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NY Mayor's cup
October 2007
New York , NY
posted by liftticketscheap
Yesterday, I competed in the mayor’s cup. It was the biggest personal challenge I’ve ever undertaken. I decided to do it three weeks ago, just before I left for my sister’s wedding. I trained my brains out best I could and its not that nothing could have prepared me, but that the race itself and the waters of NYC are so variable, you really don’t know what to expect. I felt as prepared as I was going to get as Kit and I started out from the upper west side at my in-law’s apartment at 4:45 am to get there by 5:00 to help with set up and such. The NYPD closed the west side highway about three hours early for a bike ride and weren’t letting us through. So what was supposed to be a quick drive down turned into hour’s journey. Ah, New York City….
The North Cove was bustling with people, even at 5:45. I was there early and was able to claim a fair amount of real estate around my boat, including space for my yoga mat. All those other suckers had to stretch out on the concrete or on the benches. The media circus was getting under way. I had once again become the media darling/whore that I generally become in these situations by the virtue that my boat was in the direct line of where NBC had set up their remote and my friendship with Mr. Ray Fusco, the race promoter and unofficial Mayor of Kayaktown, and I am a media magnet. So the NBC weather lady did a live broadcast from my boat and waived my paddle around. I had to get it right-side-up for her, but she did alright. I talked to her about the day’s forecast and learned all about the wind and low pressure system blah blah blah and words and so on. I had taped a laminated sign to my boat that reads “GO NATE” in the hopes that I’ll get some cheers in addition to all the other gear on there. You might have seen that if you were watching the weather on NY NBC channel 4 at 7 am on a Sunday. yeah....
At some point, one of the Scenic Hudson people came up to me and asked me “who’s Greg?” referring to Greg Barton, Gold medalist paddler and one-time holder of the record for fastest trip around the island. I pointed her out to the only Greg I had seen, my friend and race volunteer, Other Greg. Fortunately for me, both were tall with a red jacket so my description was dead on and I was able to play it off. Henceforth, however, I will be calling my friend Greg, ‘Mr. Barton.’ I welcome you to do the same. But I digress.
Eventually, it became go time. I got into my boat and set myself up at the pole position, ate one of the gel packs (which I would do every 30 minutes each time restarting the 30 minute countdown to the next nastiness in my face. Those things did the trick, but are just not fun, blasting a gooey paste in your mouth every so often, I kind of had to psych myself up for each one) and turned on my stop watch. Closed my eyes and reviewed the goals, get around this island and not be last. Countdown from ten and I’m off. I’m the leader of the pack until Chelsea piers when a few of my heat catch up and I share the lead. By mid-town I’m in the middle of the pack and by the boat basin at 79th street at 10:30 I’m all by myself. I’m a little down but I know it’s a long race and we’re just getting started. I’ve picked my pace and I’m sticking to it. At some pier in the 60’s, I see this weird shark fin. It turns out that’s my friend Anthony Pirro. I can’t hear his cheers, but I am distracted from the really messed up thing going on in my head. The water dripping on my legs is drying and sort of feels like spiders running around on my legs. I start to wonder how the spiders got into my boat and why are they running around on my legs. In my head, this turns into some macabre horror story where I’m going to get out of the boat and have only bones left and a family of fat spiders who had supped upon the flesh of Nate with bloody fangs and hairy underbellies, ripping the arms off people who reach into the boat. This actually goes on a bit, but then I get distracted by Anthony’s shark fin. Thank you, shark fin.
Under the George Washington Bridge, I catch a little surf and I notice there are two boats about a half mile or so ahead of me. They have to be closer to me, meaning I'm gaining ground since I couldn’t see them five minutes ago. In my periphery, I can see the elite class fly past me. I increase my pace a little because I can see the camera people taking photos of these guys since they are going to be winners and the story, but this way I can be in the background. (Did I mention I was a media whore?) I can’t keep that pace and they’re off. At two hours exactly, I’m under the trestle and through Sputen Duyvel at the north tip of Manhattan. I can see a whole bunch of people I couldn’t see before and my spirits are solid because two of them are in my class and they're close. I catch the first guy and he’s from the heat ahead of me, meaning I made up ten minutes of paddling on this guy. Dead F’n Last? Not today, my friends. Ahead I see a guy from my heat and I turn up the heat a little and catch him. His name is James and he works out of the kayak shop in Beacon. We see saw for a while, I'm ahead, he's ahead, and small talk. This is for the best because the Harlem River is boring. Really, really boring. On one side, you have projects and on the other you have storage yards. Then they mix it up when you get storage yards on the other side and projects where their used to be storage yards. The water is protected and flat. No wind. No wake. Flat and boring and it just seems to keep going. So there is small talk and at least we have that going for us. At 12:21 I’m past the mid point and I have this realization that barring catastrophic issue, I’m going to pull this thing off. Still feeling solid, arms are moving and I’m keeping the pace. Somewhere around the Ward’s island bridge, I lose the guy I was seesawing with. I take off. I'm totally juiced that I kept a pace that this other guy can't. By hell’s gate, where the east river, Long Island Sound and the Bronx river converge, I can’t even see the guy. In my head, I’m now the man. I start into Hell’s gate which isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be (it's notorious for nasty water movement) but it’s freaking’ work none the less. Then I hear a familiar song. It’s the ice cream man, possibly the same one who used to park underneath Kit’s apartment in Brooklyn. Do bee da doop da doop da doop, da doop da doop da da doop. Man, Kit hates that song. I’m laughing and paddling and life is once again awesome. Thank you, ice cream man and your horrible, horrible song.
Then things start to pick up, which kind of pisses me off. Hell’s gate is supposed to be the tough part, but here I am under the Queensboro Bridge and now the wind has the gall to start blowing. But then I remember the weather lady and sure enough, the clouds and the wind are coming from the west, just like she said. So I hug the west side of the river and I get a little protection from the buildings and it ain’t so bad. Thank you, weather lady.
By the time I get to pier 17, I hit what I believe the runners call ‘hitting the wall.’ At some point along East River Park, I turn into Beavis, screaming my fool head off and muttering obscenities to myself and whoever might be in earshot. The wind and wave has picked up substantially and I’m really feeling the pain. I eat my last gel thingy which isn’t the protein kind, it’s a mix of high octane sugars which I want to burn out hard to finish this thing off. I take my last picture (I took a picture every half our or so when I ate a gel to document the experience) and just paddle my brains out. I’m screaming, swearing and most likely offending many of the families along Battery Park and getting onto the ferry for the statue of liberty. Some of whom cheer for me. Most of whom didn’t even notice. I am in some serious chop and it sucks so I divert some of my attention to the people who are looking over the edge and into the park. ‘I make eye contact and say, ‘Hey how you doing?’ like I’m going to strike up a conversation, then back to the yelling. I see an inlet and I think its North cove and as I get closer, I see its not and I’m pissed because I’m physically and mentally done now and want to be done and I look up and give one last hey how you doing to these two women on the corner of the pier and I do a double take. One of the women is Katie Holmes, Ms. Tom Cruise, and she says, “Go nate.” Awesome. Thank you, Katie Holmes.
Now fuelled by celebrity cheers, I make it the last half mile to North cove and I’m in and done and I want out of my boat as much as I’ve wanted just about anything. Some jack ass is moving their motor boat around and is keeping me from getting out of my boat and to the rest room. Three plus liters has to go someplace and it was becoming a potty emergency. I get to the dock, Kit puts a medal around my neck, I get a kiss and a hug and I say something to the effect of “I love you, I have to pee.” I’ll only say, Thank you, toilet.
Then my wife and I enjoyed our gourmet lunch which was lovely except that I was unable to eat fast enough and could not lift the water bottle high enough to get the water into my lips. My arms were pudding, but had made the trip and did eventually assist in feeding me. I had made the 26.7 mile trip in 5:12:26 and it was glorious. Thank you, arms.
Also, thank you mayor’s cup and kit and the whole experience. It was tremendous. I’d like to do it again and am looking for a training buddy. Any takers?
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