American Zofingen: A Cult Classic
Here's what my last two and a half weeks consisted of:
- Fly to Utah, drive to St George, race the 70.3 there (as reported previously), then drive total of 1200 miles in 4 days through southern/Eastern Utah, visiting 4 nat'l parks in 4 days.
- Fly home, do three 24 hour call shifts in the next seven days. In the middle of that week, develop a severe toothache requiring Percocet, bike 70 miles in a diabetes charity ride, visit the dentist, doctor, and endodontist for an emergency root canal after deciding I did not want to be an oxycodone junkie.
- Fly to Newark, drive to Kerhonkson New York in the Catskills.
- Meet with a bunch of ENers I've known for years but never met: Thanks for the memories, Mike, Cary, Jess, John, JT, Keith, Evan, Pete, and others whom I'm probably forgetting, but I get to do that at my age.
- After the vets start telling all the scary stories about how hard, how much of a slog, how *desperate* one feels during this "race", I come up with a new aphorism:
"Proper pacing and a positive mental attitude will conquer any race conditions." I proceed at dinner that night to show how mental jujitsu can turn any seeming negative thought into a positive, and then on race day how the principle is to be applied.
- Run/Bike/Run/Bike/Run 5/28/5/28/5 miles in 52F drizzerable weather, covering 6150 feet of elevation gain on wheels and 1750 on foot much of the uphill on slippery clay, rocks and roots. This took me 7.5 hours, and involved a bout with hypothermia on the first bike loop (I wisely wore my heavy waterproof fleece IM finisher's jacket on the second), and a truly messy bike tube change on the second.
- Drink Irish Vitamin Water (a shot of Jim Beam added) from my truly giant first place finisher's beer stein commemorating my day in the 'Gunks. It must be noted there was no second place finisher in my AG; indeed, I was 5 years older than any other finisher.
- Take a shower with my bike to get us both clean and warm again.
- Drive back to Newark, and thence onto SeaTac the next day.
- Whew! I need a day off, so I do laundry and pedal for 4 (four) minutes on the trainer, before I realise that's a dumb idea.
- This morning, spend another 2 hours with the endodontist for the permanent root canal filling procedure.
OK, maybe I overbooked myself a little bit, but that's kinda the story of my life. In all seriousness, I added the American Zofingen to my schedule this year despite the giant hole it put into my life for two reasons: see a bunch of ENers I would not otherwise get a chance to meet, and more important, race for all those who no longer can.
This race IS called the Chris Gleason Middle Distance Duathlon. I never met Chris in person. But I've felt a huge bond with him, not simply because we'd chat in forums and I'd always learn from him, but also because, on the day I "came back all the way" and won again at IM AZ, the first thing I found out on entering the tavern to celebrate is what happened to Chris G. earlier that day in Philadelphia. (For those who don't know, this gregarious, giving 40 year old collapsed and died in the final mile of the Philly Marathon.) During the race last Sunday, as I finished up the last run, I went over in my mind all the people I've known, my age or younger, who gave so much to help me and others in life, who are no longer with us, and especially those who'd want to be racing that day but can't. It's our job, those who remain, to carry on in their memory. I'm reminded of a song from 40 years ago, one I'd forgotten all about until I heard it on my iPod last month on a long run. It's by the Eagles, and it's about a long-lost singer who influenced them and many others, and whom I still listen to all these years later, Gram Parsons:
"No man's got it made, till he's far beyond the pain; and we who must remain, go on living just the same." (from "My Man", On The Border)
Comments
Such a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Al! LOVE the Gram Parsons quote!
You are an inspiration to me — if I am not sure whether I should do something or not, I often think to myself, what would Al do in this situation?
Unfortunately, sometimes I just don't think!
And as I think I mentioned, I thought of what you mentioned at dinner the night before - about racing for those who can't - during my second run loop, when in pain, muddy, wet, cold and wanting a beer - and it all put it in perspective and I smiled and picked up what little pace I had.
Very much a race that we'll all remember for a long time and thanks for the report.