Mighty Mona?

"WHERE'S MY CLIP MOM!?!?"

"Honey, I don't know, look in the bag."

"WHERE ARE MY SUNGLASSES MOM!?!?"

"Honey, I don't know, look on the sheet."

"UGHHHH, forget it."

Why did I think my mom would know where I clumsily threw stuff before my mile-long swim at the start off my triathlon debut? Lesson learned. Maybe this next one my transition times won't add up to 15 minutes...

The countdown to Triathlon II, or the Mighty Hamptons (9/14), is on and I'm starting to freak out.

Did I clock enough miles on the bike? Probably not.

Did I run enough loops around the park on bike legs? Probably not.

Did I swim enough? Yes, surprisingly.

Will I get my competitive face on for my legion of fans -- Mom, Dad, Fashionista and LittleMissSunshine -- all coming to cheer for me? Yes, definitely.

The Mighty Montauk was in June. When I crossed the finish line, my mom asked me, "Well, how was it? Would you do another one?!" I walked off in silence, tried to re-feel my legs, fought to catch my breath, wiped the salty sweat from my eyes and mouth, found the food table and threw a few orange slices and cookies in my mouth (all at the same time -- quite tasty). I returned to Mom, Dad and my friend Birdie and gave an emphatic, "YES!"

I signed up for the Mighty Hamptons a short week or so later, thinking I had all the time in the world to prepare for it. Summer fun was fleeting and now the Mighty Hamptons is staring me up and down with a menacing grin.

Before the Montauk tri, I was supposed to meet up with Birdie and his buddies for dinner at Luigi's. I took a wrong turn and ended up at the lighthouse. Not bad! As it turns out, I got a preview of the biking route as well.


Dinner at Luigi's took me back to the days of pre-swim meet dinners I had so often with teammates and family. The meals were always about quantity, not quality. The dinner at Luigi's was fun because of the company, but it wasn't the best Italian.

For starters, the service was pretty bad. That or everybody competing in the triathlon showed up and they were unprepared and overloaded. We sat at the bar waiting for someone to serve us beers -- yes, that's right, beers -- for about 15 minutes. A fellow triathlete said it was good to have one or two to calm the nerves. Nobody was behind the bar and I almost went back and grabbed them myself.

The food was just OK, but it did the trick. We shared some garlic bread,

some fried calamari,

and about one of each pasta dish on the menu.

I tried the penne with melted mozzarella, tomatoes and black olives. It would have been better with homemade pasta. I could taste the non-freshness, though I did like the combo and will look for it now when I go out for Italian.


The far more superior meal of the weekend was the post-race splurge at my favorite Clam Bar. I was racing to get to the Belmont, where I expected to see Big Brown win the Triple Crown, so we ordered our food to go. It was one of those situations: if I didn't go, he would have won and I would have missed history. The fact that I did go, well, you know what happened.

Dad was proudly sporting my lucky number.

We ordered a wealth of fried goodies to inhale in the car before I jumped on a bus to the horse track. In solidarity with Big Brown, I cleaned up but left my racing numbers in big black marker on my arm and leg. It was my badge of honor for completing my first triathlon, and for finishing in the top 20 for the women (20th to be exact).


Wish me luck next weekend, and if you have any recommendations for where I should be doing my carbo-cramming, please, send them my way.