The Lady is a Champ
Yesterday was the New
Balance ½ Ironman and I was in
attendance as a friend and fan but also
as a coach. It wasn’t the first time
I’d been to a race as a coach but it was
certainly the most intense.
Heather Wurtele and I
began working with each other last
Christmas and it’s been one exciting
journey. I never have to stir up
inspirational speeches for her. I don’t
send her quotes designed to amp up her
mojo. With Heather you have to yank on
the rains. She was born ready to run
through walls – but running through
walls is seldom the quickest way from
point A to B and it can lead to
problems.
We collaborated on a
program and the returns came quickly.
Her run was her weakest link and our
focus was on that while trying not to
sacrifice the other two.
The first test of the
new program was the UBC Olympic distance
triathlon. We went to the race
together. The only thing I was nervous
about there was a mishap on the bike.
With sheets of freezing rain coming down
sideways and Heather’s devil take the
hind most attitude, my fears were
reasonable but not deep. We knew going
into it she was competing with the men
and the event was really just a test. I
was pretty confident she wouldn’t take
any foolish chances. She performed
awesome, as expected, and we enjoyed the
buffet on the ferry back to Victoria
after.
Her next event was a
much bigger ticket. Wildflower – one of
the flagship races of our sport and one
we both had high hopes for. It was also
her first race as a pro.
I was working in
India on race day – and that was one
nerve racking day. There was no
internet coverage and all I could do was
sit in my room waiting for the
occasional text from a buddy who was
there watching his girlfriend race.
When all the dust settled Heather had
come 10th after a
disappointing run. She had worked hard
on her run and we both had expected a
better day but it didn’t take much
conversation to realize the problem
wasn’t run related, rather it was
nutritionally based. Still, a top ten
at Wildflower in your pro debut wasn’t
too shabby at all. I was proud and knew
there were better things in store.
The next big race was
the 101 in Clear Lake CA. The big prize
money there attracted a deep field but
we didn’t talk about the other girls.
We didn’t predict a placing and we
didn’t talk about times. All we wanted
was a satisfying race. This time we sat
down with pen, paper and calculator and
we created a nutritional plan that we
were both confident would alleviate the
problems she’d had at Wildflower.
She arrived at the
race quietly confident and in mint
shape.
Race day was hot and
a minor planning snafu found Heather at
the start line with six salt tablets.
Heather is a sweater. The minor snafu
turned major when six miles into the run
– where she was grooving along in 2nd
place, her world tipped upside down.
The contents of her stomach splashed out
on the pavement and she was rightly
yanked off the course. The first DNF of
her life. I remember my first DNF like
I remember my first heart break.
Like another champion
I know she was a wreck over the incident
for about twelve minutes then it was
back to business.
Her next race was the
New Balance ½ Ironman in our hometown of
Victoria.
Now originally this
was going to be a “training through”
race. It was two weeks after the 101.
I wasn’t going to try and hold her taper
because the Lake Stevens ½, three weeks
after the New Balance, was a higher
priority for us and it would have been
compromised. However, because Heather
hadn’t really done much running in the
101 and she recovers from cycling about
six minutes after getting off her bike I
thought it was possible to load her up
for a week and then bring her down for a
good race at New Balance. With her
first two races as a pro not going so
well I really felt it was important for
her to have a good day and to have it
quickly before she had too much time to
think about it. We never acknowledged
it but we were both glad the New Balance
race was coming up fast.
Things were going
great. She was firing on all
cylinders. The numbers were looking
stellar!
On the Wednesday
before the race I was having lunch with
a friend when she rang me up on the
cell. We have kind of a Skype routine
in the evening so when she calls it’s
usually important. Here’s how the
conversation went:
Me: Hey,
what’s up?
HW: Not much.
Just finished the ride.
Me: Yeah, how
did it go?
HW: Pretty
good. Rode the Highlands area mostly.
Me: Nice.
Everything feeling good?
HW: Well, it
was until I crashed descending off Munn
road.
Silence.
Me: Did you
just say you crashed?
HW: Yup.
(Now understand –
she’s talking perfectly calm and for
those of you don’t know Victoria or Munn
road it is one snaky steep hill!!)
Me: What
happened? Was it bad?
HW: My back
wheel hit a rock and washed out on me.
Pretty bad spill.
My heart sank as she
listed off the body parts that were
sore, banged and bleeding.
The worse seemed to
be her hip. When I saw her the next day
her trousers were swollen off her hip
like she was the elephant woman. I
thought she may not be racing the rest
of the summer let alone this Sunday.
Somehow this wonderful lady had offended
the triathlon gods and she was being
made to pay a price.
She did everything
right – ice, anti-inflammatories,
massage - repeat!
Thursday was worse
than Wednesday and Friday was worse than
Thursday. She tested the hip with a
gentle run but the hip got a D minus.
Saturday she “said” it felt better and
she thought she could race.
Sunday morning I
arrived at the lake and I honestly can
not recall a time when I was more
nervous. Racing myself was much
easier. I never really cared how I
did. I just liked racing. Now I had
invested in someone else and I cared how
she did. She needed a good race. I
needed her to have a good race, but she
needed to not damage her hip permanently
with the effort.
The plan was for her
to swim and bike and if the hip
complained at all she would drop out.
This years race was a
chase format. Based on last years times
the various heats were set off at
staggered intervals and the first person
across the finish line would be declared
the overall winner and receive a $500
bonus.
Heather had won this
race last year and it wasn’t an easy
win. She had Lori Bowden charging hard
to catch her and she ran scared the
whole way. Lori wasn’t there this year
but veteran Christine Fletcher was and
she looked fit as always. Charlene
Waldner was also in the line up and
after a bad day at the Lanzerote IM she
was charged up to have a good one. Then
there’s always the unknown factors – the
out-of-towners no one knows who suddenly
appear and stir the waters. And with
the chase format I knew Heather would
not have a moment to let up if she
wanted to take this thing – and she
wanted to take this thing.
PRPP athlete Emily
Cocks had flown in from Chicago to do
the race as well. She was coming more
for a break and a chance to see the city
than to unleash fury at the race. Her
mother had often visited here as a child
so she wanted to have a look around.
Emily was a state
swimmer for Michigan in her college
years so no matter how tired she was,
she could be counted on for a solid
swim. Heather and I thought it might
worth having a go at staying on her
feet.
Heather’s husband
Trevor was also racing. He’s a damn
fine athlete in his own right and it was
not unrealistic to consider it might be
him running her down for the win if
everything unfolded as it might.
Johnny Caron was the
heavy favourite on the men’s side.
Coming off an 8:50 at Arizona, his
fitness wasn’t in questions. He was the
one to watch for.
All this was assuming
Heather’s hip held out and that was the
foremost thought on my mind.
Her heat started and
I stood with my buddy and former coach,
NTC development coach Pat Kelly. Pat’s
been coaching triathletes for more than
twenty three years now and he confessed
he still gets nervous when his athletes
are out there – just not as nervous as I
was. It was all about that damn hip for
me. I couldn’t think about Jonathan
Caron, Christine Fletcher or anyone
else. All I was worried about was that
hip.
As the swimmers from
the earlier heats were emerging Pat and
I were amused to see two swimmers with
red caps cutting a perfectly straight
line through the wending mass of yellow
and blue caps. They were swimming
fingers to feet. It was a beautiful
site and when Emily popped out of the
water with Heather glued to her hip I
had the satisfaction of seeing a plan
unfold as it should. The time on my
watch read 26:57 – about three minutes
faster than last year – but the timing
mat was still forty meters away up the
beach.
I had a momentary
grip of fear that Heather might sprint
past Emily in the exit chute and take
the swim prime from her. Now Heather
would NEVER show that kind of poor form
if she gave it even a moments thought
but I knew Emily’s attitude towards this
race was not the same as Heather’s and
if Emily slowed down for even a
millisecond in that chute Heather would
blaze by her. I was pleased to see
Emily was still there to race and she
moved quickly to the transition area
with Heather a half a step behind her.
It was a cool morning
and Emily made the sound decision to put
on more clothing. Heather was on the
bike first and now the long wait began.
I paced. I stood. I
paced some more. I tried to sit down
but found pacing was better.
I’d brought my
cruiser bike with me and had stashed it
by a tree down from the transition
area. It was my intention to bike ahead
of her at the start of the run and spy
to see if she was limping. I knew she’d
hold true off the bike for the first
hundred meters into the cover of the
trees but I wanted to see how she looked
when she thought no one was looking.
As expected Heather
came off the bike first. She’d caught
all the previous heats and was now the
overall leader of the race. She looked
good – strong.
Now the real question
would be addressed – could she run?
I didn’t watch the
transition. Instead I mounted my
cruiser and zoomed up the road to find a
hidey hole to do my covert observing. I
was shocked to see Christine coming
right behind Heather off the bike. Her
coach, a friend of mine, said they’d
been doing some bike focus stuff
recently – and it clearly had paid off.
Putting time on Heather in the bike
takes a world class effort.
Soon the lead
bicyclist came buzzing into view and a
few steps behind was Heather. She
wasn’t listing to either side but her
face was strained. She said something
to me but I didn’t absorb it. I said
something to her but I don’t remember
what it was. I hit my stop watch and
waited for the chasers. Of course
Fletcher was the first one there. She
looked good. Shortly after came a woman
I didn’t know. She looked REALLY good.
Then Caron came through. He asked me
“How far ahead?!” I looked at my watch
and yelled “Five minutes” but I’d
screwed up. Fletcher and the unknown
girl (who would turn out to be a Calgary
gal named Rosemarie Gerspacher) were
five minutes up on Jonathan. Heather
was ten minutes up. I felt badly about
that. Sorry, Johnny!
Things get a little
hazy around here. It’s hard to remember
exactly the chain of events. Waldner
came through looking like the Terminator
as she always does and Heather’s husband
Trevor rolled through. Honestly he
looked faster and more relaxed than any
of them.
After he went through
I headed back to the finish area and did
some more pacing.
The way the lakes are
situated you could see the runners
coming out of the trees three to four
minutes down the path. The run-leader
cyclist would, of course, emerge first
so we were all waiting to see that biker
pop out of the trees. When he did the
first time it was clear he was still
pulling Heather. She’s a tall woman and
easy to spot. She ran by and was still
keeping it true. But she looked pale
and “concerned.” Her arms were
dangling. I suggested she try to keep
them moving. I don’t think she heard
me.
Some genius beside me
yelled “THE OTHER GIRLS ARE GAINING –
DON’T LET THEM CATCH YOU!!!” I’m sure
she hadn’t thought of that.
I looked at my watch
and to my surprise the next runner to
emerge was Rosemarie. She’d caught
Fletcher who was gamely hanging on five
steps back. Rosemarie looked like she
was flying! But my clock said
otherwise. Heather had actually put
thirty seconds on her!
Caron blazed through
next. Now he really was down by five
minutes. He’d made up five in the first
loop. One loop to go. It was going to
be tight – provided the hip held out!
Shortly after Caron came Trevor – still
looking awesome.
Now it was back to
waiting.
And waiting.
And more waiting.
My ex-fiancé came
roaring over, excited to say hi and do a
little catch up. I hadn’t seen her in a
few years but I was far too distracted
to make any thing that closely resembled
pleasant conversation. After what
seemed three days the cyclist popped
through the trees and I swear my knees
got weak when I saw that tall woman come
four steps behind him. Then my stomach
got weak when about two hundred meters
behind her came the dark figure of
Jonathon Caron.
But we all know the
ending to this fairy tale. Heather held
him off. As she approached the finish
line I managed to find the wherewithal
to snap a photo of her and shout some
inane statement like “Way to go.”
I jogged over to the
finish line feeling as proud as a new
father. She hobbled over to the fence
and the first words out of her mouth
were – “My hip is killing me!”
I was sick at the
thought that maybe this day would cost
her dearly for the rest of the season.
Only time would tell.
Then she said “Thanks
for telling me to keep my arms moving.
It made a difference for the rest of the
run.”
Funny what gets
through and what matters.
The lady was a
champ. She needed this.
I needed it.
Clint
