Salem League 8/6/13: Uncharted Waters

Since our normal Lynch Park start was scheduled to be occupied by local revelers, we relocated to the Water Street beach.  Since this is a little deeper in Beverly Harbor, the race out into the Sound would be a little longer than usual.  We'd be paddling 3.4 miles out to the Bowditch Ledge pylon (course #2) and back.  With a mild SSE breeze and incoming tide, this would be approximately an upwind/downwind race.

I didn't get the advance memo, but it was boat swap night on Salem Sound.  Ken tried out his new red-tip V10 Sport, while Bill paddled Ed's black-tip build of the same boat.  Kirk was looking to put a bruisin' on everybody in Bill's old black-and-blue S1-X Special.  I stuck with my V10, not really wanting to paddle the 12 foot sit-on-top fishing kayak that was in the area.

From a standing start at water's edge, Francisco, Matt, and Kirk jumped out to their characteristic fast starts.  After a couple of minutes, Matt settled behind Francisco, Kirk dropped off the pace, and I hooked on behind Matt.  Five minutes later, Matt dropped back a half boat length and I skirted around him to latch onto Francisco.  After a few minutes resting there, I accelerated on the right to pass.

As expected, Francisco had an adverse reaction to this move.  For the next 10 minutes, we paddled side by side, arguing about the impact of late 19th century industrialization on the Russian aristocracy.  Not in actual words, of course, but I sensed that was the subtext of our repeated attacks and parries.  I'd throw in a brief interval ("Chekhov clearly shows the negative effects of mechanized farming in Uncle Vanya!") to which Francisco would quickly respond ("Chekhov, Shmekhov.  The emancipation of the serfs in 1868 is the obvious causal factor!").  This went on for a while, but I ultimately got the upper hand (with an irrefutable argument hinging on the collapse of grain prices) and pulled slowly away.

At the Bowditch marker I had a 7 or 8 boat length lead.  Heading downwind, I was disappointed that there weren't more helpful runners.  Even without any big waves, however, the tidal current made for a much quicker return trip.  I wasn't able to spot Francisco behind me, so I spent the second leg worried that he was heading home on a better line.  Fortunately, that turned out not to be the case and I was able to finish in first.  Here are the full results:

Greg Lesher	Epic V10 (New)	0:55:27	12
Francisco Urena	Stellar SE	0:57:55	11
Matt Drayer	Epic V8	0:59:02	10
Kirk Olsen	Huki S1-X Special	0:59:45	9
Ken Cooper	Epic V10 Sport (New)	1:00:20	8
Bruce Deltorchio	Think Eze	1:03:45	7
Bill Kuklinski	Epic V10 Sport (New)	1:04:01	6
Mary Beth Gangloff	Huki S1-R	1:16:20	12
Ed Wonsek	Stellar SR	DNF	0

With 3 weeks left (including two double-headers - can't wait), I have a 2 point lead over Francisco.  I'm betting that he's going to arrive with a bag full of hurt at the next race.

Salem League 7/9/13: Not Dead Yet

A calm evening welcomed a robust roster of 11 skis and an outrigger.  Course #2 was on the agenda - a leisurely paddle out to the Bowditch Ledge pylon and back.  Conditions were excellent for a fast night, despite low tide being minutes from the start.  We'd be paddling out at slack tide directly into a mild breeze, then coming back with a little help from the wind and incoming tide.

Mike, who has been absent for the past few weeks, showed up with a twisted ankle (unrelated to his previous absences).  Throwing himself on the mercy of the court, he asked for a rare water start to avoid running down the beach, suctioning our way through a primordial ooze, and then high-stepping it out to water deep enough to launch.  Ed doesn't usually cotton to such mollycoddling (hell, he once paddled across the Mojave), but he relented and allowed us a stand-at-your-boat start.  To be followed by a normal running finish, of course.

After prying our boats from the foul-smelling muck, we awaited Ed's signal.  With the gently sloping shore at Lynch Park, the run through calf-deep water seemed to extend forever.  I think I hit my maximum heart rate before I ever sat in the boat.  Once underway, I found myself 3 or 4 boat lengths behind Francisco (I have a shortcut set up on my computer so that when I hit Control-Shift-F7, it inserts those words).  Matt seemed for a moment to be running a completely different course, but apparently was deliberately taking an outside line.

I caught Francisco after a couple of minutes and settled onto his wash for a breather (Control-Shift-F8).  I never actually caught my breath, but I'm pretty sure it was getting nervous.  I eventually decided to make a move on the right.  Francisco apparently didn't get the memo from the head office that indicated in no uncertain terms that in an effort to maintain viewership, he should "throw Lesher a bone" to keep the point series close.  He increased his speed by the 0.1% it took to match my passing sprint.

Through the parsimonious use of doping and a little echinacea, I was able to inch ahead over the course of the next ten minutes.  By the time we arrived at the pylon, I was perhaps 2 or 3 boat lengths ahead - I'm not sure, because I was terrified of what I might see if I looked back.  Once I had turned towards Lynch Park, I watched my GPS speed climb into the high 7's due to my flawless stroke and Lance Armstrong-like fitness level (see above).  But mostly due to the wind and tide.

I threw a few quick glances back during the ride back to the beach to try to spot Francisco, but I never managed to spot him.  By the time I rounded the final point, however, I felt like even with a longish run up the beach, I had enough of a margin to win the night.  I ended up 26 seconds ahead.  Matt and Mike came in side by side a couple of minutes after Francisco, but poor hobbled Mike didn't stand a chance in the run.

This is the point in my tale at which I sheepishly admit that while I was coming off a weekend of reclining on my favorite divan being fed grapes by a trained monkey, Francisco had unwisely spent this time driving for 20 hours and racing in the 42 kilometer Festirame race in Alma, Quebec.  Although he came in second, had a great time, and collected a cash prize for this effort, I'm confident that he's second guessing his participation now.

Due to favorable conditions, nearly everyone shaved 3 to 4 minutes off their previous times on course #2 from earlier in the year, the exceptions being Matt (nearly 5 minutes) and Mary Beth (more than 5 and a half minutes) - dramatic improvements.  Here are the results for the night (skis only):

Greg Lesher	Epic V12	0:44:49	12
Francisco Urena	Stellar SE	0:45:15	11
Matt Drayer	Epic V8	0:47:30	10
Mike McDonough	Huki S1-X	0:47:39	9
Ken Cooper	Epic V8	0:48:04	8
Kirk Olsen	Epic V12	0:49:30	7
Bruce Deltorchio	Epic V8	0:52:04	6
Chris Chappell	Epic V10 (New)	0:52:35	5
Bill Kuklinski	Epic V8	0:52:47	4
Mary Beth Gangloff	Huki S1-R	1:02:25	12
Sam McDaniel	Huki S1-X	1:03:00	3

Francisco has a one point lead in the overall standings.  I fear he'll have more pep next week.

Salem League 5/28/13: Running on Empty

The second night of the Salem League dawned clear and pleasant, although after my warm-up the temperature suddenly dropped to single digits.  In addition to most of last week's attendees, we were joined by grizzled (but not yet drooling) veterans Mike McDonough and Kirk Olsen.  The field was: me, Mary Beth, Francisco, Mike, Kirk, Bill, Matt, Ken, Bruce, and Ciro.  Bill showed up with a new (er) life vest which proudly bears a label stating that "no rodents were harmed in the manufacture of this article".

We'd be running course 2 this evening, which would take us out of the harbor, around the granite pylon marking Bowditch Ledge 2.8 miles out, and back to the beach.  With a ESE breeze somewhere S of 10 mph, we'd be heading almost directly into the wind and waves (small, but well behaved) on the first leg, then downwind after the turn-around.

In an effort to improve my Le Mans starts, I've been visualizing the process, like a downhill skier might.  I close my eyes and picture the entire operation in vivid detail: the gazelle-like run down the beach, the effortless lift and carry, the elegant slide into the boat, and the powerful initial strokes.  That's how I visualize the visualization, at least.  In practice, even my mental imagery is plagued with false starts, face-first falls into the shallow muck, the crunch of smashed carbon fibers, and, in one instance, an indictment for tax fraud.

Perhaps having flushed out the worst case scenarios in my head, I managed a solid start.  Coming out of the gate, I stood in second, four or five lengths behind Francisco.  Taking advantage of the more protected waters near the start, I made up as much of that ground as possible before the rougher conditions of the open sound slowed me down.  I managed to catch Francisco several minutes into the race, with Mike close on our tails.

In our previous flatwater races this year, Francisco started out considerably faster than me, but I managed to catch and pass him after about ten minutes into the contest.  Unfortunately, the water wasn't flat.  And, more importantly, Francisco always gets much faster as the season progresses.  I pulled alongside, trying my best to ignore these two factors, but after struggling for five minutes to pass, I fell back onto his wash.

The remainder of the race to the Bowditch pylon was divided into a half-dozen cycles of me attempting to pass Francisco, and Francisco unilaterally decreeing that this wasn't going to happen.  After each failure, I'd return dejectedly to drafting.  I could only hope that the struggle was wearing out the big fish.  The one positive outcome of this duel was that with each attempt to pass, we would put more distance between ourselves and Mike.

With a quarter mile to Bowditch, I resigned myself to staying on Francisco's wash until we turned downwind, after which I would, uh, try to go faster than him.  The wind-driven waves weren't large enough to hook into any solid rides, but they were significant enough that when some help was offered, you'd feel like an ingrate if you turned it down.  My trip back to the beach was therefore a series of desperate five second sprints to wring every drop of support from the sea, punctuated by groans of protest from my overtaxed (and underpaid) cardiovascular system.

Although Francisco was generally ahead of me during this stretch, I'd occasionally catch a wave just right and ever-so-briefly take the lead.  As we neared the final point before the beach, however, I slid back, fingernails clawing at the cliff's edge to maintain contact.  Heading in towards the beach I was trailing by a couple of boat lengths.

At this point, we entered the half-marathon phase of the duathlon.  Francisco aced the transition and was halfway up the beach before I had changed into my running shoes.  Although the run to the finish was probably about 200 yards, it felt more like 50 people standing on my chest.  When I eventually arrived at the finish, I vowed to myself to stop procrastinating and finally do something about low tide.  Watch this blog for details on how you can help.

With a solid inaugural race, Mike came in 3rd, followed by Matt and Ken.  Here are the results for the evening (skis only):

Francisco Urena	Stellar SE	0:48:39	12
Greg Lesher	Epic V12	0:48:46	11
Mike McDonough	Huki S1-X	0:51:12	10
Matt Drayer	Epic V8	0:52:17	9
Ken Cooper	Epic V8	0:52:23	8
Kirk Olsen	Epic V12	0:52:47	7
Bruce Deltorchio	Epic V8	0:53:13	6
Bill Kuklinski	Epic V8	0:54:12	5
Mary Beth Gangloff	Huki S1-R	1:08:00	12

With back to back wins, Francisco has established himself as the guy to trick into missing a couple of weeks.  Sakonnet River* Race up next, with plenty of warmth on the schedule.

* Product contains no actual river.