This was another race I didn’t think I was going to do. I had skipped a lot of training because in early September, I was recovering from the SOS Triathlon, and starting in mid-September I had a series of new or renewed injuries: bronchitis, a recurring asthmatic cough, plantar fasciitis (“PF” to its friends, if it had any friends) in my left foot; and a new swim drill temporarily tweaked a shoulder blade. The problem with getting older is the parts wearing out…
But this was such a reasonable and accessible and beautiful race: starting at 9 a.m. rather than the crack of dawn; parking at the Phelps Hospital in Sleepy Hollow, only 20 minutes up the road from my home; and gorgeous, groomed trails in the Rockefeller Preserve. Estimated 1,000 to 1,500 feet of elevation… So, it’s hilly but gorgeous. I went in with no expectations: say, 10:00 minute/mile, and anything faster than 2:10 hours would be sufficient. 44 degrees and sunny.
Felt that rush of anxiety as we started; heart rate kicked up, trying to pace calmly, but all these people rushing out ahead; they look so strong and I don’t know whether my foot pain is going to stop me from finishing. Kept focusing on landing on the balls of my feet, which felt unnatural but relieved the pressure on my arches. And when I recognized that I was slipping into self-criticizing, I cleared it away.
“When you’re smiling… the whole world smiles with you.” Kept beating back the doubts — oh, no, this feels like it might be too fast; oh, no, the PF is kicking in at Mile 3; oh, no, all these people are PASSING me — with a mental broom, sweeping them to the sides and looking straight ahead at a gorgeous fall day, perfect sunny weather, Maybe I’m faster when I smile. The gravel, sandy trail is slipprery, but it’s what everyone else is running on.
With Juan, another age grouper
After a turnaround at a hilltop, at Mile 8, a half dozen of us are at a crossroads and there’s nobody and no sign to tell us where to go! I say, “I know when we came from that way, there were runners coming towards us….” Just as we started in that direction, the lead runners came BACK from that trail! Turns out they had made the wrong turn. I could feel badly that they added an extra half mile, but frankly, I’ve done that more than once (Stissing Sprint, Brooklyn Duathlon, New England 70.3 to be exact), and each of us is responsible for knowing the course…
Just kept turning it on, tuning out the discomfort, doing what was sustainable. At Mile 10, kicked it up a little. The final, steep hill was the topic of much post-race groans, but frankly, I was feeling strong and thought I had farther to go because… the race (for those of us who ran the actual course) was only 12.6 instead of 13.1 miles.
The Finish Line!
Matt (friend from the JCC pool and another triathlete) and his young son Ross handed out the wooden “medals” at the finish line – so good to see them and to be DONE.
Matt and Ross
Turns out, my time was 1:53:03 which meant 8:54 min/mile (because the course was shorter than 13.1 miles) — a lot better than expected. And fast enough to win for the 60-69 age group. 1/12 AG, 41/217 OA.
Despite some initial and recurring doubts (swept away by re-imagining the present), a great finish to a great season.
THIS was a race that I’ve been training for and dreading since November 2023: an 8-part triathlon. For months I’ve counted them out for incredulous listeners on two hands: Bike 30 miles. Then Run, Swim, Run, Swim, Run, Swim, Run. (It’s still a “triathlon” because it’s only three sports.) Running/tri buddy Kevin Carlsten had emailed and said “this sounds like something crazy that Mark would do. Wanna do it?” How could I resist?
SOS or “Survival of the Shawangunks” (pronounced “Sh’WAN-gunks”) takes place in the lakes and trails of “The Gunks”, mountains in New Paltz, around 100 miles north of New York City. Because the swim-runs are point to point, you have to carry your running shoes on the swims in the notoriously cold Lakes (Awosting, Minnewaska and Mohonk) before ascending to the Lookout Tower at Mohonk Preserve. For two months, I had practiced with my shoes tucked in under my shorts and behind my hamstrings.
Five weeks before the race I attended “SOS Boot Camp” — a collection of the nicest, craziest endurance athletes I’ve met — where we rode the bike course, ran most of the carriage trails, visited the swim-ins and swim-outs, and swam a bit in Lake Minnewaska. Warm in August, but that would change!
It was the cold that most concerned me. After only 45 minutes in a 74-degree pool, I’m shivering. The lakes would be between 68 and 58 degrees. So after meeting a woman at Boot Camp who had the same issue, I adopted her solution: I bought a swimrun wetsuit. (“Swimrun” is a sport in Sweden.) Running material in the short pants, neoprene on the chest and short sleeves, and additional “arm warmers” that really make the difference. On race day, I counted around 6 other people with wetsuits…
With Kevin Carlsten, full of pre-race optimism.
Bike: 30 miles. We lined up by age group (9 of us in the 60-64 men’s category), and took off down the first 25 miles of flats with some rolling hills (with 5 of my group shooting ahead…). I hit my 20-21 mph goal for the first 15 miles; was startled that we had to walk our bikes on the sidewalk around some construction; and the next 10 slowed down to 17ish mph; and then The Hill — 5+ miles of continuous up. 1:53 hours for 30 miles (15.4 mph, including that elevation) — a little slower than expected.
Transtion # 1 was sub-optimal for lack of mental preparation: I simply didn’t picture what it would be like to dump out my bag of running gear, throw in my bike gear, dump the bag again for my sunglasses clip-ons, throw gear in bag, dump out for something else, throw in gear again, PLUS the usual changing shoes. 5:34 for a transition! The good news: an opportunity for vast improvement…
Run # 1: 4.5 miles. Started comfortable, walked some of “Cardiac Hill” at Mile 2 (following the lead of another Old Guy who had done this 6 times before and had passed me on the bike), heard something clatter at Mile 4 but had all my gels (should I eat one?). And as I got to the water’s edge: realized my goggles had slipped out of my shirt. Ran back a little, asked if anyone had seen them, and this young guy (he was the only one in the 20-25 age group!) said he had a second pair and lent them to me. What a mensch!
Transition #2: Put on sleeves and wetsuit top, shoved in shoes and OFF WE GO! 2:32 minutes. Meh.
Swim #1: 1.1 miles across Lake Awosting. Water was 68 or 69 degrees, not too cold for most folks, but I was happy staying warm in the wetsuit. Although cramps started up in my hamstrings (Race Director Alex Sherwood at Boot Camp: “If you don’t cramp on this race, ask for your money back!”), I recognized the cramps were from looking up too high to sight and got them under control. Acknowledged in the middle how beautiful the water and the lake were (and that I was swimming!). Finished in 40:00 min. (2:06 min/100 yds.).
Transition #3: Got to the end (hurray!), pulled shoes out from behind legs in back of my shorts, another guy is laughing and grimacing with cramping so much he can’t stand up (a volunteer from the shore: “Don’t these guys know they have to get out of the water?”), I reach for my shoes floating away and dropped the goggles — never to be found again! To paraphrase Oscar Wilde in The Importance of Being Earnest: “To lose one pair of goggles is tragic. To lose two is simply careless!” Grabbed two Honey Sticker gels. (Saw a volunteer walking with a woman shivering in an aluminum foil blanket. There but for the grace of God go I…). T3 in 4:33 minutes. Ugh More room for improvement!
Run #2: 5.5 miles. Struggling to grab a UCAN energy gel from pocket in back of the wetsuit (trying to take them every hour, but so hard to pull them out), take off the sleeves, unzip and pull down the wetsuit…. Such a distraction, and not a great way to run. Pretty, but distracted by how I was going to swim across two more lakes without goggles…. Forgot to take salt tablets. Struggled to get wetsuit and sleeves back on, and probably should have taken more nutrition (stick with the plan, man!). 55:43 (10:18 min/mile). Not the 9-minute miles Coach Steve and I had planned.
Transition #4: No time wasted on goggles and getting glasses into the shoe. Simply get shoes into back of pants and… swim with glasses on! (My spare pair of “racing glasses” have cables that loop around my ears, and the swim cap over my ears kept them in place. Plus my sunglasses clip-ons hook tightly around the frames.). 1:03 minutes.
Swim #2: 0.5 miles. Sighting was a breeze! First of all, there’s a rope the entire length of Lake Minnewaska for this race; with every breath on my right side, I see that I haven’t wandered. Secondly, with my actual prescription glasses, the world above the water is exceptionally clear. Mild cramping in hamstrings — recognized it before it hit me, and relaxed through it. Felt solid, but took 18:45 minutes (2:08 min/100 yds.).
Transition #5: Got to the ledge where a race director was standing (“come right up to me!” The water was very deep except for that rock jutting out), sat and took shoes out. Uphill and on the trail = 1:26 minutes.
Run #3: 8 miles to the next swim. Again, struggle to get out of the wetsuit top and the sleeves (start it over, do the sleeves first!) and this is when the wheels fall off: I forget to eat until Mile 4 or 5. UCAN gel, then gel with caffeine, then another gel at a rest stop, but I’m behind on calories/carbs and despite the beautiful downhills for the first 3-4 miles (dropped a swimsuit sleeve, run back uphill to get it), so when I get to the flats I am slogging. Another runner recognizes me, we figure out it’s from the LItchfield Olympic tri last year and he is FAR too cheerful as he passes and drops me going up “Godzilla” at Mile 7 (which wasn’t so bad except for the fact that I’m bonking.). BUT: managed to remember to enjoy the beautiful dappled sunlight coming through the trees, to marvel at the groups rock climbing next to the trail, to be grateful for the ability to RUN and race. Finish in 1:24 (10:03 min/mile) — not the pace I had wanted, but I am surviving and grateful.
Transition #6: Got to get those darn shoes in back of the pants, walk over the fence, carefully walk down the steep, narrow dirt path, pick my way among the rocks, and start swimming. Again, no time wasted on those silly goggles. 1:49 minutes.
Kevin starting Run #4!
Swim # 3: Lake Mohonk is short and familiar — I’d been here for a family reunion 11 years ago— and sighting is easy with my glasses on, but my eyes are stinging, I have to admit. By this time, I’m not caring much about speed, and the shoes on top of hamstrings are discouraging me from kicking, and my arms are TIRED from swimming and stopping and swimming again… But the end is in sight! 0.5 miles (maybe; Garmin said it was shorter) in 14:33 (1:54 min/100 yds.) — apparently my fastest leg.
T-7 — almost there! Goggles? Who needs goggles?
Transition #7: Get shoes out from pants, get them on, up and out of the lake. 1:29 minutes.
Run #4: Up, up, up to the Lookout Tower! Felt solid, except for seeing so many racers and families who had finished walking DOWNHILL. (This is like seeing the people dressed as the Statue of Liberty passing you on the NYC Marathon…). Very steep, ran almost all of it (except for the huge rocky stairs). 7:03 for .7 miles (10:03 min/mile).
Got there and crossed the SURVIVOR LINE – “You. Are. A. Survivor!” Finished in 6:35:39 — 6/9 for AG, 103/211 OA (including the 25 DNFs, which included ultramarathoner Mike whom I had met at Boot Camp).
Done!
This was certainly harder than any Half Ironman “70.3” I’ve ever done (even though this was only 50.3 miles). I will probably try it again — can I do it without the wetsuit? That would remove a distraction, but I so hate the cold… I can be more disciplined about the nutrition. But overall it was beautiful and thrilling.
I survived. I had fun. I’ll be back.
Those hieroglyphics aren’t just for decoration: Bike. Swim. Run. Swim. Run. Swim. Run!
Alpha Wins, the very small triathlon company that ran this event (not yet devoured by Ironman), organized this day of multi-sport races in Kingston, NY: sprint triathlon, Olympic distance, aquathlon, duathlon and the race I’d chosen, “Long Course”, a 70.3 distance (what we’d otherwise call a Half Ironman).
Swimming in Lake Williams, Kingston, NY – afternoon before the race
I stayed in Saugerties, thirty minutes away, with the wonderful Tom and Penny Kjellberg. Saturday morning, got up at 3:40, eat and drive to the site, parking next to a serious competitor I later learned was Juan. Rack my bike and see that … my torpedo water bottle is dripping. Continuously. No problem: I have duct tape for securing my ankle chip (having lost a chip during the swim in another race), and a neighboring racer’s electrical tape. And it mostly works; I won’t die of thirst out there in the wild.
The battered torpedo water bottle – patched up with high tech love and care
They announce that the lake water is 82 degrees — too warm for anyone to wear a wetsuit. I pull out my “skin suit” to go over my new tri suit — only to find that I had grabbed from my closet the old tri suit, instead. Oh, well. Warm up in the water for 10 minutes, getting my heart rate up (though you’d think this comedy of errors would have already done the trick).
THE RACE
Swim starts in the water, treading between the big yellow buoys, kinda relaxing, guys still chatting… Then GO. I shoot off on the first leg of the two loops that make up the 1.2-mile course, starting stronger than I’ve done before and feeling good up to the second buoy, when I start to feel the fatigue. I’m trying a new attitude: going hard and feeling tired doesn’t mean that I’m weak and will run out of gas. But I start the second loop with new doubts: “I’m almost the last guy on the course.” Start to flail a bit but calm down and back to smooth and strong, stretch more, feel the lats. At that long, last leg a guy passes me (dammit) but I am swimming my best, that’s all I can do. Coach Steve had predicted I’d finish in 41 minutes, so I’m pleased to finish in 39:35, a 1:52 pace. I assume I’m trailing behind the studs I had met the day before, and that I am fighting for 3rd place in my age group, at best.
Run barefoot over a bumpy dirt path and then, mercifully, grass. I sit down in T1 to put on socks and bike shoes, and suddenly Tom Andrews from Hastings starts to harangue me (“Why, it’s Mark Kaufman! Take your time, Mark. You want to get a donut?”); he and his son Sam are there, preparing to race the sprint. So I start the bike ride laughing.
Bike Route: 53.35 miles, 3,420 feet of elevation
Bike has a good start, but not for long. On this 56-mile ride, my goal is simply to have a consistently strong ride (rather than slowing down the second half). But the bursitis in my hips kicks — at 24 minutes, much earlier than normal. So, this ride is going to be painful. The hills are long and rolling, and I’m fighting to keep up the power between 180 and 200 watts, and wattage drops to 145 or 155 watts now and then, and my hips ache (too late to do what the PT therapist had suggested)…. And I realize I am carrying a lot of people with me, all of whom are nice enough in real life but who only give me negative advice in my head. ENOUGH. Have some discipline, focus on what’s ahead, push those thoughts away, push it away, push it away. The Ashokan Reservoir is beautiful, enjoy it, no rain, cool weather in the low 70s, what’s not to like?
The doubts resurface now and then, but I keep demanding discipline. (Push it away.) Bruce in my age group passes me, a younger Bib no. 4 passes me. (Let them go; I’m the only one riding this bike.) The goal is just to get there in one piece, pushing hard and will this wipe me out for the run? The 5-mile intervals aren’t close to the 19-20 mph I want. And I need to pee. Oh, well. Legs will cramp up if I stop for a bathroom break and I don’t want to squander whatever ranking I might have. And at almost the end, a glorious downhill, I tuck in and fly, aerodynamic (later learning that I reached over 45 mph). Catch up to a guy in a white shirt who says “I think this route is 2 or 3 miles short ,” and I’m delighted because there’s no other way I’d make the goal time Coach Steve had set for me. Guy in white zooms off, dropping me. Oh well, he has his own race to do. I GET there! And my results are better than I expected (helped by being only 54 miles): 3:01:24. (Coach Steve had predicted 3:01 hours; with accuracy like that, I’ll invest in wherever he crunches metrics!).
T2 is uneventful and quick: swap helmet for visor cap and put away the sunglasses, and change into my Fast Shoes.
Off we go, onto the Rail Trail and through the woods.. This is my strong suit. The 13.1-mile run is two loops of an out and back, which is kind of comforting: just take it 3ish miles at a time, “I’m halfway to halfway…”. Steve had predicted I’d do 8:30 minute/mile, based on my last 70.3. I start too fast – 8:12, 8:20 (yes, I know, I always do that. Shut up, Zander), then allow myself to look at the watch only once per mile and when the watch dings at the end of the mile. I’m working hard, that’s all I’m sure of. It’s a struggle to get up that loose gravel hill before the second turnaround, and that’s a lousy mile result — 8:50, 9:05 — and I’m stabbed with doubts again for a moment, then focus on the trees, the sunlight, and there’s Ziv, running the Olympic race! (I’m working too hard even to say “I thought you were injured and skipping this race!”) And Vadim from Irvington, shouting encouragement and taking my picture!
I’m struggling through every mile, one at a time, and I really need to pee; nature is not just calling, nature is shouting. But I realize on the second loop: everyone I pass is one person closer to my at least making 50% overall. And I pass Bruce in his colorful tri set. And I pass the young no. 4. And there’s Juan. And there’s the heavyset woman, smiling as she runs. And I even pass the Guy in White Shirt. So I count and I figure I’ve passed or am ahead of 24 people, one more and I’ll be in that top 50%… There’s that steep gravel hill but now it’s the LAST time and it’s downhill and around the corner and the Finish Line is closer than I thought and I’m DONE.
With Hastings-on-Hudson’s own, Ziv Abramowicz!
The net result: 5:37:24, over 30 minutes faster than Oceanside 70.3 in April. My doubts were unfounded: for the Swim, 41:14 (because official results included the run to T1), which is 1st of 5 for age group and 16/50 Over All (!). T1 in 1:39 – 1st for AG, 16/50 OA. The Ride officially is 3:03 (because it included walk/running over the dirt road in bicycle shoes until we reached T2…) – 17.7 mph average over the actual 54-mile course (not great) and dropped to 3 out of 5 for AG, 15/60 OA. (So, Bruce and Juan were ahead of me). T2 in 1:44 — 1st for AG, 6/50 OA. (At first, I think, “Who cares, it’s just transition…”)
And the Run, ah, the Run: 1:49:21, which means 8:20 min/mile (a lot faster than Steve’s 8:30 prediction) — 1st for AG and 8/50 OA (picking up two slots from the ride) … but even though 8th place in the run, 7/50 overall (picking up a slot from doing better transitions than the next guy)!
The Podium: with Juan Rivelo (who did Western Mass 70.3 two weeks before THIS race!) and Bruce Nussbaum (who cramped up after the bike ride and gave up the lead)
I really hadn’t intended to do this for the glory of the podium. But this was the best OA result I’ve had and the fastest 70.3 since 2017 (helped, no doubt, by a ride that was 2.5 miles shorter — but I’m also 7 years older now). I dug in hard aand though I had fun, the focus was keeping up the athletic pressure while slaying those demons. They’ll be back, and I’ll try to keep swatting them down, because this is the kind of fitness I want to sustain.
I was reluctant to do this race: rain was predicted, and it was a logistical nightmare to drive in from the suburbs to Greenpoint; we were required to load into the race area between 5 and 6 am to start running at 7; and the finish line was in Prospect Park, 15 subway stops (or a 9-mile UBER ride) from the starting line where I’d park my car. But then the rain prediction evaporated, and temps were going to be in the low 50s; I managed to get to bed by 8:45 for a 3:30 a.m. wake-up; and…
Even though my pre-paid, reserved parking lot was blocked off by the police because of the race, I found a spot two blocks from the starting area. So a good start!
22,000 people signed up for this race! “The 3rd largest half marathon in the U.S.” My priority was to run by what felt good, but keep track of the time. I wanted to do better than Coach Steve’s estimated finish of 1:48 hours = 8:15 per mile “based on the available data.” Use that as a minimal acceptable limit, not as the best I could do.
Hurry up and wait. We went through security, gathered in a parking lot before going into the pre-assigned corrals…
Because I had left my Garmin in the car (rookie mistake!), I’d have to hit the lap button on my watch so I didn’t have a lot of data during each mile, only after passing each mile marker. But the lack of data was probably a good thing – less information to worry about.
Wave 1 is crowded, and folks are friendly (and young!) and I chatted with another triathlete wearing an Ironman 70.3 shirt, and it takes us almost 4 minutes to cross the starting line. Early on I meet another age grouper by the name of Andy (“What’s our pace? I left my Garmin in the car!” “That one was 8:13”), he sees my Philadelphia Marathon hat, asks if I’m from Phillie and says he’ll do his 11th Phillie Marathon this fall. I surge ahead, then he surges ahead, and I’m okay with being dropped: I am racing MY race, and Andy is clearly a Runner.
At Mile 3, I realize I’ve been running at around 8:00 min/mile, and decide that’s a nice goal. I run up to someone to comment on his shirt slogan, and realize the extra effort made my hamstring twinge, so I back off the pace. By Mile 5, I’m still at around 8:04s and my only concern is whether that’s sustainable, it’s starting to feel challenging, but I also don’t want to get slower, beating Coach Steve’s prediction has now become its own priority, competing with the “have fun” part.
I freak out a little at what I think is Mile 6 and my watch says “10:30” minutes, but I realize that’s the 10K (6.2 mile) marker, so I’m only a little slower. I’m breathing more deliberately to bring my heart rate under control; we’re about to start hitting the long hills and I don’t want to blow up. I have the discipline to follow my nutrition plan: at mile 6 or 7 or 1:00 hour, even though I don’t feel like it, I drink my flask of UCAN energy drink (feeling SO smart despite looking stupid with a water belt, as I never slowed down and jostled for a cup at the rest stations; instead, sipping every mile when I wanted, and still comfortable carrying a cell phone in the big pocket, in prep for that post-race UBER ride!) but I don’t want to give up the 8-minute goal, that’s what would define “Success,” and I realize: fearing failure is not a helpful thought, and we (the surging crowd of runners) get over that hill and the glory of downhill.
Still, at Mile 8 or 9 I’m anxious again that this is really starting to hurt.
Instead I focus on the extraordinary long, straight road crowded with runners, and the sun is beautiful, shining on the spring trees at the end of this vista, and there’s simply no room for the thoughts that make me anxious, yes this is getting tough but only 3 miles to go and I start to surge at Mile 11 and realize dammit this isn’t my last mile, there’s TWO more miles to go, and Andy (remember him?) is next to me and says “go for it”, and I’m quietly telling folks that I’m passing them (“on your left” like riding on the bike path) and with 1 ½ miles to go I warn a couple “I’m between you” and the young woman says “go for it” (or something like that) and I am getting FASTER and the curving road in Prospect Park seems familiar (did a duathlon here years ago) and impossibly long and I’m at the Finish Line.
Nailed it!
And Bam! My watch says I averaged 8:01 min/mile!
Like they say in the Kindergarten report card: “Exceeded expectations”.
I was surprised to find that my last half marathon was way back in 2019, and my best was in 2014 (1:36:21!) and of course I was faster then, but today’s race was faster than the two HMs I ran in 2018. And faster than the 15k and 20k races I ran earlier this year. As far as I’m concerned, this is PR.
And: my fourth race in a row (the 15k, 20k and Oceanside 70.3) where I enjoyed the entire race. THIS time with some reference to the watch, as a way to keep me motivated to go faster. I’m on a roll.
This was my first race where I had to bring my bike on a plane.
Travelling light is not my style…
Reconstructive surgery in Larry’s garage
I chose this race because it fit my schedule and to visit my college roommate Dzu Do, who had moved from New Jersey to San Diego in 2023. I then realized I had other friends to visit in the area, starting with Larry Binderow who shared his beautiful home in Rancho Santa Fe on Thursday and Friday before the race. Great to see him in his native habitat!
With Larry Binderow, Esq.
The view from Larry’s home
Racked bikes at the Transition Area on Friday — the coldest day on record for San Diego (41 degrees F). And it poured.
Surf was getting rough…
And it poured the day before the race.
But that just meant the next day would have nothing left in the sponge and, by definition, warmer!
Getting to the race Saturday morning was a logistical nightmare, but good practice for adapting to changes. Rolling with the punches. Annoying, but nothing more. First, the GPS took me to the Oceanside Transit Center parking lot, but no one was there — until I found the parking lot building. Then, I joined around 75 people waiting for the shuttle bus to get to Transition. It took 30 minutes for 2 buses to arrive; we squeezed in, standing in the aisles, and got to Transition only 15 minutes before transition closed!
Waiting for the shuttle buses with 75 other athletes…
Still, glad I didn’t join the handful who had decided to walk the 2 miles… Dumped out everything I had brought, set it up and ran out. Not enough time to worry!
I had been concerned (actually, terrified) about swimming in the ocean, and yes, the water was 60 degrees on race day. Still, waiting to get started, I met all kinds of people — two quiet, weather-beaten brothers from Utah in their 50s; a guy from New York, and two from Connecticut — and the excitement was palable. Lined up with others behind the pacer’s sign for those expecting to swim at a 1:40 min/100 yd pace. Everyone shuffling towards the four-at-a-time chute onto a sloping dock and suddenly we’ve crossed the starting line and we are IN THE PACIFIC OCEAN!
GOOOOOD MORNING! Actually, with my full-length wetsuit and neoprene swim cap, it really wasn’t bad. In fact, it felt great. They initially planned to have us run into the surf and swim around the jetty in a clockwise “U”, but the surf was so rough we were re-routed to stay inside the bay, swimming the 1.2 miles in a counterclockwise route, leaving buoys to our left, turning at the red buoys, then back to the same starting place. The water was quite calm, and felt like a favorable current going out. Dug into my new, improved stroke — reach reach reach for the catch, elbows high on the return, breathing 3-2-3 and sighting frequently, nudging up next to and then past the folks in my way (gently, didn’t kick anyone, I promise!). It felt strong, it was delightful, I was choosing my route rather than depending on drafting for more than a few minutes. The only trouble was seeing the orange buoys on the way back (rather than the outward-bound yellow buoys) as we swam into the rising sun. Finished and stumbled out in 42:18 minutes – slower than planned, but it felt solid.
Swim out. Hadn’t practiced taking off the wetsuit…
THEN I felt the cold. I decided to run run run to T1 to get warm again— rather than stopping to slip off the wetsuit. Didn’t work so well: I sat on the ground, struggled out of the suit, tried to dry off, put on a long-sleeve biking shirt (Hastings Velo!) because the air temp was only 50 degrees, tried to put on gloves but couldn’t so put them in back pockets, heard the announcer say “must wear your race bib on the bike” so put on my running belt with holsters for water flasks to which I had oh so cleverly attached the race bib (whoops, that’s not so aerodynamic), helmet with magnetic visor (a little cracked because it hadn’t travelled as well as I’d hoped in my carry-on) and started to ride.
I didn’t shiver. But I couldn’t unclench my jaw for 45 minutes.
Could NOT stop clenching my jaw after leaving that cold water!
I also couldn’t feel my feet, so pushing hard felt great, and the power meter indicated I was cruising along at 190-200 watts, my sustainable goal, for the first hour or so. And I realized: this is simply a gorgeous place to ride. We hit the first of the four big hills at around Mile 20, and at some point we entered Camp Pendleton, a Marine base (complete with three armed Marines who responded to my “Thank you” with grunt-shouting “Hoo-hah! Hoo-hah!” Seriously.). The rolling hills and valleys were covered with different shades of green and brown, the shadows were sharp and crisp, the day was sunny. It felt amazing to be there. And eventually I warmed up (especially on those longer, steeper hills), but still glad to have the extra layer on the downhills (when we unfairly faced headwinds!).
Eventually, warmed up and enjoying the ride
At around 2 hours, I started slowing down — enough for a lot of people to pass me — including those that didn’t look like great riders on fancy bikes. Marveled at a heavy woman who was a powerful rider (“Yeah, this is my favorite part” she said); chatted with two other guys from Utah, one in a bright yellow shirt (“yeah, those brothers are Randy and John, they train with us”); a young woman with blond ponytail left me in the dust; leap-frogged with a young guy in blue/purple/green tri-suit (“nice to see you again!”); was dropped by no. 1370, a guy in an olive-green shirt. And rather than dwell on falling behind, I just did what felt sustainable. Oh, well, it’s a 3-part race, I was NOT going to blow up on the bike. I kept on enjoying the scenery and enjoying the race. Took my nutrition, had a caffeine gel at 3:00 hours (boom! Optimism!).
Happy bike
At one point a dreaded referee rode up next to me, sitting backwards on a motorcycle while someone else drove. I got out from behind the rider ahead of me – we’re supposed to be 12 meters behind to avoid a drafting penalty! – and the referee said, “Why don’t you just finish passing this rider?” Did it, she smiled, and I dodged a penalty! Finished in 3:22 (17 mph) – a mediocre result, but I had fun the whole ride.
Ah, the run. I decided not to look at my watch, and just do what felt like a strong pace. And… I passed dozens of people, including yellow-shirt from Utah, woman with pony tail, blue/purple/green suit, olive shirt. THAT was satisfying.
Run start
First loop of the 13.1 miles was solid, with some uphills and that wonderful turnaround; second loop was harder, but didn’t kill me, just sticking with what felt strong and sustainable. And at Mile 11 I realized my watch hadn’t been ringing at me every mile because — wait for it — I hadn’t even started the watch on the run.
Happy run
I laughed and realized I had been truly immersed in the race, picked up the pace the last two miles (at least, it felt like I got faster, and a guy I passed said “now, that’s a nice pace”), and finished the way I started, with a smile. Ran the half marathon in 1:52:59, an 8:37 min/mile average. I had expected to do 8:20, but so it goes.
The finish chute!
This was my best race ever as far as attitude: I had never before enjoyed the entire thing. Results were mediocre: 6:10:30 total, maybe my worst for this distance, but for the first time that feels less important than being delighted with the experience. And did okay among my peers: 22/75 for age group, (32nd in the swim, 39th in the bike, 22nd on the run); 1,015/2,711 OA.
Leaving the race was another logistical nightmare: walked almost 2 miles to transition to get the bike (no shuttles arrived), miraculously packed all of my stuff into the net bag I had brought to avoid blocking up transition, wedging the bicycle pump between my handlebars and aero bars; and slowly riding back two miles in traffic to the parking lot building. Exhausting. Oh, well, racing is an exercise in patience, resilience and adapting. Getting to the rental car was the real Finish Line. (Note to other triathletes: if you’re going to do this otherwise wonderful race, stay in a hotel near the starting area. Driving in and parking and depending on shuttles was… overly challenging.)
Afterwards, visited the other fine folks who inspired me to travel to sunny San Diego: stayed Saturday night after the race with Rachel’s cousins, Jeff and Debbie Margolis, in Corona Del Mar,
Jeff and Debbie. Visit one couple…
Get the local clan! With Zan, James and their girls
visited Dzu and Han Do in Carmel Valley on Sunday,
Dzu Do in his beloved convertible
and had breakfast with Mark Laska on Monday.
With Mark Laska
So wonderful to spend time with each of them, and to see why they’ve chosen to move to and live in such a beautiful place. A great trip, a great race, and quite the journey!
With Greg Donat, friend from high school and college, after the race.
Last week’s 15k had been almost magical in shifting my attitude and didn’t know if I could re-create the magic. So, I had some doubts about this race: didn’t get enough sleep the night before; and wasn’t sure I had trained enough to run 20k (12.4 miles) — farther than the 9.3 miles of last week’s race and a 10-mile workout of a month ago.
Arrived at the elementary school parking lot a solid 40 minutes before race time — checked in (using the same bib as last week’s “Boston Buildup” race), found the men’s room (even the faculty had child-height toilets!), and ran a couple of blocks. That got me warm enough to take off a layer and meet up with high school and college friend Greg Donat (who took up running races only a few years ago and made the cut for Boston this year). I had politely declined to warm up with him — I am not running a marathon and don’t need 2 extra miles before and after a race!
This was such a low-key affair that they didn’t have an airhorn or anything — the crowd simply surged forward, and someone near me said, “Have we started?” Coach Steve had suggested that based on my 8:12 pace from last week I’d average 8:25 today. Frankly, I was relieved that Greg planned to run a 9:30 pace so I didn’t have to worry about keeping up with him.
Right away, I got into enjoying the motion and the effort and the thrill of pushing — enough to continually feel that I was moving FORWARD, resisting the lag, enjoying the uphills (wow, these marathoners don’t seem to slow down at the hills!), LOVING the downhills. Only looked at the watch to make sure it was clicking off some mileage — whoops, that first mile was a 7:40, but it felt fine, not rushed. Kept checking in: the left knee started aching but then stopped, this pace is sustainable, each mile marker was spray-painted in purple on the road so I didn’t have to check my time.
Saw a guy around my age looking at his watch and I thought, “what are you checking for? You already qualified for Boston!” Chatted with a woman in her 30s dressed in yellow jacket, and she said, “that woman ahead of us in black? She’s at every race I’m in and she’s always ahead of me until the very end.” Woman in yellow surges ahead, I catch up to the woman in black, and tell her about my conversation; she replies, “Oh, please, I’m twice her age!” Later, I say, “Finally! another uphill!” to a fellow age grouper, with short gray beard and built like he’d been a tremendous athlete when he was younger, and he just laughs.
And then the downhills are so continuous, I can’t believe it; my quads are aching but I’m feeling fine. I turn to a guy with gray hair and say, “is there an uphill coming? Do you know?” He ignores me! Either he’s an asshole or he’s digging deep or he’s just deadly serious and that’s what got him into qualifying for Boston. After the race ends, he came up to me and said, “I couldn’t hear what you were saying.” He’s partly deaf and reads lips!
And, lo, another result better than expected: 1:44:38, or an 8:05 minute/mile pace. My only goal with this crowd was to be in the 50th percentile, so 6/11 AG (60-69 years), 75/190 OA was fine.
After cheering on Greg’s finish, he agreed (while we tacked on another 1/2 mile) that running can be pretty joyful. And going inside the school cafeteria to stretch, I bumped into the woman in black, and the guy with the gray beard, and a third runner in her 60s. They all had changed into warm dry clothes and were chatting and asked me, “So, see you in three weeks?” at the final, 25k race in the series.
I don’t know if I’ll do another, longer training race. But it’s a nice bunch of people, dedicated to running, and it’s nice to tune into each mile as its own celebration that culminates in a Finish Line.
This may have been one of my best races ever, starting at an elementary school in Ridgefield, Connecticut (50-minute drive from my house), with plenty of room, warmth, and toilets….
Focused on the right priorities: (1) don’t get hurt, because my training for a Half Ironman is progressing nicely (thank you, Coach Steve); (2) don’t look at the watch (thank you, John McD) except for when it buzzed on my wrist the first mile of the 9.3 mile course: 7:45, that’s too fast, but it was a lovely downhill on a narrow road into a sunny morning with tall, bare trees…. And (3) have FUN (thank you, Vassilis)! Felt like I was running with all these friends and their good advice.
Pretty obvious that having fun was (and always should have been) the most important priority. I kept checking in on the status of the ship’s vitals (Mile 4: hamstring tweaking; maybe my posture needs adjustment, or slow it down?) and of the captain’s mental state (“Oh, no, that guy is passing me!… That’s not a helpful thought. I won’t think about it. What a beautiful day! Ooh, another downhill!”)
Here I was, racing with these folks who were preparing for the Boston Marathon (I qualified for Boston but didn’t make the 5:29-minute cut that Boston’s race directors imposed to reduce the field from 31,000 to 20,000 runners). So I sometimes felt like an imposter, but recognized “that’s not a useful thought; I won’t think about it; damn, what a great day!” Everyone around me is dead serious, no one saying a word. In contrast, my jaw is hurting at Mile 7 from smiling so much.
Miles 8 and 9 were uncomfortable, but arrived sooner than I expected (another benefit of not looking at the watch!), leapfrogged with another guy my age wearing a shirt from a triathlon we’d both done, got passed by the young woman who I had passed early in the race and who had gas left in the tank for a wonderful sprint, and I finished still smiling.
And the metrics were great! Steve had predicted I’d run 9:00-9:15 minute/miles (based, he forgets, on the reasonable workouts he had given me), and I finished in 1:16:22 – an 8:12 minute/mile pace. And my heart rate average was 143 bpm — totally reasonable, middle of the range.
For once, I was merely curious about my results relative to others in the 60 and older range. Turns out pretty good: 5/18 for AG (60-69 year old men, not including the 70+ guys who were included in the “Veterans” category), and 67/177 OA. But more importantly, I had fun. Now, THAT’s a sustainable attitude to take me through another season.
