The New York City Triathlon. A "gotta do it once" kind of race, as I was told. I agree with that sentiment, but am not sure that it's a "gotta do it twice" kind of race. Maybe because it ended up being a very tough race, or maybe because it's just so damn big, or maybe because we were running around like crazy the day before; whatever the reason, it's not a "must-do" for me next year...unless a friend wants to race with me. Then I'm all in.
The day began with a 4:30am wake-up call. A quick shower to get the body ready (I've showered just about every other morning of my life, why should this be any different?), and then I was out the door. Our hotel wasn't far from transition, so I was able to throw my bag on my back and head on over. It was raining a bit. Drizzling, really. Still dark outside, and NYC was actually kind of quiet. Well, except for the surprising amount of taxis roaming around. I figured that the cabs were full of people that we just about finishing their Saturday nights. After all, some bars stay open until 5am, so there was still some drinking to be done.
The rain was a bit of a concern, since with it brought the chance of thunderstorms. There had been talk at the expo the day before that the swim portion would be cancelled if the threat of thunderstorms persisted through the night (the race directors had altered the chip pick-up process to account for that: they typically give chips out at the swim start, but they gave them out at bike check-in, in case the swim was cancelled. Oh right, since the NYC Tri is so large and logistically painful, they have athletes check their bikes in the day before the race. Smart move, I think.) As I walked closer and closer to transition, more and more athletes came from other areas, and we were soon a good size group walking through the boat basin over to transition.
With each passing minute, I figured that chances improved that the swim hadn't been cancelled. News like that travels quickly, so not hearing anything probably meant that the swim was still on. I was hopeful.
It was still dark getting to transition. I got to my spot (as I mentioned earlier, I had dropped off the bike the day before, and used a Clif Bar poster on the fence to identify which row was mine. I'd need to remember that for later. I began unloading my stuff, sucking down water and eating Nature Valley Granola bars. There was some questionable pop music (Justin Bieber, Katy Perry; like I said, questionable) blaring over the loudspeakers, interrupted about every 3 minutes by the announcer giving us a time-check, letting us know that the swim was not cancelled, and that the water was 76 degrees: wetsuit legal. I thought about not wearing a wetsuit, and really had a tough time deciding. I knew I'd be warm in a wetsuit, as I've swam in similarly temperate water without a wetsuit, and been perfectly fine. But I had been planning on wearing a wetsuit, and I didn't want to throw myself a curveball. I thought about it some more.
I finished setting up, and headed for the swim start. Since this was a point-to-point swim, we had to walk about a mile up the Hudson River Park to the swim start. It was a quiet march of triathletes. Not quite solemn, but surprisingly quiet given that there were 3000 people moseying up to the start. Most people had their wetsuits on their shoulders (and the occasional rookie had it on already). I decided to bring mine, still unsure of my decision.
On the way up, we all heard that the race was delayed due to a car accident on Hudson River Drive, which was the bike course for the race. I got to the swim start area and wandered around. Went to the bathroom (it was a urinator's (while I couldn't find the correct spelling of the word that means: 'a person that urinates', I was able to find this. That can't be real, right?) paradise, as there were plenty o' port o' potties and virtually no lines). I wandered some more and found a place to sit down. I quickly got bored and since the race was delayed, I decided to walk along the river to maybe see if I could find Maggie, Terri and Gavin (they were going to be watching the race somewhere in the vicinity).
After not finding them, I headed back up to the swim start. As the pro/elite groups started, I was able to get a good view of their swimming. They were fast, and the current was making them even faster. This was going to be a quick swim.
The first major wave finished their start (since the race is so large, they split the entire field into two main groups: yellow and red), and the 20 minute "intermission" began (just to space things out and keep a level of sanity for the race in general). I was still just relaxing on the grass, making sure not to stand too much, and certainly keep my wetsuit off. It was too warm and muggy to have that thing on longer than was necessary.
They announced the beginning of the red group and I moseyed over to the river. The first waves in the red group were the paratriathletes. Absolutely astounding. There was an Afghanistan veteran who was a triple amputee that I saw swimming down the Hudson. His name was Rajesh Durbal and he was truly inspiring. Can you imagine swimming down the choppy, murky Hudson River with only one fully-functional limb? Unbelievable.
The corrals finally started moving, so it was only a short matter of time before we'd be off and swimming (I had thrown my wetsuit one by this point, but had held off for as long as possible). This year, the NYC Tri was going to be doing time trial starts for the swim portion, which meant that instead of having waves start at certain times, they'd be starting at certain time intervals. Once the first set of triathletes began swiming (about 20 or so at at a time), a new set of athletes would start every 15 seconds until everyone was in the water. Really an interesting thing to see. And it moved quickly. Once it began, it seemed like only minutes before we were on the barge, getting ready to swim. Yes, the swim start was on a barge. Not a huge trash barge like anything you see in the movies, but it was still a barge.
On to the race.
I had only recently fully zipped up my wetsuit, but was already warm. We filed onto the barge and fell in line behind a short queue of athletes about 20-wide and 3 deep, awaiting our turn. The guy next to me dry heaved a bit and hung his head over the backside of the barge. I guess he was nervous. I was feeling good. I had energy, and felt pretty well-prepared for the race. And I was looking forward to swimming in the mighty Hudson. Raw sewage be damned.
We toed the line/timing mats, the horn sounded, and we hopped in (dive starts were prohibited due to 'tidal shifts', but I think that was kinda BS. They just wanted people to be safe. One less thing to worry about, which is smart. I don't think a dive is going to make or break a winning time for any age grouper). The water was warm. Very warm. Warm enough to make the wetsuit unnecessary. In any case, it felt good to finally be racing. Because of the time trial start, it wasn't a hectic beginning. Everyone had plenty of room. I still started off fast, just to get some good initial motion. I was able to quickly settle into a good pace and got into the zone. I was very controlled, but still felt fast. That current was definitely helping. I was sighting well, thanks to they many things that could be used for sighting (the seawall to my left, the occasional sailboat to my right, and the buoys). Since it was still overcast, it was tough to use an object in the distance for sighting. I relied on the objects closer to me, which ended up being fine. Much more of a lateral sighting course than a fixed-point course.
The swim was feeling good. I bumped into a few people who had slowed from the previous wave and were doing non-freestyle strokes. I was able to avoid them for the most part, though. I picked my head up to breathe out of my left side, and noticed the 750M sign on the seawall. It popped up out of nowhere, but it was good to see. I was trying to gauge how far I had gone. I was a little surprised to find that I was only halfway there, but I was still feeling strong, and this was a great point to help me get my pace stable. Soon enough, I passed the 1000M and 1250M signs. They went by quickly. And then I could see the swim exit. I knew I could start to pick up the pace to make a strong finish. I zoned into the dock (which was surpisingly small, maybe 3 or 4 people could exit at a time), and swam strongly. I got to the edge of the exit, which had a very steep steel grate that we had to latch onto with our feet. There were some volunteers helping us out, which was great since it was such a steep incline. I hurried out, and began tugging my wetsuit off. I passed a few guys on the ~300 yard run to transition. I was feeling good, and didn't want my transition to be slow.
I made it into transition, and quickly texted Maggie that I was out of the water (she typically can see me come out of the water, but they weren't allowing spectators at transition areas, so she had to be somewhere else. I had pre-written a message, so it was a matter of clicking 3 buttons to fire the message off. Shoes on. Shirt on. Belt on. Helmet on. Grabbed the bike and headed out. For some reason, I decided to quickly check my tires. Damn: my back tire was flat. I hadn't run far, so I put the bike back on the rack, grabbed the extra tube I had purchased at the Expo the day before, and proceeded to change the tire.
Now, the reason I had to purchase a tube at the Expo was because I had used my previous back-up tube fixing the flat I had gotten on the car ride down to NYC. When I loaded the bike up in Boston, the tires were fine. When we got to NYC, the back tire was flat. I didn't think much of it, and just fixed the flat. I had noticed that the puncture was on the inside of the tube, indicating that there was some imperfection on the inside of the wheel that caused the flat. I had noticed earlier in the season that there was a hole in my bike tape (which sits in between the inner part of the wheel and the tube and whose main purpose is to be a smooth surface for the tube, rather than let the tube sit directly on the spoke holes on the inner wheel), but I had ridden many many miles with that hole, and never had a problem. I didn't have any bike tape, so I just replaced the tube and thought nothing of it. After all, I had ridden a little bit with the new tube the day before the race and it was fine, so I thought I was in the clear. That was my mistake.
Back to changing the flat. I unhinged the wheel, and in a flustered state (I had just swam 1.5k, remember?), worked quickly to change the tire. I was able to get the tire off, the old tube out, the new tube in and the tire back on relatively efficiently. Now I just need to pump the tire up. Uh oh, this was a short-stem valve tube. Tubes typically have valves that come in two flavors: short-stem and long-stem. Long-stem valve tubes are necessary for wheels that are deep-rimmed. A deep-rimmed wheel is one of those wheels that has a thick outline when you're looking at them from the side. Think of a CD compared to a rubber band. The deeper-rimmed the wheel, the longer the valve needs to be to poke through the rim. The valve poked through the rim, but not enough for my pump to properly latch onto it to be able to pump air into the tube. I got worried. Was I going to have to repeat the entire tube-changing process? I did have a backup backup tube that had a proper valve on it. I decided to check to see if my hand pump (which was mounted on my bike) could possibly pump the tube up. My hand pump is smaller, and fortunately was able to catch enough of the valve to be able to pump it up. I wouldn't get it fully pumped to 120psi, but I'd be able to get enough air in there to complete the ride. I hoped.
I finally made my way out of transition, a little bloodied from scraping my arm on the bike's casette and derailleur, but I was out. I was out of tubes ( I didn't pack my backup backup tube onto my bike), so if I got a flat again. I'd be screwed. I made my way up some tricky little hills to the West Side Highway and got moving. I was half-flustered, since I knew I had lost about 15 minutes fixing the flat. So I really wanted to crank it on the bike. I pushed hard, not even realizing that I had slightly bent my front derailleur, so it was grinding against my chain with every turn of the crank...it didn't make things easier.
I was really pushing hard on the bike, then looked down at my watch to notice that I had only been riding for 10 minutes. I needed to settle into a good pace without killing myself. I just didn't feel like I was going fast enough. I passed a good amount of people initially. This is a large enough race with such a varied range of talent that it's not surprising to pass a lot of people. I was feeling okay, but every time someone blew by me (it wasn't too often in the beginning) I felt the need to speed up again. They were mostly aerobar/point helmet guys, but still. The West Side Highway was smooth in some parts, rough in others, and was not without puddles from the previous night's rain. Caution had to be taken so that you didn't accidentally ride over a puddle that was hiding a particularly nasty hole/divot.
For some reason, I thought the ride would be fairly flat. I had briefly studied the bike course, and noted the elevation (which I remember thinking was a bit high), but it apparently didn't make enough of an impression on me. It wasn't mountainous, but there were some climbs that weren't exactly pleasant. My legs weren't as prepared as I had thought they were. And I wasn't going as fast as I wanted to be going on the flat parts. (I think it was partially due to the under-inflated back tire, and the grinding chain, but I'm not here to make excuses).
Overall, the bike portion was fairly uneventful. Some fast guys (jerks) passed very aggressively, one of them very unexpectedly on the right (I was not in the left, I was about center at that point. He was being jerky because he was fast). I did notice quite a few people with flat tires by the side of the road. Some people were actively fixing their flats, while others were waiting it out, probably because they had no more tubes left (or never had any to begin with). I silently hoped I wouldn't be one of those people. I reached the turnaround a little slower than I had wanted to (~32minutes), especially because it wasn't the true halfway point: The course heads north from transition until you reach the turnaround and head back; however, the course then extends south of the transition area for about a mile before turning around back towards transition. I wasn't totally unhappy with the time at that point, but knew I had to really push to make the time for which I was aiming. I did some quick math and figured I could still make my goal time.
The ride back to transition seemed lonely at times. The field was spread out, most people having settled into a pace. Additionally, I was closer to the back of the pack since my wave was one the last to start and my 15 minutes mishap put me pretty far behind. That loneliness can get to you in both good ways and bad. At times, I'd be riding, very able to focus and just zone into my ride. Other times, I thought that I was the only person out there, and that everyone else was finished the bike and onto the run. That makes you push harder, but it also messes with your head a little bit.
I took note of some of the exit ramp signs on the course. 123rd St. I knew transition was at 79th, and that each city block is about 1/20th of a mile, so I was able to do some simple math to figure out that I was slowly slipping further and further behind my goal time. I was 2 miles away (and then some more after that) and I didn't have much time to get there, according to my watch. The good news was that the math allowed me to focus on something other than any pain in my legs.
I made it to the 2nd turnaround, and really tried to pick it up for the final mile or so. There were more people around (spectators and cyclists), which energized me a little bit. I made it back to transition which went pretty smoothly. I was able to dismount and get my bike to my rack easily. Right around when I dismounted, I became very aware of my dehydration. I knew I had not had nearly enough water during the bike portion. It was very humid and had been getting increasingly hotter and I was very very thirsty. Almost automatically I took one of my water bottles from my bike cage, and brought it along with me on the run. It was like I had been planning it all along. My body and brain knew that I needed to find a way to get lots of water back. The first water station was right outside of transition and I basically filled the water bottle up to the top, grabbing cup after cup and pouring it in as I ran by. One last cup of water on my head, and I was off. My back was a little tight from the ride (I tried to stretch it a number of times on the bike), and my quads were thinking about cramping up towards the end of the ride, but fortunately they were feeling okay for the run.
I was moving slowly, but still felt okay. There was an initial climb out of the park to 72nd street which seemed borderline sadistic and definitely slowed me down. It wasn't until I got out onto 72nd street, though, that the heat really got to me. It was unshaded and hot on the 72nd street blacktop. I had water, but I could tell it was going to be a long run. I was moving, just not quickly. It was about a mile to Central Park, and then I'd get some relief from the trees, I thought to myself.
I made it to mile 1, and glanced at my watch: 9:30. Terrible. I hadn't run that slowly since the Philadelphia Triathlon over a year before (where it was equally hot and humid). I was a little upset, because I thought I was in much better shape and much more prepared for this race. I really think my failure to hydrate and eat on the bike hurt my performance (and I generally struggle in the heat. And, let's face it, my cycling miles were not as nearly as high as I had wanted them to be. Struggling on the bike leads to struggling on the run).
There was water at mile 1. I grabbed a few cups to throw into my water bottle and threw a cup on my head (A habit that would soon become tradition for the rest of the race). Colin found me shortly after and jogged alongside me. He was as excited as ever, holding a big "Marky Mark" poster for me. He was saying I looked good, but I knew I was slow. Still, he's a never-ending source of energy and excitement, and it certainly helped. We chatted for a bit and then he let me continue on my way through Central Park.
One thing I learned: Central Park is hilly. I don't know why I assumed it'd be flat. Maybe because NYC seems so flat. Maybe because Boston Common (my backyard common city garden area) is relatively flat. Maybe because I'm in denial. Regardless of the reason, I wasn't prepared for it. It's not terribly hilly, but hilly enough to make the run a little more painful. Also, it seemed like there was no wind in the park. Only sun. There were a few notable gusts of wind which were very welcomed (by me), but generally no wind was available to cool me off.
At each water station (roughly each mile), I made sure to grab water for my water bottle and throw some more water over my head. I drank Cytomax (the new Gatorade?), and dipped my head in the spray misters they had set up. I needed all the help I could get. The surprising thing was that while dumping the cool water on my head was rejuvenating and cooled me a bit, it seemed to slow me down (slower than the shuffle that my run had devolved into). It was almost as if when my head cooled, my body thought it was finished racing and now had permission to slow down and stop. I ended up slowing down quite a bit, but never stopped to walk. In hindsight, it might've been good to walk, but I just wanted to keep moving.
I finally made it around the bend, close to mile 6 where the crowds were starting to pick up. I was slightly energized, but was barely able to pick up my pace. I wanted to finish strong, but it was tough. It was less a matter of being energized than it was a matter of wanting to simply finish strong. Usually, the end of the race gives you a little more energy, and the running becomes easier, but the running was harder. My body did not want to go any faster than it needed to.
I finished and felt horrible. The medical tent was immediately after the finish line, and I thought about it for a second, but I needed to minute to decide exactly how bad I felt. I just wanted to keep moving. It was hot and crowded, and I just wanted to be in the shade and away from people. I grabbed a cold towel, chugged a water bottle, and kept walking. Still crowded. I got my finisher's medal and walked. I grabbed two more water bottles, drank one, poured the other on my head and walked. It was still crowded. I grabbed some ice, threw it in my water bottle and poured that on my head. That felt like heaven. That's when I started to feel a little better. I made my way through the crowds and found a shaded area where I could sit and drink and eventually eat. I made a slow recovery.
Afterwards, my chest/side/back muscles were very tight. I couldn't breathe heavily or laugh without feeling a lot of soreness in my chest/back area. It was not fun. I survived, but could've done a lot more to prepare better:
1. Investigate all tire punctures seriously. Don't assume it's a one-time thing
2. Drink more on the bike
3. Eat more on the bike
4. Buy the right tubes
5. Take flat tires in stride. Try to stay calm while fixing them
That said, I did some things correctly:
1. Stay calm, hydrated and cool before the race
2. Listen to your body and get water any way you can. Take a second or two to think about things and do them correctly rather than just rush through everything
Final Results:
Swim: 18:43
T1: 16:21
Bike: 1:18:17
T2: 1:41
Run: 1:01:49
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