Triathlon 2009
Sunday, September 20
Last Sunday, I completed the 2009 Mighty Hamptons Triathlon, which has more or less become an annual tradition for me. Each year, I invite some 30-somethings who I've raced with, and we make a party of it at my house on Long Island. The Sag Harbor race site is just 45 minutes away.
This is only the second race that I've done since my 2006 hip fracture, incurred while training for the New York City Triathlon. Last year, I was ecstatic about merely completing another triathlon after my hip healed, although my time was slower than previous efforts due to the long lay-off for the injury.
I began doing triathlons in 1991, the same year I competed in the New York City Marathon, at age 39.
The sport has grown enormously since then, and triathlons have recently become a part of the Olympics, in the same format I completed last Sunday: a nine-tenths mile swim, followed by a 24 mile bike ride, and then a six mile run. Transitions in between enable you to slip out of your wetsuit and into your bike equipment, and later to change from bike shoes into running togs.
Why do I do it? I guess the best way to describe it is that I enjoy turning my body into a living laboratory for physical performance. I test the effects of diet, supplements, training regimens and equipment against the objective benchmark of race performance.
The additional challenge is that I'm not naturally gifted or athletic, and I never went out for high school or college sports.
I find the training regimen to be a great stress-buster, and it helps keep me stay resilient and mentally alert when dealing with my demanding schedule.
Admittedly, an ulterior motive is that all that exercise enables me to keep eating like a 25 year old and not gain weight--I love that part.
Finally, I like to use my bully pulpit to exhort people to optimize with diet and exercise, and sports helps me walk the talk, so to speak.
And so I found myself embarking once more at 4:30 in the morning for another triathlon race. Amazingly, shortly after 5 AM the Sag Harbor race area was already packed with contestants and spectators, and we had to hustle to unload our bikes and prep our equipment in the dark.
Soon, we were called to the race staging area on the beach, and just as the sun came up wave after wave of wetsuit-clad athletes waded into the water to the starting line. An air-horn sounded and we were off!
Incidentally, studies have shown that about 90 per cent of triathlon fatalities--a crop of four of which were recently recorded in Wisconsin--occur during the swim phase. Personally, I'm a decent swimmer, but I find the swim part the most challenging. Fortunately it's also the shortest leg of the triathlon--my swim was completed in 36 minutes this year.
The swim is made grueling because it's in open water, complete with waves, colder temperatures, and thrashing competitors. It's routine to be kicked in the head, swum over, and gouged, and it's easy to lose track of the buoys that mark the course.
Unlike in a controlled pool swim, you tend to hyperventilate. And, unlike the bike and the run legs of the triathlon, if you feel gassed, there's no side of the road to turn off onto to catch your breath. Tragically, in New York last year, a young triathlete suffered cardiac arrest after being stung by jellyfish in the Hudson.
Unlike my 2008 race, upon completion of the swim, it was not pouring rain, a definite plus. I made my way up the ramp to the beach, found my (dry) bike in the transition area, wriggled out of my wetsuit and put on my helmet and bike shoes and I was off.
What followed was a really pleasant ride through the rolling countryside on one of the world's most efficient triathlon bikes, my Cervelo P2C. This is the first year I've had this bike, and once you learn to master its somewhat radical aerodynamics, it's a dream to ride.
Zooming down straight-aways and hammering up hills, it occurred to me that I could put up a decent time this year, but as always, the long run loomed ahead, and I remembered to hold something in reserve.
In the transition I switched to running shoes after gathering encouragement from my small entourage on the sidelines. I checked my watch and calculated about one hour to goýmore if I ran true to form to last year. I didn't presume to get greedy about hitting a sub-ten minute mile pace to notch an under-one hour 10K. A jack rabbit start would put me in the tank for the brutal finish.
As I hit the run course, cool temperatures refreshed me and lifted my spirits. I tried to draw energy from the cheering spectators lining the race course, and kept running within my breath while lengthening my stride. I even bantered with fellow racers, and played some games shadowing and then passing others, as often as not getting passed myself. Since the age of each runner was inscribed with magic marker on their calf along with their race number, I consoled myself with the fact that most of the passers were years my junior.
About four miles into the run, I was hit with the realization that I was on a better-than-anticipated pace, and that if I floored it a little, I could easily surpass last year's time of three hours, 19 minutes. With that in mind, I stepped on it, and found myself nearing the finish line within shooting distance of my best time ever.
Near the finish line, my groupies were wildly cheering, and that gave me a power-surge to sprint towards the tape. I looked at my watch as I crossed, and could scarcely believe what I saw: I was very near a personal best, and this after having broken a hip a scant three and half years ago!
Next day, when the official times were uploaded to the race website, a good news/bad news scenario emerged: I hadn't surpassed my personal best, established in 2005 (which eclipsed my previous best time at age 39); but I was only ONE second away! I had managed to shave eleven and a half minutes off last year's time!
Lest I mislead you that I am some kind of remarkable athlete, the times of my fellow 55-59 age groupers were amazing. Some of them completed the event in smoking under two and a half hour times, and I was only 21st among 27 finishers in that age category. Fewer and fewer triathletes compete at 55-plus--there were only 27 men in a field of 880--but the ones who are still active are pretty serious.
Obviously, there are some veteran athletes who just keep on cranking, maybe who have cashed out and are in semi-retirement, and who can afford great equipment. And, somewhat embarrassingly, there was even an eighty year old contestant! Checked his time, and--whew! At least I beat him by a respectable margin.
Partial consolation came from an after-race analysis which showed that my time was only slightly below average for a field which included 20 and 30-something guys and gals. Sorry, even though I should just be grateful I can still complete the event, I still can't quash that competitive spirit!
(Next week, I'll weigh in with my impressions of my 40th high school reunion--I'll be flying out to California for a whirlwind visit! Stay tuned . . .)
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