Today was a lovely day for a swim in the ocean. Overcast, and cool 70 degrees with a nice ocean breeze, 68 degree choppy water with 4 foot swells and green as a bottle of Heineken. As always, I met the usual suspects by the municipal parking lot in Brighton Beach. During the summer, we meet by “Grimaldo’s chair”, but now that fall is upon us the lifeguards of summer and Grimaldo’s chair are long gone.

Today was a special day as several reporters from various magazines and shows came down to interview us. They were doing a story on this intrepid band of swimmers that hit the surf from March through November. After each of us gave our respective interviews, we made for the water to do our usual circuit. This consists of a 5K + swim (depending on the current) starting East towards the end/beginning of Brighton Beach, then in the opposite direction to the Coney Island Pier and then back to where we started. All totaled it takes approximately two hours.

As a Triathlete, an Ironman Triathlete at that, I probably have a bit less body fat than the rest of the group. I am already cold and shivering long before our toes touch the water. I know however, that I will warm up as soon as I get my heart rate gets moving. Tucking a flask of Hammergel into my swimsuit, I set after the lead swimmers of our group.

I am not the fastest swimmer among us, but I am also not the slowest. This usually means I am somewhere in the middle of all the swimmers through most of the swim. We start out by going left towards our first landmark, the white house – an apartment building – that marks the end of Brighton Beach. Beyond this house lies about a half mile of rocks separating Brighton Beach from Manhattan Beach. I am told that on occasion, the current is so strong that some swimmers from various groups past were swept to Manhattan Beach and had to walk back.

No such event happened today and the lead swimmers waited for the rest of us to regroup. I usually arrive at this spot 15 minutes into my swim. It is around this point that you also realize which way the current is moving. Everyone arrives in short order, where we chat in the open water several hundred yards away from the shore. It is our equivalent of a running group taking a break by the water fountain.

Today we have our swim cut out for us. The swells are clearly making their presence known and we often get a mouthful of salt water when we turn to breath. At least I don’t have to worry about getting enough electrolytes into my system. The ocean water serves as my own special Gatorade – it has all the salt, plankton, and jellyfish I need to energize and refuel myself. If that doesn’t do it, the occasional jellyfish sting prods me to go forward.

From this point to the pier is approximately two miles. We swim very far away from shore to avoid the jetties. Within a few minutes, I am swimming quite alone. The high seas make it tough to consistently keep an eye on the landmarks. At least I am breathing to my right, which helps keep the waves from breaking into my mouth, except when the break over my head.

The feeling of being alone in the middle of the open water is very hard to describe. If it wasn’t for my complete lack of fear when it comes to drowning, I suppose I would be nervous. The only thing I am really antsy about is having a plastic bag hit me in the face when I am swimming. Few things are as revolting and disconcerting as a slimy, cloying plastic bad being plastered to your face by the force of the current. The only thing I really touched during this swim was the occasional jellyfish. Several times the tips of my fingers plunged through a jellyfish as it was floating by. They feel like a hairy slimy blob. If I were playing the game where you had to guess what you are touching by placing your hand inside a bag and not look, I would guess that I was touching hairy scalps. Don’t ask me where this thought came from. Blame it on hypothermia.

I thought it was fitting that on my way towards the Coney Island Pier, the Cyclone Rollercoaster begins to appear in the corner of your eye. A swim through choppy water with decent swells is like a nice rollercoaster ride. At one point, a large wave broke and rolled right over me. I stopped for a second wondering if I just got hit by the wake of a boat. No boat was in site, so I continued along my merry way.

Occasionally during these long open water swims, there comes a point where you feel you are just not getting anywhere. For me, this point is usually where two large white apartment towers stand. It can feel like you are swimming for days before you pass them. Sometimes when the current is strong, swimming past them is pure torture. It is like walking the wrong way on an escalator. The moment you slow down, you start going in the opposite direction. Today I was feeling strong though, and I got past the towers with little trouble.

Finally I got to the Coney Island Pier. I was out far enough in the water that I was just beyond the end of the pier. I was able to look for other swimmers from my group, when the swells lifted me up high. Finally I saw my friend Cristian come up from behind me (he is faster than me, but I had a head start) and then my friend Lori swam over to us. We bobbed around for a while waiting for others, while the fishermen and crabbers on the pier looked down at us. You could hear their minds asking who these crazy people are floating around in the water.

After several minutes, it was apparent that the three of us were the only ones who decided to swim the entire distance. I started to head back first while Lori and Cristian waited another minute to see if anyone else came along.

After a couple of minutes swimming back to the start, I noticed that I was heading right for a jetty sticking out into the water. The waves must have pushed me too close to shore. I am glad I noticed in time to swim back out, because crashing onto the rocks would not be a pleasant part of my swim. I headed back out and put some more distance between myself and the shore.

The water started to get a bit rougher by this time and the waves would disorient you on occasion. At one point during my swim back, I noticed the Coney Island Parachute jump from my right eye. This would be fine if I as swimming towards the pier, but since I was swimming in the opposite direction, it could only mean that I was swimming right out into the open water. I was pretty far from shore now, but at least I was also far away from the jetties. In any event, I finally picked a landmark ahead of me to keep in sight and made the rest of the way back uneventfully.

I was the last one out of the water since Lori and Cristian finished well ahead of me. Everyone else got out of the water much earlier. Drying off and changing back on dry land, we all agreed it was a great day for a swim and couldn’t think of anything else we would rather have been doing.

Charles

About a year or so ago, someone told me about a race called “The Survival of the Shawangunks”. Evidently, it was some crazy race where you bike, run and swim about a million miles, carrying everything you need with you. It sounded like just the type of race for me. After some research, I found the race on the Internet. It took several variations of the word “Shawangunks”, but like any committed Triathlete, I found it. It wasn’t a million miles, but it was somewhat longer comparable to a Half Ironman (30M bike, 5M run, 1M swim, 5M run, ½ mile swim, 8M run, ½ mile swim, 1 mile run up a mountain).

This is an incredibly amazing race. Possibly, the best race I will ever do in my life. The bike- 30M as challenging and a great warm-up. You start out in a pack with your age group. They give you 1.5 miles to spread out before they call drafting penalties. In this race, they tell you to stand down if they call you for drafting – that is, they make you stop and put your feet on the ground, then you can continue. If you get a 2nd draft call, you DQ. The ride is mostly flat with some rolling hills, until the last 6 miles. Then it is a pretty tough climb all the way to the first run transition.

Your crew meets you at the transition, where they take your bike, give you your run gear and send you off to the trails. I kissed Lucas, Sophia, and Rita hello and goodbye and took off. You run on fire roads consisting of compact dirt, rock and gravel. At times the trails were muddy, very rocky and/or uneven. It took me about 25+ minutes to settle into a groove and feel ok. At first my hip and ankle were bugging me.

The first run was mildly scenic and shady. I don’t remember much other than hoping that my aches would go away. About the time I started to settle in the run ended and I headed for the first lake swim – 1 mile in Lake Minnewaska.

You prepared for the swim before you crossed the timing mat into the water. I stuffed my shoes into my shorts behind my ass, donned my goggles and swim cap and jumped into the 70 degree water. It was chilling and refreshing at the same time. During this first swim, I drank the lake water to quench my thirst. Then midway, some of the duct tape on my foot started to come off. Rather than let it fall off into the lake, I pulled it off and tucked it into my shorts. I am quite the environmentalist. I think the people in the safety canoes thought I might be drowning as my head went under water to pull it off.

I sat down in the water to re-don my shoes at the shore. I was a little wobbly from being horizontal, so the momentary rest was good. Once on land
I took a gel some endurolytes and headed off. By this time, I really found my running legs. I caught several people who were ahead of me. The run starts off with a long gradual climb, eventually giving you magnificent vistas. You could see for miles around. The views were so great, that you didn’t even realize you were climbing steadily. At the height of this second run, there was a water station. It was also the perfect spot to take in the world. You were at the top of the mountain, in flat rocky terrain. At one point I hopped over a large crevasse in the rocks. The run ended soon enough, taking you down to the second swim.

This swim was much easier as they had lots of orange buoys tied together with a rope to mark your way. Since I was able to swim in a straight line by following the buoys, I made up lots of time and caught several swimmers. I used one athlete that tried to pass me, by getting on his feet and drafting him for the last quarter of the swim.

I sat down in the water once again to put on my shoes. By now my feet were in some pain from the blisters that developed. I mentioned this to a volunteer who asked me if I wanted to see a doctor. I said no and carried on.

The third run started out with a quick rock step climb, out onto a paved road. The road went steeply down hill making my feet feel like I had hot coals in my shoes. All I could think about was that I truly loved the pain. It was freaking awesome. Thankfully though, the course turned right back onto some trails.

You started down another downhill section and soon enough you heard the roar of a waterfall. After a while you could start to see it to your left and ran right passed the base of it. It was magnificent. I would have stopped if not for my competitive nature.

Soon you headed uphill again to lots of rock cliffs. The trails were lined with rock climbers practicing their skills. Sometimes they would offer encouragement, other times you would be ignored. All I knew was that I had a great endorphin high going and felt like I was running like the wind. I caught a couple of more people, including the 4th place female (who may still have beaten me, since the women started after I did).

At the third and final swim, I decided to keep my shoes on. I really couldn’t contemplate taking them off. I said to the volunteer that I was going to leave them on. She said I should. We talked briefly about blisters and their prevention and then I headed out for the final ½ mile swim.

During this swim you swim towards the Mohonk Mountain house. You get a sense of everyone waiting for you to get to the shore. Once again there were buoys tied together with ropes. I passed a couple of more people and made it to the shore in good form. I didn’t rest to put on my shoes, since they were already on my feet. I was very wobbly after I climbed out of the water. You literally climbed up several large rocks that sort of formed steps. I wobbled like a drunken sailor on high seas before I finally got my bearing.

The last and final run is a major .7 mile climb to the sky tower overlooking Mohonk Lake and the Mountain house. It was very steep. At several points you had to climb stairs, including the last 50 yards where you climbed up a stone staircase. After the staircase, you could finally see the finish and I sprinted as fast as I could across the finish line.

As a survivor, you got a nice T-shirt, towel, mesh bag, plaque and lots of food. Both at the finish line and back down by the hotel where they had a fantastic spread. Chicken, Ribs, Corn, Sausage, pies, ice cream, brownies and lots more. It was amazing. The description herein does not do this race justice. This is a race that has to be done. I will definitely be there again next year.

So I just completed my first Boston Marathon. Overall I would say it was a very worthwhile experience, one for which I am very glad I participated in.

My official time was 3:55:59. Unfortunately the starting mats didn’t pick up my chip as I crossed the start. Perhaps because I wore my own NYC Marathon Chip and the BAA wanted to spite me. When I stopped my watch after crossing the finish I had the unremarkable time of 3:39:36. Not even close to breaking 3:30, which I thought, should be a moderate goal. I just somehow managed to gut it out to beat 3:40 in the last 100 yards. I couldn’t believe it took me 16 minutes to cross the start. I won’t do Boston again unless I qualify. My non-qualifying entry provided me with a number so high that I had to line up so far back that you couldn’t even hear the starting horn.

The entire race is completely different from NY. Everyone starts in a long line on a relatively narrow street. Runners line up in corrals that start at 1-1000, 1001-2001, etc. You can’t move up as they make sure everyone stays where you are supposed to line up. I wound up standing next to one unfortunate person who was separated by about 20 of his running mates because his bib was off by 1 digit.

I spent the first 15 miles just passing runners. The race is almost completely on suburban roads (except for the Boston finish). The roads are narrower than one side of 4th Avenue in Brooklyn. It was very difficult to pass people. I had one older crank who got upset when I passed between him and his running partner. I said on your right to the guy about 3 times and he couldn’t give me the courtesy to shift over a bit. I was completely boxed in and could find anyway around him. So I wedged between them and he hit me with his arm on his arm’s backstroke. He yelled some expletives at me, but I managed to remain calm and continue my run. After all, I was wearing my swell Boston Marathon NYFlyer singlet and to retaliate would show poor sportsmanship, plus I wanted to act as an ambassador of the club.

The crowd was very loud throughout the entire race. Some stretches of the course though had no spectators at all. I found it a bit strange, as it appeared to go from packed with screaming people to suddenly devoid of humanity. Those quiet stretches were a welcome relief as it was very loud at times. The fans are almost on top of you the entire time. Which wasn’t so bad, especially when they gave you oranges… very refreshing in the heat.

At one point during the course, when spectators were sparse, it appeared from ahead that the crowd was particularly loud. So loud in fact that I found the approaching noise ominous. I mentioned this to the runner next to me and she asked me if I knew why. When I told her that I have no idea, she informed me that Wellesley College was just ahead. The noise I was hearing was from all girls screaming. This was still a half-mile away.

I found this section of the marathon to be very enjoyable. It appeared as though thousands upon thousands of wild screaming girls were lined up along the right side of the rode. Several girls were holding up signs declaring a kiss to any runner that would come over to them. I found this offer quite tempting as any red-blooded straight American male would. It wasn’t my desire for breaking my PR that kept me from stopping for such a wonderful offer. In the end I decided that I better continue through this section of course to minimize the loss of hearing I was sure to suffer should I linger around any longer than absolutely necessary. As it was, my right ear hurt was still ringing for a mile or two after I passed the college.

If that was my best spectator moment, then the couple of pathetic moments of the race were when I heard spectators chanting “Yankees Suck”. I found this just unbelievable and a source of misplaced angst and a blatant reminder that Boston is a city for second places. How pathetic are some Boston Red Sox fans? Here they are watching the perhaps the most renowned marathon in the world and the best thing they can say is Yankees Suck? How much in denial are these people? Won’t they ever realize that disparaging another team will never win them a World Series? They should concentrate their efforts on some introspection to figure out how they can improve themselves, rather than hoping for misfortune for others. The Boston Marathon is a sport completely unrelated to running but some fans choose to celebrate it by highlighting their poor sportsmanship…. this being the hallmark of Bostonian bitterness.

I found Heartbreak Hill to be not so bad and overrated. I would much prefer Heartbreak to the 2 trips through the Harlem Hills during the heat of the August Manhattan Half-Marathon. It wasn’t grueling like I heard and I found it was actually a welcome relief as I got to use different leg muscles.

I made it through 21 miles in relatively good shape. The blisters that I started to develop on mile 4 were by then numbed out and I was cruising at a steady pace. My overall pace for the race was slower than NYC, but much steadier. My HR was also right at 156-158 throughout. At the NY, my HR dropped a lot in the last few miles as my legs shut down. My legs still started to die late in the race, but not to the degree they did at NY. Next time, I will make sure to get some more 22-mile long training runs in.

After the race, you had to walk a bit to get your medal. The finish area was very crowded. I walked past the weak and invalid just past the finish line and got my toasty warm thermal blanket. Next some dude placed my medal over my head. The best part of having such a high number was that my baggage bus was the first one after the finish line. I had to walk a few blocks to get my hotel’s shuttle bus. I got tired of waiting, so I figured I earned a cab back to the hotel – really I earned it as I found 20 bucks along the course. Once at my hotel, I admired my blood blister (it looked like a lava lamp) took a nice warm bath; I was too cold for an ice bath, popped some vicodin and took a nap.

As a coda to this story, the BAA website at first listed my Official and Chip times as the same. Which is completely impossible, as I would have had to start right at the mats with the elite. A couple of days later I noticed that my Chip time was changed to 3:35:07. A momentary jump for joy swept through my body as this meant a PR for me at the marathon distance. Could I have forgotten to stop my watch? Had I started it too soon? Something didn’t seem right. What could account for the 4-minute difference between my watch and the BAA Chip time? I called BAA to ask and it turns out that if they missed your Chip when you crossed the starting mats they based your starting time on the corral in which you were assigned. They state they know how long it took for runners in my corral to reach the start mats. Oh Really?

So if anyone asks my time, I will give the official BAA times. However, I will not declare it as a PR as I know in my heart it couldn’t be.

I guess you guys will have no problem surviving in a fallout shelter during a nuclear holicaust. Make sure that you have duct tape around, and you will be square.
Yeah, what is that stunt all about? I haven’t been watching the news or anything for the past few days, so I am out of the loop with that family in an SUV story. Best case scenario, when 20/20 comes to film your story, you can give a tour to the last liveable room saying that your family lived and ate there for weeks while the construction kicked into high gear. That will surely endear you to the public.
Oh, no. did the exterminator really come right after you aborted a black fetus? yuck….the poor man. All he wants to do is get rid of messes and not step into them. Now that they have found Saddam, he is going to rat you out that he has been hiding his weapons of mass destruction up your bumhole.

“Olson, Charles” wrote:
> Ah, school. Something I will never ever do again.
>
> It has been a bit tight lately. Last night we all ate in the room
> upstairs. All we need is a bathroom in it and would could stay in
> there forever. Probably not as bad as the family living in a Nissan
> SUV on 43rd and 7th Ave as a publicity stunt. At least though they
> can drive it around.
>
> It was probably also a good thing you weren’t around today. I
> rendered the toilet in the basement bathroom useless today. What came
> out of me was thicker than my forearm. I don’t know how it was
> possible, but I swear it was that thick. I even started flushing the
> toilet while it was being born, but the thing was so tremendous that I
> doubt if the toilet had the pressure of a raging fire hose that it
> would have made any difference.
>
> To top matters off, the exterminator came by and headed straight for
> the basement before I had a chance to call roto-rooter (The
> professionals were required for this one). He remarked that the
> lingering smell was more than enough to eliminate any unwanted pest
> that may crawl between walls. He was so impressed that he not only
> offered me a job, but he offered me partnership in the business if I
> would join him and use my fecal powers for pest elimination pest in
> some of the cities buildings with out of control rodent problems.
>

I ‘ve got my sleeping bag hidden away in the closet. The leaves sound very organic though. Perhaps I can distract from the smell of your gas.

“, C” wrote:
> No, no production. Feel free to come over. Let me know. If I can’t
> find another blanket for you, I’ll go to the backyard and grab a
> bundle of leaves for you. I understand a large enough pile can keep
> you warm, plus they probably smell nice.
>
> —–Original Message—–
> From: Kirsten [mailto:Kirsten.]
> Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2003 3:08 PM
> To: C
> Subject: Re: Idea for a new business
>
> wow, that would be a nice money maker. Now, how would that person be
> able to maintain their attention? It would have to be tailored
> specifically to client’s needs. VC backing…well, perhaps I
> can help you out with that. I have been sleeping with this new Ibanker who
> would gladly back an
> endeavor that I put on the table.
>
> I have to admit that lifeguard story takes the cake….and the $21.
> I mean, how ridiculous. I think that if he ever asks again, you
> should report him to his boss. That is not professional. Perhaps he
> is a crackhead. You could end up on one of those adverts that shows your
> picture and a caption saying
> “I buy crack regularly”
> Granted it is the Y, but you should not feel like you should have to do
> that.
>
> As for tonight…I was planning on staying these next two nights. But
> if it is going to be a production, you guys certainly don’t need that
> at the moment.
>
> “C” wrote:
>
> > I just had an idea for a new business. In short it is like this…
> >
> > Say you have to call someone (either to return their call or for
> > whatever
> > reason) and you really don’t want to speak to them and just hope to get
> > their voicemail. Well, this business would be a service that you could call
> > to get someone who is an expert in getting someone on the phone and
>> keeping them on it for a long period of time. Then when you get the green
> > light that the person is engaged in a telephone call, you can call
> > with the assurance that you would go into the person’s voice mail.
> >
> > Enhanced services could be for when the person has a cell phone,
> > office phone, etc. You would pay extra to have this company tie up
> > all of the person’s lines so that you would get voice mail, no
> > matter which number
> you
> > tried. This way it can appear that you desperately tried to reach
> > this person by leaving Voice mail on all of their numbers.
> >
> > As you work at Morgan Stanley, I am leaving it up to you to get
> > venture funding capital for this business. I am sure you have
> > plenty of inside connections by now. If not, then you have just not
> > been sleeping with enough of the bigwigs. But since you haven’t
> > been back to Brooklyn lately, perhaps this is just what you are doing…in that case GOOD JOB!
> >
> > Tell them we only require initial capitalization of 500,000 to
> > 1,000,000 for what I am sure will be a many times return on investment. I’ll
> > expect the check shortly. You are of course 50-50 partners with me,
> > even though I have done the hard part in conceiving the idea in the first place.

Well, you were there. I merely attempted objectivity in my answer. You have clarified, and therefore, preggers deserves to never have a seat postpartum again. Her husband shall be cursed to a lifetime of corns.

“C” wrote:
> How can preggers not have seen me especially when I was standing next
> to her comfortably unloaded feet? More importantly how could she have
> forgotten my compassionate seat giving when it occurred only two stops
> previous – a total of no more than 10 minutes? I attribute it more to
> selfishness than to forgetfulness or oversight.
>
> —–Original Message—–
> From: Kirsten [mailto:Kirsten@.com]
> Sent: Wednesday, November 19, 2003 12:39 PM
> To: C
> Subject: Re: NY life.
>
> Dear Discombobulated Decorum:
>
> This is a tough situation where the rules of etiquette fall into the
> gray area. Since you did eschew the comfort of a subway seat for the
> pregnant woman, she should recognize that and not invite her own
> guests to sit down. It would be as if you invited an aquaintance to dinner
> and they brought 30 of
> their closest friends and you missed out on the grub that you prepared. You
> should always be gracious
> in accepting the generosity of strangers. Therefore, unless her husband
> suffered from sympathy
> pregnancy, he was not entitled to a seat.
>
> This verdict however, still lies in the gray area. Perhaps she did
> not see you leaning in for the sit down. If her movements were
> calculated and all for the procurement of a seat for her compassionate
> counterpart, then she should have been made to stand and risk the health of
> her unborn child. Shame
> on her greedy husband. This couple most likely and knowingly knocked over a
> blind man on the way to
> the train. Preggers partners in crime, these two owe their bunyonfree feet
> to the kindness of
> strangers. If preggers did not see you, then you need to stop being so
> sensitive.
>
> “C” wrote:
>
> > Here is the scenario… A seat on the subway becomes available that
> > is closest to the door. I go to sit just as a pregnant woman walks
> > on the train, so I get back up to let her sit. A couple of stops
> > later, the seat next to her opens up. I was going to take it when
> > she suddenly slides
> over
> > to let her husband sit down in her seat. Is this rude or what?
> >
> > So now while I am annoyed and still standing, I happen to notice the
> > BP
> (the
> > gas/energy company) ads plastered along the top of the subway car.
> > One of the BP ads stated that they were the largest producers of
> > Natural Gas. I think I can debate them on that point.

August 17th, 2003

Coming off the high of a good performance at this year’s NYC Triathlon (aka Duathlon) I was looking forward to the Sprint Distance West Point Triathlon the next weekend and testing my metal against the Army’s fittest. I finally talked my wife into waking up very early and getting the children (ages 3 and 6) ready to go see me race. My young son was begging to go to a race with me and I was looking forward to crossing the finish line with him holding my hand.

The day started off well enough. We got to the race in plenty of time and my 3-year-old son joined me in getting body marked. He was quite proud to be walking around with the same race numbers written all over his body.

The race was a wave start with a dry start for the swim leg. I managed to get in the water briefly to prepare my body for the shock of the water and then lined up in the front of my wave. The horn then sounded and off we went. Things went sour from this point forward.
Barely twenty yards into the swim, I received a sturdy kick to the face. This ordinarily would not have been a problem except that the kick dislodged the right seal to my goggles causing water to start trickling into my right eye. I tried to swim with my right eye closed, but it was very uncomfortable. I couldn’t sight without my right eye open and it felt as though the water was getting into my nasal passages through my eye every time I turned to breathe. I was forced to stop and try to fix the goggle.

Unfortunately for me, I am almost blind without my glasses. My goggles are prescription and I wear them from the start of the swim, right up until I get back to my bike. I was out of breath, treading water, blind and getting trampled by everyone who started behind me. I somehow made it back to a shore where I could stand and gather my wits.

Several minutes went by and I still could not fix my goggles. At this point, another athlete swam over to me and offered to let me use his goggles. I guess the swim was too much for him and he decided to drop out of the race. I thanked him, shook hands, made note of his number and set off again, albeit in the wrong direction.

I discovered my mistake as the spectators on shore started to yell and I somehow made out their arms pointing out the proper direction. I could then sort of make out the orange buoys that lined the course and managed to catch the bottom third of the pack.

I got on my bike without further incident and started to make up some lost ground. As cycling is my strongest discipline, I not only started to catch up to the first two-thirds of my wave, but I also started to pass racers who started in the first wave.

Unfortunately for me, many of the people that I was passing seemed not to be aware of the rules of triathlon. Many riders were cruising along in the left lane at a leisurely pace, oblivious to other riders around them. At times, if you wanted to pass, you had no choice but to do so on their right. This proved to be a fatal mistake.

During a nice downhill section of the bike course, I was steadily accelerating and was soon speeding along in excess of 40 mph. I had a clean path in between two riders and decided to quickly try to pass them. The rider on my left however, decided to drift into my lane and this exact moment and his rear wheel touched my front wheel. I was tucked into the aero position and barely had time to yell “ON YOUR RIGHT” when he hit my wheel and sent me down.

Now I don’t know if you ever had the experience of sliding along the asphalt at 42 mph, but if you do, you will be sliding along it long enough to contemplate a few things. Apparently human flesh does not grip the ground too well and was not meant to be used as a brake pad. My first thought while sliding was “hmm, I am ok so far I am just sliding”. My second thought was “Well, at least my bike is flying down the road ahead of me, I hope it doesn’t get too messed up”. My third thought was realizing that I was angling off the road and about to hit the dirt.

I then started to roll and twist in the air as the dirt and rocks did not make such a smooth sliding surface. From past mountain biking experiences, I’ve learn to just relax and let the roll happen. Tensing up and fighting to stop is a sure way to pull a muscle or break something. After rolling around for a while, I finally came to a rest on my hands and knees.

At this point I heard someone say, “Go ahead I got him” and this person came over to help me up. I stood up while he retrieved my bike and asked if I was all right. Aside from missing lot’s of flesh over a good portion of my body and a very nasty laceration on my left hand, I was in perfect shape. My bike looked reasonably good as well.

This Samaritan then said “Well you have a choice, you can gut it out or pack it in.” I was still game for the race, but quickly realized that my front wheel was in no condition to continue. With my left hand dripping blood and lacking dexterity, I was in no condition to effect repairs.
During this time, some alerted the West Point staff of a rider down and a military truck soon came to pick me up. I looked fairly battle worn and would have looked like a wounded soldier being transported to a M.A.S.H. unit if not for wearing skin tight and colorful Triathlon racing clothes instead of fatigues.

For me the worst part about crashing wasn’t the fact that I was injured or couldn’t finish the race, but the fact that my young children would have to see me all banged up. Fortunately, an ambulance soon joined the truck and somewhat cleaned and bandaged me.

My daughter had a very nervous look when she first saw me. However, I managed to laugh it off and she relaxed as soon as she saw I was laughing about it. My son still wanted to finish the race with me, so I ducked under the tape holding back the spectators near the finish line and ran across it with my son. As my numbers were scrapped off my body, it was a good thing he was body marked or else I may not have been able to report my number.

A trip to the Military base hospital soon followed, in order to get myself stitched and cleaned up. The emergency room staff remarked that I had the worst case of road rash they have ever seen. They couldn’t help but laugh as they knew I would be in some discomfit the moment the cleansing began. I didn’t mind as I was joking all along about my injuries as well.
My hand was stitched and my multitudes of abrasions were scrubbed clean. At one point I remarked to the Meddac (army lingo for medic) that it appears there was some dirt embedded in my arm that he missed. Turns out it wasn’t dirt, but was burnt off hair follicles.

Having been cleaned up, stitched up, Tetanus shot filled and bandaged like a mummy, I was then sent home with some pain killers. I let my wife drive.

The next several days were spent trying to recover from my injuries, having my wonderful wife change my bandages twice daily and somehow dealing with work from home. I tried to take it easy and enjoy the satisfying warmth that comes from taking painkillers. The accident really didn’t hit me until the following weekend when I had to miss some events I was looking forward to participating in. However, I was healing pretty good and would have no long lasting damage.

Am I worried with this Orange alert thing. Absolutely not. I have complete confidence in the ability of the numberous security agents stationed around the city that I feel totally at ease and comfortable. Take today for instance.

I went to the NYSC pool at the Crowne Plaza hotel located at 49th and Broadway. I was dutifully stopped prior to entering the lobby, asked where I was going and only allowed to proceed after I showed my high tech- laminated paper photo NYSC ID card. That little plastic embossed piece of paper, was enough to prove that my overstuffed gym bag did not contain anything harmful to anyone. And besides, no terrorist in his right mind would join a healthclub. I mean why would they when they are about to enter into the pearly gates through Holy Suicide.

Also, the security to go to Prudential Securities (to deposit funds) is equally impressive. I mean, what terrorist would know that the secret code to passing through with just a glance is muttering the words “Prudential Cashier” to the lobby security dude. After all, what terrorist is going to deposit money just before unleashing deadly nerve agents or biological weapon.

In any event, I am quite positive if a chemical or biological attack does happen, wrapping myself up tightly in plastic wrap and duct tape will protect me from breathing, thereby killing me, before the hazordous germ or chemical agent has a chance to do its wretched deed. Plus while dressed like that, I can probably have the safest sex, followed by the most intense orgasm. They do say that asphyxiation leads to very powerful climaxes.