Timed my wake up and out of the house prep perfectly:  3:30 alarm, stretch my back and that damned right heel, “breakfast” and out the door by 4:30; arrive at 5 a.m, as transition area opens.  Time to rack bike, walk from “Swim In” to my bike ( British woman left a Union Jack shirt hanging from the end of the rack before mine) and from “Bike In” to my running shoes. Chatted with my age groupers, and I am relaxed for a change, I’ve actually done almost all the training I planned, and I feel ready for my second “A” race of the year.

The swimmers wait for wave 2 (with two other, younger age groups!) and we line up on the beach on the Hudson in a bay formed by the Croton peninsula.  With more confidence in my swimming this year, lined up in 2nd row at the end near the line of buoys stretching out towards a small sailboat (we had expected something more impressive, like a full schooner, perhaps).  30 second warning and then GO!

Starts very shallow, run a few yards in soft mud, and the mosh pit begins, but I am managing to get a groove early on and at cousin Rob’s suggestion I latch onto the draft of a guy who seems to be my pace, and I know it must be annoying, but I stay close to the froth from his kick and touch his feet practically every other stroke, and he speeds up a little, and I hang onto his pace for dear life because it IS easier, and I don’t know what he looks like  but I know that the ball of his right foot has a rough callous.  And everything is GREAT, i am humming along and achieving my first goal of the race (getting into my groove and not worrying that my arms are aching and actually enjoying the swim) and we’re at the first and virtually only turn in the course when i suddenly realize that…

My chip has fallen off. And this is the Hudson. And I am not going to find it.

So I stop and shout to a kayaker that I’ve lost my chip (bring duct tape next time!) and he says to tell someone when I get to shore (read: not his problem). Well, the guy I was  drafting has turned the buoy and is gone, baby, gone, probably quite happy to be rid of me, and I am suddenly faced with a Big Realization: this really is My Race, and I will simply do the best I can, because without that tracking chip I may not get any credit for completing it! “I am racing, it makes me stronger.”  So I dive on, see that even though we were supposed to leave the buoys to the left, NO ONE is going all the way over there, they’re just heading for the finish line in a rough corridor  between two sets of buoys and eventually my straight line crosses over the line of buoys leaving them to my left and (as advertised) I suddenly have a CURRENT carrying me forward, and even though other people complain post-race that the current was against them, I feel with every stroke as if I’m borne up by a phalanx of dolphins nudging me along.  And I get to shore!  39 minutes for 1.25 miles (others report it’s 1.45 miles), so i can’t compare it to last year’s 24 minutes for 0.9 miles. (Measuring this course seems to be a perennial problem…)

I get out and shout that I’ve lost my chip, I’ve lost my chip (so much for the placid, Zen approach to triathlons…) and a volunteer says, take this new chip!, they had planned for this problem,  and I tell her my old number and she takes note of it and I cross over the transition mat and it gives a reassuring BEEP and I  am back in the race!  (I later realize they HAD to account for me, or they’d have to search for the body of no. 217 who never came out of the water…)

I am so wacked out by this turn of events that I forget to count the racks to my bike but, God bless the Queen, there’s the Union Jack shirt, and I see my black and red Cervelo and my blue inside-out Vortex wetsuit and start to change and realize, wait, I’m still wearing a wetsuit.

That’s not my bike.

So i run a few feet more, find my bike, swap goggles for glasses, strip the wetsuit (so easy with the sleeveless) put on socks and bike shoes (standing up, no more of this dizzy and sit down stuff) and where’s the chip!  That strip of foam they gave me?!! OMG, they can scarcely give me a second one and then…  duh, I dropped it by the other guy’s bike, and there it is, I am golden again. T1 in “only” 3:41.

The bike is on two lanes of route 9A’s rolling highway, closed to traffic, south then north for roughly 2 1/2 loops. On the one hand I am much more mentally prepared for how LONG 56 miles is, but I had forgotten how many hills there were, 3000 feet in elevation changes, but coach Debi and I have a plan, and I stick to it: z2 heart rate (keep it to 141 bpm and under) and if I stick to the pace I will survive the run. But there are a LOT of 50-54 year old guys passing me, 4 or 5 of ’em, and putting aside that Zen stuff, I want that podium.  So Mr. Gray Helmet and I leapfrog 3-4 times, and he says, you look familiar as he passes, and I say, we’re keeping each other honest as I pass, and… That’s the last I see him.  And no. 221 leapfrogs with me, and I get out of the saddle to stretch my hips and incidentally go faster (though I’m in conservative gears, shooting for 90 rpm and averaging 80) and no. 221 is dropped. And no. 197 Glenn (he’s wearing his running tag) leap frogs with me over longer sets of miles, maybe he’s pacing off me, well, this is MY race, I will not go faster than planned, and Mr. Green is coming in from a port a potty!, he must have KILLED the swim to have gotten such a lead on the bike, and I tell him so as he passes me. but he squandered it taking a leak, and even though he shoots WAY ahead i somehow eventually catch him.

It’s like this:  by the time I turn at mile 40 (worrying that I should have taken that bottle swap earlier cuz I am running dry after my two bottles) I am sometimes in heart rate zone 1 and when I really tuck down in my aero helmet with my face next to the straw on my sippy cup I don’t feel the wind (that everyone complained about after the race) and I am a bullet and my legs are soooo strong and it hurts and I pass everyone, 197 Glenn and Mr. Green and who else is there ahead of me? and I slow down at the narrow winding bike path entrance back into the park (where I almost fell last year) and i am in transition, 2:52

(19.5 mph), WELL under last year’s 3:02, and I am the FIRST bike back on our rack!

OMG, I am in first place. There was no one else who stole a long swim lead. It was only those 4-5 guys. And I waste some energy yelping, “Whoooooo!”

Twice.

But I am not going to survive a half marathon by thinking about the podium, and Mr. Green is getting off his bike as I run out so HE’s on my tail, and his wife says “you’re almost done” and y’know I don’t think she understands and I don’t think he believes her and I never see him again.  But I am racing, and it makes my stronger, and my feet are light, my neck is tall, my elbows are going and I am keeping that heart rate to zone 2 (141-151) for 4 miles, 7:40 for the first mile, slowing down to 8:10 then 8:40 at the slight ascent on miles 3-4 and then… I realize that my HR is good, going  up miles 6-7 in the shade and some dirt and gravel is fine, and the high school cheerleaders are sweet and the focus is on MY race and I manage to smile or at least give a thumbs up for the big photo in front of Croton Dam. But frankly I don’t have the turnover, whether it’s uphill or flat or downhill I cannot get my legs to go faster the bike was too punishing on my quads. And at Mile 8 I ask whether I can stop now, please. And at mile 9-10 it’s another hill and around then comes 197 Glenn, and he is TALL and flows by easy and all I can do is hope Mr. Green doesn’t catch up because I. Can. Not.  Go faster.  Tom Andrews from our Hastings team says looking good just before Glenn calmly goes so far ahead that he either has a 5-10 minute lead or maybe, maybe, he stopped at the port a potty? And yes it’s downhill and I am just trying to stay in it without caving into the temptation to walk. To rest. And the last mile is soooooooooo lonnnnnnng and bright sun on the concrete road, too bright, everything hurts, the finish line seems impossibly far away and I get there and cross it and the run is 1:53:05 (2 minute PR for this race), an 8:38 per mile pace, and it’s 5:29:29 total.

And.  I. Am. Finished.

And…. SECOND PLACE for my age group!  In a race where last year, I just wanted to close the gap between 5th and 3rd place (20 minutes away!). 51/406 OA. Scratching the swim, a 12 minute PR.  And with 2/21 AG (top 10%), I am qualified to go to the 70.3 Nationals.

And the best part: up until Mile 8, I actually enjoyed most of it. It’s the first Tri that i’ve actually stayed present and focussed and digging into MY race for all three legs.  The podium is icing on the cake (even if Coach Debi wants us to avoid sugar!).  I raced. It made my stronger.  That’s all I wanted.

And I’ve never been faster.

 

 

Sorry, the more I race, the longer my race reports.

As most of you know, to qualify for the Age Group Nationals, you have to come in 1st place or the top 10% for your age group in an Olympic or a Sprint distance. So, by definition, these are the most competitive triathletes, who are accustomed to winning.   And this was a particularly tough crowd, because the World’s in 2015 will take place in Chicago — not Beijing or Sydney or some other expensive and arduous trip — so, more people are here in order to qualify for that race next year. So, it’s like a high school valedictorian going to Harvard — EVERYONE was a valedictorian, and suddenly you’re surrounded by other smart, talented people.  Now, I’ve come in pretty far off the podium in most my races; I ain’t no superstar; but still, I was surprised to realize how small is the pond in which I’ve been a-swimmin’.  I was thrilled to qualify, theoretically ready to be humbled, but kind of thinking i might surprise everybody and actually do well among my peers.

So, getting to Milwaukee the afternoon before the race (and i wish I’d come earlier, for the warmup swim from 11 to 1 pm), I was surrounded by the hubbub, the confident murmur, of people who were both very relaxed and very intense.   Like, a bunch of leopards, but with fancy bikes, or lounging around a restaurant to carb-load on pasta instead of attacking a herd of antelope.

Woke up at 4:10 a.m., decided I really should get out of bed, I’d travelled so far and spent money for this race… Shared a cab from the Hilton and got there smack on time – 5:30, when the transition area opened.   I had already racked my bike, as required, and so glad I used Race Day Transport to get my beastie there (cheaper than lugging it to and from the airplane and a fraction of the hassle).

People are friendly and the where-you-froms are impressive (Florida, California, Kentucky, Georgia, Seattle…).  Measured the distance again to my bike rack, five rows from Swim In and Bike In …

So, the race.  Crowded in with the previous wave (pink-swimcapped, 55+ women) waiting to get down the ramp to the dock so I could get IN the water to warm up, and it’s perfect water — 70 degrees, not too warm for the full sleeve wetsuit, the swim is sheltered by breakwaters from the rest of Lake Michigan, we’re hanging out on the dock and referencing age-group era tv shows.  And then in the water and moving up to the middle/front of the group for the in-water start and BAM! it’s a moshpit.  Which normally happens the first couple of minutes of a race, faster guys trying to get ahead, swimming over or around me, but then I’d normally crawl over or pass the slower guys, but there are very, very few slower guys here.  It’s the Nationals.  So the moshpit keeps moving, we’re going under a narrow bridge, bumping and getting kicked and grabbing the rubber leg of another wetsuit and drafting off someone’s froth and approaching the first big yellow triangle buoy.  And I am trying not to blow all my strength on the swim, trying to be polite and not bother the feet of the guy ahead of me, trying to get into my core and my groove, but imagining that I am going to come in last among this pack of powerhouse capital S Swimmers!   Sighted with my head too high, but burrowed down again to swim, get on course, calm down and work.  Finished the swim and up the steep slippery ramp and it’s 27:36, a PR by about a minute.  But a LOT slower, by some 6 or 7 minutes, than literally most of the guys I’m racing against.  This is a different breed of animal – guys who are great at swimming AND biking AND running.

So, run the .2 miles barefoot on concrete in the wetsuit, my right heel NOT hurting (the miracle of adrenaline), stripping off the sleeves as I run, and then along the grass to the end of that 5th rack, and it’s a pretty good transition, but I need to learn to get on the bike barefoot with the bike shoes already cleated in, because that’s what most of the other guys have done. (Opted NOT to take off my GPS watch and put it on the bike because that is TIME!  No one else is wasting TIME!) Bikes of guys on my rack are mostly still there (so I beat at least four guys in the swim) and I fumble a little at the beginning to get my cleats in but I am RIDING and I lock in.  THIS is my race.

And I pass a few guys, and start keeping track of those in my age group, and I’m up to 14 by the midway point, before I net out to 8 or 9 by the guys who pass me.  It’s a flat, fast course, with the only “hills” being two ramps up either side of highway bridge, and I’m in aero position zooming down a highway with only a couple of mildly broken areas (nothing like the rough roads where I train). And even though this is the Nationals, I can still try to catch  the guys who left me behind in the swim  and at one point two guys try passing me and I won’t let them.  But I’m also riding within my range — ok, that guy passed me because he’s keeping up the same high cadence as I am but he’s in a heavier gear and I KNOW I haven’t the power to do that — and at the end of it I’ve finished 24 miles in 1:06, averaging 22.3 MPH, and  that is a substantial PR.  I mean, that’s FAST.

Transition felt pretty efficient, probably paused too much to make sure I had everything (oh, yeah, the race belt with my number…) but I’m rocking along at 7:20, and then this guy in a bright blue shirt who I’d been leapfrogging on the bike is on my tail, so I run faster, and he starts to pass me, so i run faster, and my second mile is 6:59, and I can’t keep that up, and he passes me and says, angrily, “Why don’t you pick a pace?!”  Well, that pisses me off, but I realize he’s right and I need to settle into MY race, but by that time I’ve pushed too hard, and even though I pass the SOB.  I’m slowing down to 7:30, then 7:44, and I can’t get the turnover, and I’m thinking that I’m not in pain, the heel is fine, the hip is fine, the back isn’t flaring, but I am So. Damn. Tired.  And this is by definition the hardest thing I can do and only my fear of being passed by that guy who taunted me (and who actually apologized to me at the finish line!) stops me from walking.  And a woman on the sideline, who must be a coach, quietly says “use your arms more” and she’s right, I’ve forgotten to use my elbows, and I remember my mantras, and I get that sensation of being picked up under the armpits by a gust of wind and the last mile is not so bad and I sprint the last .2 miles and pass another guy who had passed me moments before and I AM DONE! 46:07, averaging 7:24 minutes/mile, which is slower than my best run in an Olympic (7:10s) and I wish I’d had the power to do better, or at least the discipline to have gone slower and stayed a steady pace.  But I’ve crossed the finished line and I am done.

So my results as far as standings were less than the average, and a far cry from the first 25 necessary to get on the USAT team (ok, that was unrealistic) or from the top third (also unrealistic) but I had hoped to get in the top half (which was realistic) and came in, instead, at 114/193 for the AG, and that’s the top 59%.  1263/3067 overall, top 41%.  (Ironic symmetry, eh?  Once again showing that the older guys do disproportionately well.)

But my personal results were stellar:  2:24:57, almost a 7-minute PR, and that’s when I realized I had a great race.  I enjoyed most of it, I crushed the bike course, and actually got faster (in comparison with my age group) with each leg: 135th in the swim, 106th for the bike, 100th for the run.

So many – probably, a majority – of those folks who came from all over the country were DISAPPOINTED, and at first I was, as well, and that’s crazy!  By definition, this is the cream of the crop, and our average is very, very high.  We’re just not accustomed to coming in so far away from the podium.  But that can’t be the reason for racing. Everyone is shadowed by their demons, everyone is worried about the next faster guy/gal.  I have to swim/bike/run MY race (especially the swim!), battle MY demons, and enjoy the thrill of pushing harder than I ever did before.  Room for improvement, sure, but I ran my best race, ever, inspired by the speed of the extraordinary athletes around me, and I was at The Nationals.

What’s next?  Deal me in.

 

-Mark

 

Mark S. Kaufman

Kaufman & Kahn, LLP

747 Third Avenue, 32nd Floor

New York, NY 10017

(212) 293-5556

Kaufman@KaufmanKahn.com

 

“So, how much can he write about a lousy little sprint?”

Spent the night with racing buddy (and age group competitior) Scott Schiffer outside Poughkeepsie, 15 minutes from the race. So grateful that, even as we approached our early bedtime hour, he drove us through the bike and running course –  really helped to know that after that barn, the hill doesn’t stop; remember, it’s a 3.4 mile run, so at this turn there’s a half mile to the finish…

Gorgeous day. Got there early, picked prime spot on the assigned rack – until the last minute stragglers tried crowding 2 more bikes on, and the rack started collapsing. So three of us at last minute moved to an empty rack nearby, where the transition real estate was a little less prime. Scraped a gash in the wetsuit as I put it on, three finger-tips wide (coincidentally?  I think not).  Warmed up in warm, clear lake water – worried that full sleeve wetsuit would be too hot, but it was only be a half-mile swim. Streamline kick drills (thank you, Debi), backstroke, getting used to the suit and enjoying the compression on my sore sore glutes, miraculously recovered from Monday’s back spasms.

(Middle age ain’t for the faint-hearted!)

Swim went fine after the first buoy, passed folks in prior wave (bizarrely, waves were based on order of registration rather than age or gender – so, who’s in my age group?!), focussed on core, core, core and high recovery elbow (thank you, Val).  Ran through the lake weeds at the shore, didn’t stumble on my way out up to Transition.  Official Swim time, including run to the bike:  14:02, or 1:36/100 yds – almost my Tt for 800; i’ll take it.

Transition was decent, for a change; helped to be in the back row near the swim in!  As I’m getting on my shoes (alas, with dizzy run and hurting back earlier in week, sat down to change shoes rather than balance one legged), Scott runs past me with his bike.  “Nice swim, Mark!”  (I guess that’s the nicest thing to say, but it still made me mad.)

Few things inspire me more than a bunny to chase – and he’s one of the only guys in my age group in my wave that I know of (these goofy waves, right?). Managed to pass him after a few miles, but i’m huffing and puffing and grateful it’s “just a sprint” because i don’t know if i can keep this up even for 45 minutes and i’m certain that scott is close, close behind me.  Played leap frog with another age grouper (“ol’ Blue Shirt”), and he just takes off and passe and logs in a few blocks’ lead on me, then out of sight. Well, one less slot on the podium available, i figure, and keep grinding along, including some long downhills and flats.  There’s Blue Shirt again! But he’s coasting in aero position, knees up against the bike frame, and i can’t gain on him despite my pedaling hard.. (I guess he weighs more than I do, or has a realllly good bike).   Oddly, felt like more downhills than up, which is a rarity and i’m not complaining, and suddenly at the very end i pass that guy, with a couple miles to T2.  48:51 for 16 miles, avg 20.9 mph!

Felt like a long jog with the bike, and again sat down to change shoes, which accounts for 71/190 for T2.  Gotta work on those transitions!

The run was rough – at .8 miles I couldn’t believe i had much more to do. Passed 4 people, got passed twice (who was that woman with the pony tail?  She’s gone, baby, gone..), so i guess i’m towards the front of the pack, but i know Scott and Blue Shirt must be close behind and I’ll go nuts if i hear their slap-slap-slap right on my heels, so i’m running as fast as i can and manage to work negative splits, from 7:44 to 7:12, avg 7:28, and just dying in that last half mile after the barn.  And thank God it’s a short run.

No pain in my back or glutes!  And after i walk walk walk (no sitting for me, for fear of cramping and that back…) and see the stars (Bruce Cadenhead, brother of my neighbor, is on the US team for Oly distance) Scott tells me, don’t freak out, and it’s not official yet, but you came in 1st for our age group.  1:30:11. Beating second place by only 9 seconds! (Not blue shirt i think – He must have been in a different wave – which shows you, even if you think you’re just racing yourself, you’re not!). Scott comes in third, and we have made the f’ing podium, i’m at the top of the podium, and I still can’t believe it.

1/17 AG, 9/158 OA. (And official results say I’m 5/10 male Masters.  What does THAT mean?)  Finally, I caught the bouquet.

So, mostly because I want to figure out what I learned from this week’s race, but partly because some  of the folks at Tri Camp said they actually enjoed my race reports (ah, an audience!), I’m writing again.  (Yeah, it’s long – i shudder to think how much I’ll write if i ever do an Ironman…)

The day-before adversity was terrific and fun:  a party for 60 people at our house on Saturday to celebrate my older son’s graduating from high school. But, of course, I could only have one beer and had to  go to bed at 8:45 and listen to the reveling continue…. (Really, it was quieting down and i missed cleanup, so i can’t complain.)

Woke up at 3:15 because it always takes me an hour to do stretches for my aching heel (PF), eat and get out the door to a race.  And because the schedule was nuts:  5 a.m. set up at T2 (and to register, if i hadn’t already done so in NYC), bike 2 miles to T1, set up there, get on wetsuit, practice swim from 6 to 6:20, and race at 6:30!  And I was glad to get there as early as i did, because the rows at the swim start had the same numbers as the rows in T2, but the racks were not numbered yet, so I grabbed a good spot on the aisle…

Despite my warmup (ahem) when the race began for my wave, i wasn’t feeling the love: “sighting” was more an excuse to pause and feel like i was panting and tasting Long Island Sound salt water and feeling lonely in the back of the pack.  I had done some homework:  with 6 buoys, each was around 250 yards apart for the .9 miles, and how hard could that be?  But for almost the whole race, i just wanted the swim to be OVER. Tried to use the new techniques i had learned the weekend before (thanks Val!) but bottom line is i need more time in open water and the wetsuit.  It wasn’t fun until the last 500 yards, when I realized that when I breathed on my left side, i was faster. Like, finally passing the guys around me faster.  (Ultimately finished 9/22 AG on the swim, in 28:05 – not terrific, but my average.)

T1 felt good, having cut off below the calves of my wetsuit and practiced stripping a few times,  but somehow my transition was 60/190 OA. Ugh. Must have been too slow getting to the bike and getting out onto the road. For next point to point race, i’m practicing stuffing into a drawstring bag!  Also, i probably dawdled with the Garmin, discovering that I had pressed LAP instead of START and had no race recorded yet.

The bike, though, was good, and i now know it’s presently my strongest suit. First got passed by a guy in my row (clearly an AG competitor, even though almost all the body markings had faded already – what did they use, Magic Markers?) who left T1 around the same time, so I had to pass him, of course.  Tooling along as fast as i could, huffing out most of the ride despite Coach Debi’s sage advice to only do that now and then, “valiantly trying” to catch up to the guys who had taken their bikes from T1 already.  And it felt STRONG. Wasn’t sure whether I could keep up that pace for 25 miles, or whether I”d be trashed for the run, but it was fun to race.

And then … My chain fell off the little ring, and i tried to pedal it back on, and i was going up hill and couldn’t get out of my cleats, and I FELL.  (“You OK, Mark?”  – must be my buddy Drew, he’s the only guy I know here!). Had been going slow, so not hurt at all, got my chain back on.  I probably lost less than 45 seconds, but i was so mad for letting 5 people pass me that i went faster than i normally would, passed them all, and kept up the pace. (Only at the finish line did I find my left shin covered with blood…). Played leap frog with an older guy (55) who was really strong and would smile and pass me any time i slowed down, and that kept me going.  (I like chasing; i hate being chased.). Finally passed him at the end as well.  Final time:  1:14 (19.9 mph).

Run, like the swim, was just something i wanted to finish, starting at mile 2.  Couldn’t get faster than 7:30s, and no one was near me to chase or be chased – that guy who passed me early on kept going, going, gone… Passed net 9-10 people, came in 44:26 (theoretically 7:10 avg, but the course was only 5.9 miles).

So, the overall results were pretty good – 2:31:36 (which i thought was a PR, but it’s really a tie for my best time), 5/22 AG (with 3rd place some 6 minutes far, far away – always a bridesmaid…), 37/189 OA.  Not bad for having lost 2-3 weeks, traveling and then recovering from bronchitis after traveling.

But Debi recently wrote about trying to get into the Flow, and i wish i could feel it for at least two-thirds of the 3-legged race.  Didn’t hit my Fun Quotient, so feeling less positive about this race.

On the other hand, as my friend BJ Wilson emailed, “sometimes we don’t feel the Flow, but we race anyway. It’s what we do.”  Yep. More work ahead, mostly mental. And this was a decent, delayed start to the season.  AND I don’t want to forget to be grateful for being able to do what I can do.  So:

Thank you.

On June 24, 2012, I first lost my virginity at the Sleepy Hollow Sprint Triathlon.  Yesterday, I did it again.

First, a big shout out to Jeff Levine, cousin of my cousins Linda and Jonathan.  At the second Passover dinner, I learned that Jeff lived in Long Branch, a few minutes away from the starting line at Monmouth park race track in Oceanport, NJ.  Not only did he let me stay in his house (dayenu!) and feed me vegan pizza (dayenu!), but he got up at 5:30 with me, tried to feed me breakfast (thanks, I brought my own applesauce and protein powder), gave me a ride to the park, and picked me up at the end of the race (dayenu! Though the last being oh so necessary…). What a terrific host.  Thank you, Jeff (and Linda and Jonthan!)

Foolishly brought a backpack for bag check – sanctioned plastic bag only, of course, but I managed to fit my sweats and jacket and all other gear in two bags that they tied together. A little chilly in my NYC tri shirt and shorts for the 90 minute wait (got there early to beat the traffic that would have started with the 6:45 HM), stayed in the sun, ran around for all of ten minutes and loaded into the corals for an 8:00 curtain. Coach Debi said to ignore those stupid pacers, but I started with the 3:30 guys, if only to have a reference point (and to shoot for the Boston Qualifying time for my age group).  Chatter, chatter with a few other first-timers, and some very seasoned veterans (17th here, 2nd there, 87th for a guy in his late 50s who told borscht belt jokes at mile 5 or so…)  Cousin Rob’s mantra kept me stable: “I am excited, not nervous.  That’s my choice to make.”

Took it easy, but not so slow, zone 1 heart rate until mile 3-4 (but just out of curiosity, 8ish minute miles), zone 2 in mile 4-5, and then hang there, trotting along… By this time I’d fallen in with the 3:35 pacer, and reading my shirt he chatted about doing the NYC Tri this year, but by mile 6 or 7 i was staying with the faster pacers. Walked along the water stops and then caught up with that 3:30 group – I wasn’t chasing a person, but a time.  Kept up, with shot blocks and power gels as planned, kicking in the caffeine at 90 minutes, switching to water instead of Gatorade (cuz my stomach said, “No, No, No!”), and suddenly realizing I was feeling pretty good at 2 hours but how will i keep this up??

Then we left the town streets of Long Branch and Deal and hit the boardwalk.  Wind, wind, wind.  As if I were with my Sunday bike group, I rushed ahead just to be able to draft off others and save some energy.  Can’t complain though – the course was so flat, the day was bright and rainless, the scenery was pretty (when I could consciously look up and say to myself, huh, pretty).  One big accomplishment:  I really had fun for most of the race, despite the worry about whether I was going to survive.  Also, I now see that I my average HR exceeded zone 2 as early as… mile 10.  Whoops.

Got some time in the bank – other than miles 1, 5, 8 and 13, all of the first 20 miles were sub-8s – but by mile 22, I was starting to lose the pacers.  Debi and I planned that walking at water stations should stop at mile 18, but I gave in to the ache in my left hip (more precisely, my piriformis and gluteus media – I am learning more about my anatomy than I ever wished to know…) that had plagued me since mile 9, and that right heel ached now and then, and which hamstring was playing that high C at any given minute?  After walking along that mile 23 water stop, I did an 8:44 and lost the pacers so thoroughly I wondered if they had quit.

Anyway, despite the time in the bank, the wind and the mental fatigue took over and I didn’t get back to 8s.  Now, I realized I planned not look at my watch/heartrate that late in the race in terms of limiting my exertion, I needed to look at it to reassure myself that I was fine, to see that I was slow, and that I should push harder.

Sprinted that last 0.2 (avg. 7:29), but never caught up with my goal, and came in at 3:31:36.   Which, of course, is pretty fabulous for a first Marathon.  I’m not even sure if I want to DO Boston; I simply wanted to be able to say, “I qualified in my first attempt.”

Despite my lack of self-restraint, I was better off than a lot of other people:  from miles 18 to the end I passed (net) 68 runners, many of them walking.  But OK, “I didn’t believe hard enough” that I could ever catch up, and the 8’ miles felt so gooood.   Staying slower is gonna take a bigger leap of faith than I was mentally prepared to take before this race.

BUT (and here’s the takeaway):  in retrospect, I feel fine about the 1 minute and change. It’s everything I could physically plus mentally do at that time. Next time (if I choose to do this again!) my mental part, at least, will be better able to handle that level of discomfort and adversity and with THIS race in my Experience Bank, I’ll have the confidence that I can push harder and not perish.

And one thing which I forgot during the race: “Remember the secret of the Tarahumara:  they run with joy!”

Thus endeth the tale of the 51-year old virgin.

For a change, got a full 6 hours’ sleep.  After finishing the Toughman Half three weeks ago, and about to do my 7^th triathlon in two years, I at least knew that I would complete this one in a reasonable time – so jitters were relatively minimal.

Other than a lousy arrival (forgot my sippy cup so turned around 10 minutes from house; then daydreamed past highway exit – so arrived with 1 hr before transition closed instead of 1 1/2 hrs.), and a lousy T1 (didn’t practice actually going out of SWIM IN to bike, and forgot/didn’t believe I was in first row – “where the !@#$% is my bike?”), pleased with the results.

Swim felt strong, not panicked about running out of strength.  Crowded, probably because of all the turns on this course (an odd geometric shape rather than a good old-fashioned triangle). Got kicked a little; need to learn how to draft.  Hard to see buoys, but gratifying to catch up to other-colored swim caps (meaning, I’m passing folks who started 3 to 6 minutes ahead of me)!

On the bike, mostly kept up the 90 RPM cadence.  Also glad to have two guys to chase/leap frog on the bike – one in my age group (who I had to pass), the other younger but who made nasty comment (who I wanted to pass).  (“On your left,” I say; “You’ve got to be kidding” he says, and zooms ahead.   Ooh, that made me mad.)  Hills not too bad, but huffed and puffed most of the way – not the plan, but, oh well, it worked.

Key to run at end:  “you don’t have to run harder, just pick up the RPM.  Short rapid steps are fine.  They’ll add up.”  Wore flats.  Walked at the drink stops.  Passed the only guy who passed me while I drank.  Passed a LOT of people.

The official results are encouraging:  0:29 on the swim (which my gps says was closer to 1.1 miles rather than 0.9 mile), 1:12 on the bike (avg 20.5 mph), 45:50 run (including a negative split – 7:38 for first 4 miles, 6:56 for the last 2), total time of 2:32:59.  I guess I can say “2:32 and change….” but that’s a LOT of change.

13/68 for age group, 130/844 overall. Would have liked to podium, but I guess that’s for another day.   (First place was a good 19 minutes faster – but 2^nd and third were only 12 minutes ahead….)  Meanwhile:  10:50 faster than last year (and would have been better if I hadn’t taken 4:30 at the swim-to-bike transition), including around 10 min faster on the bike and 3 minutes faster on the run.

I briefly ran with a guy in his 40s, who said he wanted to pace his run with me.  I said, fine, you’re not in my age group.  He said, “I’m only trying to beat the guy who has the same last name as me and did this race last year.”  Now, THAT’S a good attitude.  That particular runner left me in the dust, but I did beat the SOB he was talking about:  myself.  By a long shot.

Good news is, I got 8 1/2 hours sleep Friday night.  I needed it, because the night before the race, after dutifully leaving our town’s annual music festival to load up on pasta and going to bed by 9 (listening, alas, to fabulous music that travelled from the festival to my bedroom a mile away), I awoke at 12:19 a.m., saying goodnight to my 17-year old (who just got home, of course) and never got back to sleep.  Armed with 3 hours sleep, I decided my body knew what to do, but I would have to be careful with depending on a fuzzy brain.

Got to transition as it opened at 5 a.m.  Had racked my bike the day before, took off baggies over the handle bars, etc., and pondered with the pliers I had brought to deal with that gunk on the bottom of the frame almost rubbing against the front derailleur.  Turns out, it’s not gunk, it’s a metal plate attached to, but twisted away from, the frame.  Went to bike repair tent, where the guy slowly changed a couple of tires (doesn’t he know transition closes soon?), started removing the cranks, and banged at the crank shaft with a wooden handle (unable to find a rubber mallet) before I rescued my Beastie from potential dents.  (Hastings Velo bike shop, here I come!)

So.  Not the relaxed commencement I had planned.  Still, remained remarkably unruffled.  (And the bike performed problem free).

Chose to swim in the longsleeve wetsuit ‘cuz it’s faster even if my transition is slower (practicing its removal the night before, a terrible way to prepare for bed, but nice to discuss the problem with my 13-year old).   Got in a very short warmup in the water, but enough to feel relieved.  Bravely went to the middle/front of the corral, next to my friendly nemesis Scott Schiffer (age group competitor), and ran into the water.

Started with minimal panic — a new pattern for me. Ran for a buoy or two, as I knew from watching the first wave of Tough Teen racers that the water was too shallow to swim.  The running ramped up my heart rate, but swam until I got a groove.  Drafted a little off the guys ahead of me, but either they were too slow and I touched their feet (sorry!) or they were the big fish that got away.  Alternating sides every 3rd breath went out the window – I’m breathing every stroke, and sighting a lot to see the Big Yellow Buoy ahead of me.  Rounded the buoy with only minimal exhaustion, zoomed to shore (thankful for the report, at least, that we had a helpful current), finished in 24:25.  (Full disclosure:  someone told me that his Garmin indicated it was a short swim — only 0.9 miles, not 1.2.  Well, that’s an advantage we all shared.)

Ran pretty well to my bike; had to sit down to get off the damn wetsuit, but decent transition (2:43), and most of the other bikes in my bike rack (age grouped) were still there – a good sign.

For the bike: Goal was to stay in heart rate Zone 2, no higher, or Coach Debi said I’d lose substantial time on the run.  Ate half a Powerbar (chew, chew, pant, chew), part of the Coach’s rigorous nutrition plan, as promised.  But a sleep-deprived mental screw up: I had left the non-caffeine gel with my running gear, or dropped it, so I would have to stretch them out over the ride.  (I now calculate that between the 4 gels on the bike, 5-6 shot blocks and a gel or two on the run, I took in 240 mg of caffeine. That’s almost 5 double espressos. Yes, Debi, gels have 35 mg, and shot blocks have 50 mg for every 3 blocks.   And I normally drink decaf….)   No cadence detector on the Garmin (hadn’t checked after the bike repair guy molested my Beastie), and the heart rate wasn’t working (as I had experimented before lending a spare strap to Jenn).  No worries, I had another HRM on my watch (like my Dad with his identical twin, I seem to have a spare of everything), so I’m checking my wrist every few moments for 3 hours. And I have an idea of what 90+ rpm feels like by this time.

Around 20 minutes into the ride realized that the Garmin hadn’t been re-set from my last workout, two days ago, and I don’t remember how far I rode. (That sleep deprivation…)  Felt OK, passing some people, getting passed by younger guys, staying within Z2, keeping my RPMs high.  But getting tired.  So when I called out at the southern turnaround “what mile is this?!” and one guy said, “I dunno, 25% of the course, maybe 13 miles” (he was wrong, it was really 18 to 20 – dammit, volunteers should KNOW where they are!), I freaked out. Well, calmly. But I hadn’t realized how FAR 56 miles was going to be.  I mean, when I’m at the end of the 25 miles for an Olympic, fine, that was fun, but how was I going to survive another 36+ miles of this?

Those long rolling hills started feeling longer and longer. At the cement section of the highway (closed to traffic), scored for winter traction and expansion, I really felt the side wind against my “aero” wheels.   Won a match of leap frog with a 59-year old, but a Pyrrhic victory…  I’d like to say I was focussing on the low heart rate, but I don’t think I could have spun my legs any faster.  I know that’s true, because when Ron the Mouth (who rides with the Hastings gang on Sundays – and is in my age group) passed me yelling “I made up the lost time!” I sure tried to pass him.  (Although I remembered that he was not going to run, so why should I care?)  What did spur me on was passing some guy, who yelled “Where the f— did you come from, Mark?”  to which I responded “Where the f— do you think you’re going, Scott?”  So I got back on the game.  Almost crashed at the very end of the course — narrow, jogging lane pathway into the park, sharp turns suddenly shaded, I actually had to pop out of my cleats after I avoided running into a wall, but managed to avoid twisting my ankle as I had done on a training ride.  Bottom line:  biked in 3:02. I had been shooting for 3:00. Fine with me.

T2 was smooth, and changed into my New Racing Flats.  Coach Debi said they had sliced off time on cousin Rob Falk’s races, so I had practiced.  Saw the wonderful Rachel on the way out from transition (“Hey, Baby!”) and off we go onto the run.

Here, the goal was to stay in a heart rate zone 10 clicks above my average on the bike for 4 miles, then to pass as many people as i could.  The concrete bridge out of Croton Point Park seemed pretty damn long, and really, every mile marker seemed farther away than the one before. The course took us through Cortlandt Manor, with beautiful forested roads (occasionally interrupted by large gravel sections, which were hard with the flats – felt every darn stone!).  Saw racer nos. 1 and a few minutes later no. 2 come zooming past me in the other direction.  OMG, the winner finished in 4:01.  After mentally pausing to admire such speed (and youth!), I dug into soft wooded paths and a switch-back up up up hill section going to the Croton Dam (damn!); it was just like ascending to the Parc Royal in Montreal, and I survived that casual jog; this was just another one, right?

And after reaching beautiful, waterfalling reservoir and starting down down down, I hit the moment that I learned something about myself, as Drew Ahkao predicted in our epic pep talk:  I started thinking,”ooh, maybe I’ll make the podium, I don’t see anyone in my age group” or “Oh, it will be so great to see Rachel at the finish line”  or “I bet they have Capt. Lawrence beer after the race”.  And then I thought, “Shmuck!  That’s the end!  You’re not there, you’re here!  So:  Check out the crack in the road. That’s a long crack.  Must be tough winters here…  Check out that manhole cover.  There’s a whole sewer system down there. Miraculous…”  And I stayed PRESENT.  And I ran in the present.  And I ran a little faster “right now.”

I kept worrying that Scott would catch up to me (he had been right behind me at the end of bike) but I work better at chasing than being chased.  So I cranked it up and started counting the folks I passed, and the folks that passed me.  By the end of the race, I think I was net 11 (including 3 guys who passed me but were doing a relay), after losing to one tough woman who inspired me to speed up but just wouldn’t quit.  Quite the thrill to pass Hastings hero Tom Andrews (“nice pace, Mark!”) and even Jenn Sheppard –their overall times were faster, of course, but only by a couple of minutes!  The last few miles were longer and longer (in fact, I never saw a sign for Mile 11, I think), and I had a little left in the tank to run hard the last half mile.

Got to the finish line and broke my goal of 5:30, finishing in 5:26:25, including a 1:55  half marathon.   5th out of 40 in my age group, 133 out of 460 overall.  Not bad for my first 70.3, and only 15 months ago after my first sprint triathlon.  Early morning biking partner Ben Clifford pointed out: “if you plotted your races on a graph…”  Yeah, I hate to admit it, there’s a trajectory here.

I’ll be back for more.

I was really pleased with my results at the NYC Triathlon yesterday, despite the 90 degree heat, 88% humidity and recovering from spraining my ankle 6 weeks earlier.  I even managed to have fun (for most of it).

 

The swim was much better than expected.  While waiting on shore started a new method:  standing in place and doing a “cha cha” to feel the hip rotation.  Our wave started at around 7:45 a.m. – and the current, I was told, only gets better as the morning progresses. Jumped off the 4-foot high barge with 12-15 guys at a time – much less jockeying for position and scrambling over rubberized bodies than the mass starts at most races.  I managed to start slow and calm – a huge victory.  Swam a mile in only 18 minutes – but that was with current in the Hudson.  (They say that a bag of Dorritos did the swim in 22 minutes.) Best part was realizing I was the only white swimcap, and passing silver swim caps, then greens, then pinks… !

Crazy transition – running 1/3 mile over pavement, barefoot, wetsuit dangling from waist down, to midway in park area.  Was very ginger to protect that ankle, but still managed to run it.  I was the second bike out of the rack, and none of the guys I had met pre-race were there yet.

Frankly, I knew my run would suck, so I just poured everything I had into the bike.  Never before did I appreciate that the West Side Drive has rolling hills.  And pavement ties that make aero bars a cautious exercise.  And the bike was much faster than I’ve ever done before – 25 miles in 1:12, a full 19 minutes faster than my best race (among my prior two Olympic-length races); moving up from an average of 19 mph to 20.5 mph.  It’s probably because I’ve been training and now using aero bars clipped onto my roadbike.  (Used them in last race, in May, but a cleat got stuck in the pedal at mile 18…)

But also, borrowed an aero helmet (thanks again, Bill Logan!), which at least forced me to stay tucked in or it would slow me down.  Lastly, on the ride I realized that I could pour that second bottle of rocket fuel (I mean, sports drink) through the hole in the fabric covered top of the sippy cup (oh, THAT’S what it’s for!), and continue to keep the focus on the pavement ahead.

Transition 2 could have been better – stopped too long to drink more, which I should have done towards the end of the ride.

Surprisingly, the run didn’t hurt my ankle at all, but it was still painfully long because of heat, humidity and the fact that, after recovering from the ankle, I’ve only been running for one or two weeks.  I was aiming not to start with my heart rate through the roof (the main thing Coach Debi told me to do) and I really was trying to pitter patter up the hill out of Riverside Park, but the first mile average was 160 bpm (sorry, Debi…), and the last mile average was 180 – peaking at 189.  (Um, am I lucky to be standing here?)  Still, I was shooting for 9:30 or maybe 9 minute miles, and averaged 8:20 for the split and 8:40 by the end – 53 minutes and change.  The last mile, I remembered the drill where I pretend there’s a string coming from my core/belly button, and it’s pulling me forward.  That was like a secret weapon to pull out of my arsenal.

 

Overall: 2:31:44.  15th out of 159 in my age group (“Old Men”), so by ONE place, I made my ridiculous, fantasy goal of being in the top 10%.  Also, 442/3411 overall, which is top 13%, and I am pretty damn happy about all that.  I just wish the run had ended at mile 2…  Even assuming the with-current swim doesn’t count at all (though I was probably “faster” than in prior races), the much faster bike and the slower run came out to a 2 minute PR for Olympic distance (that is, over my prior two, in September ’12 and May ‘13).

 

Doggamn, I did the NYC Tri.  And I gave myself over to being “patient” (or at least, acting patient) with recovery from the sprain. (Thank you, Cousin Rob, for preaching the take it slow approach.) Why, two or three weeks ago I was running/walking 1’/3’!  And last week, running/walking  3’ / 0:30.  I hadn’t done more than 3 consecutive miles in the week before the race.  But I did enough to avoid further injury.  That’s something to enjoy.

 

Most of all, thanks to my stunning wife for putting up with me and for being at the Finish Line, I had a real person to look forward to reaching at the end of a grueling race.  Plus, she signed up me for a Swedish Institute massage.  That, 3 coconut waters (Zico was a sponsor) and two bottles of sports drink made recovery the best ever.  I didn’t even nap after the race.

 

Next, my first Toughman Half (70.3) in early September.  Hope I can get enough running in before then – and Croton on Hudson is very hilly…

 

For my first Half Marathon, I was shooting for 7:45 min miles (which would result in a 1:42 race), based on my November 10k of 1:42 (6:52 minute miles). Had been freaked out that I had been assigned to the 3rd of 23 corrals for the start.  (“What expected time did I TELL them?”)  Full of worries re: dressing warm enough, parking in NYC, proper fuel.   (Coach Debi prefers chewy Shot Bloks, I’ve been training with slurpy gels.  “What should I doooo?”)

Weather predictions ranged from mid-40s (week before race) to freezing (night before race).  Week before, bought extra layers at Salvation Army, and 5 minutes before the race threw them in a bin for Goodwill.  (Now, that’s efficient recycling.)  Turns out, perfectly dressed for the weather:  all wicking tri shorts, tights, tee and long-sleeved shirts, running hat, and gloves (which at mile 6 I stuffed into the pouch in my brand! new! race belt!  and took out again when the wind picked up at mile 9).

Kept HR mostly to Z2 in first mile. Drank and chewed a few sips at each water station (“chewed” because water was frozen on the top of each cup!  Did I mention it was 30 degrees when we started?)  Hammer brand caffeine gels at miles 4 and 8; no way was I eating again at mile 12, despite Debi’s advice.

Periodically checked GPS watch to confirm whether I was running sub-8 minute miles.  Damn thing fluctuated as it found the satellites, but I assumed it was accurate if I was running slow and didn’t care if it showed stunningly better pace.  Plus, whenever I had to pick up the pace, I checked whether I was having fun.  THAT was what made the race a great opportunity.

Probably like most other people:  I carry a lot of (psychological) baggage all the time.  And I realized that to run a Half Marathon, I can’t carry baggage.  So I kept taking notes:  It’s beautiful, I’m running the middle of Times Square, and the West Side Drive, people are cheering, bands are playing (badly but with gusto and in the COLD), I’m lucky to be alive and to be able to do this and to be here.  So, THAT’s the success story.

Plus, I had a damn good finishing time, worthy of bragging rights and better than I expected:  1:39:24, an average of 7:36 minute miles and 2 1/2 minutes FASTER than my goal.  That’s icing on the cake.  So, no. 1,782 out of 15,000, and top 1/3 for my age group.  Each 5k almost exactly the same 23:25 (other than 0:20 slower at 20k).  Racing for one year, 50 years old and another PR .

And, for Coach Debi’s portfolio:  once again proving that training at Z1 (low heart rate) DOES work.  Vindication for those long, slow runs!