Drove up with racing buddy Alan Golds, walked down from street parking to the Hudson River transition area, lovely community event complete with many first timers (like I was, 11 years ago!) and others chatting that this was their only race, every year.
Donny, a swim buddy from the JCC, was among the newbies.
Waited to run into the water, two at a time — thought we’d be self-seeding based on expected finish time or pace, but no such luck, and a lot of thrashing to get around big guys doing breast stroke. Tuned into a new way to improve my catch and got through the 1 km (0.6 mile) river swim feeling confident. A little choppy, maybe a slight headwind before being pushed to shore. Seven big orange buoys made sighting very easy. I expected to swim at 1:48 pace, but official results were better: 14:58 = 1:42 min/100 yards.
Ran out, stripping off wetsuit near the shore – water lubricating the removal – puffing pretty hard for the run into transition. Looked like one bike in my rack/Age Group was gone (probably the guy who had attached his shoes to his pedals!)… T1 in 3:38.
Zander Reyna runs into the water…And Zander runs out. Finishes 2nd OA in the swim in 12:19, = 1:24 min/100 yd. 1st in Age Group for 50-54; as I’m approaching the finish line, he’s leaving, and shouts “Pick up my medal!”
Rode as hard as I could – no reason to pace and conserve, it’s a sprint — and was virtually alone for the entire ride. “Either I’m ahead of everybody, or way behind the better swimmers…”. Going through the Regeneron corporate campus I didn’t even see a volunteer and thought “once again, I missed a turn on the bike course!” Wasn’t sure where that “slow down! Slow down!” sharp turn was so was cautious much earlier than necessary — and the turn turned out to be easier to handle than advertised. Bottom line: 35:26 for a 10-mile course = 18.6 mph. Would have liked to be faster on the downhills, but hadn’t trusted the pavement.
T2 in 1:34. In contrast with the first time I did this race, I did NOT run out of transition still wearing my bike helmet 🙂 … but had to run back a few yards to take my watch off the bike.
The run was bright, virtually no shade along the riverbank and next to construction and rows of new condos and I felt maxed out from the beginning.
Passed a few people, none in my age group, but gratifying. My Garmin said I averaged 7:30 min/mile over the 3.1 miles but official results were even better: 22:01, or 7:20 per mile.
Bottom line: 1:17:38, 2/9 AG (2nd to John Weber, who was the guy who calmly came in 1st to my 2nd place years ago at the local Toughman 70.3). 20/188 OA, so… fast enough to be in 2nd place for 55-59, 50-54, and 45-49. Which was gratifying. AND…. 6 minutes faster than the same race in 2012. Experience IS better than youth, in so many ways.
With John Weber and… someone elseWith Alan Golds and Tom Andrews — each of us took 2nd in our respective Age Groups!
And then, with all the kids running to the finish line with their fathers, and the announcer wishing us all a happy Father’s Day, I remembered that this was my first Father’s Day without my Dad. It just sneaks up on you, doesn’t it?
First race of the year, and I had missed a lot of training because of our family’s losses during the winter. On my drive up to Harriman State Park — all of 30 minutes — I thought about what Coach Steve suggested: since I couldn’t reasonably expect much in the way of a finishing time, I might focus on the process, just checking in along the way how I was feeling and whether I was doing the best I could at that time. Which is really the obvious and best advice for everything else in life. A new attitude for me, frankly.
Approaching the finish line!
The race was only 400 people, roughly divided between the Olympic and 70.3 distance, and an odd distance to more easily accommodate the 70.3: 0.6 mile swim (instead of 0.9 mile, but it made it a simple two laps for the longer race); 28 mile bike ride (instead of 24.8 miles, to make two loops = 56 miles), but your standard 6.2 mile run.
I met some folks racking the bikes including Ryan Farr and Sermet Alver two other members of Coach Steve’s TEAM TRIENDEAVORS!, who found me because the bright red team shirt.
With Ryan and Sermet, before the race
I also met the friendly Brian Gurski, and we ended up talking the whole time until the race began. Realized that virtually everyone at this race was younger than I, which confirmed my new definition of middle age: when you keep track of how old OTHER people are.
At the edge of Lake Welch, the 50+ year old men were the third wave. A guy at the front shouted out “We’re the more seasoned athletes!” To which I responded, “You mean, like salt and pepper?” (based on the color of hair and beards).
The water’s reported temperature had almost scared me away from racing — 57-61 degrees, according to a lake fishing website — so I had borrowed from Coach Steve a thermal wetsuit, which turned out to be unnecessary and a mistake: unnecessary because the water was probably in the upper sixties (teaching me not to trust an online temperature report that didn’t change during the week, despite warmer air temps), and mistake because I felt like I was a sausage. So, I got into a comfortable swim, but couldn’t push very much, because my arms felt restricted. Checked in: How am I feeling? Like it’s a nice day for a short swim. Lousy results: 23:16 (including the run up the beach), something like a 1:59 min/100 yds. 89/225 Overall.
Stripped off the suit before I left the beach — the water in the suit being the best lubricant for that purpose — and got through Transition 1 pretty quickly. As I left, a guy shouts out, “Go, Salt n’ Pepper!” T1 in 2:14 — now, 71/224 OA…
Bike was a very hilly course — 2,500 feet over 28 miles — and although I used to not care about hills because everyone was going to suffer with me, now that I’m 60, I feel it more…. Especially with a new condition: bursitis in my hips, which kicked in at around 20 minutes (rather than waiting until 45 or 60 minutes, back in the salad days…). So, I realized that skipping PT in favor of other training is simply not an option anymore; really, I might skip the workouts in the future in favor of PT, because when my hips are stiff and preventing me from generating power, what’s the point of trying to get stronger? But the good news with this new attitude: rarely do I marvel at the beautiful scenery, dappled sunlight through freshly green trees, chatting with the other slow to medium riders. (At other, longer races I’ve thought, “This is kind of pretty. So what. Everything hurts…”). On the second loop, found myself calling out “on your left, on your left!” Then apologizing when I realized the two folks ahead of me were slowing for that treacherous hairpin turn before climbing again….
Got through it, enjoying it more than most any other race (the silver lining to the hip pain limiting my wattage output), but another lackluster metric: 1:47 for 28 miles = 15.7 mph. 69/222 OA. Still, wishing I could tell my folks that it was going well…
Run was hilly too: 960 feet over the 10k. I’m just plugging along, noticing but not judging the pace, breathing hard but getting my heart rate more under control, it’s still pretty (though the pavement is pretty broken up, and I’m mostly staring at pavement) and I plan on cranking it out the last 2 miles but after pausing for the last of water stop my right hamstring starts to cramp up and I realize if I stop I’ll never start again so on we go. Not much left in the tank to get much faster, but i remember that it ends downhill and there’s the inflated FINISH LINE archway, and it’s DONE.
Run was 53:18 = 8:34 pace (a lot slower than I hoped, but all I could do today). Bottom line: 3:06:21, which is… 59/222 OA (pretty good for an older guy) and 1st in Age Group (… out of 2 finishers in the 60-64 bracket; I think 2 more guys dropped out; so, it could be worse!)
… and after!
Real bottom line? I enjoyed this race more than most, because even though I couldn’t tap into the power/wattage/speed I’ve had in other events, I was in the moment without judgment for virtually all of it. “He CAN be taught.”
Winning is the only thing. But…
But also this was the first race after my mother died in January of this year, and my father in March. It was a rough winter. If my mother were alive, she would have been worried all day until I called to tell her I had survived; if my Dad were here, I’d have to tell him again what a triathlon is, and watch him shake his head and say, “Why would you do that?”
A tree ring for every year, right? Not enough years with my parents.
Spoiler alert: this was not my fastest marathon, but it was my best one. In control the whole race, an unbelievably constant pace, and after failing by 1 minute to BQ (that is, Qualify for the Boston Marathon) at New Jersey, the first of four prior marathons, in THIS race, I qualified.
After a week in Miami for the International Trademark Association (INTA) Leadership Conference (including a late night with The Opposition, a rock band of very talented lawyers from around the world), I flew into Philly on Friday before the Sunday race.
The Opposition, Live in Miami
Other than rehearsing until midnight Monday and playing until midnight (rather than 1 a.m.!) Tuesday, the INTA conference had been a study in moderation – e.g., napping for an hour Thursday afternoon, because I was Doing a Marathon on Sunday.
Flew into Philly, registered late afternoon at the Convention Center, got a Beyond Burger instead of waiting until 8:30 pm for a table at the nicer Italian restaurant (crowded with the next day’s half marathoners). On Saturday, had lunch with our nephew Josh at a Korean hot pot restaurant which was AMAZING.
Korean Hot Pot at the Chubby Cattle. (Josh ate the shrimp, thank you.)
Leaving Chinatown, I saw a group of 6 African men, slight and mostly short, with one of them peering into his cell phone for directions to wherever they were going to eat — The Professionals! OMG, this was the closest I would ever get to such greatness. I said to the guy with the cell phone, “Good luck! I’ll be watching your backs…”.
Had to have a FaceTime call with Coach Steve to determine what to wear, because on race day the temperature was dropping to 26 degrees and 21 with the wind chill, so dressed on the warmer side: tights, long sleeve tech shirt, heavyweight tech shirt over that — and two more layers of old clothing I’d take off and leave by the roadside as the race began.
Setting up the race gear…
Saturday night pasta dinner with Hastings’ own Dan Fingleton (who ended up running an extraordinary 3:10, a 7-minute PR!) and his friend Elana.
Tried to get to the starting area by 6:00, pleased to get there at 6:09. But waited a dangerously long time for security, rushing to find the line of UPS trucks to store dry clothes for after the race, and getting through the portable toilet line (alas, I cheated, pretending to know someone near the head of the line for the toilets) — just in time to rush through the corrals to my assigned section a few minutes before the horn went off at 7:00 a.m. Tight, but sufficient!
A long wait to get through security…
I found myself next to two pacers shooting to finish in 3:50, and we could tag along if we wished. I struggled with a range of goals: I had trained to finish in 3 hours, 45 minutes, just to come within spitting distance of the 3:31 I had done in my first marathon. I wanted to look back and not feel that even though the next three races over the years — two in NYC, another in NJ — had been 40 minutes slower, and I had completed two Ironman triathlons, the Marathon was not going to be the distance that kicked my ass. But 3:50 was BQ time for 60-64, and I had backup goals: finishing without losing steam or walking would be achievements as well…
I stuck with those two pacers. My watch said we were doing 8:35-8:40 min/miles, suggesting they were much faster than the 8:50 we should be doing — but they kept saying we were on target, and as the ever patient and generous running buddy Zander knows, my watch can be wildly inaccurate. When the stick broke in half in the wind and the shorter guy carried it, they were hard to see, but the bigger guy talked a lot and loudly so I followed pretty closely. In the early miles, got acquainted with the group and settled in through Miles 1-7, with great, enthusiastic crowds on Walnut Street, wind at our back as we crossed the Schuykill (“SKOO-gill”) River, feeling ready for the first hill approaching Drexel (having visited Josh 4-5 weeks ago and run 18 miles of the course).
The 3:50 pacer crew – my kinda people!
Felt solid but anxious that an old injury would flare up or I wouldn’t get past the 14-mile wall I had run into in the past; ready to back off the hubris of trying to reach my prime goals so I wouldn’t crash and burn like the Brazilian pro in the NYC Marathon, two weeks ago (who took a 2-minute lead but fell apart at Mile 20).
Failed nutrition was why I had bonked in 2016 and 2017, so I felt crazy but happy to wear a water belt throughout the race: taking 4 gulps of UCAN “superstarch” at 0:45, 1:45 and 2:45, giving it 35 minutes to kick in and last for an hour, with SALTSTICK tablets and HUMA gels on the hour to supplement (and caffeine to give me super powers at 3 hours); and Precision Hydration in the other 10 oz. bottle, sipping it for two hours before I had to fill it at an aid station and pop in another half-tablet (because plain water tasted dissatisfying). Miles 8-12 were the hills going into and around the Zoo’s park, and the pacers were great (“shorten your stride!”) so I picked up my cadence and felt solid but worried, wondering whether the pace was too fast.
Ted, retired from the military, talked too much around Mile 13 and made me anxious, so I pulled away as we crossed the bridge back to the east side of the river, and I could feel my heart rate was kicking up a the fateful Mile 14 (“feel” because Iwasn’t wearing my heart rate monitor, it had crapped out from a low battery on my last run on Friday in Miami; Miami was so, so long ago…) but I stayed calm (an achievement in itself) and got to Mile 16 feeling strong so I decided to kick it up a little and at Mile 18 thought I would leave the pacers.
We’re facing into the wind as I go up the hill towards Manatuck, a hip little street area where we’ll turnaround, and at Mile 20 I was in virgin territory (having only run as far as 18 when I trained) and still feeling solid but cautious. Whenever my attention wandered, I focused on keeping my cadence up as I got fatigued, and on Gratitude as my mantra.
Even when I thought I was surging ahead, I stuck with the 3:50 Pacers…
In Manatuck I thought I was wearing sunglasses because it was a little dim and I realized my eyelashes had frozen, and approaching and rounding the turnaround there were cheering crowds, and a kid with a sign “To Pee or Not to Pee?” to which I said, “Put that sign away!” because I hadn’t thought about it until then, and folks offering cups of beer on the roadside, so close that I could SMELL it. The home stretch of the last 10K, I can handle 10K, wind is in our faces again and thought I was picking up the pace but annoyed to hear people cheering “3:50 Pacers!” Dammit, they were right behind me.
But this was my race, and I poured on what I had, 5k left, I had gas in the tank, tried to get faster and panting but not as badly as some folks grunting around me, needed to get ahead of them because their pain made me too aware of my own, passing folks who were walking and had obviously started much faster, I’m focusing on form and a mile to go and OMG the wind as we approach the boathouse and there’s the Museum and the finish line is surprisingly near and the crowds are screaming, and I MADE IT, arms raised, feeling blessed, eyes tearing up.
The Finish Chute!
Bottom line: 3:48:21 and unbelievably consistent pace throughout the entire race: 8:42 min/mile at 10k, 8:43 at 13.1 miles, 8:43 at 30K, 8:43 at finish. Not the 8:36 pace I had wanted for a 3:45 finish, but still fast enough for the 3:50 that qualifies for Boston (in 2024, maybe, depending on the “discount” they impose to limit the race to 25,000). And the fastest since my first marathon in 2014, a vast 25-minute improvement over the last three marathons. 24/147 AG; 2,811/8,377 OA.
More importantly, I had been in control the whole race; I hadn’t bonked; I hadn’t walked; and my legs seized up AFTER the race, not during it. Everything hurts, nothing is injured. The pain cave wasn’t too dark, and I kind of enjoyed the whole race.
Coach Steve Redwood at www.TriEndeavors.com had been amazing and patient: after a season of triathlons, we focused on running and building mileage; did strength and cycling once a week, skipping the swims; and he helped me get through mild injuries and regroup with This Race as the goal. I was never more ready for a marathon.
Now, THAT’S a medal.
I’m not sure why I do endurance races, but I know I found meaning in this one, and success, not just because of the numeric result and BQ’ing but also because I owned it. Big thanks to Rachel, my long-suffering wife, for being the most supportive person on the planet.
Rachel prepared my breakfast for race day and left it at Dan’s house…
Atlantic City, New Jersey is an interesting place. The glitz of the casinos is within sight but largely apart from the working class, kind of dirty streets with neighborhood restaurants where I stayed the night before the race. (The Tropicana Hotel, where I was going to stay with Kevin and Zander before they bailed out for various unfortunate reasons, was shining its neon through the window of my AirBNB.)
This was my 10th Half Ironman distance. But after a shin-splint injury and getting over a sore throat had broken up the training, I had only started to feel ready the week before race day.
“Mandatory pre-race orientation”
Set alarm for 3:45 a.m. to pack up, fuel up and leave before 5. Seemed crazy early for a 6:45 start, but the race director accurately predicted a 30-minute delay to park (everyone funneling down one narrow road to Bader Field). It was a full moon, and I thought, Lon Chaney (the Wolfman) might have cried out, “Oh, no! I must race again!”
Transition area – post load-in, pre-race…
Lots of new athletes, enthusiasm and jitters all around. Lucked out: with my assigned spot almost at the end of the bike rack, I could store my big tri bag between a rack and a garbage can. Slapped on sunscreen for what it would be worth, ate and drank the rest of my morning fuel, and waited in a relatively short line for the portable toilets.
Despite the race director’s attempt to get athletes to self-seed for the swim, and my dutifully trying to line up with others who expected to do the 1.2 miles in 37 minutes, it didn’t work: we all lined up in one direction behind our estimated time placards, then turned 90 degrees to right and became a disorganized mass walking to the pier. Chatted with strangers, then jumped, waded, swam HARD for the start and tried to find my rhythm.
The Swim Course
Conditions were terrific: no wind, 73.5 degrees F water (perfect for a full length wetsuit), and unusually frequent sight buoys (every 100 meters!). But… the water was crowded with swimmers the whole way, in part because of the failed self-seeding; also, the sharp turns at the end of the out-and-back snarled up a lot of people around those big red buoys. And there seemed to be some head current as we crossed the channel, first at the turnaround and then to cross over to the finish line. I later learned (because Coach Steve wisely told me to ignore my swim time until after the race) that I finished 42:30, a dismal 2:12 minute/100 meter pace, but 10/43 for my age group (AG).
T1 went great: found my row (#3) and my area (almost the end of the rack, across from the Iroman tent), and wetsuit slipped off as if it were lubricated (that spray-on worked!). BUT it took 5:12 minutes because we all had to ride a full mile, across the tarmac of this former airport, to get out of transition. And the bike route didn’t officially start until the road!
Ride was thankfully uneventful and manageable. The course was so flat, they didn’t even bother to provide an elevation map. Two and ½ weird loops (the charismatic race director told us at orientation, “It’s only two laps. But one of you, I promise, will miss the finish line turn and instead go back into Atlantic City a third time…”; and I swore to myself, “it won’t be me. I’ve paid my dues by missing turns at OTHER races…”).
The Bike Course was pretty confusing on paper… not so bad live.
No wind to speak of, despite being along the ocean shore, and kind of cool to zoom along the Atlantic City Expressway in a lane closed to traffic. (“Thank you, officer!”). Started racking up 5-mile laps on the watch in around 15 minutes. So I was tempted to make that personal breakthrough of averaging 20 mph, and also tried to keep within the 165-watt goal Coach Steve had suggested. But the power meter really didn’t work: now that I developed a light, even cadence, the pedals felt less pressure and so recorded ridiculously low wattage (125? 144?). So I had to go by RPE (relative perceived exertion), and I dared not exceed a 7 or 8 on a scale of 10 for fear of Bonking on the Run. So by Mile 45, I realized I’d either have to push harder to make the 20 mph goal, or Stick to the Plan and survive the run.
I made the more boring but safer choice. Finished the ride in 2:49:55 (=19:78 mph), 16/43 AG. And then, of course, the extra mile ride back to transition. (This was really a 72.3 mile triathlon…). T2 went well (again, a lucky and easy to find spot at almost the end of a rack) and completed in exactly the same time as T1: 5:12 minutes.
Ah, the run: by midway through, at noon, it was only 73 degrees and 74% humidity. Not bad at all. The wooden boardwalk initially was thrilling because there was a bounce to it, but everything started to feel less exciting as the race wore on. Almost entirely without shade for 13.1 miles.
The Run Course
The plan had been to start at 9:00-9:15 minute/mile pace for the first 8 to 10 miles, then pour it on. I did it in reverse: first four miles ranged from 8:35 to 8:58, and it didn’t feel sustainable; in fact, I was ready to quit at Mile 4. So I settled into vowing not to go slower than 9:15, checking my watch, ignoring my heart rate, willing myself not to walk because I’d never start up again. And at that relatively slow pace, I kept plugging at it, taking mild pleasure at counting those I passed (37, I think), but cheating because I didn’t count how many people passed me.
Mostly it was digging deep, trying to just hold on, pretty certain I couldn’t push faster, maybe I was fighting for 5th place, maybe that guy I’m chasing is in my age group, there’s Paul from my last race who took second place to my first, I gotta beat him, working my way one mile at a time, nothing felt injured but everything hurt, only 3 miles left, 27 minutes isn’t very long; actually, 27 minutes is VERY long, does this route REALLY go up hill a mile before the finish? At least I was ready for the last 50 yards running on the sand and they announced my name and hometown and OMG I finished.
Stumbled to the surf and stood there knee deep for fear if I sat down I’d not be able to stand and I’d drown there. My heart rate dropped eventually but it felt like I was panting for 45 minutes after the race had ended.
Eventually got the results: 1:58:44 run (= 9:07 minute/mile), not my fastest by a long shot but 7/43 AG (picking up 9 slots!). Race total: 5:42:51. 8/43 AG, 440/1692 overall. (Turns out, Paul beat me, even though my swim, run and transition times were faster — he smoked the bike at 21.5 mph!)
So, what’s the takeaway? The results are fine, not as dramatic as the podium but a solid performance in a tough crowd. I mean, those of us who are still racing at 60-64 years are pretty serious about racing. I wish I could dig deep without digging into so much discomfort; the memory of this race is not pleasant; but I guess that’s ridiculous, I came to race, and that was everything I owned that day.
Regardless of the relatively slow pace (relative to what I’ve done in the past), it might be the deepest I’ve gone into the pain cave. I left behind nothing on the race course — except the heels of my running shoes.
I had to downgrade this race in Kingston, NY from a 70.3 to an Olympic distance. Too much fitness lost to … well, to the demands of work and family.
Spoiler alert: Made it to the podium
The 1 hour 40 drive the day before the race for registration was surprisingly refreshing, the world rolling over country roads, and when I warmed up for 20 minutes each of swim, bike, run, I realized I was on vacation for a day. Not a lot of people at this “Alpha Wins” brand race, so I could have come up on race day, but I’d been burnt before by the wait wait wait and rush rush rush. Drove back south for 40 minutes to stay with Richard (whom I’ve known for 28 years, when we lived in the same building in Brooklyn Heights) and the wonderful Stephanie in Newburgh, where we had a simple but just stunning meal of grilled salmon, lots of brown rice and roasted broccoli. And, well, a bit of wine (to which Richard later attributed my success on race day).
The wonderful Richard Gary and Stephanie Brown
The 40 minute drive back to Kingston wasn’t terrible, because it wasn’t too early: they started the half and full “Ironman” distance racesbefore the sprint and Olympic, so a 9:15 start enabled me to sleep in to 5:30 a.m. Still, disappointed that I got there just before the 7 a.m. cutoff to the parking lot, only to find the lot was full and I had to turn around and park a mile away, Met the talkative Paul (fellow age grouper: Old Men), and realized, I used to be anxious like that. But not today.
The swim was gorgeous: 73.5 degree water, perfect for a sleeveless wetsuit, in a lake surrounded by forest. I had warmed up the day before with one loop around the two-loop course, and felt relaxed, perhaps overly so: my watch vibrated at 500 yards and I checked to make sure it was working after bumping a guy as we rounded the second buoy, only to learn that I was very, very slow. Oh, well, I’d had very little time in the pool the last 5 weeks, and I’d have to work a little harder. Was tempting to quit after one loop, but I hadn’t come this far for a DNF, and I might as well just tough it out. Bottom line: 32:06 for 0.9 miles, perhaps my slowest ever, but 25/96 OA (over all) on the swim, not too bad.
A quarter-mile barefoot run over gravel and grass to T1, but surprisingly painless; adrenaline is a beautiful thing.
View along the bike route
The bike was two out and backs, each leg the same 6.2 miles, and I dug into it: from the very beginning a guy with gray hair and a black shirt passed me and I thought I’d never catch that fellow age grouper, but I’m just going as hard as I can on THIS day, averaging close to 200 watts with surges over 250 watts up those long rolling hills and tucking into aero to catch up on the downhills. Beautiful scenery, mostly good roads. I later learned it was a hot day in the upper 80s but I really didn’t notice. Last leg of the ride, I leap-frogged with a younger guy in red and the Man in Black (I caught up!) and learned as we got off the bike at T2, “Hey, you’re not anywhere NEAR my age group, are you?” Still, I’d prefer to be chasing a bunny than running from a monster. Bottom line: 1:22:43 finish over the 25 miles, avg. 18.2 mph, and 24/96 overall on the bike.
Ah, the run: on the one hand, almost entirely shaded on a former rail trail into the woods, so that again, I didn’t notice the heat. In fact, twice we passed an area where it was suddenly COLD; probably some ice caves; I felt like I was in some elvish glen….
On the other hand, having pushed hard for the relatively short ride, it was tough work from the very beginning; I really felt I was forced to earn each, individual mile. But I counted everyone I passed, each of them younger (by definition!); I couldn’t tell who was on the 70.3, sprint, or my race, but I netted 15 runners (passed by someone who must have taken first place for woman, doing close to 6:00 minute/miles, furious that she’d been stuck behind a pickup truck on the ride). And here comes Paul, the actual age group competition, running towards me a half-mile after I’d done the turnaround, so unless he’s really really fast he’s not going to catch me. Which leaves me with the harder task of running as hard as I can, anyway, even though whatever place I have on the podium is already determined. I try to push harder, pick up cadence, get this DONE, and it’s uncomfortable, even unpleasant, but reach that last mile and am grateful to see and run beneath the big FINISH sign. Bottom line: 50:44 for the 10k, avg. of 8:09 min/mile, and 17/96 OA. Total race time: 2:52:55.
The participation medal (given to everyone who crosses the finish line…
Which translates to first place for my age group! Not only 1st out of 4 for the 60-64 men, but fast enough for 1st for men’s 55-59, 3rd for 50-55, 3rd for 45-49 and 3rd for 40-45. Take THAT, gravity!
For the Hastings Runners Group, and others with little time and/or short attention spans here is the short version: one of my best Half Ironman races, at least in terms of attitude, control and execution, came in 8/54 AG, and my best finishing time since 2016 (when I was, well, 6 years younger).
Actual finish time: 5:34:21
For the rest of you, read on!
A Half Ironman in Galveston, Texas had seemed like a good idea two years ago, before I opted to defer it three times because of COVID. Winter training hadn’t just been about maintaining because starting in October I had to build from zero (recovering from treating an injury that had prevented me from running). As the day approached, I had some cold feet about schlepping all the way to Houston. (Galveston turns out to be a little over an hour from Houston and a a weekend vacation destination for a folks from there).
Houses on stilts…
Everywhere…
Even this bar, on stilts.
But like the athletes I met from Boston, Montana and Wisconsin, we all wanted to start racing before May or June, when the water might warm up in our regions.
Travel was challenging — my flight was canceled, so I hung out at La Guardia Airport for 6 hours. But I had my laptop and got a lot of work done, and staying zen at the airport actually set the tone for the weekend and the race. Even after the plane landed at 6:30 pm (a lot later than planned), I had a 40-minute wait for a pre-arranged car rental, but again, it didn’t bother me (and I enjoyed chatting with some folks driving another 5 hours to New Orleans to watch college basketball). The AirBnb host gave a recommendation for a Tex-Mex restaurant and I got there an hour before it closed. What’s there to worry about?
Nice cafe for breakfast, checked into the race next morning, picked up my beastie from TriBike Transport. Race evening: got into taking out all gear and clothing arranging my suitcase and tri bag, so I could make a quick getaway straight to the airport if I had to, and my Outrageous Commitment to Detail didn’t bother anyone.
Morning of the race: I intended to set my alarm for 3:45, but mistakenly set it for 4:45 — so I was not going to get to transition by 5 am…. But, found I could really get all my nutrition together and get out of the house in an hour. Got to the race site only 45 minutes before transition closed. Didn’t have the time to stress, just set up my area and be the last person out of the portable outhouses.
The water was unusually calm (last year, I learned, there had been white caps), with a gentle headwind for a short leg out, then 1500 meters with a slight crosswind current (as opposed to the rough n’ tumble Gulf of Mexico, where I declined to swim the day before; I couldn’t cram for this test; whatever training I had completed would have to be enough). The water was also 71 degrees – perfect for a full length wetsuit. Just before the swim, though, part of my wetsuit ripped as i was putting it on.
My poor wetsuit…
I wasn’t sure what I’d do if the whole left arm unraveled. I lucked out, the untorn portion stayed intact. And what could I do about it, anyway?
The race director said we would self-select to start swimming with others who expected to finish the 1.2 mile course at approximately the same time. But by the time I came out of my late morning start, the line of athletes waiting to jump off the dock stretched back for blocks along the bay facing the mainland. So the water was pretty crowded the whole way with much slower swimmers. (I later learned — from a woman at the airport who had driven the support “sag wagon” — that spreading out and delaying the swim was on purpose! Slowing down when athletes entered and finished the swim would in turn slow down the rate of athletes getting on their bicycles after the swim and make the bike route less congested; and sure enough, there were only two, self-inflicted accidents, instead of the pile ups of past years).
When we finally started, I was relaxed, almost bored from the waiting, rather than my normal jittery “what am I DOING here?” Instead of starting with all-out sprinting as planned (because I hadn’t warmed up in water; indeed, no one was allowed to do so), I cranked it up comfortably so my heart rate wasn’t out of control. Swim felt solid – got into a good rhythm, mostly looking left (my stronger side), passed a lot of people. Which was challenging in terms of swimming around them but frankly gave me a psychological boost.
Finished in 36:52, a 1:55 min./100m pace (which translates to 1:45 min./100 yds). One of my better swim results for this distance race — and it felt great. Ran up the exit ramp and legs didn’t cramp up (in contrast with my prior two races). 13/58 for my age group… Self-stripped the wetsuit by the exit while it was wet – a vast improvement in transition time. T1 in 4:10.
The 56-mile bike ride was a challenging exercise in self-restraint: Coach Steve (at www.TriEndevors.com) had made me agree to ride at around 165 watts, and not to exceed 180 watts, and THIS race I was going to Do the Best I Could Today rather than bonking on the run from trying to take the bike too fast. He predicted I’d average 19.9 mph (what is this magic algorithm, Steve?). With the wind behind us the first half (on a very straight out and back mostly along the water – very pretty), I was comfortably flying at 23-24 mph.
The shore was pretty but nothing to block the wind…
Ah, but the ride back of course was into the wind, so by mile 30, I was doing 17 or 18 mph. My heart rate was steady in the low 120s (an indicator of not bonking), but my legs ached from the effort of staying on top of the aero bars: first my left hip (dammit, I had promised myself I would do clamshell exercises every day to build up those muscles and avoid this particular pain), then my quads, then my glutes. But I had to stay aero the whole time, because whenever I got up briefly to get nutrition or re-fill my water torpedo, my wattage (and therefore effort) jumped up 10-15 watts, just from taking on the wind resistance. So, suffer. The 3-hour indoor sessions on the trainer all winter actually prepared me for this type of race: flat and straight. (But no Netflix when riding on the road, of course). Bottom line: 2:52:46, average of 19.37 mph. (Well done, Steve. How are you at handicapping horses and the stock market?) 17/58 for my AG. T2 in 2:14. (My transitions were only 5 seconds slower than the AG winner – who finished in a blistering 4:50 hours.)
The run (13.1 miles) was another victory over my desire to Go. Fast. Now. The plan was to run 9:30 to 10 minutes per mile, or keep my heart rate below 143 bpm, whichever was faster. (If that makes any sense.). But running off the bike, with my Fast Shoes and their springy carbon-plate inserts (am I overcompensating? You betcha), and my adductors aching from riding that horse for almost 3 hours, I stumbled into 9:00 minute miles. Again and again. And I’m trying to slow down when I peak over 143 bpm, honestly, because I want this to be the Best I Could Do Today, and I don’t want the run to collapse like I experienced during Ironman Florida 70.3 in April 2019 or the New England 70.3 in August 2021. But the 9-minute pace just felt like I was jogging, and if I tried to go any slower I’d be walking, and I was NOT going to join all those people who were walking this extraordinarily intricate, but well-marked, three-loop course.
This is the run course. Are you kidding me?
Steve and I had discussed my starting to get faster at mile 8 or 10, and I didn’t feel ready at 8, but at the 10 mile marker I took off, ignoring the watch and a coach (total stranger, giving encouragement to whoever would listen) said, “There you go! Now he’s racing.” And another coach shouted out a mile later, “Look at that stride.” Man, all those runs with Zander and Dietmar, pushing the envelope, really paid off. And my pace dropped from 9:01 at Mile 9, to 8:51 at Mile 10, 8:38 at Mile 11, 8:43 at mile 12, and 8:36 at Mile 13, and the last 1/10th of a mile at an 8:08 pace. I was flat out. Everything hurt but nothing was injured and I was in the moment, working as hard as I could.
Finished the half marathon in 1:58:22, at an 8:53 min/mile average pace— a solid 10 minutes faster than predicted. (Like an old-fashioned elementary school report card: “Exceeds expectations.”). And finished the race in 5:34:21 hours. And came in 8/54 for my age group (yes, a jump of 9 slots from the ride!), 535/1,518 for men, 638/2,122 overall.
The participation medal. But very glad to have participated.
The bottom line: it was the Best I Could Do Today, and attained in a relaxed, zen-like attitude. (With an extra hour’s sleep.). I could get used to this lifestyle.
It is much harder to write about the races that don’t end on or close to the podium, and to find victory in them anyway.
I had downgraded first from the Toughman 70.3 triathlon to the Olympic distance (because weddings and other family travels had prevented sufficient training), and then from the Olympic triathlon to the Olympic aquabike (because I have hernias that suddenly flared up and told me that I can’t run; this is what it means to listen to the body…). So, finding that I could still swim and bike without a problem, I was lucky to find that Toughman provided a swim/bike option.
It’s just as well that race day pickup was prohibited because Friday’s check-in was the most disorganized cluster I’ve ever known. When we arrived at 2:30, there were 10 people ahead of us; we didn’t finish until an hour later, when at least 30 people were waiting! I recognized a referee from other local races who muttered, “This has been a rough week, today…”
* To add insult to injury, and consistent with the disorganized check-in, there were no photos or results posted for the Aquabike after the race! (Luckily, I grabbed results from the tracking app…)
Race day itself, I learned that Aquabike is a THING, especially at this so-called national championship event (for which you could register without qualifying at an earlier race). While I had assumed that most participants would be, like me, downgrading because of a running injury, I was sadly mistaken. Some guys waiting at the starting area had travelled from New Hampshire, Indiana, and Florida for this race. THIS was their sport. They were SERIOUS swimmers (“how fast do you expect to swim?” “Oh, in open water, I can only do around 1:14 min/100 yards”) and apparently strong cyclists as well.
The lake is beautiful, and it’s a mass start from the beach. Horn goes off, we run in, and I’ve got a good line on the 5 buoys going out, short turn, 5 buoys coming back. Despite a race official telling me the day before that the water was 68 degrees (“yeah, that’s what it is historically”), it felt like a beautiful 73-75! So the full sleeve wetsuit was almost too warm. Swim felt strong – I had improved my stroke and was enjoying an efficient pull — but apparently I settled into a comfortable rather than a challenging pace. Finished the 1.5 km/0.9 miles in 28:19 (that is, 1:50 min./100 yds.) Meh. (5 days later, on a relaxed recovery swim in the pool, I averaged 1:48). I really need more killer instinct on the swim… But here’s improvement: Legs didn’t cramp up coming out of the water! And yes, the guy who did first place in my age group did it at 1:14 min/100 m.
T1 in 2:44; was toying with arm warmers, but adrenaline masked the chill and left them behind.
The ride was gorgeous, though rough road, and hilly – but I knew the hills from riding the course with Alan Gold two weeks earlier, getting lost, and then driving it. (He was racing the Olympic tri – and later on race day would WIN FOR HIS AGE GROUP beating 2nd place by 0:21 seconds! GOOOOOOO, ALAN!). I decided my goal was just to do ride as hard as I could, since I wasn’t pacing for a run afterwards; a 9 or 10 RPE (relative perceived exertion). And I passed quite a few people to start, keeping my wattage around 220. But whoever came out of the water 8-10 minutes earlier wasn’t waiting for me, and then the triathlon racers started to pass me. Mostly younger; a man and a woman crested a hill with me and then going downhill passed out of sight, jockeying for position; how did they go so fast? I finally passed a guy with “70 [years old]” written on his calf; I said, “You’re killing it!”; he said, “I come from good stock.” Tried harder to make sure I at least beat him…
Ultimately finished the ride in 1:21:05 (= 18.6 mph). Despite my efforts! Bottom line: finished the race in 1:52:07; 11/11th for AG, 34/63 male, 42/109 overall. Meh!
So on the one hand, it’s obviously disappointing to rank so poorly. On the other hand, the racing felt good, I had fun (without taking it easy), was competing with some stellar guys who apparently focus on this sport, and didn’t have the edge I normally have by being able to catch up on the run. What the heck, I did another race, it’s the end of the season, and I’m getting hernia surgery next week. Next year will be better!
Ah, August 8, 2021 in Webster, Mass. was a long time ago, but failing to take time to grieve prevents one from letting go. Among the good, bad and the ugly, this was bad and ugly. So it will be short!
Great to travel with Kevin Carlsten. Highlight of the weekend was dinner (outdoors on a beach) and my sitting in with a guitar player (since I had my sax with me, having gotten it repaired on the way to the race site).
The 1.2 mile swim was solid. Seeded myself for 40 minutes, finished faster. Legs cramped on the way out of the water, but didn’t fall. Improvement!
Bike started strong, but a cop directed me to take a wrong turn, so I rode 2 miles extra including a thrilling downhill until turning around only when I got to a 5-way intersection with no signs and no volunteers — and there was my downfall: I thought if I pushed hard, i could make up for that 6 minute difference (no, dummy, it’s 12 minutes). I should have given up on “THE PODIUM” and just stuck with Coach Steve’s plan of averaging 190 watts. So tried to go fast and ultimately tanked on the bike; Kevin (doing the Olympic distance and starting 20 minutes after me) passes before I finish the first loop; I get off the bike and I’m toast before starting the run.
And the run! The course consists of out and back, but ducking into three or four neighborhoods off the side, in and out EACH TIME you pass the entrance. I am starting okay, but by mile 4 have slowed down, and towards the end a volunteer says “only 1 mile to go!” And my Garmin says I’ve only run 9.5 on a 13.1 mile run. I am about to give up, but I’ve sacrificed a week of vacation with Rachel for this race, I am not going to get a DNF (did not finish). So I turn around, go in and out of the nearest loop, and finish (and because I didn’t pass all the timing mats, the race director asked me to confirm that my Garmin said “13 miles” for the run).
Swim: 38:40 (2:00 min/100m); T1: 2:43; Bike: 3:21 (16.7 mph); T2: 2:10; Run: 2:18:02 (10:33 min/mile), final time: 6:22:35. Oy, vey. 5 out of 8 for AG, 63/ __ male, 84/138 OA.
So, this was just a terrible experience all around, with terrible results and painful, as well. But the weather was wonderful! What’s not to like?
This was the friendliest group of racers I can recall — everyone talkative and eager, because we were all so grateful to be racing again after the pandemic. All that training and solitude, the uncertainty of whether and then when races would start again and in what format (panting through a mask for 5+ hours?), and now a reason for all that training, not just that theoretical mirage of a race “in a few months”.
A lot of people also drove down from the NYC area, but I met folks from Denver and Indianapolis, and the roster showed a guy from Santo Domingo. Everyone was hungry to compete and to be with others who understood that this is more than a hobby.
Quite a few of us were also humbled by the lack of racing and training challenges — and I was among them, having lost 4 weeks in May with an Achilles hot spot, back strain and cold/asthma flare-up. (Vaccination is great, but stop wearing a mask and we get colds again!). With that loss of fitness in mind, my new coach Steve Redwood (with whom I had trained for the duathlon in April, but this was our first triathlon) put together a soberly realistic rather than ambitious race plan: 40 minutes for the 1.2 mile swim, 172-190 watts (20.1 mph) on the 56-mile bike ride, and 10 minute/mile on the 13.1 mile run. And since he was open to discussing and my tweaking it a little, I bought into it.
The Eagleman in Cambridge, Maryland is a 4-hour schlep from the New York suburbs, and even longer if you use a GPS system that doesn’t give spoken directions to announce that you missed the exit off I-95 and adding another 1 ½ hours. But race buddy Nicholas Moore and I overcame that adversity and finally got to our AirBnB Friday night where Ralph our host awaited us, a few miles from the race start.
Where the heck IS Cambridge, Maryland?
Registered, swam and checked out the course on Saturday.
Nicholas Moore in the Transition Area – getting ready to race!
Sunday morning, got up at 3:30 a.m. because of all the fueling, prepping water and nutrition bottles, stretching (respect those back muscles!), and needing to arrive by 5 a.m. so we would have a good parking spot and not need the shuttle buses. Flood lights lit the transition area and the lines for the portable toilets were long but manageable.
So many athletes; so many bikes; face masks not required!
Though we swam the day before, there was no swim warmup area. We lined up by expected swim results; I opted to be on the fast end of a slower group. (I asked two woman in their early 60s if I was in the right place: “40-43, or 37-40”? One replied, “Depends on my mood…”) Found Nicholas, we chatted with the other guys around us, and after a 6:40 gun time, we started at 7:05.
The water was beautiful: only slightly salty (it’s the Choptank River, not far from the ocean) and 73.7 degrees. I had been on the edge of wearing a full-sleeve wetsuit, because it’s faster, but ¾ through the race (my watch vibrates every 500 yards) realized my legs were warm and was glad for choosing sleeveless. The start and the buoys were a bit of a mosh pit, but definitely better for my attitude to overtake than to be overtaken. Swim felt strong, really dug into the pull and a nice tempo. I realized that I prefer to breathe on my right side because I swim harder (and better) breathing on my left side, so that’s what I did the whole race, keeping an eye on those buoys in the big counterclockwise “rectangular” course (as Nicholas and I observed the day before, that last leg was a lot longer than the first one). Spot on my goal time for the swim: 40:20 minutes (2:05 minutes/100 yds). Probably my slowest, but felt solid, and always grateful to have finished an open water swim! 28/98 for my AG…
Swim Out!
T1 (1st transition) was problematic: Though we all got help getting out of the river and running up an asphalt boat load-in ramp — after standing up, my knees buckled and I promptly fell! Cut up my left elbow and knee, and needed a volunteer’s help to get up again because my calf cramped. I figured it gave me some grit (indeed, embedded me with grit) but I had a hard time running across the park to my bike rack, breathing heavily after the fall, sitting down to get off the wetsuit and get on socks and shoes. So, a very slow T1 (first transition): 4:58, more than 2 minutes slower than the AG leader…
Still bleeding as I got on the bike (a racer smiled and said “took a spill?”), so a little grimacing on the elbow pads to the aero bars, tooled through town and down some tree-shaded small streets before we hit the big open fields, marshes and bay views. Around 7 miles in, a guy on the side of the road is SITTING by his bike and I shout out “you have what you need?”, and he says “No,” and I start to slow down to help, almost causing an accident (didn’t realize how close behind me other riders were) and I took off again: if someone is so unprepared that he doesn’t bring a spare tire, it’s not my job to save him.
T2 was much less eventful than T1, but I’m out in 4:30; lost another 2 minutes to the AG leader, so clearly I need to improve on this.
Stuck with my plan (172-190 watts— no more! Don’t do it!), was passed by a lot of younger riders, figured I was killing it or more likely my age group’s leaders were just way ahead of me, but surprised how many people I passed just poking along. Either they were great swimmers, or had burnt out early by starting the ride too fast. Towards the end my power dipped into the 160s, so pushed a little to bring it up to goal speed, enjoying the 5-mile lap announcement on my Garmin consistently coming in at or below 15 minutes (20 mph, in contrast with my hilly home turf, just trying to break 20 minutes/15 mph). It’s flat (only 236 feet of elevation) but we hit a few “invisible hills”: the winds off the ocean and marshes. Nicholas and I had driven most of the course (and gotten lost doing it! There’s a theme here…) but the part we actually covered was familiar and comforting. By Mile 45, I was getting tired and glad 11 miles later to get to town with lots of spectators and move on to the run. Bike results: 2:47, 20.15 MPH, 36th/98 for my AG.
Done with the ride, heading towards Bike In
Ah, the run. This was as always the moment of truth. Folks later complained that it got warmer, and there wasn’t a lot of shade, but I didn’t notice it: I was just trying to do the first 3 miles at 10:00 min/mile, and I felt I was just trudging along comfortably but shocked that the first mile was 9:18, next was 9:12, at 4 miles I was 8:56, and worried that I had been way too fast because mile 6 was 10:28, mile 7 was 10:54 (though even the leader lost 1:30 minutes and 2:00 minutes there, all those short street turns at the turnaround on this two loop out-and-back).
At Mile 8, I almost turned to anyone next to me to say “we’re in new territory now: I haven’t run more than 8 miles the last three months” but I kept it to myself — so many people were confessing that because of the pandemic they had failed to keep up with the training; but hearing those apologies DURING the race was not helping anybody.
Back to trudging at what felt like the same speed but by mile 9, I was at a faster pace, 8:53. I had been sipping from my water belt but slowing down to get cups of ice to throw down my one-piece tri-suit/pants (wake up!). By mile 10, Steve had told me just to race, and to enjoy counting all the people I pass. Sure enough there are a lot of folks walking, but I am NOT among them, and by the end of the run I’m net 30 (guy blazes past me just at the finish line) and my last mile is an unbelievable 8:47, despite all those injuries I had a negative split!
Finished the run in 2:01:59 (a 9:17 average), a lot better than the 2:10 we had predicted.
Went to the medical tent and got my Swim Out lacerations cleaned up…
Afterwards, I remembered the difference between recovering from a long triathlon and recovering from a marathon. With a triathlon, it hurts to go up stairs as well as down stairs….
Finished in 5:38:47, 29/98 AG, 472/1,550 OA. Among my slower 70.3s, but faster than I expected, and so glad to have not only finished but to have chosen and stuck with the path of a controlled ride and a negative split on the run. Really felt ownership over this one, instead of the race happening to me.
Nicholas and me, after finishing – what’s not to like?
Call me a hermit, but I really hadn’t thought about triathletes as a community before this race. I mean, each of us is training and even racing on her own, in isolation, doing our best and competing against the next guy; after all, it IS a race. I suppose there are teams, and I suppose I’m on a team (though I’ve not met the other members of TriEndeavors — hint, hint, Coach Steve!). And as my family will sadly report, whenever I meet another triathlete, I’m eager to talk with them (as if they are from my village, and understand what it’s like to be between races). But like a theater production, you can’t race alone; you need the race to exist, the roads closed or at least planned out, the police and volunteer support, and the athletes. This was part of coming out of 16 months of darkness. A new opportunity for gratitude.
I promise you: if you read to the end of this, you’ll laugh.
Along with paying for a NYC law office I scarcely used for the past 12 months, I also paid for the subscription for this dormant website. Turns out both were reasonable investments (though the rental obviously cost much, much more): now that I’m fully vaccinated (finally, an advantage to having asthma!) I’m occasionally back in the office and this weekend, BACK TO RACING.
While I raced, the rest of the house slept…
It was with some trepidation that I prepared for this race, not because of the sprint distance — run 2.1 miles, bike 10 miles, run 2.1 miles — but because of the weather: 32o F (that’s 0o C, for my international friends). Which was fine for a run, but pretty awful for a ride, and I’d frankly been riding indoors all winter to avoid temps like that. Plus the race was a 40-minute drive from my northern suburb to Brooklyn, BEFORE adding in time to find parking… I didn’t review the “last minute”details until 9 pm the night before, only to learn the race didn’t begin at 8 a.m., but at 7 a.m.!
So, I had to get up at 4:30 (Rachel wisely choosing to sleep in another room), take in my nutrition, feed the cats, drive, and try to get there an hour before race time (to get my bib, set up bike transition, use the yes very cold portable outhouse and warmup). I had parked my car and ridden into the park — and I needed help to unclip my helmet, my hands were too cold to feel the clasp! In the transition area, everyone is wearing masks, but squeezing bikes into only 4 racks. Looking through the swag bag to get my racing chip ankle bracelet, I found, in advance of the race, the medal we all received for participating (just like Little League trophies – “everyone gets one”). I held it up to my freezing colleagues and said, “We can go home now!”
An ugly but informative t-shirt
A time-trial cycling race was already under way, but at 7:00 a.m. the starting waves for this duathlon were so casual that the race director said “who wants to go next?” I was only somewhat warmed up, but I figured the sooner I started, the sooner I could finish and go HOME, so at 7:05 I crossed the blue and red racing mats – all alone.
This was the closest all pandemic that I came to a virtual race: going as fast as I can without any bunny to chase or monster to run from, ignoring my watch and feeling the heart rate rise, following the racing staff’s direction to turn left to avoid the bicycle route, panting before I reached the first mile because there’s no pacing on a race this short, noting the pretty lake on my left, and it’s over. 14:26 = 7:07 minute/mile pace. (Having recovered from plantar fasciitis that kept me from running for 6 months in 2020, this was my fastest pace in over a year,)
Rush into T1, change running shoes for bike shoes, throw on my warmest yellow jacket (because THIS guy is not going to survive freezing temps with anything less), which probably costs me some time. Another, younger guy has arrived panting and gets out only slightly behind me (no wardrobe change for him). T1 takes me 1:28 minutes –not great.
I run to Bike Out, get on the road, clip in and start to ride as fast as I can, but with the transition from run to bike, I feel the lactic acid aching and my legs feel like lead and that guy who was just behind me goes zooming off, leaving me as if I’m standing still. (Felt like living inside the indoor biking platform Zwift, which I stopped using because I was getting dropped by avatars of other guys riding in real time…)
The bike course is three, 3.35 mile loops around the park. Again, no one around me (except the TT guys whipping past, as far as I could tell — but I later learned that the winner of our race had averaged 30 mph on the bike!) Tried as hard as I could, but realized I wasn’t applying myself consistently, sometimes going for higher RPM, sometimes going for heavier gearing, cautious around the Saturday morning joggers and dog-walkers… Finished in 32:53, or 18.7 mph. Not very fast; there’s definitely room for improvement.
T2 was faster, back into running shoes (my orange, springy Nikes!), start with a stumbling gait, and I look for where to turn but there’s no sign or anybody at the first driveway and I see a sign that says “Do Not Enter” so I keep going straight and I realize as I’m going uphill, I don’t remember there being a hill on the run… And I realize I’m on the 3.3-mile bike loop!
Oh, well. I had determined that this was a “C” race with Coach Steve (after Coach Debi Bernardes announced her retirement, I started training with Stephen Redwood of www.triendeavors.com, a Brit living in Greenwich, Connecticut — a bona fide GMT… Wait for it…. Wait for it… Greenwich Mean Taskmaster) and I’d rather go a little further and make sure I had missed the turn (note to self: REVIEW THE RACE MAP!) than go back down hill and have to turn around again. This was definitely harder than the first run, and when I finally pass a young woman who had been chuggin along on the bike I realize there is no way this woman had passed me, she’s done a shorter run, and I definitely was running an extra 1.3 miles. Do the best I can, but no burst of speed at the end as I finish in 24:52 = 7:26 avg. min/mile (first mile in 7:51, second in 7:17, third in 7:06!) Solid. Total time: 1:14:03.
So, here’s the funny part: I immediately tell the race director that there was no one at the turn and I had run the bike course, and he shouts across the transition area, “Sharon!?” Apparently, Sharon had grown bored after less than an hour and left her appointed post… Race director says, “go talk to the timing official” by the computer at the finish line.
The all powerful Timing Official…
I wait for the timing official to deal with other complaints, and he says, “you want to lodge a complaint about the course?” I said, I guess so. He says, “let’s see, what was your pace on the first leg… Could we add in 20” per mile?” Sure, I said, this is great. He says, “Okay, instead of 1:14, your official time is 1:04:33.” Great! Thank you! “But that doesn’t change your standing. You still came in 2nd for your age group.” What? I said. Even with the extra 1.3 miles I came in 2nd?
Wait. How many guys in my age group?
“Two.”
Told you I’d make you laugh!.
And who beats me? This guy Matt A. Hayes, a guy who had “friended”/followed me on the Athlinks website the day before the race — and Athlinks say he has done 554 races! He clearly had been doing his homework, looking up his competitors among the race registrants. OK, Matt the Mysterious wanted this win more than I did — well done, Sir. So, I guess I have a new nemesis for local races… (Don’t be jealous, Zander, I’ll still train and race with you.)
