Tri Hard
In which your plus-size, 54-year-old correspondent decides, on a whim, to do a sprint triathlon and lives to tell the tale
Hello, Inevitables!
I’ve been working on a post about the myth of New York City, how an entire generation (me included) grew up believing that the only way to be a real writer was to live there, and how a recent batch of memoirs is telling a different story about the viability – or lack thereof – of a writing life in New York. Then the debate happened, and I had to explain to my dog that no, not everything people say on TV is true, and that he truly does not have to fear being eaten. Then I got to write about Taylor Swift’s endorsement…all while working on the new book I’m writing, which is, so far, untitled – and also, so far, a lot of fun.
So stay tuned for the NYC vs MFA vs The Whole Rest of the World And Everything Else You Can Do In It If You Want To Be A Writer piece. Meanwhile, here’s something I haven’t done in a little while: a race report!
Once I finished my five-day solo bike ride from Boston to Provincetown – read all about it on my Insta! -- I figured that my big athletic endeavors of 2024 were over. I spent two weeks in Cape Cod relaxing: a little bike ride here, a little jogging by the ocean there, a swim across Gull Pond or in the bay on hot days, but nothing you’d call training. My younger daughter spent a week as a CIT at her nature camp, and then my older daughter joined us for a week of fishing, beach visits, walking the dog through the nearby tidal flats, theatre-going and dining out. The weather was lovely – sunny, not humid, not too hot. It was a perfect vacation.
When I got home, and asked my friends if anyone was planning on riding my bike club’s century (aka, the 100-mile ride). No one was, but one friend was doing a sprint-distance triathlon. Did I have any interest in signing up?
I haven’t done a triathlon since…2014? 2015? Something like that. And, while I’d done swimming and biking and running, I hadn’t done any bricks – aka, a block of training with two or three of the disciplines performed consecutively. It’s easy – or, at least, it’s relatively easy – to swim a half a mile, or bike 12 or 15 miles, or run a 5K, especially if, like me, you are not going very fast, but doing those things without stopping, and moving quickly from one activity to the next? That’s the challenge.
But a little voice inside of me spoke up, whispering, Why not? And so, with the confidence of a mediocre white man, I paid $135 (plus one-day USA Triathlon membership) and signed up.
No sooner had I clicked the Apple Pay button that I saw that the bike ride was a very long bike ride. Most sprint tris have you riding around 12 or 15 miles, whereas this course had the Olympic and sprint distance competitors all riding the same 24 miles. But the description said “flat and fast,” so I figured I’d be okay. (I’m fine on the straightaways. It’s the hills that kill me). I borrowed my husband’s goggles, rummaged through my dresser for my tri suit, couldn’t find my tri suit and ordered a new tri suit (basically a swimsuit with pair of bike shorts with minimal padding, so you don’t feel completely uncushioned during the bike ride, and you don’t like you’re running in a diaper during the run).
And then, at dark o’clock Saturday morning, I was out of bed and in the minivan, on my way to Lake Atsion, NJ.
I signed in, got my number and swim cap and fastened my timing chip/ankle bracelet around my ankle – it was giving Anna Delvey on “Dancing With the Stars!” I Sharpied my number on my arms and my age on my calf.
And then I waited. (A lot of this sport involves waiting).
I listened to the race briefing, and waited some more, until it was time to troop down to the water’s edge to stand around, barefoot and anxious, as wave after wave of swimmers jumped into the water and took off. The Olympic tri people were swimming a mile, while my people were only doing half a mile, and my age division was the second-to- last to depart.
Because I’d barely done any swimming this year, my plan for the swim was to just get through it. I tried some freestyle, but was getting water in my ears, and having a hard time staying on course, so I ended up breast-stroking the whole way. Which was fine.
I got out of the water, heading for the transition, and my bike. And at this point, I remembered that I am not, generally speaking – or, really, ever -- a just-take-it-easy, I’m-just-here-to-have-fun kind of gal. The thing that happens in every race I’ve ever entered happened, and, suddenly, I was possessed by the eye of the tiger. I was in it to win it. Woe to those who get in my way!
I forgot all about “drying off” and “taking my time.” My entire goal was getting out of there as fast as I could. So that I could WIN. I yeeted off my swim cap and goggles. Jammed my feet into my shoes. Shoved my helmet on my head and jumped, still dripping, onto my bike, trotting toward the “Mount Bikes Here” line as fast as I could (which, admittedly, is not very fast).
Generally speaking, I ride 11 to 12 miles per hour on a hilly ride. 13, maybe 14 mph when it’s flat, 15 when it’s really flat. I had no expectations for this ride, and was really pleased when I finished in an hour and half – almost 17 mph. Which meant I was 66th out of 84 people. But, still, for me, that’s crazy fast! And I was only ever racing against myself. Which is hard to remember sometimes.
The bike course was on two-lane roads. Some of them did not have much of a shoulder, and none of them were blocked off. The majority of the drivers were careful and courteous and gave us bike folks plenty of room, but a few passed us way too close. When your adrenaline’s already pumping, the last thing you need is a truck whizzing by just a few inches from your ankle.
And, while we were busy tri-ing, the world was continuing apace. By the time I made it back to the parking lot there were cars full of families entering the park. I threaded my way through them past the entry booth, put my bike back on the rack, pulled off my helmet and laced up my running shoes.
Then came the run. I knew that it was going to be on gravel and pine needles and some loose sand. And, truly, the less we say about the run, the better. Running is my un-favorite and my worst. And, after twenty minutes in the water and 90 on the bike, my back was aching. My legs were cooked. I felt like I was hauling sacks of rocks along the lakeshore while I ran, and walked, and ran some more. It was almost forty minutes of misery, capped off by a wrong turn in front of the finish line, which was probably entirely my fault.
And then I was done!
I had a bottle of water. Then I had a slice of pizza. Then I loaded up my bike and my gear, and drove home, and took a shower, which felt wonderful, and then a nap, which felt even more wonderful. It took less than twenty-four hours to go from I am never doing that again to When can I do that again? (Answer: this Sunday, in Long Beach Island. Thoughts and prayers!)
What I’m Watching: Lisey’s Story on Apple TV. It’s an interesting adaptation of one of my all-time favorite Stephen King novels (and one that I figured would be more or less impossible to translate to the big or small screen).
What I’m Reading: ALL FOURS by Miranda July. It’s my first-ever Miranda July book, and it is spicy! It’s making me think a lot about how we think about, and write about female desire…and, per usual, what books get categorized as literary fiction and which are called commercial.
What I’m Baking: I found a dupe of the Levain Bakery chocolate-chip cookie recipe, and 10/10 would recommend. The trick is pulling them out of the oven while the centers are still gooey, then letting them sit so the cookie can reconstitute itself. Delicious.
What I’m Wondering: Would anyone be interested in a book club? Not about my books (being part of a conversation about my own work would be beyond excruciating), but a book we’d pick together. What do you think?
That photo of you and your daughters is so beautiful. Please tell me you framed it
Congratulations! Well done! I can’t imagine doing a triathlon, used to be a runner (two hip replacements) and never liked swimming much, especially open water. I call my lap swimming “controlled drowning.” And I’d love to do a book club with you! Your photos are so joy-filled, it’s impossible not to smile along. 😁🤩