The Finish Line!

Well, it's done. Yesterday saw me swim, bike and run 32 miles along western Manhattan (and the Bronx . . . it was an equal opportunity triathlon), and I have survived to tell the story. Later this week I'll write more on the lessons learned and valuable insight revealed from swallowing a mouthful of the Hudson, but for now, on my day of rest, I'll hold you over with a few simple (though still profound) comments on my race to the finish.

1. You have to get up early to run a triathlon. Really early. Like 3:45am early if you live in Jersey. Lucky for me I had a husband who cared enough about me to fake alertness and drive down the Turnpike blasting the Zach Brown's "Chicken Fried." I can guarantee you we were the only people rolling through the Bronx jamming to country music.

2. Lots of other people do triathlons too . . . about 4,000 of them. But I have to say despite my training run-ins with poorly attired cycling snobs and Wallstreet types in Speedos obviously overcompensating for a lack of something else, these athletes were some of the nicest people I've ever met. Everybody was incredibly encouraging, eager to help out, and generally the opposite of every person I have run into at a New Jersey Dunkin' Donuts. There is quite a bit of camaraderie when we're all dressed like seals waiting in line for a port-a-potty.

3. Despite not having a fancy Italian bike or those pretentious clip on shoes, I beat the shit (sorry Mom) out of some of those chicks on the bike course . . . and all without changing gears . . .once. A few months ago, I decided to take a "naturalist" approach to cycling and committed to using only the power of my short muscular legs to carrying me up hills and through long flats. It was my way of giving the finger, or toe in this case, to all of those riders who were constantly clicking up the course. They may get to the top faster than me (some of the time), but my legs would look a hell of a lot better in short shorts.

4. The volunteers and crowds were some of the most enthusiastic and supportive people I have ever come across. They were also a bunch of liars. As I entered the final mile in Central Park, I heard shouts of "Only 1/2 mile left!" or "The finish is just around the corner!" Being appropriately concerned about the melodramatic moment of my impending finish, I began to sprint, (mistakenly) believing that I was just a few strides away from the end of this journey and conjured up every mental trigger for tears I could possibly muster; Jon's brain hemorrhage, the struggle of passing the Bars and moving so far away from my wonderful friends, and the incredible family members who had passed away from obesity and neglect of their own health. I began tearing up and sprinting through this mental montage through the finish. Then . . . there was another turn, or another "1/2 mile left!" And I lost it . . . no, not "lost it" as in I began sobbing though Central Park but "lost it" as in I was over it. I could only sustain my cinematic game face for so long before I just got pissy with all the onlookers and wanted to yell, "You said that shit 2 miles ago!" By the time the finish line snuck up on me, my mental focus had turned to whether my braid had stayed in place for post-race pictures. It had. It's about the journey though people, not the finish (because you can always take fake finish line pictures later).

5. And finally, a Jimmy Buff's stuffed double cheesesteak sandwich never tastes so good as after a gulp of the Hudson.

All Suited Up!

It was my original intention to swim the Hudson in just my "tri-suit" but after googling "death and NYC triathlon" earlier this week (hey, it's important to be well informed) I had a change of heart. Apparently a swimmer passed away in 2008 after being attacked by a swarm of jellyfish, and the critters have continued to be a problem in the last couple of years. The bodies and dragnet of state's evidence in the river didn't bother me so much, but a jellyfish sting really hurts like a bitch.

Armed with this new information, I made my way to Jack Rabbit Sports on the Upper East side to get fitted for my suit. I explained to the staff that this was my first triathlon and I was looking for something that would keep me warm in the water, deter marine life, and elongate my legs. After taking my measurements, she brought out what was essentially a rubber onesie that looked like it would fit my 19 month old nephew. I assured her that there was no way that 1) this suit was making it over my left butt cheek and that 2) even if it did I would have a panic attack from the constriction, and my mental health coverage for the year was already used up (shocking I know). She told me to just relax (a bit easier for her to do since she was in clothing that did not require special lotion to get a sleeve over your forearm) and that it was completely normal to feel like you couldn't breathe while standing up in the suit. I would eventually get used to the compression and barely notice that my kidneys had been pushed to the front of my body. Faced with either putting the suit on or having to look like a wimp in front of a store full of athletes (they were serious athletes too . . . the kind that don't wear makeup and have sock tans), I dragged the suit into the dressing room and began the 10 minute process of getting it on. I have to say, it wasn't as bad as I thought. All those years of trying to fit a size 12 toosh into a size 2 dress (that was obviously just cut small) had paid off, and I emerged fully zipped and ready for the three way mirror.

Because the suit is built to make swimmers buoyant in the water, there is about a two inch thick paneling of foam and rubber between the interior of the suit and the outside. Swimmers extol this padding because it increases your speed and efficiency in the water ten fold. I, however, thought it added unnecessary pounds and would gladly sacrifice 2 or 3 minutes of swim time for something a bit more slimming. However, the look in the sales lady's eyes told me I should not inquire about a different model that perhaps didn't accentuate my hips.

In the end, I not only got that suit, but I actually started to hit a groove posing in front of the mirror in my Wonder Woman Onesie. There was something very powerful in knowing that I would be using this suit to complete an event that I had dedicated countless hours and buckets of sweat training for. I looked as strong as I felt, and it was great to have the outside match the inside. Now, I just have to find a great pair of earrings to match!