This was a good one. I hadn’t done this race since 2013, and it was a good way to get together with my racing buddy Scott Schiffer who lives nearby – or least nearer than I do. We had dinner at a diner in Fishkill, New York; watched some of the replay from the Tour de France time trial; and I was in bed by 9 o’clock. Got up at 4:30, because no matter how well prepared I am I can’t get out in less than an hour. Drove 15 minutes to Pine Plains, New York and checked in for a very small, very local race.
Only 70 people had signed up, and only 66 showed up, because it was the Sunday of a four-day July 4th weekend, and how many idiots would spend part of a mini-vacation doing a sprint triathlon? Around 66.
Had a new realization on the way to the race. I was scared. (That’s not new; bizarrely, after all of these triathlons, I’m always scared to start the race.) So, next I asked and answered, what’s scaring me? I was afraid of failing. I suppose a lot of us feel that way; maybe it’s heightened before a challenge (and sprint or Ironman, every race is a challenge; as French ultra-marathoner Emanuelle Jaeger said, “the shorter races – they are more violent!”). But the new part was realizing: what would failure look like? I mean, having survived a few bad races, I don’t think I’d recognize “failure” if it bit me on the butt! It’s ridiculous. I race and finish triathlons. Would failure mean: coming in less than 1st place for my age group (as I had done in this race last time?). REALLY? And coming in after Scott, an excellent athlete who trains virtually every day? REALLY? Or not doing better than the 1:30 I had done last time? How the hell does that equate to failure? Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous!
So I realized this was a morning filled with opportunity, with possibility, simply to do the best I could. And really, every race is like that. (REALLY, every morning is as well.)
I arrive at 6:30 to start at 8 a.m. Call me crazy, but the extra time makes me calmer. I set up in the semi-assigned transition area. Meet some nice guys, one of whom lends me a race belt (as I later find mine in the car). Go down to warm up in the l’il Stissing Lake (so small that motorboats aren’t allowed). The water is really warm, and I’m tempted to wear my speed suit instead of sleeveless wetsuit, but I am not a capital S Swimmer and need all the help I can get. Some back stroke, some fast work, some standing around on the beach with a nice bunch on a beautiful day. (74 degrees, whatever % humidity.).
Total of two waves – based on date of registration, not age or gender! – and so informal, we start with a “Go!”
Well-placed, multiple buoys, I’m knocked by a big fella who passes me, nudges me off course, slows down- someone to get around! Round the first buoy, it’s only .5 miles in total, I’m going strong but focusing on smooth, breathing every stroke on the left side which feels better for a change, it’s a long, second side of a 4-sided figure, the sun is bright, the water clean, round the last buoy, haul in as fast as I can, run through the lake weeds (ugh) onto the beach, and DONE. 14:34, some 30 seconds slower than in 2013. Oh, well. But not bad!
Get to the bike, Scott is leaving as I arrive (“I’ll get you, Red Baron!” No, I didn’t say that out loud), decent transition, out into the asphalt, stumble a little with getting clipped in, and I have a LOT of catching up to do.
Fabulous Bruce Cadenhead in his USAT suit passes me (having started the swim 3 to 5 minutes after I started), another guy passes me, and I am just pouring it on as fast as I can to catch SOMEBODY, for a moment someone off the bike and fixing his chain is within target distance, but he’s gone as well. I mean, after all my training in heart rate Zone 1, I am in Zone 3, and why not, it’s a sprint, time for everything I’ve got. I’m cooking along, taking in some nutrition, and at about 40 minutes, I think, shouldn’t this be curving more to the right to be near the starting line? Maybe an optical illusion. And: not a soul in sight, shouldn’t I have a least SEEN some of the 6 or 7 guys who finished swimming ahead of me? And: it finally dawns on me, this is supposed to be a 2-hill course, but I’m on hill number 5 or 6…. I must have missed a turn.
I slow down, some of the fire gone since I can’t possibly make the podium now, but still in Zone 2. I wave down a van, asking the driver if she’s seen any other bikes, and she says “yeah, they’re going down Route 82. Hauling ass!” And it’s a good thing I talked with her, because Route 82 took a sharp right shortly after that, and I went with it, and suddenly I’m on top of a policeman directing traffic to allow other cyclists turn right, ONTO the road I’ve been riding, and these guys are not the elite athletes I’ve been chasing, these guys are slugging along on bikes with great big saddles, and I ask someone in a blue helmet, “what mile is this?” And he answers, “15”. And I laugh out loud because I’m on mile 18 of a 16.5 mile course!
Perfect for confirming that basic lesson: I really am racing against myself. Bike, after 3.2 extra miles and a lot more hills, is 19.8 miles in 1:02 (19.2 mph, a lot slower than the 20.5 of 2013 – but also 1,220 feet of climbing….)
So I jump off into transition, and there’s a goofy tape which I guess is supposed to make us run around the entire transition area in order to “be fair”, and I’m doing the best I can. Keep it slow the first 200 meters, then pour it on, it’s mostly shady roads, I pass 6 people, one guy passes me (“How old are you?” “31!” “You may pass…”) and it’s painful and it’s hard to focus past the “why bother?” Because I’m not going to beat anyone who’s ridden 3 miles less, but I want at least to RUN faster than I did four years ago, and each mile of the 3.5 miles is a mini victory, I can’t sustain this 166, then 167, ultimately 170 beats a minute, rounding the athletic fields, slowing slightly with the thought that those orange cones require us to do some stupid loop, but no, I turn left, down the grass and across! the! Finish! Line!
OMG, that hurt, wait, I’ll give you my racing chip in a moment…
25:08 for a 3.5 mile course. Avg. 7:11 min/miles, and only 8 seconds slower than the last time I did this race, 4 years ago. I’ll TAKE it! Total time, 1:45:37.
And two great kickers: the Race Director overheard me talking with Scott (who took 1st place for our age group), and she asked, “did you miss that turn where the sign blew down?” Me: “I wouldn’t know!” RD: “Well, we didn’t have enough volunteers this year. I’m going to give you your money back.” And she brings me a check made out to cash!
Well, that’s extremely decent. But after cleaning up I realize that I won’t keep it, and I tell her, “listen, I still did a race, and USAT Rules say that I’m supposed to know the course, and it was a great day.” A moment later, a guy comes up to tell her that he rode 20 EXTRA MILES because of missing that turn (and, I bet, not taking that sharp right to stay on Route 82!). I have to hope she gave him the check I gave back to her…
And, I also tell the Race Director: I may be 54, but I’m 55 in triathlon years, and for once, I want to be older, because that means I came in THIRD PLACE for my age group! (And if I subtract some 10 minutes for the extra 3.2 miles – then, I would have finished in 1:35, which would be Second Place, by a good 5 minutes.). 3/10 AG, 24/66 OA.
And the season is still young!