Another Milestone

New York

Last Saturday morning when the alarm went off, I was ready to kick some... well, you know.

I grabbed my bag with all my running gear, put on sunscreen, and got myself down to the East River at 35th Street. Right on time, the Seastreak ferry arrived, its decks shining uber-white in the morning sun.

I hadn't competed in an athletic event since surgery in March. And, in many ways, just getting to the race site was a thrill. Sometime in April or May, my recovery stalled , so I was still unsureabout what I would accomplish. I decided to set my goal on a triathlon, the same one that I had done in the two prior years--a well organized race run by Danskin with about 1000 competitors including elite athletes and breast cancer survivors.

The ferry arrived in Sandy Hook, New Jersey right on time. The long, slender peninsula with a very old lighthouse is actually a national seashore--and a perfect place for a triathlon because it's size so that all three events happen in a fairly contained space. And its beautiful with the silouette of Manhattan, Brooklyn and Long Island to the north; the ocean with mammoth tankers cruising on the horizon on one side, and the bay on the other.

My friend Ann and her daughter picked me up at the ferry dock. We drove to a community college in a nearby town with little time to spare before the registration closed. I walked up to the "B" line, smiled at the volunteer behind the table. "Hi--registration for B-O-L-S-T-E-R." She rifled through the packets, her lips pursed. "I'm afraid you're not ion the list. Are you sure you registered?"

I was flooded with emotion. All the training, all the planning, all the coordinating. Well...had I forgotten to register for the race? This race of all things? The one I had my eye on to show myself that I'd regained my stamina. That I'd thought about non stop. That I'd crosstrained toward mapping my progress as my body finally started getting stronger, more facile.

My face must have shown my disappointment. "Look", she said, as she pointed toward the exit sign. " Go over and talk to Matt. He's at the far end of the room. If anyone can help you, he can."

While I waited in line, I racked my brain to try to reconstruct the planning. I had talked Ann into doing the race--and her daughter Elizabeth--last year. And they loved it. So, we all decided to do it again. It's a popular race, so we emailed each other right early in the year to remember to register.

"Hi". "Can I help you?" Matt smiled.

"I guess I forgot to register", I began tentatively. "But I just can't believe I did. My words were spilling out as I continued.
"Can you try to see if i'm in the computer? I've done this race for the past two years. Even won in my age group last year. I can't believe I'd have forgotten. But I had surgery in March. Maybe I did. But I've just got to race. It's the first time I've raced since surgery. Can you help?"

"Wow, that's quite a story." He paused, then reached down and picked up a binder. "Let's see if I can find the right form," he said as he flipped through the sections. "I have a couple of spare numbers that I didn't assign--even thought the race was filled up by May. But you can have one of them."

I walked away from Matt's table clutching a packet--water for a parched soul.

The next morning we got to the race start at 6:30 am. I was in the third heat which was scheduled to start at 7:15. And I had to go about 1/2 mile to the start, get through security, rack my bike ( and memorize where it was so I could find it after the swim ), and get to the ocean for the swim with my heat.

The race start was delayed. I regrouped. The wind felt cold on my swimming-suit-only body as I stood shivering with the other participants, making small talk, hoping the water temperature was warmer than the air.

And then it began. I swam cautiously at first to let all the newcomers get over their inevitable panic when they realized that 50 other people were in the ocean right beside them, all heading for the same red buoy. At the yellow triangle, I dug deeper, swimming hard to make up for the early part of the swim. As I put my head up to check my distance from the finish, a woman still completing her swim fron an earlier heat, and struggling to finish, hit me with her elbow, knocking off my goggles.

"Are you all right?", she asked, tredding water. I righted my goggles, steadied myself. "Sure. Fine," I mumbled, doing a cautious crawl stroke around her.

Out of the water, I headed for my bike which I found easily. I dried my feet and scraped off the sand, put on shoes and socks, my belt with my race number, helmet, sunglasses, unracked my bike and headed for the bike start gate. Suddenly, I realized there was no "Bike Start" sign where it had been last year. I reeled around until I saw the ( new this year ) starting point--realizing I had probably lost 30 seconds in my transition time because of my error.

Two delays and I hadn't even started the second event!

The wind was strong in both directions during the twelve mile ride. But returning to the finish line, it was directly in my face.
My quads burned by the time I entered the finish area. I racked my bike, took off my helmet and started running.

The 5K distance isn't too bad usually. But I couldn't get my legs to move. Finally I stopped and stretched my calves, not sure it was the right move--but knowing I had to do something.

Another delay, my mind quipped.

I ran, walking intermittantly, as the sun rose higher in the sky, adding heat, warming up the black pavement.

Finally, I could hear the loudspeaker and the crowd--the very best thing in the world when you're feeling like you're out of steam. I tried to kick hard for the last 1/8 mile. Finish strong, my mind reminded me.

After Ann and Elizabeth finished their (later ) heat, we all had something to eat, then they took me back to the ferry and they headed back to Pennsylvania.

On the ferry back to Manhattan, I first saw the Sandy Hook lighthouse that I had run by a few hours before. Then, the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, and Manhattan.beautiful sites on a beautiful nearly-Fall day.

Back in my apartment, I figured the race results wouldn't be up until evening. But I decided to check it out anyway.

Clicked on "race results". Clicked on "name". Clicked on "results by age group".

The results were in. Suddenly, the computer screen blurred as I read the results a second time, my eyes on the edge of spilling tears.



I won first place.

M.C.