Like last year I drove up the Saturday morning before race day and met Bunkie Diana (Bunks) at the Midtown Hilton which also serves as the race hotel and expo. Unlike last year I didn’t have an existential crisis trying to decide whether to train or drive. I just popped P3, Koopa Troop on the back of Mini Cooper, Yoshi and headed North!

I arrived at the Hilton around 1:30 – about two hours later than in 2015 – and it was packed and crazy. Bunks was waiting and had thankfully scoped out a parking garage across the street as hotel valet was backed up down the block (with no attendants in sight.)

Once parked she helped me schlep my bags to the hotel and expo where I was able to check my bike until we could check into our room. The NYC Tri organizers do a great job of making things like bike check pain-free in what could easily become a really complicated city to race.

Organizers are also really (understandably) paranoid about keeping participants alive (although not so paranoid that they don’t let is swim in the Hudson) so we had to attend a mandatory safety meeting before we could pick up our packets. After that, and after Bunks had raided the expo for free samples and I had spent too much money on new chamois (they’re so cute tho…and potentially men’s [they are, they’re men’s bike shorts]) it was 3pm meaning we could check into our room.

Which of course every athlete staying there was doing at the same time. The lines were insane and the HHonors line was the worst of the bunch. This in and of itself is probably enough to keep us from staying at the race hotel again next year. (Yes Bunks, there will be a next year, and at least 29 after that per your wishes. No goddamn backsides!) It can’t have (shouldn’t have) come as a surprise that the thousand triathletes staying there for one night only would want to check in as soon as check-in opened.

 We used the age-old time-tested method of waiting in separate lines to see which was faster (hint: not the honors line. So glad I’m a member of that very valuable program.) and eventually got our room keys. This had eaten up way too much time so we spent about 45 seconds dropping our stuff in our room before we had to collect our bikes and get them to transition. We rode the easy couple miles up Riverside and racked our bikes. I have to say I won the rack-fortune race with this Godfather homage.

 From there it was straight to our dinner reservation at a pizza place near the Hilton with no time to stop and change, or reapply deodorant (or febreeze.) We were 100% the smelliest people in the restaurant. Surrounded by people eating their pre-theatre meals decked out and sipping wine, we each consumed about a gallon of ice water and an entire pizza. I don’t think our waitress loved us but she was able to hold her breath and hold it together while we reeked (intended) havoc on their image.

Once sated (I was really regretting my crop top after eating that whole ‘za) we got bagels and ‘nanas for breakfast and headed back to the hotel. We laid out what we’d need for the morning, race-tatted up, bickered a little over wake-up times, and were in bed around 8:30pm.

Seven hours and change later the alarm went off. We did a better, more punctual job of making the aimed-for 4:30am shuttle this year than last, but it dropped us off so far from transition that we still ended up getting to our bikes with only 15 minutes before we’d be kicked out. (Of course the buses parked closer to the men’s transition area, which makes zero sense considering their start time was about an hour after ours.)

Once you’re all set in transition, it’s over a mile walk to the swim start. About half way there I realized we were facing a porta potty emergency and tried to pick up the pace. Fortunately the lines weren’t too terrible once we got there and my tummy issues were tended to in time. (There was a moment that I considered hanging my heiny over the rail and having a go at the Hudson – not like I could make it worse, right?) After using the porta like a respectable (or just house-trained) human, I worked to keep myself relaxed until swim time since I didn’t think I’d have time to go again before hitting the water. It mostly worked and I didn’t soil my bike shorts.

I was not wearing a wetsuit despite the water being 76.5 and therefore wetsuit legal by USAT standards. In 2015 the water had also been technically USAT legal at 77 degrees so I’d suited up, and I’d been miserable. I could feel myself sweating under the neoprene and was afraid I’d overheat and drown. (But at least I’d float?) I was a little nervous to buck the crowd this year and go out in just my tri-kit, but I convinced Bunks that it was the way to play it so we ditched that extra barrier between ourselves and the Hudson. I may have lost a minute or so without the added buoyancy but I felt so much more comfortable swimming suit-free this year.

The NYC Tri is a huge race with some 5000 athletes. To handle the masses participants are divided among two transition areas, the first of which is mostly the ladies. We are then divided into our age groups to do a time trial start off a dock. There are so many of us though that women 30-34 was divided one step further into two groups with Bunks in the first and me in the second. Just as well as she is stupid fast in the water. We split up into our separate corrals and began the shuffle toward the dock. (As Bunks’ wave headed into the water the playlist hit Dirty Diana and I was pretty sure she was dancing her way to the swim start. I’m pretty sure it was the first thing she mentioned when we reunited after the race.)

In 2015 I made the mistake (so many swimming mistakes, like just attempting it in the first place) of choosing a swim path to the left of the pack, close to shore to avoid the melee of the sweleton, (that’s a word I’m making up for swimming peleton) only to find out later that the farther right you swim the more you benefit from the current. I adjusted this year and swam as far from shore as I could and enjoyed a two minute faster swim time.

I also enjoyed a full on Hudson beard this year – a major improvement on the infamous Hudson mustache, don’t you think? (Oh and I should note that all of these race pics were free this year! Incredible perk courtesy of ProAir!)

 From the swim exit T1 includes an absurd half mile run to transition. The run path is narrow with people leaving on the bike in the opposite direction, and in 2015 I felt frustrated but stuck behind women walking and very slow jogging. This year I said screw it and zigged and zagged around the T1 dawdlers and even into the bike lane when it was safe to do so. (Though I was admittedly a little nervous about incurring a penalty doing so.) I just figured, running is my strength so I should use it wherever I can. I still had to pee really badly (I must suck down so much water in the swim [particularly gross in the Hudson] because I cannot exit without a painfully full bladder) but I was able to cut three minutes off T1 this year from ten to seven – yes the run to transition is seriously that long!

In T1 I rinsed my feet and face of the Hudson and made pretty quick business getting out to the bike course. It’s a short maybe .2 mile passage away from transition before you hook a hard right up the steepest hill of the ride onto the West Side Highway. I don’t know if there were more people racing this year or if I just hit the course at the worst point, but it was dangerously crowded into and onto this first climb. And maybe the women around me didn’t know what was coming but they were all poking along and making it impossible to pick up speed. And then the slower riders were serpentining all over the hill (it was like an ugly Savageman video) and not sticking to the right – almost causing me and a woman behind me to fall as we tried to chart a faster direct route up the left. Usually I’m happy to have less experienced folks trying their hands (legs) at this sport but I was pretty pissed at the amateur hour behavior.

The irritation continued over the first five miles on the West Side Highway where it was so crowded I had to hold my pace back to be safe. I passed where I could but people were riding multiple abreast on a course way too narrow to accommodate that.  The course is 25 miles out and back and it is closed to cars, but you’re sharing the three lane highway with athletes on their way back in and with a lot of race officials and safety vehicles, so in reality each direction only gets one lane – it gets unpleasantly tight in places.

 While I felt more confined by traffic this year than last, the good news is my fitness was clearly a lot better. In 2015 I thought the bike course was really challenging and hilly. This year it felt more like totally manageable rollers. It was so crowded I didn’t really get to buckle down into aero much, but I felt much stronger over the whole ride and despite the traffic jam finished a minute faster than last year. With fewer people – especially over the first five miles – I have no doubt that I could have taken more than a minute off.

I cruised into T2 feeling good. I stripped down to my sports bra (um and my bike shorts still pervs) in anticipation of painful heat, and cranked through a decently quick transition and out onto the run. The 8k run…

Last year the NYC Tri was like swimming, biking and running on the surface of the sun. We were afraid this year would be worse given the record-setting scorchers that comprised the week leading up to the race. Organizers – ever-anxious – were equally-apprehensive apparently. Last year they shrunk the 10k run to a 1 miler for the last racers coming in because of the conditions. This year they didn’t fuck around and shrunk the run to 8k the afternoon before the race – heading off the potentially-dangerous conditions.

As I headed out of T2 knowing I only had five miles ahead of me I was anticipating the same torturous heat as last year – just minus about nine minutes. (And Harlem Hill.) It was toasty but it didn’t feel as horrible as I remember 2015 feeling. Still coming off a run-free June thanks to my osteopenia (pre-osteoperosis low bone density) I wasn’t in tip top shape for the this leg. I just wanted to grab something in the 7:40s and hold on tight.

 Like the bike, the run course starts up a very steep hill which of course throws your heart rate for an anaerobic loop right off the bat. Then you get most of a mile into Central Park to get it under control until the hills start. They don’t let up till the last quarter of a mile.

As I hit those hills and my first two miles hovered in the 7:50s I was pretty happy that 2 km and the hardest climb had been scrapped from the run. But then as I got going – it usually takes me a couple miles to hit my stride – I became more comfortable and faster and passed more folks in my age group. And I became pretty bummed to not get the full course. As painful as Harlem Hill would have been to run up, it would have been a great opportunity to pass some more 30-34 ladies.

Not that I enjoy climbing more than anyone else, but I have confidence in it. It’s all about that mental game: if you can live in the discomfort knowing that it’s temporary and with faith in your fitness then there’s no reason not to attack hills with all you’ve got – especially on a 10k (or shorter) course.

Miles 3-5 I got my pace into the 7:30s and really wished I could have another 2km to dig in further. It was indeed hot out, but Harlem Hill absence notwithstanding I was pretty sure it wasn’t as bad as 2015. Last year I remember seriously cursing the sport and vowing to find a new hobby. It was the most uncomfortable I’d ever been in a run – triathlon or pure road race. Not that this year was comfortable but it was at least mostly enjoyable and I felt in control of my performance. Coming to the final turns the course flattens out and I was able to pick up my feet a little faster for a strong finish with an run average of 7:47/mile and an overall 2:36:56.

 Once done I recovered quickly and knew for sure it wasn’t as hot as last year; we could have handled the full course. It sort of felt the way it feels to finish Nation’s Tri on one of the many years when the swim is cancelled: like you didn’t actually do the full race. Like that was an excellent workout but accepting a medal for it feels a little false. (I still took the medal. Don’t be a hero.) Further frustration followed seeing my final time. It was a PR but it can’t really count as such with an 8k in place of a 10k. I think it would have probably been a bona fide PR if we could have run those other 2k – even with a beast of a climb as long as I got it done in 15 minutes it would have been my olympic distance personal best.

Comparing myself to the other ladies aged 30-34 was another sort of blow. I ranked 29th out of 207. But by creepily digging through the run times of the women who beat me, I realized I would have come in closer to 20th if given the two more km to pass them.  Not being in podium contention in a field as strong as the NYC Tri I should probably stop obsessing over these what-ifs (it’s all about competing against yourself, right?) but as a matter of pride and vanity I can’t help myself. (The moral of the day is still probably: LEARN TO SWIM ALREADY, LIZ.)

 Aaaanywho, I met up with Diana and her insanely patient husband as I exited the athlete finish area. Bunks had beat me again by about three minutes. I don’t think it’s fair that she swam in college and has a foot on me – we should race based on height, not age!

The race wraps in Central Park so we found some grass to veg out and stretch for a bit. Sitting in the shade, calorie-depleted and sweaty, I actually started to feel chilly. I can assure you I was not shivering after the race last year!

It was a little after 9am and we couldn’t get into transition until 11am so we wandered around the finish festival, scooping up more unnecessary samples, scoping the canines who’d come out to play, and watching the winners take their podium spots. Bunks and I also took some time to be pampered in the Normatec tent. (Compression therapy has become a bit of an obsession this season!)

 Around 10:30 we mosied back toward transition and took the most pointless race shuttle about six blocks over the course of 15 minutes. After we’d wasted that time sitting in Upper East Side traffic and getting pretty much no closer to our destination, it was at least after 11 and we were allowed to retrieve our bikes. Bunks’ husband’s saintly patience was on full display as he taxied (like last year) a bunch of our crap down to the hotel, only to find out that the room key we gave him had been accidentally shut off in yet another stellar lack of customer service courtesy of the Hilton. Bunks and I rode our bikes to meet St. Husband and discovered that my key too had been deactivated by incompetent hotel staff, It only took about thirty minutes of sitting in the hall, smelly and pissed off with our bikes, for them to fix it – leaving us about 20 minutes to both shower and get out.

As Bunks and I hugged goodbye we agreed that there are other ways to do a summer reunion. For instance, we hear that some friends go places like the beach together, where they do things like sleep in, consume adult beverages, and swim in bodies of water that aren’t famous for mob hits and Law & Order intros. But legitimately I love that we’ve done this race together the past couple years. I love that after decades (eeeeek!!) of friendship (she’s had a foot on me since we were ten of course) we both love the same totally stupid, masochistic sport. Cheers to thirty more years Bunkieee!