Category: 2016 Race Reports

(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.

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

With Tom McGee, post-race.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s much better for my morale.

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

Now, back to work.

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

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

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