My goals for this Olympic distance triathlon were to not get hurt (especially because my older son’s wedding was in a week), to have fun, and to win (despite my year of running injuries). The last goal wasn’t likely, but it’s always what I want.
At 4:30 a.m., I texted this to Alan Golds, who was going to drive us to Rye Beach:
We talked about not going, but I had just bought a helmet the day before with a wrap-around visor for the rain, and felt ready. So we went. (Alan later texted, “I blame you entirely.”)
Rain held off while we set up in transition, and only drizzled while we waited at the beach in our wetsuits with everyone else, including Kevin Carlsten.
The announcer told us to swim only to the 2nd of 4 buoys, so we’d stay within the jetties protecting the beach, because the coast guard reported the water was pretty rough outside the break walls. Our wave (as it were) walked over the starting mat, and stood in the water; I wasn’t sure if we had started after crossing the mat, and started to run in — false start! Walked back, and THEN we ran in — which was a great way to feel my legs activated, rather than just squeezed by the wetsuit.
This felt like the first time I swam aggressively (normally, afraid I’ll burn out before getting to the bike) — but did without spinning paddles: long, strong strokes, pushing against the current as we went away from the beach, keeping a good reach and catch, breathing every 2nd stroke and sighting every 5th or 6th (when I did it less frequently, found myself off course), than rounding the second buoy (very familiar, this is where Alan and I trained the last few weeks) to make a left turn across the bay. Some waves coming in from the right side, found myself timing the stroke with the waves’ roll, the water is a delightful temperature but still glad to be in a full wetsuit, take the next buoy and head towards shore, this is a REALLY short course because my watch vibrates at “500 yds” and we’re almost done, the waves and current pushing us home like a phalanx of dolphins, and I’m passing guys in white swim caps (from the earlier wave) and walk onto the beach and strip off my wetsuit (having practiced stripping the wetsuit in my kitchen, down to 24 seconds) and run to transition and that was ½ the distance and twice the FUN.
Onto the bike, magnets clip the visor onto the helmet (complete with a Darth Vader soundtrack), and light rain has started (which Coach Steve had warned was dangerous because it brings out the oils in the pavement, whereas a heavy rain washes the oils away) and I’m just trying to keep my power above the goal of 180 watts, and feeling that easy light spin (passed one of the collegiate athletes and wanted to tell him to get out of that heavy gear, higher RPM feels better and generates more power), and finding I’m closer to and then well over 200 watts, but defensively watching the road and the other riders (“on your left! thank you…”), slowing for turns (so glad I put wax onto my chain the night before, should be better in wet conditions), and realize it’s started to pour, but the visor keeps everything clear. The watch dings every 5 miles, and that first interval was only 17 mph and Coach Steve has me shooting for 19.9 mph, but fine, here’s the 2-mile “hill” but it’s nothing like the old course, this was easy, and it’s relatively downhill from here, But a guy who looks in my age group passes me, and I shall call him “Stanley” and I never seem to catch him the rest of the ride…. Going downhill I lock into aero and watch the road for any bumps but Greenwich, CT pays for well-paved roads, and as long as other riders heed my warning call (“your left! On your LEFT!”), I feel safe (only later learning that I hit 39 mph at one point). A burly young guy with tattoos apparently is offended by my passing him and suddenly I hear hiim say “On your right!” And I yell at him “Pass on your left, dammit!”(It’s not just against the rules to pass on the right, it’s crazy dangerous.) And Nurin, a 20-something athlete I met the day before when we were registering who’s never done a triathlon before, passes me, and I pass him, and he passes me, and I tell him “get out of the left lane unless you’re passing,” and I realize I’m not ONLY an asshole but also an elder mentor, and Nurin thanks me, takes off and comes in 11th overall. Damn, the kid is fast. The course is less than 40k, but I survived without injury, and avg. 19 mph.
Into transition, there’s almost no bikes in my area, but we’re not racked by age group so I don’t know who may be miles ahead of me, but I’m out of there pretty fast, and I see a water stop (declined to wear my water belt) and that reminds me to take some nutrition, and between the carbon-plated shoes and the caffeine Huma gel, I. Feel. SPRINGY.
A convoluted, goofy running route takes us along the boardwalk, then back again, then into the trails through marshland and narrow muddy trails which slows me down from 8:15 min/mile to 9:01 for the second mile (Coach Steve had predicted a 9:30 pace, so this is great), and I realize, despite a year of injuries, I feel fine, EXCEPT for the fact that running as hard as I can and sustain for 6.2 miles just sucks. Right? There’s a reason people hate running, it’s uncomfortable, but I’m not injured so just dig deep and watch the collegiate athletes already running back from the turnaround and marvel at my sustaining an 8:30 pace on the 3rd mile and oh my god this is hard work And I remember my magic bib number: 816. 2 to the 3rd, 2 to the 4th. “I have hidden powers.” Panting starts at mile 4, breathing hard every 4 steps, and that’s okay.
As I enter the park again, Jeff Matoom (a coach who was at the Westpoint Sprint a few weeks ago and whom I’ve known for years) is cheering on his clients and I say “Any other old men, Jeff?” And he says, “yeah, yeah” and then “No, you’re the only old man” and I’m running hard because another guy I think might be in my age group might not have stayed too far behind me and I round the corner in the park and run the grass towards the inflatable archway and I FINISH! Injury free! Feeling strong.
And the results are better than satisfactory: Swam 840 yds in 16:04 (1:55 min/120 yd. pace, 1/12 AG ), run from beach to T1 in 1:29 (6/12 AG because I took off my wetsuit before running), T1 in 1:37 (1/12 AG), bike 22.2 miles in 1:10:07 and 183 watts normalized power (19.0 mph, 3/12 AG), T2 in 1:39 (1/12 AG), run 5.86 miles in 49:49 (8:31 min/mile, 4/12 AG) but …. 1/12 AG! Beat 2nd place by 1 minute in the swim and 30 seconds in T2. It’s a three part race, and it all adds up! And 44/194 OA.
This might be my best race. Not just because 1st place — sweet as that is, it’s the cherry on top of enjoying the whole thing, rain and all, carefully avoiding injury especially without a bike fall before the wedding but still pushing hard, the digging deep was enjoyable, the affirmation that my years of fitness actually are more important than the months of recovering from injuries, that I can race without being driven by anxiety. Nothing short of a blessing.