OK, I'm not an old timer (been around since 2001), so I never saw tri baby's original IMC
race report.
Tom's post (below) got me hooked and I wet looking for the rest. Unfortunately, Google's archives
won't pull up part VII or IX. Anyone know where I can find the full text?
John
On 8/1/03 7:20 PM, in article, "Tom Henderson" <
[email protected]> wrote:
>
[email protected] (Bob Mina) wrote in
news:[email protected]:
>
>> I'm not precisely and old-timer, but I still consider myself an old-timer (of sorts). I'll take
>> my best guess, however. Is that from Tricia Richter's 1997 IMC Race Report? I read that thing
>> almost weekly leading up to my first at IMC 1998 to get psyched up.
>>
>
> We have a winner!
>
> I guess I'm not really an old timer either, because I don't recall the DeBoom/Deblah thread.
>
> For the record, here's TriBaby's original post:
>
> From: Tricia Richter (
[email protected]) Subject: O Canada! Part II View: Complete
> Thread (3 articles) Original Format Newsgroups: rec.sport.triathlon Date: 1997/09/16
>
> Yeeeeehaw!
>
> My Ironday begins with a whoop and a bellyflop into the shallow water. As it turns out, our
> starting position couldn't have been more perfect; a nice cushion of water enables me to get
> horizontal and begin swimming right away, and while it's certainly crowded, it's hardly the
> free-for-all one might have expected. Heck, I've had tougher swim starts at Danskin.
>
> The usual bumping and jockeying for position phases me not at all; it's just like any other race,
> I've been through this dozens of times and am quite at home. Stroke, stroke, splash, breathe, lift
> your head to sight, swim around the guy in front of you, stroke, roll, kick, breathe, navigate,
> kick the guy behind off of your legs, sprint for the gap between the two fellows in front of you,
> stroke, stroke....
>
> So, here I am, at last the moment has come and I am beginning my very first Ironman. Even now, I
> can't help but see the absurdity of what I'm doing. I'm not the least bit fearful or nervous.
> Believe it or not, the overriding emotion of the moment is pure, unadulterated amusement. I can't
> help it, it's just too damned funny! *I'm* doing an Ironman! And what's running through my head?
> "Vogue! Vogue! Let your body go with the flow, baby, you know you can do it! Strike a
> pose---Vogue! Vogue!"
>
> I'm a poser! What the hell do I think I'm doing here?? At odd moments throughout the preceding
> days I would burst forth in peals of spontaneous laughter that left Skippy glancing at me sideways
> with not a little concern. Had TriBaby finally flipped over the edge? Was she going to lose it
> before she even got to the starting line here?
>
> Naw! If anything, the laughter offered proof of my sanity, indicating I was well aware of the
> ridiculousness of my presence in Penticton for this event. I was going to tackle the legendary
> 140.6, and it was just too silly for words. I *had* to laugh. The alternative was too scary to
> contemplate....
>
> So now here I am, stroking my way merrily through the unceasing melee of thrashing arms and legs
> as the litany of classic stars (and others) dances through my brain: "Greta Garbo, and Monroe;
> Dietrich and DiMaggio; Marlon Brando, Jimmy Dean--on the cover of a magazine; Grace Kelly; Harlow,
> Jean---picture of a beauty queen; Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers danced on air. They had
> style, they had grace; Rita Hayworth gave good face. Lauren, Katharine, Lana, too; Bette
> Davis---we love you. Ladies with an attitude; fellas that were in the mood. Don't just stand
> there---let's get to it: Strike a pose, there's nothing to it---VOGUE!"
>
> Attitude, yeah! That's what I've got! And it's gonna get me through this thing. But attitude or no
> attitude, I sure do wish the pack would break up; this is getting downright tiresome. That's the
> trouble with being a perfectly mediocre swimmer---you're surrounded by all of the other mediocre
> swimmers and you never spread out. Darn! And the chop out here, Ay yi yi! It's almost like
> Alcatraz. The stiff wind blowing across the Lake from the North is kicking up a steady parade of
> 6-inch swells that pack just enough punch to be annoying.
>
> Well, I Vogue my way successfully through this mess to the first turnaround boat and spin
> stylishly around it to the cheers of the occupants. The short leg to the next turnaround boat
> worries me a bit because I can't see the line of buoys, so I put my trust in my fellow
> mediocrities and follow their lead. I wind up zigging a little bit but it doesn't appear to be too
> damaging. At last I reach the second boat and swing gratefully around it, carefully avoiding the
> crush of swimmers directly on the keel. OK, here we go, the final leg, and am I glad! I'm gettin'
> mighty tired of swimming. I resist the temptation to cop a look at my watch--don't do it, kid,
> just keep swimming, less than a mile left to go.
>
> The noxious chop that plagued us on the way out now gently helps to push us back toward shore.
> Thank heaven for small favors! Thank heaven, too, that the overcast is keeping the early morning
> sun from blinding us on the return trip. Of course, that overcast might not prove to be such a
> good thing later on if it doesn't let up, but for the moment, it is a good thing.
>
> All right, let's be honest now; I'm gettin' REAL bored here! I want this swim to be over 5 minutes
> ago. "Vogue" has worn a wearisome groove in my mental record player and I'm ready for a little
> change of pace. I keep looking up to sight on the hot air balloon back at the transition area, but
> Damn! It just never seems to get any closer. After three or four such disappointments, I begin to
> get cranky. Will this never end??
>
> At about this juncture I encounter The Feet. The Feet are attached to a maddening man with a beard
> wearing an Ironman wetsuit who just happens to swim at EXACTLY my pace. So what's wrong with that?
> Well, nothing, except that right now I'm really cranky, and all I keep seeing is this guy's feet,
> and they're long and white and skinny and THEY NEVER MOVE. I swear, the man never kicked, not
> once; he just dragged his long skinny white feet along behind him--and directly in front of me. I
> cannot escape them! I try swimming to the left, but somehow, The Feet appear once again
> immediately in front of. Now I veer to the right, heading directly for the next buoy. No dice; as
> if by magic, The Feet appear in all their inexplicably maddening glory, directly before me.
> Aaaaagh! Is there no escape??
>
> At last, in a spasm of desperation, I summon all the sprinting power I have left in me and
> blast away from The Feet in a decisive manner. WHEW! At last I have lost The Feet! They'll
> plague me no more! And look, the shore's only about 200 meters distant. Hammer time, kiddo,
> let's bring it home.
>
> Stroking away for all I'm worth, I remind myself of all those awful 100 meter repeats in training
> and try to replicate the effort. Sure, it hurts, but let it hurt---you're almost done with this
> bloody swim! With just about 30 meters left to go I switch gears and begin dolphining as hard as I
> can in the shallows. Transition area dead ahead, Captain! We're almost home!
>
> One last dolphin, and now it's time to run. Hit the split button on the watch---1:12:00 flat,
> right on schedule. Reach for the wetsuit zip cord as I stride awkwardly to shore and peel the top
> of the wetsuit down, catching the sleeve stupidly on my HRM receiver, damn! All right, all right,
> don't sweat it, you've got all day. First course is finished, now it's time to serve up a little
> bike ride....
>
> Tri-Baby
>
> _
> - o ' - __o - </\_ ` ' - \< - __/\ /\o_ - (()) (()) - /
> ^^^^^^^^^^
>
> "REAL Triathletes don't draft." *** Ironman Canada 1997 ***
