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.
********************
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.
*******************
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.
******************
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.
*******************
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.
*****************
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.
****************
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.
***************
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.
“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.
********************
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.
*******************
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.
******************
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.
*******************
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.
*****************
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.
****************
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.
***************
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.
***************
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.
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.
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