Give it a Tri

When walking up 6th Avenue from 45th Street to 53rd Street you pass the UBS Building. Outside the UBS Building is a large digital display that alternates between the time and the temperature. 4:51am…80F…4:52am…81F. I was not due to start for two and a half hours and, when the sun rose, it was only going to get hotter. I mentioned this to the guy who sat next to me on the shuttle bus, adding that as he was from Arizona this probably didn’t bother him

“By any standards this is very hot”, he responded. “But it’s not so much the heat as the humidity – they issued an extreme weather warning for New York City yesterday”.

I took a big swig of water and looked out of the window at the incredible amount of life still buzzing through Manhattan. “The city that never sleeps”, I thought. There was little point dwelling on the weather, I was going to at least start the triathlon regardless.
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At 7.21am, or thereabouts, the Mens 30-34 fluorescent pink waive (we were identified by age group and swim cap colour) jumped off a low pier into the Hudson. It would have been a comfortable temperature even without a wetsuit. For the 26th time that morning an air horn blasted above the noise of the city and, for the 26th time that morning the water was churned by thrashing arms and legs of about 30 triathletes jostling for position.

The group dispersed surprisingly quickly. I had the impression of swimming alone, although I do not know if this was down to speed or just the impression given by the murky water and my fogged up goggles. I think the lack of external stimuli makes it seem quite lonely anyway, certainly on the two times I have swum in open water for any time it has been a somewhat melancholic experience and for a moment I was back in Alcatraz. Then I told myself not to be silly. This was far easier. Aside from swimming through a group of jellyfish (the stings were like nettles but I found out later that some people needed minor medical assistance) my only real problems were caused by my not being able to see properly. I could not see other swimmers ahead of me until they kicked me in the face and, because I pull to the left when I swim and could not judge correcting this my line kept zigging towards the bank. On three occasions I zagged too late and once went into an orange boom separating off some building work in the water and twice into kayaks that were monitoring the swimmers. I suppose this also meant I swam further than I needed. The restrictive nature of the wetsuit was beginning to affect me and I felt like I was having trouble taking in enough air. This may have been psychosomatic but it was still a great relief when I grabbed the arm of the person at the far end of the course who helped me up the stairs and onto the pier. Officially the 1500 metres took 26 minutes 12 seconds. It felt so much longer.
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Initially I was unsteady on my feet but not like Alcatraz and after a few hesitant steps I jogged the 300 metres to the transition area. I had read a lot about this because it was not something I could practice. Wetsuit off the top half of the body whilst running, off the legs when you get to the bike, rinse feet, on with next pair of shoes, helmet on and strapped, gloves (yes gloves), grab bike and go. 6 minutes 16 seconds in total.
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The branch of Metro Bikes that was renting my bike to me was located in Hell’s Kitchen. The staff were stereotypical New Yorkers and I had no idea of they were being surly or ribbing me. They brought out my bike and it had toe straps rather than the cleats I had requested, I pointed this out and they said they didn’t have the email (that they had responded to) about this. They also pointed out that an admin error meant they had just given me a brand new $2000 bike. I found the argument persuasive and accepted the toe straps. This at least meant only one change of shoes during the race.

From the discussions I had with other competitors during registration on Saturday it seems that the fastest triathletes tend to have a cycling background and so do that leg the fastest in relative terms. I anticipated it being my slowest leg and when they told me the times they could achieve I wondered if I should have started with an officially sanctioned race that included people seeking Olympic Qualifying times and a first prize of $30,000.

Not to worry, in a similar vein to the London Marathon, only with less fancy dress, the race attracted all levels and, after a tentative start getting used to the bike I was soon whizzing along the Western Highway towards the Bronx. In fact, as I got used to the racing etiquette – shout on your left if you are overtaking and worry a person will pull out in front is the biggy – I started to enjoy myself. Some of the views over the city were quite spectacular and I seemed to be overtaking almost as many people as overtook me. “I want to wake up in the city that never sleeps…” sang Frank Sinatra in my head. I have quite eclectic taste but have never been a big fan of Ol’ Blue Eyes and cursed my thought on the morning bus ride.

The enjoyment petered out towards the end because New York roads are terrible and the vibrations made my hands numb. Also the discomfort of being in a saddle was taking its toll. I am worried that I will be brandable by the end of the Ireland trip. I had no idea how long I had been on the bike because my watch had broken during the swim but was pleased to finish. Official records said the 40km took me 1 hour 24 minutes and 6 seconds.
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With no need to change my shoes this was a quick transition. Off the bike, hang it up, off with the helmet and watch, gulp down some water and electrolyte gel and away. 1 minute 47 seconds.
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By now the sun was high and out of the shade was not a fun place to be. The street run from transition to Central Park did not have much shade and was not fun. Nor were the two indicators my body was giving off. The first suggested I was dangerously close to cramping up in my right thigh, the second hinted that I was in danger of a Paula Radcliffe moment (if you don’t know check Youtube or, better for you, don’t). I started the run slowly and hoped everything would settle down.

As you probably know Central Park is manmade. If I met that man I would shake his hand for putting so many trees right by the paths. I would then punch him in the face for landscaping so many hills. For 10km we were up and down, gasping in the humidity. A lot of people were walking now. I was determined not to stop, I wouldn’t have started again. My legs kept twinging but cramp stayed away.

Frank was out of my head but replaced by Billy Joel’s ‘For the Longest Time’ that some oddball had been singing to the triathletes and then, thankfully (and thankfully is not a word I would normally use to describe hearing this song) ‘Eye of the Tiger’. I think by this stage my mind had melted and was so suggestible that Derren Brown would have put me on his Christmas Special.

With just under 4km left I heard somebody tell another runner the time. 9.51am. I had been going for just 2 and a half hours. If I walked quickly I could beat my target time. If I ran slowly I could break 3 hours. If I ran quickly I had a chance of beating 2hours 45 minutes. I decided that no water would rehydrate me quickly enough to make it worth taking any more on board and accelerated. I went for the last kilometre as if it actually counted for something but the clock had counted the time since the start of the entire race and as I had no idea what time the start actually was this gave me no clues.
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The battle through the crowd of athletes at the finish, some being violently sick from the heat, most looking for their families, combined with a desperation to wipe off the sweat and get some water, food and clean clothes took my mind off my finish time. Once wiped down and changed I found a VIP tent and no one stopped me going in so I did. I state the obvious when I say Americans eat a lot. Laid out was a buffet of cakes, sandwiches, tacos and all sorts of other foods that were too heavy for me to face. Then I found it, chilled pineapple. Pineapple is a flavour that is welcome at any time but at this time it was ambrosia. I then heard that end times were being handed out at another tent. I went to get mine. 2 hours 46 minutes 36 seconds. It is indicative of how attuned we are to working in quarter hours that I had a pang of disappointment. I told myself it was a good time, and it was, but if I had just swum straighter or pushed myself harder on the bike or not had an extra sip of water I would have beaten 2 hours 45. I left to return my bike.
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So what of the experience? I loved it. Not just the sense of achievement. I enjoyed it all whilst I was dong it. Maybe less so the swim but even that in it’s own sorrowful way. New York was a great setting and it was fantastically organised. You push yourself in three different ways, the whole body feels it, the mind feels it but the experience is broken down so does not become overwhelming. Everybody I spoke to had a different perspective on how one should go about the event and what the best and worst bits are. They were passionate but not obsessed, the clear sense of camaraderie surprised me in what is a very individual sport.

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Tuesday morning and I have access to the Internet. I check my split times on the official results website. I came 90th out of 411 of the 30-34 year old men, that made me feel better about the time. Ah yes the time, masochistically I look at it again, 2 hours 44 minutes 43.6 seconds. They have rounded it down for the official result. I feel I’m king of the hill, top of the heap, a nuuuumbeeeeeer ooooooooone.

Tri Tri Again

Sunday sees me attempt one of this year's cornerstone challenges - The New York Triathlon. This is an Olympic distance triathlon incorporating a 1500m swim down the Hudson River, 40km bike ride along the Western Highway and a 10km run around Central Park. I am not sure whether to be excited or terrified. Currently I’m wavering between the two, often in the same minute.

It’s going to be physically demanding, no doubt. I am maybe a month off being properly ready because I have not actually tried to do all three things back to back. However I am optimistic of completing it and, afterwards, feeling very proud – I just don’t know how long it will take (to finish or recover enough to feel proud).

No reason for this one, a triathlon is just something I have always fancied trying and if you are going to do a one then it may as well be in New York. Well, it may as well be London but at the time of entering I was still hoping to do the London Marathon and didn’t want to do more than one physical challenge in any city. As it turns out I have nothing set up for London, which is bordering on the ironic but I think we are all now far too confused as to what irony actually is for me to risk saying that.

The plus side of doing it in America is they do these things with a bit more style. The organisers have arranged a system where anybody interested can get real time updates on my progress by email or text (although I could not get my head around text requirements). Follow this link and the instructions and you can pretend you are there cheering me on. In case you forget my name when searching for me - I think my bib number is 3525.

I don’t know how detailed the updates are but, with the weather in New York being a nightly minimum of C23 degrees and daily maximum of over C30 you can expect something along the lines of:

35 minutes – swim finished
2 hours 30 minutes - cycle finished
2 hours 50 minutes - collapsed with heat exhaustion
2 hours 55 minutes - placed in ambulance
3 hours 14 minutes - arrives in hospital
5 hours 5 minutes - released from hospital
5 hours 6 minutes - regrets not taking out travel insurance

Apparently there is also a way of watching an Internet feed of the last 30 seconds of the race for each competitor. I don't know how this works and with no idea how long I will take I can’t say when to watch. I have set myself a target time of 3 hours 15 minutes because it is good to have a target but realistically that is a barely educated guess. I start at about 12.15 UK time so, with fortune, will be finishing just as you reach the end of your Sunday lunch. You may have a job recognising me because I suspect a cap and sunglasses will be required and actually, now I think about it, I will also be wearing a skimpy one piece waterproof leotard kind of thing and sweating like a pig in a sauna. Not something to be experienced on a full stomach, or indeed at all. My recommendation, stick to the updates.

Read All About it...

Lead Story
You may, if you are paying close attention (although I’d settle for just some attention), have noticed that the cerebral challenges list is considerably shorter than the physical challenge list. That is not because I have focused on the physical side of this but rather because it is far easier to identify a specific date when a physical tasks is attempted and completed.

You may, if you are paying particularly close attention, have noticed that there has been a recent addition to the Cerebral Challenges list. Tomorrow I will have completed the “Article in the National Press” Challenge. It seemed to me that there were two ways to do this, either I file an article for free or I make up an ailment for Deirdre to resolve. I went with the former. This was made somewhat easier by The Independent helpfully having a daily section called “You write the Review”. I did. I submitted a review of a live music show I went to last Saturday – UNKLE at Somerset House. I submitted the review on Monday and on Tuesday got an email telling me it had been selected for publication.

So set aside your prejudices and political leanings and buy the Independent tomorrow (to the cheapskates, I am afraid that I do not think it is available online). Somewhere towards the back of the Extra section you should find my review. I hope you enjoy it and even if you don’t you can show it to people and say “I know the pretentious arse who wrote this” and you can laugh together at the grammatical typos that I have just noticed are in there. But I’ll have the last laugh because another challenge will be complete.

And Finally…
A connected newspaper issue came up at the back end of last week. I was quoted in this newspaper article about a case I was working on. You’ll see that this caused the News of the World to release an impressively bitchy statement against me. I was trying to decide if this meant I had completed another challenge. It is, after all, a pretty good achievement to be the subject of a national newspapers press release. Sadly I think that I cannot allow it. To be a challenge it needs to have been set as a target before hand. I had wondered if a challenge would be to be written about in an article but that does not require much skill – any fool who falls asleep on a train line can do it. It does make the “First Time at 30” list. And it’s a first of which I am particularly proud.

On the Origin of Specious

I have long been of the belief that Darwin’s theory on natural selection can be adapted and applied to most situations. Before the Lamarckists protest this post is not dependent on your believing in, or even particularly understanding the concept. It does, however require somewhat the acceptance that, even if wrong, Darwin’s idea is a decent fit to the evidence as we currently understand it. Where I think it becomes a little unravelled is in relation to the development of the human race. Again I do not think I am being controversial by suggesting that a theory on natural selection fundamentally requires a degree of selection. I don’t think that the human race collectively can be described as being particularly selective when it comes to finding a mate. As an old woman somewhere probably likes to say “There is somebody for everybody”.

Now, stick with this, there is a tenuous connection to the 30th Year of Challenges coming up. But first, this news report came out last week. It is a staggering drop in profit and they are welcome to ascribe it to the credit crunch, rising oil prices or whatever but not only did it comes as no surprise to me but is actually something I was thinking about just a couple of weeks ago. I believe that this is a case of clothing natural selection in action.

And now time for the tenuous connection. After training, whether it is at the gym or swimming it is traditional for people to use changing rooms to change. During that time I tend to observe other people (is that taboo to admit? Time to confess that I am, in fact, a normal, slightly nosey, person). My attention gets particularly drawn to people who are using brands that, despite being household names, you very rarely see any more. Two weeks ago that brand was Levis. The jeans market is saturated and Levis is in danger of becoming a dinosaur. You can get jeans that are cheaper or better cut or more a la mode or just about anything you can name. Being a pair of jeans is no longer enough. Levis were the missing link but their success has resulted in a glut of more evolved competitors out competing them. Other brands that I have noticed in this category include Calvin Klein underwear – yes I even notice other men’s pants - and Lynx (although that is likely to have an alligatoresque niche thanks to an impressive advertising campaign snaring 16 year old boys making their first step in body odour regulation).

It’s not over yet though. Selection can make brands on the brink of extinction come back stronger. The Burberry check plague almost destroyed it but this selection created positive mutations and they came back stronger. Some however failed. Anyone want a bottle of Hai Karate or Brut? Maybe somebody, somewhere is currently recreating these on a distant island called Olfassic Park. And maybe someone will spill the bottle and it seeps into a drain causing an overpowering odour all over the island. [note to self: is it too late to write a screenplay as a challenge?]

Good luck Levis. I wish you well but don’t expect me to donate £2 a week to save your plight, it’s natural and natural is very fashionable these days.

18th Gear

I have virtually nothing in common with Jeremy Clarkson. That sentence is actually fairly irrelevant to this entry but it makes me feel good to see it written down. It had one purpose and that is to provide me with a get out in case I make any basic mistakes when talking about cars.

I happily confess to having no interest in cars. I neither know nor care how they work or what makes one better than another. They are simply the thing that gets me where I want to go when I cannot walk. Until recently the only time I even think about them is to dodge them when I am crossing a road or feel smug that I no longer have one every time the news reports on price rises (i.e. every news bulletin).

That has changed recently, thanks to cycling. I have never been much of a cyclist either. They were always the thing that got me where I wanted to go when the distance was between walk and car. That has changed recently thanks to this year of challenges.

So now I have quite a nice bike and I need to take it out for long distances on roads shared with cars. On these rides I have plenty of thinking time. Cars occupy a lot of those thoughts. Usually little more than "red one, blue one, pink one - who owns a pink car?" or "do you want to give me any less room? you thoughtless bastard". Then, on a particularly dull stretch of road (between Windsor and Ascot, in case you know it) I became acutely aware of how dramatic a difference there is in the amount of noise different brands of car make. Size obviously has an impact, noise pollution being another stick we can use to beat the Chelsea Tractor brigade but going like for like in size stakes then my uncalibrated and biased measuring system (my ears) allowed me to form a definite brand hierarchy. And now, because I haven't posted much recently I'm going to share some very dull observations about cars. If your car brand is not mentioned name it in the comments section and I might reply with a detailed analysis of how noisy it is when it is overtaking you.

• German mid-range cars are all much of a muchness, making me wonder if they have a law that prescribing a precise sound emission level. They are noisier than I would have expected.
• American cars are quite loud and sound like they are being choked.
• Peugeot seems to have the biggest variation in relative noise between car sizes, Vauxhall is not far behind.
• Mitsubishis make a very unpleasant noise.
• The quietest cars on the road are Toyotas. In fact they are dangerously quiet and you do not always realise there is one behind you.
• The noisiest car on the road (excluding sports cars, which I assume are deliberately noisy) are Rovers. They could drown the noise of a herd of buffalo stampeding on a gravel track whilst chanting a marching song (in Buffaloesque, obviously).

Actually, on the subject of driving - if anybody fancies beingthe all expenses paid driver for 2 men travelling from Ben Nevis to Snowdon via Scafell Pike then please email me. Dates should be 25 (day off work) and 26 July.