Author: mktriguy

This was a good one.  I hadn’t done this race since 2013, and it was a good way to get together with my racing buddy Scott Schiffer who lives nearby – or least nearer than I do.  We had dinner at a diner in Fishkill, New York; watched some of the replay from the Tour de France time trial; and I was in bed by 9 o’clock. Got up at 4:30, because no matter how well prepared I am I can’t get out in less than an hour. Drove 15 minutes to Pine Plains, New York and checked in for a very small, very local race.

Only 70 people had signed up, and only 66 showed up, because it was the Sunday of a four-day July 4th weekend, and how many idiots would spend part of a mini-vacation doing a sprint triathlon?  Around 66.

Had a new realization on the way to the race. I was scared.  (That’s not new; bizarrely, after all of these triathlons, I’m always scared to start the race.) So, next I asked and answered, what’s scaring me?  I was afraid of failing.  I suppose a lot of us feel that way; maybe it’s heightened before a challenge (and sprint or Ironman, every race is a challenge; as French ultra-marathoner Emanuelle Jaeger said, “the shorter races – they are more violent!”).  But the new part was realizing:  what would failure look like?  I mean, having survived a few bad races, I don’t think I’d recognize “failure” if it bit me on the butt!  It’s ridiculous. I race and finish triathlons. Would failure mean:  coming in less than 1st place for my age group (as I had done in this race last time?). REALLY?  And coming in after Scott, an excellent athlete who trains virtually every day? REALLY? Or not doing better than the 1:30 I had done last time?  How the hell does that equate to failure?  Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous!

So I realized this was a morning filled with opportunity, with possibility, simply to do the best I could. And really, every race is like that. (REALLY, every morning is as well.)

I arrive at 6:30 to start at 8 a.m.   Call me crazy, but the extra time makes me calmer. I set up in the semi-assigned transition area.  Meet some nice guys, one of whom lends me a race belt (as I later find mine in the car).  Go down to warm up in the l’il  Stissing Lake (so small that motorboats aren’t allowed).  The water is really warm, and I’m tempted to wear my speed suit instead of sleeveless wetsuit, but I am not a capital S Swimmer and need all the help I can get.   Some back stroke, some fast work, some standing around on the beach with a nice bunch on a beautiful day. (74 degrees, whatever % humidity.).

Total of two waves – based on date of registration, not age or gender! – and so informal, we start with a “Go!”

Well-placed, multiple buoys, I’m knocked by a big fella who passes me, nudges me off course, slows down-  someone to get around!  Round the first buoy, it’s only .5 miles in total, I’m going strong but focusing on smooth, breathing every stroke on the left side which feels better for a change, it’s a long, second side of a 4-sided figure, the sun is bright, the water clean, round the last buoy, haul in as fast as I can, run through the lake weeds (ugh) onto the beach, and DONE. 14:34, some 30 seconds slower than in 2013.  Oh, well. But not bad!

Get to the bike, Scott is leaving as I arrive (“I’ll get you, Red Baron!”  No, I didn’t say that out loud), decent transition, out into the asphalt, stumble a little with getting clipped in, and I have a LOT of catching up to do.

Fabulous Bruce Cadenhead in his USAT suit passes me (having started the swim 3 to 5 minutes after I started),  another guy passes me, and I am just pouring it on as fast as I can to catch SOMEBODY, for a moment someone off the bike and fixing his chain is within target distance, but he’s gone as well. I mean, after all my training in heart rate Zone 1, I am in Zone 3, and why not, it’s a sprint, time for everything I’ve got.   I’m cooking along, taking in some nutrition, and at about 40 minutes, I think, shouldn’t this be curving more to the right to be near the starting line?  Maybe an optical illusion.  And:  not a soul in sight, shouldn’t I have a least SEEN some of the 6 or 7 guys who finished swimming ahead of me?  And: it finally dawns on me, this is supposed to be a 2-hill course, but I’m on hill number 5 or 6….  I must have missed a turn.

I slow down, some of the fire gone since I can’t possibly make the podium now, but still in Zone 2.  I wave down a van, asking the driver if she’s seen any other bikes, and she says “yeah, they’re going down Route 82. Hauling ass!”  And it’s a good thing I talked with her, because Route 82 took a sharp right shortly after that, and I went with it, and suddenly I’m on top of a policeman directing traffic to allow other cyclists turn right, ONTO the road I’ve been riding, and these guys are not the elite athletes I’ve been chasing, these guys are slugging along on bikes with great big saddles, and I ask someone in a blue helmet, “what mile is this?” And he answers, “15”.  And I laugh out loud because I’m on mile 18 of a 16.5 mile course!

Perfect for confirming that basic lesson:   I really am racing against myself.  Bike, after 3.2 extra miles and a lot more hills, is 19.8 miles in 1:02 (19.2 mph, a lot slower than the 20.5 of 2013 – but also 1,220 feet of climbing….)

So I jump off into transition, and there’s a goofy tape which I guess is supposed to make us run around the entire transition area in order to “be fair”, and I’m doing the best I can.  Keep it slow the first 200 meters, then pour it on, it’s mostly shady roads, I pass 6 people, one guy passes me (“How old are you?”  “31!”  “You may pass…”) and it’s painful and it’s hard to focus past the “why bother?”  Because I’m not going to beat anyone who’s ridden 3 miles less, but I want at least to RUN faster than I did four years ago, and each mile of the 3.5 miles is a mini victory, I can’t sustain this 166, then 167, ultimately 170 beats a minute, rounding the athletic fields, slowing slightly with the thought that those orange cones require us to do some stupid loop, but no, I turn left, down the grass and across! the! Finish! Line!

OMG, that hurt, wait, I’ll give you my racing chip in a moment…

25:08 for a 3.5 mile course.  Avg. 7:11 min/miles, and only 8 seconds slower than the last time I did this race, 4 years ago.  I’ll TAKE it!  Total time, 1:45:37.

And two great kickers:  the Race Director overheard me talking with Scott (who took 1st place for our age group), and she asked, “did you miss that turn where the sign blew down?”  Me:  “I wouldn’t know!” RD:  “Well, we didn’t have enough volunteers this year.  I’m going to give you your money back.”  And she brings me a check made out to cash!

Well, that’s extremely decent.  But after cleaning up I realize that I won’t keep it, and I tell her, “listen, I still did a race, and USAT Rules say that I’m supposed to know the course, and it was a great day.”  A moment later, a guy comes up to tell her that he rode 20 EXTRA MILES because of missing that turn (and, I bet, not taking that sharp right to stay on Route 82!).  I have to hope she gave him the check I gave back to her…

And, I also tell the Race Director:   I may be 54, but I’m 55 in triathlon years, and for once, I want to be older, because that means I came in THIRD PLACE for my age group!  (And if I subtract some 10 minutes for the extra 3.2 miles – then, I would have finished in 1:35, which would be Second Place, by a good 5 minutes.). 3/10 AG, 24/66 OA.

And the season is still young!

Most of my training and racing is a solo effort, so I was excited to corral together a “team” and rent a place for six of us from Hastings on Hudson and neighboring Dobbs Ferry. I rode up with Alan Golds; we had planned to swim in the lake before registering, but the traffic was awful and we didn’t get there in time. The other guys – Kevin Carlsten, John McDermott, Zander Reyna, and Tom Andrews –left even later. Still, we managed to meet up at John’s Café in Woodbury, Connecticut, for excellent pasta, salad and beer. (Being fanatical triathletes, we knew it was important before a race  to cover each of the major food groups.)

The Airbnb wasn’t quite what we expected – they changed the price on us minutes before we arrived because we were more than four people; John and Tom (both of whom are straight) had to share the king size bed; the second air mattress didn’t show up; and Kevin never got sheets or blankets for the couch – but at least it was clean. I was pleased to get 6 hours sleep.  The morning prep went fine – Bullet Proof-style coffee and a hard-boiled egg – but the traffic approaching the single lane that feeds Quassy Amusement Park  was jammed.   So, setting up my transition area in only a half hour was a little more rushed than I would prefer.  But, time enough for pre-race photo:

The lake was chilly but not too cold in a full-length wet suit.  We had a few minutes to “warm up” in the shallow, crowded, roped-off area where the athletes had to take turns swimming short laps.  The wave for Alan and me (“50 and over”!) started at 7:15 a.m. We walked down to the sandy edge – “just toes in the water!” warns the race director – and I take my chances lining up in the first row on the far right side, sticking with my rule of thumb to go in front of the guys deliberately holding back, but try to avoid the real Swimmers, like Zander (who had trained towards joining the Olympic swim team when he was a kid; thank God he’s in a younger age group) so I won’t be crawled over.

The airhorn blasts and we’re off! I run a little but quickly dive in to start swimming (never having learned that run-and-dolphin swim thing), I’m a little too choppy at first but then getting used to panting while breathing every stroke, and manage to  find my rhythm after a couple hundred yards. “Strong is smooth, and smooth is fast,” Coach Debi had reminded me by text the night before. I manage to draft off someone that seems to be slightly faster – that is, I have to push to stay in his wake, but not pushing too hard. I stick with him until the first red buoy – hooray, the first “third” is done! – but lose him as a slower guy from the crowd rounding the buoy interferes. Although I’m initially worried, because drafting makes the swim so much easier, I quickly realize it’s just as well:  most of the crowd seems to be veering way off to the left and I appear to be straight on target for the next yellow buoy.   The lake water is fresh, even tasty. I chug along feeling calm and steady, a good mindset in the open water. A kayaker on my right side shouts out to me, and I pause to hear her say again, “pull harder with your left arm.” I  have to assume that she’s a swim coach, so I take her unsolicited advice (just like during one of my New York City triathlons, someone from the sidelines told me to use my arms more), and switch to breathing on my left side, which is less comfortable but I know makes me pull harder .  We round the second red buoy, and I feel that brief elation at passing swimmers with different-colored swim caps, which means that I am overtaking people who started five or 10 minutes before me, but also (I know, I know) are simply not very good at swimming. In any event it feels like there’s a slight current pushing me toward shore, that friendly phalanx of dolphins I’ve felt at the end of other races, which real or not makes me optimistic and brings me to the orange triangular buoys that mark the finish.  The sandy shore has arrived.

Doggamn.  I just survived another swim.

Running up to transition, I realize my feet are totally numb. The good news is that I can run across the gravelly, broken up asphalt to my bike without feeling a thing; the bad news is I can barely manage to get my bike shoes on while standing up.  It’s a decent transition, I guess, though I’m concerned that a number of bikes from my rack (that is, those belonging to my fellow age-groupers) are gone, so I have to catch up…

It’s chilly in a wet sleeveless tri suit (supposedly 54 degrees), and even colder in my shoes:  my barefoot feet stay numb throughout the 25-mile ride.  Not sure if toe covers around the shoes would have helped, but I will keep it in mind for the future. I had bravely decided the night before not to wear my heart rate monitor (which is just as well, because I didn’t realize until after the race that I had left it at home), but McDermott was right:  now that I’m racing, all data, other than how much farther until the end of the bike ride, is simply distracting. Especially because  my Garmin, programmed to beep every 5 miles on the bike, beeps very early to report… that my Garmin thinks the entire race is a run, and is beeping every mile.  (“Wow, I just ran a 2-minute mile [30 mph] on that downhill section!”). And beeping randomly every minute or so. Pretty annoying.

As predicted, the bike course is pretty challenging, and the hills are steep, particularly uphill at mile 10,  and I’m just trying to stay in a sustainable groove — which might be slower than optimal, but I’ve scarcely had any riding the last three weeks (having just returned from the week-long INTA conference in Barcelona, where I could only run, and having been extremely stressed preparing for and closing on a difficult transaction a few days earlier) and I’m listening to my body and riding MY race.  Water seems depleted only halfway through, but realize the straw needs to be shoved into the sippy cup some more.  Sipping from my UCAN ‘super starch’ from the bottle cage behind my saddle, munching EAAs every 30′, and a single, yummy Huma gel (not just high carbs, but chia seeds!  It MUST be good for me!) seems to be adequate nutrition for a relatively short race.  The amazing Vadim Shteynberg passes me on the bike, I pass him, he passes me again and leaves me as if I’m standing still… Admittedly, I’m depressed when I see him coming back towards me, thinking it’s an out and back course that I hadn’t anticipated; actually, the road loops around back to the park entrance, so outgoing and home-bound riders share the road briefly; but, in any event, he’s clearly kicking my ass… (At the finish line, he beats me by 2 minutes; but he’s also 10 years younger; okay, I can handle that.)

Back to transition, and this time my freezing feet are a problem:  I simply cannot get my running shoes on without sitting down.  So, that’s a lousy transition.  (Turns out, my transitions were faster than the guy who came in ahead of me…)

I stumble out the gate, down the chute, onto the road, and remembering Debi’s advice:  start with what feels crazy slow and easy until you start feeling the run, and fortunately the course veers into the shade and flat and then downhill, so I’ve found a groove (though this is clearly not going to be better than my best run, but did I tell you I was at INTA just over a week ago?) and up,up,up the hill towards me come the elite racers, finishing as I’m starting the run, and OMG are they strong, the apparent winner managing to smile and thank me as he keeps building on his lead… (He wins in 2:05, a full 5 minutes ahead of 2nd place, of COURSE he was smiling.)

I however will have to face that up hill, and a few minutes later mile 1 clicks past (only the first?!).  I grab a shot block with caffeine, the miracle drug, from the back pocket of my one-piece tri suit (I had put the factory-sealed package into the so-tight pocket before the race began, and they had survived the swim and the bike) but no more EAAs.  Mile 2 clicks by (OK, this is going to be a long 6 miles, did I really sign up for a Half Ironman this summer??), and then OMG mile 3 just doesn’t stop going up, I grab water sips and spit out the rest at each rest stop, but I’ve slowed to 8:39 minute miles.  Sometime during mile 4, I realize, I can finally feel my feet (the numbness from the cold had lasted the entire bike ride and half the run), and then it’s flat and sometime after mile 4 and the downhills begin, and I seriously pick up speed:  downhills are great because so far I don’t have knee problems, and today I’m careful not to over-stride (to avoid the calf cramps I got during March’s half marathon).

And then it’s flat, but I know mile 5.5 will be that ridiculous up hill again, and here’s where this became a good race:  the temptation to walk was huge. Huge! I mean, I had passed a few more people than those who passed me (ooh, there’s a tall bunny in a white and red tri suit, let’s see if we can chase him down…), but I hadn’t seen anyone in my age group the entire run… So, whoever was ahead of me is staying there, and whoever I had passed is staying behind me unless I slow down a lot, and these last 10 minutes wouldn’t really matter.  Right?  Who cares, really? But I realized (every race has a realization), I’m not here to get on the podium and anything less means mediocrity — I am here to race as fast as I can, today, right now, dig deep, go harder, it won’t kill me to go harder.  And I manage to slug up that hill at the same pace, and the flat top comes much quicker than I expect, and i have enough juice to accelerate the last bit onto the road, and into the grassy chute inside the amusement park I actually manage to SPRINT, and I am at the finish line, hands up for the cameras in a victory salute, that was everything I could do, Today.  That’s all I can do:  my best, today.

And the results are far from my personal best over this distance, and this was a particularly hard course, but they are solid:  finish in 2:47:56; 7 out of 22 for my age group (so, top third), 110/354 for males (again, top third), 129/574 overall.  Swim in 27:59 (1:56 min/100 m), bike in 1:24:01 (19.75 mph), run in 49:48 (8:02 min/mile), T1 in 2:54, T2 in 3:17.  And check it out: I had increased my average speed on the run from 8:31, picked it up to 8:02 by mile 5, and KEPT that speed despite the uphill through mile 6 (accelerating to 6:36  the last .2 miles).  I was 9/22 for AG after the swim, gaining a slot during T1, gained another slot during the bike, and I was right, I never saw the other AG guys during the run (because 6th place was in 2:42, 5 minutes ahead of me, and I finished 5 minutes ahead of 8th place)!

So, this was my personal best, for today.  First tri of the season.  And I am ready to get faster.

Ah, blogging time. The good the bad and the ugly. This one ain’t good.

I ran the New Jersey Marathon in 2013, my first marathon, and missed qualifying for Boston by 1 minute – 3:31. Should be pretty easy to train harder and shave off a minute, right? But my last two NYC Marathons were 4:14 in 2015 and 4:11 in 2016. What the hell?

So, this time went back to this flat course, and trained through the winter, but because of the month-long cold I caught after a solid, strenuous Half Marathon in Sleepy Hollow, the last three long runs were compromised and even cut short. (You know things are bad when you have to call your son to pick you up 5 miles from home…) So, I had gone back to the doctor and finished my second round of anti-biotics two days before this race. No chest cough, symptom free, nurturing the taper and a Zen-like calm. Sure, maybe not back to full strength after that chest cough, but relaxed and truly excited rather than nervous.

Rather than driving down for 1 1/2 hours on race day, went to the expo, picked up registration, and stayed in a room of an Airbnb house in Monmouth Beach, less than 10 minutes away from the starting line. (Even saw orange arrows for the course a block away…). Grabbed pasta and salmon at a nearby bustling restaurant. (A local told me, “The owner’s a runner. Tell the waiter you’re doing the marathon and you can order off menu.”).

And chilled on the terrace of my room.

In bed by 9, wide awake at 1:30, slept again until 5:15. Made bullet proof coffee with the French press I brought with me, a fried egg and saltstick chew. Arrived at Monmouth race track at 6:30ish, used the bathroom a couple times and stretched.

Caught up with Team NRGY triathlon friends Jan and Fran.

And Coach Greg Bassett (after checking my bag, and phone…)

Good cheer and still mellow at the starting line. Went to the back of Corral 3. I am shooting for 8:00 minute miles, but I am ignoring the pacers, and even set my Garmin to ignore the pace – heart rate only! Zone 1 (131-141 bpm) for the first 4 miles, z2 (141-151) up to mile 22, let out the lead and negative split from mile 22 to 26. Solid, confident, disciplined plan, right?

Great start. Ignoring the pace (and assuming I would run as slow as 8:45 in Z1), I was pleasantly surprised when the watch beeped at each mile as reported that even in z1, I was running 7:44, 7:53, 8:05, 8:07. Killing it. When I get to the end and can run hard, I am going to have a great result, right? Part 2, crank it up to zone 2.

Pretty suburban streets, blossoms on the trees, a perfect partly cloudy day and 58 degrees. Met and chatted with Ryan from Albany, he’s doing the same pace, enjoying his company, but I am disciplined, I slow down or just inhale through my nose, exhale through mouth when heart rate creeps up, and I stick with him for a while until he takes off, running HIS race, I am running mine. I might qualify for Boston, I might not, but I have decided I am sticking with heart rate. And lo, post-race data review, at mile 10 I averaged exactly 8:00 per mile. And stayed in zone 2. Magic.

So my next mental hurdle is Mile 14, because that’s where I hit the wall at NYC 2015 and 2016. Heart rate is drifting a little, creeping up to 157 for a moment, I slow down and wrestle it down to 153, give myself some slack for “drift” and I realize, hey I might not make that Boston-qualifying 3:30, I can live with that. And suddenly a horde of runners is upon me, surrounding the pacer for 3:35 (like jostling for the attention of the classroom teacher), and I try to move forward and around this crowd and suddenly they are GONE.

That’s when I realized, at mile 17 or so, that the wheels were coming off. Slowed down to 8:28, then 8:40, and my legs are suddenly heavy, and I have no power, the pacer and entourage to finish at 3:40 pass me like I am standing still, and I can’t accelerate, even though my form feels solid (good posture, lifting knees and open hips, landing on balls of feet, pushing off with legs in straight lines); no injuries; but no way.

At mile 20 or so, I stop at a toilet for a minute (at this point, who cares about a result?), and I try a packet of almond butter (first bite was good, wait a minute or two, finish it) which I was carrying as a safety blanket to my EAA tablets every 30-40 minutes. (Hmmm, did I really take all those tablets, or did I lose interest in crunching on all that chalk?). Only later, talking with my cousin Rob, did I realize I had bonked – my body ran out of fuel, and didn’t want to follow my directions any more. No matter how much I wanted to go faster.

In any event, I slow down to 9:30, then 10:30 miles, I catch up to and pass Ryan from Albany who is flat out walking with 5 or 6 miles to go (me: “come on man, we’ve got this!” Ryan: “no, my hip has crapped out”) and I almost walk with him in solidarity and for the relief of STOPPING, but remembered: this is MY race. Even if I’m going to crash and burn, I’m doing it my way.

So I stumble along, here goes a pacer with the 3:45 sign, then a group with 3:50. (This is like when the runner dressed as the Statue of Liberty passed me at the NYC Marathon…. That’s when you know things are bad.) I really decided to walk the last 2.2 miles, I have simply lost my give-a-damn, I only want to get to the finish line so I can STOP, STOP, STOP. But it hurts more to walk (the lactic acid pouring into my legs) than to run, so I run. A pack with the 3:55 pacer blows past me, chatting as they leave me at the boardwalk, but I trudge along…

And I raise my hands for the photo op and cross the line at 3:57:45. 815/2,050 OA, 606/1,273 men, 52/125 AG. OK, still better than average, and a whopping 14-minute improvement over last year’s NYC Marathon, but clearly not the race I wanted, either in result or more importantly in style.

So, I need to work on nutrition, so my long triathlons and other races are more fun. Amino acid tablets alone aren’t sufficient for my body; in the subsequent week, I’ve been experimenting with “healthy” HUMA gels and UCAN super-starch drinks; I may even go back to the straight up PowerBar or shot blocks.

No
More
Bonking.

Spoiler alert:  this wasn’t my fastest race.  In fact, it was probably my longest time for this distance.  Yet, it was a great race; I felt strong, persevered, and was surprisingly satisfied despite the numeric result.

Drove over with running buddy Vassilis Bakopoulos, who in contrast with my planning months in advance on doing this, decides the night before to register at the starting line.  That’s the beauty of a very local race.

The weather was ideal:  48 degrees, climbing to 52 by the end of the race; cloudy, and I almost didn’t wear my cap (but glad I did – sweat dripped ahead of me, away from my glasses).

I am shooting for, nay, cajoling the universe for a PR.  I had done this race in 1:36:24 three years ago (7:21 per mile) and wanted, wanted, wanted to do 1:35:30 (7:17 per mile).  Left hamstring/inside of knee had been aching for several weeks, so I was a little concerned that going full out could result in walking 6 ½ miles back home.  I might end up with another disappointing result, like the last two NYC Marathons.  But I wanted to fly, as best I could.

I put myself about five rows back of the start (edging in front of the people who are edging back, but behind the Serious Competitors who are crowding forward) and we are OFF, beneath the giant American flag and up through the village to the road that goes up, up, up.

The good news is, I was so focused on being in tune with my body as we started that I forgot to start my watch for the first 15 seconds.  That felt like a positive mindset.

Plan was to run 20” slower than goal pace the first mile, or high heart rate zone 2/low zone 3 (which was pretty likely, since the course started with 3 miles of up hill…)  The groomed trail portion of the race was cut out, because of leftover snow, and I’m fine with that, I didn’t want to be crowded or jockeying for space on the run as well as the starting line.  The first mile clicks by at 7:30 – a little fast, but feels okay, and the lead runners are already spreading out in a chain reaching up the hill, and mile 2 is on target at 7:19, terrific, heart rate a little high but manageable.

but mile 3 is steeper (the early macho section of our cycling group’s Sunday ride) and my heart rate is creeping towards zone 4, so that mile 3 is only 7:40, with mile 4 closer to target at 7:25, and can I keep this up, and how am I going to make up that 30-45 second difference (which with my confused math seems like even more)?  I don’t have anyone in particular to inspire me (Michael Kaiser from New Jersey, my nemesis and inspiration at my first half marathon here, is gone, gone, gone very early on – he does 3:20 marathons and will run Boston in 3 weeks…),

and I suppose I could choose any of the bunnies ahead of me, but I am also focused on running MY race, and the bunny I am chasing is the 7:17 mile.

So I keep glancing, and if I’m dipping close to 7:30, I kick it up, and just pray – literally – that I can keep this going.  Coach Debi said, remember, you’ve never been stronger.

Water stops are few and far between – 3 of ‘em, the whole race – but it’s not very warm, and I can barely drink the sips I grab.  I crunch down my EAAs after 40 minutes, but forget to take my second dosage…

So we get to the end of the climb, and start down Route 117 (a four lane highway on most days), and after a rolling uphill, the downhill miles begin.  A woman I don’t know, strong and relaxed, passes me and while taking off her outer layer notes, “those first 3 miles were demanding.  You know this course?” So I tell her about the upcoming climbs out of corporate parking lots, and the Phelps Hospital portion, the stupid loop near the lighthouse, and the steep climb at the finish line; she thanks me and disappears into the distance…

But I am cranking it, me and my watch are friends today, mostly ignoring the HR monitor (it just freaked me out at the marathon), I frankly can’t believe I’m on task and finding the power to keep cranking it out, and these down hills are beautiful:  mile 5 at 7:14, mile 6 at 7:00, then 7:07, 7:15, and 7:25 – okay, my average feels solid, but I know about all the upcoming hills I just talked about.

And suddenly at mile 9 ½, my left calf starts cramping up, enough that I stumble, not fall but stumble, and the right calf joins in (solidarity, don’t you know), and it gets real painful, real fast.

And the uphill at the train station is better than the downhills, but I’ve got 2 ½, 3 miles to go, and I am slowing, slowing:  mile 10 at 7:55, mile 11 somehow back on track at 7:17, mile 12 (that stupid loop) in 7:56, and then those last empty streets towards the finish line is 8:02, and the up up up hill to the finish line is at an 8:00 pace…  But I have pushed through, I sprinted as best as I could hobble the last 100 yards, I get to the damn finish line, cross one electronic mat, then the other.

Results:  1:39:56. 7:38 per mile.  Not my goal, but the best I could do.  And I feel good among my peers:  6/43 for age group, 93/720 overall, 74/386 males. And BTW, my Garmin says it was 1,276 feet of climbing.

Maybe I’m rationalizing or making excuses, (seen on a t-shirt during my first NJ Marathon:  “The Older I Get, the Faster I Was”), but despite this being the slowest HM I’ve done (32 seconds slower than last year, but with the course change, reportedly 200 more feet of climbing), I feel really good with this performance.  It was my maximum effort, and I had fun (though I didn’t enjoy it, if that makes sense); I pushed hard, and harder when I wasn’t hitting my goal, finding the power to get back in the game; and pushing hard as I could at the end, despite the pain and the unlikelihood of getting a PR or making the podium.  It was a lot of effort, but worthwhile.

The off season is officially over.  Bring it on!

(OR: What can happen when you DON’T run two marathons in two weeks. OR:  How I Got My Mojo Back.)

This story is as much about the race I didn’t do as the one that I did.  The fact that I ran this annual 10k in our little town, one week after my NYC Marathon, meant that I had chosen not to pursue the perhaps quixotic, perhaps foolish notion of running in the Philadelphia Marathon two weeks after NYC.  Last week’s marathon hadn’t go as well as I had expected, which surprised me, as I had been expecting a slam-dunk (much as the Democrats and the wishful media believed in the magical, wizardly and not-so-reliable polls, and, well, everyone in our circle was surprised, and dismayed).

So, I thought to run Phillie, because I REALLY felt well; didn’t have to walk down stairs backwards; had energy, two days after the race.  So if I feel this well, and have all the time-consuming training under my belt right now, and it would take so much energy to train up for the next marathon (and it won’t be NYC for me next year, I’m telling you), then why not at least explore the logistics, say, of doing two marathons two weeks apart.

After all, what if I had done Plan B and stopped running at mile 13, taking the Metro card out of my running shoe?

And what if walking most of the second half had the same effect of avoiding all the abuse 26.2 miles normally shells out? And what if I confirm with my massage therapist that I’m not injured?

And what if I focused on good form instead of heart rate next time?

And what if registering for Phillie is open until 11/11, and I could stay with my cousin who lives there? Or my wife’s nephew?

And what if I could just shoot for trying to find a groove and enjoy running again?  That sounded pretty noble.

Obviously, this was a little nutty, as it’s a lot to demand of one body but doesn’t feel like I’m risking injury.  On the one hand, I probably could do better than the time I did in NYC; but on the other hand, I was not likely to achieve the original goal (qualifying for Boston).  So with that acknowledged, why bother?

Fortunately, not racing Phillie sort of came about anyway, for a variety of reasons:   (a) after a couple of days , I stopped feeling the drive to “do better”;  (b) I wasn’t sure whether I’d be happy without a PR, and that  it was unlikely I’d do a PR, and that it would be more neurotic than athletic to attempt otherwise; and  (c) neither my cousin nor nephew were available to share their homes in Phillie with me.

And also, post-election Wednesday morning, I was too depressed to generate the optimism necessary to commence a marathon.  The wind went out of my sails.

In any event, with this the same week as our nation’s shocking choice of President Elect, I realized I would probably be rubbing elbows, quite literally, with “neighbors” in our small town (being virtually everyone, 8,000 people living within 2 square miles) whom I had never met, or only met at this annual 10k, and were presumably pretty conservative (being in large families that have lived in this town for three generations, dynasties or clans of a sort) and perhaps some happy Trump supporters.

Including James C., tall guy in my age group, whom I had beaten the last two times I’d done this race (skipping last year, having worsened an injury at the season’s end). We always say hello when  we see each other; it’s just the only time we see each other is at this race.  The horn goes off, and it turns out, he’s gotten stronger, and my hat’s off to this guy (whom I had earlier thought of as my nemesis, in the science fiction comic book sort of way), he just LED OFF with the pack of younger runners, bright yellow shirt fading into the distance, starting two blocks ahead of the rest of us and hauling out of sight by the end of mile 1.

And off he goes, too fast for me, but I’m running MY race.  Even a 10k has to be respected.

It’s a challenging course, including that first mile, a sloping hill, maybe 2-3%, up along Broadway, a big downhill, and then everything else somehow seems uphill.  That’s our local terrain.  And I find myself running with this guy named Dan, bright blue shirt and we are smack onto the same pace, pleasant guy from Hastings, and I confirm that he’s in a younger age group (because I would like the podium, despite the zen attitude). And the first 3.1 mile loop goes pretty well, and my form is better, pushing off with my leg in straight lines, and I avg. 6:54 min/mile but that takes a lot of effort and dammit, I just did a marathon…

Gotta admit, the problem with a 2-loop course, even loops this small, is the temptation to quit after the first loop’s done.  And I feel like giving myself a break, when Jim Nolan says at the corner, “Looking good, Mark!” and it’s nice to see him and I feel embarrassed at the thought of quitting and compelled to start the next loop.  (“Thanks, Jim!”). And Dan goes a few yards ahead and then a half block and then his bright blue shirt sails off into the sunset… So be it.  This is MY race.

The second 3.1 is harder, the same hills and such, and after the race the data shows I slowed down a bit to 7:38, then 7:11, and I knew I was in the heavy panting of zone 3 virtually the whole race, up there in 165 bpm, and I didn’t care because I didn’t know it until the race was OVER.  Because, like my first run of the season, I did not look at the watch the entire race.  Such will power.  Such joy!

The challenge with these sparse races is that Dan is too far ahead to catch, and the next runner is too far behind to catch me.  So why push harder?  The challenge is to go full tilt anyway, and it’s uncomfortable and my glutes are on fire (a good sign) and I grab water from a little boy, go up the final hill, around the corner and straight back to the high school, pass cheering neighbors Anthony and Amy, turn down the street  and cross under the red and blue FINISH LINE sign, and down the shoot….

Time:  42:10. 2nd for my age group, 8/43 overall.  A solid result, and right after the marathon.  Other runners with GPS watches agreed:  this was really 5.9 mile route — but that’s still 7:08 min/mile. A personal best for this distance, this year.

And every now and then, someone asks why I do this.   So today, my answer is that every time I push harder, I learn more about what I can do and who I am.  Not quite a mantra or a slogan, but it will have to do.

This was a full season:  2 local charity 5ks; the 8k in Chicago with 23,000 runners; two 10ks; (including this one) a sprint duathlon in rainy Brooklyn; two Olympic triathlons, a sprint triathlon, a 70.3 (Half-Ironman); the NYC Half Marathon, the 18-mile “Marathon Tune-Up”, and the Marathon.  Thirteen races.

I am sooooooo ready for the “Off Season,” thank you.

Race Report:  NYC Marathon, 11/6/16

Every race, I have three goals:  to have fun, to avoid injury and (of course) to be faster.  In this race, I managed to accomplish the first two – a vast improvement over last year, the first time I did this race.

Executed terrific logistics in getting there.  My friends Dietmar Serbee (from Cologne, Germany, now running buddy in Hastings on Hudson) and Juan Berton Moreno (from Buenos Aires, Argentina, who traveled 12 hours for this race, and stayed with me for a few days!) joined me at an Airbnb in Staten Island on Saturday night to avoid the crazy shlep and wait at the Verrazano Bridge.

My goal was to break 3:30 at 8:00 min/mile or less in order to qualify for Boston for my age group.  That’s feasible, based on the 3:31 I had done at the New Jersey (flat, flat) Marathon in 2014.   Also, I wanted revenge for my 4:13 NYC Marathon last year, when I hadn’t trained enough for this race (after recovering from a big season of triathlons).  Though assigned to corral D, I joined Corral F to be with the pacer for a 3:30 race – not to follow the pacer, but to start with a less yahoo crowd.

BOOM!  A Howitzer starts the race!

I did the first four miles, pretty much as planned, staying in heart rate zone 1, but slipping into zone 2 (141-151 beats per minute) and then tried to stay there for the rest of the race. I focused, staying in the middle of the road (yes, Coach Debi, there WAS a blue line painted to show the most efficient tangents, and it felt like something friendly I could depend on), running pretty strong, but I started tanking after mile 12.

I’ve tried to figure out what went wrong, that I slowed down so much so quickly.  Debi thinks that I think too much, but I think she’s wrong.  (“No, Doctor, I’m not in denial!”).   I wasn’t getting despondent as my time dropped from 8:00 minute miles to 8:12 to 8:20…  rather, 8:38 and slower was resulting from feeling early fatigue.  And I grew to accept early on that this was not going to be a PR.  So, I think I was too focused on heart rate instead of form.  Getting into the stride I developed this season, and firing off my legs in a straight line at the end of each step, takes more effort.  But attempting to minimize that effort, I wore myself out by firing up my hamstrings and adductors instead of engaging the much heartier glutes.

If I’ve figured out how to make the next race better, I’ll be totally satisfied with this race.  Because Brooklyn was amazing – shouting out to drummer Art Lillard, with whom I had played 20 years ago; passing a gospel choir sounding so much better than the Very Loud Rock Bands (turns out, it was the church of Karen Hemmings, our admin assistant); marveling at the silence of the Hasidic blocks in Williamsburg (no one there to watch, let alone cheer, such immodestly dressed runners; it’s another world, man…).

Starting at mile 14, I started walking every water stop (instead of every other).  And then I started walking between water stops, including up the infamous Queensboro Bridge.

But the roar of Manhattan was, as everyone says, huge and uplifting.  And I realized: there’s no shame in walking.  In fact, there’s no shame AT ALL.  This really is MY race.  Not qualifying for Boston hardly equates to failure.  I’m running the NYC Marathon; what a blessing that I can run; what an amazing, huge event this; look at all these people! Total strangers shouting out “PRIMO!  Vamos, Primo!” (Because I’ve ironed “Primo” onto my shirt in honor of cousin Rob, who is my inspiration to compete and has to defer running marathons),

and THERE’S RACHEL, my wife, she found me around 90th and 1st Avenue, I had told her that if things are going well I wouldn’t slow down to hug her, but I stop and she starts to say “You’re doing gr…” stops herself and says “You’re going to be OK”, and I agree with her, and keep on slogging (still staying upright, popping EAA’s and chewable saltstick tabs now and then, but just not able or willing to PUSH THROUGH and get faster).

And Ken Fuirst (high school acquaintance, renewed friend through the gym) is THERE at mile 19.5, just as promised, just like last year, and he joins me while I’m jogging / walking  and tells me “don’t worry about making that PR”, me: “oh, that’s gone out the window a while ago”, Ken:  “you’ve accomplished a lot” because we’ve talked about other races, and then laughs at “we’re getting older!”, me:  “I’m gonna walk, but I’ll be OK,” and I am so moved at his generosity and affirmation.  And more strangers saying “You look great!” (“You’re lying, but thank you!”), and biking/commuter friend Sean Sheely is handing out water at Mile 22, big smile and encouraging, and Dietmar (who started in Wave 2, 25 minutes after I started) pats me on the back  and passes me (he’s terrific and smiling and gets a 6-minute PR), and one woman, I think in upper Manhattan, big and light brown hair and sunglasses, I can’t remember anything but the sun shining onto her and her huge smile and shout out and that’s for ME, that’s for ALL of us, this is amazing.  So many people, a million spectators for 50,000 runners, 200 folks cheering for every athlete, simply tremendous.

I’m walking a lot, but when I get to downhills (like the Willis Avenue Bridge, and after entering Central Park) I run (come on, it’s downhill!) and I don’t want to be that guy who threw up so I’m walking again, but I do the math and realize with a little more effort I can do better than last year, and I owe it to these huge crowds in the final 0.2 miles to push harder, and I cross the line with a 2-minute course PR.

4:11:36.   40 minutes slower than my best marathon.

Plan B had been to take a Metro card in the bottom of my shoe (which I did), save my legs by quitting halfway, and run the Philadelphia Marathon in two weeks. And I had actually researched:  registration for Phillie was open until 11/11/16.  But even though I had nothing to prove – I mean, I know I can run this distance! — I never really wanted to quit, just for the sake of a better result. I can’t say the crowd gave me more courage and more speed, but I can say the crowd made me so very grateful to be at such an amazing event.  And in this awful, fractious and frightening post-election world, enjoying the unity and hope and the affirmation was a blessing.

Hey, I just finished a marathon.

In 2012, West Point was my second triathlon ever.  I was so nervous then, I drove up so I could ride and run the course — but I couldn’t run it, because a cadet was guarding the entrance of Camp Buckner with a machine gun. (These guys take their security, and their studies, VERY seriously.). At the end of that race, my gym buddy Drew Akhao told me that if I stopped putting on biking gloves and socks, and got a decent bike, I’d immediately shave off 3 minutes from my time…

This time, I drove up with Vadim Shteynberg, who was full of good cheer and a better sense of direction – turns out, Camp Buckner is a different campus, 6 miles away from West Point — and we got there around 6:45, which gave just enough time to get my registration, meet up with Tom Andrews, Kevin Carlsten and his wife Katie, and ‘Zander, all from Dobbs Ferry and Hastings, and get situated in transition before it closed at 8 a.m.

A total of 37 guys signed up in my age group, and 31 raced — the heat and humidity were predicted to be pretty bad, which may have scared away some of them.  Got to the lake to warm up.  The water is an unbelievable  85 degrees, so wetsuit illegal – but I had bought a “speed suit” for the occasion.  I’m not really sure what it does other than pack me in even tighter than my one piece tri suit, and it’s allowed when wetsuits aren’t.

The national anthem, as you can imagine, is sung simply and beautifully.

I take my 3 capsules of BCAAs as the first wave begins, with plans to take 4 tablets of EAAs 15 minutes into the bike, and at 45 minutes a salt and caffeine tablet (whoo-Hoo!  Caffeine is still legal!).  Taking no chances in this heat.

The cadets take off, swimming in a STRAIGHT LINE, like a flock of birds, really  disciplined drafting.  We were 9th out of 10 waves, so didn’t start until 8:45 or 9 a.m. – as the temperature rose.  I’m still jittery at the start, after all these races, but I manage to remember my mantra:  grateful that I’m alive, that  I wasn’t hurt more when biking and hit by a car (now seven weeks ago), and that amazingly I am racing.  And strangely enough, that carries me across the mat and into the water.

The 0.5 mile swim starts well.  I start by the right side, closer to the weeds and triangular buoy and what looks like a shorter course, and I push hard and get into a groove, and I am swimming right next to my racing buddy BJ Wilson (in his purple Team in Training tri suit)

which is fun and encouraging because I remembered he’s a pretty strong swimmer but damn if he isn’t pushing me off course, he’s going further and further to the right, and I realize I have to stop bumping him and pass him instead or he’ll add yardage to my swim as well as his own!  Round the buoys, a little slow in the turnover but feeling strong, pass a lot of people (including a bunch doing breast stroke — clearly, short races invite a lot of new athletes…). I go for a straight line to the shore, but it’s so far to the right of everyone else that I hit more weeds, actually have to walk a few steps, the get back in to swim.  Result:  14:06, (4/31 AG, 83/453 OA); not bad for no wetsuit.

Run a bit (mostly on paved road) to get into transition, where it looks like only 1 or 2 bikes have left before me, which is a sign that I swam better than most in my age group — but I’ve been overconfident before, and remember that all of my group probably didn’t fit onto the two racks of bikes I can see, and who knows how many guys beat me on the swim, but it’s okay, I’m here just to do what I can, and my goal is to feel solid on each leg of the race.  T1 in 1:25 (8/31 AG… maybe due to speed suit removal, when everyone else swam in their shorts …)

The bike, brand new Parlee TTiR on its maiden race, feels good.

I’m panting as I start, and I pant throughout, but it’s only a  14-mile bike leg, so I’m allowed to pant.  It’s a right hand turn and uphill to the first turnaround,  and a lot of folks on mountain bikes weaving a bit as they go uphill (“Left!  Thank you”), nice aero tuck screaming downhill.  Another rolling hill or two to the second turnaround, back along the same road, turn right into the entrance.  I’m doing what I can, this is fun, I think I pass a couple of guys in my age group, but hard to read the numbers on moving calves…  Bottom line:  41:44, or 19.7 mph.  I’ll take it. (And, I later discover, 2/31 AG…)

I get to transition, and there are NO bikes on my rack, again suggesting that I have arrived before anyone else in my age group, but who knows, another dozen guys could be on a different rack, I’ll just do what I can and it’s DISTRACTING to think about the podium before crossing the finish line… T2 feels pretty good, but I think what slows me down the most is ticking down the mental checklist before I leave the bike (not wanting, for example, to start the run with my helmet on, like I did at my first race… ). T2 in 0:59 (8th in AG).

The run is only 5k, thank you, and by this time it’s warmer, but breezy and not too bad, and I hate these out and backs with extra scenic loops, you see all the guys ahead of you running TOWARDS you, but other than one guy in my age group at the very beginning whom I pass while he’s stretching his shoulders (and squandering his lead!) I don’t see ANYONE who is competing with me for the podium, unless of course there’s a bunch of guys so far ahead I don’t see them, and I start leap frogging with this tall guy who is, fortunately, 5 years younger, and he eventually passes me and I don’t give chase and don’t really push my hardest because (a) it’s hot and (b) there’s no one close enough ahead or behind me to change whether I am going to make the podium.

Besides, my goal is to feel strong and that’s happening. And I’m doing 7:30s or a little faster on the downhills, not great but good pace, and it’s mostly shady, and I’m pushing hard on the up hills whereI feel surprisingly springy and pass more people, and then down again towards the finish line (that’s what I like about this race, the downhill finish) and I push and cross and DONE.  Run in 23:24 (7:33 min/mile).

Total time 1:22:05 (though my Garmin says 1:20:50 – who would you choose to believe?). Which in any event is nearly 5 minutes faster than my time on the same course four years ago (1:26:59).  And sufficient for …

1st place for my age group!

1/31 AG, 42/453 OA.   I didn’t need the win to feel it was a good race – met my goal of feeling solid on each section — but this is turning out to be a pretty good season, despite all that’s happened.

And it feels GREAT to be alive and racing.

This was perhaps my best race ever.  Maybe not a PR in terms of time (though pretty close to matching other races), but the best in terms of my attitude — let me correct that, my mental state — and ability to actually enjoy the whole race.  Other than the last 2 miles, of course; otherwise, I’m not doing my job…

This was my second time since 2013 to do the NYC Tri, which is an Olympic distance.  A lot’s happened since then — Ironman Mt. Tremblant was last August, but I’m simply not training as hard this year — and, 4 weeks and a day before this race, I was hit by a car while riding my bike. The windshield was destroyed (zoom in, below) by my impact, and I landed on my butt in front of the car.

I was pretty bruised, a little cut up, and broke a bone in my right hand.  Had to wear a brace to protect it, but removed the brace in order to work at the computer, ride on my trainer, and swim.  That is, I wore the brace up until last Thursday (before this race), when the doctor said I was healing and could fight barehanded.  Yes, I was very, very lucky, and I do not take for granted being alive and virtually uninjured.  Also, in honor of surviving the accident, I grew a beard.   More seriously, my mantra (including for this race) was “Grateful”.

So, my goals for this race are to be solid in each leg of the race, to start comfortable and get faster, to enjoy and appreciate being alive, let alone racing.  What a blessing to be here.  And ideally (but secondarily) to come in the top 10% for my age group and qualify for the Nationals next year.

As far as the race itself:  It’s really hard to compare results of this race even with prior races on the same course, because the  Hudson River’s current fluctuates so dramatically with the tide – so the swim leg changes not just from race to race, but also during the race.  This time, the current slowed down as the day progressed.  Also, the night before the event, the director sent an email that said they were shortening the race from 10K to 8K, based on predictions that the temperature would get up into the 90’s with high humidity. Predictions that frankly kept me awake. That night, they also reported that the Hudson River was 79 degrees, too warm to allow wetsuits, but that was okay — I had a speed suit awaiting with my bike in the transition area (racked Saturday afternoon) just in case.

Glad I listened to my carpool buddy Alan Golds

as we parked my car and I brought the wetsuit anyway, because on race day the water was 76 degrees and therefore wetsuit legal.  Also glad to be with Alan because he kept telling me to slow down, we had plenty of time, relax.  Which I sort of did, in honor of the new me –  slow down, and appreciate. Still, I want more than 30 minutes to set up my stuff, because I bring extra things and have to decide what I’ll actually use….

Walked the mile from transition to swim area, ran back to get my EAAs (Essential Amino Acids) to gobble up just before racing.  Met up with Alan again, hung out and moseyed down to the waiting area for our age group, where I met Joe Conklin, a lawyer with whom I’d worked and had last seen at a trademark law convention.  Man, it is great to see friendly faces.  And I had to admit, here I am starting my 21st triathlon, and still jittery before the swim.  But keeping in mind:  it’s okay, whatever happens, it’s miraculous that I’m here at all.

We go down the ramp onto the dock, wait all of 20 seconds, go up to the edge and slide in/jump off.  (My official time is 20 seconds slower than my Garmin; not sure if I started their clock early by sitting on the ledge…) And the water is soooo comfortable, and I remember my goals for the race:  to feel solid on each section, to swim strong instead of with rapid, windmill strokes,

So the swim starts without any panic to go full tilt, I’m breathing on both sides every three strokes and I realize that means I am TOO comfortable;  those workouts from Sierra Huber saying to swim at “80% effort” or “90% effort” translates to going hard enough that I need to take a breath every stroke.  Breathing to the left gives me a view of the shore, and I’m less comfortable but stronger on that side, and I see all the people walking along the boardwalk of Riverside Park (to watch their respective gladiator) and the signs with numbers telling us how far we’ve gone (“600” yards; dammit, I was hoping I’d be farther along, I’m not looking at the signs anymore) and there’s no one worth drafting off, but there’s the sweet, sweet victory of passing not just a few but a lot of people in different colored swim caps, which means I’m passing folks who started several minutes ahead of me (with an earlier, stronger current) — but also, these are probably folks who don’t swim so well.

Keep staying right, as far out into the current as the boats and paddle boarders will allow (“go left! Go left!”) and zooming down to the barge, where I offer my uninjured left hand to be yanked up and out of the water.  .9 miles in 20:26, a blistering 1:13/100 yds. Gotta love the current.  Also, 18/205 for my Age Group.  Hoo-ha!

And run around 1/3 mile to Transition 1, peeling off the top of the wetsuit, and jogging barefoot feels really good, I’m surprisingly springy, bouncing in, I have survived another swim! And there’s my bike and I don’t see any others in my area that are taken but I assume a bunch of guys swam faster than I did and I’ll have to do my best on the bike. But the goal is to listen to my body, get centered, and build.

On the bike (and BIG shout out and thank you to John McDermott for lending me his Cervelo for this race, because mine was totaled in the accident, and as directed I didn’t adjust a thing except replace his saddle with mine and his bike is a shockingly good fit for me anyway).  That steep uphill out of Riverside Park and round the 79th Street boat basin and onto the West Side Highway in all its glorious broken concrete and hopping over the metal joiners running perpendicular across the road, breathing hard but not panting, not my fastest but I haven’t been on a bike outdoors in 4 weeks and I need to save up for the run, conserving energy on the bike is going to be the cautious smart thing to do with a hot and humid run at the end.

Chomp down five capsules of BCAAs at 15 minutes and 50 minutes, I’m going carb free on this race (the thought of gels on the run sickens me), with an extra salt tablet (on top of two bottles of water with NUUN tablets and that oh so fashionable Himalayan Pink Salt) — I am NOT bonking like I did at the end of the Ironman or the middle of the NYC Marathon last year.

Lot of people poking along on their commuter or hybrid bikes (“on your left!”), I get passed a lot, too, including by men in my age group, some of whom are going so fast it’s as if I’m standing still, but even more than thinking “I’m racing MY race”,  I am grateful to be alive let alone RACING.

It’s really not too warm, now and then a nice breeze, despite the predictions of deathly heat. Look up to enjoy the GW Bridge, then focus on dodging potholes and slow, squirrelly riders (“Your left.  Your LEFT. LEFT!”). And I realize I am That Angry Guy, but I’m not shouting because I want to win, I just don’t want to get hurt again.  (At least that’s what I’d like to think.)

Turn around at Moshulu Parkway, British guy (my age group?) passes and warns me that I’m losing the sew-up tire Alan Golds lent me (for McDermott’s wheels; I am so screwed if I have to change a flat, as I’ve never put on a sew-up) from the extra water bottle cage, and sure enough a few minutes later it’s gone… Sorry, Alan, I’ll buy you a new one.  Feeling good that the 24+ miles are DONE as we turn around at 68th street or so, slowing down into the sharp turns back into the park, get off and run into Transition 2, and I’m done in 1:14 (20.0 mph) – not my fastest, but a solid result considering I was recently hit by a car and check it out, I am alive.

Drain the water bottle and now the run, it’s another steep climb out of the park to street level, and folks are cheering, and again I’m feeling surprisingly good, I’m doing this like the 5-mile Shamrock Shuffle in Chicago this past April:  start comfortable, get faster. So my goal is to do negative splits, trying to stay sub-7:30 min/mile.

And despite my mantra (because I’m not Buddhist, I’m Jewish), I start counting the number of people I pass, subtracting for each guy that passes me.   As we run along 72nd Street I’ve passed around 15 people.   We enter the Park, it’s not long before I’ve passed 50 people, maybe I’ll get to 100, I left my heart rate monitor at home, figuring that I’ve done enough races that I don’t need historical data and that seeing my heart rate in this heat would scare me at this point of the race.  We go up that hill and I hit 100 (now and then passed by younger guys, but Lo!  I pass at least 3 guys in my age group; the fact that each one is just another notch in my belt makes it easier to pass them, though I am scared that they see me and will give chase…).

And by mile 3 it is time to ratchet up the effort, and I for one am quite glad it’s only a 5-mile course, and 150 people are passed, maybe I’ll make it to 200 and I am doing sub-7:30s, in this heat, OMG I am so grateful but this really is stressful, grab water and SCRATCH hydration but I can’t stop I want to make that top 10%.

And by the time I get to the finish line I’ve passed 267 other racers.  Net.

And I have enough energy to raise my hands for the photo finish because I am not just alive but finishing a triathlon.

Bottom line: 39:55 run (officially 7:39 min/mile, but my Garmin says 7:28s), and 2:21:02 final time. But the best part is that I am 15/205 in my age group, 323/3,376 OA.

I was 15th in this race in 2013, when I was at the younger end of the age group, and three years later, at the older end, I have the same ranking.  I’m defying gravity.  Old guys rule.  And I have the white beard to prove it.