and the volunteers were handing out space blankets. I stuck with what had been working, and wore the bag for the rest of the race. Water was dripping off my hat and I started matching my pace to the pace of the droplets. Anything to take my mind off my legs.

As I got to the final hill on the course, I checked my watch. It was 9:20pm and I had a bit more than a mile to run. I could see that I would make my fifteen hour goal, but another thought snuck into my head. If I could do a fifteen minute pace for one last mile, I could finish at 14:45.

A fifteen minute mile isn’t exactly a record breaking pace. In fact it’s hardly a fast walk. But most of the way was uphill, and I was out of gas. The last mile may as well have been a hundred miles.

Still, the allure of a 14:45 finish was strong and I reminded myself that it’s supposed to hurt like hell. That part, at least, I had gotten right.

I picked up the pace, nearly out pacing the geriatric couple who were making their way up the sidelines. The lady looked at me and waved a clapping hand noise maker and said “good job.”

I didn’t have the energy to thank her.

The last mile took forever, but little encouragements cropped up. I passed Joe on the other side of the turnaround and slapped his hand as we passed. The sounds of the finish line cheers started to reach my ears and I could feel how close I was. I glanced at my watch every twenty minutes only to discover that twenty seconds had passed. I tossed the plastic bag at the last aid station, and forced myself on.

In the last stretch, my daughter was standing at the chute waiting to run with me across the finish line. She reached out to my hand, and I told her to run. She took off running, dragging me along for the last fifty yards. I hadn’t run this fast in fifteen miles.

Finally, we crossed the finish line. With six seconds remaining I did what was, for me, the impossible. I set my personal record on the run and finished at 14:45:54!