14. That's the number of days have passed between this very moment and the one when I submerged myself in the Hudson River seconds before the start of the 2010 NYC Triathlon. Something to note about this race is that it encompasses everything the Big Apple represents: fearlessness (please see swimming in the Hudson River ); it's expensive, hot and unforgiving; it attracts the finest and the only thing more difficult than surviving it is getting in. Add up all of those challenges and we're looking at my very first A-race of this season. Yup, I sprayed some WD40 on my joints since Montauk's hilly course (it's the devil!) and had one objective, other than winning my division--I know, sassy. BUT! What I had in mind spurred from an article I read out of Triathlon Somethingoranother about "staying in the moment" during a race. Hmf, seems like a simple concept, right? Um, no.

Race start is Jitterbug Central full of anticipation, nerves, expectations, anxiety, excitement and everything that constitutes the human thought process moments prior to putting yourself to the test and accomplishing your goal--be it to finish or to win or anything in between. The only time I'm quite literally in the moment is right after that start horn WONKS through the air: I ask myself, "How in the mother trucker do I get around and through this bevy of splashing panic-ridden wetsuits that are messin' up my swim game?!" 2 or 3 minutes later, I'm in a groove, most are behind me and instead of focusing on finishing the swim, my brain detours to the bike portion and how hilly, long, hot or technical it is. From there, the minute I start to pedal my bike, I'm off anticipating what my run splits will be and how much more juice my stems have left in them. It's exhausting. And it's something every triathlete battles at some point, if not many times.

Stay in the moment. Okay, I got this. I got it. In the moment...

Race start was per the usual clustertruck, but I bolted nanoseconds after the start horn blared down the Hudson. I counted my strokes--12 strokes per sighting to make sure I was swimming in a straight line (ish). The rhythm of counting helped me to stay focused on what I was doing at THAT moment. Interesting, I thought. The transitions were used as a transition for equipment, yes, but I also used the time to switch modes in my head. T1: "The swim is done. Wipe the Hudson grime goatee off of your face and pedal your heart out!" T2: "Rack that bike, throw on sneaks and run to the finish line!"

That worked to improve my swim and run times (bike was windier this year than last), but my transitions? Let's just say I made a career out of them. Lesson learned? Stay in the moment for ALL portions of the race, not just the sports.

On a sweeter note, however, this NYC Triathlon marks my 4th year as a non-smoker! Yup, I be nicotine-free for 4 years and counting. To be honest, I forget that I ever smoked, but there are moments when I'm reminded of my former Smokey Smokerson self, namely: When I pass a park bench on a 50-mile ride on my bike-the park bench I used to frequent daily on my lunch break and chain-smoke 4 or, depending on whether or not I cared if I was late, 5 cigarettes in AN HOUR. I know, classy.

If given a choice between that old pictured bench and my new Jamis bike, I'd choose the latter, knowing that I've got the best seat in the house now.