My Brush With Jellyfish

Tuesday, July 22, 2008 6:16 AM

The very idea of swimming in the Hudson almost always brings a grimace to the visage of one's audience but the bragging rights won after the 1.1 mile swim are priceless. Yesterday, it was my second opportunity to dive into the Hudson and swim that distance as part of the annual NYC Triathlon.  

All went well up to the point we began our swim. I checked into the cheap Days Hotel ($186 per night; cheap by NYC standards!) on 94th and Broadway on Saturday afternoon, conveniently located near the event site. After a hectic Friday and Saturday playing host to a friend from overseas, I found myself unconscious in my hotel room at 5:30pm. I was utterly exhausted and Saturday's heat index also contributed amply to the exhaustion. I woke up at 2:45am on Sunday morning and was as at the event site by 4:30am. After setting up my transition area (those who don't know what that means: this is where our bikes are located. Here we set up our gear, nutrition etc. for the 3 legs of the race) and inspecting the condition of my bike, I began walking towards the "swim start" at 5:10am. My wave of athletes was to jump into the Hudson at 6:02am. The transition area is located more than a mile away from the "swim start" (where we jump into the Hudson). I was more than half way through when I realized I had left behind my swim goggles. Cursing myself with the most colorful vocabulary at my disposal, I ran back, retrieved the swim goggles and then briskly began walking back to the swim start.  

By now I was sweating profusely. It was an incredibly humid morning, even at that early hour. I arrived at the swim start, received my "timer chip" and after inspecting the brisk current of the Hudson below I began climbing into my sleeveless wet suit - and this is where (unofficially!) the triathlon begins. Climbing into a wet suit can burn as much calories as perhaps running a couple of miles, especially if the suit doesn't fit. Well, in my case, having lost some pounds, I had less of a struggle getting into the suit.  

The clock ticked away and soon my wave of athletes was called upon to step down on to the floating platform. I walked over, looked at the waters below me and jumped into it. The sensation of being in the river is unique. Immediately one feels the pull and push of the current. From the protective screen of my swim goggles, I could see the murky waters of the Hudson, slight sunlight breaking the river surface and illuminating the area around me underwater. Twigs and some curious objects floated around. I broke the surface and saw others jump in. We were holding on to this rope which prevents the swimmers from being swept away by the ferocious early morning current. The gun went off and off we went, arms and legs flailing, water splashing all around us, heads bobbing everywhere. As I do always, I stayed clear of others and initially, maintained a safe distance from other swimmers in front of me. This gives me the opportunity to regulate my breathing and pace and then, once I am comfortable, I gradually increase my pace.  

Helicopters hovered in the skies above us. Lifeguards on boats and canoes kept a watchful vigil over us. As I would turn my face up for air exposing my ear, I could hear the cheering crowds from the river wall and the event announcer's voice booming over the loudspeakers. A minute or two elapsed. I grew comfortable almost to the point of enjoying the swim and then it happened. A slight pain in my arm. It felt like a sting, akin to a sharp prick. I ignored it. At that initial point of the swim, it is never a good idea to allow disturbing thoughts to enter your mind. My hands grabbed some floating twigs of various sizes (well, I chose to think that they were twigs!) which I kept pushing aside as I forged ahead. The pain intensified. Suddenly my exposed arm, hands and face experienced multiple stings. This is barely three minutes into the swim portion of the race. I felt as if I was being attacked by a creature underwater. I tried to determine what it was by running my hand over my face and arm but it was unable to grab the mysterious offender. I remained calm. There was no point in freaking out. It would have worsened the situation for me. The attack on me ensued and it became more "determined". I felt the sharp stings all over. It was a strange sensation. The effect of the sting appeared to clasp me. There was a numbing effect in my arm. This is when I felt the need to get out of the water. I forged ahead with extra long arm strokes. I had more than half the distance to cover at this point. Keeping my breathing under control (very essential while swimming), I began swimming as rapidly as possible. I noticed that swimmers around me appeared to be battling more than just the idea of swimming in the Hudson. There is no time or opportunity to engage in a conference at that juncture. Other waves of swimmers came over from behind us. I was pushed around as people frantically made their way to the "swim exit platform". I passed by someone who was clearly struggling to swim. Still suffering from the stings and mild numbing feeling, I rapidly tried to get to the swim exit. This year, there was a barge jutting out into the water from the river wall and we had to swim around it. We were informed about it prior to the race but they made that barge less pronounced than initially announced. Here many of us knocked into each other. I kept sighting the swim exit and tried to ignore the pain. Every stroke bringing me closer to the end of my ordeal. Finally I reached the platform, an event staffer took my hand and pulled me out. As I ran barefoot to the bike (about a quarter mile distance from the swim exit), I stripped off the wet suit and the pain rapidly diminished. I jumped on the bike and off we went on the Henry Hudson Parkway. On my way, I happened to share my story with a fellow biker who confirmed that the Hudson water was infested by jellyfish. This was certainly a unique experience for me which I shall treasure for sometime.  

The 25-mile bike portion of the race was uneventful other than the fact that my hands turned numb. It has nothing to do with the jellyfish attack. This happens to me often on long rides. I need to do something about it. Maybe I will consult a coach or an experienced athlete. As I ride, my hands lose sensation and turn numb. This encumbers my ability to hold the bike steady and change gears effectively. I have to slow down and then let my hands loose for the numbness to dissipate. I realize this can be fairly dangerous, especially during a race but I will find a remedy for it.  

The running leg of the race was fine for me. Running is my strongest skill in a triathlon. Swimming and biking are very new to me. I finished the 6.1 mile run in close to 50 minutes despite the heat and humidity. As I crossed the finish line, I was greeted by a race volunteer who placed a cold, wet towel in my hands, next was someone who placed the "finisher's medal" around my neck and then I heard someone say to me "where is your timer chip?". I looked at my legs and Lo Behold! it was gone. I lost it somewhere and didn't realize until he drew my attention to it. I came home and logged on to the website to see if any of my time was recorded and found my record to be completely empty. I suspect that it came off during the swim because I remember vividly placing the chip band around my ankle. I was miffed! Thankfully, I had turned on the stop clock on my triathlon watch when the gun went off at swim start and as I raced through the finish line, I noticed that I had finished the race in 3 hours, 10 minutes and 24 seconds - 4 minutes slower than last year. At home I chanced upon this NYT report on the race and learned that an athlete died during the race yesterday. http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/21/sports/othersports/21triathlon.html?hp

So this was the account of my Sunday morning. It is an exhilarating event and I wish my friends would consider being a spectator to it. The air is redolent with amazing energy, anticipation and anxiety. It is heartening to witness fellow participants being greeted by friends and family at the finish line. The hugs, embraces and kisses, the cheers and words of encouragement and congratulations. The chatter and stories that spill out almost immediately upon crossing the finish line. There will be new experiences next year, different tales to tell....and yes, I will be there once again.

Cheers!

Deepak