Living with the Finns

[Ed. Note: David Easa is a San Diego-based triathlete who has the good fortune to play host to the Finnish pro Mika Luoto when Luoto makes a swing through California to fine-tune his preparation for Hawaii. Last year, Easa hosted Luoto and training partner Tom Soderdahl; they went on to finish eighth and 11th in Kona, respectively. Soderdahl has stayed behind in Finland this year; his son was born just three days ago. Luoto, meanwhile, arrived in California in September for his final Kona push.

This year, things were a little different for Easa; He would be going to Kona with Luoto, having qualified for the race at Ironman Canada in the super-competitive 25-29 age group. Easa was kind enough to share his impressions of the time spent with Luoto, and we think it makes for fascinating reading about the up-close lives of athletes at the pinnacle of our sport.]

I can’t help but get excited when Mika Luoto finally comes to town. Mika’s arrival means that the season is winding down and that Kona is right around the corner. It is very difficult to avoid being excited about the Ironman Triathlon World Championships, even if you aren’t racing. But to host an athlete who finished eighth last year and watch him prepare for the event is at times mind-boggling and at other times incredibly inspirational. And to finally have a chance to compete alongside him this year is even better than I had ever imagined it could be. For a golf fanatic, it would be akin to having Tiger Woods stay at your house and hit the course with you while you both wait to tee off together at the U.S. Open.

Many unique elements make up Mika Luoto. He was born and raised in Turku, Finland. Finland’s population is not that big, and perhaps for that reason you don’t often hear too much about the great Finn athletes. But if you scroll back through the Ironman history books you’ll come across Pauli Kiuru, Mika’s countryman, and perhaps in part his inspiration. In 1993, Pauli finished second to Mark Allen and spent a good portion of the race in the lead and threatening for the win. And while you won’t find Mika predicting a similar feat for himself in public, you can certainly see he has the drive, the dedication, and the quiet confidence that Pauli had. The Finns just aren’t all that big on boasting and bragging--they are kings of understatement and flying below the radar, something that is almost a lost art in America.

Another very unique part of Mika Luoto is his bicycle frame. Handmade in Finland out of carbon fiber, it reminds me a little bit of a giraffe with its long, curving seat tube. It is probably closest to the more recognized Cat Cheetah from Switzerland, but the look of the frame is quite different and very unconventional. In San Diego County it is perhaps the only bike that can turn heads among a population that has seen just about every other type of bicycle roaming the Pacific Coast Highway over the weekend. And yet, to Mika, his bicycle is just that, nothing more. He packs it up in cardboard because it won’t fit into a conventional bike box, covering the saddle with bubble wrap and cardboard as it sticks through the side of the box. Whether on the road or in the airport, you can’t help but notice Mika’s ride is different than what you’re used to seeing. And it’s ironic because while many cyclists in San Diego are practically screaming “look at me,” that thought is one that never enters Mika’s mind while he’s on the bike.

It takes a minimum of 12 hours of travel to make the trip from Turku to San Diego. Last year the flights were less than ideal and total travel time topped out near 18 hours. This year, Mika showed up in the afternoon with only 14 hours lost and looking reasonably chipper. I was pretty surprised by this, expecting a re-run of the Finland zombie. So, in light of his “I’m fine” appearance, I decided I would drag him off to the Sunday run the next morning. He had no trouble waking up, and seemed perfectly happy to jump into the mix right away, before even unpacking his bike box. I knew Jurgen Zack was back in town, preparing for Kona as well, and I figured he would probably make an appearance at the run, so I was not surprised when I saw him, followed by Normann Stadler and their many groupies on our way down El Camino Real from San Dieguito Park. Apparently they were running three hours that day, starting from Cardiff. But of course it didn’t take long for Jurgen to start pushing the pace toward an unreasonable level.

I started having some minor flashbacks to last year when I attempted to keep pace with all of them two weeks after Ironman Wisconsin. I decided I’d take the run easy and watch out for Mika to make sure he didn’t get lost, but in the midst of my concession, Mika blew by me with Steve Chrapchynski and Steve’s two friends from the Ukraine, one of whom was this year’s Ironman Austria champion, Viktor Zyemtsev. So, once again I found myself getting shelled by my heroes, only this time I could no longer hide under the premise that my season was over. This time I had to put in the work so I could consider myself worthy to toe the line with the modern-day triathlon giants. I worked hard over the middle portion of the run to catch back up to Mika and Steve, and finally did along the golf course when they let up enough to let me bridge the gap. I decided right there that I wouldn’t need to spend any time worrying about Mika, I could save all of my mental energy for worrying about myself!

Back at home we figured out the coffee machine and Mika set about putting his bike together. The next day ended up being a bit less painful, but too much socializing at the pool wound up in a plan to ride the Lake Henshaw loop on Tuesday morning. The previous year I had only ridden with Mika once, and I got dropped so quickly that it wasn’t even fair to pretend that we had ridden together. You just can’t fake speed on the bike the way you might be able to on the run and the way you certainly can in the pool. But someone had to drive Mika to the start and at least I knew the general route, so I figured I could just limp along for fun. The crew that morning ended up being Steve, Viktor and his friend/coach, Mike Nichols aka Mike-the-bike, Mika and myself. It felt like showing up to a wrestling match with The Rock--I was so clearly outgunned but none of these guys really knew exactly how much. They all expected me to be able to hang with them, so I was forced to try. So, off we went, me sucking any bit of wheel I could find until we hit the climb from Escondido to Ramona on 78. Viktor shouted something in his native language, and someone surged, don’t ask me who, and off they went. Meanwhile, gasping at my anaerobic threshold, I continued on, realizing it was going to be a long ride without anyone to pull me the rest of the way.

I stumbled through Ramona and up Old Julian Highway thinking that I could at least drown my sorrows at Dudleys until a big “whooooh” from Steve shook me back into consciousness. Apparently they had waited for me (the fools!). I caught a bit of a ride for the last few miles out to Santa Ysabel and thankfully the group decided it would be OK to take a short break. Despite my complete destruction on the way out, the next leg of the ride was not particularly easy and would be even more difficult on my own, so I dug even deeper to hold a wheel up over the hump on 79, and then down from Lake Henshaw to the La Jolla Indian Reservation. I don’t think I bothered shifting out of my 53x11 once we crested the hump on 79, and there were moments when I pedaled as hard as I could, going downhill, and I was still slowly losing ground to the pack, even with a draft. It was an incredible, mind-blowing situation for me, easily the hardest day I’ve ever put in on the bike. I ended up with no choice but to let them go on the climb up the hump on 76, regrouped at the store, then suffered up the hill from Rincon, through Valley Center and back to Escondido. Waiting for me at the car was the entire group, looking as fresh as they had when they started. I could barely walk.

I assumed that from that point the day was over, but I was wrong. Steve wanted to do some laps on the CSU San Marcos track that afternoon, and since I also live nearby, Mika decided that would be “some good, hard training.” I always find it amusing to hear Mika describe these workouts. Although it can’t possibly hurt him as much as me, his true, dry, humor does come through in a quiet, raw tone. Yes, we will run on the track. It will be quite fast. It will be good training. Yikes! Even worse, while we are warming up, Jurgen trots over and proceeds to put on his spikes. Someone jokes that Jurgen’s shoes look more like a second pair of socks while Jurgen does an imitation of Pauli Kiuru telling him in years past that “this is an endurance competition, not a boxing match” in reference to their respective physiques. While we do some additional warmup, Jurgen starts talking about the Wednesday ride from the pancake house. I start to really sweat it as I consider what kinds of excuses I can use to get out of that one. Riding with Steve, Mika, Viktor, and Mike is hard enough, but throw Jurgen and Normann in the mix and I might as well stay home and drop bowling balls on my quads. Both acts would be equally futile. Fortunately, Mika decides maybe he will just swim tomorrow and ride easy, no need to thrash his homestay twice in a row and he wants to focus on his swimming this week anyway. Feeling like I dodged a bullet, I jump into the workout with a naive grin on my face. I figured Mika is strong enough to carry my body back to the truck and Steve can probably help him find his way back home if I can’t.

Jurgen, content in his role as “dictator” as pronounced by Normann, decided we will run 6x1K starting at 3:15 and drop it down 5-10 seconds from there. The first one starts and I do my best to keep out of the pack so that I can jump off when my heart begins to explode. I make it through 800 at 2:30 pace, which is just about as fast as I can run, and decide not to participate in the final 200. I repeat this process three more times, each one getting further off the back, particularly on the second lap, as the pace quickens. I cut it down to a 400 on the fifth interval, realizing that I only ran with the group for one lap on the fourth. Fortunately for me Jurgen decides that five is enough. Dodged another bullet, and at least I participated in whatever way I knew how. I definitely got a good portion of whoop-ass today!

The next few days are thankfully reasonable, although they are only reasonable because I can skip out on anything I need to in the pool, and Mika doesn’t particularly mind a two-hour ride with me on his back wheel the whole time. I drag Mika to my UC San Diego track practice on Thursday, get some photos of him in action, and get my much-slower-than-Tuesday 1k’s done. Friday passes and soon it’s the weekend. This is the only real weekend Mika will have since he will be racing in the Mission Bay triathlon the following Sunday. So I’m scared beyond belief at what could happen to me on Saturday and of course Jurgen at the pool on Friday dreams up a workout that will bury me up to my neck and leave me to the vultures. The plan is to ride with the group from B&L to the Elfin Forest, then up Lake Wohlford where the climb will be fast. When Jurgen says fast, I cringe knowing exactly what that really means. The rest is supposed to be steady, ending at the UCSD track for a 10k for time. Jurgen decides the 10k will be done in 34 minutes, give or take, since that’s what Spencer Smith did last year. I manage to work in a weasel-out option to take Mika his running shoes so I don’t have to do the whole ride, and so that I can run a bit just to get a taste of what it means to go that fast.

Mika and I start out early, early enough to get him a chance to warm up before the group catches us somewhere in the Elfin Forest, and also early enough for me to get an adequate head start that I won’t be too far back by the time I reach Lake Wohlford. I leave Mika to the swarm, head off to the lake with a friend from the Reynolds Wednesday ride, and manage to make it to Valley Center in the middle of the group, leveraging my substantial head start. From there I take a head start to make it up West Lilac, then hang in down the hill and westerly on Old River Road. I am surprised to see Jurgen and Normann at the back, sitting in, something I didn’t think either was capable of or even knew how to do. Mika loses a bottle and Viktor returns to retrieve it at which point Jurgen drops back to pull him up to the group. Despite 40-50 cyclists to draft, Mika is near the front and pushing the pace whenever he can. I let them go, head home, jump in the car, and meet them at UCSD with Mika’s shoes. After a quick, towel-change-minus-the-towel on the infield, Jurgen and Normann set off with Mika quick to follow and me in for the ride until I blow. The first lap goes in 80, the first mile in 5:20, and I’m off with the realization that this is faster than the 34 I was expecting and that my 10K PR is only 35 something. I resort to running 800s and taking a 400 to rest until Jurgen and Normann finish their twenty-fifth lap in 33:02. I find this fact absolutely sickening considering they rode about 150km immediately before.

Sunday ends up being spent at La Jolla Cove to participate in a 10-mile relay swim. Mika decides this will be a good chance to try out a wetsuit he was given, although he ends up swimming his second mile three minutes faster without it. I find myself a billion miles off course in the middle of the kelp and unable to see a buoy or any other swimmer on my first lap, realizing for the first time how much I depend on swimmers in front of me for navigation. When we get back, we talk a bit with my roommate about going to see George Clinton on Monday night. I am somewhat surprised that Mika is interested in going out at a level that I don’t even attempt, but at the same time I realize that this is his big vacation and he probably doesn’t have as many opportunities back in Turku. I find out that a friend of his is a big George Clinton fan, and I am amused to see a big grin on his face when George finally comes out on stage, wearing ski goggles.

On Tuesday, Mika’s cycling coach and massage therapist, Mauno Uusivirta, arrives and we all get much-needed massages. Earlier that day Mika and Viktor got together to swim a 3K at 1:15/100m pace. I joined them for maybe 400 before I blew up and cashed in my chips. The level of training had finally burried me, and Mauno could tell I was thrashed. But over the next few days, he patched both of us up as I stole some extra sleep instead of taking Mika to Tijuana. The next weekend rolled around quite quickly--it almost seemed as though the pace of each day had quickened once Mauno arrived. Before I even realized it, I found myself treading water in Mission Bay, my first-ever start in the “elite” wave, a group that I belonged in about as much as the first-class cabin on an aircraft. It was lucky that nobody noticed me sneaking into the water without a wetsuit (I had loaned it to a friend) or they surely would have laughed at my unprepared, rookie attempt to race with the real athletes. But I wanted a front row seat to see Mika dominate the field and I figured if I could ever sneak by in the elite wave, it would have to be at a race like Mission Bay which would be so short that I wouldn’t be that far back when I finally crawled over the finish line.

As soon as we started, the real swimmers left me in their wake. I was amazed that I couldn’t even see them after the halfway point, and by the time I got to the racks there were far more wetsuits than bikes. I thought I’d have some chance to see Mika riding, but alas he had beaten me by 40 seconds and was long gone down the road. A 500-meter swim had put me that far back--amazing! The bike was actually pretty lonely with a lap around Fiesta Island that obscured everyone outside of a 10-second window. Coming back to the racks and throwing on my shoes with the agility of an elephant, I somehow stumbled out onto the run course in the middle of the group and held it together for a far less embarassing finish than I had predicted. Mika was there waiting--he had beaten Mark Lees by more than a minute after giving away 21 seconds on the swim. I think the sweat had already dried off Mika by the time I finished, but I was happy to have raced alongside him for the whole 10 seconds I was within visual contact. The funny part of it is that Mika is basically the same age as I am, and other than being taller and leaner, there isn’t anything that stands out as the reason for his outstanding speed. But put him in a race and you see so clearly exactly how much faster his ability allows him to go.

Finally it was time to pack up and head over to Hawaii. I was sad and nostalgic, just like last year at this time, but I was also scared to death of the real race that was lying in wait for both of us on October 18. Kona is bigger than anything I have ever dreamed of, and although I felt that my thrashing about in Mika’s presence was a huge boost, I still remain amazed at exactly how incredible the elite athletes are. At least in Mika’s case, they don’t act any differently than the rest of us. And while they will on occasion do some pretty extreme workouts, their easy days are pretty close to my easy days. In the end, I realized

there wasn’t that much that sets Mika apart from the rest of us, from myself, or from any other age grouper. He is genuine, humble, hardworking, and he shares the passion we all have for making the most of his abilities. Mika will be a dad soon after he returns home from Kona, and I realized so much more with this visit exactly what his family means to him. Last year I simply saw Mika as an amazing athlete, someone I could not really understand, but at least I could admire. This year I realized he is just like me, only a whole lot better. I look forward to seeing him for another ten seconds, this time on the Kona course, and I’ll be willing to bet that he’ll be there at the finish line again. This time he’ll have showered and eaten, and will probably be a few thousand dollars richer than before. But he’ll still be wearing that smile, the one that he had at the George Clinton concert, and the one that he likes to bring out during a hard workout. You can’t judge enjoyment on exuberance with Mika Luoto. You have to read the subtleties of his expressions to know exactly how big his drive is.