Author: mktriguy

Oh, I came so close to not doing this race. All week long, the weather prediction was for 50%, then 77%, then 88% chance of rain during the race, with temps around 55 degrees (Fahrenheit; Centigrade friends, do your own math). And water temps in the 50’s or 60’s. With a 3-hour drive each way, spending the night in a nearby hotel. And me worried about finally healed from breaking my collar bone in a bike accident almost a year ago.

As wise cousin Rob Falk said, “Sounds like the likelihood of having fun is not high.” Rachel (my poor wife!) listens to me vacillate, but Coach Debi tells me she’s driven TEN hours to race in FIFTY degree water and race in the rain (I’m supposed to aspire to greater heights of self-punishment? And she never answers my texted question:  “Did you have fun?”). But it was a text  from Kevin Carlsten, who was planning to do this with John McDermott and me, that swung my vote: “What, are we going to melt?” Besides, I skipped a race last year because of the rain… So, time to “man up” and get over this fear of slippery roads and shivering.

With John McDermott and Kevin Carlsten, tremendous athletes and racing buddies from the Rivertowns. The hardest part of this rainy race was waiting for the awards ceremony…

So, John generously drove us in the Family Minivan – enough room to stand all three bikes inside – and the long haul didn’t feel so long with good conversation and someone else driving. We ate outdoors and drank local micro-brew beer in Millville, NJ, marveling at the nice weather and our lousy timing for the next day. Sure enough, when I woke up at 3:40 a.m. that night, the rain was pounding and I couldn’t get back to sleep…

It was barely drizzling when we left the hotel, but that was NOT gonna last. We got to the school/recreation center at around 7; transition was open until 7:45; and the first wave hit the water at 8 a.m. Pretty civilized. I was trying to cover my shoes, etc. from the anticipated deluge, and neglected to count the bike racks from Swim In to where I had racked my Beastie. But because it was such a small race – less than 300 BEFORE the weather prediction, with just over 100 signed up for the Olympic distance – so not a serious SNAFU.

The swim was two loops around a square marked by yellow triangle buoys and orange sight buoys, a short course totaling only 0.6 miles (instead of 0.9 – if you just swam the course, that is…). Just before the swim, a stranger said my wetsuit zipper was down – I let him pull it “tight” and as designed the suit came undone – but despite my thinking I’d have to take the whole thing OFF, Kevin simply re-zipped it. Amazing; I hadn’t thought that was possible.

I hadn’t warmed up at all – not even a run, let alone dunk in – but the in-water standing start was surprisingly comfortable. 61 or 66 degrees? didn’t have time to get cold, HONK, my wave is off (“Males Over 40”. Really, it’s a small race.). Wished I had warmed up, though – all that blood rushing into my arms and legs, felt heavy. Tried to swim hard and felt pretty smooth (these days, if swimming doesn’t injure me I assume I’m swimming well), but really didn’t feel I was keeping up and realized I veered off course – a current? Damn, I have a lot of distance to make up! Guy in a red cap (wave ahead of me) heads to shore as I start the second loop – is he so much faster that he’s lapped me, has he miscounted, or is he doing the sprint distance? No matter, I have to do another loop, and I should push harder, and only on the last leg do I feel I’ve hit my stride. As I’m coming up the metal ramp to land, two guys from another wave are going DOWN the ramp:  “Move! Move!”

Bottom line… I don’t know what my swim time is. Because the official results show nothing for the swim (for me and lots of other racers) but 23:05 for T1! And I had hit “start” rather than “lap” on my ancient Garmin (another guy told me he did the same thing – clearly, another guy in his 50’s). BUT: Working off the time of No. 74, the Man in Black (see below), I figure my swim and T1 were 1:30 faster than his – so I’ll guess my “0.6” mile swim was 20:45 (or 1:53 per 100 yds.) and my T1 was 2:15. Ok, pretty slow (depending on how far I really swam), but not as slow as I’d thought.

T1 goes well – despite running past my bike rack (see above SNAFU) – and it looks like only one or two bikes in my rack (that is, my age group) have already left. So, there’s hope for the podium.

You know it’s a small, rainy race when there’s no spectators on the course, no photographers, and cars and pickup trucks sharing the road with the bikes. But: it was not as cold as I had feared! Left the arm warmers and gloves (wet, anyway) and Debi was right (again, and of course): I was sweating almost right away, even in my one-piece tri suit. The out and back course was exceedingly flat and straight (truly, the only turns were when we left the school and at the turnaround to head back), with police at the intersections (“Thank you, Officer!”), so I tucked into aero for most of the ride. I counted how many I passed and how many passed me and I was at net 8 until No. 74, dressed in black, with 55 on his calf, passes me as if I’m standing still (arghh, I’m fighting for 2nd or 3rd Place now), and then KEVIN (dammit! Of course he caught me, he’s really strong, but I had passed him while he got his shoes on in T1 – and I had forgotten about him…) and eventually, of course, McDermott (who’s only doing an aquabike and started 20 minutes after us, but ends up averaging 23.5 mph), but this is MY race. Whenever I feel too comfortable the Garmin reminds me to keep the wattage to 85-90% FTP (that’s all my glutes and quads could handle without cramping), salt tablets, EAA tablets, Huma gel and half a Real Bar at prescribed times because I am burning fuel, even have to refill my torpedo with water (glad I brought that extra half bottle, this is MY body) and lo! I pass another guy with a ridiculous yellow rain coat filling like a parachute in the wind and 55 on his calf, whoa, had I been in 3rd or even 4th place (or was this guy finishing the half-length sprint distance)? And wow, despite my fears of cold and slipping it’s really kind of delightful in the rain without any turns, and literally the only time I touch the brakes is at the turnaround and turning back into the school. Which is a good thing because my hands are almost too cold to grip the brakes… Finished the bike in 1:12:18 (20.3 mph, faster than the 70.3 three weeks ago), 30/108 overall for the bike.

T2 is uneventful, except that my hands are so cold it takes me a while to un-clip my helmet, I squeeze on the shoes (don’t know if it would’ve be easier with wet socks, but no choice, I have to sit down) and out the door (which door? John tells me Kevin ran the wrong direction, too) in 2:09.

Ah, the 10k run. It’s raining less now, but I’m loving the cool, not cold. Pretty flat, with a slight descent in the beginning (oh no, we’ll be climbing up this on the way back) and long straight stretches (which often are mentally draining, because I feel like I’m not making any progress), and Mile 1 seems awfully long, but I am determined to have learned from the race in Florida 3 weeks ago: I am NOT going to tank on this run, so my 8:08 pace seems a tad ambitious and when my heart rate creeps up to 147 by Mile 1.5, I slow down, but get into a groove that feels sustainable, somehow Miles 2, 3 are at 7:47 and 7:48 (damn, I’m consistent), and then I vow to ignore my pace for the remaining 3 Miles, ugh, here comes No. 74, the Man in Black, already coming back from the turnaround, grinning in recognition and gyrating his arms (how does he DO that?) and it is really hurting and I’m thinking about what I’m going to write and thinking about getting dry again and thinking…

SHMUCK! Stay present! You are not there yet, you are here! You want to look ahead, look at that tree on the horizon (branches look like the bamboo roots coming out of a Japanese mask we have at home), that’s all you’re allowed. Stay. Here. Now. And I remember to be grateful that I can run; that I’m not injured; that there’s folks using canes or having a hard time getting out of bed and I. Am. Running. The turn into the school comes soon enough, I’m finally catching up with No. 18 and am close enough to see age 30 on his calf and as he slows down running over the first mat at the Finish Line I surge and pass him before he reaches the second mat.

Little victories.

My prize! It’s a small race.

Bottom line: run is 47:37, which is 7:40 min/Miles, among my slower times for an Olympic distance but a LOT faster than the lousy run at the end of April’s 70.3, and I am happy. It was fun. So glad I got past my fear of riding a race in the rain. And total time 2:25:08, which is good enough for 3rd place. Ok, that’s 3/5 AG… and 34/108 who signed up. But 23 people didn’t finish (or more likely, didn’t start).  And I did.

John McDermott: 1st Place OA for the Aquabike. At 23.5 mph, another solid performance.

Kevin Carlsten takes 1st Place for Men 50-54. No surprise, this guy’s another beast.

And…

Third Place for 55-59. With Steve Bonawitz [1st] and George Koefler [2nd – the Man in Black]

Epilogue:  Joe Taylor, a total stranger, came up after the race and said he used to be a Coach Debi client; he still gets emails for the team; and he reads my race reports! Super nice guy.  (I realized, it was easy to recognize me, with my photos in every blog…)

And two days later, I did an indoor TrainerRoad ride at 105% FTP, and FINISHED the workout for the first time.  So what they say is true:  This race didn’t kill me; it made me stronger.  On to Lake Placid… Bring it on.

It may sound ridiculous but even though this was my slowest swim and run and overall time for a Half Ironman distance triathlon, this was a good race and worth the trip all the way to Haines City, Florida (halfway between Tampa and Orlando – also known as “Nowhere”, FL). Racing buddy Scott Schiffer, who has family in Tampa, generously picked me up at the airport, and we have two full days to casually travel, pick up race packets, eat at a good fish restaurant…

We pick up our bikes from Tribike Transport (I know, I know, it’s expensive, but I fly with my bike so infrequently and the hassle of disassembly and reassembly and the round trip airline cost for a bike box, plus the worry of damage… just easier to have the bike shipped down by truck and taken “home” to NYC bike shop). And eat dinner again (good Mexican, but dangerously spicy pre-race; fortunately, no problems).

Some 1,900 racers showed up, from everywhere: big contingent from Brazil, a team from Britain, on my age-group’s bike rack Dave from Ottawa and two guys from Germany. In our hotel we shared breakfast with Dan (or Dale?) from Phillie: 76 years old, attempted 6 full Ironman races, DNF’d twice (failed to make the maximum time cutoffs) but signing up for more, anyway – and going to Kona this fall. I really admire that persistence. And courage. Lot of first-timers at this distance, too – and some first-time triathletes. (Pretty scary to start with a 70.3, IMHO.) And some experienced guy who saunters in to rack his bike at 6:20 before Transition closes at 6:45, from Gainesville, FL; he’s done this a few times before, I’m sure, and I fully expect him to podium.

Fresh water lake – which we practiced in the day before – for the 1.2 mile swim. The temp is 79.6 degrees, so wetsuit illegal. I have a swim skin, which I’m not sure is effective (I’m already pretty streamlined in a one-piece tri suit) but I’ll take what I can get. Guy waiting ahead of me in the starting wave for the gray-swim cap age group (a cruel color choice!) is on the USA Team and I fully expect him to win; only later, when he comes in 15th, I realize that he’s among the finest at the Olympic distance, and THIS is a different animal.

We stand in the weedy mud and OFF WE GO. I am pretty relaxed, planning to be smooth and build speed, and so close to the first sighting buoy in this counterclockwise “M” course that I end up leaving the buoy to my left – but I get a lot of clean water, passing folks with purple and even red swimcaps (okay, they are among the Very Slow, but it’s still gratifying – and maybe THAT’s why I don’t swim harder), until the first turning buoy – and then I’m working to avoid people doing breast stroke, even getting my head smacked by a woman doing backstroke (another good reason to put on goggle UNDER the swim cap) and the buoys are more crowded and I’m sighting a lot more to make sure I’m lined up in the right direction to get around the big orange cylinder buoys at the “V” part of the course, and this is only halfway? – my arms are high and relaxed on the recovery and I’m rotating smooth and a full finished stroke and engaging those hips (in retrospect maybe not catching and pulling with enough power, because I’m conserving for the rest of the race and passing people, right?) and it feels great except for the lousy shallow finale (swim or stand? Sink into mud. Stand? Sink into mud). But I later found that i had a lousy result: 42 minutes, 25/83 for AG. (Turns out, I swam an extra 1/10th of a mile – so my pace was 1:50 min/100 yds. – apparently my sighting needs a lot of work!

Oh, well. It felt great. Which is part of a successful race, in my book. (And a sign that I need swim lessons again. Good, the season is young.)

T1 goes pretty well – took a chance with “something new on race day”: before put on helmet, throw string attached to sunglasses over head to keep sunglasses from sliding – it works better than as practiced; and run out in socks, then put on shoes before mounting line – hard to know whether it worked better than running in cleats, and I’ve not practiced shoes attached to pedals…

The 56-Mile bike ride is wonderfully flat, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been warned that this is not coastal Florida and it has hills, but 531 feet of elevation compared to the 5,000 feet we cover in Westchester County over the same mileage? Rolling hills or no, the road surface is almost pristine (except for after Mile 45, when the road surface becomes a bit coarse) compared with the winter-ravaged roads chewed up with potholes on which I train, and I have never stayed in aero position for so long. And as Scott had predicted,my Garmin stop watch says I am completing 5-mile laps in 15 minutes (20 mph), sometimes 16 minutes, sometimes 13, and it feels in control and strong. I’m following my nutrition and hydration plan, finishing almost two bottles of water in the first hour, tossing the cheap bottle I bought at the previous day’s expo at the aid station and making a teenage volunteer squeal as I swerve in to reach for a replacement bottle (missed that handoff; get one at the end of that station; have to slow down more and PRACTICE that maneuver!); eating carb-filled bars a little earlier than planned because starting to feel hungry; salt tablets every hour…

Wind picks up at Mile 25 (Dark Sky weather app had predicted 13-14 mph winds), and a Brit who passes me says “That’s rather unfriendly, isn’t it?” But even with the wind, I’m keeping up the speed, and thinking I might be fighting for 6th or 7th place because I’ve passed more guys in my age group than have passed me. (Nope. The woman who shouted to her husband on my rack that “around 8 guys have left ahead of you” was wrong- she wasn’t counting the guys across the aisle of bike racks…). At mile 40 I realize how lucky we’ve been that it’s been cloudy, because the SUN comes out. And those predicted temps in the mid- to high 80s become real. Not too bad on the bike, with the wind cooling us (glad not to use the aero helmet’s plexiglass shield), but the run is going to be rough… Finished in 2:46 (20.15 mph), a PR for this distance; I had expected to be closer to 3 hours; all that time on the trainer this winter has produced results. And moved up six slots, to 19/83 AG.

But: it’s a three-part race, isn’t it?

T2 is very fast – slip on the racing flats and GO. First mile is supposed to be my slowest, but it’s downhill out of transition, and I clock in 8:15 which feels ok… (arghh! A rookie mistake!) – but that heat and humidity are more than rough and my heart rate rapidly climbs into the 150’s (zone 3) and then, incredibly, the 160’s (zone 4),p. And Mile 2 has a long, long hill… to be tackled three times on this looping 13.1 mile course. By mile 4, I am hurting… By Mile 6.5 i was wishing the race was done. And by mile 8 or 9, I’m not only walking the aid stations (“Water! Ice!”), but walking a 1/4 to 1/2 mile after them and praying for not sub-9 minute miles but sub-12’s…

To keep running, I had told myself when I got to That Hill I would walk, and there were a LOT of people walking (except for the wheelchair athlete somehow powering up it, inch by inch; what amazing strength!), but I. Did. Not. Walk. And I feel awful, but know that I am going as fast as I can and offering up my best and not looking at my watch and taking it one painful mile at a time and there is the blessed turnoff for the chute to the finish line (lots of people going for another loop – or two,) and they announce my name and home town and I am HOME across the finish line.

Thank God.

Lousy metrics (other than the bike ride): 2:08 run (9:38 min/Mile, a full minute slower than my best run at the end of a 70.3), 5:45:03 total time (10 minutes slower than the Poconos 70.3 two years ago – which was also painful.) BUT: between getting passed and passing other age groupers I moved down only two slots to 21/83 AG, 328/1,800 (approx) OA.

And as I said: it felt like a solid race. Dumb, beginner’s mistake to start the run so fast; I should have walked and gotten my heart rate down, not out of so-called “weakness” but to be in control. But at least I had a chance to learn that again before this July’s full Ironman. I’d like better results, of course – but I couldn’t give more than what I gave. It’s my first race of the season, my first complete tri in 18 months and my first 70.3 in almost 2 years; I had not trained in any heat; and I DID it. I own it. This was the best I could do, today. A PR on the bike is great. I. need to learn again how to tap into my running strength off the bike, but I know that is possible with more training.

Like I said: I know, it sounds ridiculous. But this was a successful race. And if I can learn from this one and the upcoming Devilman Olympic distance in May, I can get stronger in time for Lake Placid…

So this is our local, very hilly race, so local that you can buy your entry the morning of the race, but I bought mine a few days ahead – my first race of the year, so I better commit.

I always hope for auspicious bib numbers: “3… 2… 1… Blast off!”

A civilized race starts at 9:30 a.m.  That gave me time to eat a LOT – BP coffee, fried egg, banana, and UCAN starch drink on the drive over. When I got there, it was really cold and windy – 35 degrees and 17-18 mph winds coming off the Hudson River; I was shivering as I walked from the high school parking lot. The running warm-up didn’t make me much warmer.  At the last minute – after doing some yoga actually raised my body temp – I took back my checked bag and stuffed my heavy running jacket into it.  Dressed for speed not for comfort (and not, as my sons would tell you, for fashion): T-shirt, long-sleeved shirt, light tights under tri shorts (side pockets for nutrition), heavy hat and light gloves. 

Sure enough, starting up the hill out of the village Main Street, I was warm in less than a mile and glad I had dumped the jacket (as, yes, Coach Debi had advised). This was the first time we ran the “normal” course – the last 3 times I had done this race, snow or muddy trails kept us off the aqueduct and out of Rockefeller Preserve, but there we were, trotting on through, only a short hill at the start (instead of the 4-mile ascent of prior years).

I was shooting  to start at 7:52, then descend to 7:25’s.  I stayed on track the first few miles, and it was silent and sparse, bare trees and beautiful quiet, and the folks around me are deadly quiet and serious…

And  I am in this to be steady and stay present and do the best I can, today, keeping an eye on my watch (okay that was a good mile) and my heart rate (hmmm, zone 3?  Let’s back it down a little), but by Mile 4.5 here’s that steep climb (oh, yeah, I trained on this with Dietmar and Ziv months ago, that was fun, this is a little less fun), and I get passed by a lot of younger runners, oh, well, stay present, imagining more than the mile I’m in right now is too big a picture.

Running along the river, chilly and windy but beautiful. By mile 6, we’ve had all of 2 water stops, but I have forgotten that I wanted to urinate, and we hit the road that loops around the Regeneron offices (ah, so much nicer doing this counterclockwise, bigger hill going down than up, and skipping that stupid parking lot!), and start climbing the Route 117 highway, I’ve slogged up here on my bike with Alan Golds, it’s somehow easier on the run (I later realize we ran with the wind at our backs!). I’m slower on the uphills, freaking out a little when I see at the start of one mile that I’m running at a 9:47 pace, but then my actual pace sets in –  my slowest mile ends up being 8:14 (which ain’t bad), and what the hell, a good mile here, a slower mile there.

OMG, here comes the lead runner, screaming downhill on the other side of the highway (second place comes a full 2 minutes later…), what an inspiration (me: “What, he’s 3 miles ahead of us?”  Younger woman passing me, “I don’t want to think about it…”), she’s not male or my age group, it’s okay… but by the time we turn and start the Mile 8-9 descent the wind is against us (who cares, it’s DOWNHILL)

I become convinced that the tall guy up ahead in in the blue jacket is in my age group, and I assume there’s at least 1 or 2 guys ahead of HIM who took off like rockets at the start, and another guy who is probably my age passes me, so here I am fighting for something like 4th or 5th place.  Oh, well, I will NOT look at the total time elapsed, and I might not meet my goals, but keeping my eye on each mile’s pace keeps me pushing harder.

By Mile 10 we’re climbing out of Phelps Hospital (I hate this hill). But lo! my calves are not cramping for the first time in the last 3 half marathons (stop thinking about it, it’s making me imagine they are cramping) and as we approach the old railway station (oh that upcoming hill killed me a few years ago, shut up, we’re on THIS mile), I grab my last sip of water from a gaggle of kids.

The wind off the river is pretty damn cold but hurray! the course doesn’t go around that stupid little lighthouse. I’m heading into Mile 12 and my calves still haven’t cramped up (no, don’t think about it!) and then through those quiet but flat suburban streets and then it’s UP that hellacious hill for the last 0.2 mile and the finish line looks so far away and I sprint as best I can and CROSS IT.

1:39:25 – slower than my best, but… faster than my prior five half marathons. And my fastest since 2014 (beating out 2015 by 1 second)!  If this is really 13.1 miles (despite my Garmin saying it’s a ¼ mile short), then I averaged 7:35 min/mile. (My Garmin also says it was 1,010 feet of climbing — but the course map says 1,643 feet).

And…. 2nd place!  2/27 AG, 107/702 overall.  Proving:  never give up. Also proving:  no matter how old those other guys looked… I’m older.

With my annual nemesis, Michael Kaiser — 1st in his age group. He’ll always be younger and faster…  (Note:  A civilized race has beer at the finish line.)

The best part of this race was hanging out with training buddy, tri guy Ziv Abramowicz, both before and after the race. If I hadn’t signed up with him, I might not have run.

The Friday before this Sunday race, I went to the doctor to address an asthmatic cough. I hadn’t thought of myself as allergic, but asked the doctor to check when last I was there, and sure enough, a year and two weeks ago, I’d been treated for the same thing. I guess the change into spring is a trigger. Anyway, this time I got antibiotics as well as steroids, and a cough suppressant, and by Saturday morning, I could run again.

The park in Uniondale was nice enough, and the race was well organized, but UGLY. Miles of the Jericho Turnpike, Wantagh Parkway and Carman Avenue? Really? And just to confirm these really were highways closed for the race, I ran past a dead cat on the shoulder at one point.

Was shooting for 7:20s or faster in order to PR, and started off at 7:40 min/mile in high zone 1,/low zone 2, but by mile 4, I realized (a) I was not feeling the love (not panting, but not strong) and (b) I was not going to go faster than 7:40. So I adjusted to that reality, stopped feeling disappointed, and just hung on. But by mile 9.5, here come those calf cramps again, and I’m struggling to stumble through 9:00+ Miles, and people I passed are passing me in droves, and that means they’ve been steady and I’ve not. I end up at 1:45:10 (8:02 min/mile) – my slowest HM yet, even slower than the much hillier Sleepy Hollow HM I ran 6 weeks ago “at a fun pace”instead of fastest.

Something has to change. I took “sportslegs” before the race to try battling lactate buildup, but forgot my chewable salt tablets in the car (note to self: don’t switch to the race-approved clear plastic bag in the parking lot). I had half a gel with electrolytes towards the end, but couldn’t stomach more. Maybe it’s my form; sent videos after I got home to Coach Debi, who said to work on a shorter stride and land on balls of my feet; or maybe it’s just that allergy season knocks back the best of us, including cyclist Chris Dudko (who told me that because of the pollen he had no power for his recent race, either). Maybe sessions again with the Mile Hugh Running Club. But I’d rather not give up on this distance.

This is not a dramatic tale; my slowest half marathon ever; but successful in a new way.

My second race of 2018 (following last weekend’s indoor relay marathon at the New York Armory),

and my third or fourth time at Sleepy Hollow. And I had a new goal: to have fun. Not to relax, not to go easy, but to watch my heart rate, do the course and ignore the splits, see if I could listen to my body and go by feel for most of the race and then burst into flame the last few miles. I wanted to run without a terror in my heart (or as my wife’s typo suggested, and as Coach Debi would agree, without a terrier in my heart). I quietly hoped I’d sneak up and seize my fastest race – but I wasn’t worried about it.

It was great seeing lots of friends at this very local race – Zander Reyna (a fellow Killer Bunny and triathlete, and incredibly disciplined at pacing this race – “The New Zander” he calls it), and Nicholas Moore (fellow tri guy who generously took my home after the race, even though he lives practically on top of Sleepy Hollow),

Dietmar Serbee (training seriously for the London Marathon in a few weeks, ready to SLAY this course, and indeed, 2nd place for AG),

Ken Fuirst (king of the 10k, never ran a HM, amazing results), my friendly nemesis Mike Kaiser (all the way from New Jersey, who ran steps behind me at this race in 2014 until passing me the last mile, then went on to a 3:20 marathon a month later and a 3:09 in Boston the next year), and Ralph Miccio (fellow Sunday-morning cyclist , riding alongside, chaperoning the runners and warning off the drivers; so GOOD to have a friend along the entire route).

So the race itself passed as planned, and despite the 4 ½ miles of uphill straight from the start I was in control, running MY race,

heart rate was at 154 (low to mid-Zone 2 but who cares because it felt RIGHT and when I went above I was huffing and puffing so I slowed down) and the rolling hills and downhills of Route 117 didn’t seem terrible at all, and able to chat with new friends (John, from Scotland, carrying water in a CamelBak and chatting about his 150km race in Chile last October; Bob Carey, big former football player, 61 years old who beat me by a minute and was delighted to discover he took third place for his AG; and John Lombardi in the same age group who came in right after Bob ).

(Bob Casey and Mike Kaiser, awaiting their hardware.)

And those stupid corporate parking lots and the climbs back to the road weren’t horrible at all, and I couldn’t believe that it was such a short distance to get to the train station and that the climb up to the last 2 miles was much faster than I recalled, and it felt AMAZING until those last 3 miles, when I poured it on to get faster and got hit with calf cramps (this time at mile 12 i stead of mile 10– stumbling but knowing it wasn’t for long!).

(With Ralph Miccio, guardian angel on a bicycle)

I finished in 1:43:22, avg. 7:54, 4 minutes slower than my two HMs last year, 5/23 AG, 138/652 OA.

But somehow a great race.

I still want to get a PR; I still want to go as fast as possible; but at THIS race I felt great, not wiped out all day at the end, able to bike the next day no problem. It’s a different way of racing, and it’s nice to learn that I have this option. Bring on the season, I’m ready.

Initially planned to do this final race of the season with Rivertown elites Kevin Carlsten and Jisk Hoogma, but they wanted to leave later than I did, so to preserve my calm, I went alone. But arrived at the same time, and parked almost next to each other. (They even drive faster than I do!)

A bit of an ominous start: as I check my bag, the security guard (clearly an off duty or retired cop) tells me that my bib number, 1013, is the code police use on the radio when they need backup… Cold start – 36 degrees. Felt very local, hanging out in the loose corrals, supposedly grouped by expected finish times. Another cop (” NYPD Marathon” shirt) notes that my number is the one a cop never wants to use… Stripped off the sweat pants and sweat shirt, but still in tights. (A guy in his later 60s is wearing track shorts and tank top, shivering at the starting line. My money is on HIM, and sure enough he passes me early on. But that’s OK, I’m running MY race.)

Horn blows, I’m near the front of the pack, we’re off around a park and little pond, then off through residential neighborhoods, almost no spectators, a good pace, feeling solid. My goal is to break 1:36 (which I’ve done, although that was 3 years ago), maybe even 1:35, and Coach Debi has told me to run 7:40 the first mile, 7:20s until mile 10 to avoid “blowing up”, then surge for the last 3 miles. Feels like a lot of gentle downhills at the start, but I’m not rushing it. Strangely difficult to measure my pace – the Garmin swings wildly from 6:53 to 7:40 within moments, and credits me for completing miles long before reaching the course markers – must be from the city geography.

So my first mile is spot on; at 5k I’m averaging 7:25s; at 10k, 7:21s (good!); but I’m not feeling the love, and despite reasonable nutrition (EAAs at 25 minutes and 59 minutes, and a gel at 1:07 – reminded by the digital monitors to eat), dropping to 7:40 at 15k (8 miles) and more and more people are passing me.

At mile 9 1/2, my left calf starts to cramp. I am stumbling, and yelling “whoa!” with each potential face-plant, and worried that my bib number is going to be needed (“I need backup!”). In an almost flat course, there’s an uphill, a ramp to cross a bridge, and the lead runners are running along the other side towards me, which means I’ll have to do it twice. At 20k, I’ve dropped to 8:09 min/miles. Kind of cool seeing the World’s Fair globe so close up, but I’m just this side of miserable and I’m not into sightseeing…

(A spectator, clearly another cop, shouts out, “Hey, love your number!”, then turns to explain to his friends. Shut up…). The temptation to quit and walk is rearing its ugly head, because the digital monitors indicate there’s no way I’m breaking 1:36, unless I can speed up to 7 minute miles, but when I try to accelerate the calf cramp gets more frequent (“whoa!”) so faster is not an option. So I slog the last mile or two, not walking, this may not be my PR but I don’t have to walk it. And push a little harder, nothing to lose now! Finish. Thank you. Done.

And I see Kevin and Jisk just after I cross the finish line.

Bottom line: 1:40:14. Not my fastest; indeed, my slowest; but none of the wheels fell off. Plus, among my peers (aging and slowing, alas!) I do pretty well: 5/63 AG, 264/3156 OA, 226/1575 males. And there may be a silver lining – Coach Debi thinks the cramping indicates something is wrong with my form. So, during the off season, I can work on changing my mechanics. And maybe I can still get faster…

Meanwhile, the off season has arrived. Done, done, done.

Three goals for this race in our little village: do a PR; if not, at least do better than last year; and beat my nemesis and inspiration James Condon. (He took first place last year; I took it the year before; I took second and he took third two years ago…). We only see each other at this race, which is full of small children and more casual runners, mostly doing the 5k.

We’re off, heading around the high school, and my target passes me in the first half mile, light blue sweatshirt and long, long legs (“Mr. Condon!” I shout, he laughs), and he quickly gets at least two blocks ahead. My buddy Dietmar, recovered from a great Chicago Marathon, generously runs with me for the first mile, then takes off, never to be seen again.

The second 5k loop on this hilly course is always a challenge, given the temptation to quit and just walk home, but once again Jim Nolan is at the first turn shouting encouragement, shaming me into finishing the race. I’m close to maximum effort, and that light blue sweatshirt is still far ahead, but nothing is impossible and I have that bunny to chase, and I realize that he’s slowing on the downhills, he’s tired like the rest of us and thinks he can ease up when it’s easier, but doesn’t know I’m still there, and I push off harder and let gravity do its thing, and by the end of the second descent I’m close, and as we make the turns through all those short backstreets I pass him a half mile from the end, my neighbors Anthony and Amy are cheering, and an older guy who I always see walkin/ jogging around town is finishing the 5k and says, “9”, must be counting the guys who are in the lead, and I am sprinting to get a safety margin against Condon making a surge, and the Finish Line is mine.

Cross the finish line: 41:49 (to be honest, for a 5.9 miles/9.5 km course). Faster than last year, slower than my best, but I am 1/9 AG (50-59), 8/44 OA. And it’s nice to be the Fastest Old Guy.

This was the shortest multi-sport race I’ve done:  2.2 mile run, 12 mile bike, 2.2 mile run.  As a French ultra-marathoner friend once wrote, “The shorter distances.  They are more violent.” So the strategy (other than to get out of bed at 5:15, not crazy early in the day but late enough in the season to think, “Really? Do I really have to do this?”  And that, my friends, is why I register in advance of race day: it forces me to get up and do the damn race…): to run really as fast as I can for the first run, imagine I am only riding the bike leg, and then with a slight pause to “find my legs” off the bike, go maximum effort again.  Privately, I was shooting for 7:00 minute/miles, and 20 mph on the bike.  So, that’s just over an hour, 1:10 to be precise, without including the two transition times.

Nice, small bunch of people:  some first time couples on their mountain bikes, some experienced and older and FAST people.  Bumped into Danny Secow, who I’d met at Westchester Tri last year.

I’m glad that I’ve aged out from your age group:  he’s unbelievably fast, and ends up in this race taking third place for his class.  (But I’m getting ahead of myself.)

The race itself is relatively uneventful, except that the initial uphill brings my HR all the way to maximum and it’s a short out an back on the east side of the Park, and I’m just pushing hard, and it feels good, and I manage to average 7:08s.  Though I am largely ignoring my watch, avoiding the distraction and potential worry about metrics, it beeps at the end of each mile, and I peek, because nothing wrong with getting encouraging news.

The bike is more challenging, not that The Hill is so terrible, but because by 8:40 a.m., the Park is filling up with people:  joggers and bicyclists and strollers and dog-walkers.  So even though I had been concerned about getting swept up in the danger of the other racers going too fast and too closely together, the danger turned out to be the pedestrians/civilians. Almost everyone were fine with my calling out “On your left!” or more frequently (because of the way the no-cars traffic seemed to work) “on your right!”  Some even thanked me.  Well, one did anyway… And one woman yells, not yet seeing me, “Oh, really?  I don’t friggin believe it!”

This is why I love New York.

Bikes get pretty spread out, though I did leap frog with one young guy in a black shirt and tights (even though it was a gorgeous sunny day, temps at 58 and went up to maybe 70), the downhill around the public pool is pretty technical and scary, and I was afraid if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up overshooting the transition area and do THIRD lap by mistake. Bike:   20.8 mph.

The run was rough, only because I wanted to go fast as I can, and I had pushed pretty hard on the bike, and on the way back on the last mile I’m thinking “Wherever I am near the podium, it won’t make a difference now:  whoever’s ahead is way ahead, and whoever’s behind is… Wait, that guy who was running towards me and was about to turnaround … He could catch me.”  So I am doing what I can as hard as I can, and I GET TO THE FINISH LINE.

(Short race, great to have a short race).

And the second run is in 16:25, or 7:24 per mile.  So the average of the two runs is 7:14 min/mile – almost as I had been hoping.

Final time, 1:08:18.  More notably:  Second Place for my Age Group!

This is turning out to be a good season.  Thank you, Coach Debi.

2/14 AG, 54/290 OA