Race Report Blog

Author: mktriguy

Pat Griskus Olympic Triathlon — June 18, 2016

My first tri of 2016, because of scheduling conflicts, but it’s “only” an Olympic distance, and a smaller race on the same course as the Quassy 70.3 (Half Ironman distance) I did last year, so I expected the Pat Griskus Memorial Triathlon to be more of a laid back community race. Rather than book a hotel there, I went to bed at 9 and got up at 2:45 a.m. – I simply can’t manage to leave the house in less than an hour on race day – drove an hour, fifteen to Middlebury, Connecticut, and arrive just minutes after transition opened at 5 a.m.
It IS a smaller race, but OMG, there was nothing laid back about these racers. For example, the guy who parked next to me drove 8 hours from OTTAWA, with his wife and adult daughter. (Tom McGee ultimately came in 6/182 OA, and at 59 years old, 1st in his age group; finished in 2:14!).

With Tom McGee, post-race.

And the “local” guys literally live next to and train in the lake and the hilly roads. That’s a big home team advantage for some very strong athletes.. And my bib is number 100, which normally would thrill me, but I realize I’m going to need a lot more than luck today.

Small race = two waves for the men, under 45 and over 45. Honnnnnk! The swim started OK — beautiful clear, spring-fed lake water, 72 degrees so it was fine for the full sleeve wetsuit (though I started getting hot). I was on course sighting off the bright orange buoys, then the bigger yellow turn buoys. But I also realized that this is a pack of capital S Swimmers. I mean, I think I’m pretty good for a triathlete, but I am not a Swimmer (because those guys trained in high school or college and have a depth of muscle memory…), and suddenly this feels like the Age Group Nationals all over again: I am competing with monstrous triathletes, and I can hope to catch up on the bike and run, but that’s not very likely. Before the first orange buoy I start drafting behind someone whose feet I touched every other stroke, but it was so much easier, who could resist? (Warning! Warning!). And I round the first buoy, and I’m still hanging on to this guy, and checking now and then to confirm that he’s sighting well, but suddenly at the second buoy he veers off course and I’m on my own if I want to swim in a straight line, and I fall into a comfortable groove (a second warning of complacency), and I pass a couple of guys in white swim caps, from the prior wave, so I guess I’m doing okay (OR they more likely are really, really slow and this is a third warning that I am not working hard enough).

And I get to the finish line in 31:19, a good 5 minutes slower than my best time. Lesson learned: I swam at a pace that was comfortable, and I should have tried harder — this was Olympic distance, not a long race, and I don’t have to be so worried about being worn out in the first of three legs. On the other hand, this WAS my first tri of the season…

So, I strip off the top of my wetsuit as I run past the amusement park rides to T1, and I had practiced stripping in 24 seconds but reality slows me down and I have to dump my EEAA capsules from NUUN container into bento box on the bike and slap on my aero helmet and sunglasses over my eyeglasses and I start to RIDE. T1 in 3:15, a good 45 seconds slower than most everyone else, so THAT’s something to work on.

The bike ride is challenging, but not as bad as I’d expected. I mean, yes, there are four or more sets of long gradual hills and another one towards the end, but not as dramatic as suggested by the “silhouette” of elevation I reviewed before the race, and I tell you, our side of the county has much steeper terrrain. I’m trying to keep my heart rate within zone 2, and taking cue from an older racer to gear down to the small ring in order to keep up RPMs (darn, there are a LOT of guys in the next oldest age bracket who PASS me as if I’m standing still!) and I leap frog with a guy in my age group (Mr. White and Blue) and manage to pass two other guys in my age group, and I’m aero as hell going down hill (and there are a few glorious long stretches), but I really don’t know how many are ahead of me, because there were very few bikes near me when I had left the water…

Bottom line, 1:15:24 for 26 miles (what? I thought it was 24!), average pace of 20.7 mph. Which is among my best on an Oly. And I’m trying new nutrition: EEAAs at 15 minutes and 1 hour, salt capsules at 20 minutes and 1;05, I am admitting that I sweat like a chozzer even on a cool morning among beautiful shaded roads with dappled sunlight (my favorite riding!) and with extra salt I am not going to fall apart like the run on last year’s Ironman. Lessons learned. And, Lo,that was a fun ride!

T2 went better, I grab the race belt with a zip pocket to hold more capsules, which I eat on the second of the two loop run (I never do get to the extra saltstick tab, and end up dropping it when I forget to zip the pocket…) and miles 1 and 4 are down, down, down hill and that’s glorious, miles 2 and 5 are relatively flat but I can’t seem to stop slapping my feet (lighten up! Lighten up!) and miles 3 and 6 are up, up, up, and I see my pace range like a graph from a lie detector test. Tom McGee is running towards me as I start the run and I realize he’s literally a lap ahead, OMG this guy is fast, we high five each other as I start the second loop and he closes in on the finish, and I remember to enjoy the cool shady roads with the dappled sunlight (hey, this isn’t going as well as I’d like but it’s beautiful) and I manage to catch and pass the Blue and White guy from my age group and I think “if I pour it on in this last 1 1/2 miles up hill, maybe I’ll make the podium” and I manage to ratchet it up and actually feel the negative split (relative to the first lap’s uphill leg) and I am pouring on whatever is left in the tank, my heart rate is at 169 which is almost as high as finishing the NYC Tri when it was 90 degrees at the finish line and I cross the line and I am DONE. Run is finished in 43:37, but turns out it’s only a 5.9 mile course, so I averaged 7:23 min/mile – slightly slower than my average, but on a hilly course.

So I finish in 2:34:38, which is slower than other Oly’s I’ve done, which of course are not readily comparable (2 miles longer on the bike, I find out later that night!), but not surprisingly, I’m at the middle of the pack in results, though at the higher end: 6/22 AG, 50/182 OA. No podium today! And as it turns out, swimming 4 or 5 minutes faster wouldn’t have mattered, because 3rd place for my age group was 6 minutes faster than my time. A bit demoralizing; but you can’t control who shows up on race day.

So, OK, my three goals with every race are not getting hurt, having fun and getting faster. And I succeeded today with the first two, and they are the more important ones. And the beer on tap was excellent, and the plateful of pickles to accompany the veggie burger were oh so salty, and I met a lot of really stunning athletes. And Coach Debi gives me a pep talk when I call her during the drive home that this wasn’t my “A Race” and I’m not done with hitting more PRs.

The hell with whoever else shows up on race day. I showed up and worked hard. And the season is young!

June 19, 2016
Gran Fondo – May 15, 2016

Started the day with the amazing Vadim Shteynberg picking me up at my house at 4:45 a.m. to drive to the City and look for parking under the George Washington Bridge (as I lucked out last year). We discussed going to a parking lot but opted to cross the bridge and park in Fort Lee, NJ -which was great, so we would’t have to ride back to the NY side at the end of this 100-mile bike race.

Last year, training for the Ironman, this was more a training ride than a race, focusing on riding the whole thing in heart rate Zone 1, so this year I hoped to shave off as much as 30 minutes and break 6 hours. But this year my longest rides had been only 40 miles…

Vadim and I rode across the upper level of the GWB and stopped to enjoy the sunrise.

We rode around and down and joined the entrance ramp packed with cyclists walking slowly up the long, “clover leaf” approach to the lower level of the bridge. We were so late (that Fort Lee thing) that we were going to be in the last corral – but that was where I was assigned anyway, because I had only imagined I had registered for this last year; in fact, I hadn’t registered (!) so was delighted to be able to sign up on Friday, two days before the race (Oy, paying retail!), and was assigned bib number 5,011. So, yes, there were more than 5,000 riders today from 93 countries. When we finally passed the bag drop off area and could clip in, it was so slow and crowded that I actually fell off my bike – an embarrassing start. (Vadim: “was that YOU?” Me: “Yeah…”).

But even with that crowd, waiting waiting waiting, I found myself right next to Michael Fuller, another riding friend from Hastings!

The race begins en masse and we roll off the bridge, and down to the narrow and broken up River Road, and man it is tough, technical riding, trying to make it through the commuter-style riders and passing as far on the left as I dared and when the impatient racer types said “on your left!” to ME, I couldn’t yield — all right, I admit it, I wouldn’t yield – for fear of hitting those to my right (and because I was stoned on adrenaline) so I just sped up and stayed on the wheel of the next rider. And it is FUN until the ascent but I’m ignoring the heart rate monitor (which is easy, because it conks out early in the race) and going fast and the racers may be way ahead but not a lot of guys passing me. (that last corral, right?)

I skip the first rest stop. It’s around mile 15.

I’m going strong on the approach to Bear Mountain, staying up with some good riders but still riding my racer (“too fast for me, bye, bye!”). Not going nuts on the ascent, but not worrying about my heart rate – I must be in zone 2 or 3 for those first 30 miles, it feels great, but am I flirting with trouble? (Coach Debi would say so…)

I am fueling with new nutrition. To some extent, the EAA’s (capsules of Essential Amino Acids, which I fish out of my bento box and CHEW – man, this is true grit) aren’t enough because I didn’t do the math — 5 capsules every 45 minutes for 6 hours = 40 capsules, not 20. Which I didn’t realize until I had ridden for over 2 Hours. So I would have to ration them starting at 3 hours, and I start eating sweet potato strips (which I cooked up the night before). I was REALLY fast on the first half to the top of Bear Mt… damn, I’m there in 2:42:45, and I mistakenly think I’m halfway done and well under a 6-hour finish time, but later learn it’s only 41 miles to the mountain top.

I skip the rest stop.

I was feeling fine; I had enough water; I wanted to hold off on peeing. And I was leapfrogging with another triathlete, a Japanese New Yorker named Gan Watanabe who’s going to Kona… (Gan: “oh, you riding tri bike too!” Me: “Let me teach you some Yiddish: you’re my Landesman!”) And the descent down Bear Mountain is glorious, not too crowded so I am scarcely on the brakes, I won’t report my maximum speed for fear that my wife or parents might read this…
But then I had to start pedaling, and after all that aero tucking, my legs had stiffened up. And the second “half” I remember is harder than the climb up Bear — lots of steep, short hills. The funny thing is, as the bonking began I felt kind of fine, except appalled that I was being passed by dozens of people. I’m sure if I had my power meter hub, it would show a huge drop off. And I started eating the dates (OMG, they were yummy), but one indicator of how hard I was bonking was that the almonds at the bottom of the Bento box seemed too far away, too much trouble to get to. the marvelous Marc Weidner gives me a shove on my back as he roars off (finishing in 5:51!)

Bill Logan and Marc Weidner

Where is the next rest stop?

So around mile 65, I stopped among the McMansions and pee on the side of the road, and at Mile 70 stopped at a rest stop and ATE: two halves of raisin bagel with PB&J. Two banana halves. Took clif bars but didn’t eat them. and after that food, I was killing it again. (Oddly enough, my heart rate monitor starts working after I eat!). I even lead a peloton for a while (which I didn’t know until the guy behind me passed me — briefly — and told me so). It starts to drizzle, which feels hail on the bike, and it’s cool but I don’t mind as long as I’m moving.

Tooling along, loving that the whole course is mostly closed off to traffic (“thank you, Officer!”), there’s Michael Fuller again (passing me, dammit! I leapfrog him but somehow he beats me by 18 seconds!), and remembering that we’ll be going down and then up, up, up River Road to the finish line (total stranger: “Hey, you’re doing pretty well on that TT bike!”) and I’m pushing but not going to make 6 hours but there are those inflatable arches! And I cross in 6:18:24 — 9 minutes faster than last year, and my third race in three weeks.

So, it was fun, even when I was bonking. Lesson learned: my metabolism – which so far seems to keep me pretty slim – also seems to demand carbs. EAAs alone are not going to do it, and Coach Debi and I need to work out a differnet combination of nutrition for long races. Debi also says that doing the first half in zone 2 isn’t sustainable, even if it’s not followed by a running race, but I haven’t quite accepted the concept of “moderation”…

May 18, 2016
Brooklyn Mother’s Day Duathlon – May 8, 2016

So, the good news about doing a duathlon for the first time is that you’re guaranteed a personal best. This “classic” distance consisted of loops around Prospect Park, so slightly goofy distances: 3.3 mile run, 13.2 mile by bike (4 loops), 3.3 mile run. This was a very local race (for Brooklynites): I knew in advance that only 85 people had signed up for the three, different distance races, maybe 25 in mine. I had to do better than win my age group – because I thought I was the only one in it! And I knew that my sons would mock me for winning in a category of only one person.
That pouring rain before the start took some effort; we all huddled under a roof area held up by fake Greek columns, torn between doing warm-up drills and just staying warm.

10 minutes before race time, they tell us the course, I strip down to my Rivertowns Racing tri suit and arm warmers, see that folks are holding back so I get in the very front of the wave. A very informal “ready set go” and we’re off.
Three of us quickly start to be the lead pack, and after getting into a comfortable groove it’s relatively easy to “race my own race” because the other two guys are really really fast. For a minute I’m next to young Mr. shaved-head, and a kid passes us – but I had seen him hanging with his dad, who was wearing an aero helmet, before the race. I said to mr. shaved-head, “don’t worry, he’s doing the relay. And he’s, like, 19 years old. Screw ’em!” Soon, the three of them get one block, then two blocks ahead of me, and eventually out of sight, but I’m still trying to minimize the gap. Up a slight hill, down another (skipping the water stops but thank you!), and that last mile always sucks, but Coach Debi said to treat each leg as if it’s the only race I’m doing, so I pour it on and finish in 22:02 (6:53 min/mile). Which is frankly among my best runs ever.

Ok but not great T1 – 1:11 is 8/25 (that’s right, only 25 in this race..) trying to keep from stepping into mud before putting on bike shoes (pretty dumb). A Gray-Haired Guy (most likely, my age group!) scoots out of the transition ahead of me! (Later, I learn he beat my run by 3 seconds…).

On the bike, I take some time getting into a groove (ah! Finally drinking from the sippy cup between my aero bars!) and I pass Gray-Hair but a few minutes later he passes me and I am scared of losing my place in the hierarchy and pick up the pace and leapfrog him. It’s only the first loop but my fear of him catching me again keeps me pumping as hard as I can the rest of the race. The rain has mostly stopped, and the roads don’t seem too slick, but I’m not exactly using my brakes. This is like keeping track of laps in the pool (I’m working on my 2nd loop, now going for my 3rd…) and it’s hard to know who I’m racing because (a) not all the race numbers are visible; (b) there are folks racing the shorter sprint and longer International distances, and at one point I actually pass some guy with a disk wheel (I’m kicking butt!) but later learn that he was on his 7th or 8th loop to my 3rd or 4th so of course he’s more tired, and (c) as the rain subsides, more cyclists and pedestrians and dogwalkers and strollers come out to enjoy the park, and I have to keep shouting “on yer left!” Or just as frequently “on your right!” And increasingly dodging accidents slows down my loops, from 21.3 to 20.1 mph. But I finish in 40:15, and not many guy are den yet.
Lousy T2. 1:03 – 11th out of 25. My feet are so cold and wet I can’t squeeze them into the running flats!

Yet one advantage: my feet are so numb, that I feel like I have a faster turnover – I don’t feel the pounding, so I pound harder. By now, the park is getting pretty busy, and I don’t see ANY racers, so I assume I am still ahead of most everyone. Except those three badass runners (one in the relay). So the hardest part is now: going as fast as I can without the sense of a bunny to chase. Or a monster to run from. I slow down here and there and have to remind myself to go faster, don’t get comfortable, Gray-Hair might be catching up…

It’s over quickly, again the pain of the last mile (plus .3 on this goofy course) but I see the inflatable FINISH line and I give a final push and I’m DONE, thank you. Run 2 is in 23:55 (or 7:15 min/mile); the complete race is 1:29:26; and I take 3rd place overall in my first Duathlon!

May 12, 2016
MHA 5k – May 1, 2016

My Dad had asked me to do this race for a couple of years; he used to work for the Mental Health Association of Westchester, and still supports it, and it was great to see him that morning. My younger son allowed me to sign him up for the race, but later told me he’d rather not wake up that early thank you. But my wife got herself to the gym and came to the race!

A simple breakfast of bulletproof style coffee and banana; I couldn’t be bothered with protein powder and applesauce for such a short race. Gotta love a community event: race time began at 9:45, very civilized indeed.

The other thing about a small town-style race is realizing that most runners are there for fun and very few runners are serious about “Results”. My last 5k was October 2012 – 4 years younger, but 21:30 sure looks like a time I can beat, now. I decided I want to break 21 minutes, which I thought meant running around 6:50s… So my focus was different than the guy I met who hadn’t run since the NYC Marathon 2 years ago…

As I started to warm up, doing drills and striders, realizing the rain was pretty light and it’s not so cold after all, I looked for and found the guy who had set up the timing equipment to determine what the course was, because none of the volunteers had a clue, and I was likely to be among the leaders of the pack. (THAT’s a new but realistic assessment.)

Sure enough, the horn goes off (more like, “bleats like a sad, dying goat…”), and I hear Rachel shout out from the parking lot (and give her an overhead can’t-look-at-you-I’m-racing wave), and I’m in the front line with the middle aged Guy in Orange, the Serious Guy With Arm Warmers (SGWAW) and the young Guy With Blond Ponytail. And there are virtually NO volunteers on the road. Ponytail says, “where do we turn?” Me: “we go straight.” Ponytail: “You done this race before?” Me: “No.” Ponytail: “Oh, fuck…”

Mr. Orange is super relaxed, and OMG fast. He starts peeling away until, by the time we get to the turnaround just shy of Mile 1, he’s literally out of sight. Turns out he’s Welfur Ramon, originally from Ecuador and who lives right there in Yorktown Heights, and he finishes in 19:21 (6:15 min/miles). The 24-year old Ponytail is an afterthought –he drops back pretty quickly (ah, that’s a satisfaction). But SGWAW is grimly trudging along and accelerating – he’s the bunny I’m chasing, but I realize once again, I’m running MY race, and I am not going to catch him. I glance up to see the park’s famous lake (“Hmmph. Pretty. Back to work.”); the best I can do is not let the gap between us get too large.

We trot downhill (glorious!) past the water station (for a 5k? No, thank you, outta my way), round the bend, and there’s Mile 2, but that last Mile 3 seems sooooo long, and it’s UPHILL for ¼ mile, not too steep, but draining, how to keep up the pace?, and I’m closing the gap on SGWAW, but at the crest of the hill he accelerates and I can’t go any faster. I start striding longer – no, no, that’s how I get injured; so I remember to lift from the hips and push off harder instead.

And I realize that I’m not chasing him, I’m chasing 21:00, or more accurately, it’s chasing me, and unbelievable I see the 3 mile sign, and still that last 1/10^th mile is killing me, and I see the clock already at 21:00, I sprint with whatever’s left in the tank, and I cross the line at 21:24.

Damn, I think at first. Only a 6 second PR. But later I do the math – and 6 seconds means the difference between 7:00 minute/mile and 6:54. I’ve broken the 7 minute barrier! And I came in 3^rd Overall. (I highly recommend very small races…)

The season is young, and I’m having fun and getting faster. And (focus on form) not injured.

May 2, 2016
The Chicago Shamrock Shuffle (8k), 4/3/16

I was going to Chicago for a bat mitzvah with my wife and younger son, and found online this race, scheduled for the morning after the festivities. I’d never raced an 8k before, and imagined this as a small community event. In fact, over 23,000 people showed up!

I was determined not to get precious about this race; I was doing this for the heck of it, modeled after cousin Rob Falk’s casual, multi-race style; but of course I always want a PR and decided on two goals: given my recovery from a very slow and injurious marathon in November and my 7:36 average at the half marathon only two weeks ago, 37:30 minutes (7:30 minute/mile) was realistic, and 35 minutes was a reasonable fantasy.

I was more nervous about what to wear – we had seen two brief blizzards on Saturday, and Sunday morning was predicted to be 35 degrees. I settled on tights, short sleeve shirt, long sleeve shirt, garbage bag vest to tear off pre-race, two sweatshirts to throw away, and a baseball cap. (By mile 3, the tights were a little warm – finally, I’m ready for that plunge into shorts in the fall.)

Based on my lower expectations, I realized when I arrived at my assigned corral that most of the runners around me were solid, experienced runners, but not so fast. They were NOT shooting for 7 minute miles. And I realized, instead of taking off like a gunshot to keep up with the guys shooting for a stellar time; instead of running someone else’s race; instead of nailing the first two or three miles and limping the rest of the race; THIS was going to work for me: starting with a slower group; speeding up; and PASSING people instead of getting passed.

It’s much better for my morale.

Coach Debi (a consistent character in these stories…) had given sage advice – only surprising, of course, because I actually followed it: “Don’t look at your watch. Start smooth and get faster.” I was a little out of breath as I started, settled into being body-aware of my form, settled with my breath, felt my heart rate was comfortable and I was still smiling, and started pushing off harder. Just a little “Benji surge” – like moving up from 8.0 to 8.1 on the Richter scale of running. After around 2 miles, I settled into a group that was fitting my pace, and I cheated: when my watch vibrated to announce I had completed a mile, I glanced to make sure it was still running, and damn, but I just did a 6:58. Sub-7. Nice.

Now, back to work.

That guy in the white shirt and green suspenders (a LOT of green shirts in this crowd!) was getting almost a block ahead, and the younger guy in the black Shamrock Shuffle shirt from a prior year was consistently within reach, and I toyed between running MY race and enjoying the pursuit – “there’s my bunny” (whipping around the race track…).

The skyline was pretty, it wasn’t too cold, I kept checking in (“am I having fun? Hmm, I guess so. Nice tall buildings…”) and when I sometimes felt too comfortable, increased the power of my push off. Briefly hit some headwinds, then turned a corner and felt like the wind was at my back. I’d been warned that the last mile had a so-called “hill”, and glad for the warning- nothing steep, especially compared to the ridiculous terrain where I live, more like a ramp up a bridge, and then a mile to go, and I feel like throwing up (so I am pretty certain this is my maximum), trying to pick up that push off, then turn a corner and the inflatable finish line is in sight and a guy on the sidelines, clearly a coach, grimly calls out, “400 meters to go”, and I can do that, I pour on whatever is left and pick up the turnover and manage to smile at the camera as I cross the line!

35:16. That is, 7:06 per mile. Among my fastest averages and, given that it’s my first 8k, a PR (no matter what I did)! I will take it to the bank, thank you. And in the future, I am starting in a corral slower than wherever I’m assigned.

April 4, 2016
NYC Half Marathon – March 20, 2016

First race of the year, and I am inexplicably nervous. I mean, there’s some reality to this: my NYC Marathon in November was terrible, both as to results and the actual running experience; a groin injury I already had was exacerbated by that race so that I didn’t run until mid-January; I actually took six fascia stretch training (FST) sessions with the amazing Adrienne Ingalls , and THEN six running lessons for to learn how to run properly and not get injured with the amazing Scott Carvin at the Mile High Run Club; and to get back to running without re-injury, my training was not high intensity (at least, to the extent I followed the plans of the brilliant and patient Debi Bernardes at Ucandoit Coaching (my mainstay, now in my fifth season).

But because I traditionally have no idea whatsoever as to what I can accomplish until the race is over, I didn’t know whether my 8:30 to 9:00 minute/mile training pace could translate to better than the 7:21 minute/mile I’ve done in my best half marathon (1:36), so I had fantasies about doing 1:35. (I know, I know: it’s a sad state of affairs, or a limited imagination, when your fantasy is reduced to a running a better half marathon…).

It was cold. Despite the prior week of 60-70 degree weather, the thermometer dropped (watch out! Did it break?) to 35-36 degrees. Planned to warm up, doing my drills (squats, high knees, skips, kick butt – my own, that is) – all of which prompted comments from the folks who live near me but were typical of the runners waiting around me. Of course, the extra layers got sweaty, and then I’m cold, anyway…

Based on my optimistic prediction, I’m in the first wave, second corral, so feeling pretty jacked up, but no one is joking or talking, everyone is grim – that is, everyone other than the Van Cortlandt Park team, including the indomitable Benny, clad only in shorts, tank top and arm warmers

The race starts, and I can’t help myself, I go out fast, but it feels great, I keep checking in with my form and I feel solid for the first mile (whoa, 7:16!), and the second (6:58, on the downhill from Central Park), and even the third (7:06 – gee, I didn’t remember this big loop out around 110^th Street past the building I used to think of as the first Trump Tower – ugh). But my heart rate average is in high Zone 3 (okay but can I keep this up?), and we start going up Heartbreak Hill and I drop to 7:39 and then 7:35 (well, I have those fast miles to average against), and at mile 6 leaving the park it’s 7:24 (hmm, this average isn’t working well), then 7:26, a mile of hope when I hit 7:06 at mile 8, running through Times Square!

I keep checking in with myself: am I having fun? Yeah, mostly. But by now my average heart rate is zone 4, and it stays there for miles 7 to 13, and by definition, I am really uncomfortable, and this probably isn’t sustainable, right? And mile 9 is 7:36, hmm… And my left calf starts cramping from mile 9 to mile 10, and despite Scott’s training I decide not to push off strong at the end of each step to try to lessen the cramping, and mile 10 is my worst at 7:44 (reminding me of a Simpsons scene that running buddy Vasilis told me: Bart: “This is the worst day of my life!” Homer: “So far…”), because my next mile is 7:58 (well at least I’m breaking 8 minutes), and now BOTH calves are cramping and I’m afraid to stop and take a salt tablet for fear of seizing up entirely (which I do, after the finish), then 7:48 for mile 12 (a modest reprieve). And then, incredible, despite my plans to crank up the turnover like I practiced (isn’t the race over after the Battery Park Tunnel? Oh, no, not at all…), 9:58 for the final 1.1 miles.

Which leaves me at 1:39:32, 8 seconds behind my first and slowest HM, on the same course, in 2013. But I’m done, thank you, and up until the cramping, I was mostly having fun.

And no injury. That’s a new success.

Not until after the race did I remember: my more realistic goal had been to run 7:30 minute miles. And I came close, with a 7:36 average, one second per mile slower than my 2013 race. Given the injury from which I recovered, the relatively brief training during the winter, and the sheer force of gravity (what other people refer to as “getting older”), not a bad result.

The NYC Marathon on 11/9/16 is my A race this year, so: I’ve got to commit to doing Scott’s drills until running properly becomes second nature (sans Charlie horses). And Coach Debi says to take up kettle bells, so my core is stronger and dependable. (More lessons…) Meanwhile, there’s another half marathon in April, at a location not too far away…

Welcome back to racing, indeed.

March 21, 2016
NYC Marathon, 11/1/2015

Well, if I can pull out a learning experience from this race report — other than swearing I’ll never run another marathon again — I’ll be a wise man, indeed.

Pre-race, everything went perfectly. Pasta dinner with Jonathan Tabar and Cristina and David, their toddler (with whom I delighted in bobbing our chests up and down for an hour) in Battery Park City.

Then a Staten Island Ferry at 8:30 pm — because I had realized that even though I lived in Westchester County, it would be better to spend the night ON Staten Island rather than catch my assigned 5:45 ferry on Sunday morning. and then wait to run 4 hours later.

Air BNB was great, but I would not recommend the room I stayed (in a 3-room suite, sharing bathroom and dirty kitchen with 2 strangers) for any purpose other than pre-race bedtime at 8:45 (with turning back the clocks), and lock the door; with a host that had no AirBNB track record, it was almost prohibitively creepy.

Planned my time perfectly: up at 6:45 (even with 2 a.m. insomnia, got 8 1/2 to 9 hours sleep!); bullet-proof style coffee (only needed and received a coffee maker, so could avoid that kitchen…), apple sauce with protein powder (“not everyone gets home-made apple sauce” my wife Rachel pointed out), and waited at 7:45 for a car service that came at 8. Arrived at Fort Wadsworth Park by 8:20, and in the corral well before 9, when it closed off. Clothing was perfect as well: the sweat suit I haven’t worn for at least 5 years and a Westchester Triathlon sweatshirt from training buddy Alan Golds to throw away as we left the corral; arm warmers made of tube socks to throw away as well; Ironman hat for good luck and street cred; tank top from Team Challenge (for Crohn’s and Colitiis Foundation, for which I raised my charity entry fee, in honor of my younger son).

And the race start went as planned, as well: meeting two guys from different parts of North Carolina and introducing them; nice talk with a quiet guy from Germany; people from everywhere, pumped up but quiet. The goal was to complete the race in 3:30 — to qualify for Boston — and it did not seem like hubris, because last year I did my first marathon in 3:31, albeit on a flatter course. So, I’m not chasing anyone except that 8:00 minute mile.

First two miles were fine — “up hill” for the first 3/4 mile on the Verrazano Bridge ramp, but really not steep, and then down it, staying in heart rate zone 2 (ok,it should have been Z1, but it felt fine, easy, relaxed, a surprisingly good 8:27 going uphill and thrilling to do 7:28 on the downhill mile), but then I am in the middle of Z3 (151-161) and I think I must be picking up someone else’s monitor. I feel great, I shout out to the handful of quiet spectators, “Hey, make some noise!”, and I’m doing 8:07, 7:52, 8:16, it’s a decent average, but I am concerned about the high HR, so I take water breaks on the even miles, and I’m slowing down, but still within shooting range if I have some extra juice in the tank at mile 20-26.

But after mile 8, I’m not feeling so well. That abdominal/groin injury that set me back 4 weeks before this race is aching, and I’m trying various tricks to make it go away. I’m sipping my flasks of diluted (deluded?) gels with BCAA and salt tablet every 2 miles, but I’m slowing, slowing, and decide OK this is not going to be PR, I will slow down and enjoy the amazing energy of 5 boroughs of ecstatic fans.

But I slow down, and I am not feeling any better, and I’m still averaging in Z3 (later, Coach Debi agrees, “if you slowed down any further, you’d be walking”), and despite the energy of the crowd, I am not having fun. By mile 14, I’m ready to quit. (Afterwards, Debi said, “well, you live in New York. You could have taken a subway home, and you didn’t. That’s pretty good.” To which I answered, “I thought about it, but realized that I didn’t have a Metrocard or any cash on me…”) And now I’m breaking at every mile’s water stop. And a bathroom break. And willing my self to get to mile 18 in order to face the demons that popped up at The Wall in my prior marathon, but I am dying for any excuse to stop. Salt with caffeine tablets at miles 14, 19, maybe 23, to fight the cramps rotating through my calves, hamstrings, hips, shoulders… Even one of my feet cramps up, while I’m running! It ain’t fair!

And I see people I know! That solo drummer, with the wiry muscled arms and big big aviator glasses, why that looks like, OMG, “Art! You’re Art Lillard!” and he doesn’t recognize me, but I played in his big band 20 years ago; and a woman on my left side at mile 16 shouts out my name (I’m sorry, I was in a fog, but thank you); and THERE’s RACHEL at mile 18, and I give her a big sweaty kiss and hug her in that sheepskin coat; and Rob Martzen from Team NRGY yells at me from the other side of the road at mile 19 (it’s only 19?! doing the math; I’m not going to break 4 hours …); and Ken Fuirst at mile 20, as he promised, and Dave and Colleen Hamburger at 21, Rachel again at 22 (a much more falling on her for the hug, and I can’t speak, and forget to hand over to her my hat, which feels oh so heavy). But despite these good wishes and the crowd! The Crowd! I don’t get the burst of energy I need.

And you know it’s bad when the runners in costumes pass you. First some gladiator; then the skeleton; a guy with a big Afro; Superman in a tutu; and finally “Here comes the Statue of Liberty!”

A second bathroom break.

Central Park finally arrives, and the “uphill” everyone warned me about is really nothing, but I’m wiped out and I finish at an inglorious 4:13:10. And it’s OK not to meet a goal or to not have fun, but to have NEITHER, well, that’s a bad race.

I’m okay for a few minutes, get my swag bag of nutrition, but then I’m dizzy and I get someone to walk me to the medical tent (walk, because I’m too cramped to lie down or sit on the truck that’s offered) and I know I’m doing badly because I don’t have the energy to make a joke or ask the guy his name or where he’s from (I’m acting “out of character” as my father-in-law would say about his pediatric patients). All they can do is offer me salt, and I already took a tablet while walking to the tent, and I can’t sit down on a cot, it hurts too much, but after a while I can sit in a chair and when I feel well enough to borrow a phone to call Rachel (because she deserves not to see my like this) I know I’m ready to go.

So, what went wrong? Coach Debi and cousin Rob Falk thought I was fighting a cold or something, because a high heart rate and a sluggish pace indicates that “something’s going on”. Sure enough, my glands felt swollen after the race, and Rachel reminds me how wiped out I was on Friday night after work. And orange juice tasted better than draft beer. (Can you imagine?!) But I had felt fine and relaxed the day before, so I’m not sure what I could have done differently.

Frankly, I don’t think I trained enough. I had thought that I would build off my Ironman in mid-August, but I didn’t realize that I would have to recover, not just for one week of resting, but after another 2 weeks of building up again. So, I had 6 weeks from Ironman Mt. Tremblant to Westchester Triathlon (an Olympic distance race), and 5 weeks later this Marathon. So I really had 9 weeks to train “from scratch” for a marathon, interrupted by another tri, and further interrupted during Week 5 or 6, trying to recover from that abdominal injury (which incurred on an interval workout where I was hitting sub-8 minute miles – ironic, because it made me think that success was truly possible). So I didn’t get in more than one or two long runs. So my bottom line: too many races = not enough recovery and training.

Right now, I feel like swearing off all marathons. Maybe I’ll stick to triathlons. They’re easier!

Or maybe with the passage of time I’ll get back on the horse. Just got an email invitation for the NJ Marathon on May 1, 2016; and last year I registered for next year’s Gran Fondo NY; and the NYC Tri just opened up…

In any event, the off season begins NOW.

November 3, 2015
Westchester Triathlon, 9/26/15 Race Report

Although this race was a great one in so many ways, I’m having a hard time getting my hands around how to appreciate the success. I was slower on this race than last year on the same course. I oh so wanted to go all out and get closer to the podium, now that I had an Ironman under my belt, but at the end of my 4th year of triathlons, I guess I can’t PR every time, even on my local, every-year race.

First mistake: should have checked my mechanicals on the bike when I racked the day before, or ridden it a little after taking it out of neighbor/training buddy Alan Gold’s Cooper Mini. (Two bikes fit in the back! It’s like one of those stunts with clowns packed into a VW.) Hung out, got to the potty before the hordes arrived – in fact before there was any line at all – bump into Hastings racing teammates Tom Andrews and John McDermott, as well as racing buddy BJ Wilson (all the way from Beacon!). COLD morning and even colder on the beach by Rye Playland; though the water was warmer than the air, dipped in a little too early and ended up clench-jawed chattering while waiting for my swim wave. Great to talk with the wiser and more last minute Bruce Cadenhead – he warmed up around 5 minutes before we started (and wild to see the “mild-mannered actuarial from a great metropolitan newspaper” change in seconds to a powerful swimmer, focused and determined).

Horn blows and we are OFF. I’m on the far left side, what looks like a shorter distance to that first big orange buoy.

I can’t find anyone to draft off, and I suddenly taste first mental victory: that’s OK, I can swim 2.4 miles and this is shorter, and I am in my fast full-sleeve wetsuit and if there’s no one that fits my speed I will just do it alone. And the exertion is just that, work, and I am simply breathing when I can, keeping my head down, sighting when I can, and I may not be as fast as that first wave of capital S swimmers but I can swim hard and I start using my new mantra: “this is not who I am, this is what I do” (meaning, my identity does not hang in the balance of my performance). And I get to the first turn, it’s crowded but no one kicks me, and off to the second. And before turning down the longest leg along the breakwater I start feeling swells BEHIND me, the current is like a phalanx of dolphins carrying me to shore! The tide is low and I have to walk 20 yards in the water to get to the beach and I am done, and that was FUN, felt strong, and turns out it’s my best swim ever: 25:36 — but only 22/75 for my age group (guess we all enjoyed those waves – a tidal by-product of the Super Moon that day?). Anyway, it felt great.

Run up the beach and the long ramp to T1, suit slips off well with that spray-on stuff, I scowl at the arm warmers I had laid out because I’m not cold now!

I’m planning on biking hard and I start in a high heart rate zone, z3 for the first 5 miles, pass various dawdlers (I’m trying to be nice when I shout ,”on your left”, really I am) and then get into a z2 groove, this isn’t an Ironman, and I quickly realize that my back wheel is out of true and rubbing, every rotation, against a brake pad. I am not sure how to fix it but am dead certain that I’ll lose more time stopping to adjust it than just living with it, and it doesn’t stop me from leap frogging with a dark-helmeted 54 year old (whom I dub “Darth Vader” and to whom I later say “THERE you are!” when he passes me) and this really strong 67-year old (“you’re 15 years older than I am and you’re kicking my ass!”) and I had forgotten to get body-marked (it was so cold in the morning and no one at the entrance greeted me with a Sharpie) so I know Darth Vader and some 50-year old are in my age group but unless they see my tag flapping behind the aero seat post they don’t know I’m in theirs.

The road is really rough, cracked pavement and occasional cars, which are scary and sometimes slow us down (to the 67-year old: “car back! Car back!”) And at 0:45 my left hip is cramping so I take a salt tablet and a few minutes later I feel a little bit hungry so despite the three capsules of BCAA before the swim and the two more with caffeinated NUUN in my torpedo water bottle, I take a gel, and It. Tastes. Awful. But I feel strong. And at 2:05 I am just as dead certain that today I will finally break 2:12 on this course. Until I hit 2:12 and I am still riding (past the Playland Parkway speedometer light flashing 19 mph, thank you!). And I roll in in at 2:15. Darn. But: it was fun…

Jog to transition, swap the shoes and helmet for IM-branded hat (if you got it, flaunt it), start the run – and realize I left my race-belt with my bib at the bike! Start running back into transition; finally see a ref, who stops me from screwing up by crossing the mat again, and says with the race chip on my ankle I’m OK. But I realize why I should have been penalized: guys in my age group can’t even tell from my bib number that I’m stalking them.

Bright flat concrete out to the swamp/natural part of the amusement park, turnaround (there’s Alan coming back at me, go team!), back along the concrete and uphill to leave the park, and my pace is slower than I need if I’m going to improve on last year, and my feet slap heavy-footed through suburban streets and grabbing water but not walking the rest stops, this is only a 10k, and my watch from Friday’s workout is set to beep at every ½ mile and y’know, that’s kind of good, because at mile 3.5 or 4, I realize, this is only a 6 mile race. It’s not 26. And 6 is really doable. So I dig in, and try to accelerate, and “this is not me it’s what I do” gives me energy, because what I do is pass people, and suddenly so very soon I’m on the grassy shoot to the finish line and I am DONE!

[A civilized finish line: where you can enjoy Captain Lawrence IPA – with John McDermott and Tom Andrews, the Tri Division of the CMS Racing Team.]

And turns out: it’s my best mental game, and the first tri I actually enjoyed the whole race. Alas, 3 minutes slower than last year: 25:36 swim (= 1:46/100m – a PR!); 1:15:47 bike (= 19.8 mph; I’ve done better); and 45:45 run (= 7:23/mile, slower than last year).

Look, there’s many reasons I might have done better, but I’m not interested in excuses, I’m interested in getting comfortable with these results: with doing my best every race, but not doing a PR every race; with having a mental state that circumvents personal doubts; with finally enjoying three-thirds of the three-legged beast. The numeric results were not my best, but they were solid, and adding in some enjoyment, an overall success.

AND, because the amazing Bruce Cadenhead came in second overall (including a run that averaged 6:15/mile! At 50 years old!) I rolled down to 8/75, putting me in the top 10% for our AG. I’ll take it. Nice way to end the tri season.

And off to the NYC Marathon in 5 weeks …

October 3, 2015
Ironman Mt. Tremblant – August 16, 2015

This was my first Ironman distance triathlon, and because I am capable of writing three pages for a mere Sprint, this will be longer. So, feel free to skip to the parts that interest you!

Pre-Race

I used to be kind of annoyed with all the shout outs that other people put in their race reports, but I can’t thank enough my wife Rachel (who gave me the green light last September, put up with all my training and too much talking, and accepted this trip to Quebec as our summer vacation), my son Liam (who tolerated the long rides and early mornings in Canada without complaint) and my cousin Rob Falk (who inspired me into triathlons, stayed with us during the week and managed to keep me, and therefore Rachel and Liam, sane). “Sherpa “doesn’t do them justice. They were unbelievably supportive. I mean, can you imagine me on taper mouth?

Rachel and Liam at The Biosphere in Montreal — which Rachel last visited as a little girl at the World’s Fair!

After a few days in Montreal, we got to Mont Tremblant on a Wednesday, and the lake and hillsides are absolutely gorgeous.

Lac Tremblant and my wife are absolutely gorgeous

Bikes racked on Saturday, awaiging Sunday’s race. Aero, aero, everywhere — not a road bike in sight.

Was glad I slept well on Friday night because, as expected, I got about 4 1/2 hours the Saturday night before the race. Not anxious as much as visualizing the start of the swim…

Rodin Exhibit at Montreal Museum of Art: “I dunno, am I ready? Am I strong enough to do this?”

Cousin Rob Falk, espousing a Zen-like calm: “Ah, yes, Grasshopper. Shut up and hang out with your family.”

For breakfast, bulletproof–style coffee, applesauce with protein powder, power bar sports drink, and a banana. Casually walked (ha!) with wetsuit, etc., the 15 minutes to transition. Body marked, pumped up the tires (at least 3 racked bikes were reported to have blown up the day before), got on the bathroom line, walked back to the swim start, another Porta Potty (like voting, “poop early and poop often!”), wetsuit, and dip in! Perfect, 71 degree water. Canadian national anthem (we tread water but no one removes their swim caps)…

Banquet on Saturday night. The shape of things to come: 2,700 of your closest friends, with THEIR closest friends.

The Swim

Crowd into the coral (some 250 in my age group plus all other “50+ men”) and bravely move up to the fourth or fifth row, on the far right side. My strategy is to avoid getting crawled on (which means I have to be faster than the crowd behind me!) and to leave the buoys to the left, instead of to the right as directed, in order to get relatively clear water. And the cannon goes BOOM!

The buoys are bright yellow and plentiful – the first I leave to my left, but the rest are wherever the pair of feet I’m following will lead me. The first guy scarcely kicks, just rolls from side to side, “engaging his core”; the next guy kicks light but steady; the next guy is all over the place, and tactically does a frog kick when I touch his foot. But shameless drafting / joining the school of fish is the route to the finish line. And nothing is better than passing the guys with the swim caps from the next wave: red, then green, then gray?! I’m passing the younger guys who started 9 minutes ahead of me? After the sainted red buoy – OMG, almost halfway done!! –shoulders started tweaking so I started breathing on my left side. It’s less comfortable for me, and I lose sight of The Feet of my drafting target, but apparently more powerful; I bury my head down more, lift my head less on breathing, and pull past the victims within a few strokes.

A couple of times at the end, guys who clearly aren’t sighting swim on top of me – I arch my back to get away, and my legs start cramping horribly. Pretty damn scary. So, I imagine what it feels like to stand in the shallow end of the pool in li’l ol’ Hastings on Hudson – and I relax out of the cramps. The finish comes sooner than I expect – and shallow! – and I’m out!! Get my arms out, volunteers strip off the rest of the wetsuit, start running, and I literally start laughing out loud – I just swam 2.4 miles! in open water! After getting inspired by Rob’s first IM, 10 years ago!

Exit the swim!

I had planned on swimming the course in 1:20; the awesome Coach Debi predicted 1:15; and I actually finished in 1:11. I am ahead of my goal of breaking 12 hours! (But of course I didn’t know this until the race was over; I hadn’t set my watch properly, and was manually resetting it from Swim to Bike as I ran…)

T1

We run a full kilometre from the swim to the banquet tent transition area, wetsuits in hand, red carpet the whole way, people screaming! Shouting! and here’s Rob with a solid high five (“Primo!”) and I am absolutely giddy. I hunt for “1906”, grab my bag, run down the rows of bags to the men’s changing area; dump out everything; finally take off my prescription goggles and put on my “racing” glasses with cables to wrap over my ears; dry feet with orange towel, put on socks, bike shoes, New! Sunglasses!, helmet, click clack down the aisle to the exit, get a volunteer to slather me with sunscreen, run out the tent; the side lines are packed with more cheering people; click clack to the second aisle, up to the third row, across to the fifth rack – and almost everyone ‘s bike in my area is still there. So, I am among the first in my age group out of the water!   (Post-race data shows I actually swam 55^th in AG. Ah, well, ignorance is bliss).

But there’s a long way to go, of course, and momentary delusions will not interfere with doing MY race.

The Bike:

My goal for the bike was to stay in Z1 (that is, heart rate zone one, 121-131 bpm) for the entire 112 miles. That’s what’s needed to survive the marathon that would follow. At the same time, I wanted to average 17.3 mph so that I could complete the bike in 6:30 hours, and the race in 12 hours or less. Bottom line: I had to keep Coach Debi happy with a low HR (or suffer her I -Told-You-So’s), but hit 17:20 minutes or less for every 5 miles that my watch would report, to keep ME happy.

So, it is a lovely day, around 70 degrees when we start, partly cloudy, and I tuck into my aero bars, and everything is beautiful and speedy. Lots of shade (to start – the warehouse parts of the closed highway come later), I do the first 5 miles in something like 15 minutes, the next in 17, the next in an unbelievable 12 minutes, so I’m banking a lot of time and staying in Z1.

And suddenly my hips start cramping.

This makes no sense, since I already drank a 28-ounce torpedo/sippy cup of sports drink in the first 15 minutes, and I haven’t been biking for long yet, but the pain in both piriformes (to be exact) is so severe that I can no longer tuck. And I suddenly remember Debi’s advice: If you’re cramping, or nauseous, and your sweat isn’t salty, take a salt tablet. I had bought a few –with caffeine – took one, and was back in action pain-free and zooming along. (Doggamn, I have the right coach.)

And I am tooling along at excessive speed but staying in Z1. The roads are fantastic and mostly smooth and not technical (no sharp turns). Guys and some gals pass my on the up hills (z1, baby, patient, patient) but I’m “on your left!” on the downhills, sometimes passing while coasting, at one point passing a younger guy with a USAT team kit, and I realize: I’m not skinny; I’m aerodynamic!

At some point I stop to pee – tried but failed to do it while coasting, I’ve been potty-trained too well – and realize I will never again wear a one-piece with short sleeves (or one-piece at all!) on a long race – whatever speed it gives me, I lose taking it off and on in the outhouse!

After the first lap, banking into and climbing out of transition area, I’m giddy again, and I actually tell another rider, “OMG, I’m doing an Ironman,” and I realize I should shut up, because that’s much more interesting to me than to anyone else. I stop briefly for my special needs bag, grabbing a couple bites of my almond butter and honey sandwich (now, THERE’s some calories) and more salt tablets (like Underdog’s Secret Super Energy Pills – which I had previously assumed were made of amphetamines, but now know they were made of salt. And caffeine).

Ok, the second and final loop at around mile 80 is getting tiring and folks are grumbling about the heat, and there’s a little headwind for a few miles, but I’m joking with other riders that we’d be complaining about the rain or whatever, this is just hard work, right? There’s that steeper hill again at the end, I’m suddenly in the high end of Z2, even though I’m spinning slowly in the lowest gear I have, but I’ve been saintly for most of the race, and I am listening to my body, and I get to the end feeling strong.

And finished in 5:58! A huge result! I could run just 9 minute miles, do a 4-hour marathon, and break 11:30!

Ah, But if only could slog as fast as 9-minute miles…

T2

I knew that volunteers would take my bike when I finished the ride, but here was my second mistake (after wearing the speed suit): I hadn’t mentally prepared for what that meant. So I’m cheerfully running to the transition tent and realize: my Garmin (with HR monitor) is still on the bike. And my extra salt tabs. But what am I going to do? Run around the racks of bikes looking for the nice man who has my bike? Mistake no. 2: Yes. Or, when I saw Rachel and Rob and Liam, I should have said, “Get me Salt!” Or I should have asked other racers for salt tabs….   Put on Aquafor between my toes, changed socks and shoes, grabbed hat and clip-on sunglasses, race belt with gels (and only 3 tabs) and go cheerfully into…

The Run

So, I’m feeling pretty pumped up, and decide I know my heart rate well enough I can get by without the watch, just listen to the body and if I feel I can go faster, Don’t Do It. And I see my family in the corner in front in front of our condo and get revved up, and ask a guy how fast we’re going, and he says 9 minutes, cool, that seems doable. I stop for my second portapotty – I had probably 10 bottles on the bike – losing time, but necessary.

I see Rachel, Liam and Rob!

By now, it’s getting hot. Like, mid-80s and humid. (In Canada!) The course is pretty shady and very flat, and I get a sip of water at every rest stop (each a km or two apart) and a cup of ice – some cubes to chew, and the rest to throw down the back of my one-piece and settle into my pants – wow, that’s a wakeup call! But the gels and shot blocks are starting to taste way too sweet, and I take a salt tab and it’s good for a few miles but by 10 or 14 km I am slowing down, averaging 10 min/miles, and the slog begins… Out of the shade, past the family again (Hooray!) uphill into the race village and then a loop outside and around it (stopping at special needs to change my soakin’ socks) and then past that oh-so-tempting fork in the road: to the left, “Finish Line”, to the right “Second Lap”; but I’m wearing a computer chip, they’d know it if I skipped the last 13.1 miles…

And I realize a third mistake: I hadn’t really mentally prepared for this second half marathon. Physically, I was ready, but to avoid thinking about how huge this thing was, to keep some measure of calm, I hadn’t processed that the race would be like the 18- and 20-mile runs I had enjoyed while training. I had pictured the beginning, and the glorious Finish, but not the middle.

And this middle just wiped me out. I tried dividing it into 4ths (thank you, Lori Carlo!) but each km felt farther away. I walked every rest stop, taking pretzels and oranges and more ice in my pants; another potty stop, trying to settle my stomach (Darn this one-piece!); slogging getting slower; and with around 8 km to go was suddenly dangerously dizzy. Face and hand felt tingly, lightheaded floatiness comes over me, and I am suddenly aware that if I am not careful, I won’t make it. Managed to get to the next rest top, but no pretzels were available – just chicken soup, but not for me, I haven’t had chicken since 1981 – so I keep getting slower, afraid if I stop I simply won’t start again, and besides, Age Group-mate Howard (friend of Stephen Grossman) has been leap frogging with me all day and is on my tail. Make it another kilometre to a stop, walk a few minutes while I take some pretzels and water, ANOTHER pit stop (Howard: “we’re gonna break 12 hours!”; my thought balloon: maybe you will, but…) And it’s starting to get dark, and I should take off my sunglass clip-ons, but that takes too much time and energy…

And I’m out of the path! Going past the corner where Rachel, Liam and Rob had been – they must be at the finish line! And up the hill towards the race village, down past the swim start, up again and around that damn loop; and down, down, downhill along cobble stones into the chute, and people are screaming! Shouting my name (Rachel, of course, but I didn’t know it), and I pull off the sunglass clip-ons and hold up my hands and ROAR as I. Cross. The. Finish. Line.

And despite my 4:27 run (I had been shooting for 4:00) I’ve made my goal by breaking 12 hours – 11:49, to be exact. Doggamn. I did it. I’m a stumbling mess and Rob works his way in to the “athlete’s only” recovery area and gets me to the massage area and then some delicious poutine. (French fries, cheese and for today only, vegetarian gravy. Salt! Salt! I am human again!). And Rachel and Liam are just outside the tent. God bless ’em. And I am an Ironman.

Stats

11:49 total, 42/237 AG (= top 18%), 564/2,352 OA (= top 24%).

Swim, 1:11:30 (= 1:34 min/100 yds.), 55^th AG.

T1: 7:46

Bike: 5:58:27 (= 18.75 mph), 65^th AG

T2:   4:24

Run: 4:27:18 (= 10:12/mile), 42^nd AG

Post-Race

Now, a few days later, the endorphins have worn off, I’ve had some sleep, and I’m feeling reasonable:   There are things I would have done differently; I would have liked to enjoy and perform better on the run; I will never leave home again without a supply of salt tablets. But I exceeded my expectations on the swim and bike, and really had fun for 2/3 of this huge day. And, because I met my goal, I don’t feel compelled to do another Ironman.

But, then again, I might anyway.

August 23, 2015
Race report: New Jersey Triathlon, Olympic Distance (7/19/15)

Signed up for this race to join the Team NRGY folks, as a prettier (and earlier-announced) alternative to the NYC Tri on the same day. Spent the night at a hotel in Princeton, lucking out when eating dinner at the bar and watching the Pan American swimmers (inspired by how THEY catch the water!).

Bullet-proof coffee, apple sauce with protein powder, some sports drink for breakfast at 4:45 a.m. Picked up registration on a hot, humid morning; even the lake at Mercer County Park was warm, at 83 degrees (wetsuit non-legal). Saw Jason near the team tent, met up with Chris Vaughan (cousin Rob Falk’s friend), re-met Kevin L. who another age grouper recognized as the runner who amazed us all at Nationals last year by his apocryphal, sub-6:30 run; got my transition area set up (distinctive orange towel). “Never turn down an available toilet” but still suffered the long lines.

Warmed up in the water, after really two rest days (Friday’s practice swim in the Hudson was a bust — the current had been too strong), and felt good. Note to self: 8 oz. of sports drink 20 minutes before the start isn’t enough on a hot day; I was starting thirsty, but got a sip from a stranger’s water bottle. Chatted more with Chris (Coach Debi set up our battle: “should be interesting – he’s a faster swimmer but you’re a faster runner”) and met his husband Philip. Usual jitters magnified by having to tread water before the start (no wetsuit! “It’s the wetsuit that protects me from drowning!”), got in second floating “row” (bolder than usual) and “Get outta here!” was the verbal starting gun.

A good swim — no self-doubts to weigh me down. Mentally paced myself (ah, the first big yellow buoy – this is only the first 15%, keep your hopes down), lots of orange sighting buoys gliding past, shot down those destructive thoughts (“boy, this is a hard pace, I don’t know if I can keep this up for 2.4. miles…” “Shmuck! You’re not doing the Ironman today!”), focused on keeping my butt high in the water and when I engaged a “hollow back” I felt like a wave or a dolphin was pushing me forward and catching the water and feeling STRONG. And that great feeling of not passing a few, but a LOT of guys in the orange-swim cap wave that started 5 minutes before mine (even if they included older men)… Finished in 30:08, 1:55 per 100 yds., not my best by far, but FELT my best. And getting mentally ready for the Ironman swim is key.

And I jog nicely to my bike (rehearsed it: 13 rows from Run In, 4 racks from the second section) and one of my best transitions in 2:38 (no wetsuit makes it easier…) and start the ride with some but not many AG guys ahead. As a new experiment, I decide to do what Coach Debi said. So, 5 to 7 age groupers pass me but I don’t take the bait, I keep my panting down and my RPM up to 90 (easy to do on this flat flat course) and even when I start leap frogging with Mr. White and Blue Shirt (because THIS guy I can beat), I realize I’m peaking into the 150s for my heart rate, and that’s Z4, and that’s crazy, plus to keep up those rotations in the higher gear is wearing out my legs, and I don’t know what HE’s doing next, but I have a run ahead of me. I manage to JUST beat him on the bike — as we dismount! Bike split: 54:31 (for a 19.5 mile course) = 21.4 mph. Not my best, but then this is the new experiment: do what Debi says.

Another good transition, in 2:21, and as Coach instructed, I’m only jogging not sprinting out (blue and white shirt is still changing his shoes…), and the first mile is OK and then I feel the heat. And the humility. But I figure, this is MY race, and I can’t complain about the conditions, running is simply HARD and exhausting under any conditions and I and everyone else is slower than normal (except the demonic Kevin! Here he comes! There he goes! Final time shows he did 6:25s!) but doing all as fast as I can without throwing up (unlike a 20-something guy in a USAT one-piece) and by mile 2 I’m wishing it was over, and there’s some shade and it IS beautiful and here’s the sunshine again and it IS hot and I’m slowing down by mile 4 but just keep chugging, this is MY race, I can’t fail, and I pass three age groupers! (including Chris, but I didn’t even realize it until we met up after the race) and I am done.

And those cold showers. OMG. Brilliant. More showers. OMG. That’s great. One more time. Oh, thank you, I don’t need a medical tent after all.

Finished the run in 47:27 (7:38 min/miles), finished the race in 2:17:05. 10/81 AG, 189/1272 OA. Alas, missed the top 10% for my age group, so not yet qualified for Nationals this year, but this was the best I reasonably could do; the first 4 or 5 guys were just incredible, and the next 4 guys were far enough out of reach… Did my best, felt solid, a great final stepping stone towards Mt Tremblant next month.

July 21, 2015