Phish at Madison Square Garden, Dec. 30, 2015

Phish is back at MSG for a New Year's run and guess who's going to all four shows!

Dec. 30 is the anniversary of the band's first ever MSG show in 1994. I was there, and still vividly remember being on the floor for that excellent show. I was also at 12/30/98, 12/30/2010, 12/30/2011, 12/30/2012 and 12/30/2013 at the famed venue, not to mention 12/30/99 at Big Cypress.

Needless to say, Dec. 30 is a special date for me when it comes to Phish and tonight's show was up there with the best.

On paper, the first set seems pretty standard, but the opening combo of "Sample in a Jar" and "Free" reminded me of the fall 1995 shows to which I've been listening, though with a tighter, more punchy version of the latter than any of those old shows. "Simple" rocked, "Back on the Train" chugged along with considerable verve, "Waiting All Night" and "Roggae" chilled nicely in their mellow grooves, and "555" brought some funk. The set-closing one-two wallop of "The Dogs" and "46 Days" destroyed any notion that this was some kind of standard first set.

That only set the stage for set two, though. The flub in the opener "Chalk Dust Torture" (Fish stopped the jam but Trey kept going) led to a totally different jam in a new key and with a dark tone out of which sprang "Ghost", which abruptly segued (crashed) into a brand new upbeat number called "Can't Always Listen", which crashed right back into "Ghost" (reminiscent of some of the summer's song sandwiches). The non-stop set continued with a fantastic "Waves" and an even more fantastic "Bathtub Gin", accompanied by some beautiful lighting.

"Mike's Song" was a treat with a good jam that kept the dancing pants on, but the move into "Bouncing Around the Room" caught almost everyone off guard. "Bouncing"? In set two? In place of "I Am Hydrogen"?

Let the haters hate. I still like "Bouncing", and though the end part was a little rough, the transition into "Weekapaug Groove" was excellent. 

The surprises didn't end there. Somehow, Phish pulled off a startling but dead-on segue into what might have been the most majestic "What's the Use" ever, only to create another sandwich by bringing back "Weekapaug", complete with an "Auld Lang Syne" tease to remind us that this is, indeed, the New Year's Run and it is on. This sentiment was punctuated by a hard rocking, super-climactic "Character Zero" encore.

Friends, this is only night one.

Set list:

Set I: Sample in a Jar, Free, Simple > Back on the Train, Waiting All Night, 555, Roggae, The Dogs > 46 Days

Set II: Chalk Dust Torture -> Ghost -> Can't Always Listen -> Ghost -> Waves > Bathtub Gin, Mike's Song > Bouncing Around the Room > Weekapaug Groove -> What's the Use > Weekapaug Groove

Encore: Character Zero 

Vacation running in Florida

Some people like to take a break from running when on vacation.  Not me.

Sure, no one wants to set an alarm every morning when spending time relaxing and away from work, but I look at vacation running as a golden opportunity to see new sights and spice up what would normally be the same old runs through the same old places.

Two weeks ago, I was on vacation in Cape Coral, Fla. With temperatures in the mid-70s each morning and peaking in the mid-80s, it was warm and wonderful (if a little humid).

On Monday, I did a tough 40-minute tempo run on the bike/pedestrian paths of beautiful Sanibel Island and then cooled off in the calm waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

Tuesday was a four-mile easy run through some Cape Coral neighborhoods, using Jaycee Park on Beach Parkway as the turnaround point.

Wednesday's three-miler was supposed to be at marathon pace (7:01, hopefully) but ended up being at half-marathon pace (6:18).  Yikes.  I guess I felt too good and relaxed!

Thursday was rest day, and Friday was supposed to be an easy eight-miler, but again, the totally flat land of Cape Coral, the warm Gulf air, and the generally awesome feeling of not having been at work for a week made it a lot closer to a marathon pace run (7:10).

On your next vacation, I hope you, too, decide not to take a vacation from running!

Passaic Valley Rotary River Run 5K

The math was swirling around my head. If I could run the Passaic Valley Rotary 5K as fast as I ran the first three miles of the Ashenfelter 8K, just three days earlier, it would not only be an enormous PR, but it would be a monumental breakthrough - a sub-18-minute 5K.

This being my hometown race, which I have run five times before, I know the race course extremely well and can use the big uphill in the second mile and the huge downhill at the end of the race to plot strategic moves. And since the starting line is less than two miles from home, I could sleep a little later and not worry about travel issues.

But there were variables. First, even with two days of complete rest, would I be recovered enough from the epic five-mile PR? Also, would the weather be as cooperative?

Unfortunately, the answers seemed like "No" and "No" as I stood in the light wind and 39-degree cold at the start line outside of the Little Falls Recreation Center on Paterson Avenue, in the front of the approximately 100 people running this 12th PV Rotary race, with legs that still felt worn from Thursday.

No matter - the goal here was to finish my comeback season stronger than ever. Even if could capture just a little of that Ashenfelter magic, I would best my 18:24 PR from last year. But the thought of a sub-18 was an undeniable force in my brain, so at the go command, I bolted out with all of my might northbound onto McBride Avenue and into the left turn on Lackawanna Avenue in Woodland Park.

I was in third place after the left turn on Riverview Drive as I passed the first mile marker at 5:41, which was dead-on perfect for the ultimate ideal sub-18 goal. The hill in the second mile would inevitably slow me down, so an eight-second cushion on top of the Ashenfelter pace was necessary.

Before the big hill, I began to overtake the second place runner. He put up a weird fight by speeding up to prevent me from passing and leaning into me, almost literally pushing me into the middle of the street. But by the time we got to the hill, I shook him loose and bounded up with all my might.

There was not a lot of might left, though, as my legs started to burn with fatigue. Clearly, the back-to-back races were too much. The left turn onto Union Avenue at the crest of the hill was a relief, but I could already sense there was precious little gas left in the tank. When I reached the second mile marker on after the left turn on Walnut Street, I knew my pace had taken a hit, but was throroughly dismayed by the 6:09 on my watch.

Math swirled again - I needed to hit the third mile in 5:36 in order to make up that time to finish at my record pace from Thursday. I needed a 5:34 in order to hit that elusive sub-18 5K finish. Those times are achievable for me on fresh legs in the first mile on a good day, but this situation was none of those three things.

Since this was the very last mile of an incredible racing season in which I trained harder and ran faster than ever before, there was only one thing left to do: Push it to the limit. All the way. No holds barred. Nothing held back.

No matter if it hurts (it did), or the potential of injury (very real), this mile was the culmination of everything for which I strived this year. And it was flat for the first half and downhill for the end.

I came damn close, somehow pushing out that last 1.1 miles at a 5:44 pace. So even though I saw the clock turn over into the 18-minute range as I barreled toward the finish, there was not a shred, not an inkling, not an iota of disappointment as I crossed the line in (a distant) second place with a new, almost improbable, PR of 18:08 and an average pace of 5:51.

When I first started running at age 30, the thought of a sub-19 5K or a sub-6 pace was unimaginable. This autumn, at age 41, I did it with startling regularity. I have come an incredibly long way and have so very much of which to be proud. If this turns out to be the peak, I will be nothing short of satisfied.

Ashenfelter 8K Classic, Glen Ridge, NJ

The doubt began to creep in at the starting line, where more than 3,000 runners were packed onto Ridgewood Avenue outside of Glen Ridge High School for this odd-distance race (8 kilometers is 4.97 miles, so why not make it a five-miler?). It boggled my mind that they could somehow pull this off for 16 Thanksgivings, as I stood squeezed in toward the front of the start with slower people and children that, despite the half-hearted warning from a race volunteer, were definitely going to be trampled. This was one thing I did not miss about large races.

The start gun fired with no fanfare and we were off...or rather, standing still, then walking, but as soon as I hit that starting mat, it was time to run regardless of the fact that I had to plow through a tangle of people that should have known better than to be in the front.

Thankfully, after that, everything went about as perfectly (and amazingly!) as I could have imagined. Doubt erased.

Zooming north on the straightaway of gentle inclines and descents on Ridgewood Avenue for the first mile and a half, I settled into what felt like a comfortably hard pace - enough effort to keep the speed up, but conserving enough for the next half hour of work. I figured I was right on my goal track of 6:01, so when I hit the first mile marker at 5:42 I was pleasantly surprised.

Easing back ever so slightly around the right turns onto Sunset Avenue and Forest Avenue (to head south again), I was sure that I evened out my splits to get back on goal pace (the motto is still "Run the Race for Which You Trained"), so it was another shocker that I nailed a 5:50.

Because it is such a huge race, there are other runners around at all times. Maybe it was a desire to keep up with the guys around me or at least to keep anyone from passing, but I managed to maintain that pace and still feel like I was not fully exerting myself. At the three-mile marker on the right turn on Osbourne Street, leading us to a left turn to get back on Ridgewood Avenue southbound, the clock read 17:30 as I posted a 5:48 for that mile. Even without the 10-second lag between the gun start and my chip start, I was in serious PR territory. If it was a 5K race, I would have actually - unbelievably - come in under 18 minutes, a feat beyond my wildest dreams.

However, with two miles to go, I had two options. I could eat my cushion, cruise the last two miles at a more comfortable 6:15 pace and still come in under 30, besting my 30:10 from last year's Sunset Classic (even adjusting for that .03 mile difference). Or, I could throw the motto out the window and embrace this amazing moment and push it to the limit.

Well, of course I chose the latter, even though I started to feel some fatigue by the time I passed up the start/finish before the southern loop for the final mile of the figure-eight course. My legs were getting a little heavy and my stomach was beginning the sickly churn that happens when I push too hard for too long. But I mentally swept it all aside knowing that, with a 5:53 for the fourth mile, this race was mine.

A left turn down the hill of Washington and a quick right onto Hawthorne Avenue led to a right on Maolis Avenue and back uphill to return to Ridgewood Avenue for the northward home stretch. That hill could have sapped everything I had in the tank, but somehow I powered up that thing with all my might and managed to catch my breath enough to shift into that extra gear for a sprint to the finish, passing two guys in the process and watching the clock flip into the 29-minute range.

I finished with a 29:06 on the clock and was handed a Top 100 finisher mug (69th place!). I was hurting, no question, but I felt strong and undeniably proud of my accomplishment. My chip time ended up being 28:56 - I was aiming to break 30 minutes and I managed to break 29. Adding those 10 seconds back to adjust for the extra .03 miles, I absolutely destroyed my five-mile PR by more than a minute. Insane.

More incredibly, that comes out to a 5:49 pace - much, much faster than any 5K I have ever run, yet I did it for two miles more. 

When I realized that, my next thought was "If I can recapture this energy in three days, I will be able to PR at my hometown race, the Passaic Valley Rotary Run..."

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I will be running the Ashenfelter 8K race in nearby Glen Ridge, N.J., a huge Thanksgiving tradition that I have avoided throughout my running life because I never really liked big races.

But now, after the problems I had with my last few small races, I decided it is time to graduate to this race that will see around 2,000 people running the approximately five-mile distance.

There will be nothing even close to a win, not even in my age group (these cats are fast), and that is just as well.  It is perfect, in fact, because this race will remind me why I train hard in the first place.  It is not to beat the guys around me; it is to beat the clock.

I have put myself through some intense training this past month.  Some of my training runs have been faster than my 5K races.  If I can capture that energy tomorrow, I will be looking at a PR (6:01 pace or better).

No medal, no prize, just the satisfaction of knowing that at 41 years old after an injury that caused me to be sidelined for months (and it still has not been the same), I can still set personal records.  That is the best award - nay, reward - of all.

Here is hoping.

Summers of 1995 and 2015

Phish had completely solidified its sound by the end of 1994 and spent the summer of 1995 letting the whole country know it, playing a whopping 22 shows in 15 states from June 7 to July 3.  Prior to that, on May 16, they played a one-set benefit show in which they introduced 10 new originals and covers to their repertoire (see how the "Wingsuit" Halloween set in 2013 was not completely unprecedented?).

From that show and throughout the tour, most of the songs that would eventually comprise the following year's 'Billy Breathes' album were debuted and tweaked, if not perfected.  Listen to these early versions of "Theme From the Bottom" for a slightly different arrangement; hear how "Prince Caspian" started as a three-minute ditty with no coda; notice the undeveloped middle section to "Free"; and how "Taste" began only with the verse and chorus sections we know today.

In addition, future rarities "Ha Ha Ha" and "Spock's Brain" were introduced, the latter given to the audience to decide upon a title from a multiple choice that also included "The Plane" (too obvious) , "The First Single" (too cute) and "Is Real" (too conceptual). Eventual B-side "Strange Design" also made its first appearances in exactly the form we know it today, but completely different from the version that ended up on the "Free" single in 1996.

As for covers, the uplifting gospel of "Don't You Wanna Go" made for a great set opener; "I Wanna Be Like You" from 'The Jungle Book' served as the wackiest Jon Fishman lead vocal tune yet; and "Lonesome Cowboy Bill" foreshadowed a Halloween set that was still three years away.

The jams of summer 1995 continued the looseness and exploration of the previous year, but because these guys were reaching new heights of playing and listening, the jams got less noisy and dense, and more pointed and musical while still stretching out long, far and wide.

Phish seemed to also be acutely aware of the music that was released in June on its first live album, 'A Live One'. The "Tweezer" on June 17 veered toward the "Montana" track, while the vocal jam in "You Enjoy Myself" on June 19 recalled the guitar sounds of the album's "Tweezer" track from Fall 1994.

Both summer 1995 and summer 2015 ring with the sound of a cohesive Phish soaring to new heights and expanding its repertoire.

In 2015, new songs like "Blaze On" and "No Men in No Man's Land" became instant classics (though I'm sad that the lovely ballad "Shade" didn't get very far) and the jams in the older tunes included such mind-blowing peaks that it's hard not to notice the band has truly perfected what has come to be known as the "bliss jam". For specifics, read any of my posts from the eight shows I attended.

The closing three-night stand in Colorado continued the Labor Day tradition (now in its fifth year) of Phish bringing the party, the power and the funk to Dick's Sporting Goods Park. By the end of the third show, no one cared anymore that the band broke its pattern of playing a show or set in which the first letter of each song title spelled something. And when the enormous, almost-third-set final encore that started with a rousing "Tweezer Reprise" featured non-stop rarities of "Harpua", "After Midnight", "NO2", "Keyboard Army" (first time since 1995), "Your Pet Cat", "Once in a Lifetime" (first since 1996), and the debut of the perfect closer, "United We Stand", the fact that it spelled "THANK YOU" was mere icing on the cake.

That encore was an instant classic which will be talked about for years. As will Magnaball. And the Mann. And Summer 2015 on a whole. Just like Summer 1995.

North Jersey Haunted Half Marathon

I had been training extremely hard throughout October with the intention of running the Trenton Half Marathon on Nov. 7, but other plans got in the way. Not content with scrapping my half-marathon plans altogether, I came across the North Jersey Haunted Half on Oct. 24 - two weeks before my previously planned race date. 

Since returning from my injury, I have been what feels like amazing shape despite some continued aches in my back ranging from mild to moderate. But coming within seconds of my 10K PR was a clear sign that I was moving forward.  Pushing to the next distance level seemed like the right thing to do.

But could I cut two weeks off a training program from which I had already cut the first few weeks (when I was training for the United Way 10K)?  I was going to darn well try.  And at least this race, in Pompton Plains, was close to home.

Arriving at Greenview Park was a cinch and parking was no problem.  It was a bit chilly (38F) at 7:30 a.m., so I stayed bundled up during stretching and a light jog. When the race started at 9:30, I blasted off to an early lead and my swift pace warmed me up nicely.

A warning to anyone planning on running this race: There is no sideline support (fine with me) and very few markers and volunteers indicating where to go (not so fine, considering my past experiences).  

The first half of the race was lonely out in front and I was constantly filled with the dread of making a wrong turn or not making a required turn.  The only thing I could do was run straight until directed otherwise. 

This turned out to be a pretty good tactic on the long straightaway of the first two miles along West Parkway.  With the second and third place runners well behind me all I could do was focus on my stride and hitting my marks - a 6:30 pace would be great; a 6:27 would put me in PR territory.  

I hit the first mile in 6:07.  Damn.  Too fast.  That will surely come back and bite me later.

Yet on this pancake-flat course in my new Saucony Hurricane ISO shoes, I seemed unable (if not unwilling) to slow down.  The next few miles along the Boulevard were all between 6:10 and 6:20, as I was almost hypnotized by the fast and steady whap-whap-whap-whap of my feet on the pavement.

Then came the turns.  Lots and lots of turns.  Another warning: the entire second half of this race is filled with turns - more than there should be with so few volunteers - mostly along the same streets.  It was dizzying.  Thankfully there were some signs pointing to the turns, but almost no signs or volunteers indicating not to turn. Every intersection presents an option, and runners shouldn't have to even think about it. There were several moments when I truly wondered if I was still on the course.

Managing to slow down a bit into the 6:20s through the ninth mile I found myself back on West Parkway where I began, hoping that I was going the right way.  After Mile 10, there were no more mile markers, freaking me out even more.  All I could think about was that I was heading toward a huge PR and one bad turn could ruin it.  Again.

My worst fears seemed to come true - again - at the intersection of Boulevard and Ackerson Avenue where I had turned during the sixth mile.  There were three volunteers standing at the corner talking to each other and none of them were looking at me quickly coming their way.

"WHICH WAY???" I screamed, startling them as I closed in.  One of them pointed into the turn onto Ackerson.  I did not know that he was dead wrong until I came around the bend and saw the 5.75-mile checkpoint I had passed earlier.

I was off course - AGAIN - and really, really, really pissed off.

The race director came running out with a megaphone (this spot was geographically close to the finish), telling me to make another turn which would put me back in the right spot.  With my adrenaline pumping from my PR pace and the frustration that this had now happened for the third time in my last four races, plus not knowing how far this detour had sent me way off, I started cursing up a storm for all of Pompton Plains to hear.

It turns out that the block down which I turned was parallel to the proper block (Mandeville Avenue), so the difference in distance was negligible.  But when I passed the finish line (in the opposite direction) I wondered again if I was in the right spot (I was) and had to startle another couple of volunteers into pointing the way to go.  I had no idea where I was anymore, and I was looping around some of the same streets for the third time.

I was confused. I was angry.  I was fuming.  And I was sprinting.

When I finally came back around to finish for real, the clock said 1:22:06.  That came out to a 6:16 pace.  Though I was not wearing my Garmin, that was consistent with my pace at the 10-mile mark, so I trust that my detour neither added nor subtracted too much time.

That means I nailed my first half-marathon PR in four years and I won my third race in as many months.

Strangely, the runner behind me, Anthony Parga, must have missed a turn somewhere and cut off part of the course, because he crossed the finish line before I did. So the results page shows his name on top, but even he admitted afterward that he knew I had actually won. He got it backward, though, thinking that I ran too long instead of him running too short.  There is no way that he was running in the 6:20s in the first half and then sub-6 in the second half.

Plus, the directors awarded me with the winner's trophy, so they knew, too.

So I will accept the 1:22:06 as a proper time and, yes, I will damn well accept my win.

Again.

Cresskill 10K - the aborted race

Having participated in 74 races, I understand how difficult it must be to stage a race, especially in busy, overpopulated Northern New Jersey. The logistics must be staggering - obtaining the permits, getting police cooperation for road closures, hiring a timing company, promoting the event, getting shirts made, securing food and drink, requesting volunteer help, having the course certified by USATF, and making sure the whole thing goes off without a hitch.

I also understand that races that are still in their infancy will always have some bugs to work out. 

However, there are certain things that absolutely, positively need to be addressed and perfected before any race starts, and the most important one is the need for clear, proper signage and/or volunteers to ensure that runners stay on course and in the proper direction.

In this blog, I have chronicled several occasions in which this particular inadequacy has caused major problems (American Legion Leonia 10K, Fortitude for First Descents Marathon, Sprint for Soldiers 10K), but none have caused a complete abortion of the race until yesterday's Cresskill 10K.

Even before the signage became an issue, there was a huge problem at the start: the 5K participants - including the walkers - were lined up about 50 yards in front of the 10K runners.

Take a minute and picture that in your head: Fast 5K runners in front, slower 5K runners behind them, then walkers, then 10K runners. You read that correctly - fast runners (albeit very few) behind a gaggle of walkers.

Needless to say, we were practically mowing everyone down at the start of the race. Things were starting out badly and it would only get worse.

Sometimes, the worst positions to be in are the front of the middle or the back of the front, where you are too far back to see the leaders, but too far ahead to be chasing anyone. This happens to me often with small races, yet I still foolishly signed up for this very small 10K on a whim. My second-best ever in Newark last month felt like a springboard to a potential PR and my training has been spot on for it.

Fellow 10K runner Rob Albano (the amazing runner that I met two years ago at the Pompton Plains Apple Chase 10K) managed to push though the throng and get out in front of even the 5K racers and I followed quickly behind. By the first mile marker, Rob was out of sight and I was in second place with no one behind me. When the pace bicyclist caught up to me, he assumed I was in the lead and he stuck with me. I found out later that Rob had managed to hook up with a police motorcycle that guided him through the course.

That was lucky for him, but unlucky for me. 

The signs were easy enough to follow for the first two and a half miles, during which I was on track for a PR. The bicyclist and I then came to a somewhat confusing intersection with two signs - one with straight-up arrows that said "All runners" and another pointing left that read "10K return". My instinct was to follow the "all runners" sign, but the cyclist and the volunteers on the course all told me to turn left.

Though it was later determined that my instincts were correct, I followed the instructions given to me and turned, only to come upon another intersection with no signs at all. The bicyclist was as confused as I was. He told me to turn right, but after a few blocks we both realized we were off course.

My race was blown. I told him to point me back to the start/finish ar the rec center and to go back and check for other lost runners.

Upon returning, I found the race director, Julie Balay, and told her the 10K got screwed up because of the signage problem. She seemed to get defensive (and who could blame her?) and sternly told me about how that was impossible and that she put those signs there herself that morning. I tried to explain that even the lead cyclist got confused and informed her that there may be lost people out there, but she seemed stuck on the idea that I was challenging her ability to direct a race.

Thankfully, the cyclist got back and vouched for me. Still, when I requested a refund, Ms. Balay was not immediately accommodating, claiming that the race shirt alone was worth the registration price and that I should understand that "it's supposed to be a fun event".

Trying my best to hide my incredulity, I explained that I did not come for the shirt and I would gladly give it back. Plus, fun (and charity) aside, I paid $35 to post a time on a USATF certified course. The race was promoted as such and, through no fault of my own, I did not get what I was promised. All of the intense training that built up to that race was blown away because the signs were not crystal clear and the volunteers were not well-enough informed of the course. I certainly was not going to let them keep my 35 bucks.

Ms. Balay finally relented and, thankfully, her attitude shifted from negative to positive, which went a long way toward making me feel better. In addition to agreeing on my refund, she asked that I come back next year, assuring me that the start-line issues would be worked out and the course problems would be addressed.  In the weeks since, we have had a pleasant exchange of emails about what happened, how to pay my refund, and what can be improved for next year.

In the end, Ms. Balay understood my plight as a runner, just as I understand her plight as the race director. There is nothing more important in racing than that dynamic, because in the end, if a runner pays to participate in a certified race rather than go for a typical Sunday run, there is an agreement between the parties involved - runners follow the rules of the race and directors give runners a well-organized chance to compete.

Otherwise, as happened last week at the Cresskill 10K it was lose-lose - Cresskill Public Schools did not get my money and I did not get an official race time - possibly a PR - posted.

Incidentally, the incredible Rob Albano, with the benefit of the motorcycle, won the race and beat his goal of 32 minutes. Kudos, Rob!

United Way 10K for Healthy Kids on Sept. 13

I won this race!

This time, I say that with all the pride and sense of accomplishment that goes with a true, bona fide victory.  

Arriving on the empty streets of downtown Newark early on a Sunday morning was quite pleasant. Despite everything you have heard about the city, downtown can be a visually appealing place, especially when you remove the people and the traffic.

The United Way 10K for Healthy Kids was a relatively small affair - only about 170 participants, but there was excitement in the air at Military Park. People were genuinely jazzed about the race and United Way gave us the feeling of involvement in a good cause. In addition, the police motorcycles leading the way along the well-marked course provided a security in knowing that all we had to do was run - no confusion, no losing focus while searching for signs or volunteers to point the way.

The first two miles consisted of a loop around the area of the New Jersey Performing Arts Center. I intentionally stayed back behind the group of lean young men whom I was certain would top the leaderboard along with the woman that kept pace just in front of me. 

But I had trained hard and very specifically for a pace in the 6:20s and something in me said that I was not running up to speed. In a daring move, I pulled ahead of all of them before we even reached the first mile marker.

Powering up the brief incline, I figured that one of those guys would overtake me on the downhill, so I kept up a decent pace as we came around to the starting line area to begin the second loop, which took us farther out for the next three miles. One guy came up alongside me but fell back after a minute or so.

Normally, I do not enjoy being in the lead.  It has only happened a few times and it freaked me out each time. I am much better at chasing down my opponents than setting the pace.  This time, I could feel my pace. I was not wearing a watch, but I knew I was hitting my goal. All I had to do was chase those police motorcycles.

Somewhere in the third mile, a kid on the side of the road said, "I knew that guy was going to win!" This startled me because we were not even halfway done and, really, who looks at *me* and thinks "winner"?

With that kid's words ringing in my ears, I pushed the pace with boosted confidence. Unfortunately, the steep hill at the end of the fourth mile was a spirit crusher. There was no keeping pace up that monster, so the best I could do was shorten my stride, motor up the thing, and try to make up the time on the downhill. 

Cresting the hill, my quads were burning and my lower back was starting to feel the stress. I extended my turnover as much as possible while still recovering from the uphill.  

Then my legs suddenly took over. As I pushed my way to the five-mile mark, it felt like my legs were disengaging from the rest of my body and working on auto pilot, carrying my top half with neither input from my brain nor attention to any other aches and pains. 

Just...keep...chasing...the...motorcycles.

At one point there was a sharp enough turn that I could turn my head slightly to see how close on my heels the second-place runner was. What I saw was nothing. Not a soul. Holy moly, I really had this race in the bag. Now it was only a matter of competing with myself and I was sure I was on target with that, too.

Coming around for one final loop around Military Park and into the finish line, I gave it everything I had left as I watched the clock tick past 38 minutes. Not only had I beaten my goal of a sub-40, I was coming in under 39.

38:40, to be exact. And I won! 

As I like to do, I stayed near the finish line and cheered almost every other runner as they all reached for their own goals. Everyone's race is important to them, and they deserve the support whether they are fast or slow, advanced or beginners. 

After the race, the vibe in the park was as wonderful and pleasant as the weather. There were post-race stretches, with United Way members and the mayor of East Orange getting involved in the fun, photos being taken, and a general air of a good time in a city that, sadly, is not known for that.

Plus, did I mention I really won? I broke the finishing tape and everything! Sure this field did not have any elite runners or even big-shot amateurs, but I won fair and square and it was the thrill that I did not feel at the previous race. 

Do not get me wrong - the Sprint for Soldiers was a good experience, but difficult terrain, course length discrepancy, and poor signage that led to me falling far short of my goal time made it hard to accept as a true win.

On Sept. 13, though, I got a taste of the success that comes with hard training, perseverance, and certainly some luck - not only winning the race, but running my second best 10K ever (of seven total) as a 40-year-old recovering from a back injury. That is what I call an achievement.


To view the photos of the race, go here: https://anthonyb.smugmug.com/Events/2015-Run-for-Healthy-Kids/

Look at photos #128-135 for pics of me at the starting line.

Photos #192-197 show me pulling into first place in the first mile.

Photos #519-526 show the big win!! 

Phish at Magnaball, Watkins Glen, NY, Aug. 23

I managed to get up and get out for a 14-mile run on that Sunday morning, outside the concert grounds and through the incredibly hilly surrounding town. It was brutal work, but nothing could shake the great vibe of the weekend.

When I finished, it was another bucket shower and then off to the concert grounds to ride the Ferris wheel, have another cocktail at the M Lounge, enjoy some food, and soak in the atmosphere for one final day.

Phish came out swinging again that night. Although none of the first set performances will make the Phistory books, it was a relentlessly solid and often rocking set that included an incredible "Maze" and the rare "Buffalo Bill".

The second, final set of Magnaball (and my last of the tour), was chock full of big jams ("Down With Disease", "Mike's Song > Fuego > Twist > Weekapaug Groove"), and  beauty, too ("What's the Use", "Dirt"). It also had some wild surprises: it was the third "Use" that month, "Scents and Subtle Sounds" was played for only its third time since its previous performance in Watkins Glen in 2011, and "Martian Monster" sandwiched the set, opening and closing to the crowd's delight.

The "You Enjoy Myself" encore should have come as no shock, but there was still a "wow" factor as the band kicked it up and knocked it out of the park as fireworks blasted to close out this truly epic weekend.

In the end, as we drove home the next morning, it was clear to us that we had witnessed - no, EXPERIENCED - a Phish festival that will forever stand with the best of them. We are lucky that we will always have the memory and the mp3 download to get us through the next several months without Phish.

For me, it was eight shows in four states in two weeks. I could not think of a better summer vacation.

Full set list:
Set 1: Punch You In the Eye, Buffalo Bill, A Song I Heard the Ocean Sing, Limb By Limb, Waiting All Night, Theme From the Bottom, Maze, The Line, Stash, Reba, I Didn't Know, Character Zero

Set 2: Martian Monster Down with Disease, Scents and Subtle Sounds, What's the Use?, Dirt, Mike's Song, Fuego, Twist, Weekapaug Groove, Martian Monster

Encore: You Enjoy Myself

Phish at Magnaball, Watkins Glen, NY, Aug. 22

Saturday morning, I woke up remarkably rested after spending the night outside in my sleeping bag and having the sunrise wake me up.

First stop, 9:30 a.m. yoga at the Studio X tent. After that stretchy hour, I ran six miles throughout the venue, checking out the various campsites, with some folks cheering me on as I passed.

Then it was a bucket-shower (with my battery-operated shower head), a few beers at camp with my buddy, Marshall, and off to the afternoon set which began with a cloud-clearing "Divided Sky". We staked out a good spot in the center but far enough back to avoid the big crowds.

Once again, the set list was a veritable mix tape of new and old Phish tunes and everything in between: the slow groove of "Camel Walk" is one of the band's oldest songs; the try-clapping-to-this "Mound", the ever-danceable "Tube", the super-funky "The Moma Dance", and the rocking "Sample in a Jar" repped the 1990s; the too-infrequently-played "Army of One" and one of my favorites, "Undermind", provided a dose of 2000s; plus the brand new Mike Gordon tune "How Many People Are You?" and Page McConnell's "Halfway to the Moon" kept things current. Plus, the Los Lobos cover "When the Circus Comes" brought back memories of the Great Went. Trey Anastasio's solo band song "Scabbard" and the raucous set closing classic "Run Like an Antelope" provided the highlights. And this was all during daylight.

There is simply not enough praise I can heap onto the second set of this show.

I love when "Wolfman's Brother" is either the set opener or closer. In this case it was the former, with a thick and climactic jam that set the stage for the greatness to come, though there was not much about "Halley's Comet" that would indicate as such. But "46 Days" was unleashed and that usually means the rock energy gets cranked. So much so, in fact, that the subsequent "Backwards Down the Number Line" (which can sometimes fall flat - see Merriweather) kept the good times a-coming. When "Tweezer" came out of the gate, it was ON, and the set took off into the stratosphere.

As "Tweezer" raged on, the jam somehow worked its way back into a "Number Line" groove, with blissful major-key climaxes. Seventeen minutes later, as "Prince Caspian" began, I could hear the echo of my old friend Rob Johnson who, at the Big Cypress festival in 1999, moaned and groaned about the song.

I hope Rob heard this version. There has never been anything like it. Not only did it go on for about a quarter-hour, but it broke free from its I-IV shackles and ventured far, far out. And just as "Tweezer" found itself in a jam befitting the song before it, "Caspian" somehow managed to get into a huge "Tweezer" groove, ebbing and flowing and providing still more climaxes - enough, in fact, to end the set. It was epic.

The third set began joyously with "Meatstick", but why does no one in the crowd do the dance anymore? Don't they know that 16 years ago at Camp Oswego we were trying to break a world record with thousands of people doing it? Now, you can't even find a dozen.

During "Blaze On" I began moving up into the crowd from the nice, peaceful open area in which I had been with Marshall to meet up with some other friends. It was so difficult moving through the throng that I did not get to appreciate what was probably a great jam on this excellent new tune. I found Meredith and John in time for the over-played but crowd favorite "Possum". "Light" (always reliable for a good jam) followed a sing-along "Cities", but I had enough of the thick crowd and moved back to where the view was not great, but the sound was good and the dancing room a-plenty. The latter proved beneficial for the funk of "555" and the "Boogie On Reggae Woman" encore, as well as the rock climaxes of the set-closing "Walls of the Cave" and the show-closing "Tweezer Reprise". All this, plus a beautiful "Wading in the Velvet Sea", made for another excellent set in what was easily a tour-highlight show.

And still, the day was not even done.

Like many others, we suspected that the festival tradition of late Saturday night sets would continue at the enormous 175-foot wide drive-in movie screen on the side of the concert field, so Marshall, Meredith, John and I hung out at the nearby M Lounge tent, which had transformed into an all out disco dance club. We ate, we drank, we danced on the table to Prince (OK, only I did that). At 1 a.m., the band, reportedly behind the screen, began the spaced-out, hour-long, free-form, songless jam while the screen showed trippy, colorful images that included vague but recognizable shots of the band, and the huge letters atop the screen that spelled "Magnaball" flashed and glowed. Though it is tough to beat the superb Tower Jam ("The Great Gag in the Sky") from the It festival, the "Drive--In Jam" came close, both musically and visually.

At around 2 a.m., the four-set show containing five and a half hours of music, and a non-stop day that began (for me) 18 hours earlier, had finally concluded. Sensory overload - in all the right ways - is a hallmark of Phish festivals. This particular Saturday had everything. There was not a moment that was not filled with good times, great music, and friendly faces. It is almost unbelievable that there was still another day to come.

Phish at Magnaball, Watkins Glen, NY, Aug. 21

The sun was rising on Friday morning as we pulled into the entrance of Watkins Glen International raceway with no traffic and no hassle. That is, until they told us the ticket scanners were malfunctioning and we had to wait awhile.

Ah well, nothing to do but crack open a brewski and wait.

Sure, it was 6 a.m., but Marshall and I had been awake for almost 24 hours - he because he had traveled from New Orleans and his flights were delayed arriving in Newark; and I because I worked on Thursday, then ran, then picked Marshall up at the airport after midnight. Somehow, we managed to stay awake throughout the four hour drive upstate. It was beer o'clock for us.

Scanners finally working, we were led to a campsite that was close to the entrance, but 3/5 of a mile from the concert site. We set up our tent, downed another beer, and took an hour nap. We were too excited to get into the festivities.

Inside the concert ground, there was already fun to be had. I checked out the Phish version of "Family Feud" featuring fellow concert-goers as contestants in the Studio X tent; "Glurt factory" art installation; "Monkey Maker" performance art; cornhole beanbag tournament; and the Labratory, an artwork/hangout area with a second level deck from which to view the goings on.

I also found the M Lounge where deliciously boozy specialized cocktails were being served (I had the Cuddly But Muscular).

By the time Phish opened with "Simple" I was slightly drunk, overtired, and super-excited. They came swinging with bustouts - the first "The Dogs" since New Year's Eve and Halloween; the first "The Man Who Stepped Into Yesterday" and "Avenu Malkanu" since Jones Beach 2012 (I was there!); and, incredibly, the first "Mock Song" since its debut at the Gorge in 2003. We grooved to "Free"; chilled to "Roggae"; got a double dose of 'Rift' with the title song and "The Wedge"; and sang "Happy Birthday" to Eliza Anastasio for her 20th birthday.

All of that would have made for a perfect set, but then Phish destroyed us with what was arguably one of the best performances of "Bathtub Gin" in the song's 26 year history.

And that was just Set One.

Once again swinging for the fences in Set Two, Phish brought out heavy hitters like "Chalk Dust Torture", "Ghost", "Harry Hood", and a "Slave to the Traffic Light" closer and knocked them all out of the park. They were firing on all cylinders, crushing it over and over, bring blissful peaks, some "Rock and Roll" Velvet Underground style, yet another funky version of the new "No Men in No Man's Land" and a lovely "Waste".

By the last strains of "Slave", the temperature was in the upper 50s, but I was bundled up ("like it was December," according to my friend, Meredith) because my body was shutting down after being awake for 41 of the previous 42 hours. I could barely stand as the "Farmhouse" encore gave way to an ecstatic "First Tube" to end the show.

Marshall and I beelined it to the campsite and promptly passed out - he in the tent, me under the stars. There was partying and revelling and noise and even some fireworks going on around us, but we slept like bricks. A good night's sleep after a long day of work and travel followed by a well spent day of good fun and excellent music. The sensory overload was just beginning.

Phish at Merriweather, Aug. 16, 2015

Never miss a Sunday show, they say.

In this case, not quite. It never really took flight. After the previous four powerhouses, this one fell flat.

That is not to say it was bad. As I said in a previous post, Phish has gotten back to a point at which even the bad shows are good shows.

And when it was good it was great. The second half of the second set was mostly switched on with a well-jammed "Twist", a solid "Fuego", two surprises with a mid-set "Shine a Light" and "Sneaking Sally Through the Alley" and a stellar "You Enjoy Myself" (finally!).

Yet the first half of that set never quite hit the mark despite sure things like "Down With Disease" (bungled from the start), "Slave to the Traffic Light", and "Light".

The first set also seemed promising but, unlike previous shows, stayed firmly in first-set-land, with well-played but standard versions off tunes that had more potential. "Undermind" provided my favorite moment for its rarity and funky dance-a-bility.

It was definitely the weakest of the five I have seen so far, but certainly worth a listen down the road.

Full set list:

Set 1: Golgi Apparatus > Undermind, Julius, 555, Nothing, No Men In No Man's Land, Stash, David Bowie > Possum
Set 2: Down with Disease[1] -> Slave to the Traffic Light > Light -> Twist, Shine a Light, Fuego > Sneakin' Sally Through the Alley > You Enjoy Myself
Encore: Backwards Down the Number Line

Phish at Merriweather Post Pavilion, Aug. 15

OK, so it figured that the day after I pointed out that the first sets have been far from bland or ordinary, the opening of tonight's show was rather non-descript with standard (but good!) versions of "Simple", "Glide", "Roggae" and "Limb By Limb". "Buried Alive" and "McGrupp and the Watchful Hosemasters" were nice treats, but things stayed grounded until Halloween 2014 bust-out "Your Pet Cat" got sandwiched in a "Big Black Furry Creature From Mars", a portent of things to come...

...but not before a misplaced "Horn" led into the excellent new song "Blaze On" and an exemplary "Run Like an Antelope".

Segue lovers got their fill in Set II with "46 Days -> Bug", and "Steam -> What's the Use (gorgeous) -> Steam -> Piper (best jam of the night) -> Tweezer -> NO2  -> Tweezer", between a "Halley's Comet" opener and a sub-standard "Walls of the Cave" closer.

"Sleeping Monkey" included some Trey chatter and "Tweezer Reprise" brought down the house with its high peaks and bass bombs.

You do not have to love segue-fests to appreciate the high-quality second set (and end of the first), but it helps. And Phish keeps on bringing the energy and surprises as we gear up for Magnaball.

Phish at Walnut Creek, Raleigh, NC

In which the band effectively washes away the stink of the last time they were here (6/25/00, the worst show I had seen until Coventry) and continues to destroy all doubts about whether they can still bring it. Consistently.

As with the Mann shows, Phish also reminds us that the first set is not merely a warmup. Even my least favorite song ("Yarmouth Road", which everyone else seems to like), and a mellow oldie for which I still have a soft spot ("Bouncing Around the Room", which everyone else seems to dislike) sounded fresh and spirited.

There were none of the new songs tonight, but the slowed-down funk version of the "Llama" opener suggested that anything old can be new again, even if "Chalkdust Torture" didn't quite break open the way it did last week. But do not ever count out a first-set "Maze", as it rocked the house tonight. "The Moma Dance" funked, "Waiting All Night" chilled, "Devotion to a Dream" popped, and "Lawn Boy" lounged. A fiery "Wolfman's Brother " gave way to surprise set-closer "Suzy Greenberg".

The second set was very different from Wednesday, but no less powerful, though the less-than-stellar "The Wedge" opener was no indication. However, things picked up with the endlessly danceable "Golden Age" and "Tube", a precise and flowing "Reba" and a hard rocking "Mike's Song". The segue into "Ghost" was weird, but the song ended up being a highlight, with Chris Kuroda's light show doing visual wonders.

"No Quarter" was a crowd-pleasing treat (and it sounded huge) and "Weekapaug Groove" would have ended the set nicely. But the most rocking, face-melting "First Tube" I have ever heard knocked it out of the park.

The "Farmhouse"  encore fell flat, but it was followed by an insanely kick-ass "Fire" (and so what that Trey screwed up the words to that and "Golden Age"?)

Maybe it was a case of "had to be there", but I think something very special went down tonight in Raleigh.

Phish at the Mann, Philadelphia , Aug.12, 2015

Solid, exploratory, consistent.

Throughout tonight's show those were the best words to describe Phish's performance.

If the first set consisted only of "Stash" and "It's Ice", with thier ebbs and flow, Set I would have earned that description. But a tight "Free" and a thoroughly danceable "Birds of a Feather " served to drive the point home. Elsewhere, "The Line" and an extended "Cities" jam kept things totally interesting.

The second set was not for the uninitiated - five songs with twisting, turning jams throughout a classic yet fresh "Bathtub Gin" ("blew my mind," said a nearby reveler), the new "No Men in No Man's Land" (get it? No MANN's land?), and a hairy "Twist", which went so far off that when Trey returned to the riff it was surprising and a bit jolting.

"Scents and Subtle Sounds" featured the intro part (lasr played at Super Ball IX in 2011?), which was crazy enough, but no one could have possibly forseen the deep, dark jam that followed. And to top it off with a beautiful , happy "Harry Hood" and a "Loving Cup" encore provided about as much joyful bliss for which one could ask.

Night Two of the Mann was my second show of this tour, and while very different than the previous night, it proved that Phish is capable of back-to-back greatness. More to come on Friday in Raleigh!

Phish at the Mann Center, Philadelphia, Aug. 11, 2015

This show had almost everything for which one could ask.

For some exceptional jamming, how about that "Ghost", or maybe the "Slave"-like coda to "Fuego". You want some deep funk? Look no further than "Sand". Bust outs? May I direct your attention to the third "Skin It Back" since 1988? You say you like neat segues? How about the way "Martian Monster" wove in an out of "Skin"?

In between, things were kept interesting with a tight, focused mid-first-set "David Bowie", preceded by a quiet "Dog Faced Boy" and followed by "Farmhouse". "Axilla" and "46 Days" rocked the joint to no end; "Backwards Down the Number Line" and the "Julius" encore brought the big climax.

There were no clunkers here. "Scent of a Mule" showcased Fishman's Marimba Lumina, "Taste" and "Vultures" were tighter than ever, and opener "Crowd Control", "2001", and "Cavern" kept the good times a-coming.

The only things the show lacked were any of the brand new songs, but they will come soon enough.

Fresh off several face-melting Midwest shows, Phish returned to the Northeast for the first of my eight shows this year in a big way. If tonight is any indication, it is going to be one hell of a tour.

Sprint for Soldiers 10K

I won this race.

I wanted to get that out of the way first because it was one of the many things that did not go the way I had hoped or planned. That was just a happy accident. Not much else went well for me during this race in Tarrytown, N.Y., on the grounds of the beautiful Lyndhurst Mansion. 

I know what you are thinking - "Daniel, are you really going to complain about a race that you won?  What more do you want??"  (That is pretty much what my mother said.)

Truth be told, what I wanted was to run the race for which I trained (that old mantra again).  I wanted to run hard, give it maximum effort and be proudly spent at the end.  I wanted to feel confident and triumphant as I increase my race distances post-injury.  No PR necessary, just a positive feeling that I got something good out of the hard training I put into it.

Instead, on this hot, sunny Aug. 2, I was faced with a challenging course (mostly trail with four big hills), a small field, minimal course markings, and bare-bones staffing. 

Because there were so few runners, I planted myself at the front of the start line.  The beginning was too easy - downhill on a paved path...but then, what was that turnoff with the cones to my left? Was that where the course went?  Did I already blow it? 

The guy behind me saw my hesitation and shouted, "Keep going straight!"  Knowing I was going too fast down the hill, I pulled back a bit and let the kid pass me.  Figuring he knew where he was going, I followed his lead.  After a steep, crushing uphill, the kid led us off the paved path and behind a building to the dirt trail. 

Prior to the race, I jogged part of the course, so the one thing I knew was location of the first mile marker at the start of the trail, and somehow, we had missed it - we entered the trail too far into it.  I knew something was wrong, but what could I do at that point?  I continued along the rocky, uneven trail toward the turnaround point and hoofed it back along the trail and past that first mile marker we missed earlier, followed by an uphill that led back to the paved path. 

The kid and the other guy near us all continued to the finish - they were doing the 5K.  I had no idea of my pace (there were no other mile markers), I was alone in the lead for the second loop, my spirit was crushed by the wrong turn that would provide an inaccurate result, my legs were burning from those two big hills, my mind was psyched out at the prospect of having to do those hills a second time, and the fatigue I felt was more like the 20th mile of a marathon rather than the usual muscle-shredding feeling of short races.

Going much slower on the second loop, I was at least able to appreciate the view of the Hudson River on this clear day and followed the paved path up the hill, in *front* of the building, around to the dirt turn-off that led to that first mile marker and back on the trail.

Pushing through miles five and six along the trail, I was fading quickly. I knew I should go faster. I thought I COULD go faster. Instead, I grunted and groaned as my back ached and my legs refused to increase their turnover up the last hill and into the finish, where the clock said 38:15.

Knowing that was wrong, I found the second place 5K guy - he had a GPS watch and said we accidentally sliced off 3/10 of a mile with that wrong turn. So with some extrapolation, I'd say my time was around 40 minutes, which is about a 6:30 pace. That is far, far off from 6:17 for which I had trained.

So yes, I won. But it felt hollow because sometimes the only person with whom I compete is myself; and in that race, I lost.

But I am not disappointed. I gave it my all, continuing to push past my injury. Plus, with the money going to the Wounded Warrior charity, it was for a good cause.

I guess my mom inadvqrtently had a point. What more could I want?

The Final Forty & the BOP'ers

Earlier this month, while looking for reviews and results of the Cranford Firecracker Four-Miler, I stumbled upon what has become my new favorite running blog: The Final Forty by Jennifer L. Nelson.

Ms. Nelson's story is awesome and inspiring.  To put it briefly, she was overweight and she decided to do something about it, so she started running (and kickboxing and Taekwondo).  Having shed almost 100 pounds, she aims to lose forty more in order to be at her optimum healthy weight.

What makes her story so interesting and humbling to me is that she is a runner for all the right reasons.  

I will be the first to admit that during the past decade, my pursuit has been to get faster and more competitive, pushing for PRs at almost every race, gunning for the medals - age group and, eventually, overall.  Every race became a new struggle with harder work.  Somewhere along the line, I might have lost touch with the reason I started in the first place. 

Jennifer Nelson's blog has reminded me of the reality of what we do as runners and why we do it - we aim to be healthy, fit and happy.  Nothing more is needed to reap the rewards of running than to simply do it.  

The Final Forty also serves as a reminder of the determination of the back-of-packers.  If you think they have it easier because they are running slower, think again.  I finish a 5K in 19 minutes and am already cooling down, drinking water and chowing on a banana while people like Ms. Nelson are just starting the third mile.  

How about marathons?  I can do a 20-miler on a Sunday and still have most of my day ahead of me.  BOP'ers are out there for several hours, toughing it out.  I can not imagine running for five hours on hot days like we have been having here in New Jersey.  Yet they do it.  With pride. 

This is why, whenever possible, I try to stay at the finish line at all of my races and cheer for everyone else, right down to the last runner.  The struggle of the person finishing in 35 minutes is no different than the struggle of those who finish at the front.  We are all there for the same reason.  We are all runners and we all deserve to congratulate each other on our efforts, because only we really know what it takes. 

New Year's Runs: 1994 and 2014

With summer tour finally upon us, let us take a step back to look at where Phish last left off - the New Year's run - and contrast it with that of 20 years earlier.

In the mid-1990s, my friend aLi told me that even Phish's weakest shows were still the sonic equivalent of someone giving her flowers.  That is to say that Phish shows at their worst were still wonderful.  I can not help but agree - Phish shows of that era were in the same league as pizza and sex.

Five years after the shaky 2009 reunion, Phish has finally gotten to the point where that is true again.  Some 2014 shows were exceptional and the rest were still excellent representations of this unique and still-evolving band.  So, OK, stacked against 7/13/14, 7/27/14, or 10/31/14, none of these last four shows match up.  But it puts a smile on my face to think that this is the worst thing I can say. 

There were moments, large and small, that make these shows worth a good hard listen.  New Year's Eve is the winner of the bunch. The triple play of "Ghost -> Theme From the Bottom -> Cities" contain jams that veer far away from their main structures while retaining strong musical sense and groove.  It is the band doing what it has done best ever since the colossal "Tweezer" from 2013 reminded everyone that it can still jam and, arguably, better than ever.  Placing Halloween jams such as "Martian Monster" and "The Dogs" in such prime New Year's Eve spots as Set II closer and first song after midnight, respectively, shows the healthy faith the band has in these new pieces - just as "Fuego" rang in 2014 a year before - and with good reason, too.  "Tweezer" in its classic placement as a Set III powerhouse does not disappoint, even if it also does not approach the aforementioned Tahoe version.  But even the shorter songs include on-point mini-jams, soaring solos and (save for a few flubs) perfect execution.

Still, where was the spectacle?  On any other night, a giant inflatable likeness of Jon Fishman appearing over the crowd after the band does an a cappella rendition of "Dem Bones" would be hilarious and the talk of all the phans.  But to ring in the new year, it fell a bit flat compared with the MSG years.

The shows that followed offered countless reasons to be glad, though.  After a killer first-set-ending "Bathtub Gin", set II of 1/1/15 offered a party sandwich of ragers like "Twist", "Piper", "Run Like an Antelope" and "Rock and Roll" as the bread, with beautiful ballads as the meat.  Though nothing else in the first set of 1/2/15 soared like "Stash" did, the second set was a knockout. From its "Mike's Song" start to its "Walls of the Cave" end, it was climax after blissful climax.  And 1/3/15 includes what might be the best "Split Open and Melt" in years (faint praise) and one of the most inventive and exploratory versions of "Down With Disease" since the previous New Year's run (high praise), the latter only to be marred by the poorly executed ripcord crash into "Light" (which ended up being a fantastic jam in its own right, as it usually does).


None of this excellence, though, can compare to what had transpired 20 years before. The 1994 jams were getting wilder, woolier and longer.  There was frenetic energy in songs like "Melt" and "Julius".  Listen to any 1994 "Run Like an Antelope" and you hear a band that can hardly contain itself.  Sure, none of the ever-expanding versions of "Tweezer" had the deep musicality of the recent era - but the band was willing to pull out all the stops and try everything they could as they explored the breadth of what a rock and roll band can do when given the chance to really stretch out.  December 1994 represented the culmination of the leaps and bounds of that year.  

As great as 12/28/94 is (with the "Weekapaug Groove" that goes every which way, ending up in a darkly bizarre minor key rendition of "Little Drummer Boy" before seamlessly nailing its major key ending), it could only hint at what was to come the following night.

Though the distinction of "best show ever" changes often for me, 12/29/94 is always at or near the top.  And even if it is not the best show, it does contain what is undoubtedly the undisputed greatest rendition of "David Bowie" in the band's history.  If nothing else, 12/28/94 is my go-to show for when a non-phan wants to know what all the fuss is about.  The second set alone does every single thing that a truly top-notch Phish show can do - extended composed pieces ("Guyute" and "The Lizards"), a crazy long and unbelievably improvised jam that includes both weirdness and blissful peaks ("Bowie"), comic relief ("Cracklin' Rosie"), a faithful rock cover ("Good Times Bad Times"), bluegrass ("My Long Journey Home"), and a grand ending ("Sleeping Monkey").

Yet even that was all to set the stage for 12/30/94, the band's (and my) first show at Madison Square Garden, which began with an extremely focused and tight first set and followed with a second set of long and twisty versions of "Tweezer" and "You Enjoy Myself" - two of their heaviest hitters - played with only a short bluegrass tune ("Blue and Lonesome") in between.  And if you think that Fishman's vaccuum cleaner was just noise, check out this "Purple Rain" for the most musical vac solo ever.

Yet even that was no match for the extravaganza on 12/31/94 at Boston Garden. In Set II, "Maze" got pushed to extreme heights and length; "Mike's Song" jammed its way into and out of the rare "Buffalo Bill", and into the as-rare (and final performance to date of) "Y-Rushalayim Shel Zahav"; and "Weekapaug Groove" includes an "Auld Lang Syne" tease before finishing its seeming nonstop ability to make you boogie. As Set III started, they cut off "My Sweet One" to bring in the wackiness. The giant hot dog descended over the arena crowd and nothing would ever be the same again - the standard for New Year's Eve spectacle was set.  All future NYE gags would be compared to the hot dog - even the later two that featured the crazy prop again (1999 and 2010). You do not ever forget the image of a band playing "Auld Land Syne" while flying above the crowd in a giant frankfurter - even if you were not even there (and, sadly, I was not). But one look at any photograph of the stunt and you realize that this was not and would never be a typical rock and roll band.

An hour later, after the soaring set-ending ecstasy of "Slave to the Traffic Light" and the rocking "Simple" encore that featured one last reprise of "Auld Land Syne", it was the end of something truly special that unfolded over the course of four nights.  This is what Phish at its glorious best can do.

Even when it is not at that paramount peak, Phish can provide a singular, incomparable experience.  1994 and 2014 were a lot alike in that way.  And it certainly gives us something to which to look forward as summer tour begins tonight.

Cranford Jaycees Firecracker 4-miler

At the start line, I had a sinking feeling that this was a very, very bad idea.

At the finish line, I was elated to have finished as well as I had.

In between those two moments was a high-quality, well-organized race with more than a thousand participants.  The course was mostly flat and the finish in beautiful Nomahegan Park was lovely. The post-race festivities were fun, entertaining and enjoyably silly (I won a pint glass for being the guy with the best legs!).

As I continue to work my way out of an injured state, I find myself in some sort of racing shape, but not close to what I was doing seven months ago.  The June 5K was a good start.  Rather than try to get faster in the short game, I decided to increase the racing distance.  Thus, this four-miler - a rare racing distance that I crushed with a 23:50 last year.

My initial confidence led me closer to the front of this start line, but while we waited I started having serious doubts.  It forced me to go out fast, for better or worse.  

I passed several people in the first mile, which seemed mostly downhill.  Was I going too fast and heading for a blowout?  My modest target was a 6:20 pace.  First mile - 6:06.

Whoa.  Do I reel it in or keep pushing?  Mile two also seemed mostly downhill and though I told myself to dial it back a bit, I was intent on catching up to the guy in front of me who might have been in my age group (in retrospect, I think it was Manuel Pereira, 10 years my senior).  Second mile - 6:12.

After I passed Mr. Pereira, I could feel him at my heels for the next mile, so I kept the pressure on. I was feeling it, though, and this thing was only halfway done. Plus, I suspected we would have to go uphill at any moment.  

However, it never seemed like the altitude we re-gained was equal to the decline we experienced.  Or maybe I was more trained than I thought.  Third mile - 6:14. 

As it often goes, I was near the leading female (20-year-old Emily Rabenold) throughout the second half.  By the end of the third mile, she was right behind me and gaining fast.  I knew this because women on the sidelines always cheer and for (and clearly point out) the first woman.  Those cheers came closer to me as we pressed on.  Once on the trail that led to the park and the finish, she passed me.

I am glad she did because With less than a half-mile to go, I now had one mission - stay on Ms. Rabenold and beat her.  Before she passed, I could feel myself fading.  My legs were fatigued and the ache in my back was setting in.  Now, I had a reason to push through the pain and kick hard.

As I furiously chased her along the park path, I passed a teenager (Drew Patterson) and a fellow 40-year-old (Jeff Staple). But in that final stretch, she had enough of a sprint to stay in front of me - by only 7/10 of a second.  Still, had it not been for the chase of Ms. Rabenold, I probably would not have won my own age group.  Fourth mile - 6:08.  Thank you, Emily, for being my rabbit!

Total time - 24:40.  Average pace - 6:10 per mile.  Overall placement - 28th of 1,124.  Age group placement - first of 72.  Not so much a comeback as a spirited return, but I will take it and move on to a 10K in a couple of weeks.