Mark Kaufman

Toughman New York – 70.3 Triathlon – September 15, 2019

Spoiler alert: this was a good one.

I had done the local Toughman on a different course in 2013, and had come in second place for my age group in 2014 (which was a huge thrill), but this was in Harriman State Park, near Bear Mountain. And this is much, much hillier: 4,500 feet of elevation for the 56-mile bike (even more than half the Ironman Lake Placid course I had raced at the end of July), and 1,000 feet of climbing on the 13.1-mile run. The 1.2-Mile swim is, thankfully, flat. So among 70.3 or “half Ironman” distance races, this is among the toughest I’ve done.

My goal is simple: to do a strong run, instead of walking a lot as I had in the last two long races (April’s Florida 70.3 and July’s IM Lake Placid).

Harriman is only a 40-minute drive from my house, but I still wake up at 3:15; eat and pack up my ton of food as prescribed by Dina Griffin, Goddess of Nutrition and Patience,The Nutrition Mechanic, LLC; drive to the race and arrived as transition opened. (I really need almost 1 ½ hours to get situated, mentally and physically- like, “how many rows from Swim In to my bike?” And: “where’s the nearest plastic outhouse?”). The dew is so heavy that after an hour, my bike is drenched, just sitting there, and I put on an extra shirt because of the chill.

This Toughman is not as polished as other triathlons: volunteers don’t appear until shortly before transition closed to bodymark the athletes, and then only write bib numbers but not ages on us – so we will have no idea whether we were chasing someone in our age group. Also, no one ever announces the water temperature or that it’s wetsuit legal – but one guy near the bathrooms tells me it was 68 degrees the day before, during the kids race. (Well, THAT’s wetsuit legal!). Convinced that it was really cold, I don’t get in the lake to get warm up – for fear of freezing while waiting to start – so instead I run around in my wetsuit to get my heart rate up.

But when the race begins, the water’s fine!

I’m in the third wave, consisting of Men 55-59 (yes indeed!), 50-54, and… 30-34. What the heck? We go through the inflatable archway, standing ankle deep in the water… 30 second warning … 10 second warning… GO! I’ve seeded myself in the second row of a pretty sparse group, and I think I’m going straight for the first buoy and I’m pulling pretty strong but quickly get passed, which of course is demoralizing, but I remember what I learned at IM Lake Placid, where I had a great swim and a less than great race: the swim really doesn’t matter that much.

And I draft off someone for a little bit but I don’t want to be the obnoxious stranger brushing a competitor’s feet (which at first means they are too slow for the job – until they get too fast for me to catch up). And the water really is beautiful, kind of metallic tasting (ah, my iron supplement for the day), the sun hasn’t quite risen over the trees, and with the buoys on the left, well it makes sense to breathe entirely on my left side, and lo! that recurring pain in the right side of my neck disappears, and I’m sighting every 20-25 strokes, and pretty much on course, the open water is lovely but that means I’m either way ahead or way behind the rest of my wave. But this is MY race, my super-swimmer friends can scoff if they want, I’m feeling smooth and measured and the goal of this race is simple: to have a strong run. Turn at the first yellow buoy, a few yards to the next buoy and turn again – and I pass a guy doing backstroke (what the heck?!) and realize there are almost NO kayakers out here, God forbid anyone should really get in trouble (again, this is a less than polished race…), and breathing to the left is especially good now because we’ve turned around so the rising sun is now on our right side and it is blinding bright, and there’s the inflatable archway and the shallow water, I swim as far as I can until I have to trudge in the last 15 yards (ugh! My legs…) and I’m out of the water and have survived another swim!

Swim results: 38:29, =1:44 min/100 yds.; 4/7 age group (at the time, I had no idea the group was so small…), 56/146 overall (ugh; and wow, I thought there were 400 participants…)

As I leave the beach, some guy tells me they have strippers – meaning, volunteers to strip off your wetsuit (nothing x-rated) – but I learned from Lake Placid, I’m faster taking it off myself, thank you. Jog into T1, lots of roots (taped in orange) to avoid in my bare feet , I’m on the second rack, two bikes missing (so at least two guys in my age group are already ahead of me), sit down to put on socks and swap goggles for glasses and my Darth Vader helmet, and an extra 10 seconds to wipe the dew off the visor/shield with the “special cloth” that came with the snake oil “anti-fogging” stuff I bought at the Lake Placid expo. T1 in 3:40 (a horrendous 81/146 OA).

On the bike, a long jog in click-clacking bike shoes from transition timing mat to the line where I’m allowed to mount, off we go, and at least it starts downhill, I start counting how many I pass (up to 6 or 7) and subtract when I’m passed (by the end of the ride, I’m down to net 1 or 2). It IS hilly, but rather than lots of relatively short steep hills as in IMLP, these are more gradual and very long – sometimes for 2 to 4 Miles.

Coach Debi Bernardes, Queen of Cruelty and Patience, www.ucandoitcoach.com, had strict directives: Zone 2 on the bike (heart rate at 131 to 141 bpm), with special dispensation, if my heart rate was in Zone 1, to look to power — 90% of FTP (around 200 watts). Again, stronger cyclists may scoff, but my goal is a strong run and, well, a 3-hour split. That would be nice.

The ride IS beautiful, but it takes an effort to enjoy the view because I’m focused on the road (really cracked up in places) and my keeping up the work. I use my watch only to keep track of when it’s time for nutrition — but before I can have first solid food at 15 minutes, I drop the entire Base bar package! Fortunately I have a wee bit of backup fuel, so I eat that and hope I don’t get a flat or bonk.

I start taking mental notes for this blog, and then think, “F— me! Stay present!”, and then think, “Whoa! Keep away from negative thoughts!” And I think, I don’t see guys my age, maybe I’ll make the podium, and then think, “F— me! Stay present!”, and then, “Whoa! Keep away from negative thoughts!” And I fantasize, “I’m going to be light and fast on the run” [an easy fantasy during the first bike loop]; but again, the punishment, the Zen, and the forgiveness. Is this what it’s like to have multiple personalities?

What goes up…

By 0:55 or so, I’ve drained my torpedo “sippy cup”, pour in a few squeezes from the spare bottle, and 10 minutes later grab a bottle from one of the eager young men as I ride by. In my other bottle is a UCAN “superstarch” drink, the bold new experiment of Dina’s Nutrition Plan to see if I can avoid the meltdown I had at Lake Placid. That, and Saltstick tablets every hour during the race (sometimes with caffeine, which fill me with optimism!). And it seems to work: even if I’m a little hungry for a moment, if I stick to Dina’s plan and I’ll be alright.

On the second loop, my HR is only at the top of Zone 1 and my power is only around 200, but with 15 miles to go my legs aren’t turning over so well, and my glutes have been on fire for a while, and my lower back is aching (Debi had said to get the bike re-fitted, but who has the time?).

Here’s the revelation, somewhere around Mile 40: I embrace the discomfort. As Zander had said when we were running last week, discomfort simply is part of this work; if we couldn’t handle it, we wouldn’t race. And for me, right then, I ask: what’s stopping me from accepting, from even embracing, all of this? It’s that I’m afraid I can’t sustain it, afraid I’m going to bonk. But I’ve hired a professional nutritionist, and a professional coach, and I can depend on the plans we’ve made. So, the only thing blocking me is my anxiety, not anything real.

F—- the anxiety.

So I crank along as best I can, and around Mile 50, two guys come burning past me as if I’m standing still, and I wonder where do they find the reserve to put out that power, but I think, this is MY race, and it has three parts (and I’m not going to blow up on the bike and get shin splints on the run, like I did at Quassy 70.3 in 2015); and I think, the second rider is a BIG guy, he’s going to have a hard time running. And with a couple miles left, I see elite guys running towards me (because part of the run route overlaps the bike route) and they are at Mile 5 already, and burning up hill… Humbling. Extraordinary.

Get to transition. My Garmin says I rode in 3:03, the exact time of my first loop at IMLP, but official time is 3:07, = avg. 17.9 mph. There are a couple of bikes racked near me so I’m pretty sure I’m in 3rd place at best, but I have already planned out T2. My wife and sons will be impressed to learn that I haven’t peed for almost 4 hours (okay, when you’re male and hit your mid-50’s, then you can scoff), but that plastic outhouse which I had scouted when I arrived is right next to the row of bikes where I’m racked, so before I put on my race belt and water belt I use the outhouse. Yeah, T2 in 3:02 is pretty slow, but faster than stopping on the run.

Ah, the run.

At Florida 70.3, I had my best ride ever, but ran way too hard OTB (off the bike); my heart rate was soaring within a couple of miles and the end results were, well, sub-optimal. Coach Debi’s plan is simple: keep HR within Zone 2 (141 to 151 Bpm) through Mile 4, then ignore the watch and go by feel, pushing as much as seems right each mile. Ah, yes, Grasshopper. Stay present.

Started pretty stiff and creaky, but again, recalled last week’s brick with Zander (my friendly Nemesis): Me:“I’m not feeling the love…”. Z: “Oh, come on. You’ve got this.” And lo, that big man who burned past me on the bike? He had a slow T2, I guess, because we’re suddenly running together, and his name is Derrick from County Mayo (Ireland), and he’s only 40 (the shaved head was confusing…), and we finish the first downhill mile at a nice 8:39 pace, and he says, “I’ll see you…”

And he doesn’t pass me; rather, he stops trying to keep up with me.

Well, I keep going, slowing down when HR ticks over 151 for a moment (“Be still, my foolish heart!”), not quite understanding how this course loops around but recognizing those hills from the bike ride and I am patience incarnate. Control, control, control. My goal is a strong run.

By the end of Mile 4, I have settled in, and I figure: on the downhills I’m doing 8:00 to 8:30 min/mile, on the uphills I might do 9:30 to 10:00s, it could balance to 9:00 min/mile. Yeah, that adds up to sub-2:00 hours, sounds like a reasonable goal. But I won’t know it until the end, because I. Am. Ignoring. The Watch. (No peeking! It will only disappoint me or make me feel invincible, neither of which will help.)

By Mile 6, I realize that most of the course has no tree cover (despite the guy who said before the race began, “oh, we’re in the woods a lot, I don’t need sunscreen”) and that I am not yet halfway done. At Lake Placid, I had wanted to quit at Mile 4, so with this 70.3 race (half the distance, twice the fun!), I thought maybe I’ll want to quit at Mile 8… At Mile 8, I allow myself to think I’m closer to done, and I’m really embracing the suck: what am I afraid of? I’m sustaining… These hills go on and on and with people coming at me and sometimes passing me, I’m checking the bib numbers to try to confirm where I stand: 173, 174, 168, definitely my age group, is he on his first or second loop? Am I fighting for 4th or 5th place? Doesn’t matter. The goal is a strong run. My race.

I don’t stop for water (other than to grab a cup and pour it on my head or my back) because I’m wearing the hydration belt, and I gulp down the first two doses of UCAN but can’t handle the third, that’s okay, 3 or 4 Miles to go. At somewhere between Mile 9 and 10, two young women are dancing in place at the fork in the road. It’s not clear where I’m supposed to go, and I yell, “Which way?” To which one responds, “Oh, this way, to the left, and you never have to see us again!” So I guess I wasn’t the first person to be annoyed… By the end of passing and being passed, I’m at about net zero. But I am still running.

When we get back to the starting area, we still have 3-4 miles to go. Finally, enter some shade, but it’s also a dirt trail with lots of rocks, so for 1 ½ miles I’m running over rocks and going uphill. But that means the finish will be on a descent… And I am still running, I haven’t stopped to walk, I am ignoring the watch and finally get to the turnaround and go down, down, down past the lake and around the orange flags into the chute and to the FINISH LINE and doggamn but I have done it.

Bottom line: 5:50:26, with a 1:57:33 run — and that’s 8:58 min/mile, almost exactly my 9 minute goal; the fast descent and slow ascents really did balance out. Victory. My race. I did that.

I immediately go to the massage tent — like, I’m still panting, that’s how immediate — and am sooooo grateful to be still. I get a plate of food, which I can’t eat. Excellent beer is on tap (note to self, avoid beer on an empty stomach — not because of getting buzzed, which was more than fine, but because my stomach is so full of acids from the race, the beer shuts down digestion for 24 hours…).

I get on line to look at the results tacked up on a board and… I have won for my age group. Talk about icing on the cake. 1/7 AG, 49/146 OA.

AND I’m uninjured, recovering via a pre-scheduled sport massage the next day with the fantastic Conrad Scharf, http://www.trueactionpotential.com/. So… I think I’ll race the Westchester Olympic-distance triathlon next weekend. Just to round out the season. Why not?

Ironman Lake Placid, 7/28/19

Ok, settle in, it’s an Ironman®. Took a long time to do it (spoiler alert, a very long time – that’s the good, bad and ugly).

It takes a village to race an Ironman. Not just the Ironman Village of vendors galore (I got suckered into buying some lens-cleaning snake oil), but all the people who got me to the starting line and through the finish line. My wife Rachel, of course – for whom I tried to minimize my year-long chatter of training and concerns. She didn’t come with me to upstate New York for excellent reasons: she had to teach until 2 pm on Friday, and we had to pick up registration by 5 pm on Friday; and Rachel won Best Director of a high school play by the National Youth Arts Awards, http://www.nationalyouththeatre.com/news/news_nya_awards2019_eastern_evening.asp#awards, for her production of Laramie Project, and her cast won a number of awards as well, and her awards ceremony was on… race day!

Rachel, getting her award for Best Director of high school drama, for “The Laramie Project.”

Rachel with Ruby and Lior, winners of supporting actors and part of Best Ensemble

A lot of other people got me to the starting line: in the weeks before, my Mom and Dad (“be careful, please”) and my sisters Jean and Louise (“we are so proud of you”) and Dom Chiaverini (who was with me when I fell and got scraped up running on the aqueduct, “you are ready for this, man”). And training runs with Zander or Dietmar. A pep talk from Coach Debi Bernardes at a rest stop during the 4 ½ hour drive. And I also called and chatted with cousin Rob Falk (“I dunno, I feel totally relaxed and not ready to tear up and conquer the race”; Rob: “Sounds like you’re experienced, now.”), and Jason Santarcangelo (“It’s a fast swim, because Mirror Lake is so small that the swimmers actually create a current…”), and total strangers, Mark and Becky from western Mass who talked with me during Friday’s dinner on the patio of The Dancing Bears (the mac and cheese didn’t have truffle oil as advertised, but I’m avoiding any negative thinking, and it’s still mac and cheese…).

Friday night dinner: Ambrosia and nectar of the gods.

And what a blessing literally to walk into Greg Bassett while strolling into town on Saturday who took me out to lunch (“Yeah, leave your car parked just off Main Street overnight”)

and right after, get a text from Bill Logan, who was visiting and having lunch in the restaurant across the street, and who took me in his classic car to drive the bike course.

With Bill Logan, AIA and bicycle design innovator

And all their emails from the gang from the NY Sports Club breakfast club. So even though I came to Lake Placid without anyone else, I didn’t feel alone.

I was especially “eager” about the swim (avoiding words like “anxious” because I was trying to avoid negative thinking…): despite my form feeling good and pain-free, my recent workouts had been exhausting and slow. Ten days before the race, had a lesson with Joe E. at Swimlabs in Elmsford, and we found the silver bullet: slow down my cadence, reach farther to engage the lats and pull stronger, and everything became faster and easier.

Mirror Lake, view from the red turnaround buoys

Swam 20 minutes of the course on Friday after registration, had dinner; slept 9 hours Friday night, and Kenneth Ruterbois (who took 4th place OA at IM Wisconsin 12 years ago) later said “oh, if you got 9 hours sleep, you could not sleep at all on Saturday and be fine for the race”.

Saturday morning, swam for 15 minutes from the side of the lake near my supposedly 3-star Summit Hotel, rode for 15 minutes, and ran for 6 minutes (because the free pancake breakfast was almost over…). And racked my bike.

My beast, resting before the race. Recovery is so important for all of us…

Saturday night I went to bed around 8:45 pm; sure enough, woke up at 12:22 a.m., and didn’t fall back asleep before the alarm went off at 3:15 a.m. Kenneth’s advice gave me solace. Had my Bullet Proof®-style coffee, two eggs, half a Sunbutter® and honey sandwich, prepped my whey protein plus Ucan® starch drink for sipping on the walk over and my Skratch® sodium drink for just before leaving transition and another sandwich… nutritionist Dina Griffin had prepped me well. A little after 4:30, checked and added some dry Skratch and my lucky Ironman Mt. Tremblant hat into my plastic Run Bag and Bike Bag, hanging from racks with our bib numbers.

Run and bike transition bags, waiting for race day

I found a new friend having trouble with his pump and then pumped my tires (avoiding a 20-30 minute wait for the mechanics…); filled my bento box on the bike with nutrition. Left transition before 6 a.m. to get on a long, long line for the portable toilets (both athletes and spectators, but we all feared how long the line might be for 2,800 of us down by Mirror Lake).

Walked down to the lake, put on the full wetsuit, splashed around for 5-10 minutes and rushed out for another potty break just as the pros start the race, finishing just in time to squeeze into the crowd on the beach for the “first” wave of swimmers, as the second wave was for those expecting to take 1:30 hours or more to finish…

I had been swimming what would translate to 1:18 finish for the swim, and Debi said to seed myself for a 1:13 finish, so I jump into the 1:10 to 1:20 corral and work my way towards the front…

And in we go! For the first time, in less than 100 yards, I’m in a groove, and of course I’m drafting off one, two guys in front of me and there’s someone grabbing my leg and I’m bumping arms and trying to avoid being kicked when suddenly a miracle happens: I find myself on top of the cable that connects the buoys, in a straight line. Sure, others are jostling to get there (interesting, the women find clean water slightly off to the left, it’s not worth the trouble; and the men are much more aggressive, really pushing to get the perfect fastest course), but I’m an attorney by day and I can be pretty aggressive too. So I’m not shaken off this line, I pull past the guys that are insisting on staying in my path, I swim under the twelve big pyramid sight buoys, twice feeling caught under the boat-like things (a little panic and leg cramping), and my arms swing around and over the little yellow ball buoys, but I don’t need to lift my head to sight for the next buoy and I never swerve off the path! And I see the guys around me with their fast and furious cadences and think to myself, “that’s not my style anymore,” I am grabbing bushels full of water and finishing the stroke and feeling unstoppable and relaxed.

We reach the shore, only to cross the mat to note our time, then back for a second 1.2 mile loop.

Sure, when we get out and run across the beach for the second loop, I’m more tired, and feel I’m slower, but it’s over so fast, and ultimately it’s the same speed as my Ironman race at Mt. Tremblant, 4 years ago: 1:11. Solid.

The descent out of T1 and onto the course!

T1 in sub-9:00, including the run through main street carrying the wetsuit that a volunteer had stripped off me, grabbing bag of Bike Gear and putting on shoes and helmet and visor, slathered with sunscreen, then run down the aisle to the bike – second to last row, second from end, a prime spot—and out the door, WHOOP!

Feeling great through mile 35 or 40. The descents into Keene are fast and thrilling. The ascents take a lot out of me, even though I was in a pretty low gear, but I start to feel I don’t have sufficient leg strength. Wished I had done more leg presses and other weight lifting.

About 1:40 into the bike, I take a pit stop – ah, this changing body! And I’m too well toilet-trained to pee while riding … I mess with my Garmin to take it off auto-pause, but I screw it up and have to stop and start the watch. Whereupon the helpful device advises me “[Take] 11 Hours [for] Recovery”. Ha!

First the more elite age group athletes, then other people pass me, on the hills as planned (Debi said to take it easy, and maybe I can go slower, but not much slower; I’m taking the hills in the small ring and 2nd gear on the cassette, sometimes the 1st gear). Tired at the start of second loop (though thrilled to see Greg Bassett again, waiting for me with special needs bag – and I’m flooded with emotion, I’m really not alone at this race, not just Greg but everyone else who’s watching me on the tracker app and the crowd is amazing (one spectator: “Look at this guy! He’s actually smiling!”))

But I couldn’t eat more than a bite of the sandwich, the honey instead of jam that had tasted great for breakfast now tasted way too dry (even though Dina and I had planned on the sandwich as big source of calories – more UCAN next time, if there ever is a next time?).

More pass me on the second loop (everyone seeming to be 44 years old) more and more heaviness in legs on the hills. Decent turnover but not great. At mile 85 it suddenly drizzles, then pours for 5-10 minutes, but we’re going uphill so it’s not dangerously fast and slippery and feels terrific. Dan Ostrowski, a younger guy from Kansas City (whose last name I learn because he’s miraculously in the video montage they show at the awards ceremony the next day) is leapfrogging with me, and tells me I’m looking strong, and I pick up the cadence, and he says “THAT’s what I’m talking about.” Man, does that help. Temp is in the 80s but I don’t feel overly hot inside the helmet visor.

But at about mile 85 or 90, I start feeling queasy. Poetically, just as I start to unravel, the tape unravels on one of my handlebars. By mile 90 I’m accepting that I am not going to do match the 6-hour ride I did in Mt. Tremblant.

Finally, I’m finishing the 112-mile ride. Less cheering (other than the fiercely loyal TriLatino crowd, waiting for their teammates) — almost hitting the curb at the hairpin turn just before getting back into town. Yep, I’m tired. I later learn (because I’m only looking at the watch for feeding times) that I finish in 6:33 = 16.7 mph average, slower than I had expected, but all that I could do today.

I take over 11 minutes for T2, between putting on shoes, learning that passion fruit-flavored Skratch drink that’s been in the sun doesn’t just get hot, it FERMENTS (so I dump it and make another flask of the stuff with the powder I brought as backup), going out for sunscreen, going back for another bathroom break…

Finally, I start the run.

Debi said I was required, which now felt “allowed,” to run in zone 1 HR for the first 4 mile. Honestly, I am ready to quit after 4 miles. But I’ve spent so much time training, so much money getting to this race, so many people are tracking me. I remember what Ziv Abramowicz had texted me on Friday, “if you slow down, know that I’m yelling at you” – and somehow that helps: the hell with anyone who says I’m too slow, this is all I can handle today, but I will not DNF.

And I suddenly remember that I’m part of the Hastings High School science project of Ali Manly, who has those of us in the Hastings Running Group reporting our average cadence, so I try to pick up my cadence on the second loop (not speed, just number of steps) and damn, it feels better and sustainable. I still keep stopping at every rest stop, indulging in water and fruit and a pretzel (ugh! So dry!) and coke (ugh! So bubbly!), and maybe I could minimize the stops and shave off 15 minutes from what is looking like much more than the 4-hour marathon I had wanted but walking feels so good…

Back to the higher cadence “run”, and there’s a younger guy lying on his back on the outbound side who sits up as I pass him, on the way back there’s a guy around 50 sprawled on his stomach and they’re getting him an ambulance, and some white-haired guy a little later on a stretcher… so, maybe my “giving in” to what my body can do today is the smartest thing I’ve done in a while. At the turnaround, the heavy guy sitting in a chair says “you have to finish this run in 5 ½ hours”, and I misunderstand him: I think that whenever we start the run, we have only 5 ½ hours, later realizing he meant that’s how long we have until midnight, but it inspires me to walk less and run more because if I walk the whole way I might not make what I think is the cutoff and, hey, it would be nice to finish in less than 5 hours, I can do that I think.

And I’m walking the long hill by the ski jump, and on the hill into town some spectator says “this hill can’t beat you” and I say “that’s why I’m walking it, I’m in control of this hill” and there’s the out and back along Mirror Lake where I had thought my swim was going to make for a great race and the downhill towards the 1980 Olympic speed skating oval is glorious and I’m in the shoot and cross the last beeping sensor (there’s been one virtually every mile to make sure we don’t cheat!) and the famous Ironman announcer Mike Reilly calls out those roaring words, “Mark Kaufman of Hastings on Hudson, New York: You. Are. An. Ironman!”

I don’t even look at my results until I talk with Rachel, over an hour later (after sitting in the athlete eating area, staring into space and gathering strength to get my stuff up to my car – safely parked a few blocks away, but up up up a hill next to the Crown Plaza Hotel).

And I finally learn my final time: 13:03. The run in 4:58. Not what I planned, not what I wanted, but I realized: I just completed an Ironman. AND I’m 25/172 for my AG, and suddenly delighted. Because once again, you never can tell during the race that you’re actually doing relatively well. Even though official results deduct the 35 guys who started but got DNFs (Did Not Finish), I’m including them, thank you: they all trained their butts off, too, and thought they could do this, and tried as best they could.

Matt Russell, after winning in 8:27. “Tears were shown.” Copyright 2019, Bill Logan

Matt Russell, going up up up to his hotel after the awards ceremony — wearing a lei, because he’s going to Kona

AND, George Koefler? Who took 2nd Place for AG when I took 3rd at the Devilman Olympic Tri this past May, and said hello when we racked our bikes on Saturday? He came in 45 minutes after me at this race. When I saw that, I realized: he’s a great athlete (man, watching him run at me in May, returning from the out and back …) but he was set back by this tough course and the heat, too. And, just recognizing that even top competitors, my peers, are humbled at this race, that makes me feel better. Tough course, we’re getting older, we do what we can.

Next race, I want to approach the triathlon like I approach playing saxophone: it feels amazing to make music. I want to be thrilled to be racing and pour my heart into it and leave nothing behind on the course. But this race, this was what I could do, and I’m okay with that. And I finished an Ironman.

New Jersey Devilman Olympic Triathlon – May 5, 2019

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little victories.

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

And…

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

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

Ironman Florida 70.3 – April 14, 2019

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God.

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

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

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

Sleepy Hollow Half Marathon – 3/23/2019

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

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

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

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

Derek Alcon, who won the race in 1:10:12 (5:22 min./mile). Now, THAT’S running.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And: no injuries! (Though I pumped my arms so hard, my pecs still hurt three days later….) Now, onto Florida 70.3 (Half Ironman), in three weeks… same distance run, plus the swim and bike… Um, hooray? Yes. Hooray!

Terry Ryan Memorial 10k – 11/18/18

Ok, so it’s just a 10k, and our very local, 17th Annual race, starting at the high school my kids attended and that I pass every day to commute to NYC, but I still want to talk about this race. Because it’s the first one I’ve completed since early May!

Broke my collarbone the end of May; threw out my back in September (note to self: don’t rush the kettlebell workout; respect the cannonball); tried to do an Olympic distance tri two weeks later but simply could not run.

Back got better, trained up a bit, and I really had no idea how fast I could run – because of the disrupted season and a less than stellar half marathon in the spring and of course the passage of another year. “Getting older,” I think it’s called.

So I do my warmup and strides, and I’m at the starting line with LOTS of little kids in the front (visiting from another school where Ed Beglane is the principal, eager to do the 5k), with two of the Killer Bunny Runaways Team, guys who run together three days a week.

With Ned Towle and Amish Kapadia. Guess who doesn’t like the team name?

And we start, and I can’t help but laugh at all these kids!, a lot to dodge, and my buddy Dietmar plows ahead, short sleeves dark blue shirt and steady bounding until he’s gone from sight (he takes 1st place for 40-49), and another guy Daniel in a lighter blue running jacket and baseball cap (he takes 2nd OA), and somewhere way ahead is a bright blue sweatshirt (turns out it’s my local, annual nemesis, James- with whom I’ve swapped places on the age group podium every year)

The day before, I ran one loop of the course, and now that I’m racing I’m running a lot harder but it feels solid, panting but solid, and I’m still smiling (which both Coach Debi and Juan had told me was good for running). I can’t help but marvel at this little woman in bright orange zooming past me and I’m in the middle of and ready for the long hill up Broadway until we turn left at the nursing home (get a shout out from Lisa and Greg) and glorious downhill to Tompkins, left and up up up, there’s Rory directing traffic, and those back roads by Dietmar’s house aren’t so bad the first time, and the .3 mile straightaway back to the school (I had measured it during yesterday’s run).

And the next loop of course is harder but for once I’m not wishing I could stop, this second loop ain’t so bad, up Broadway again and past Lisa and Greg again and it’s hard work and even though I’m not looking at my watch I know this not as fast as I’ve been in the past. But this is The Best I Can Do Today, and truly accepting that is terrific. The season of no-racing is over.

Suddenly at Mile 4 1/2 my left calf cramps up, and I had felt this at the end of the prior day’s workout, and if this were the beginning or middle of the race season I would stop to avoid compounding the injury, but NO, I’ve been sidelined by injuries all season!, this is my last race and I am going to do the best I can, and I’m hobbling through it, feels a lot slower but ends up being the same pace as the prior uphill mile, and some guy with a gray beard (my AG?) and wearing yet another shade of blue is running behind then beside me and I will NOT let him beat me, I want that podium more than he does (if I can’t catch the bunny ahead of me I will run away from the monster behind me) and I find the juice to sprint harder, and I hear Rachel shout my name and I FINISH.

Results: 43:53 (but to be honest, it’s really 5.9 Miles/9.5 km; 17 years of the same, short course; so it’s 7:26 min/mile avg.). 10/64 overall. 3/12 age group (meaning, 50-59); a tiny bronze medal, hurray! I never even see James Cochrane’s face until the race is over – so, this year, he takes 1st in AG.

Glad to confirm that I can train at 9:00+ minute per mile, and still race at sub-7:30s. Not my fastest – actually, my slowest – but the fastest I could do today. Great to run through my l’il town and see folks I’ve known for years. A satisfying finish to an interrupted season.

Long Island Half Marathon – May 6, 2018

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

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

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

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

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

Sleepy Hollow Half Marathon (3/24/18)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(With Ralph Miccio, guardian angel on a bicycle)

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

But somehow a great race.

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

Queens Half Marathon, 11/18/17

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Terry Ryan Memorial 10k – November 12, 2017

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

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

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

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