The Dream-Day 112

Drove up to New City, NY Saturday afternoon to stay at my friend Steve's house. Not that it was close to the race site, but it saved me an extra hour of driving and a 2:30am wake up. Athough we don't see each other much, and don't have a lot of history together, Steve is one of those guys you definitely want as a friend. Great guy. As an unexpected bonus, I was treated to a few hours with his super cute and engaging 9 yr old, Andie (already a Broadway actress...really). I'd like to know who Leora's mail man was 10 years ago.

Steve & Andie at dinner. I offered to pay, but cowered under Steve's "not in my town".

After much prodding, Andie reluctantly gave me a private performance.

Satisfied afer checking my gear and nutrition for the 100th time, I crashed easily at 9pm courtesy of Dominique's "2 little helpers". I awoke at 3:25am, threw down oatmeal mixed with peanut butter and fruit, made a Starbucks Via Bold, and sped off for Croton Point Park. Arrived at 4:45am and, in the nearly pitch black and on very soggy ground, set up my stuff at transition. This is my 4th Tri in a little over 3 months. So, while I'm very comfortable with the process, I wasn't counting on the day being such a tug of war for me.

During the drive, instead of focusing on the race, I couldn't stop thinking about all the people who got up that morning and commuted to work not knowing it was their last day. They had an opening ceremony on the beach just before the swim start that was very moving and the weather couldn't have been better. Not a breath of wind, the sun was rising through unobstucted skies, and the view across the Hudson River was breathtaking. I don't remember much of the swim as my thoughts brought me back to 9/11/01. Might explain why I went off course a few times. I snapped back to reality as I approached the shore and ran 50 yards to the best portion of the course...the wetsuit strippers. Yes, volunteers that grab your wetsuit and whip it off like a pit crew changing a set of tires.

That's not me. Just giving you a mental image.

There were about 15 strippers, but somehow, none of them had any clients. Please understand, everything a triathlete does is methodical and hyper-calculated. I'm pretty much the poster boy for this. However, in this instance as I was breaking my (wetsuit) stripper cherry, I was forced to wing it...a phrase not in a Triathlete's lexicon. Today's definition of winging it: Find 3 super hot babes under 50 not wearing size XL neon yellow volunteer shirts. Check. It was at that moment that I openly announced my willingness to have the slowest transition time in history.

Nonetheless, I made it to transition (dammit), and rode the nearly 57 mile very hilly bike portion. Man, do I suck riding up hills. Felt like my bike weighed 300lbs. As I came into T2 I started to get pissed off knowing that my race plan only included running 2 miles because of the ankle injury. I managed to run 4 miles with a really nice triathlete training for her first full IM (Audra Sichler) that helped me stop even though I contemplated running through the pain. Thanks, again, Audra.

I was really disappointed but nothing compared to the damage my ego took as I walked the 4 mi back along what I called "the triathlete's walk of shame". I did find comic relief in the people lining the streets as they shouted "you can do it!" and "you're almost there!". Many others were walking too, but it was because they were toasted. Ironically, other than my ankle, I felt like I could've run all day.