I completed an Olympic length triathlon

Never Done: I completed an Olympic length triathlon (1.5K swim, 40K bike, 10K run)

I thought I was going to title this post, "A supposedly fun thing I'll never do again" with apologies to David Foster Wallace, but, surprisingly, there were a few fun parts about the triathlon. I liked the most of the biking, with a few notable highlights. (I'll get to them in a bit.) And I loved seeing my friends cheer me on. And I laughed once when I was going up the biggest, longest hill in Central Park, because one of the Manhattan coaches made a joke about me being from Brooklyn. Maybe that wasn't exactly fun, but it was nice to be remembered.

Most of all though, the big takeaway (lesson learned, growth, positive outcome) of this entire endeavor is that I finally finally finally learned that you can't measure six months of success based on one day's performance. I am such a competitive person that it took something very big (and at times arduous) to teach me this lesson. As I told a friend recently, if I think all my hard work is only of value if I perform a certain way on the day of the race, then I'm seriously fucked. This is one of those lessons that I knew intellectually but really needed to live through to completely internalize. And here's how it went.

The swim was tough. The race was delayed by about 30 minutes because a car flipped at 158th Street and spilled oil everywhere, and they had to clear it before we could start. When we got into the water (at 96th Street) it was extremely choppy, on top of sizable swells. I did fine -- swam the 1.5 K in 21 minutes (with an assist from the current) but I did swallow one big mouthful of nasty Hudson water, and I also just endured the swim -- I didn't enjoy the swim. I did like the very end, when an impressive team of people literally lifted me (and all the swimmers) up the steep ramp and out of the water.

It was raining when I got on the bike -- and for most of my ride. Our coaches told us it would slow us down -- that it should slow us down, because we should ride with caution -- but somehow I rode about 10 minutes faster than I had predicted I would. As I went past Inwood Park, I got to think about my dad, who grew up there, and ran in that park as a teenager and young adult. As I went over the Henry Hudson Bridge, I got to look right at the apartment building Josh grew up in, and I yelled out my greetings to his mom, even though she doesn't live there anymore. We rode from 72nd Street up the West Side Highway to Moshulu Parkway, where we turned around and rode down to 56th Street, and back up to 72nd. I remembered to end the bike ride with an easy spin, to get my legs ready to run, but still -- as soon as I started to run, my left calf started to cramp up.

This didn't come as a surprise, but it was a disappointment. I had stretched it and stretched it, gotten a massage the day before that focused mostly on my left leg, I was drinking lots of electrolyte drink. In other words, I was doing everything I could do -- but that reconfigured leg (8 knee surgeries) was just not happy to get off a long bike ride and start running. This is the part where the lesson comes in. I had not enjoyed the swim, but I had rocked it. I had also rocked the bike ride. And now I had to stop every 2-3 minutes to stretch my left calf muscle, while encouraging people yelled things like, "You're looking good! Almost done!" (No I'm not. I have completed about .2 miles of a 6.2 mile run.) But instead of moping -- or quitting -- I just gave myself permission to stop and stretch it as often as I needed to, and to walk up the hills, and run down the hills and on the flats, and to try my best to relax. And you know what? At about mile 4, it started to release. It wasn't perfect, but it was better. And just about the same time, I noticed that I might be able to make it in under 4 hours. At first I tried to talk myself out of any attachment to any measurable results, but by then the sun was out, and it was hot, and I was almost completely spent -- so I allowed myself a little comfortable competitiveness -- as an incentive for the final 20 minutes. And so I pushed the final 2 miles, and finished strong, and finished depleted, and finished in 3 hours and 48 minutes.

And I knew that wasn't the point. Because if it had taken me 4 hours and 22 minutes, I would have still worked as hard and learned as much. And the honest truth is -- more than the physical accomplishment, I am proud of (finally) internalizing this value.

I attented my New York Nautica triathlon orientation

Never Done: I attended my New York Nautica triathlon orientation

To get your triathlon registration packet, you have to first sit in a 30-minute orientation where they tell you helpful things like "Since we are doing a new time-trial start have no idea what time you will get in the water, so you need to be the extra early." Then you get a hand stamp to prove you were there, and that hand let's you get in a long line to pick up your packet with your numbers (my number is 1091) and get your wrist band. If you are an elite athlete you get to stand in the very short Champions line. If you are a larger than average (but I don't know by whose standards) athlete you go to the Clydesdales or Athena line. You are on your lunch break. Your line moves slowly. You didn't realize there would be a giant expo with sports vendors hawking their wares. You almost skip it but then realize that's where you are going to get your string bag and official t-shirt, and also where you can get body marked - with your race number on your upper arm and hand and your age on your shin. After you get body marked you remember you are getting a massage tomorrow and the Sharpie is gonna smear all over with the warm oil. You go back to work. Some people ask about your numbers but mostly you just work. Your wrist band is too tight. You go to therapy. Therapy happens to be 4 blocks from the triathlon headquarters. You decide to see if they will loosen your band. You expect them to be annoyed but a nice woman says that if she can help with the little things she is happy to. Your new wrist band is way better because in addition to being looser, it's smaller. On your way out, you look at the Expo just a little. A t-shirt catches your eye. It says Nautica New York City Tri on a background of the NYC skyline made out of participants' names. It is beautiful. You almost leave without it, but you see your mentor looking at the same shirt, looking for her name. You almost leave without saying hello. Then you tell yourself - but she's your mentor and she's been great. You go back. You say hi. You find your name. You buy the shirt. You make a plan to go to the triathlon together Sunday morning. You leave the hotel, feeling a little more connected -- both by the graphic on the t-shirt and your relationship with your mentor.

I had my last Team in Training group triathlon practice

Never Done: I had my last Team in Training group triathlon practice

.... and saw the water entrance and exit and the bike entrance and exit and the transition areas and practiced running up the really big hill that starts our run (after our swim and our bike) as well as a couple more miles, after breaking one of the cardinal rules of training: don't switch shoes, but I did switch shoes, because my left foot has hurt so much, and in fact I ran both miles (we did them separately) without having to stop, in 9 minutes each, which makes me think the shoes were a good broken rule, and then after all that, I got my guts up to ask one of the coaches what he thought might help for someone (me) who is completely prepared, has gone to almost every practice, is fit (lame, but fit) and yet is dreading the race. He looked a little scared of my question, but he went for it, and he said -- well, you have come this far, and you've done it for charity, for people who need you to be there for them, and so I guess you should just go the rest of the way for those people who need you to be there for them. I found this to be on the one hand, incredibly useful -- because I do in fact know how to go into the mode of shutting down and pushing through and being there for other people, and in fact, that might be what I do next Sunday. On the other hand, I found it to be incredibly sad because I was looking for some other guidance -- something outside of my head-down plough-through bullishness -- something that could open a window to my own enjoyment, pride, and sense of accomplishment. I thanked him, and we kept talking a bit, and then he said something interesting. He told me he loves to train, but he doesn't like to race. He doesn't like the crowds (me either) or the pressure (me either) or the high levels of stress (me either.) So what he does is he finds small races -- mom and pop races -- races where he feels like he's getting to do what he likes to do without all the crowds, pressure, or stress. And for some reason this helped me. I don't think I'm likely to go find those races and continue in the sport, but it gave me a little hope that I can take the parts I like from this experience, and transform it into something meaningful and enjoyable to me.

I had my big transformative triathlon-related insight

Never Done: I had my big transformative triathlon-related insight

We're in the middle of a heat wave. It's going to be 98 degrees by the end of the week. Just walking outside (or lying on my bed) makes me sweat. And as you all know, I am training for a triathlon. The thing that was most daunting to me about this triathlon was not the swimming, and not the biking, and not the running -- but New York City in August. Why is there even a triathlon in New York City in August? (Why is there even a triathlon in New York City? Wouldn't we all rather go to Maine, or Hawaii, or Westchester?) Yes, we would. We would all rather go there. (OK, there are people who would rather stay in NYC.) But we also have a job, and we can't just take off for a destination endurance sporting event. So we convince ourselves that it will be really cool to swim in the Hudson, and to ride up the West Side Highway with no cars, and to run into the arms of our adoring friends and families in Central Park.

And we go out in the 90+ degree weather to train for this, with the humidity, with the smog, with the smells that we don't like to think about. Except when we don't. I've been wanting to quit for about 2 months now, but I haven't. Instead, I've seen four different doctors and a couple acupuncturists to help figure out what's going on in my lungs, and I've consulted with my coaches, and I've modified my running style, and gone to bed at 8:30 to get up at 4:30, I've borrowed a bike, and I've bought shoes, and I've (almost) made peace with my wetsuit, and told my friends that I have to leave Coney Island before the fireworks. I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining, because I'm actually quite proud. I'm trying to describe what it takes to do this.

So when an email comes at 3 PM on a 90+ degree running training day that if "we are sensitive to the heat, we might want to do the running indoors" you better bet that I thought about it for about 3 seconds and then rearranged my plans to go running on the treadmill in the gym at work. All air-conditioned all the time. And I'd never gone into the gym before -- so it in itself was a Never Done activity for me. I was surprised that in the middle of Manhattan, at 6 PM, there were plenty of open treadmills, and the woman who works at the desk said that although they have a 30-minute limit, it would be fine for me to run for 60 minutes because "they never have a line." Maybe it's because they have such a huge facility that there's plenty of other stuff for people to be doing. I'm not sure, but it felt great to run with no pressure. And surprisingly, it felt great to run. I've gotten so used to it being hard that I had forgotten what it's like when it's not. 25 minutes went by before I realized that I wasn't even breathing hard. And with that little bit of distance, I started thinking about how much I've been wanting to give up.

I think I've stuck with it out of determination and stubbornness and some faith that it will be meaningful to me to complete this venture. It certainly hasn't been enjoyment or a sense of strength and accomplishment. But when I noticed that I'm in much better shape than I thought I was, I got to think about how good it will be after the triathlon -- when I'm in great shape, and can use all these muscles to do anything I want to do. And then I realized that the sense of accomplishment doesn't have to come on August 7. It can come today, or in September, or in a year when who knows what I'll be doing. This is the transformative insight I have been waiting for -- the one I knew I needed to have in order to make these 6 months of training -- and August 7 -- meaningful. It's really not about the day of the triathlon. It's really not. It's not about the day of the triathlon. (Repetition is helpful when I'm trying to internalize something new.) It's not about what happens on the day of the triathlon. It's about everything I've learned, and everything I've become from persisting and pushing and learning when to rest and asking for help and figuring it out on my own and trusting my coaches and trusting myself and practicing all thirteen mides (middahs) in order to get to this point.

Humility: seek wisdom from everybody
Patience: Do not aggravate a situation with wasted grief
Equanimity: Rise above events that are inconsequential
Truth: Say nothing unless you are 100% sure it is true
Decisiveness: When you have made a decision, act without hesitation
Cleanliness: Let no stain or ugliness on our self/space
Order: All actions and possessions should have a set place and time
Righteousness: What is hateful to you do not do to others
Frugality: Be careful with your money
Diligence: Always find something to do
Silence: Reflect before speaking
Calmness: Words of the wise are stated gently
Separation: Respect in sexual and intimate relationships

So that's what taking on something huge is about. It challenges every area of our lives, and allows us to work not just every physical muscle we have, but every ethical muscle. It also teaches us that these endeavors truly are about the process and not about the product -- and that the process continues after the competition is over. Because on August 8, when I am bone weary and want to stay in bed all day, I will still get up and go to work. And even if I don't feel like lifting a muscle ever again, it would be ridiculous to let the ones I have just developed atrophy. I certainly wouldn't want to let my Patience and Humility muscles atrophy, so why would I want to let my Quadriceps or my Gluteus Maximus muscles wither?

I have been going on faith that doing the triathlon is an important part of my Never Done year, but until now haven't understood what is so important about it -- especially since it has felt in competition with doing more adventurous, more creative, more titillating Never Done activities. But I've known in my gut that the year has to be balanced out with some Big Things (adoption, triathlon, new job), some whimsical things (put art up on the streets, hand out flowers to strangers, buy underpants on Etsy), some emotionally weighty things (start therapy, attend funerals, go to Germany), and some big adventures (ride a roller coaster, go up in a hot air balloon.)

Now that I had my big transformative triathlon-related insight, I understand my own path.

I ran 6 miles

Never Done: I "ran" 6 miles

It was 93 degrees, and we ran the official New York Triathlon race course in Central Park. Except I walked some. Or maybe it was 91 degrees. And maybe I walked a lot. What's a lot? Basically, I walked up some of the hills, and I ran the flats and downhills, and it took me 80 minutes to do the 6 miles. Or maybe it was 6.2.

It was my first time running around Central Park. It's a lot hillier than I thought it was going to be, especially from 110th Street to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I got pretty nauseous, and also I had one of those gulping breathing episodes -- I guess they're called asthma attacks -- near the end.

All this made me think about accomplishment. It's possible that I am going to complete the entire triathlon, and because I will probably have to walk up the hills, I might not feel like it's an accomplishment. In fact it's not just possible -- it's likely, unless I do something with my attitude within the next 3 and a half weeks. In contrast my own value system, I've always been rather product oriented, and not terribly process oriented. So the fact that I have trained relentlessly since March doesn't much factor into my sense of accomplishment (again, I am not justifying this, just being honest about how my mind works) and instead I'm focused on my performance the day of the event. So how do I change my own sense of accomplishment? Intellectually I already value process in conjunction with product, so I'm not suffering from a lack of vision or framing, but rather probably a childhood filled with competition and comparison.

This pattern is so deep that I feel the need to apologize for walking the hills -- and to explain to any of my friends who might come out to watch the race that I would run if I could -- that I'm not lazy, just injured. What's more, I feel humiliated about it. Rather than feeling proud that I can swim a mile, bike 25, and run 4 and walk 2, I feel humiliated that I can't run 6.2. What the hell is that? Is there a month-long training program I can undertake to shift it? Because I would like to be as enthusiastic and proud as everyone else is likely to be on the afternoon of August 7, when I am sweaty and exhausted -- and have completed the New York Nautica Triathlon.