The Weekend Begins--Friday…

Photo: Vardo's and my gear (sans bikes and transition packs) loaded (or overloaded) on the hotel cart. A packing feat...

Shortly after loading what seemed like everything I owned into my car, I headed north for the biggest weekend of my life to date. Randomly, I had to stop at the Verizon store to get a new cell phone (very long story), then I popped over for one last latte with my good friend Theresa before heading across the cheddar curtain one more time. It was odd driving the same roads I’d taken so many times over the summer—same rest stops, same gas stations, same randomly slow drivers in the left-hand lane—and realizing that this time, it wasn’t just a training ride, but the real thing.

Claire, a friend from my hometown, lives in Stoughton, which is about 15 minutes south of Madison, and I had made arrangements for Vardo and me to crash with her and her husband Thursday night. They had a work function, so Vardo and I ended up rendezvousing at a local pizza place for some lasagna. We spent the time talking about almost everything except Ironman—random stuff like the onslaught of mosquitoes that apparently had overtaken the state of Wisconsin and more serious stuff like Vardo’s new job. I don’t think we purposely avoided IM, but I have to admit it was kind of nice to talk about non-triathlon stuff for a while. We were both sort of hungry for ice cream after dinner, so, in the absence of a real ice cream place that we could find, we ended up at Culver’s (which, incidentally, was funny as Vardo was convinced that my summer consisted of eating at only Culver’s, Starbucks, and the Great Dane after reading my blog). When we were both sufficiently cold from the ice cream and the air conditioning, we headed over to Claire’s house, which is an adorable turn-of-the-century house. It was fun catching up with Claire, too—I felt badly that we didn’t have more time to talk, but I think she understood. We made it a fairly early night and crashed so we could get up early and head into Madison Friday morning.

Friday morning came early (as mornings often do to a non-morning person), and after a quick cup of coffee with Claire, we headed north into Mad-town. While I would be headed into Madison via a slightly different route this year than last, I couldn’t help but draw some comparisons between my trek up for the Friday of IM weekend 2005 and this one. Both would see me swimming one loop of the IM course; both would have me walking around IM village after; both would involve me showering at the Hilton…similar in many ways, but different in many more. This year, looking at the buoys marking the swim course in Lake Monona didn’t make me nauseous, nor did I have to borrow a wetsuit to do the swim. This year, I’d be walking around IM village to get to registration, not just to check out the exhibits. And this year, the Hilton would be my home for the weekend, not just a quick stopping off point in between activities. And, of course, this year, I had the race on Sunday to prep for—minor little difference, for sure.

Upon arriving, Vardo and I found two of the last available parking spots in the Hilton parking ramp and pulled in, hoping like hell that neither of us would have to leave before Monday or run the very high risk of never being able to park again. We grabbed our wetsuits and other swim necessities (though I managed to forget both my goggles and swim cap—thankfully Vardo’s swim bag was well-equipped with spares) and headed down to the swim start area. We checked our stuff, got suited up, and headed into Lake Monona. Neither of us was overly keen on the idea of swimming for a long time—the lake was starting to get choppy, and, well, I just was sick of swimming at that point—but we took off anyway. I did one lap of the course and met Vardo back by the bag check—she had opted for an abbreviated out and back to get loosened up. We walked back to our cars, threw the wet stuff in, did the ever-popular complete change out of our bathing suits and into dry clothes in the parking ramp, and went off in search of registration.

If memory serves, registration was scheduled to open at 10, but we found ourselves waiting in line outside Monona Terrace at about 9:15. A few of Vardo’s training buddies from Iowa stopped by to say hi—it was fun to be able to meet the people I’d heard stories about from her as we went through the weekend. And then, at 10, the doors opened, and we found ourselves starting the process of becoming Ironmen…at least from a purely logistical race standpoint. It was odd having my registration info card handed to me to review…the insurance information in particular was a little wake-up call that this was no ordinary race. We got weighed (for once, everyone had to endure that—not just the Athenas and Clydesdales) and went into yet another line to get our packets.

When I sat down to get my race packet, I had the first of several little waves of nausea as the reality of the weekend started to sink in. Nothing major…but just enough to start the butterflies in my stomach. The woman who helped me patiently explained the sheet of stickers and what to do with them, the various gear bags, and the two race bibs (one with my first name, and one with my last). We both agreed that the navy blue swim caps were, at best, random from a safety standpoint and that the black marker she used to write my race number was basically worthless—but apparently Ford had specified the colors and the women were the lucky ones to get the navy (the guys had white). Armed with my registration info, I met up with Vardo again, and we, once again, headed down to our cars.

Because we couldn’t yet check in, we decided to fit in the quick bike ride we both wanted to get in—nothing major—just enough to double-check mechanics, tires, etc. and work the kinks out. Vardo in particular wanted to check out the race wheels that her local bike shop had loaned her for the occasion—in all honesty, they were the most random wheels I’d ever seen in appearance, but hey—if they work, who cares. As it turned out, it’s a good thing we went for our little 6-mile ride along the lake path—turns out one of the new wheels made a very odd and sporadic clicking noise every time Vardo had her weight to one side. We tried to troubleshoot it as we rode—she listened, I checked for rubbing between the wheel and the fork, brakes, etc. from behind, but neither of us could figure it out. Being the fairly kindred spirits that we are, we both have our bike shops programmed into our cell phones, so Vardo call Ronn when we got back—she wasn’t able to get much help over the phone, and ultimately decided to ride with her wheels just to be on the safe side. I, on the other hand, opted to stick with my Zipps, which were already on my bike—I have 303’s and wasn’t as concerned with the crosswind impact on the wheels, but ultimately made the call based on how my bike handled at Steelhead—like a dream and not something I wanted to try to replicate with my training wheels when I would be the one making any mechanical adjustments required.

As we were schlepping our bikes back to our cars (which meant we had to go up to the Monona Terrace crosswalk, then into the Hilton lobby, then down to the Hilton parking ramp), we decided to see if we could check into the hotel yet. It was only a little after noon, and we weren’t optimistic, but as luck would have it, they had a room available that was even a bit of an upgrade. Thankfully, Vardo had her credit card in her bike bag (mine was in my car), so we checked in and started the unloading process. I manhandled the bikes up to the room, and Vardo commandeered a luggage cart from the lobby and headed down to the vehicles. We somehow managed to get all of our gear up to our room in one trip—sans the extra wheelsets that we both opted to leave in our vehicles—but the cart was stacked to the limits and we both looked like pack mules. But, we both had what we needed and then some, and the piece of mind that comes with that knowledge was worth the indescribable pain in the butt of getting our gear up to the room.

By that point, we were both insanely hungry (at least I was ready to gnaw my arm off) and opted for nourishment instead of being clean. My parents had called earlier to say that they had made it to Madison, so I called them we arranged to meet them on State Street for a late lunch after warning them that we had yet to shower and were, quite possibly, a tad on the nasty side. We more or less ducked into the first restaurant we came to—as it happened, it was a Mexican restaurant with yummy food, so all were happy and content. Randomly, my mom had apparently forgotten to pack the Iowa State-colored pom-poms she was planning on bringing (though according to my dad, she had everything else in the house in the car), so she borrowed Vardo’s phone and left instructions for Sparkle to procure additional pom-poms before heading to Madison. Random?? You bet…but then again, what’s a gathering of Iowa Staters and their friends without some red and gold pom-poms?? Regardless, with that crisis under control, my parents took off for their hotel while Vardo and I headed back to the Hilton for some downtime.

After crashing for about an hour (not necessarily sleeping, but at least lying horizontally on our beds, text messaging, checking voice mails, watching the not-so-helpful Weather Channel—30% chance of rain my butt, etc.), the showering process began in preparation for the first “official” event of the weekend—the Fig Newton Welcome Dinner. The unfortunate discovery at that point was that we had a handicapped shower (which was fine) with a bowed out shower curtain (which was also fine) that didn’t reach to the floor (again, fine)—but with a sloped floor that was flush with the walls of the shower and did not follow the bow of the curtain rod (not so fine). The end result was a puddle on the rest of the bathroom floor—thankfully, Vardo had the solution well in-hand by the time it was my turn—a concept known for the rest of the weekend as the towel dam.

While she was figuring all of that out, I started the process of packing my various transition bags. It was still a crap shoot from a weather standpoint, so I didn’t pack any clothes Friday night, opting instead for the little items like Tums, Tylenol 8-hr, water bottles, etc. that I could check off my checklist and be done with. I also took the opportunity to put the bike and helmet stickers on the appropriate items—basically I tried to do everything I could to get as much out of the way Friday night as possible to make Saturday morning less hectic. I organized stuff as well as I could, hopped in the shower (made better by the towel dam) and got ready for the evening and the welcome dinner.