I Have to Swim, Bike, and Run?

by Rachel Wallack

When I signed up for the inaugural NYRR Sprint Triathlon in Queens two months ago, I had grandiose plans of training in the pool, biking around town, and being in the best running shape of my life come race day, August 23. Soon, reality hit, and I realized I’d put none of these training plans into effect. Nearly two weeks before the race, I scared myself into getting serious and signed up for a free week pass I had for a local sports club—solely to practice in the pool.

Swim training went well—I had been on a swim team in elementary school, and I grew up in my backyard pool—and it came pretty naturally to me. Next came biking and running. Once my boyfriend and I figured out how to pump air into my Trek 7.3 FX tires, my two practice rides around Stamford, CT, where I live, were fun. The run was my least concern; I work for NYRR, so I have regular access to Central Park. I did my usual three-to-six mile runs in the heat a couple of times per week, and figured that was enough preparation.

The night before the race, as I packed, unpacked, and re-packed my bag, and drove my boyfriend a bit insane with my frantic moving about the house, I felt okay. I felt okay enough to go to bed by 11:30 p.m. that is. I can’t say that I got the best night’s sleep of my life, but I didn’t feel like a total zombie when I awoke at 4:30 a.m. We’d packed the car the night before, so all I had to do was get dressed.

We left Connecticut for Queens around 5:00 a.m., and getting there was relatively easy with our pre-printed NYRR directions, despite our unfamiliarity with the borough. My boyfriend got my bike off the roof rack, while I focused on the nervous pains in my stomach. I followed signs to the transition area to organize my bike and race supplies at the rack marked 203, my number. As I unpacked my bag and laid out my swimming, then biking, then running supplies, it hit me: I was about to do a triathlon with little-to-no-experience. Aside from what running races and two weeks of training had taught me, I hoped I had enough composure to reach the finish line.

The lineup in the Aquatic Center was reassuring. I started at the front of the 11:00-minute-finish pace group, but I moved up when I learned the people near me had never heard of a flip turn. As I talked to the folks around me, mostly 20- to-30-something women, I realized we were of similar mindset; we were runners trying an adventurous race for the first time.

I hit the pool thinking all I have to do is keep moving. Unfortunately, my old sports watch couldn’t take the pressure, and it uncoiled from my wrist within a few strokes. I grabbed it in my right hand and continued to swim to the first wall. When I touched the other end, I left my watch on the side of the pool and pushed off under the first set of lane markers; no stopping now. Point one, me! As I moved through the lanes—one through eight—to reach my 400-meter goal, I gradually relaxed into my normal swimming form and mentally, I felt better with each lap. When I reached the end of the eighth lane, I could hardly believe I was done. Yes, I was tired, but, hey, that’s all over now, start thinking about getting on the bike, I reminded myself.

Down the stairs and onto the grass, I jogged, feeling good about being one-third done. I’d set up my shoes, helmet, and nutrition (a bar and an energy gel) in the transition area beforehand, so my biggest concern was drying off enough to get socks and shoes on my feet before I got on the bike. In 3:16 I was off, walking my bike to the mount line. Now I was excited.

As I got on my bike and began to pedal, I felt good—that is until I heard a strange squeaking noise coming from my front tire. Had I not put it on correctly after we took it off the car’s roof rack? Could I withstand the loathsome noise and could my tire handle the pressure of the breaks for 10 miles? After a few minutes of worrying, I saw a sharp left turn and decided to do the only quick-fix I could think of—dismount and remove my tire to reattach it one more time. As I made the turn, I warned the course volunteer, I’m stopping, my front tire is squeaking, and I’m going to try to fix it. I tweaked the tire, turned some bolts, and reattached the whole thing as best I knew, and in just a couple of minutes, I was back on the road. Crisis one averted, another point for me.

On the second half of that bike loop, I realized this race was a blast. I felt like a kid going on an adventurous ride, and I reminded myself once or twice, this is a race, you should be pedaling faster. I’d never competed on my bike before, and my cycling experience was contained to a small loop I did at my own pace around my neighborhood. I picked up the phrase “on your left, ” as bikers passed me, and I so I used the same terminology as I passed other riders.

Three identical loops were comforting. There were plenty of people sounding instructions, and although I must admit I went up the curb once, in my state of tired confusion, I simply deducted a point from my mind’s tally and kept going. Otherwise, I stuck to the course and listened to instructions I received from NYRR staff and volunteers. I knew the location of my family after the first loop—my mom, dad, sister, two nephews, and boyfriend were cheering me on; they kept me motivated and were also a reminder to watch the speed bump near them; no tumbling off the bike before their cameras, I thought.

After my third loop, into the transition area again I went. This time I hung my bike on the rack, deposited my helmet, and grabbed an energy gel; in 2:07 I was out on my run. I’d planned to change clothes, but this was a race, and I realized I’d save time if I didn’t.

I was shocked to find my legs betraying my sense of confidence on the run. I’m a runner, I thought, this is the easy part. Somehow my legs hadn’t gotten the message, and I felt a bit like a slow-motion scene in a movie until the fluid station at mile one. There, I guzzled a cup of water and tore open my energy gel, eating half and saving the rest for a later. Whether it was mental or physical after that, I’ll never know, but the quick-working carbohydrates seemed to give me fuel. I passed a few runners and reminded myself, this is nothing compared to the marathon.

As I ran, volunteers announced each mile marker, and my excitement mounted. Passing the Queens Wildlife Center after mile one made me smile and reminded me of childhood trips to the zoo. Before I knew it, mile two and another fluid station came—I grabbed Gatorade this time and finished my energy gel. I was definitely going to make it; a final point for me in my running tally.

Near the end of the run, it was my fellow competitors who fueled me. I whispered encouraging words as I passed a few runners—a whisper was all I could muster at this point. We pushed one another toward the finish line. When I reached the Unisphere— a symbol of the 1964 World’s Fair—I cursed the loop I had to make around it, but I knew this pile of steel would not keep me from finishing. A kind volunteer told me there were only 300 meters left, and I thought, now or never, as I sprinted to finish in 1:17:41.

I heard the announcer call my name as I crossed the line, and it felt amazing. It was strange to be on the other end of things; normally I’d be working at an NYRR race like this, but for once I was just another competitor. Most importantly, I was done, without embarrassing my coworkers or my family, and my private mishaps would be my secret (until now). A coworker asked me after the race, “Will you do another one?” Not today was my immediate response. And later, as I packed up and went back home to Connecticut, yes, I thought, surprising myself, I’ll be doing this again.