NYC Triathlon

Be very careful what you wish for… or what you enter the lottery for.. you just might get into the New York Triathlon and actually have to not only train for it but get up at 3:30 am on the first Sunday in August to swim in the Hudson River.

So, the race is now over… done and dusted. Here are some reflections on the experience.

Now, don’t get me wrong, this was an obligation of my own making and I began training with some experience in doing triathlons. Back in 1985, after finishing my undergrad work, I’d decided to fill the sudden gap following graduation by shifting from long distance running to triathlon training. Over two years, I did a half dozen events in Texas, Colorado and here in New York where I was temporarily cured of the compulsion after competing in the Liberty to Liberty Tri. That race, which took place on 6 July 1986 also included a swim in the not-so-clean-as-now Hudson River from the Statue of Liberty to Liberty State Park, a bike ride to Philadelphia and a run there that ended up at the Liberty Bell.. hence the name. It was a brutal day and I decided … somewhere around the sixth mile in the run through Philly… that I liked cycling better than running and much more than swimming. So, for the last twenty-eight years, I have been a cyclist and a runner whenever a bicycle wasn’t around. So, I went into this triathlon with eyes wide open.

The cycling and running were the two easy elements, particularly the cycling. Two other “lucky” lotteries this year got me into both the “Ride the Rockies”, the six-day ride this past June 2014 over some particularly high mountain passes in Colorado, and the NY Marathon next November. Yes, I hit the trifecta with lotteries this year. Also, I’m training for one more cycling event just before the Marathon called the Amashova, a 106 km race in South Africa from Pietermaritzburg to Durban, along some of the famous Comrades route. So, I have been run and cycle training pretty intensively since December.

The swimming is the part that I like not so much. After dislocating my left shoulder during an eskimo role while kayaking Cat 3 water in the Middle Fork of the American River in 1979 and nearly drowning, I haven’t liked water so much or raising my left elbow over my ear in the presence of many kicking athletes. So, while I can certainly swim, and quite quickly, I would prefer not to be in the water nor swim the crawl. But, I had discovered doing these damn things back in the 80s, that I could move along quite quickly while doing the breaststroke and I then got to not only look around on every breath and keep my head out of the water, but the nature of the breaststroke is that you are able to sharp elbow or frog kick anyone who makes the mistake of moving into your swimming space.

So, for the last five months, I have been swimming laps in hotel pools in cities all over the world while on business and going over to the Vanderbilt YMCA on 47th St here in Manhattan to get in some swim workouts while in town. And, two weeks ago, I did an open-water swim class at Brighton Beach on a Sunday morning hosted by Jack Rabbit Sports to get some real experience in the wet suit (getting in and out of it) and in the hectic salty water outdoors.

The class went well and I not only learned that I have not gotten over my fear of outdoor water, but that I really did not like wearing a wetsuit. Great day with fun subway rides and interesting people, but I knew then what I realized today, I don’t like swimming, think that it is a lousy thing to combine with two of my favorite things (cycling and running) and that as much as I might train, I would not be enjoying the swim in the Hudson River.

So, all things considered, today’s NY Triathlon was a great day.. or, should I say, several days. The entire logistical arrangements, now compounded by the security procedures, are very complicated and really take three days of your time, with some pre-planned as well. On Friday, two days before the Tri, I picked up my race packet at the Expo, conveniently down the street at Grand Central Station. Of course, I rode Citibike over and back. It is great to be doing a local, neighborhood event, particularly one this complex. I’d hate to have to figure out hotels, bike assembly and travel on top of all the other necessary arrangements to have everything in place on Sunday morning.

At the Expo everyone had to attend a twenty-five minute orientation before we could get our race number and free t-shirt. The entire security procedures are so ludicrous, involving placing all of your gear, including the bag that you use to carry your gear, into a plastic bag for entry into the transition area. Even the presenter in our session admitted that the procedures don’t make a lot of sense but politely asked all of the athletes to please go along with them anyway.

Then, the following day was mostly dedicated to figuring out that I had all of the right stuff in the bag that I was going to bring with me on my bike to the transition area, had all of the things that I would need after the swim and after the bike. And, packing all of the things that I would need in a separate bag, that I would take with me to the swim start and then transport back to the finish line. This included trying to figure out where I would need what combination of shoes (cycling, running and walking to the start area) and electronics (Garmin watches and GoPro Camera) and which bag they would go in for cycling over, during the race and cycling back home after the Tri. But, after some cerebral gymnastics while putting on a new pair of Continental Gran Prix 4-Seasons 700 X 25 tires (I wasn’t going to tempt the Flat Gods by riding on a rainy day on an old pair of tires with some cuts), I figured out all of the minor logistics and rode over to drop off my bike:

Notice the sunshine? There would be not of that stuff on race day. Also notice, bike was in lowest gear to deal with a hill right after leaving the transition, two water bottles (full), GoPro bracket under the stem and the bike is clean, clean, clean. Notice the clean? There would be none of that either on race day.

As part of my preparation for this season of bike cycling, triathlon and running events, I changed my diet back in January and eliminated all foods that contain added refined sugar or syrup. This meant no cookies, ice cream, most yogurts, most granola, Wheat Thins, sports drinks and anything offered for desert in any restaurant. As a result of this and that I had stopped drinking alcohol back at the end of 2012, life has officially become a lot less fun. But, I have dropped a lot of weight and have such better endurance and energy on a diet that focuses now mostly on fat, protein and complex carbs. My one exception for the no-sugar restrictions is while engaging in endurance events longer than two hours, when you want to take in about 300 calories per hour in sweetened drinks or gels, and the night before one of those type of events. So, last night, as an exceptional treat, I purposefully and with great joy, consumed an entire pint of lemon sorbet. However, the resultant sugar high was profound and somewhat agitating. My system has definitely shifted to a low sugar state.

This morning I woke at 3:30, grabbed those things that I would need to get across town in a cab, walk the mile from the transition area to the swim start, and swim a mile in the Hudson River with several thousand other maniacs. I dressed in my Tri suit, a Bear Grylls long-sleeve outdoors shirt, some new Keene sandals and headed out into the lukewarm rain. It was about 15C and lightly spitting. At 4:15 am, there is that special New York City moment when the baked and inebriated overlap with the healthy compulsives out on the streets, competing for cabs and eyeing each other with amazement. The pair of wobbly young hookers looking for a cab in front of the pita pace at Second Avenue and 57th were as seemingly amused by skin-tight dayglo yellow attire with prominent number tattoos on my arms and legs as I was of their mussed mascara, shooort skirts and stilettos.

The transition area was only open until 5:15 am, well before sunrise and lit up like a police impound lot. With the rain coming down, I decided to keep most of my run stuff still in the plastic bag. The extra water bottle was to wash off my feet before putting on my running shoes. My GPS and Go-Pro in place and ready to go. My helmet hanging from the stem with glasses. My bike was ready for when I got out of the water.

So, this is where the day really got fun. All along this rack of bikes were the other guys competing in the 60 and above category. The magical winnowing process that selects out men at this age who are still physically fit enough to compete in a multi-modal multi-hour sporting event, produces an interesting assortment of individuals. There we stood, collectively fretted over whether we had the right stuff with us, the proper bag for transport back to the finish from the swim start, kvetching about the assorted aches and pains associated with sixty decades of physical activity and plenty of advice and observations of the strong ebb tide (yeah!!) But there was also some talk about how we were all fighting back the advancing years with alacrity and all of us felt somewhat angry that when we looked in the mirror, there was some old guy looking back at us.

This is Don.

Don, a realtor from strong Irish descent from Brooklyn, born two months before me in 1953 and I talked for the entire mile-long walk to the swim start. The conversation expanded to others in the swim corral where we were herded into close quarters to wait while the elite athletes began just before us. I do believe that for about fifteen minutes, standing shoulder-to-shoulder along the shore of the Hudson at dawn waiting to swim 1500 meters, there were more 200-watt personalities and uber-fit old farts per square meter than any other spot on the planet. A very interesting group of guys and some spirited banter. One common feeling was that each of us had nothing to prove. That just by being out here and doing this it was enough… and everyone was impressed, rightly or wrongly, that we were just doing it. And, that this was going to be fun and we had come to play… play as old guys, like we did when we were kids.. and still are at heart.

And, the day was just that! It was great fun and I started off by playing all the way down the Hudson River.

Our group jumped in around 6:20 or so (no watch) and the current was really moving along, carrying us towards the swim transition area. I started out doing my breast stoke, but the wet suit was really constricting my breathing and I never felt like I could get a full breath while on my stomach. So, after almost freaking out for the first few minutes, I turned over on my right side and started doing the side stroke and looking up at the the spectators lining the railing not more than fifteen meters away. They were waving. I waved back. They yelled encouragement. I was concentrating on my breathing. But, with a strong side stroke frog kick, an Esther Williams like reach-push-pull arm action, I was styling and moving quickly with the current. No, I was not going as fast as freestyle guys, but I had a nice chat with the several kayakers who paddled up near me when they may have mistaken my side stroke for some form of panic. From time to time I’d switch back to breast stroke and even a little back stroke, but mostly just glided along and waved to the crowd.

I got out of the water, almost last in my age group, but I had survived the swim, had some fun and remember thinking at the time that I would not have to swim again for a very long time.

It was a long barefoot run from the swim exit to the yellow transition area. I’m not sure of the distance, but it might have been 700 meters or more. My entire transition time, from exiting the water to leaving the transition area on my bike, was 14:48, of which at least ten minutes must have been the run and sitting on the bench getting that damn wetsuit off.

[embedded widget removed: Triathlon Swim]

[embedded widget removed: ./Messages from the Pale Blue Dot_ August 2014_files/cfe95a341b5695814123da6b8afed7632a12b78a.html]

Here are the bike stats and route, up the Westside Highway, over the river at Spyten Duyvil and to Van Cortland Park and back by way of a u-turn at 57th Street. It was raining the entire ride, which meant that any time you were drafting it was not only illegal but there was a real-time unofficial penalty with awful NY City grimy wheel spray. I rode hard, keeping right below lactate threshold (since this was not the only event of the day) pushing a bit on the hills because it felt good to pass a lot of other cyclists. The guys I were passing were the fast swimming (and poor cycling) men from 40-60 years old, but I was riding with and getting passed by the fast swimming and fast cycling women from 25-35 and and 45 and older who started twenty minutes behind me. (You could easily tell the age of any competitor because we were required to write our age on the back of our left calf in big black marker.) Most of them were pretty good riders and poor hill climbers (triathletes don’t train enough on hills to qualify as good cyclists and they certainly don’t have bikes that are geared right for hills.) It was a shame that it was illegal to draft (not to mention similar to showering with gutter water) since it would have been a much faster and thrill-packed ride sucking wheel from some of the fast women. (Not included here is any references to the incredible thrill of being shoulder to shoulder with women athletes at full throttle …. in Lycra.)

There were some bad crashes along the route. I’m not sure if it was slick white lines on the road, which can be really dangerous in the rain, or just poor bike handling on wet roads, but it was dangerous. There were more than a few times when I just sat up and dropped my wattage down to under 150 to stay out of trouble. And there were more than a few complete idiots who couldn’t stay to the right hand side of the road and out of the way of faster cyclists, some passing several at a time. Bitch bitch.

My bike to run transition was a fast four minutes with no drama. However, that muscle adjustment in going from flat out cycling to flat out running is really more like a morphing than anything I know. The body has to shift all the alignment, balance, blood flow from one set of leg muscles to another. It doesn’t happen quickly and can often lead to bad leg cramps during the first part of the run. Add to this the face that the exit from the transition area is a 75 meter run up a 20% hill in Riverside Park towards the Penelope Jencks statue of Eleanor Roosevelt.

Here is my run:

[embedded widget removed: ./Messages from the Pale Blue Dot_ August 2014_files/787d00c1c8e45de42d9377f18bc144e8dc96a55a.html]

Running in Central Park is something that I do several times a week, but running down 72nd Street to Central Park West was special. The route was lined with spectators and there were not that many competitors at this point in the race so that they couldn’t yell specific encouragement. And, I was running along with a woman wearing a jersey that said, “Davis, USA”, which was either her name or she was from the lovely cycling town in California. So, of course, everyone yelled, “Go Davis!” I was invisible or sometimes got a “Go 425!” or “Looking good number 425.” I’m not sure if I was looking good or not, still running awkwardly as my cycling muscles decided that they were no longer needed and my creaky joints adjusted to the awful pounding that cycling deftly avoids.

It was a fun run in Central Park, partly because I never run a clockwise loop and all the familiar hills were oddly foreign with the uphills turned into descents. I set my heartrate at about 150 on the hills and 140 running down them, gradually getting up in the 160s-170s for the last half a kilometer, when I saw a couple of left calves marked >60. Yes, I got around all the other runners in the “old guy” division that I saw over the last click and finished looking pretty strong.

Pam caught this photo of me in the final 250 meters.

So, my final times were:

The organizers offered free Pedi Cabs back to the transition area to pick up our bikes. Kudos to the transition area director who opened up the gates to finishers forty minutes early, showing great common sense and flexibility. I rode home, taking the Greenway down to 54th and the bike path across town.

[embedded widget removed: ./Messages from the Pale Blue Dot_ August 2014_files/c3e5e2b9d5c3af2a3096ce19033cca1b9cf2f549.html]

So, this year I have set six athletic milestones:

• Riding across the Western Cape in South Africa and racing the Cape Argus Classic in March
• Cycling for eight days through the Big Bend with Adventure Cycling in April
• Participating in Ride the Rockies, with high mileage at high elevation and heaps of climbing for six days in June
• The New York Triathlon
• The Amashova 106 km bike race in South Africa in October
• The New York Marathon on 2 November

Four down, two to go. No injuries. No crashes. Knock. Knock. Knock.

All in all, a great day. I’m presently horizontal and have treated myself to some special comfort food for my aching legs; Atomic Wings order of chicken wings with the Abusive hot sauce and a big well done hamburger. (Thanks to Kai for schlepping over to pick up our order.)

Another triathlon? Not likely. Check that off the bucket list for this decade. Maybe again in my seventies.