The following is an update from CBC staffers Loreen Pindera and David Gutnick after Ironman Lake Placid 2011, which took place on Sunday, July 24 (Spoiler: David Gutnick is now an Ironman).

 

July 26, 2011 - It was an idyllic day.  The hot humid weather broke overnight Saturday.  We listened to the sound of rain on our tent all night - but Sunday dawned cool and clear.  Wake-up time: 4 a.m.
First thing: brushing the sand out of our shorts.
Second thing: ignoring the voices in our heads saying that this was all a mistake.
Third thing: listening to the other voice, "calm down." I said, "smile and enjoy."

The big news at the start line - no wetsuits for anyone who wanted to try to qualify for the World Championship in Kona in the fall.  The water was too warm.  The wetsuit is constricting but it keeps you buoyant and takes several minutes off your swim time.  After months of trying to plan for every possibility, each of us had to decide then and there whether to swim fast and safe or slower but try for a coveted spot for Kona.  Loreen decided to go without...David, who is a weaker swimmer, decided to wear his.

The swim was - in a word - AWFUL.  Imagine treading water in a deep, dark, cramped aquarium tank of caffeine-cranked bodies, waiting for the cannon to start the race.  Everyone was smiling, wishing each other well and dreading the next few minutes.  Finally, the cannon blast.  Everyone surges forward over, under and into each other - a sea of churning bodies.  Loreen, wetsuit-less, had her heart rate monitor ripped off her by some anonymous body...and her goggles knocked off her head (found the goggles, lost the monitor in the bottom of Mirror Lake).

Loreen: The first thousand metres took forever. I tried to wedge myself into a spot where I could move forward without being kicked in the face or grabbed from behind.  At last, around the big buoy (1000 metre mark), who do I run into amid those twenty-eight hundred bodies but DAVID! He was smiling, relaxed, his eye on the buoy-line set just under the surface and still swimming!  We treaded water for a second and cheered each other on. I, too, found a spot near the buoy line and found my rhythm, at last ...an hour later, completely unplanned, we came out of the water at the same time.

David: So I didn't swallow more than half a gallon of water, didn't sink and am not dizzy...I jog over to a couple of energetic women volunteers who yell "lie down" and they grab the legs of the wetsuit and pull. And off it comes like I am a snake shedding a skin. I kiss the volunteers on the cheeks (without them I would have made a fool of myself), grab the suit and head off to my bike.

Loreen:  Experience paid off. I was quick in my transition: Out of the water, cross the timing mat, sprint for the change tent, strap on helmet - check - sunglasses - check - race belt - check.  In Ironman, you have the luxury of a volunteer for every competitor.  She is hovering, asking to help.  She sprays sunscreen on my back while I am strapping on cycling shoes.  Check. Check. Head for the racked bike and roar out of the Olympic skating rink that serves as Ironman Central.  There is a traffic jam at the bike start...waiting, trying not to think about the seconds a-wasting, remember the bike ride out is a long, twisty descent where most accidents happen as inexperienced cyclists try to clip in or check their watches while maneuvering down the hill at breakneck speed.  Careful, careful, careful.

The bike ride was awesome.  Blue sky.  I was so relieved to be over the worst.  I didn't even notice the long, slow climb out of town.  The first 70 kilometres are a blur.  It is a hilly, demanding course. Concentrate on the descents, don't check the speedometer, just hang on tight and stay out of everyone's way.  Take it easy on the climbs.  There is still a long way to go.

The last 20 kilometres of each bike loop back up into Lake Placid is all uphill but this climb, we have practiced several times.  It is nothing compared to the ascents in the Laurentians (Loreen reminds herself.)  The ascents all have names, chalked on the shoulder...Big Cherry, Mama Bear and Baby Bear.  At last, Papa Bear, the last big climb.  Almost back in Lake Placid and the crowds line the road, cheering us on...we make the climb easy.   Turn left, head into town...I'm enjoying the flat ground and the supporters so much, IU get completely distracted and ride past the special needs zone where my liquid nutrition for the second leg of the bike race is waiting.  I have to pull my bike off the course and wait for a volunteer to go back and look for it.  Agh!  I watch as dozens of cyclists pedal past.

At 135 kilometres, David catches up with me and passes!

David: Our bikes have these things called Power Meters; they tell us how much force we are using as we pedal. The more force, the faster you go.and the more tired you get. So racing is about balancing the watts and the speed...too many watts and then you get tired and slow down...too few and you are too fresh and too slow...this is about going as fast as you can after all.

I was going too slow...he should have caught Loreen earlier.

 I am getting bored.  Six hours is a long time to be sitting on a bike watching other bikes, watching crowds of folks, looking at trees.

So, what to think about?

I have tried to memorize songs...but the problem is that I have no musical memory.  The only song I can remember is by the late Montreal singer Lhasa de Sela:

I made a small small song
made a small small song
I sang it all night long
All through
The wind and rain
Until the morning came

This song is my small song
This song is my small song
I sang it all night long
And when
The morning came
I had to start all over again

Around and around in my head it goes. And goes...and goes.....

One of our fellow Ironman is a Montreal heart surgeon. He tells me that at the beginning of a long ride he chooses a patient and then over the ride proceeds to do an operation ....from scrubbing up to putting in the stitches.....

I stick to Lhasa.

Loreen:  Heading up into Lake Placid a second time, at last you know why some would-be Ironman named those ascents The Bears.  Oof.  How did it feel so easy the first time?  The kilometres are clicking past until at last all that is left is the ride through town and the wild crowd that lines the streets to cheer us on.   Into transition and out again, bike shoes discarded running shoes on, at the start of the run and who is standing there but David!  He should be miles ahead by now!

David: But I am not. There was some confusion when I got off my bike and a volunteer whisked it away with my watch still on it. I need that heart monitor watch as it tells me my heart beat and knowing that will keep me going at the right pace. One thirty beats a minute too slow, one sixty too fast.

Ahhhh the right pace. Pace has become my new religion...some folks can listen to their own heartbeat and run according to how they feel. I am not there yet. I am still a rookie at this, so I feel I need to see some numbers.

Finally my watch is found - a small miracle amongst the noise, the confusion of hundreds of bikers arriving, changing, drinking, slathering on sunscreen and downing goops and gels and hitting the port-a-potties.

And there is Loreen...and so...well we have trained together for a year and a half. so why not start running together and see what will happen? And off we go.

I have long legs. Loreen has short ones. I run like an awkward Gazelle, she runs like a Corgie. We are told the most efficient pace is 180 steps a minute. So we count out loud. And run and run and run. Lhasa is still in my head "I made a small small/ song made a small small song." Loreen is saying "one step at a time, one aid station at a time."

We pant in harmony.

We walk up the big hills and zoom down, "free speed," is what the books say: "Make gravity a friend."

Every aid station we down water and chicken broth and gels and salt tablets and shove ice cubes into our hats into our tops and shorts.

I think of mass migrations, of refugees fleeing ...and of refugees being welcomed.

And we will not bore you with the rest...suffice to say that if you smile pain does seem more bearable

  

And then there is the finish line. we are still together and hold hands as we cross it.

 

Then it is a blur of cheering and volunteers grabbing our timing chips, handing out hats and medals and foil blankets and bottled water.

The cannon went off at 7 a.m. sharp

After ten thousand swim strokes, fifty four thousand pedal strokes and twenty five thousand steps the Ironman is over.

 It is 7:44 p.m.

 

David Gutnick finished 27th in his age group 55-60 (out of 116) and Loreen Pindera finished 11th in her age group 50-55 out of 63. They both finished with the same time: 12:44:44.