Liz's Triathlon: The Good, the Bad, the Hysterical

Okay gang,

I DID IT.  I completed my first triathlon, the Nautica New York City Tri! I signed up waaaay back on October 31st of last year when I got an email from News Corp, our parent company, that said we were a sponsor and hey! Let's put together a team! Woo hoo!

I had never done a "tri" but did complete the 2006 New York City Marathon so I thought, "Cool! New experience! Team! Rah Rah!"  Never ONCE did I read the fine print of what it actually was: an Olympic distance (that's the hard kind) triathlon which includes 1)a one mile swim, 2)25 mile bike ride, all topped off with a  10k (6.2 miles) run.

Without a second thought, I clicked "YES, I'm in!", paid the fee and didn't think about it again until December when suddenly my in-box was flooded with things like " Join the training team! Better start now!"  In total denial, I took a kickboxing class that weekend and forgot about the triathlon again.

Until January when I dug up the original email and read the fine print.   OMG. A MILE SWIM? How long IS that? I'm a California girl. I grew up frolicking in the waves in Malibu. But a one-mile swim in the lovely Hudson, garbage and motor oil included?

I called my old marathon health coach Peter K of PeterKFitness and dropped the bomb. He said, "Let's get going."  Weeks of 5am sessions later, including during my vacation in Israel where I completed 2 swim sessions and a run along the Tel Aviv shoreline, I arrived at race weekend. I'm leaving out the parts where I had to buy my first new bike in 19 years (when did they change the gears? I want my 10-speed back) and where I had to try on 3 wetsuits before one fit properly. My first effort involved my husband, our nanny and my 7 year old all yanking and pulling before someone muttered, "This isn't going to work." Totally humiliating.) (Click here to see MYFOXNY.com’s report on my intense training.)

Friday I attended the orientation at the Sheraton. At that point it began to dawn on me that these people looked way more experienced than I, although when they asked for a show of hands for first-timers, a whole bunch of our arms went up. I felt better.  Until Saturday at 3am.  I woke up in a panic thinking, "Who am I to EVER think I could pull this off? WHY did I ever believe I could bike 26 miles and THEN run 6.2 miles? I CAN'T DO THIS."  I could barely speak at breakfast and began frantically texting Peter K with things like, "I'm near tears. I can't do it. "  He told me, "Every single thing you're feeling is totally natural. Most first-timers feel like this too. Deep breaths. You can do this. I KNOW you can."   I frantically texted a triathlete named Caroline I had met 3 days earlier in Central Park. "Okay," she said. "My mom is 52 years old. SHE'S doing it. I'm assisting a BLIND PERSON who's doing it tomorrow."  Deep breaths.

Saturday afternoon, we showed up to drop off our bikes at the transition area. Security guys were putting their hands on everyone's handlebars, checking for 'caps.' They pushed everyone through except ME.  "Where are your caps? You can't race without them."  I had ZERO idea what caps were and no clue as to why my brand new Orbea bike didn't have them." Turns out they're little caps that plug the ends of the handlebars so that if you crash or tumble, you won't get fatally hurt. As the bike mechanic on site told me, "If you don't have caps and your handlebars hit your body, it'll take a core sample out of your chest."  Grrreeeeaaattt.   Then the mechanics tell me, "We ran out of them."  I just stared thinking, "This is my 'out'! I can say I couldn't race because I didn't have caps!" But suddenly one mechanic decides to be McGyver, rifles through his bag, digs out 2 water bottles, removes the caps, shoves them into the ends of my handlebars and then wraps electrical tape around them. Problem solved.  "Thank you," I muttered weakly.  No backing out now.

Sunday 3am  Alarm goes off. I and my husband Jeff, who has also entered the race, wake up and get ready to go.  I drink the iced Dunkin' I bought last night and had refrigerated.  Caffeine + Adrenaline = RACE.

4:30am We get to the bike transition area. I check on my bike, squeeze the tires. I have absolutely NO idea what I'm doing, whether the tires are okay or what. I just do what everyone else is doing, put on my wetsuit and make sure everything's set. I run into FBN's Cheryl Casone. That puts me in a great mood. (Below is a clip of Cheryl and me in the final-week countdown to the race.)

We're both nervous so we take a picture, hug, wish each other luck and run off.   We have to walk a mile to the swim start. Annoying. But suddenly, as we're all trudging along in the rain  no less, it becomes enjoyable. Everyone's making friends. It's a very nice community.

5:30am It's controlled chaos at the swim start. First you get your computer chip which wraps around your ankle and then you have to get your body marked.  That means they write your race number and your age on your arms and legs with a Sharpie.  Lovely.

5:50a Word is the start is delayed due to rain. I was supposed to go in the water at 6:14am. No idea when it'll happen now.

Sometime after 6:40am  (I'm not sure exactly *what* time it is because at this point, I'm freaking out and can't even look at the fancy waterproof watch I bought precisely to mark the start)  They call my 'wave' group and boom, I'm walking with my group onto the pier, ready to jump in. A WNYW Fox New York crew rushes up and the reporter says, "Liz! You're really going to jump in the Hudson?" She points at the murky water. Suddenly it all becomes real. I manage a smile, mumble something like, "I'm still waiting for Nike to offer me a sponsorship" and then I take the plunge.

The gun goes off and I start swimming.  One minute in I'm having trouble breathing in enough air. Why does my wetsuit feel 3 sizes too small? It fit last week. What's going on? I realize that I'm experiencing what my coach told me 95% of first-time triathletes experience: a panic attack.

I do what he taught me: resort to my safety stroke, the breast stroke. Still can't breathe. C'mon Liz, you're a California girl, you grew up in the surf. You can DO this. I switch to the side stroke. Much better...until I get a mouthful of salt-water and motor oil. Oy. I go back to the crawl and suddenly I'm moving. Fast.  In just 21 minutes, I'm out. I got through it.   Someone gives me a hand out and I take off, running 400 yards to my bike.

7:18am I'm on the bike. This is fine. I'm moving. 25 miles to go.  I head up the first steep hill, no problem. I'm silently praying I don't blow a tire. Why? Because I have NO IDEA how to change it.  The Westside Highway is clear. I drive this road every day. So cool to be riding a bike on it.  Oh look, here comes the GW Bridge. I'm under it. I'm past it. Yay! 

7:32am  What's that sound? My bike chain has popped off. No worries, I know how to get it back on. I pull over, talk myself through it and 45 seconds later I'm good to go.   We go through the tolls, past 246th Street all the way through the Moshulu Parkway. Turn around, go all the way back down. I'm flying and thinking all the way down what Fox Business contributor and all-around biking superstar Gary B. Smith told me: STAY LOW, YOU'LL GO FASTER.

Sometime before 9am I pull back into the transition area. I'm sure to go slowly knowing I'm probably a little stiff and it'll take time to get off the bike. It doesn't. I jump off, rush to the bike racks, find my location, rack the bike and take off running.

Whoa.  This isn't going to be easy. I'm suddenly tired. I'm running east on 57th Street toward Central Park and it's not that my legs feel heavy, it's that I can't breathe.  I had a deep cough coming into the race and suddenly I really feel it. People are cheering, that helps.

Mile 2.  I need to walk up a short hill. Okay, okay, no big deal. Once that's over, I start running again. I put on my iPod (emergencies only) and Kevin Rudolf's "Let it Rock" gets me moving a bit faster.

Mile 4. WHEN is this thing over? A gorgeous woman who's lost a limb sprints past me giving me great inspiration. C'mon, Liz. Look at how tough she is. Get going.  Unbeknownst to me, I'm actually averaging my goal speed of a 10-minute mile.

Before I know it, I can see the finish line. I actually spot my coach Peter K who yells, "Liz!" and is cheering wildly.  I cross the line with a smile on my face, proud of myself and grateful it's over.

I completed the race in 3:27.  I couldn't be happier.  I tell you all this to say that if you've every had a tiny thought in your mind about getting fit or doing something like completing a triathlon, I'm living proof that you CAN squeeze out the time in a busy lifestyle, you CAN make it happen even if parts of you hurt, you CAN climb mountains. The driver is your brain.  Get behind the wheel and go.  Good luck. Let me know how it goes.

--Liz