The e-mail this week is a day late (and you were hoping I’d forget) but here it is. I attended the Ironman Wisconsin training camp put on by Multisports this last weekend and didn’t get home until 8:15 Sunday evening. That’s the company owned and operated by Roch Frey, Paul Huddle, Heather Fuhr (she wasn’t there-she’s doing Lake Placid next week) and Paula Newby-Frazier. For those of you not into triathlon, Paula has won the “Big Race” at Kona at least eight times with another 22 or so Ironman wins around the world (she’s married to Paul Huddle). Heather has won at least eight times around the world (she’s younger and married to Roch Frey).

In addition to them, Chris Legh (3 Ironman wins with Ironman Cour d-Alene the most recent and he was also the cover story on the most recent Triathlete magazine) was there leading the fastest group on the bike and adding comments about his training experiences. The guys called him “Penny” because his middle name is Pennington. Also there helping was John Duke, CEO and co-publisher of Triathlete magazine. The guys called him “The Devil” and Paula said the only reason he works out every day and does Triathlons is so he can justify his 3 martinis in the evening.

The camp was great and I learned a lot about all aspects of Ironman racing. Now all I have to do is be able to put the knowledge to work during the rest of my training and on race day.

Have you ever walked into a room and thought you shouldn’t be there. Every person in there looked fitter than me, which may not be saying much, and, with the exception of one guy who may be my age, I was the oldest. Most of the men were around 30 and all were “buff”. The women may have averaged a couple of years older, but nearly all were slender and athletic looking.

Only after the ride to the pool which included three falls (including one by Roch) and two flats (none of them, the falls or the flats, were me) followed by the swim workout (I was in one of the middle lanes with one side of the pool being slower and the other side being faster) did I realize I probably did belong and was, as always, in the “mediocre middle” of the group.

That night I asked to be put in the slowest bike group for the next day’s long ride for a couple of reasons. In the first place, I came to learn the group dynamics of bike rides. A large percentage of the men (at least at this camp) have two basic rules of the ride. Number one is don’t get dropped by a girl. For those of you who are not bikers, being dropped means not being able to keep up with the group or self-appointed leader of the group. For those of you who think the term “girl” is not socially acceptable, that’s the way bike racing is these days for that large percentage of men. Men are men and all others are girls. Not women; not co-riders; not co-competitors; girls!! If you ever get dropped by a GIRL, you might as well be castrated and become a monk in Tibet.

The second is much the same as the group dynamics in a wolf pack. All, at one time or another, strive to be the Alpha male. In riding, that means the fastest, the one who leads all the time. In the fastest group (remember it was led by a 3 time Ironman champion) the ride started at a comfortable 22 mph. As time went on, those animal instincts jumped out and testosterone filled the air. At the first stop, all the groups were called together and were reamed out by Roch, Paul and John for riding all over the road like a–holes. When we broke back apart, Paul told us our group was doing fine but the guys in the two fastest groups were jockeying for position constantly. The average speed in the fastest group increased to 27 or so. The story went around that one of the guys tried to drop Chris Legh, but couldn’t.

So, I didn’t want to get in a group that pushed so hard to be “MEN” that they lost sight of the purpose of the ride and that was to learn the best way to ride that 112 mile hilly course and still have legs for the 26.2 mile run. Just as big a reason for riding slow was that I was petrified. As you know by the e-mails, I’ve been riding plenty of miles around here and have been very comfortable, at least most of the time. But the thought of riding that course and going by the exact spot of the wreck of 2003 made me very nervous. I hardly slept at all Friday night and was trying to think of ways to get out of the ride and still save face.

As it turned out, riding it this past weekend with that group was the best decision I could have made. Yes, for much of the time I was coasting because the people ahead of me were not riding very fast. But it taught me to ride more in the small chain ring (easier gears for you non-bikers) and spin up the hills instead of power up in a big gear like I’m used to. I finished the 72 miles (we only did one of the 40 mile loops at Verona) with legs that felt great and I have lots of confidence for the race.

I did have a tense moment or two when I went by the accident site. I’ve attached pictures that don’t do the road justice. The spots where the chunks of cement are missing are at least 3 inches deep. I have faint recollections about being there and forced into a spot on the road I didn’t want to be in. It sounds weird and I don’t know what it means since I still don’t remember the wreck. I’m still convinced that I either caught the front wheel in one of the expansion joints or cracks, or I hit one of the holes which threw me out of control and I lost the bike.

At any rate, I can’t change anything now and it doesn’t bother me although, on the way back, I got up out of the aero bars on the bike as I rode by and gave the demon that lives there the international one-fingered salute (sorry, Mom-I really did).

Until next week-good luck to Jean at Lake Placid on Sunday.

Just (The Happy Camper and I Didn’t Wet The Bed) Jack