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The day started early. Up at 6, out the door at 6:45. Weather was forcasted as iffy, at best. Chance of rain, cold, possibly even some snow. It was about a two hour ride to Royalston,the Tully Lake Campground. The morning was chilly, but sunny. It looked promising!!
My bow man (Jay) and I carried the canoe to the lake and scoped at the launch. "I was looking at pictures online. It looks liike we need to push hard in the beginning, or get stuck behind a line of plastic kayaks," Jay said. Sound advice. The course was unique, it looked like it went uprivier, turning around at a pond, and came down. It would be easy to get stuck behind a wall of slow-moving boats in those conditions. With those words, Jay left to scout out the bike course. I set out my running gear at the boat take-out, and waited. I always hate waiting before a race.
Purple lifejacket. For luck. Blood drop paddle, for intimidation. We paddled the boat onto the lake. The water was icy, but I hardly felt it in the pre-race adrenaline. We took position towards the middle, after being told we had to be between the buoys. "The trick to winning a canoe race," I found myself saying "is intimidation. To make everyone else around you too scared to pass you."
"I thought it was staying dry," came the reply from the boat next to us. It was Gloria, someone whos name they were chanting from the shore. We floated there for a few minutes, a voice somewhere on shore counting down every minute. People were yelling curses and insults to boats trying to cross the invisible line early. Then, came the fateful word. "GO!" Immediatly 100 paddles hit the water. In perfect unison, 100 blades glinted in the sunlight of the beautiful October morning. Immediatly, I knew there was trouble. Someone had pointed out that the boat was very back heavy, and I felt the effects immediatly. I couldnt turn the boat for anything. But before I knew it, we were going around the island in the first lake, towards the head of the field. We settled into our groove.
When we hit the river, I realized why they sent us aorund the island first. Cramming 100 boats through the river at once wouldve been murder. Like a runaway stampede through a canyon. We kept going, slowly gaining, padding a few boats, when we hit a bottleneck. The river narrowed a single boat-width. With an S-turn in the middle. I hutted Jay across, and ruddered hard. Too little too late. As the water narrowed, jay yelled "Push through it. Go! Go!" As the boat came to a screeching halt, I realized our folly. After a few seconds of frantic rocking and hard paddling, blood pumping in my ears, Jay called a reverse. We backed out and into the kayak behind us.
The canoe was smooth sailing from the point. We kept pace with the boats ahead of us, slowly gaining on the straights, falling behind on the corner, especially the 180-degree buoy turn in Long Pond. But before I knew it, we were back through the bottleneck and at the take-out point. We beached the canoe, hollered out bib number 212 to the timers, and jumped out. The water was deeper than expected, up to my knees. It was still icy. I still refused to feel it. We hoisted the boat and ran at a good pace up the few hundred feet to the transition zone. I passed the boat to a helper and ran to my shoes. It was a slow change over. Wet feet make sticky feet.
I finally felt the pain in my shoulders when I started on the run. The clock said 56 minutes. i took a right, ran the first quarter mile, and looked up. And up. And up, at the mountain in my way. And on top, I saw another runner. I almost stopped right there. It looked like an impassable wall, a veritable everest. But I put my head down, pumped my arms, and powered up the hill. It hurt, but nothing to do now but keep going.
I have ran many races in my lifetime, but this course was by far the most interesting. It took the term cross-country to a whole new level. In High School, if your course had a single leaf on it your team was gonna be ridiculed by the rest. This course resembled a steeple-chase, involving hurdles over fallen logs and stream beds. Hopping from rock to rock, dodging roots, all the while making sharp 90-degree turns at the bottom of steep dips to avoid the river. And it was covered with leaves. It made me glad for the time I spend running in the woods.
Nothing to do now but what I do best; keep them legs moving. I made good time. Up the hill, right on the road over the dam, and beheld one of the most beautiful sights of nature. The lake, down the hill, with the sun shining on the islands with all the leaves changing color. It was magnficient. It gave me speed on the straights. That and the footsteps behind me. As I turned right back into the woods, the overtook me. Three of them, moving quickly. They remained insight until the 4 mile marker. Half a mile to go.
The last half-mile was the worst half-mile i have ever ran. My strength left me, the combined efforts of my events bearing down on me. My legs screamed at me to slow, but I denied them. They demanded I slowed down when hopping the rocks across the river. I denied them. A sharp ninty-degree turn to the left, up a hill, and I fell face first in the dirt from a root.
"Careful, theres a lot of them around here" came the voice from behind me. I rolled forward and shot up like it never happened. once again, my legs screamed in agony, almost refusing to let me up. I denied them. The owner of the voice flew by without a glance over his shoulder. This time I kept him in view. Then I heard it; the voices from the trees. Cheering, clapping, and cries of jubilation. The end of the running. The cry in my legs reached a crecendo. I slowed momentarily, succumbing to their screams. Then I denied them once again, and redoubled my efforts, and kicked it to the end, where Jay was waiting on his steed to finish the last leg. He zoomed around the corner and out of site. I looked at the clock. An hour and 30-something, combined time. Not too shabby. It brought to a close the end of my participation in one of the most interesting races i have done. Jay finished in about an hour on top of that, with tales of his own. All in all, it was a wonderful day at the racetrack. |
Tully Lake Triathalonposted Oct 19, 2009 10:00 AM by Shawn Robbins [ updated Oct 19, 2009 11:36 AM ] |