Once again, thanks to my own enjoyment and by some level of demand, here’s a summary of my NYC Triathlon.

T- 1.5 days: I am in Brooklyn until 2am with my favorite training partner, Brian Basye, and friend, Heather Romero, sharing microbrews and ice cream and laughs. Am I defeating the training that I’ve done? Quite possibly. Questionable judgment.

T -1.0 days: I sleep until 11am. Thank god for comfy hotel beds, dark shades, and my parents (amazing grandparents!) that are giving my kids good love and attention.

T -0.5 days: I figure out how to ride the rental road bike with different gears than mine. It’s a beautiful day, the bike is comfy and well fit, and there are 4,000 people checking into the transition area. It’s this kind of energy that makes NYC hard to not love. I do a little test ride up to 125th Street. We pass a small farmers market by the track that was newly built when I coached high school track 15 years ago, and passed by the original Fairway in Harlem, where I used to take Derek’s dad whenever he wanted good fruit. I’m happy to have those memories.

T -0.3 days: I put the race number tattoos on both my arms and my hands. I follow directions carefully, and they create perfectly placed “2309” down both arms from my shoulder to my elbows. I pack my transition bag, set my alarm for 4:10am and call it a night. I lay peacefully on my back, arms at my side, begin to visualize my race (a sure fire way to go to sleep!). Sleep comes before I even visualize my entire walk to the start line of the swim!

Race Day 4:10am: No pressing snooze. No pressing snooze.

Race Day 4:11am: What the hell happened to my tattoos? You can barely see the 2, the 3 looks like a small “c”, the 0 looks like a parenthesis, and the 9 might as well be a line. The edges of the tattoo look like they went through a warzone. What happened? I’m sure the same thing happened to everyone else.

Race Day 4:35am: Do I wear my running shoes and socks, or flip flops? I want flip flops for after the race, but don’t want to carry even more shoes. Decisions. I go with wearing my running shoes and socks. A light pink and dark pink one. Always avoid matching socks when training.

Race Day 4:45am: Brian’s tattoos are fully intact.

Race Day 5:15am: Transition all set up. It’s a little wet but I’m sure the drizzle will stop soon. I sit near Brian’s transition area and watch the masses walk the mile down to the swim start. I take a poll of everyone whose tattoos got battered around like mine.

Race Day 5:30am: Every single person’s tattoos look perfect. SERIOUSLY? What did I do wrong? I’m the only one without perfect iron on tattoos. Everyone else’s look so good they could be real tattoos!

Race Day 6:00am: I take a peek at the pros starting. They are going fast!

Race Day 6:15am: I take a peek at the first age groupers going. They are going fast! I see the paddle boarder on his knees, flowing along with them. He’s actually doing the opposite of paddling – he’s trying to slow his board down because the downstream current is taking him so fast. If you wanted to run along the boardwalk while they swam, you’d have to run fast. That current is strong!

Race Day 7:00am: Time for me to start! It’s raining. It’ll stop by the time I get on the bike.

Swim: The water is not as bad as last year. There’s no brown or green film on top, you can’t really smell it. I can’t see anything floating to be honest. In fact, I can’t even see my hands as they enter the water and pull. You can see nothing whatsoever unless you breath and see someone next to you or spot check up and see the dock where we finish. I spot check at the wrong time and get a gulp of water. Amazing how bad it tastes despite it not smelling bad. I might not recover. I decide not to spot check too much. I’m out of the water before 7:17 – a 16 minute mile! I realize the downstream push contributed to that significantly, but I also know that I can say “I did a 16 minute mile when I was 40.” Honest statement! Compared to last year when I swam this same mile (over 21 minutes) without having swam in 18 years, I feel like an entirely different species. If I’ve done 90 swim workouts this year, it’s 90 more than I did from 1996-2013 combined. I think I’ll keep that going.

Transition 1: The run from the dock to transition is long. Long. Long. Longer than last year? Lots of puddles on the ground, and I’m afraid to step in any because I’m sure they are potholes filled with water. Most people are walking, I’m running, so I’m sure my transition time will be good. I get to my bike and it’s drizzling hard enough to say it’s raining. I try to figure out how to dry off my wet feet with a wet towel while on wet grass/mud. It should be a Lumosity brain teaser test. I eat a Bonk Bar Bite, or half of a bite anyway, because I don’t want to slow myself down in what I’m sure is a fast transition despite the rain. I take a quick sip of water to wash out the Hudson and I’m on my way! But first, I notice, my race number tattoos are totally off. Presumably in the Hudson, my arms are free of any marking except the shadowy white remnants of the butterfly tattoo I once had (and, technically, still have, considering that with my tan it just looks like a pigment-less white tattoo). Anyway, likely no one’s tattoos survived the Hudson.

Bike Mile 1: That first hill out of the park was nothing. It’s raining! Glad my sunglasses are on to protect from the wind/rain, but I can’t see all that well. But I can see that other riders have their race tattoos still on. How did they stay on? What did I do wrong?

Bike Mile 2: My shoes are wet. My socks are wet. If I’m behind anyone the water from the road splatters up and back and I’m really thankful for my sunglasses. I am saying “On the left” quite often and passing lots of people. Maybe I can press pretty hard on the bike. I see a woman sprint past me three times this mile, only to fall behind right away and then somehow reappear. She is in all purple and a tiny little ball of muscle with short hair and looks like she could be Thai. She reminds me of a character, Eddie, in one of my favorite books, A Fraction of a Whole, a book I’ve been talking a lot about the past two weeks. Such a good book. Eddie is a mysterious friend to the main character that continually pops out of nowhere every time the main character needs him, whether he realizes he needs him or not. I have this woman for this race (possibly) and I can think of a few friends in life I have like that too, and I’m grateful for each of them.

Bike Mile 3: Often at triathlons, you see people of all shapes and sizes. Lots of different frames, but GENERALLY they are all fit for their frame. I’m seeing lots of bigger people on bikes today, both with bigger frames and just big in general. I think of LL Cool J’s song ‘Doin’ It’, from 1995, and the dispute that arose between LL Cool J and the girl that sang in the song but that he didn’t feature in the video. She claimed it was size bias, and her understanding was that some lyrics that referred to “Big Girls” suggested to her that she was chosen and would be featured because she was “bigger”. LL Cool J’s representatives said there was no such implication and the lyrics referred to adult women, ‘big girls’ as opposed to young ones. This was fought out in the media and in court. People fought over the definition of “big girls” in an LL Cool J song. I’ve fought over strange things, too – who owned “Da” in “Da Bears” and “Who Dat” and more assassin things as well. But I loved that song. I thought of it and sang it in my head as I rode forward in the rain.

Bike Mile 4: My feet are swimming in lakes! My shoes and socks are soaking wet. I think I’m getting a blister on the bottom of my left foot. Should I stop to try to dry out my socks? Reposition them? Or just keep going. What’s the name of that country song I love “If you are going through hell, just keep going….” I love that song. Who sings it, I forget. I decide to just keep going.

Mile 5: My Eddie shows up. Rides in front of me for a bit and falls away.

Mile 6: My tri suit is never going to dry. I’m pretty sure I’m going to get chaffs – usually my tri suit would be dry by now. This rain sucks, although I’ll take it over a hot, muggy day.

Mile 7: There are a bunch of tandem bikes I’m seeing. At first I thought they were related to participants from Challenged Athletes Foundation. But I’m not sure. I’ve never seen a tandem bike in a triathlon.

Miles 8-12: The rolling hills take us through the Riverdale section of the Bronx. I pass by the exit for Kappock St., and I can see the building where I spent many fun evening celebrating the holiday season with Hollis and Neesha Meminger and their sweet girls. I looked forward to it every year, and there was a sweet framework of transplanted family that you develop in NYC with your friends. The chance of all of the Memingers and Hart/Matthews families being together again for any event is very small. Subsets of us, yes, but not likely everyone. Life evolves and changes. While I get a tinge of sadness at that thought deep in my heart, the more powerful feeling is gratefulness that those moments happened. We were so naïve to life and how it would play out but were brave enough to be living it, each of us. That we’ve moved on to the next chapter doesn’t make the memories any less sweet. I’m glad to have the memories and the connections.

Mile 13: On my way back south! This ride isn’t so bad. Eddie pops up around the u-turn that leads us back south.

Mile 14: Fairly big downhill. I hear the loudest scream “OOOOOOONNNNNN YOURRRRRR LEFTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” It scares me a bit. It’s a tandem bike and both men on it are certainly not challenged. They are going so fast. Why in the world are there so many tandem riders and bikes? How do you do a tandem triathlon? Or is it just this leg? I don’t get it.

Mile 15-18: Eddie pops in and pops out. My feet are wet. My butt is really hurting. Fortunately not my glute, but just my butt bone. I want to get off this bike!

Mile 19: I spot Brian riding north. The rain is fizzling out. His ride will be dry, that is good. What am I going to do with wet socks during the run? Shoot. Just 6 miles left….that should fly by.

Mile 20: My butt hurts.

Mile 21: I want to get out of this saddle and stay out of it. I might ride standing up the rest of the time.

Mile 22: I HAVE DRY SOCKS! I wore the dark pink/light pink pair during set up this morning. Please please please let it be that I put them under a towel, in the plastic bag, or kept them dry somehow.

Mile 23: These last 6 miles aren’t hard, but are taking way too long.

Mile 24: I can’t wait to run.

Mile 25: I’M DONE! A little less than 1 ½ hours, not bad considering the rain. But that aside, I’m just so happy to get off this bike……

Transition 2: I run in to my spot, see my socks are in the plastic bag (they are dry!) and my running shoes under a towel. I was thinking straight during set up, thank god. It takes me a minute to get the wet socks off and the dry ones one, but not that bad. What’s an extra minute in transition? I drink some water since I don’t think I drank enough during the bike, and I don’t want my quads cramping up during the run. What’s an extra few seconds for that? I re-arrange my low pony-tail for a higher one to be off my neck for the run, and my hair feels like a rat’s nest. I remember, I had a brush. What’s 15 more seconds to brush the front of my hair off my face into the right pony tail? (Should I admit to anyone that I brushed my hair? – I debate during the 15 seconds it takes to brush it). I run over to the restrooms. There’s a line. YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME! A line during the transition. Waiting this extra minute is going to kill my otherwise stellar-ly fast transition! Finally, I’m out of the fence and starting the run…..

Run Mile 1: Hill out of the park easy. Every hill I run in during my lunch times runs significantly bigger. Off to the flat of 72nd Street. So many people out cheering. Rain has stopped, but it is cool and overcast. Can’t ask for a better day. My feet feel light and DRY. Dry socks feel like heaven. Literally that must be part of the dictionary description for anyone who believes in heaven and who has had soaking wet socks before. The energy on the street is contagious and yes, yes, yes, it is this energy that I miss. This is what I miss about NYC. The energy that people on the street create. It ups the ante whether during a race, or just a walk to work, or a walk with your dog around the block. There is constant buzz and energy and limitless possibility to what might come your way. You can’t package that up, you can’t sell it. It is here, in this city, and I love it.

Run Mile 2: We head into Central Park and run against the natural counter-clockwise flow, moving clockwise. I remember the first and only training run that Zal Devitre (a college friend I swam with) and I did for the NYC Marathon in 1997 (a marathon neither of us ever did). We ran clockwise into all the other runners running the opposite direction. I think it took us 5 of the 6 miles around the park to realize we were the only runs running in this direction. Eddie pops up in front of me and then falls behind. A non-racer is running along the cones and takes her earphones out. I realize I don’t even care that you can’t listen to music during the triathlon, I’m not missing it at all. But I hear through her open headphones Adele’s remake of Bob Dylan’s Make You Feel My Love. A near perfect love/unrequited love/I’ll love you no matter how you feel about me love song. I think I am seeing the only other person that exists that listens to love songs – slow-er love songs (but no less powerful). She might be my running soul mate. I’ll never see her again. To steal a line from a good movie and book, Some infinities are smaller than others.

Mile 3: From a ½ mile away, I see Tania Kirkman. My heart fills up. I have the urge to give her a big hug, but wonder if she wants a hug filled with sweat and Hudson river and rain. I can’t help it as a I go by, I give her a big hug. When I see Tania, I see babies and Brooklyn and good preschools and little boys who love to sing and who love to dance and kids that are allowed to be who they are. I see Underhill Playground and tight apartments that you can fill with 30+ kids and life and I see a woman who let me drop kai off for a playdate so I could take care of baby twin colicky girls. And a woman who let me drop Kai and Gemma off and would have let Sasha stay had she not insisted on crashing date night, and then the date on which I was the third wheel between Sasha & her daddy. I see balancing motherhood and working life and personal fulfillment and relationships and being in the trenches of it all and doing those trenches proudly. I see friendships that I couldn’t foster because there’s not enough minutes in the day but you feel the power and need of those friendships anyway. They last anyway, even if just in the moments you see them and you feel what they capture. Little time capsules. I’m just so grateful and I long for those seconds and memories that you don’t know are going to hit you so hard. I get all choked up and I literally gasp and tears flow out. I’m crying as I run down Harlem Hill. Who cries during a triathlon unless it is from physical pain? Me. Apparently.

Mile 4: I should have told my cousin Scotty to come cheer me on as a I run through the north side of the park. Not tell, ask, of course. I run up the hill past the public pool and it is not so bad. Thanks to those mid-day hills I do! I remember walking down this hill with our dog Butter, almost weekly. Either with Derek or his dad. Derek and I aren’t Derek and I anymore. We didn’t know way back then that we might not one day be. There were so many things we wanted to be, and we tried to be, and we thought we would always be. I’m proud of all of them. I wish I could say that I know who each of us will be going forward, but I am no longer that naïve. Even just two weeks ago I think I could have answered that better, but I can’t. We’ll each be good parents, and since it involves the same awesome kids, that will be co-parents. But I don’t know what that will look like or what shape it will take. But I’m happy for those memories of just walking our big lovable dog in the north side of Central Park, in fresh air, enjoying the moment and the belief of what was to come even if that belief never took shape. Some better reality did, and each of us just have to live it. And I just keep running forward.

Mile 5: Light feet! Dry feet.  I’m still so thankful for those dry socks.  I feel great. I don’t want to stop running. Lifetime Fitness has these crafty irreverent signs at each aid station. “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere. Keeping running to find out where!” “Run like you’re being chased!” It makes me think of Manhattan Mini-Storage and their irreverent ad campaigns. “Bloomberg’s gone. You can put your bike in storage.” My god I love those ads.

Mile 6: So many people! So much energy! I don’t want it to end. I have enough energy to smile as I am cheered on over the finish line. I already can’t wait to do it again next year.

Race +30 minutes: I’ve got my phone from my race bag. Lots of people don’t have one. Some people ask me to take a picture and text it to them. I am temporarily a photographer. One or two them take a picture of me. There’s an instant feeling of camaraderie after these events.

Race + 1 hour: Brian and I pick up the printout of our splits. 16 minute swim, 8 minute T1, 1:29 bike, 5 minute T2, and 50 minute run. To be clear, this means 13 minutes – 13 MINUTES!!!!!!!!!!!!! – in transition. I think I know what I need to work on. The 8 minute first transition doesn’t kill me considering that includes a ½ mile + barefoot run. But, seriously, 5 minutes for the second one? I’m never telling anyone that I took 15 (maybe 20) seconds to brush my hair. Never.

Race +2 hours: We are at the Central Park Boathouse for the post-race Ronald McDonald House Luncheon. My tri suit is still wet, I want to take it off. Maybe half the participants there have showered and looking presentable. And they all still have their race numbers on! Most people’s survived a night of sleep, the swim-bike-run in the Hudson and the rain, the sweat of it all, the sun afterwards, and a shower. Mine didn’t even survive a night of sleep.

Race +7 hours: I’m glad my numbers came off so easily. I didn’t have to scrub too hard while taking a shower, and could spend the extra time washing my hair 3 times to get the Hudson muck out of it. I’m enjoying a hard cider on an outdoor deck. Tasty drink, fresh air, good conversation. I head to dinner and a night in the West Village with a friend I’ve known since I was 18 and swam with throughout college and dove in the crystal blue waters near Capri with. And one that, though I’ve known him only a few years, it feels like I could as easily say I’ve known him since the first day I walked on the pool deck at Minnequa Club in Pueblo, Colorado in 1979. I feel content and happy and I wonder what is going to make me be transported back to this moment, this feeling, this day, this race, these friends, one day years from now.

Race + 15 hours: Sad to have it all end. Thankfully, I’ve got a 100 mile bike ride in wine country to look forward to and I signed up for the Oceanside Half Ironman to have a second go of it. My only goal, to have better transition times!