(Warning. This is a long story.)
Ok, so it was only a sprint — that is, .5 mile swim, 10 mile ride, 3 mile run — but the very brevity of it made it an achievable goal. It felt pretty small compared to an Ironman, as if it would hardly count, but it was something I knew could do. Badass cousin Rob Falk inspired me when I cheered him on for his first Ironman in Panama City, Florida lo these 5 or 6 years ago, and that was when I decided to learn to swim. My goal had simply been to be capable of that 2.4 mile initial leg – not fast, just survive, and to glide in the open water without panting then drowning. But after a few years of doing that, and finding that a lot of the workouts he sent me (as he graduated to Badass Coach Rob) was speed-oriented, it was getting to be time to put it towards a goal.
I was lucky enough to start working long distance — that is, via the internet, not extreme workouts — with the amazing coach Debi Bernardes — coach of Coach Rob. She would be the first to tell you I was more than a little resistant to building up my heart rate base, crawling along in Zone 1 for what, three months? More? “Let me off the leash!” But in the last few weeks I was getting results. Not sure if I was getting faster, but I was getting faster within Zone 1. And the 10k I ran two weeks ago was 48:17, 4 minutes faster than the only other 10k I ran 7 or 8 years ago. (Though this 10K certainly lacked any of the self-restraint of training in Zone 1…)
So, the Sleepy Hollow Sprint takes place a mere 20 minutes due north of where I live, and I managed to schedule my wake up at 4:30 a.m. perfectly. Unfortunately, I did not manage my sleep very well, and even though I went to bed at 9, I was wide awake from 2 to 4. So, the cell phone was charged, the heart rate monitor/GPS/stop watch was charged, but I was not. But having spent all of Saturday organizing the tri bag, prepping the morning (decaf) espresso, getting the bike gears and chain as clean as the day I first received it, and napping, I left precisely at 5:30 (ok, 5:31), got there a few minutes before 6, and was among the very first to arrive. As my wife Rachel would tell you, I have never been early for anything in my life.
So glad I did it that way — not just Debi’s advice, but the advice of Ray, one of the race organizers who actually led us through a “dry run” of the swim leg of the course two weeks earlier. (Talk about an organized race!) Fourth in line to register and get markings (not like one guy who had to find space among his tattoos), set up my gear like in the videos Rob sent me, “flossed” my hamstrings with a lacrosse ball like Max Bernardes demonstrated, and practiced walking from the Swim Out to my bike with my prescription goggles on — because the race organizers did not, as advertised, have a table for glasses. Had my first Gel ever as provided by Stan, at Hastings Velo bike shop (the first sample is free, heh, heh….) and water as Coach Debi instructed, so I was pumped up and ready to go by 8 a.m. Indeed, quietly jumping up and down while I waited for My Race to start. (Decaf really is best for me….)
Wave 7 was for 35-39 woman and 45-49 men (probably something poetic and ironic there, but I can’t figure it out),and I started my watch when we got access to the water — because at my practice tri two days earlier, the watch crapped out when I started it in the water, asking “HRM not working. Do you still want to start?” The buoys were very large, very orange, and very frequent — 14 of ’em. I noted in the earlier waves that one of the kayakers didn’t know he was drifting, and he told a lead swimmer to change her dead-on course for the buoy to avoid his boat — so I started more in the middle, but towards the front.
OMG, I wanted to NOT start that race all of a sudden. But the horn blew, and I started with long, strong strokes, focusing on rotating at the hips and enjoying the amazing buoyancy of the sleeveless wetsuit. My left shoulder, enflamed and requiring physical therapy for two months in the winter/early spring, did not mention any discomfort. (THAT was an achievement on its own, as I still occasionally wear an ice pack as an accessory during my the work day.)
Stayed largely in the lead, or at least didn’t get kicked in the face, and as I rounded that first buoy and headed north up the Hudson I thought (a) the water is pleasantly warm, slightly salty, and apparently not toxic, (b) This pace is OK, I’m pulling strong, I’ve stayed calm enough not to run out of breath, and (c) I’m catching up and passing people in the earlier waves, with their bright pink and green swim caps, occasionally grabbing a leg encased in rubber. One or two guys pass me with the same blue caps, I pass or trail them by a couple of body lengths, but I feel like I’m among peers, not being left in the dust (which, of course in the Hudson, would be sludge).
By the last third, I’m feeling like I’ve overextended my energy, and wondering whether I’ll need to rest with breast stroke. My breathing every three strokes has been reduced to one stroke (looking to the right to keep an eye on those buoys) – probably, that contributed to getting tired, but it could just as easily be a symptom. Around three to five buoys from the end, I feel that the buoys are passing rather slowly — and it occurred to me that maybe there’s a slight current pushing us back, a phenomenon that seldom occurs in the pools where I’ve been training (but there are those goofy contraptions to create a current and turn your bathtub size pool into a lap lane. Sorry, that actually went through my head while I was racing…)
But I finally get in sight of the last turn, share a laugh with another guy (“where the hell are we going from here?”) and shoot for the big triangular buoy by the shore. Amazing volunteers — did I say this was well run? — are warning us to keep floating as we entered water shallow enough to scrape bottom (and scrape I did, bloodying two of my right knuckles), then pulling us a few feet forward onto the rubber mats. (In past years, people really bloodied up their feet on the rocky shore, I’m told.) Stumbled up the stairs, and into the transition area.
Total elapsed time for the swim: 19:41. Slower than my 31-minute mile in the pool, but not bad. Rachel later tells me she missed my exit from the water because she simply hadn’t gotten there yet!
T1 went well — 3:49, certainly can be trimmed — in part because I followed Debi’s advice and actually cut off the last 4 inches or so of my wetsuit, to stop my foot from kept getting entrapped as it did during my wetsuit-removal practice –and because I had pictured it accurately. Again, nothing like LOTS of early prep time (he said, reminding himself for the future, as it’s SOOO out of character).
Hopped on the bike, and started uphill. Mostly, entirely uphill, for the first half. Gradual, but long — but I had ridden it a few weeks ago, and was ready. Mostly, I passed people; at one point a guy with aero bars passed me, but I later passed him. (I am not getting aero bars until I have earned them. I’m not sure how I’ll know it, but that’s my take on the subject.) Had a shot block, alternated water with Cytomax sports drink. (so hard to do with all that uphill, but I knew I’d be in trouble if I didn’t keep hydrating.)Somewhere along the way I found that my watch was beeping at me and logging a new split every mile, and I realized 10 miles will be over very, very soon. The downhill at the end of the closed highway was sweet, but as Debi Made Me Do It, I pedaled hard on those stretches, hitting 28 mph.
My goal was to average 18 mph — just faster than the 17.5 I’ve been averaging on the flat bike path – and I just about did it: 29:30 for 10.1 miles. Uphill at 16-17 mph, downhill at 18-19, with one mile avg at 25. I simply didn’t know I could do that. (I had been riding with Stan’s pack on Sundays from Hastings, where I was getting the hang of zooming along, but had to stop riding with them in order to stick with the Zone 1 heart rate training. Me? Impatient?) So the bike felt totally in control. a real surprise.
T2 went well — socks on, lock laces to enable me slip on my faithful, cheap sneakers, and done in some 1:30 – and would have run out of Transition a bit encumbered if not for another racer calling out, “Hey! Your helmet!” Ran back, swapped it for my DRI-FIT baseball cap and took out the shot block in my back shirt pockets. Foolishly, wanting more energy, I ate one (rather than having the sports drink), and immediately had cramps as I started the run.
Oh, well. Slowed down (from a heart rate of 157 bpm to 152 — cranking already in Zone 2, signaling a rapid descent into misery, but at least I slowed down). Fine and dandy, hitting my 7:30 goal for the first half mile, and then hit the open cracked, heated pavement and treeless parking lot of the former GM facilities. (I later realized that my 7:30 goal was ridiculously ambitious, because it was based on my 7:20 brick or interval workouts — which provided a riding break after each mile sprint, and did not include the first two legs of this tri.) NOW I wanted those sunglass clip-ons. It was painful, especially the last two miles, but I focused on feeling the balls of my feet, and leaning forward until I felt I was running from my core. Mile averages: 8:15, 8:14 and 7:45 (for the last .9 miles). Damn. that’s pretty good, for a virgin.
CROSSED THE FINISH LINE, heard my name announced, and heard my wife cheer. What a blessing to have her there.
Bottom line: course completed in 1:21:37. 53rd overall (in a field of 368), and 7th in my age group. (Which, bizarrely, was 50-54; seems that if my birthday falls during the year of the race, the USAT considers me a year older.) I feel … awesome. Tired, old, but awesome.
Lastly (and sorry if this may offend the irreligious) Rabbi Mara Young was good enough to turn me onto Tefilah HaDerech, the Traveler’s Prayer, after I asked for something apropos of my first race. During the run, in particular, it was my mantra — in part because it was so hard to remember the first translated word that followed “Bless me, G-d…”, which neatly distracted me from the discomfort of the too bright sun: Bless me in the “emplacement of my footsteps”. The rest I mostly paraphrase, as best I could during the run: May I reach my destination, and protect me from my foes, and bandits, and wild beasts (read: both those within, like the despondency of wondering why I am pushing against my limits, and those without, like the racers against whom I am competing). I survived, I excelled, I will do more of this triathloning.
I know this has been rather long, but didn’t want you to remember your first time, too?