Penguin World Conference IV
Toronto, Canada
May 24 to 27, 2002The first international Penguin encounter and the first encounter outside of the United States
Becky Buckeye’s PWC IV Report
As told to Lynn Allin, Hollinger’s Island, Ala.
Hey all! Becky Buckeye here reporting from the Biggest Penguin World Conference yet, PWC IV in Toronto. Whew! What a crazy week, I hardly know where to start.
After being carefully attended to by Glenn “Toronto Penguin Grand Poobah” Gabriel, I was handed off to Tracy G for security reasons. He is a member of Toronto’s Finest, Parking Enforcement Division, and not a force to be taken lightly.
Seems the Minister of Agriculture had been leaked information about my arrival, my first trip to Canada. Had I endured the mandatory quarantine period for foreign nuts, I would have missed the race. The Toronto Penguins must be well-connected, because I was issued a special visa for my stay, and allowed to come out of hiding. Which suits me well, given that I was introduced at the opening night of the conference with much pomp and fanfare.
I was entrusted to the care of a race newbie, Tracy Cross, who was attempting her first race, the Burlington Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon. She was to be joined in the race by her sister Lynn, a misplaced Canuck living in Alabama. They were deeply honored (“honoured” for you Canadian readers) to be selected for this job . . . a job they did not take lightly.
They went out on the town for an informal night of ethnic dining. The venue they selected was Japanese, which I chose to forego because I try not to alter my habits that close to a race. Instead I was left at home with warm memories of my trip to China and a certain water chestnut I met there. For purposes of decorum I will exclude that encounter...
Despite a late night, we were up at crazy o’clock on Saturday, driving across the state . . . er sorry, province . . . to collect the food donations Tracy had solicited. One such donation is the now-famous 10 dozen Krispy Kreme donuts, from what seems to be the only store in Ontario. Darn, but it was far away! I could certainly have stayed in my box for an extra couple hours, but Tracy was determined not to disappoint her Penguins, or Pen-goos as she calls them . . . affectionately I’m sure. We turned heads at Starbucks as Lynn loaded the 60 kg (130 lb) carafe of coffee (punch line: She really likes the coffee here). They even picked up platters of fruit, bottles of water and juice and other healthful items . . . for whom I am not sure, since the Krispy Kremes went briskly, the dessert tray was history in only a few minutes and the coffee and tea service saw the most action. Like the smart penguins they are though, the bottled water was all used up in their hydrating efforts and the leftover donuts were donated to the YMCA which hosted us. They explained that they had a children’s day camp underway, and the donuts would be a great treats for the kids. Sure, sugar them up and send them home . . . devious. I like that.
I attended the conference seminars on Marathon Training by Ken Myers, and Effort-Based Training with John Bingham, our leader. There was also a fabulous Women’s Panel. Karen Bingham moderated a great panel of women including Julia Kim, Carlene Paquette, Harriet Kang and Maureen Pecknold. Tracy told me I missed a fantastic seminar, but I can’t be in all places at once. It was a special weekend for Ken who comfortably qualified for Boston in the race on Sunday.
Saturday night we attended a carbo-loading feast at a great Toronto restaurant. The only thing I like more than good Italian food is good Italian food served by waiters who are easy on the eye. Tracy, rudely, didn’t take me out and show me off as much as I would have liked. I think she was afraid I would dazzle the waiters with my smooth shell and woody, auburn highlights. But I forgave her when she ordered a rum and coke. Since this was her first race, she had no qualms about questionable pre-race rituals.
Lynn, whose pre-marathon ritual includes cheesecake, was initially disappointed when she found out only chocolate cake would be served. Then she tasted it and decided it was as decadent as necessary. They spent the night at her cousin’s house which is much closer to the race site. After attempting to explain me to the bewildered family, I joined some toys for cards. I chased off Pokemon and Buzz Lightyear, but talked Lady and the Tramp into a game of poker (see photo). For the purposes of decorum, again I will skip the details of that evening. Suffice to say, Tracy and Lynn wish they got around as much as I do. Look closely at the photo . . . you can see the lust in Tramp’s eyes.
We got up at another crazy o’clock time and headed to the race site. I was so nervous and anxious for Tracy that I could have hurled . . . good thing I don’t have a digestive tract.
For the run she gingerly placed me in the outer compartment of her Camelbak. It was comfortable: spacious and ventilated. I posed for a couple photos with Tracy. She was in the porta-pottie line for ever, and I feared she might miss the race start. She hates porta-potties and decided that if she races again, rather than develop her speedwork, she needs to concentrate on her gag reflex. Her concern in the pottie was dropping me, or worse, letting her Camelbak mouth piece droop. We met the most obnoxious man. He was taking Advils like popcorn and mocking a half-marathon as a mere training run. Tracy thanked her stars for her wonderful pen-goos whose philosophy could not be more in opposition to his.
We took our spot at the back of the pack, surrounded by running friends of the local penguin flock and those who had come for the conference. The race began and we spread out. The hugs and encouragement they share do not go unnoticed. Several women ask what penguins are and if they could become one. Tracy happily shares the information with them and then goes about the business of running a half-marathon.
She stuck to her plan of 5-1 very well. Her sister, a cheetah-wannabe, surges with the pack but remembers better. Km after km go by without incident. Lynn is yammering on about anything she can think of to entertain her sister. Mostly, this consists of anecdotes from her marathon experiences and comments on the butts of passing men. Eventually she will accidentally slip dangerously close to becoming a cheerleader: bright, perky, obnoxious. Tracy has hit the Bite Me stage of the run and lets Lynn know it. Lynn is told to avoid all references to large numbers, such as, “You’ve already done 17,” and told instead to focus on small numbers, such as, “Only 4 to go.” Tracy notices that her gel breaks have really improved her energy and mood and looks forward to the approaching water station at the 18 km mark.
As they approach the station Tracy’s pace increases slightly. Bells are being rung. Cheers are being shouted. Runners hugged and encouraged. Tracy skips a walk break to enter the station running. There is no doubt this is the station being staffed by penguins. In an ironic twist, the band at the station, not affiliated with the group, is playing Sweet Home Alabama. Lynn is too busy dancing to take a Gatorade break. Glenn, Kelly, Tracy G, Julie, Maureen N, Richard rush to our aid. Tracy has been swarmed by penguins like a pit crew at Nascar! She is refueled (gel, Ruffles chips and water), has her tires inspected (“You look so strong!”), has her body checked (Hugs and back-slapping galore) and roars back onto the course. Buoyed by the group’s energy, we trudge ahead at a good clip. For the first time it crosses our minds that she might beat her goal of 3:15.
By 19.5 the rush of the group has subsided and foot pain has replaced it. Sometimes I am so glad to be round, without all these appendages to worry about. We take an early walk break. Tracy has nearly started crying. She realizes that she is about to finish her first half-marathon . . . and I say “nearly” crying because she doesn’t have enough water to form tears, so she just makes the face.
At 20km the finish line is closer than it has ever been, metaphorically as well as literally. We meet up with Harriet Kang and her enthusiasm pulls us forward. She is working the crowd, waving US and Canadian flags. The crowd is thicker and louder, but still a blur. We encourage a lady to finish with us and she meets the challenge step for step. “Just around this corner,” spectators promise and the pace picks up.
At this point, I am one happy nut. But I don’t think I can forgive Tracy for what she did next . . . she starts to sprint. And don’t confuse “sprint” with “slight increase in speed” . . . hell no! I mean: run-for-your-life, run-away-from-sewer-monsters, run-as-fast-as-your-flippers-can-carry-you type of run. Tracy left her confused sister behind. Lynn was confused, looking over her shoulder, certain the pace had dropped Tracy and then startled (pleasantly) to see Tracy in front of her . . . . waaaay in front of her. At this point I am bouncing around and being thrown hither and yon in my compartment, which wouldn’t have been so bad if I had not had to share the room with a used Kleenex.
Tracy finishes, beating me by a nose, since I am in her fanny pack. The lady finishes. Lynn finishes with Harriet right behind. Tracy does her happy dance; a hybrid of congo/highland fling/too freakin’ happy to believe it. It is a joy to behold. John is there and gives Tracy a big hug of congratulations. If that weren’t enough for one day, the icing on the cake comes later when she finds out her official time was well under her estimation: 2:55.
Now, Tracy is not a tall person, but suddenly she is about 6’5”. Maybe this is because her feet aren’t touching the ground. The lady who ran the last bit with our group comes over to thank Tracy for pulling her in . . . digest that: “pulling her in.” Tracy has become a runner. Not only because she does the miles, does the training and because she did a race (although the token of accomplishment — the medal — does provide a concrete modicum of pride). But somehow, a better runner because she helped someone else.
I’m all va-klempt (excuse my spelling).
Well, last I saw of those two, Tracy had finally taken her medal off and Lynn was still complaining that the race was fine, but putting up banquet decorations hurt her neck. Boo-hoo sister.
The banquet was held at a yacht club on Toronto Island with the blaze of sunset and the silhouetted cityscape the background for touching speeches and presentations. The conference acknowledged my being passed along to Mary D and participants jealously traded whispers that I was off to Africa.
On that note, I take my leave. Thanks to the TO pen-goos for a good time . . .
Your nutty buddy,
Becky
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