Race Report Blog

Author: mktriguy

  • Ironman 70.3 New York

    Ironman 70.3 New York

    This race was Good, Bad and Ugly. Only fun for the first half, but still glad I did it. I was kind of overconfident that I could do a Half Ironman despite training for a shorter distance, and I was able to finish it – but confirmed that the volume of training really matters when race day arrives, and I need to put in more time to train for this distance.

    I signed up only 10 days before the event — usually sold out months in advance but deferred after the race was washed out by September’s Nor’easter — because after recovering from injuries I wanted another race this season. It was also “only an hour” (plus traffic) to Jones Beach. I was most worried about the cold water (64-65 degrees F) followed by cycling in colder air (45-50 degrees F), having broken a tooth from shivering on the bike at Oceanside 70.3 in 2024. So, before the race, I drove to Greenwich, Connecticut to borrow from Coach Steve his thermal wetsuit, and I already had a neoprene swim cap. Equipment ready? Check.

    We had to rack our bikes on Friday, and at the briefing for athletes, they announced that the water temp Saturday morning was expected to be even colder — 62.4 degrees! — so they would push the start time to 9 a.m., to be warmer for riding. The race director recommended we change out of cold, wet shorts and into dry clothes. So I bought a pair of shorts — which I actually needed, was last on the rack at the Ironman merchandise tent in my size, and on sale — and at my AirBNB in Uniondale, practiced changing pants under a towel.

    Transition, before the race!

    After a solid night of sleep (gotta love a late race start!), arrived at transition and laid out my warm clothes next to my bike in order of appearance, and climbed into the wetsuit. Chatted with other athletes on the beach, including Rob (who announced he was the last person out of the water at the Lighthouse Swim we both did in August), Phil (who “lives right here”), and a woman in the 70-74 age group (“I might be the only one here!”). At 9:20, we hadn’t started yet, and they announced the swim course would be cut from 2km (1.2 miles) to 1.5 km (0.9 miles).  Fine by me!

    To shorten the race, we only did one loop; 1,500 meters instead of 2,000.

    The race starts, and they send us off from the beach 4 at a time every 5 seconds.  The water is so shallow that we run almost up to the first buoy, and then plunge in. It’s cold of course, but not bad, and the water in Zach’s Bay is totally calm. My legs feel like logs in the thick wetsuit so I scarcely kick, but focus on long, strong, even pulls. The field of swimmers is crowded and we bump each other now and then; but after rounding the second, return buoy I stop short on top of someone and someone else brushes my leg and my left hamstring. Starts. To. Cramp. But I let this barge-size wetsuit do its job of floating, and I don’t kick for a few strokes and I don’t fight the cramp and it subsides. And there’s the finish and I survived another swim! 28:53 minutes (1:56 min/100 yds., slower than the 1:46 pace Coach Steve had predicted, but I’m fine with anything under 2:00 minutes);  I later learn that’s 3/10 for AG, and at a pace only a few seconds slower than 1st in AG!

    Waded out of the water, walked up the concrete pathway, jogged in the thick wetsuit across almost the entire parking lot to my rack (surprised that the twins on my rack hadn’t arrived yet, I must have swum well!). Wetsuit took little effort to peel, and I had laid out my towel and clothes in perfect order, but I hadn’t practiced changing under a towel when I was WET as and briefly failed to cover my butt (an attorney’s nightmare!), but by the time I was in my dry tri shirt, bike jacket, lightweight beanie under the helmet, and medium weight gloves (try putting THOSE on with wet hands), I was warm enough and didn’t need the mouthguard to protect against another jaw-clenching debacle. T1 in a very long 7:18 minutes (but only 6 seconds slower than 1st in AG!)

    Three loops on Wantaugh Parkway – closed to traffic!

    Ah, the bike.  Went out feeling strong, goal was to keep a very manageable pace at 179 watts and average 19.8 mph on this very flat course, 3 loops (argh!) up and down the Wantagh Parkway, closed entirely to traffic (hurray!). The road has a few potholes and crevices near the dividing lines on the 3-lane road, but I’m sailing along the first 20 miles with my Garmin dinging solid averages every 5 miles: 17.8 mph, then 20.2, 21.0, 18.9… but the wattage is getting to be a struggle. Maybe I started too fast (I don’t think so); more likely I’m just undertrained. I hadn’t planned on this race until 10 days ago, I was fully ready for another Olympic distance but I hadn’t ridden over 42 miles and this was 56 miles. So even with the inspiration of another age grouper leap frogging with me (“What age group?” “60” (in a French accent, must be Québécois);  “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of”) and off he goes into the distance. And despite keeping up with my nutrition, my legs are toast by mile 35 or 40, and I phone it in to get to the finish. Still, finished in 2:56:35 (18.9 mph), NP 169 watts, 5/11 AG.

    T2 is straightforward, out of bike jacket, sit down to change to running shoes (no need for one-legged standing heroics!), switched to lightweight gloves then stuffed them in back pocket of tri shirt, and grab my water belt (so I won’t be ruled by the rest stops’ location to tell me if I’m thirsty). T2 in 2:57 (again, only a few secondsrr slower than 1st in AG).

    The run course: Three loops on the boardwalk. Each return is a temptation to quit…

    Ah, but the run was not as strong as I had hoped, wiped out by the ride.  I took a bathroom break and wanted to quit at Mile 2 of the 13.1 miles (half marathon). My legs were worn out and my heart rate was soaring. Coach Steve predicted a 9:45 min/mile pace, so I was encouraged by the first few 9:20s, 9:35s. But I focused too much on my pace and on looking for other Old Men who I might catch and both were poor distractions that further sapped my energy.  I should have focused on just feeling good. Instead, by Mile 8, just after starting the last of 3 loops, I started walking. (Another, younger guy stopped running at that marker, and said, “Looks like we had the same idea.”). I was ready to walk the rest of the way. But then I got bored.  

    So I ran. And walked the rest stops. And marveled at the poorly named Gatsby Hotel (doesn’t that story end badly?), and at the wedding couple being photographed on the beach. And eventually, very very soon after Mile 12, mile 13.1 arrives and I finished! Miraculously. Exhausted.  But finished. 

    Bottom LIne: Ran in 2:11:54, 5/11 AG, and finished in 5:47:35, 5/10 AG,  436/890 OA.  Better than average, and another one (maybe my 17th 70.3) for the books. Time for a rest week before my putting in the necessary volume for my next race: El Salvador 70.3, in February 2027!

  • Westchester Triathlon – 9/20/2026

    Westchester Triathlon – 9/20/2026

    My goals for this Olympic distance triathlon were to not get hurt (especially because my older son’s wedding was in a week), to have fun, and to win (despite my year of running injuries).  The last goal wasn’t likely, but it’s always what I want.

    At 4:30 a.m., I texted this to Alan Golds, who was going to drive us to Rye Beach:

    “The rain is earlier and heavier [than we previously expected] …”

    We talked about not going, but I had just bought a helmet the day before with a wrap-around visor for the rain, and felt ready. So we went. (Alan later texted, “I blame you entirely.”)

    Rain held off while we set up in transition, and only drizzled while we waited at the beach in our wetsuits with everyone else, including Kevin Carlsten. 

    Post-race, with Alan and Kevin.

    The announcer told us to swim only to the 2nd of 4 buoys, so we’d stay within the jetties protecting the beach, because the coast guard reported the water was pretty rough outside the break walls. Our wave (as it were) walked over the starting mat, and stood in the water; I wasn’t sure if we had started after crossing the mat, and started to run in — false start! Walked back, and THEN we ran in — which was a great way to feel my legs activated, rather than just squeezed by the wetsuit.

    This felt like the first time I swam aggressively (normally, afraid I’ll burn out before getting to the bike) — but did without spinning paddles: long, strong strokes, pushing against the current as we went away from the beach, keeping a good reach and catch, breathing every 2nd stroke and sighting every 5th or 6th (when I did it less frequently, found myself off course), than rounding the second buoy (very familiar, this is where Alan and I trained the last few weeks) to make a left turn across the bay.  Some waves coming in from the right side, found myself timing the stroke with the waves’ roll, the water is a delightful temperature but still glad to be in a full wetsuit, take the next buoy and head towards shore, this is a REALLY short course because my watch vibrates at “500 yds” and we’re almost done, the waves and current pushing us home like a phalanx of dolphins, and I’m passing guys in white swim caps (from the earlier wave) and walk onto the beach and strip off my wetsuit (having practiced stripping the wetsuit in my kitchen, down to 24 seconds) and run to transition and that was ½ the distance and twice the FUN.

    Onto the bike, magnets clip the visor onto the helmet (complete with a Darth Vader soundtrack), and light rain has started (which Coach Steve had warned was dangerous because it brings out the oils in the pavement, whereas a heavy rain washes the oils away) and I’m just trying to keep my power above the goal of 180 watts, and feeling that easy light spin (passed one of the collegiate athletes and wanted to tell him to get out of that heavy gear, higher RPM feels better and generates more power), and finding I’m closer to and then well over 200 watts, but defensively watching the road and the other riders (“on your left! thank you…”), slowing for turns (so glad I put wax onto my chain the night before, should be better in wet conditions), and realize it’s started to pour, but the visor keeps everything clear. The watch dings every 5 miles, and that first interval was only 17 mph and Coach Steve has me shooting for 19.9 mph, but fine, here’s the 2-mile “hill” but it’s nothing like the old course, this was easy, and it’s relatively downhill from here, But a guy who looks in my age group passes me, and I shall call him “Stanley” and I never seem to catch him the rest of the ride….  Going downhill I lock into aero and watch the road for any bumps but Greenwich, CT pays for well-paved roads, and as long as other riders heed my warning call (“your left! On your LEFT!”), I feel safe (only later learning that I hit 39 mph at one point). A burly young guy with tattoos apparently is offended  by my passing him and suddenly I hear hiim say “On your right!” And I yell at him “Pass on your left, dammit!”(It’s not just against the rules to pass on the right, it’s crazy dangerous.) And Nurin, a 20-something athlete I met the day before when we were registering who’s never done a triathlon before, passes me, and I pass him, and he passes me, and I tell him “get out of the left lane unless you’re passing,” and I realize I’m not ONLY an asshole but also an elder mentor, and Nurin thanks me, takes off and comes in 11th overall.  Damn, the kid is fast. The course is less than 40k, but I survived without injury, and avg. 19 mph.

    Into transition, there’s almost no bikes in my area, but we’re not racked by age group so I don’t know who may be miles ahead of me, but I’m out of there pretty fast, and I see a water stop (declined to wear my water belt) and that reminds me to take some nutrition, and between the carbon-plated shoes and the caffeine Huma gel, I. Feel. SPRINGY.  

    A convoluted, goofy running route takes us along the boardwalk, then back again, then into the trails through marshland and narrow muddy trails which slows me down from 8:15 min/mile to 9:01 for the second mile (Coach Steve had predicted a 9:30 pace, so this is great), and I realize, despite a year of injuries, I feel fine, EXCEPT for the fact that running as hard as I can and sustain for 6.2 miles just sucks. Right? There’s a reason people hate running, it’s uncomfortable, but I’m not injured so just dig deep and watch the collegiate athletes already running back from the turnaround and marvel at my sustaining an 8:30 pace on the 3rd mile and oh my god this is hard work And I remember my magic bib number: 816. 2 to the 3rd, 2 to the 4th.  “I have hidden powers.” Panting starts at mile 4, breathing hard every 4 steps, and that’s okay. 

    As I enter the park again, Jeff Matoom (a coach who was at the Westpoint Sprint a few weeks ago and whom I’ve known for years) is cheering on his clients and I say “Any other old men, Jeff?” And he says, “yeah, yeah” and then “No, you’re the only old man” and I’m running hard because another guy I think might be in my age group might not have stayed too far behind me and I round the corner in the park and run the grass towards the inflatable archway and I FINISH!  Injury free! Feeling strong.

    And the results are better than satisfactory:  Swam 840 yds in 16:04 (1:55 min/120 yd. pace, 1/12 AG ), run from beach to T1 in 1:29 (6/12 AG because I took off my wetsuit before running), T1 in 1:37 (1/12 AG), bike 22.2 miles in 1:10:07 and 183 watts normalized power (19.0 mph, 3/12 AG), T2 in 1:39 (1/12 AG), run 5.86 miles in 49:49 (8:31 min/mile, 4/12 AG), total time: 2:21:58. But …. 1/12 AG!  Beat 2nd place by 1 minute in the swim and 30 seconds in T2. It’s a three part race, and it all adds up! And 44/194 OA. 

    Nailed it again. (Took 2nd Place at this race some years ago.)

    This might be my best race. Not just because 1st place — sweet as that is, it’s the cherry on top of enjoying the whole thing, rain and all, carefully avoiding injury especially without a bike fall before the wedding but still pushing hard,  the digging deep was enjoyable, the affirmation that my years of fitness actually are more important than the months of recovering from injuries. Nothing short of a blessing.

    Plus: the prize given to 1st place in each age group… a six-pack!

  • Lighthouse Swim – Aug. 30, 2026

    Lighthouse Swim – Aug. 30, 2026

    As I write this, I’m still recovering from swimming across the Hudson River. 

    I had done this event in 2023 – a 2.2-mile swim “as the crow flies” (but the crow doesn’t swim… a notoriously smart bird). To start on the Nyack side, 98 of us piled into buses in Sleepy Hollow to cross the Tappan Zee Bridge.

    With swim/race buddy Alan Golds

    We waded into the water after 8:30 a.m. (which we later learned was poor timing because it coincided with the tide coming in, from the NYC mouth of the river towards the north…).  The water is lovely and comfortable, and I’m feeling strong but surprised that it takes a while to get to the first of 8 buoys, because I was not yet aware of that tidal current. All of us are dragging safety buoys, and most of them are orange, so it’s hard to see the second marker that’s also orange and the sun is in my eyes.  I can’t seem to keep up and don’t want to follow the crowd anyway, because  they don’t seem to be aiming for the buoys.

    The journey to Buoy #3 is REALLY taking a while (I later learn it took me over 20 minutes to do some of the 500-yard intervals, but I’m ignoring my watch while swimming, patient and persistent), and when I get to the buoy I have to make a huge effort to get around it and not get snarled in the line, and I don’t think my Garmin has yet to vibrate and register the second 500 yards!  I can’t even see the next buoy with all the glare, and a kayaker is in my sight line and I curse and he asks me if I’m okay, and I’m fine, I’m NOT going to rest on the end of a kayak, but I can’t rest at all, the current will drag me off course if I don’t try to keep moving.  I never make it all the way south to the 4th or 5th buoy — or even see the 6th or 7th!  

    The kayakers are great but giving conflicting advice, which is assuring until I realize no one knows where to direct me with this current. One of them says to shoot for shore (I see a long rectangular building that’s reflecting the sun) and another says to swim towards the tower span of the bridge, and a third says to not bother making the buoy because the current is pushing me north (“No shit!” I say and we both laugh.)

    The bridge doesn’t seem to be getting any closer, and I ask yet another kayaker whether I’m the last person, and he says no (and there’s no use in looking back for anyone else, I dare not stop), and then the leg cramps start creeping in. At my practice sessions this year, sometimes when I decided to “go fast”, my feet or calves or thighs cramped up so much that I had to jump out and can hardly walk the next day.  But now, each time the tension start to creep in, I make myself slow down, relax, just keep swimming, just float, a couple of breast stroke kicks, and the cramps dissipate.  And by the end of the swim, I’ve counted eight close encounters with leg cramps (the way I’ve counted runners I pass on a race), and I am NOT resting on a kayak, nor pausing to get a gel out of my safety buoy, that’s a surefire way of losing to the cramps, even though it’s probably been more than the 1:15 hours that my initial nutrition covers.

    Screenshot

    And  suddenly a Zodiac rubber boat pulls up — it’s the marine unit from my town’s volunteer fire department — and they say I have to get in the boat, an unscheduled barge is nearby and that thing is coming close!  And I think that I blew it, that I WAS the last swimmer, but they pick up 5 other swimmers and bring us around 250 yards closer to shore and away from the channel, and zoom back out to pick up more swimmers.(Later, the captain tells Alan Golds, that the current was very, very serious.)

    I’m next to the guy on the floor…

    And it turns out we’ve been swimming for 2:09 hours already!  I eat my gel and jump in, get back into the rhythm and swim the final 100 yards into the finish line, grateful to be DONE.

    Turns out that almost EVERYONE had been swept very far north, spread out across the river, and the rescue boats and jet skis had to drag dozens of them south and close enough to finish the course. Once they were swept north, they had to swim directly into the tidal current, while I was attempting to swim into it at a a 90-degree angle…. Ultimately I swam in almost a straight line — and arrived  in in 2:16 (a 3:25 min/mile pace – literally twice my normal pace). And biggest surprise: 35/98 OA (and 16 of those did not finish). 

    Bottom line: I did it, and I beat down the cramps, even though it was a slog.  Some very strong, experienced swimmers reported it was the hardest open water event they had done. Everything hurts, nothing is injured.  And now I feel like I won  the struggle against getting discouraged. 

    I also swam to raise money for Feed Westchester.  The support from some VERY generous friends and family is deeply appreciated (especially from Aunt Betsy in memory of uncle Jim Sampliner, an impressive athlete all his life, whose yartzheit happened to fall in the prior week.) It’s not too late to donate: https://www.thelighthouseswim.org/Race/Donate/NY/SleepyHollow/TheLighthouseSwimsleepyhollow.  Thank you!

  • West Point Sprint Triathlon – August 16, 2026

    West Point Sprint Triathlon – August 16, 2026

    This was my first triathlon since May 2025 because of a “series of unfortunate events”: had surgery for my broken right foot, PT after the surgery; left hamstring, PT for that; got a cold from swimming/nasal infection; rolled right ankle; right Achilles injury and PT for that… So, it was pretty exciting to feel ready to race, needed to be in tune with my body but still wanted to push the envelope. 

    This was the third time I had done this race — so, my impossible goal was to beat the SOB with my name who had done this race 10 years ago (in 1:22:05).

    Drove up with Alan Golds, my swim-training and racing buddy since the beginning of my triathlons.

    Beautiful, sunny day, with temps in the 70s, and water temp at 77.5 degrees — so wetsuit-legal by just ½ a degree. Warmup in the water for around 5 minutes. “Self-seeding” to start the race was a joke, because there were no signs showing anticipated swim speeds, more like the mosey-up-to-the-starting-line of a running race (so I seed myself between those who are pushing to the front and those lagging behind), and we’re OFF! 

    Water is full of reeds and lily pads on the right, so I avoid that, and pass the first buoys pretty quickly, legs are squeezed from the wetsuit but feeling strong and glad to be in touch with good body position (butt up, head down!), reach “wide” with right hand to avoid crossing over and bend that elbow to establish the catch — all the result of a swim lesson with Coach Steve (at https://www.triendeavors.com/) — and breathing/sighting every 3-2-strokes (which might be excessive sighting, but kept me on course). Finished the 800 yds. in 14:03 minutes (1;52 pace) – faster than Coach Steve predicted, and only slightly slower than 10 years ago. And 4/18 for AG!

    Stripped off the sleeveless wetsuit, ran a short distance (1:40 minutes) to T1 (1:04 minutes), put on shoes helmet and swapped goggles for glasses, and start to RIDE! Up the long hill (keep the wattage steady, don’t surge, don’t use too heavy a gear, but be strong), turn around and go down down down (feels great to tuck into aero and coast and catch whoever is pedaling ahead of me), turn again and up up hill (here comes Vadim, haven’t seen him for years, I’ll never catch HIM), some guy (no. 181) hunched over on a plain road bike passes all of us (so much for fancy equipment! And after that, he ran a 6:53 pace!), and I scoot back into the Camp Buckner.

    44:42 for 13.6 miles (18.4 mph, again a little slower than coach’s prediction), but felt solid and no hamstring twang (gotta love the new saddle and newly fitted bike).  6/18 for AG… But T2 took 1:12 minutes… (9/18 for AG – there’s room for improvement!)

    And then, what we’ve all been waiting for: the run.  It’s only 5k, but my first running race in a long time, and I’m in my  carbon-plate shoes (overcompensating? You bet) and I feel SPRINGY! As I leave transition, I realize I left my watch on the bike, but I don’t want to lose time going back to get it and not having a watch will force me to go by feel. Which is fine, except what I start to feel is… tired. And without a watch, I don’t know how far I’ve gone!  There are no mile markers, the road loops through the woods and I remember from prior races finishing on a downhill, but I go up three hills and I’m asking people, “this way to the finish line”?  So, yeah, knowing how far I had left to go would have been better for my mental state… but there’s the inflatable Finish Line and I’m DONE!

    Approaching the finish line — what’s not to like?

    Unbelievably, despite predicting 9:30 min/mile, I finish in 25:46 minutes – 8:17 min/mile! 4th in Age group!

    Bottom line: 1:28:39, 6/18 AG, 63/236 OA. NO Pain! 6:30 minutes slower than 10 years ago, and only 2 seconds slower than Vadim!

    Post-race bonus:  a Hastings-on-Hudson neighbor, Tim Donahue (biked in 37:36), his 10th-grade daughter (swam in 10:48) and her friend (ran in 23:38) did a relay — and combined (1:13:35), they beat first place overall. Pretty amazing.

  • Rowayton 10K – January 4, 2026

    After four months of recovery from a Jones Fracture and foot surgery, a month of getting back to running, and then three weeks recovering from the flu, this 10k was not only my longest race but my longest run in 6 months. But Mike Hogan said “why not?” And I realized “lack of fitness” and “it will be cold” were not good answers. Besides, it was good training to overcome reluctance, remember what it’s like to get up in the morning to race, and get back on the horse. Mike picked me up, and off we go to the first of a 4-race series!

    With Mike Hogan, after the race.

    Beautiful day, low 20s but warmer in the sun.  Gathered in the local elementary school, juggled my layers (warm beanie rather than the SuperWool hat, visor for the sun, thermal shirt and wicking shirt rather than jacket, warm gloves rather than igloo mittens, medium-weight rather than heavyweight tights). The race started informally — around 0.1 miles from the starting mat and finish line — and I just ran as best I could.  As Coach Steve had predicted, despite (or because of) the prior day’s 1:45 hour bike ride followed by 0:30 minutes running as fast as I could (all of 9:25 minutes/mile!), I felt stronger than I expected.  First mile was 8:09 (downhill…).  Good thing I ignored my watch and went by RPE (relative perceived exertion).

    Ran across a bridge over a pretty bay, snow on the trees and beautiful, past a short beach and then… some hills.  I had forgotten about the hills on this course (having neglected to write a race report last year!) and miles 2, 4 and 5.5 had some long ones. Oh, well; I wasn’t racing for time; I was racing to see what I could do, today.  Passed a few people, briefly, and even the guy huffing like a cow passed me in the end.  My slowest 10k — 53:41 (8:39 per mile), 15/23 AG, 121/201 OA, — but much faster than then 57 minutes (9:25 per mile) I had predicted.my average heart rate was 160 bpm, which I didn’t know I could sustain. Again:  this was my longest run in 6 months and I’m grateful to here.

    In two weeks:  the Ridgefield 15k!

  • Ironman Western Massachusetts 70.3 – June 8, 2025

    Ironman Western Massachusetts 70.3 – June 8, 2025

    So, this was a great race in many ways: perfect weather, pretty landscape, good people, solid results (10/40 for AG). But I went deeper into the pain cave than I bargained for. On the one hand, my mental distraction tools didn’t work; on the other hand, I left nothing on the course. (Other than a water bottle.)

    The drive up to Springfield, Mass should only have taken 2 hours, but with an accident and a downpour slowing traffic, took 3 ½ hours. So I registered at the MassMutual Convention Center by 3:30 — shortly before registration  closed at 4:00. By that time, they had run out of computer chips (“we’ll leave it on your bicycle, where you rack it”) and by the time I got to the leaky, underground parking lot that served as the Transition area, they had run out of bike racks… So they had us rack in the section reserved for the Pros! (Apparently, all of the Pros were attending Eagleman 70.3 held on the same day.)

    Finally, I’m recognized as the great athlete I am!

    The AirBnB proved to be some 5 minutes away, and this “classic, 19th Century mansion” proved to have a beautiful empty ballroom, lovely ground floor living rooms, and 3 floors of rundown, tiny kitchens and bedrooms without curtains.

    But by coincidence, another TriEndeavors teammate, Liam McNichols, was staying there as well, with his sister and girlfriend! 

    Liam and I took this photo to send to Coach Stephen Redwood

    Good thing I was in a mansion full of triathletes, because after getting up at 3:15 (to eat, pack up, park and get to transition at 4:45 in order to set up, wait for the toilets and then walk the mile to swim start), Liam tells me what the Ironman App reports:  the swim is cancelled! Apparently, the runoff from that downpour the day before contaminated the Connecticut River. So, the race wouldn’t begin until 6:40, with a “time trial” bike leg.  (That is, the same as every race: your timing chip triggers your starting time.)

    The swim that didn’t happen….

    To accommodate 1,161 racers, they said we’d start in bib order — but even though my bib was no. 1141, I was racked with Pros 1-10, so I started with the first racers! Wasn’t sure if I needed my arm warmers, about to begin and took them off, and a race official grabbed them from me and stuffed them into my back pockets…

    BAM, we are off and I immediately pull to the right side so faster riders can pass me.  My plan (via Coach Steve) is to ride at RPE (relative perceived exertion) of 4-5 the first 10 miles, RPE 6-7 for Miles 10 to 40 or 45, RPE 7-8 for Miles 45 to 56. The goal is not to get cooked on the ride and to avoid blowing up on the run.  So I work hard to not work too hard.

    The bike course

    It’s rolling hills, low 60’s temp and cloudy and I’m staying in control, but definitely feeling the FOMO as dozens then hundreds of people burn past me. At 1 hour, bursitis in my left hip flares up and my power meter shows I drop to 143 watts; I stay as aero as possible, shifting positions as best I can, standing up on the hills just to relieve the pain but that also cranks up my heart rate… somehow I muscle through it, and the bursitis doesn’t flare up again until Hour 2. 

    My age apparently is pretty apparent: I get a “Nice job, Sir!” from a spectator, and a white-haired, unshaven, heavy guy on a lawn next to his rusting pickup truck says, “There’s another old-timer.”  I leapfrog with a smiling guy with salt n’ pepper beard and a kerchief under his helmet (Me: “You’re having too much fun!” Him: “Absolutely!” Me: “What’s your age group?” Him: “I’m 41.” Me: “I could be your father!” Him: “It would be an honor!” And then he’s gone, baby, gone…)

    I made the rookie mistake of “trying something new on race day”: two nights before, I coated my sunglass/ goggles with a different anti-fogging product, but on race day, they are  so fogged up that I take them off and stuff them into the top of my shirt (checking now and then to make sure they didn’t slip out, like my swim goggles during last year’s SOS race!). Sure enough, my eyes are tearing behind my glasses the rest of the ride, but the sun only peaks out now and then, so I get by without sunglasses.  Inspired by teammate Liam (who said one of his goals was to “crush it on the nutrition”) I keep up with my nutrition plan, shoveling down all the carbs I can while riding.   

    Some glorious downhills (I later learn that I maxed out at 43 mph) and I try to crank it up starting at Mile 40 or 45; feeling strong but my wattage doesn’t really increase. Less than a mile from the end, my spare water bottle falls off, and I should stop and get it, but I don’t.   Finish the bike in 2:54:23, averaging 19 mph on a hilly course; normalized power of 178 watts; average heart rate of 122, peaking at 141.  And 19/40 for age group… Go through Transition, feeling enough energy to at least start the run… but I’m dreading the upcoming effort of a half marathon.  

    Hey, it’s not 13.1 miles — it’s 13.2!

    The run is beautiful, sunny, mostly shaded through a “lollipop” course (2 miles out along the handle, two 4.5-mile loops around a park, 2 miles back down the handle) and from the very beginning it’s hard. My first mile, and my heart rate is already at 143 bpm (I’ll be in the 150s if I’m not careful! That’s not sustainable!); when it climbs to 148 bpm, I walk up the hill going into the park (along with a tall woman who looks like an athlete who knows what she’s doing). I get into a groove after the downhill of the first loop (a big man with small children yells, “Look at that smile!”), but I agree with the short woman I’m leapfrogging, “I can’t wait until we can take the sign that says “to Finish” (instead of “Second Loop”).  Twice I get that mixed compliment, “Nice work, Sir!”  (Me: “Please don’t call me ‘Sir’!”). I realize my Garmin is entirely inaccurate —it takes a quarter mile after we pass the mile markers for the watch to ding that I’ve finished a mile — which means that I should NOT care about technology.

    But my mental gymnastics of looking to the horizon and pushing away negative thoughts isn’t working, I’m trying to run “lighter ” and stop slapping my feet, my knee hurts going downhill on the second loop (must be IT band, I don’t have knee issues, do I?) and pick up the pace, just kick up the cadence just a little at Mile 8, it’s not feeling stronger, I want to pick it up again at Mile 10 but I can’t, a glorious downhill coming out of the park hitting 7:30 minute/mile for a moment, and other people are burning past me but I just don’t give a damn anymore I’m just trying to finish I can’t get any faster and here’s the finish line and they announce my name and my age and I’m DONE.

    Smile for the Finish Line!

    And even when I bump into Logan Underkofler, another TriEndeavor teammate, I can’t stop walking, I’m afraid I’ll throw up, and I can’t sit, I’m on the verge of cramping, but salty potato chips and chocolate milk seem doable, slowly, and 20 minutes later my fingers start tingling as if they’d fallen asleep, and I’m left wondering:  how far into the pain cave did I go? I’m wiped out, I don’t know if I ever want to race again, and Coach Steve tells me, “sounds like you did a good job!”

    Bottom line: finished the 13.1 miles in 1:55:14 (8:35 minute/mile!), and 10/40 AG (picked up 9 slots from the bike!), 477/1,083 OA. It wasn’t fun, and I wish for that much effort that I had faster results, but I have the satisfaction that I gave it everything I had.

    I even hang out all afternoon to see if other age groupers will turn down the chance to go to the 70.3 world championship, and roll down to my slot, but no, I’m not going to Spain in November.

  • La Jolla Half Marathon – May 17, 2025

    La Jolla Half Marathon – May 17, 2025

    It’s taken me over two weeks to get to writing this, because this beautiful race was the first morning of the INTA (International Trademark Association) annual conference in San Diego, which kept me very busy meeting some of the 10,000 attendees for five days, and then visiting my college roommate before returning to NY just in time for my anniversary, and then catching up with WORK.

    Culled from the INTA participants were 99 of us who ran the HM and around 35 more who ran the 5k.

     (I missed the photo op, along with other INTA runners who were dedicated to their pre-race routines…)

    We stayed in hotels near the starting line, and INTA’s local impresario and lifetime runner Larry Binderow (who had bragged about running this race countless times), with tremendous logistics by Jackie Stelling and Chris Bennett (whose name will pop up again) organized a big pasta dinner for us.  And Larry rented a bus to take us the morning of the race from the Courtyard by Marriot to the race —- and then back again after the race!  

    Chris and Larry (1st Place among mensches)

    Loose self-seeding put me behind the 1:55 hour pacer, but I was hoping to break 1:50. (My 25k winter race pace would result in 1:48, but my Sleepy Hollow Half Marathon was 1:55…). Weather is perfect: 59 Degrees and cloudy (so I wore my hat backwards, despite knowing it’s not a great look on me…) 

    A joyful group start!

    Though it would be nice to  run with the INTA folks, I knew that I had to settle into my own  pace and initially dropped my friends — except for Santosh Singh, who passed me around Mile 2, flying past in  in his yellow visor never to be seen again… (finishing in 1:44). I keep checking in:  is my effort a 4 or 5 out of 10? Everything is pretty flat and beautiful until the long descent before The Hill starting at Mile 6.

    Ah, the scene of the crime. Enjoy this final descent before hitting The Hill at the end of the road!

    I’m panting, and slow down on The Hill to 12 min/mile before getting my groove, and about halfway up I’m joined by Matt  Allen (UK) from INTA (whom I didn’t know, but who is wearing the same shirt, which served its purpose of team recognition). Matt and I get each other up and over the series of crests (“the hill just wouldn’t stop!”) without slowing and we average a stunning 8:59 min/mile. Starting the flatter/downhill section, I take a gel, and realize that young Matt is no longer panting and I say “I’ll let you go”, because I’m running MY race, and he goes off into the sunrise, as it were.

    The downhills keep on coming, and it is thrilling and I realize I’m having  fun but still worried:  will pounding downhill lead to calf cramps I had at my last HM in March? Will the aching quads give out in some way? So I go as fast as comfortable rather than pushing as fast as possible… And yes, it’s beautiful, until we get to the Second Hill, another mile or so of up up up, and now I’m painfully going as fast as I can, and I manage to pass Chris Bennett. And then another downhill stretch towards the park by the shore and the Finish LIne is finally here!  

    If I’m enjoying the last two miles, I’m not doing my job…

    And I didn’t even see that Chris passed me.

    Bottom line: 1:49:56, just over two minutes faster than Coach Steve predicted (which is my litmus test of success, because he’s awfully good with numbers) and I’m honored to lose to Chris by only 8 seconds.  7/74 AG, 539/4,458 OA. And stunning results by other INTA runners, especially Viviana Erejomovich of Argentina (1:44, 1st in AG), Jerry Walder (UK, 1:34), Eduardo Miravete (Mexico, 1:28, 1st in AG) and Paul Ward-Hutton (Australia, 1:27, 3rd for AG). A beautiful, brutal experience – but for all the complaints about those uphills, the downhills were glorious.

    And now… onto the Western Massachusetts 70.3 (that is, a Half Ironman) — on June 8!

  • Atlantic Duathlon – April 19, 2025

    Atlantic Duathlon – April 19, 2025

    A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far, Far Rockaway….

    There was a duathlon (run, bike, run) held next to a time trial bike race (ride, ride, ride) starting in opposite directions on the same flat, straight, cement boardwalk along the Atlantic Ocean beach of Queens (New York).

    I got there at 6:30 for a 7:30 a.m. start and was virtually the only person there — other than 5 guys waiting for direction to set up the starting line and the transition area — other than another 60+ athlete:

    MICHAEL KAUFFMAN. (Poor guy.  Living his whole life, unable to spell his last name properly.)

    They eventually set up transition in a long, covered bus stop, where we checked in after dozens of others showed up at 7:00ish, and the race started after 8:00 a.m.

    In prior duathlons, I had been told to run 3.1 miles as fast as I can; ride 12 miles as fast as I can; then run 3.1 miles (you got it) as fast as I can.  THIS race, Coach Steve suggested low to medium effort for Run 1; hard but not maximum for the Ride; for Run 2, get used to walk/running again, then hard for first 1.5 miles, harder for 1.5 to 2.5 miles, and fast as possible for the last 1/2 mile.  

    And that’s pretty much what I did. Ignored the watch for Run No. 1.  The younger men tore away, pretty much in the order in which they lined up at the starting line,

    10 of ‘em shooting past me as I approached the turnaround… Pretty humbling. I dug into feeling solid, relaxed, trying hard not to try too hard. 3.1 miles: done!

    Ran down to the transition area — bike racks set up in a long, covered bus stop. It had been COLD, with a lot of wind coming off the ocean, but I had warmed up a lot and didn’t need an extra layer for the ride. Hopped on the bike, shouting out my bib number to a race official, who input the info into his laptop (since we didn’t have any computer chips on the bibs to track us), rode up a short ramp and back onto the boardwalk, this time heading north.

    Trying to put my gloves back on while starting the ride…

    Ah, heading north, with a tailwind… I hadn’t put my watch on the front of the bike (deciding with Steve that I didn’t need the data for such a short ride, and I was working off relative perceived exertion, right?) but kept peeking at my wrist for the speedometer: if I was too comfortable, speed dropped to 19 mph but when I focussed I averaged 22, sometimes 23 mph, which was FUN! Of course, turning around at 3 miles for the each of the two loops, I’m heading back into the wind, and my speed dropped to 18 mph, 17 when I tried to drop to an easier gear and pick up the RPMs (don’t get comfortable! This is a race!).  

    This was a 2-loop course, and almost was wiped out as I turned around — someone dressed in black (who I later realized was the guy who came in 1st place) didn’t want to slow down or properly pass me on the right side of the road so he went on the left side and almost hit me as I came around the cone…

    Looped again, gone with the wind, then turning around back into the gale and towards the Start/Finish.

    Back down to the bus stop, racked my bike, helmet and bike shoes, grabbed those carbon-plated shoes and visor again, and hobbled up the ramp to run south again.  And… after getting used to running, I was able to kick it up to a faster pace! Running towards me after the turnaround is the next guy — far, far ahead of me (“Hello, Number 10!”), and I get to the turnaround and it’s tough to work, and hard to push because whoever’s behind me is WAY behind me and the guy ahead of me is WAY ahead of me

    but I’m here to do all that I’m able and with a mile to go I start going as fast as I  can, but that was a little early, half a mile from the end I’m starting to flag but I manage in the last .1 miles to hit a 6:43 min/mile pace.  For a whole 1/10th mile. 

    And I smile for the camera.

    Bottom line: First  3.1 mile run in 24:28 (7:48 min/mile); 11.7 mile ride in 35:23 (19.6 mph; 20 mph seems to be my white whale…); 3.1 mile run in 23:37 (7:37 min/mile).  1/3 AG, 12/19 OA.  More importantly, a good race: in control, built up and maintained as planned, felt strong and managed to do a negative split (finished faster than started).

    Alas, too small a race to merit age group awards (as it is, I won the “55-99 Age Group”!) and I could have left earlier. But it was fun to watch the winners enjoy the podium.

    Female winners of the Time Trial bike race…
    And the men who won the Duathlon

  • Sleepy Hollow Half Marathon – March 29, 2025

    Sleepy Hollow Half Marathon – March 29, 2025

    Well, at this race, I fought a good fight. This was my slowest half marathon ever but, spoiler alert (those never work, do they?), still good enough to come in 2nd Place for my age group (that is to say, the Almost Oldest Men).

    I’ve done the Sleepy Hollow HM around 4 times before — I’ll have to check the t-shirts. 15-minute drive to a beautiful, part pavement/part groomed trail course along the paths of the Rockefeller Preserve (the “Rockies”).  Weather was sunny and gorgeous. From the very beginning it felt like a good day: chatting with a runner around 40 with a shirt that said “Sometimes Win, Mostly Lose”, I asked what winning and losing mean; finally meeting and getting a hug from Roberta Ruppel, who had been a friend of my mother and was wife of Todd the  race director; meeting other triathletes who commented on my SOS Triathlon shirt (“I did that race in 1985!”); watching Guy with White Hair and White Shirt (ultimately introduced as Brian Murphy) jump to the front of the pack and know that he’s winning my age group, so settle in and do what I can.

    So good to meet Robert Ruppel, who had been a friend of my mother…

    Tried to stick with the plan:  take it easy the first 5 miles, ratchet it up miles 5 to 11, go strong miles 11-13.  But this course is really hilly: Big Guy with Shaved Head and Tatoos blurs past on the trail climb from the Hudson River only to walk after cresting (later told me he had cramped up); Route 117 is 1.5 miles of treeless, sunny uphill where I chatted with a young man walking to recover from heartburn, and then some downhill on the way back; the climbs up from Phillipse Manor train station and then up from the lighthouse park and then the last steep, steep hill to the finish line — brutal.  

    Around 1,250 feet of elevation over the 13.1 miles. 

    Mile 4.5 was the Start/Finish Line for the Pocantico Hills Half Marathon that I ran last November

    The temp went up from 53 to 67 degrees during the race, and I didn’t bring salt tablets.  So between the lack of electolytes, the week of no running to recover from dental surgery, and not enough hill workouts to prep for the pounding, my calves started cramping – alternate legs! – at Mile 8 1/2.   Every few minutes, I’m shouting (more like a “yip!”) from the pain. So my goal shifted from “let’s do a negative split” to “drop the pace so I don’t have to walk”.

    A very local race! I registered that morning…

    Look, under those conditions, I’m not complaining about 1:55:57 (= 8:51 min./mile), even though it was 30” slower per mile than my 25k race with similar terrain a few weeks ago; and I never complain about getting on the podium, 2/15 AG, 174/603 OA.

    But I’m finally at a point where I’m not defining my race results by my time, or my standing. Rather, success is feeling strong during a race and enjoying most of it until unleashing the power to get faster at the end. That wasn’t this race.  A good effort, I fought a good fight, the weather was lovely, and the next one will be better.

    Medal on left was for participation; medal on right was earned.
  • Silvermine 25K — Norwalk, Connecticut

    Silvermine 25K — Norwalk, Connecticut

    “By the dawn’s early light…”

    “2 states.  4 towns. Innumerable hills.” That’s how the directors of the Buildup to Boston (now in its 47th year!) promote this fourth, final race of the series (5k, 10k, 15k, 25k spread over January to March). Though the hills can’t be counted, the elevation can:   Around 1,400 ft (427 meters) to climb, overall.

    Like virtually all of the races in the 2025 series, I didn’t know if I’d do this race, as I had a saxophone gig the night before, and we all changed our clocks at 2 a.m., “Springing forward” (so we’d lose an hour of sleep). And I wasn’t ready for this race, having spent the week before running  only 3 x 1ish hours; and the day before riding for 2.5 hours (“slowly! I’ve got a race tomorrow!”).  But there I was, up at 6 a.m., cylinders clicking and pulling together the race prep, out the door at 7, arrive to check in at 7:45 for an 8:30 start.

    Folks along the way were the short, competitive Michael “Torpedo” Rusolo; and moments before the race began, younger Rob with the Jeep (who parked next to me at the last race) gives me a fist bump and reminds me to have fun. The race begins, without a countdown or starting gun as far as I can tell (proving that after all, this is a community race). I decided that the hills won’t bother me if I focus on keeping a chosen level of exertion, rather than maintaining speed going up hill.  

    Screenshot

    I pass and stay ahead of the heavier Guy in Dark Blue Shirt until Mile 6 or so, and then he inches ahead and eventually leaves me in the dust.  At around Mile 8, there’s young Stephanie, chatting about her upcoming 100-mile race, with a phalanx of 4 other runners chatting about marathons whom I somehow had passed, and two of them are my age groupers.  And that Phalanx of Five jumped ahead (or I fell behind) like the fast bunch of runners at the starting line who take off and seize the distance and are gone before you turn the corner. (The eventual winner was 31-year old Milan Duka of Stamford, who managed to finish in 1:25:03, a blistering pace of 5:29 min/mile!).

    In choosing not to race after the faster folks (Tim, young muscular guy, plans to do the Sleepy Hollow Half Marathon as a last training run before Boston and recedes to the distance…), mostly I’m alone, trying to manage an RPE of 4-6 (middle level of exertion) for Mile 1-6; for miles 6-13 (OMG that is feeling like a lot of miles…) an RPE of 6-7; Miles 13-15, RPE of 7-8; and the last .5 miles, RPE 8-10 (though Coach Steve doubted I would have enough juice left to get any faster).  The wise ol’ Coach predicts I’ll finish this in 2:09, at a speed of 8:21 min/mile, and that gives me the incentive to go faster than that, because I’ve beaten most of his predictions. 🙂

    I try to stick to the plan, ignoring the watch except to see if it’s time for nutrition (forcing myself to take gels at 0:45, 1:00 hour, and 1:30, each time struggling to get back to a comfortable groove after eating), checking in that I am still under control as I mount those “innumerable hills”, and at the end of the day turns out my heart rate was phenomenally steady (avg. 143 bpm), and I’m taking in the scenery and trying to keep my eyes and thoughts on the horizon, and those folks from the Phalanx of Five chattering away about 90% of racing is “mental”, well, they’re just WRONG, because even if my mental game is relatively positive, the physical part of me is getting worn out by Mile 9 (“3/5ths done! 60%!” No, that’s not a very encouraging thought).

    At Mile 10, LOTS of people are passing me, including an older (my age?) short woman who clearly is a marathoner, and the Tall Woman with the Pony Tail trots by (another marathoner), and the heavier Guy with the Blue Shirt is trudging along but trudging faster than I can, and when two young chatty woman catch up and pass me like I’m standing still, I have to admit, it felt like the NYC Marathon: when the runners who are chatty or in Statue of Liberty costumes pass you, you know things aren’t going well.  Ultimately, I couldn’t get much past RPE 7 — working hard enough not to be able to talk (yes, I know, hard to imagine!), but simply not enough juice to get any faster. 

    I’m doing the best I can, and I’m running with really solid runners, and I’m only dissatisfied that I’m not DONE yet. At around Mile 13, a young woman in black with a long pony tail walked the beginning of each hill — stops to take phone call! — and ultimately passed and beat me to the Finish Line.

    By the time I get to the dirt path lined with orange cones that leads back to the Silvermine Elementary School, I’m alone again and thinking, well, I’ll finally get my warm, dry clothes… and it’s DONE.

    But here’s the amazing thing:  I did well! My pace was 8:22 min/mile — only 1 second slower than what Coach Steve had predicted.  Finished in 2:09:53 (and Steve had predicted 2:09:46.  There’s no doubt: the man can crunch his data).

    Official time, but the temperature was closer to 32 degrees, not 46!

    And what’s truly mind blowing, having been surrounded then left in the dust of the Phalanx of Five:  I came in 4/13 for my age group, and 52/110 OA!  What happened to the five to seven other guys in the 60-69 men’s bracket who beat me in the 5, 10 and 15k races? Turns out, two of them didn’t race today; another beat me by only 11 seconds; and another … came in only 8 seconds after me!

      

    It just goes to show you, you never know who’s going to show up on race day.

    Including yourself.