An ambitious day in the Shawangunks mountains transformed into one of those rare perfect race experiences that makes you question whether lightning could ever strike twice. Sometimes the stars align, your preparation meets the opportunity, and everything falls into place. This day delivered exactly that magic.
Leg 1: Bike (30 miles)
The day began with a 30-mile bike leg through farm fields and little towns around Ulster County. The early morning air felt crisp, the road, damp from the early morning rain, stretched smooth ahead, and I couldn't help but smile. The first five miles flew by, despite being passed by several athletes, as I settled into a rhythm and kept my power and breathing under control.
To stay ahead of energy deficits, my nutrition plan for the bike was straightforward: I aimed to consume Tailwind every 15-20 minutes. The middle miles clicked by with a gentle mix of rolling hills and flats.
Then the final five miles arrived—the day's first real test. A relentless uphill grind stretched forever, demanding an entirely different kind of effort. I shifted into a more manageable gear and settled into a sustainable climbing rhythm. The climb delivered the good kind of burn in my legs that reminded me why I'd spent so many hours training on hills. Strava would later reveal this as my longest climb ever—longer even than anything I'd tackled at Lake Placid—but in the moment, grinding up that endless ascent, I felt strong and ready. Each pedal stroke carried me closer to the real adventure.
Time for Segment: 2:06:47, 14.1 mph
Leg 2: Run (2.87 miles)
I executed T1 with practiced efficiency—I racked my bike, stowed my cycling gear, and put on my trusted Altra Superior 7s, relying on the muscle memory of countless transitions. I grabbed my goggles and swim cap and headed to the aid station before starting the run course. There I downed two cups of water, popped a salt pill to get ahead of the heat, and took two Honey Stinger gels for the trail ahead.
The first run leg felt like absolute garbage. My left quad began to protest early with what felt like an impending muscle pull, still locked into that cycling rhythm, refusing to remember how to run correctly. I started questioning everything—and wondered if this was going to be a long, painful day of disappointment. I stopped and gave myself an impromptu deep massage and started running again. It seemed to work.
Construction had shortened this leg of the course, but not before a long uphill loomed ahead like a wall. I made the wise decision to hike it and took each step deliberately, gradually settling my heart rate, and found a new breathing rhythm. Sometimes the best races begin with the worst feelings, and I reminded myself that endurance events demand problem-solving, adaptation, and perseverance through the rough patches to find the flow on the other side.
By the time I crested that hill, something had shifted. My legs started remembering their job, and with the first swim leg in the cold waters of Awosting, they would soon get a reset.
Time for Segment: 39:56, 13:55/mile
Leg 3: Swim (1,631 yards)
Reaching the first swim transition, I kept the shoes on. A potentially risky race-day decision that was not in line with my training. The gamble paid off, and from this point forward, the day began to flow. I entered the water, pulled on my cap and goggles, and set off toward the first buoy.
The swim in Awosting instantly reminded me of those practice swims in Mirror Lake. The water temperature was perfect—cool on the edge of cold, enough to refresh me after the run. About 1,000 yards in, a hard left turn initially disoriented me, but I spotted the shoreline on the far side, which provided exactly the reference point I needed. The swim washed away every frustration from that brutal opening run, resetting my entire system. I exited after 40 minutes, grabbed more water and another gel, and set out for the next leg of the run.
Time for Segment: 40:29, 2:29/100 yards
Leg 4: Run (5.56 miles)
The second run leg offered more uphill challenges, and I embraced them, walking the steeper grades while maintaining forward momentum. But somewhere between consuming another gel on one of those climbs and hitting the well-stocked aid station 2-3 miles in, my legs finally woke up completely. The cold water was exactly what they needed, and pieces began to fall into place: my running form felt smooth, my energy levels stabilized, and my confidence began to build.
The volunteers at the aid station delivered incredible support—enthusiastic, well-organized. I grabbed more water and another gel for insurance, and felt genuinely grateful for the people who'd gotten up early to support our crazy adventure.
The downhill section toward swim 2 felt effortless—my legs had found their rhythm and I officially started having fun. Real, genuine, can't-stop-smiling fun. This captured why I raced: for these moments when everything clicks, when all the training pays off, when you remember that your body can achieve incredible things.
I was no longer surviving this race—I was enjoying it.
Time for Segment: 1:01:54, 11:08/mile
Leg 5: Swim (810 yards)
The second swim in Minnewaska delivered a pure gift: a buoy line running along my right side - the perfect sighting reference for someone who only breathes to the left.
The water worked its magic again - a reset button for my entire system, washing away any accumulated fatigue from the run, cooling my core temperature, giving my running muscles a break while my swimming muscles took over. I found myself actually enjoying the meditative quality of the swim, the way the repetitive motion and rhythmic breathing cleared my mind and prepared me for what lay ahead.
I exited this swim feeling recharged and ready. The day was building toward something special.
Time for Segment: 20:55, 2:35/100 yards
Leg 6: Run (7.94 miles)
The longest run segment began with a steep downhill section that immediately tested my quads, but they proved up to the task. I had to keep my effort controlled, resisting the temptation to bomb down the hills, and maintain a sustainable rhythm that I could carry for miles.
My primary objective for this leg was to reach Trapps Bridge before the critical cutoff. As I approached that checkpoint with time to spare, my confidence surged, and I knew I was going to finish. I'd accomplished the mission—but more than that, I still felt strong, still moved well, still had fun.
The last aid station, located around mile 7, provided my final opportunity to fuel up before the legendary "Godzilla" climb. The volunteers delivered outstanding support—cheering, encouraging, and making sure I had everything I needed. I took on more fluids, grabbed another gel, and mentally prepared for the challenge ahead.
Godzilla lived up to its reputation: a long, steady climb that demanded respect and patience. I made the tactical decision to hike the entire ascent, keeping my heart rate in check, maintaining steady forward progress without blowing up my legs for the final push. This wasn't about ego—this focused on race management, about saving something for the finish.
As I climbed, I passed other athletes making the same wise decisions, and we shared encouraging words with each other. The mountain tested all of us, but we proved equal to the challenge.
Time for Segment: 1:33:11, 11:44/mile
Leg 7: Swim (616 yards)
The final swim flew by, knowing the finish line awaited just one more effort.
This swim felt celebratory, triumphant, like a victory lap through the water. My stroke felt effortless, and every breath reminded me that I was about to complete something special. The water in Mohonk felt perfect, the distance felt short, and my energy levels remained solid.
Swimming toward the final exit, I couldn't help but reflect on the journey that had brought me here—all the training swims, all the brick workouts, all the long runs that had built the fitness and confidence to tackle this unique challenge.
I exited the water for the final time, feeling a surge of pure excitement. One more short effort, and I'd finish.
Time for Segment: 15:52, 2:34/100 yards
Leg 8: Run (0.4 miles)
The final climb up the mountain started with a burst of adrenaline-fueled enthusiasm, but wisdom quickly kicked in.
This last push climbed steep, really steep, and I decided to hike most of it rather than risk blowing up in sight of the finish. As I worked my way up the mountain, I encountered the most incredible part of the entire day: athletes who had already finished made their way back down, and each one offered genuine congratulations, encouragement, and celebration.
"You're almost there!" "Great job!" "You've got this!"
Their enthusiasm infected me, their support felt genuine, and their presence perfectly reminded me of what makes this sport so special—the community, the shared experience, the way we all celebrate each other's achievements.
I hiked steadily upward, saving just enough energy for the final runnable section to the summit finish. And then, suddenly, I could see it—the finish line, the volunteers, the mountain top that had been my goal all day.
With a few yards to go, I found one more gear and started running again, really running, carrying all the momentum and joy of the entire day toward that finish line.
And before I knew it, I had finished.
Time for Segment: 7:33, 18:53/mile
Reflection
This race delivered absolute perfection: the run-swim-run format kept everything fresh, the cool water serving as natural recovery between efforts. Each leg felt like intervals with built-in rest periods, like a perfectly designed training session that happened to cover incredible terrain and finish on a mountain top.
What made it special wasn't just the unique format or the stunning venue—it captured the way the day unfolded, the way early struggles gave way to flow, the way pacing and race management paid off, the way the community of athletes supported each other throughout the day.
This represented outdoor multisport racing at its finest: challenging enough to test everything you've trained for, but designed in a way that let you actually enjoy the journey.
Would I do it again? Part of me wants to preserve this perfect day exactly as it stands—some experiences prove too precious to risk ruining by trying to repeat them. But another part of me knows that days like this make all the training worthwhile, remind us why we chase these challenges in the first place.
For now, I'm content to let this perfect day stand on its own, a reminder that sometimes preparation meets opportunity and magic happens in the mountains.
Total Time: 6:46:38
