NYC Triathlon Recap: How to be Happy in the Hudson

Just like my marathon post, this will not be a mile-by-mile, minute-by-minute recap of every single thing that happened while I was participating in the NYC Triathlon. I've rested, unpacked my bags, and returned my wetsuit. I'm still digesting the glory that was July 8 and maybe some of the Hudson River water too. When I really think about the triathlon and the training, there is one phrase that keeps coming to the surface.

Gratitude.

I am overwhelmed by gratitude. I am grateful for the opportunity to pursue such a random goal. I am healthy. I have incredibly supportive friends and family who stood by me through every bad hair day, bruise, and bump in this road. I have a friend who traveled up to NYC, bought an $11.75 beer, woke up at 4:10 am, sent updates to my mom, coordinated support efforts, took pictures and celebrated with us. I have a mom who woke up at 5 am to make sure we were awake. I have a family who kept my phone ringing and inbox full with encouragement. I have a group of coworkers who have asked about my training almost every day. I am blessed with the ability to afford this hobby.


I was grateful to be in New York City. I was happy to swim in the Hudson River. It was awesome to stand on the shore and watch professional, world-class athletes leap into the waves. It was humbling to see the challenged athletes in the mix of nervous wetsuit-wearing wannabe athletes. I was not nervous to jump into the river most famous for scenes from Law and Order. (That's where the throw the guns.) I was ready. Once we reached the plank and the vast brown expanse of waves stretched (and smelled) in front of us, I was really grateful the swim was only a mile. I was grateful for the very strong current that pushed us along rather quickly.

I smiled the entire 25 miles of the bike ride. Even though I was huffing and puffing up some intense inclines, I was doing so in one of the best cities in the world. I rode over the river, I rode in the Bronx. I pedaled on the Westside Highway.


Even during the run, when my lungs felt empty and legs felt hollow, I was amazed to running in Central Park. The Central Park. I was cursing the famed Harlem Hills. I was slowly making my way along trails I’ve only seen in movies or read about in books. It was hard to be miserable when I reminded myself of the moment I was in. Yes it was boiling hot and it felt like there was no air in the air. But I was running the final portion of a triathlon. Of the New York City Triathlon. My legs had just biked through this city. My arms just swam in its river. This was incredible.


While I was happy to alive and on the course, I was more than ready to be done with race. We had been out in the July heat for more than three hours. The minutes were ticking by and the temperatures were climbing. It was time to wrap this up. Lauren and I pushed ourselves past cheering crowds, up one more stinkin’ hill, around one last bend, and finally down the homestretch. Our eyes scanned the sidelines for our friends but always found their way back forward to the ultimate goal. The finish line.


After almost five months of training, we were just steps away from becoming triathletes. Nothing quite felt like that descent to the finish line. Those last six miles of the triathlon were tougher than the last six of our marathons. It was a different kind of exhaustion. It was a different kind of drive. And crossing that finish line was a different kind of joy.


I was especially grateful for the cold wet towel that a volunteer draped over our necks. I was super grateful for the cold bottle of water I was handed. I didn’t even acknowledge the medal because the wet towel dripping icy relief to my overheating body was enough of a reward.


Lauren and I exchanged a very brief, very sweaty, very sore hug. We’ve done a lot of races and have been through a lot together. We know not to hug another athlete for more than a millisecond after competing with them in a race. It a level of intimacy and bodily fluids that doesn’t need to be broached. The after-race hug is not a tight, long, embrace either. It's a glorified double pat on the back that is spaced out like two kids at a middle school dance. Soon after the chaos of grabbing free foods and goodies from vending, finding our friends, finding a clear spot took over. We also had to figure out the logistics for the rest of the morning and afternoon. We were wet. We were hot. We were tired. And we were triathletes.

As we headed out of the park to collect our gear, I was also very grateful to be off the course. Some of the men's groups started almost a full hour after we got out of the water. Some were just beginning their run or were still out on their bikes. I do not understand the reason or rules for why women go first in triathlons, but I will never question it.

I do not regret the decisions I made or the sacrifices I made to achieve this goal. The early morning alarms, the two-hour training sessions, the ice packs, the accussations, the worry, they were all worth it. Completing the triathlon was a victory unlike any other and something I am grateful to always be able to carry with me.

Dear Triathlon Training

Dear Triathlon Training,

You started as a 'sure, why not' challenge.
You made me get into a pool.
You made me get up at the crack of dawn.
You made me buy a bike.
And a helmet. And shorts with padded butts. 
You made me eat. A lot.
You made me paranoid of overly friendly dogs.
You forced me out of my comfort zone. 
You made me love running again.
You turned me into an anxious ball of overexercised energy.
You took over my life.
You tested my strength.
You tested my limits.
You made me second guess myself.
You made me prioritize. 
You turned my hair into a greasy, natty, mess of chlorine and sweat.
You inflamed my left hip and seriously pissed off my IT bands. 

You made me stronger, physically and emotionally.

Swimming taught me to breath.
Biking on hills taught me to push harder and grunt louder. 
Running reminded me how free and relaxing a good sweat session can be.
All three have taught me that I can do anything I set my mind to. 


This letter may be premature, Triathlon Training as our dance is still a few days away. But I just wanted to say thank you. You got me through a rough patch or two by giving me an outlet and a perspective. You made me smile through the nerves, to work through the hurt, and focus on the positive.


I hope to repay the favor by going confidently and boldly into the water and staying strong throughout. If I panic in the river, wipe out during the ride or walk the entire 6.2 miles,--I will still  be proud of the past five months of soreness, sweat, and strength. And grateful for the challenge. 


In conclusion, I guess it didn't suck as much as I thought sometimes and all. We're cool.
Thanks and stuff.


Linds

Indomitable Spirit

Shh...

Don't tell anyone..... I'm a ninja.  

I'm in ninja school. It could be said I take karate classes. Allow me to explain. 


My good friend Laura started working at a place called a "dojo" about two years ago. She started having really strange bruises and saying words like cardio kickboxing, punches, sparring, black belts, and senseis. I thought dojo was a special language school. Whatever this dojo and 'carrotie' activity was, it was clear that she loved it and had found a new passion.

The problem with passion is that it spreads. And soon my good friend Laura had signed me up for an orientation class. I have no idea what special skill or mind trick she used on me aside from a text message saying, "Hey, what are you doing tomorrow evening around 7pm? It's bring a friend night at work. You can wear yoga pants." I had driven past the dojo--it's an actual place!-- hundreds of times as it's centrally located on a busy highway but never did the bright red KARATE  sign actually register in my head.

I showed up in yoga pants and a race shirt and felt immediately out of place. There were kids everywhere and everyone was wearing black pants and yelling. Lots of yelling. Laura introduced me a guy named Sensei Dan. If you're wondering, Dan is his first name. Sensei is a title. It was kinda odd at first that so many guys in that place were named Sensei.


I was taken to an office where Sensei Dan described and demonstrated two punches, a 'jab' and a 'cross.' It was fun watching an old guy punch the air. Then, it was my turn. Huh? I have to jab and cross? But...I'm a girl. I'm a runner! I work in an office. I am nice and smile at people. I cannot punch things! Again, I am unsure of the mind tricks and skills used, but I somehow found myself on the mat with a group of adults, who also seemed to work in offices, and more than half were female, who all smiled at me, and proceeded to punch and kick like there was no tomorrow.

Before I knew it, Laura, or Miss Laura in dojo-speak, signed me up for a six-week introduction to the program. I was a 'white belt' and really never planned to go any further. I was so out of my element and out of my comfort zone that I would sometimes cry on the ride home. I was convinced that I had a physical development problem that made me use my right hand instead of my left. All I heard for the first few months was, "No, your other left."  

I told Laura that I hated it and wanted to quit. She told me to hang on for the six weeks. Miss Laura said that no one just stops at a white belt. That would be lame. I should at least stay for the yellow belt. She said it would help with conditioning and strength. She also said we could go out for drinks on Friday nights after class. And we did.

Stress? What stress?

What was once terrifying and awkward has become one of my favorite parts of the week. I don't worry about not being lady like or polite when I'm on the mat. I'm not an  employee, a girlfriend, a neighbor, a friend or anyone besides a sweaty, wannabe ninja. I'm fighting whatever demons, stresses, voices, and emotions are weighing me down. I win most of those fights. 

This is why I call it ninja. Karate is an activity that wimpy middle school kids take if they're being bullied at school. Mixed martial arts is what that muscleheaded douchebag at the gym calls kickboxing. Self-defense classes imply that I need protection and am afraid of the world.

It also had nothing to do with paying too much for cable. Thanks, Direct Tv.

Ninja, however, is a mindset. Ninja is never giving up no matter how sore, how discouraged, how uncomfortable, and how afraid you are. Ninja is pushing through injuries but also respecting your body enough to heal. It's coming to class in a snowstorm. It's letting your kids have frozen yogurt for dinner because they were quiet during class. It's listening to a 17 year old dispense life advice without laughing in his face. It's finding a second home, a community, friends, and a lifestyle that fills a hole you didn't know was there.

Osu!

At the end of each class, we recite the values of the kenpo teachings, Modesty, Integrity, Self Control, Perseverance, Indomitable Spirit. I chant a little louder on the Indomitable Spirit one. That's where my ninja is. 

Just come for one session, she said. It'll be fun, she said. Nothing bad will  happen, she said. 

Things I Did Not Know in January But Now I Do

• The terms gear, cadence, three-up, saddle-sore, or clip-ins.
• An itchy nose means improper breathing in the water.
• Swimsuits are really expensive.
• Bikes are really expensive.
• Chlorine is an overwhelming odor at first but eventually you get used to it. Maybe even grow to like it.
• Putting baby powder in your swim cap will prevent it from sticking together. It's better to add the baby powder after you've swam and before you're dressed in a black sweater.
• There is nothing quite as good as a good run.
• You do not have to shave your legs to get into the pool. Honestly, no one notices.
• The mirrors on the left side of the spin class room are good. The mirrors on the right side of the spin class room are evil.
• Sitting on a bike in the back row of a spin class means that you can watch muscluar guys to pull ups, heavy machines, and lower ab leg lifts behind you. Always get to class early.
• Dogs of all sizes are fascinated by bike wheels. Dog owners of all sizes are idiots.
• It is completely possible to learn how to swim in three months.
• Learning to cycle is not simply 'riding a bike.'.
• Triathlons are really expensive.
• Not rotating enough in the water = back pain
• Seat too high or low on your bike = back pain
• Taking spin classes to learn how to bike is like only running on a treadmill before your first race. Eventually, you have to get outside.
• Bike tires need to be inflated at least once a week.
• If it feels like your bike weights ten extra pounds no matter how hard you push and it's hard to balance than usual, check your tires.
• We can pretty much do anything we set our minds to -- no matter how daunting, terrifying, overwhelming, and challenging.