Pawling Triathlon 2014

    O N C E  U P O N  A  T I M E....

   I was a chunky little pre-teen who lived in a village called Pawling, about 2 hours north of New York City. I went through the motions to fit in with the athletic kids, but put in very little effort. I did love swim team in the summer, but that's because it was the only sport where I could work hard and not pour sweat out of my round, bright red face. My brother and I shared a bike... or rather we didn't, because we never rode it. I ran only once a year: 8 times around the bus loop for the Presidential Fitness Test. And sometimes I'd stick it to the man and walk as much of it as I could. My fitness goal was to work in the air conditioned CVS to save money for liposuction.

  More than a decade later, I went back to that same little village to swim, bike and run in the Pawling Triathlon. In the years between then and now, my views of fitness and goals have certainly changed. That in itself was a journey, but this blog post is specifically about the road to becoming a triathlete. (I use the word "triathlete" extremely lightly. I think the REAL triathletes are those sexy beasts who take on the Ironman races. But to someone like pre-teen Niki, I might be their idea of a "real triathlete". And, to my credit, it was no walk around the bus loop.)

  

T R A I N I N G

   These days when I set goals, I like to pick things that scare me; things that I'm not completely sure I can do. Sometimes, I'm right. But even when I fall short of my goals, I end up being better than I was before I started. When I signed up for the triathlon back in March, I was not scared. I'd swam competitively. I'd run competitively. I'd biked...in my life. The distances for the race weren't intimidating individually with a third-of-a-mile swim, an 11.5 mile bike and a 3.1 mile run.

    On one hand, I was consistently in motion. Each of my workouts had the purpose of making me able to push harder during the race. I stopped lifting heavy and focused more on muscle endurance and cardio. My diet was, for the most part, clean. I was lean and strong and ready. On the other hand... I had put a LOT into running, enough into swimming and an embarrassingly small amount of training into the biking. Until the week leading up to the race, I'd never even ridden a road bike. I rented one from a bike shop one week before and went on a bike trail to practice. I found out the hard way that the stirrups on the pedals were not for me. I totally bit it just trying to get off the bike! Luckily I was able to remove them from the pedals to avoid a similar demise on race day.

    My focus was all over the place. Some days, I felt really good and really ready. Some days I felt petrified. I read up on everything; the probability of a flat tire, how to change a flat tire in three minutes (although I assumed with panic and exhaustion it would probably take 5-7 if I didn't throw a hissy fit), what kind of socks I would need (not cotton), what I should wear (body suit? No body suit?), what to expect (dehydration would occur if I didn't drink water for two hours up to the race). I got myself so psyched out, I forgot my own capabilities. One mistake I made was reading articles written by Ironman triathletes. Don't get me wrong- they had very good advice and I have all the respect in the world for them. It's just that an Ironman is 100% more intense than the one I'd be doing and I had to remind myself that my race was more for fun and less like the Hunger Games.

T H E  R A C E

   First of all, if you ever decide to do any kind of race at all, have people either in the race with you or there to support you. I was extremely blessed to have my parents and my boyfriend Mike there to cheer me on. I also posted about the race on Facebook and an old friend and her family came out to support me with a big sign and water. Without them there, I'm not sure I would have finished.

   At the park, everyone was in good spirits. The weather couldn't have been better. My fellow competitors were stretching and gabbing, comparing notes on last year and wishing luck to us newbies. I looked out at the water where the buoy ended. I was relieved at the sight of it. I knew that all of the swimming I'd done in the pool would make this swim a piece of cake. I was one of the few people who didn't wear a wet suit. I figured with the newness of riding a road bike already stressing me out, I didn't need to feel constricted by swimming in a wet suit. Luckily for me, the water was 72 degrees that day. "Oh, you'll be fine," someone said to me as the water temperature was announced.

  After the singing of the National Anthem, we were let into the water 100 people at a time. I was in the fifth wave, in three minutes after the fourth wave. 

A meaty crab in a sea of dolphins

Nothing could have prepared me for that swim.

  It was like we were Black Friday shoppers being let in to the store. My game plan was to be in the front and swim ahead of all these people, who surely weren't as fishlike as I. It turns out that none of us are fish, but big, graceless, flailing humans. We were all limbs. I kicked someone in the face. I got kicked in the face. Instead of inhaling, we were constantly using our breath-stroke to huff out "sorry!" and "s'ok!"

  My mind was in a state of panic. "I can't do this," I told myself as I caught sight of the lifeguards in their boats. "I am going to die if I don't quit." In a bout of dark humor, I imagined we were all Titanic victims trying to swim to safety. Negative thoughts like that suck the energy out of you and replace it with fear.

  "GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF," my mind scolded. "You CAN SWIM." I started to remind myself of my form, thought of a good song to pace myself and repeated, "I am strong" over and over again in my mind. Having swam around the big red buoy, I started to believe in myself again.

All aboard the struggle bus

   I ran into the transition area, put on my bike shorts and a tank top, my acrylic/nylon/magic socks, my helmet, my fanny pack (with a pump, tube and patch kit) and got on the bike. I was really nervous about spending too much time in transition so I didn't take in much water at this time. That was dumb.

   As I started biking, I realized my fanny pack was too tight. Not having worn one since the 90's, it wasn't something I thought to check on beforehand. I loosened it up as best I could without losing balance, but I remained in a state of slight discomfort throughout the ride. Not fun when you're huffing and puffing for air.

   The biking was hard, but it was also kind of fun. Kind of. Everyone was extremely supportive and yelled out uplifting things to one another. When passing another biker, a polite "on your left" was said. The first half was mostly a constant uphill, and it was nice to know that coming back would be the opposite. However, just before the turn-around, there was a glorious downhill that I dreaded climbing back up.

   I was surprised by how beat my legs were after swimming. I kept repeating my "I'm strong" mantra as I rode uphill. I whooped and called out "you can do it!"  with the others as we struggled through the 11.5 mile ride. Memories of riding in my brother's car on that beautiful country road kept my spirit light while my legs felt like lead. I couldn't wait for the run.

   But then I started running. My legs, my poor legs, now felt like cinder blocks. My goal had been to finish the run in 26 minutes, but that seemed unrealistic at this point. My parents cheered for me as I entered and left the park. My boyfriend cheered me on by the transition point. Then at the starting point. Then out on the street.

  "How are you everywhere?" I panted wearily, wishing I could just stop and walk for a minute, but not daring to let him or my parents see me give up.

   "You're doing great!" He told me. "Keep it up!"

Dave (left), Colin (right) and Joan (Not pictured) cheered me on!

   I ran as hard as I could, which really didn't feel like much. But I never walked. I kept a constant pace. I took water from all of the check points. I smiled at my friends who had their sign by the best bakery in town. I told the guy with the "Inhale. Exhale. Repeat" shirt that I loved his shirt. I made it back to the park.

  Getting to the finish line was an uphill battle, literally. "Oh God," I said to myself. "I'm going to throw up." Then I saw Mike and reconsidered. I ran as hard as I could and made it to the finish line. I did the run in 27 minutes. My time, overall, was 1:29:52. I accomplished my goal of finishing before 90 minutes by 8 seconds. 

    During the race, I wasn't sure if I'd do another triathlon. But the sense of accomplishment I felt that day, and feel now in reflection, makes me want to try again. This time I know not to try to be the first one in the water. I know to check my fanny pack, hydrate before and during the bike and run, and bike a lot more when I'm in training. I think I owe it to myself to put that knowledge to good use next year. In the meantime, I have new goals I'm focusing on and as I crush them, you'll be the first to know.

Stay Well!!!