Phish at Madison Square Garden, Dec. 30, 2017

Ah, Dec. 30.  The date on which I have seen Phish more than any other.  

It was the date of their first Madison Square Garden show ever (12/30/94) and subsequently, returned for 10 more shows at that venue on that date. Of those, I was at eight.  Plus, there was the New Year's shows at Big Cypress Seminole Reservation in Florida on 12/30 and 12/31/99.

So, yes, Dec. 30 is special to me, and Phish once again lived up to my expectations by opening the show with a classic '90s "Mike's Song > I Am Hydrogen > Weekapaug Groove", complete with the super old-school ending in "Mike's".  I had not seen a "Mike's" opener since 6/16/2012 in Atlantic City. 

OK, so Trey bungled "Hydrogen" a little, but contrary to what '90s purists think, he bungled it a lot back then, too.  He also played it a lot more often back then, so if he blew one or two of them, there were several more that were good.  In 2017, it was the only one.  

Keeping it old-school for a while, not only did the band launch into "Tweezer", but after an incredible jam that had Chris Kuroda doing absolutely stunning visuals with the lights (which were everywhere - on the ceiling, around the sides, in the front, in the back), the song ended with the long-abandoned coda in which the main riff returns (sort of) and the song slows to a halt.  Only this time, the last note ended with Fishman singing his 2016 masterpiece "Ass Handed".  "Kill Devil Falls" reminded us again that 3.0 is just as good as 1.0, but the "Bathtub Gin" that followed was yet another stand-out (with more CK goodness on the lights).

The set could have ended there and I would have been happy, but instead we saw the return of "Brother" (a big early '90s song that only saw six plays in 3.0) - slow and weird; and oddly funky for its 3/4 meter, allowing Page to lay down some interesting grooves on the clavinet. This was followed by "More", the 2016 set-ender powerhouse that made jelly of us all with its positive vibe, happy chord progression and knockout solo at the end.

Damn, that was just set one!  Am I gushing too much?  

It is probably as common and cliche for a second set to open with "Down With Disease" as the first set to open with "AC/DC Bag", but the former is always much more welcome because "Disease" jams can be marvelous things.  This one had everything - over the course of almost a half-hour, it went from energetic to mellow to textured to dark and noisy, and finally culminated with a happy bliss jam (naturally). The fact that one of my favorite 3.0 songs, "Steam" followed was icing on this already tasty, tasty cake.  At the end, the jam got spacey in the best, most literal way possible - the sounds and lights made me feel like we were in a spaceship that was about to blast off.

The sound quality is bad, but you get the idea.

"Light" was probably good, but I was too distracted by the bros in front of me smoking an enormous blunt, with their stinky smoke being blown directly into my face for what seemed to be an eternity, and "Farmhouse" was so mellow that the set seemed to be in danger of falling apart.  Good thing "Run Like an Antelope" was there to save it and finish it off with an enormous climax. 

The "Sleeping Monkey > Tweezer Reprise" encore topped the show off perfectly and no one could have possibly gone home dissatisfied.  The only question now is, what could possibly be in store for New Year's Eve?  

Phish at Madison Square Garden - Dec. 29, 2017

I stayed home and couch toured this one, which offers some advantages (pristine sound, shorter bathroom lines and cheaper beers), but some drawbacks (loss of that electric vibe that comes from being at the show).

A rare "Cavern" opener got things going in an interesting way, especially with Trey cracking himself up while playing with his octave effect during the little solo sections.  He returned to that effect several times throughout the night, so it became kind of a theme of the show.

The rest of the first set was good stuff, with nothing getting too out there - "Blaze On," "555" and "Martian Monster" served their purpose of getting the evening off to a fun start with totally danceable grooves.  I even got off the couch a few times to shake my booty.

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As with the previous night's "Bouncing", "Heavy Things" seemed very up and energetic, and while "I Always Wanted It This Way" also had a sprightly tempo, it did not seem to hang right until the extended jam (which was decent). Though Gloria declared a potty-break for "Ocelot", I stayed with it and intently listened to the interplay (and then complete lack thereof) during the jam.  It was amazing how, when jamming on one or two chords, Mike, Trey and Page can all solo, yet the whole thing can still gel.  Mike was especially doing some tasty licks.  Speaking of Mike, "Destiny Unbound" - once one of those holy grails of rare songs you never get to hear - is now in semi-regular rotation, and that's not a bad thing.  "Walls of the Cave" was the set-ender, and while the burst from the pregnant F# into the B was not as huge as I like it, the climactic jam was pretty darn impressive.

You never know when the big jams are going to come...and when they are not.  In set two, "Sand" was relatively compact (and well executed) and so was "Simple" (a little looser), but the latter made sense because, really, how can they attempt to match the two amazing summer versions that are still fresh in the phans' minds? 

It was "Chalk Dust Torture" that provided the top jam of the night, with a blissed out jam that very much recalled the classic 7/10/99 version in Camden (I was there for that one!). As with last night, the big jams were back-to-back, this time with a fantastic "Ghost", which had a brief I-vi jam that was quite enjoyable.

"Backwards Down the Number Line" can often be perfunctory, but it held up nicely in the presence of the set's heavies. And then there was "Split Open and Melt".  You can read about my bugaboos with this song in previous posts, but I think I have found out one of the main reasons why the dark jams that come out of "Melt" do not seem right, when the same kind of jam coming out of, say, "Carini" registers high on my awesome meter - the problem is that they retreat to it too quickly.  There is no time to dance in the jam section of "Melt" anymore.  They do a few choruses, spend a few measures hitting that characteristic 9/8 and then plunge the damn thing into oblivion.  It is one of the only two songs that really make me pine for the old days.

So, when that ends the set, the encore better be awesome.  Well, we got "Julius", which is the other song that makes me pine for the energy of the old days.  This one was more upbeat that previous clunkers I have seen in 3.0, though, with Page especially swinging it on the piano. 

This show was worth it on the strength of that "Chalk Dust > Ghost" alone, but Dec. 28 is still the winner so far.

Phish at Madison Square Garden, Dec. 28, 2017

If I was not so excited about the first new Phish show in more than three months, in the very same place as the last time I saw them, I would have cried, "Laaaaaaaaame," when the opening chords of "AC/DC Bag" rang out through Madison Square Garden.

Yes, yes, we get it, the song says, "Let's get this show on the road."

Once that was out of the way, the first set showed off some high energy, with faster-than-normal versions of "Wolfman's Brother" (with Page killing it on the Fender Rhodes and a big climax from Trey) and "Bouncing Around the Room" (for which the 20-something girls next to me shrieked with approval) and a super-hot jam in "Tube" (despite a shaky transition into the swinging bridge). The band also brought it pretty hard with "Back on the Train" and funky lil' "Your Pet Cat". 

There were some softer, slower moments, though, with "Roggae" showing up third, which seemed a little too soon for something so laid back, but the song never disappoints these days, so by the end of its 10 minutes (!), it was as enjoyable as any other jam.  Then there was "Waking Up Dead" which falls into the category of what my friend aLi and her husband call "DEMDOM" - an acronym for "Doesn't excite me, doesn't offend me" - despite its extended middle section.  And the set closed with "Theme From the Bottom", which has been growing on me again.  I would not have expected it to be the set closer, but that is why I still love Phish - we can still expect the unexpected after all these years.

Even more unexpected was the six-song second set that knocked out a couple of heavy duty jams, surprising for the first night of the run. 

After the big opening with "Wilson", "No Men in No Man's Land" became the MVP jam of the night - 20-plus minutes of funky, funky jamming and a fantastic key change turn.  You can be damn sure I danced the night away with that one so the back-to-back attack of another huge jam in "Twist" kept the improvisation coming while Chris Kuroda did some beautiful stuff with the lights. The last time we had a "NMINML > Twist" was 8/12/15 at the Mann.  Both that set and this one deserve repeated listens.

Why Trey ripcorded the "Twist" jam when it was still going places and exploring different textures is a mystery, but "Everything's Right" was a joy to hear, with its happy chorus and its I-VIIb-IV chord progression. The jam that followed was thoroughly enjoyable, but not as engaging as the previous two jams, so when an excellent "2001" brought yet even more funk, this set was shaping up to be a disco dance party for the ages. 

Clearly, it was time to end the set, so I figured, "Cavern" or "Character Zero".  Nope.  "Harry Hood" brought another glorious climax to a well-paced jam to close the set.

But the surprises did not end there.  The band came out for an encore with a tightly executed rendition of "The Wedge" and then shocked the hell out of everyone with a gorgeous "Slave to the Traffic Light", plastering the ecstasy face onto every fan in the room.

Picking up right where they did from summer tour, Phish brought the house down yet again at Madison Square Garden.  And it is only night one.

San Antonio Rock 'n' Roll Marathon

Marathon morning, 5 a.m.: A small cup of coffee, an unsuccessful attempt to evacuate the cheese bomb in my stomach and another couple of Tums.  This was going to be a weird race.

Thankfully, I was able to keep my attention on encouragement for Gloria who was running her first marathon. Not that she needed it - she was her usual, confident self.

Parking was a cinch.  The walk to the start was short.  The morning air had just the right amount of cool.  Ideal conditions for race day.  We checked our bags in the Henry B. Gonzalez Convention Center and walked to the start corrals through the adorable La Villita arts village.

Leaving Gloria so we could go to our respective corrals was tough, because now I could only think about the aching blob in my gut.  Another Tums, please.

The course map, if you want to follow along: www.runrocknroll.com/san-antonio/the-races/course/

The race started roughly on time (7:15-ish), with the elites first, followed by the first corral (where I was) about five minutes later.  Within the first mile through San Antonio's downtown, I could feel the urge to vomit already creeping in.  So I took it slow, and hit the first mile marker at around a 7:30 pace.

But by the end of second mile, the wave of good vibes came over me and I started to feel almost good. So while the cheese brick still sat like dead weight in my tummy, my legs felt fantastic and so did my lungs.  I decided that I would focus on those two things and let them carry me along, ignoring the pain in my stomach.

And it kind of worked.  A speaker system was blaring Kiss' disco hit "I Was Made for Loving You" and I sang and clapped along.  We ran past the Alamo and into the north end of Downtown, criss-crossing the San Antonio River, and the entertainment continued with the as-promised bands at every mile - some rock, some country, some folk, but all pretty darn good.

It was a gray morning and I did not feel well, but I managed to smile.
Photo courtesy of Marathon Foto.

This Rock n' Roll Marathon gimmick was exactly what I needed to take my mind off my aching belly, and my miles steadily got faster, bringing down my average pace to around 7:05 by the time I got to the seventh mile marker, where "Rock and Roll All Nite" (another Kiss song!) was being played by a band of kids so young, I do not think their parents were alive when that song came out.

In the eighth mile, things got eerily quiet as we headed onto a tree-line path in lovely Brackenridge Park.  Rounding a turn, loud cheers were audible, but no music, which seemed odd until I came upon a military tribute featuring lined-up photographs of soldiers that had been killed in action, followed by a lengthy stretch of dozens of folks on either side of the path holding American flags.  Quite the moving display.

Out of the park and into the Westfort section of town, I was on a straight shot on Broadway and Alamo Street in the ninth mile when the rain started pouring down.  It came down hard and heavy for about 10 to 15 minutes and then completely dissipated by the time I got to mile 10 on Austin Street in the Healy-Murphy section.

The course had been mostly flat to this point, so the incline of only about 100 feet was noticeable. I had to put in some effort while my gut reminded me that all was not well down there, no matter how much I tried to ignore it.  Spanish dancers on the overpass above kept me distracted as I began the incline, and the enormous mariachi band in Lockwood Park around the corner kept me entertained, but my pace started taking a hit.

With each successive mile on the ever-so-slight incline along the straightaway of Cherry Street in the Denver Heights section, my average pace slowed at least another second (yes, I was doing the math in my head, as usual), so by the time I got to the back half of the course, I was down to about a 7:10.

And it was not about to get better.  With a much smaller field now (the half-marathoners had turned off to the finish), and my tummy in no better shape, it was time to get down to the real work.  Thankfully, the steady decline was a help; and so was the band at Mission County Park playing an excellent rendition of Melissa Etheridge's "I'm the Only One," not to mention the marvelous sight of a drive-in movie theater, something you do not see often these days, not the least one that looks as majestic as this one. 

The leaders, having completed the loop through miles 19 and 20 were coming back toward me and that offered some inspiration, too.  I thought about counting them to get an idea of my place standing, but it would have been no use because the loop was too long and wide, so the runners in front of me were not always visible.

Besides, I was still slowing down tremendously and each mile became a lot more labored.  Plus, this was the only section that lost the Rock 'n' Roll spirit.  There was no music until I was passing that band at Mission County Park again (this time playing "Man in the Box" by Alice in Chains - that's some repertoire!).

Back on the same stretch of road from miles 15 through 19, all I could do was grin and bear it while I counted down the miles to the home stretch. And I mean that literally - I was grinning ear-to-ear because the runner's high is real and it makes me giddy, even when it hurts.  Plus, it stretches my face, which opens my nasal cavities and allows me to breathe better.

A guy with a thick drawl said to me from the sidelines, "Hey, at least yer smilin'.  Some of them other dudes up there look like to-tal shee-it."

Trying desperately to dig deep for the final three miles (all on a slight uphill), I came up with very little as I passed the most polite kid in marathon history, calling me "sir" as he offered encouragement. I assured him he would end up passing me before the finish, and when he eventually did, he offered me more good tidings and called me "sir" again.

The final two miles were in a lovely neighborhood south of Downtown.  Many residents were out on their driveways and lawns cheering for us (as they had through many of the residential areas), but my pace was slowing drastically, as each mile got closer to eight minutes. I had a watchful eye on the clock, which was just shy of three hours at the 24th mile marker.  The last two miles had to be done in less than eight minutes apiece to get a Boston qualifier (3:14:59) - the gold standard of marathon running. Normally, that would be an easy mark, but the sun was now out, the humidity was closing in, I was about ready to vomit again.  This would not be a sure thing.

Back on Alamo Street for the home stretch, my body was desperate to shut down (and throw up), but I only pushed it harder.  It felt like I was putting the kind of sub-6 short-race energy into my final sprint, but I was probably only mustering up low-7s at best.  I tried to rally past the guy in front of me and he matched my effort, so for the last quarter-mile I was neck and neck with him, grunting and grimacing and trying like hell to shake him...or just get to the damn finish line and let the pain be through.

Neck-and-neck with that guy, I am in agony and he is sailing in smoothly.
Photo courtesy of Marathon Foto.

Crossing the finish line, I looked for a clock.  No clock!  How can there be no clock at the finish line.

Finished!  Where the hell is the clock?
Photo courtesy of Marathon Foto.

Having hit the 25th mile marker at around 3:06, I was mostly certain I came in BQ territory, but I had no idea of my finishing time (3:13:21) until much later, when I received the tracking text message while I was hanging out with my cousins (who live in town) near the finish line, waiting for Gloria.

Gloria, in blue, coming in to the home stretch and looking great. 

Photo by Tracy McCray.

Video by Tracy McCray.

When Gloria did finally make it to the end, I was overwhelmed with happiness, seeing that look on her face, knowing she was feeling that same feeling I felt a decade ago...but that is her story to tell (and I hope she will tell it here).

So happy and proud of my new bride upon completion of her first marathon!

Photos by Tracy McCray.

And she was proud of me, too.

After seventeen marathons, that newfound excitement is gone for me, but the thrill is still there - and so is that feeling of absolutely needing to persevere; to run all 26.2 miles, regardless of training injuries, weather or even terrible pre-race food choices.

Can you see the pain behind that smile?
Photo courtesy of Marathon Foto.

How to ruin a marathon with one meal

The text message from my cousin Tracy, at 1:19 a.m., read, "Oh no!! Authentic San Antonio Mexican food is not something to mess with.  I hope you are ok."

Gloria and I love Mexican food; and while Tracy's statement may be true, we were under its thrall on Friday and Saturday.  At home in Parsippany, NJ, we have some excellent Mexican food places (Maddy's Mexican Grill!) that are far more authentic than (and superior to) the big chain restaurants. But this was San Antonio - less than 170 miles from the Mexican border - in the state that put the "Tex" in "Tex-Mex"!  How do we resist the call?

Let us not forget, also, that we had spent a day and a half in the car and we were craving any kind of real food. So, on Friday night, we ate outside on the deck at a fast-casual Tex-Mex place (a small franchise called Mama Margie's), enjoying the beautiful, balmy weather; and we planned on leaving it at that. On Saturday, we traversed the River Walk, drank a few beers, and had a light lunch at an Irish pub, planning to eat a traditional runner's meal of pasta at a local Italian restaurant.  But since you find about as many decent Italian restaurants in San Antonio as you do decent Mexican restaurants in Parsippany, we found ourselves being pulled back under the spell of burritos and enchiladas, landing at El Rodeo, a seriously authentic little joint. 

The instant I finished my bean and cheese enchiladas, I was filled with regret.  There was a bomb of not-easily-digestible food in the pit of my stomach and it was not going anywhere anytime soon.  It felt like there was a pound of cheese in my tummy, and I was suddenly reminded of how the three slices of cheesy pizza before the Fortitude for First Descendants Marathon led to my worst marathon ever, which involved vomiting in the 26th mile. 

So after a couple of failed attempts of trying to induce vomiting (a horrible experience, even in failure - how do bulimics do this??) and a general freak-out that included a little bit of crying and a lot of whining, I finally accepted the fact that I had to live with my boneheaded choice of a pre-race meal.  While Gloria slept peacefully (I was so jealous!!), I slipped out to find the nearest convenience store where I could buy some Tums at 1 a.m.  

But first, I had to send a message to my cousins to let them know not to expect me at the finish line in 3:03.  So at 1:12 a.m., my message to Tracy that prompted the aforementioned reply read:

"I'm readjusting my finish goal and expecting to finish closer to 3:30. I made some bad food choices and now my tummy hurts, so it's going to be a tough race. 😭"

After finally finding a 24-hour convenience store, I got back to bed around 2 a.m., hoping against hope that the Tums would do their thing and relieve my aching stomach.

Marathon XVII

When approaching my 17th marathon, I took what I had learned in the past 10 years,  modified it to fit my needs and trained wisely.

On one hand, coming off of a difficult first half of the year - with injuries before and after the extraordinarily difficult Red Rock Canyon Marathon and decent comeback showings at the Storm King 10K and Franklin Lakes half-marathon - I was hesitant to push too hard and cause another setback.

On the other hand, at age 43, with 10 years of distance running behind me, I know that my window for a PR is rapidly closing and the time might be nigh to go for it, especially because Gloria expressed interest in running the Rock and Roll Marathon in San Antonio, Texas, which has a mostly flat course.

So I hedged my bet. I played it safe by forgoing a Hal Higdon Advanced training program - which calls for speed work and hill sprints - in favor of the Intermediate 2 program, which focuses squarely on mileage and occasional pace runs, but modifying it to make it a little more challenging. Instead of occasional mid-length pace runs, I tried to do as many runs as possible - short and long - at or near my 7:01 PR pace.  In addition, I added mileage to two of the three peak weeks, maxing out my longest run at 22 miles, instead of 20; with a total of 54 miles for the week, instead of 50.

It worked perfectly. For the past two months, my short runs (three to five miles) averaged at a 7:01 pace, My mid-length runs (six to 11 miles) averaged out at a 7:10, and my long runs (13 to 22 miles) averaged at a 7:17. 

This put me in the position to at least attempt to run a PR race (3:04:41). But it also kept me in check, knowing that I could back off during the race if it did not seem within my reach.  This newfound ability to readjust my goals sensibly mid-race would help me achieve a quality result (like in Maine and Myrtle Beach), rather than going for broke and crashing into the wall (like in Utah and New Hampshire).

By the time Gloria and I packed up the car and began the 1,800-mile drive on Thursday from Parsippany to San Antonio, I was brimming with confidence.