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The morning of departure finally dawned. We packed up the "IRONVAN" with my folks following close by and headed east. My impressions of the Adirondack region were based on travel up to only Tupper Lake. It's amazing how much more impressive the scenery gets as one nears Saranac and Lake Placid. I knew we were deep into our Adirondack adventure when my Verizon cell phone couldn't receive or place calls. The village of Lake Placid was buzzing when we arrived by mid-afternoon on Thursday. We stopped by our rental agent and picked up the keys to our 'boathouse'. When I scoured the internet last August for places, one of my foremost criteria was that the locale of our temporary residence be within reasonable crawling distance of the finish line. Our place was right on the water and worth every penny of the steep four night rental cost. Very soon after settling in, I dashed down Mirror Lake Drive to the famed 'athlete's village' with Leo in the double jogging stroller. En route, I nearly rolled over Paul Huddle (Paula Newby Fraser's significant other) who I met some six years ago at her training camp in San Diego.

The merchandise tent awaited me and my over spending tendencies. It wasn't pretty. Whoever laid this place out was a marketing genius. Articles of clothing, trinkets, children's clothes, hats, you name it. My shopping motto has always been 'go big or stay home'. If not for my four year old's attention span, I could have easily done a great deal more damage.

The ambiance of the whole village was radiating exuberance. I could have wandered happily for hours, but I remembered words of wisdom which warned me from doing just that. On the half-mile walk back to our boathouse, my insecurities were evident. Noticing all the extreme physiques filled me with 'quad envy'. I wondered it it were feasible to surgically transplant a heftier set of leg muscles onto my body in order to conquer the way-hilly bike course.

Each morning preceding race day (Sunday) began with a morning swim along the course. Mirror Lake is simply beautiful. The water is very clear and tasty due mainly to the absence of motorized boats and the course can be sighted under water by a submerged wire four feet below the surface. I kept the rest of my physical activity to a minimum on Friday and Saturday and attempted to eat well and hydrate properly.

Saturday was the day to check my bike and transition bags into the transition area. This could easily be a procrastinator's nightmare. I did have a final outfit switch (yet another purchase) for the bike, but other than that all seemed to be set. 1751 bikes all racked up and ready to go.

I spent a considerable amount of time that night starring at the insides of my eyelids. I had prepared my breakfast ahead of time as well as my 'special needs bags' for the halfway points of the bike and run. No need for those three alarm clocks that were set, I was up to see the sky slowly light up the swim course from our abode.

The morning race preparations went fairly smoothly. As the starting time of seven o'clock neared, the spectator crowds began to swell . Soon the triangular area made by the starting rope and beach area was dotted with green and blue swim caps which from the helicopter's perspective must have resembled a Seurat pointilist painting. The swim start was one of the most concerning challenges posed by the day. The thought of being one of nearly two thousand bodies, all fighting to move forward in a narrowing path, was mind boggling. I positioned myself as far off to the side as possible, yet still along the start rope. Coincidentally, Mary Eggers and Buzz Schilds had the same plan. Before their calming effect began to settle in, BAM!, the canon went off. The day before, in an effort to get some rest, I tuned into the movie, Dances with Wolves. There is an incredible scene of a Buffalo stampede where hundreds upon hundreds of these massive, powerful animals come storming across a prairie. In our slightly-submerged likeliness, the force felt similar, as well as the fear of getting trampled/swam over. I received minimal blows mostly due to my swim-along-the-outside strategy. Periodically, I elected to draft certain individuals. The first was Mary, 'Swims So Fast'. Soon after, I tickled the toes of 'Foot With Brown Spot'. Later, there was 'Too Many Bubbles' and finally, 'Wandering One'. Even though the benefit of drafting is great, I chose at times to swim on my own in an effort to relax through my stroke and concentrate on my breathing. At the congested buoy turn around, I was startled by the presence of two deeply submerged scuba divers checking for course-cutters and other potential problems. The course consists of two 1.2 mile loops. Each athlete had to exit the water, run over the timing pad, and then re-enter the water for their second lap. My second lap was more of the same, with slightly less physical contact. I swam an even 32 minutes for each lap and exited the water happily in 1:04. Immediately to my left were the "peelers" who rapidly skinned our wetsuits. I dashed along the turfed quarter-mile channel of energized spectators until I reached the bag rack and finally, the changing tent. This path was definately a highlight. At the start of the swim, I was unable to see my family, or friends and felt alone. Along that brief run, I heard my name called by my sons, my running and biking buddies, my father-in-law, a next door neighbor, my maid-of-honor and yes, even Paul Huddle. These brief connections put my into orbit, when I already was in flight.

Every volunteer I encountered throughout the event was incredibly helpful, including the gals in the changing tent. It was like having a mini pit crew. They dusted my feet off, helped me with my bike shoes, handed me my sunglasses and helmet, and did away with of all my swimming gear. Off I went to retrieve my Stowe (bicycle), although it's a blur as to how I got it.

As a triathlete, people often ask me, "Of the three, what's your strongest event?". Throughout the summer, I noticed as my running grew stronger, my efforts on the bike grew flat. I was concerned about the difficulty of the course and my ability to withstand the two very hilly loops. There also is a severe descent into the town of Keene where my nerves were tested on a practice ride of the course a month earlier. At speeds of up to forty six mph, the skin on my face was for a few moments, wrinkle-free. Of all three disciplines, my remark was often, "not the bike". I used a heart rate monitor for the race and attempted to keep my HR below 155bpm. The challenges were to remain relaxed, not to get intimidated by hotshots, and concentrate on my breathing. I felt strong throughout the first 56 mile loop. Mama mia, I ate a ton of food on the bike, including Powerbars, pretzels, Luna Bars, pb&j, vanilla Ensure, and Jelly Bellies. I was careful to ingest my salt tabs every hour throughout the race.

I met up with Mary during the last ten miles of the first loop. Pacing myself with not only an exceptional rider, but more importantly a supportive friend, played a major role in the success of my first loop. Over the course of the next twenty miles, an amazing transformation occured. No longer did I view Mary as any kind of a rival, but as the perfect companion to share the experience with.

The route into town was a celebration unlike any I had experienced before. The streets were lined with cheering spectators which charged me spritually. During the second half of the bike course, it began to rain. The weather up until five hours into the race had been overcast, mildly humid, and temps in the seventies. My fears of the wicked downhill were now highly elevated, puncuated by the presence of a row of parked ambulances at the base of the descent. I survived and maintained a good pace until the last ten miles. The hills seemed to become more numerous and steep. I was welcomed again by the electrifying crowds which made me forget for a moment that a full marathon was about to begin.

The run felt like an event within itself. (I must warn audiences who are easily grossed out to skip to the next paragraph.) My strategy was to tackle the whole distance one 10k at a time. The plan was going smoothly for the first four miles and then came some minor gas cramps. Before I knew it I was desperately seeking the nearest port-o-potty. Meanwhile, the rain had stopped and the heat and humidity returned with a vengeance. While some runners set minor goals for themselves of running to the next aid station, mine was to make it in time for another visit to those plastic poop tanks. I continued this trend until the eighteen mile mark, twice unable to span the mile gaps. I was unsure of what was causing the GI nightmare. Was the culprit the full strength Gatorade during the bike, the half can of Ensure, or the flat Coke I started sipping at six miles? As evidenced by the condition of each port-o-potty, I was not alone in this diahrea dilema.

(Born in Missouri), 'show me' a person who can run a full marathon without walking in an ironman! It was unusual to see someone stride through an aid station along the course. The run course contained two 13.1 mile loops of rolling hills, flat bake-in-the-sun stretches, and two especially memorable hills which I studied at very slow speeds. Where there weren't supportive spectators (one of which was mommy/triathlete extraordinaire Karen Smyers), colorful handmade signs dotted the roadsides. Unlike other marathons, I never seemed to hit one huge 'wall', yet several small hurdles during miles 19-24. Whenever I succumbed to walking, my body (L-shaped by this point) and mind (warped as usual) had a fair amount of difficulty resuming the run. It dawned on me at this point that my slowed pace would not enable me to be within a probable range for a qualifying slot for Hawaii. During the last 3 miles, I decided to pick up the pace, resist walking, and bypass the aid stations. The horse was coming back to the barn! I rounded the corner into the very full and very loud olympic oval where I sighted John and my four year old, Leo (Reese was snoozing in the stroller). I reached for Leo and carried him and his bag of goldfish towards the finish line. The announcer was loudly proclaiming, "Gae Orsini of Mendon, New York, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!" Forty three pound Leo became heavier as the finish line grew closer. It never dawned on me to let him run along by my side. When I asked him afterwards if that was fun, he remarked, "Mommy, you sweated on me! I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you this bag of Goldfish".

Afterwards, I opted to visit the medical tent in order to get off my feet, take in some fluids, and experience more fully the life on the other side of the finish line. I opted to receive an IV to expedite my recovery and relieve my light-headedness. Lying there on the cot, away from the hugs and crowds, gave me an opportunity to welcome this achievement as my own. Overall time- 11 hours, 29 minutes, 33 seconds.

As my tired, muscle-throbbing, chaffed, blistered, now clean but once really smelly body lay in bed later that night, I could still hear the announcer welcoming home more ironmen and ironwomen. I wondered if they were smiling, crying, crawling, or jumping. As a fantastic storm was nearing, I began to pray for each of their proud finishes.

Before we could make our departure back to Rochester the next day, there was some business to take care of. We walked to the high school to pick up the race photos. Simultaneously, the registration for the confirmed Hawaii slots was taking place. Only those who placed in the top four of my age group (I was 8th in the 35-39) could sign up. While waiting for their chance to expire, I spotted the table for next year's registration and quickly jumped in line. 375 dollars poorer, I was signed up for IM Lake Placid 2003. At noon, the final report of slot availability was posted. Amazingly, only one woman out of the four was on her way to Kona in less than 2 and 1/2 months! The 'roll-down' was to take place in an hour. I sat nervously in the auditiorium while John and the boys passed the time at the public beach. At last, the show began. They started first with the pros, calling names, and hearing either an enthusiastic "yes" or a brief silence. When they got to my age group, they called the 5th place woman who eagerly took a spot, then the 6th place woman who also jumped at the chance. Now, if the 7th place woman had left the building, life for me would return to some sense of normalcy. We'd get that puppy we've been researching, pave the driveway, do more mountain bike races, and start to put on our winter pounds. As the announcer called her name, there was the most beautiful silence I'd ever heard. When he called me name, I jumped up saying, "You'd better believe it!" Four hundred dollars poorer and a heck of a lot happier, I went to retrieve my boys.

As I approached the beach, my mildly sun burned sons came running towards me. I detected some prompting from John when Leo uttered, "Mommy, are we going to Hawaii, or what?"

You'd better believe it.

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