Thirty-Three and Change

m TINLEU TALKS Northern versus Southern California, just after Mile 23 and I had concluded the worst. two golden places in triathlon history, Standing on the side of the road, no obvious two blond kids chasing some Valhalla vehicle in sight, just an empty, pre-Costco Kona of their own making. landscape and the hint of a stale onshore breeze. As the afternoon clouds rolled Was it an illusion or an omen? A ghost in and my confidence slipped away, who seemed to know tenacity better than I I could only focus on how easy it knew myself was to lose. Dave Scott had garnered Dave doesnt look so good, she said. He's not the fastest split times in all three running as perky as you. sports at the October 1982 race. I Perky? Where's your computer and your kept thinking that when I had told poker face? Can you please just leave me alone? a reporter that Dave was now "the I'll see you at the finish line, OK? Just a few more man" I would soon regret the as• miles to stomp on my integrity. signment of that label. Two-twenty, she said, you re only two minutes We'd passed the airport turn- and 20 seconds behind Dave. off on our way back to the pier, Was that possible? And if so, what the hell but I wondered if I were the only am I supposed to do with that information? one who could see out over the There are times in an athlete's life that po• lower Hamakua Coast and all that larize all that happens in their careers, chasm it would come to mean to both of moments that you can still viscerally evoke even us. There was a helicopter hovering in those sunset years when a plaid blanket covers in the distance but it appeared as a your spindly and aged legs that rock in a corner bothersome fly that won't leave your of the frighteningly still room. Like a death, a peripheral vision regardless of your birth or an airplane near-disaster, nothing you swatting hands. do afterward will ever be the same as before. Thirty-Three I came up on Dave's spotter, Pat Feeney, I take a deep breath and jump. a likable professor of physics who could look I dont care ififs 2:20 or 22 minutes. IfVm and Change at my stride length and calculate the amount going to lose Til do it on my own terms. An of potassium, water and sheer luck that Dave increasing tempo catalyzed by a thing much ]Y SCOTT TINLEY would have to ingest to win the event. deeper than the self-pity that had drained my Pat—I gave him my best puppy dog look- resolve, something primal and essential began I'm nearing Mile 20 of the marathon at How far up is Dave^. to rise from the blood in my shoes. And when the 1983 Ironman in Kona. It s not called the Nothing. it settled somewhere between my heart and my world championship but anybody who counts I watched the whiz kid plug some numbers eyes I realized that there are both tragic irony knows it's the cruelest, baddest, toughest one-day into a breadbox-sized computer and jump into and great lessons in the world of sport. show in all of endurance sports. The man who a waiting town car. If a 6:30 mile pace feels better than 7:30, leads me by nearly six minutes with just more It's meaningless, I kept telling myself There why not run six minutes or faster? What is pain than six miles left knows that. And I know it is no way that you can catch Dave. He's "the but a feeling as transitory as regret or guilt? It's too. But in that one-minute-per-mile chasm man." You told everybody that. And had meant it. always better to burn out than to fade away. lay the difference—Dave Scott respects it, but Between Mile 20 and Mile 23 my world I round the corner onto Ali'i Drive and I only acknowledge it. was doing its best to shift on its axis. There s know that the sport and my respect for it would We'd started the run together; had ridden something here for the taking, one voice would say. never be the same. I'd tanked, and the knowledge the last few miles through town trying to size You cant take what you didnt earn, another of that would drive me, empower me, haunt up each other's heart, soul and lactic acid level. voice would argue. Then a third: me for the next 15 years. I was the runner learning to swim well, Dave Do you know the difference between dignity I saw Dave being loaded onto a medical was the swimmer who had run 2:46 in his first and illusion? stretcher before I saw the finish line. marathon. We'd both won the Ironman in that My legs were pounding and my new white Thirty-three seconds. Might as well have previous and anomalous year, 1982, when races shoes had red racing stripes streaking from been 33 years. had been held in both February and October. the toe box. Funny, Fie'd taken his This was before Mark Allen had lifted his I thought, Vve never Like a death, a birth or an body to places that Kona curse, before Scott Molina discovered seen red running airplane near-disaster, nothing only a daring mind salt pills and before the Europeans became shoes before. would allow. I envied enamored with the sport and invaded Kona That's when my you do afterward will ever be him for his strength in all their underwear and lesus-sandal glory. wife, Virginia, ap• the same as before, and loved him for This race was bigger than a world title. This peared as some haunt• the gift that it had time the El Dorado kingdom was at stake— ing apparition. It was I take a deep breath and jump. given me. W Triathlete (ISSN08983410) is published monthly by The Competitor Group, 10179 Huennekens St, Suite 100, San Diego, CA 92121; (858) 768-6805. Subscription rates: U.S., one year (12 issues) $34.95; two years (24 issues) $59.95. Canada $58.95 per year; all other countries $90.95 per year, U.S. currency only. Periodi• cals postage paid at San Diego, CA, and additional mailing offices. Single copy price $5.99. Triathlete is copyright 2003 by The Competitor Group. All rights reserved. Postmaster: Send address changes to Triathlete, PC. Box 469055, Escondido, CA 92046-9513. Ride-along enclosed in all book region 2 copies. 168 triathlGtemag.com march EQIO .

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