Ironman Wisconsin : Official Thread (Page 44)

X2

My favorite so far.

X eleventy billion.

My wife pulled into the Terrace this AM for work and the IM trucks pulled in right behind her. Cool.

Alright gang, in the interest of being able to connect with as many of you as possible, let's post pics or at least a description of what you'll be wearing / riding out there!  Though I've got the soul of a Donkey, I'm racing for Racers Against Childhood Cancer this year, and will be wearing the team kit.  There will be an EAWWW on my calf though, no doubt!  Here's me, and I'll be on the tri bike.  The yellow RACC wheel decals should make me pretty easy to spot on the bike.

Whoa....How did you learn how to fly? That's cool...

Watching you fly past me earlier in that run!

He does look like a yellow and black featherless albatross trying to take flight. 

Edited by 1stTimeTri 2009-09-09 9:38 AM

IM Moo'ers and Volunteers:

Here is a recount of my experience last year as a spectator, which I meant to post but never got around to it. Now seems like a good time. Follow the link to see the whole thing.

You can do this.

September 12, 2008
Madison, WI

This isn’t a real race report. You won’t see any split times, heart rate zones, anything like that. In fact, I didn’t even enter this year’s Ironman Wisconsin. But I did participate...as spectator. And I wanted to share those experiences, which were far beyond what I expected.

I had completed the last two IMWI’s and decided that my body needed to take this year off. But I wasn’t going to miss watching it for anything. In fact, I purposely took the redeye flight from San Francisco, where I was attending a conference, so I could catch most of the action.

As the plane approached the Madison airport a little after 7AM, I got a good vantage of Lake Monona. It was a little too far off to actually see what was going on, but I knew, and I got goosebumps just thinking about it. The sun was coming up over Lake Monona. It looked like it was going to be a glorious day.

http://research3.bus.wisc.edu/mod/resource/view.php?id=624

A good friend and training buddy just sent me this.....it's about Canada, but it's great!

You guys have done everything possible to prepare for a great race, and 
now you are ready.  Have a great race, but remember to have fun and savor 
every moment.  Especially Linda: there's something magic about your first 
IM, so enjoy it to the fullest.

Here's an old essay written by a guy named Bob Mina about IM Canada.  I 
know the location isn't right, but it's a great narrative about where 
you've been and where you are going.  Have a great race!

        Art


By Bob Mina:

Right now you've all entered the taper. Perhaps you've been at this a few 
months, perhaps you've been at this a few years. For some of you this is 
your first IM, for others, a long-overdue welcome back to a race that few 
can match.

You've been following your schedule to the letter. You've been piling on 
the mileage, piling up the laundry, and getting a set of tan lines that 
will take until November to erase. Long rides were followed by long runs, 
which both were preceeded by long swims, all of which were followed by 
recovery naps that were longer than you slept for any given night during 
college.

You ran in the snow.
You rode in the rain.
You ran in the heat.
You ran in the cold.

You went out when others stayed home.
You rode the trainer when others pulled the covers over their heads.

You have survived the Darwinian progression that is an Ironman summer, and 
now the hardest days are behind you. Like a climber in the Tour de France 
coming over the summit of the penultimate climb on an alpine stage, you've 
already covered so much ground...there's just one more climb to go. You 
shift up, you take a drink, you zip up the jersey; the descent lays before 
you...and it will be a fast one.

Time that used to be filled with never-ending work will now be filling 
with silent muscles, taking their final, well-earned rest. While this 
taper is something your body desperately needs, Your mind, cast off to the 
background for so very long, will start to speak to you.

It won't be pretty.

It will bring up thoughts of doubt, pain, hunger, thirst, failure, and 
loss. It will give you reasons why you aren't ready. It will try and make 
one last stand to stop you, because your brain doesn't know what the body 
already does. Your body knows the truth:

You are ready.

Your brain won't believe it. It will use the taper to convince you that 
this is foolish - that there is too much that can go wrong.

You are ready.

Finishing an Ironman is never an accident. It's the result of dedication, 
focus, hard work, and belief that all the long runs in January, long rides 
in April, and long swims every damn weekend will be worth it. It comes 
from getting on the bike, day in, day out. It comes from long, solo runs. 
From that first long run where you wondered, "How will I ever be ready?" 
to the last long run where you smiled to yourself with one mile to 
go...knowing that you'd found the answer.

It is worth it. Now that you're at the taper, you know it will be worth 
it. The workload becomes less. The body winds up and prepares, and you 
just need to quiet your worried mind. Not easy, but you can do it.

You are ready.

You will walk into the lagoon on August 30th with 2000 other wide-open 
sets of eyes. You will look upon the sea of humanity, and know that you 
belong. You'll feel the chill of the water crawl into your wetsuit, and 
shiver like everyone else, but smile because the day you have waited for 
for so VERY long is finally here.

The bagpipers will walk across the beach. Steve King will ask you to sing 
along. You will.

O Canada!
Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all thy sons command.

With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!

From far and wide,
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

God keep our land glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

You will tear up in your goggles. Everyone does.

The helicopters will roar overhead.
Maranatha will roar. The splashing will surround you.

You'll stop thinking about Ironman, because you're now racing one.

The swim will be long - it's long for everyone, but you'll make it. You'll 
watch as the Penticton Lakeside Hotel grows and grows, and soon you'll 
hear the end. You'll come up the beach and head for the wetsuit strippers. 
Three people will get that sucker off before you know what's happening, 
then you'll head for the bike.

In the shadows on Main Street you'll spin out of town - the voices, the 
cowbells, and the curb-to-curb chalk giving you a hero's sendoff. You 
won't wipe the smile off your face for miles as you whisk along the 
lakeside, past fully stocked, silent aid stations for the run to come.

You'll spin up McLean Creak Road. You'll roll down towards Osoyoos, past 
the vineyards glowing in the morning sun. You'll settle down to your race. 
The crowds will spread out on the road. You'll soon be on your bike, 
eating your food on your schedule, controlling your Ironman.

Richter Pass will come. Everyone talks about it, but it's really nothing. 
You'll know this halfway up, as you're breathing easy and climbing 
smoothly. Look to your right. Look how high you're climbing. Look at all 
the bikes below, still making their way there. You're ahead of them. All 
of them.

You'll climb over Richter, and descend to the valley below. You'll ride 
the rollers, one at a time. You'll start to feel that morning sun turn to 
afternoon sun. It's warmer now. Maybe it's hot. Maybe you're not feeling 
so good now. You'll keep riding. You'll keep drinking. You'll keep moving. 
After all, this is just a long training day with valet parking and 
catering, right?

You'll put the rollers behind you. You'll head into the Cawston out and 
back. You'll put on your game face, fighting the urge to feel down as you 
ride the wrong way for what seems like hours. 10 miles in, you reach 
special needs, fuel up, and head out.

By now it'll be hot. You'll be tired. Doubts will fight for your focus. 
Everyone struggles here. You've been on that bike for a few hours, and 
stopping would be nice, but you won't - not here. Not today. You'll ride 
on leaving Cawston behind you and head for the final showdown at Yellow 
Lake.

You'll grind the false flats to the climb. You'll know you're almost 
there. You'll fight for every inch of road. You'll make the turn towards 
the summit as the valley walls close in for the kill, and put your head 
down. The crowd will come back to you here - the cars are always waiting 
to cross the summit, and you'll soon be surrounded in the glorious noise 
that is the final climb of Ironman Canada. Let their energy push you. Let 
them see your eyes. Smile when they cheer for you - your body will get 
just that little bit lighter.

Grind.
Fight.
Suffer.
Persevere.
Summit.

Just like that, you'll be descending. 12 miles to go, and no climbing 
left. You'll plunge down the road, swooping from corner to corner, 
chaining together the turns, tucking on the straights, letting your legs 
recover for the run to come - soon! You'll roll back into town - you'll 
see people running out. You'll think to yourself, "Wasn't I just here?" 
The noise will grow. The chalk dust will hang in the air - you're back in 
Penticton, with only 26.2 miles to go. You'll relax a little bit, knowing 
that even if you get a flat tire or something breaks here, you can run the 
damn bike into T2.

You'll roll into transition. 100 volunteers will fight for your bike. 
You'll give it up and not look back. You'll have your bag handed to you, 
and into the tent you'll go. You'll change. You'll load up your pockets, 
and open the door to the last long run of your Ironman summer - the one 
that counts.

You'll take that first step of a thousand...and you'll smile. You'll know 
that the bike won't let you down now - the race is down to your own two 
feet. The same crowd that cheered for you in the shadows of the morning 
will cheer for you in the brilliant sunshine of a Penticton summer Sunday. 
High-five people on the way out. Smile. Enjoy it. This is what you've 
worked for all year long.

That first mile will feel great. So will the second.
By mile 3, you probably won't feel so good.

That's okay. You knew it couldn't all be that easy. You'll settle down 
just like you did on the bike, and get down to your pace. You'll see the 
leaders coming back the other way. Some will look great - some won't. You 
might feel great, you might not. No matter how you feel, don't panic - 
this is the part of the day where whatever you're feeling, you can be sure 
it won't last.

You'll keep moving. You'll keep drinking. You'll keep eating. Maybe you'll 
be right on plan - maybe you won't. If you're ahead of schedule, don't 
worry - believe. If you're behind, don't panic - roll with it. Everyone 
comes up with a brilliant race plan for Ironman, and then everyone has to 
deal with the reality that planning for something like Ironman is like 
trying to land a man on the moon. By remote control. Blindfolded.

How you react to the changes in your plan will dictate your day. Don't 
waste energy worrying about things - just do what you have to when you 
have to, and keep moving. Keep eating. Keep drinking. Just don't sit down 
- don't EVER sit down.

You'll make it to halfway at OK Falls. You'll load up on special needs. 
Some of what you packed will look good, some won't. Eat what looks good, 
toss the rest. Keep moving. Start looking for people you know. Cheer for 
people you don't. You're headed in - they're not. They want to be where 
you are, just like you wanted to be when you saw all those fast people 
headed into town. Share some energy - you'll get it right back.

Run if you can.
Walk if you have to.
Just keep moving.

The miles will drag on. The brilliant Penticton sunshine will yawn, and 
head for the mountains behind the bike course...behind that last downhill 
you flew down all those hours ago. You'll be coming up to those aid 
stations you passed when you started the bike...fully alive with people, 
music, and chicken soup. TAKE THE SOUP. Keep moving.

You'll soon only have a few miles to go. You'll start to believe that 
you're going to make it. You'll start to imagine how good it's going to 
feel when you get there. Let those feelings drive you on. When your legs 
just don't want to move anymore, think about what it's going to be like 
when someone catches you...puts a medal over your head...

...all you have to do is get there.

You'll start to hear town. People you can't see in the twilight will cheer 
for you. They'll call out your name. Smile and thank them. They were there 
when you left on the bike, and when you came back, when you left on the 
run, and now when you've come back.

You'll enter town. You'll start to realize that the day is almost over. 
You'll be exhausted, wiped out, barely able to run a 10-minute mile (if 
you're lucky), but you'll ask yourself, "Where did the whole day go?" 
You'll be standing on the edge of two feelings - the desire to finally 
stop, and the desire to take these last moments and make them last as long 
as possible.

You'll hit mile 25. You'll turn onto Lakeside Drive. Your Ironman Canada 
will have 1.2 miles - just 2KM left in it.

You'll run. You'll find your legs. You'll fly. You won't know how, but you 
will run. You'll make the turn in front of the Sicamous in the dark, and 
head for home. The lights will grow brighter, brighter, and brighter. Soon 
you'll be able to hear the music again. This time, it'll be for keeps.

You'll listen for Steve King, or Mike Reilly, or Whit Raymond. Soon 
they'll see you. Soon, everyone will see you. You'll run towards the 
lights, between the fences, and into the nightsun made just for you.

They'll say your name.
You'll keep running.
Nothing will hurt.

The moment will be yours - for one moment, the entire world will be 
looking at you and only you.

You'll break the tape. The flash will go off.

You'll stop. You'll finally stop. Your legs will wobble their last, and 
suddenly...be capable of nothing more.

Someone will catch you.
You'll lean into them.

It will suddenly hit you.
You will be an Ironman.

You are ready.




Edited by velcromom 2009-09-09 10:32 AM

Great spectator report Mick!  I was at the finish at midnight last year too.  Got video of the woman finishing just seconds before midnight--it's in Scoobysdad's documentary, The Distance.  Good stuff!

I probably won't be wearing the attire in my avatar. I have not decided my race day attire yet but will most likely be my Team Aquaphor stuff. My bike is a white Scott Plasma with a NeverReach hydration system on it so I can't be missed on the bike.

http://www.beginnertriathlete.com/discussion/photos/get-photo.asp?p...









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Oh yea, I'll be sporting my hair too!!

No pictures that I've bought of me in my TRIbe jersey......so.   Silver Specialized bike, BRIGHT blue/yellow TRIbe jersey and/or jacket.  Black/blue Oooomph shorts on bike, dark gray/white running shorts.  Black arm warmers if needed......Black TYR running cap.  Dark hair, blue eyes behind Maui Jim sunglasses.  I'm hoping to be smiling alot!!  Hubby will be in the same jersey, so look for him, too!

You guys make me glad I'm only 30 minutes from the Terrace. If I ever get so far as to do a IM, well, I don't have to worry about packing everything.

Given all of the options, Laura, I think i'll find you!  look for me.......we should be racked relatively close together!


......and I want a vanderkitten jersey!!!

Edited by velcromom 2009-09-09 11:46 AM

THEY UPDATED THE WEATHER FORECAST!!!!

YAAAA!!!

78 and Partly Cloudy!!!! (might be a tad warm...but no rain is good, right?)

SO excited (can you tell my explanation points) for all you Moooooo'ers!!

Edited by miami9296 2009-09-09 12:19 PM

I want a vedervanderkitten jersey too! der hey

me -

except i will be either sporting the donkey top or an emery's logo'd outfit........

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I'm all donkey on the inside, but kitten on the outside.

MEOW.