Prelude to the TCS New York City Marathon

I said I would never do it. I could not understand why people would want to go through the expensive, logistical hassle of showing up at 6 a.m. on a November morning, waiting four hours to run with 45,000 other people through the streets of New York City. It did not make sense to me.

I did not get it.

The morning was cold and windy. I dressed as if it was winter, bundled up with old sweaters, gloves and a scarf that I would discard when the race was underway. The other folks in Montclair, dressed only in their race clothes, looked at me like I was a weirdo as we piled onto the buses and shared in the bagel breakfast provided for us by the Essex County Running Club.

But once we got to Fort Wadsworth on Staten Island, bundling up turned out to be the wisest move. Thousands of people waited to be called to their corrals on the Verrazano Bridge as the minutes ticked slowly by; some shivering, others huddled for warmth, some (like me) wrapped up in as much material as possible.

At that point, I began my video chronicle of the day's events, which I am in the process of putting together to present to you, so I will say no more...

...except this:

I totally get it now.

The real reason for the pre-race jitters

If there was any doubt before, this removes it. The real reason for my pre-race jitters has nothing to do with the actual running and everything to do with logistics.

The NYC Marathon is, of course, spectacularly organized. But it is still 50,000 people and that means the entire morning leading up to the race is one giant pain in the ass. 

Consider that I live about 30 miles from the start line but I have to leave five hours before my 9:40 start. Or that I'll be in a muddy field (thanks to all that rain yesterday) in cold wind for at least two of those hours. Or that I can only bring certain approved items to said field. Hours of pure discomfort before running 26.2 miles is nobody's idea of a good time. 

And so, I lie awake worrying about that stuff.

As for the actual running, things were looking up for a while. After a couple of tough weeks of slow, worn out running, something clicked and I suddenly felt like me again. On my short runs, I hit my first sub-seven miles since the marathon and all were negative splits. 

My 18 miler on felt so good that I ran an extra mile at the end and still managed to negative split it, too. Granted, it was a 7:59 average pace, but at least I knew I can go the distance again.

But last week was back to the doldrums. My legs felt like lead in the short runs and my painstakingly slow 21-miler along the Patriots Path in Morris County averaged more than nine minutes per mile. 

The rest of the week consisted of three slow three-milers. It is anyone's guess what I will manage to muster today in New York City. 

And really, I do not care. At this point I want to just get to the starting line without falling apart.

Things are not going as well as hoped

Sunday was a beautiful day with mild autumn weather. Perfect day for a long run. The plan: 16 miles on an out-and-back chunk of the Lenape Trail from the end of the rail trail in Verona to Brookdale Park in Bloomfield.

I had previously run this section in the opposite direction, for which most of the trail was well-marked (with the exception of the left turn on Alexander Avenue in Montclair).  The eastbound direction was not as clearly blazed.

Once off the rail trail and heading uphill to Cedar Grove, I lost the trail for a bit, but knew that Ridge Road was dead ahead, so I kept moving onward until I got there. After a short stint on Ridge, the trail hooks through the woods past the reservoir as it continues uphill into Montclair.  For a moment, when there were no yellow blazes in sight and it was a lot harder to figure out where to go. While searching for some yellow, my leg got wrapped up in a downed branch which took me down, lacerating my leg in the process.

I felt the blood trickling down, but refused to look at it.  This was only the fourth mile and I was not going to get psyched out by the sight of a large wound with 12 miles to go.

Finally catching sight of a bit of yellow, I accidentally followed it to a link trail which used yellow with a black dot in the middle for its blazes.  I did not notice the black dots initially, so I ended up at a trailhead in an unfamiliar spot.  Thankfully, there was a map nearby and I got back on the main trail.

By the time of the turnaround in Brookdale Park, I was losing it. Low-8 miles became high-8 miles.  Then 9s, finishing the run (back through those thick woods) with painful 10s and 11s.

If I am going to run NYC in a few weeks, I need to plan on a slow, slow race.  But then, was that not the point when I first was offered the chance to do it?

No pressure, Daniel.  Keep reminding yourself.  No pressure.

A funny thing happened on the way to recovery

Somewhere in Mile 24 of last week's Clarence DeMar Marathon, I had made my mind up. Never again would I put my body through this torture. My racing days are officially over, I told myself.

After finishing, I told my mom that, too. And anyone else who would listen.

The day after the race I was sore as expected, having thoroughly exhausted my energy and depleted my muscles of everything they had. The fact that the result of that effort (3:24:21) was less than desirable made the mental fatigue as great as the physical.

Even my two worst marathons did not have this effect. After the 3:54:10 of the Fortitude for First Descents Marathon in 2012, I refused to rest and instead jumped right back into training to run the Central Park Marathon two months later (at which I nailed a 3:06:28, my third best). After last year's Park City Marathon (3:51:31), I vowed to get moving again and placed third overall with a 3:18:31 at the Fort Myers Beach Marathon three months later.

Though last week's race beat those by a half-hour, I could not help but feel like it was over. I have experienced "the wall" too many times now and could not bear to go through it again. Oh, I will still run marathons for fun, I said to myself, but my racing days are over.

Tuesday, I felt no better, but I started thinking about a proposition by a friend of mine who offered to sell me his NYC Marathon bib for a hundred bucks.

Yes, I know it is unethical to run with the bib of someone else.  But perhaps, I reasoned, if I do New York City without the pressure of having to perform up to my usual expectations, I can restore the joy of marathon running that got lost last weekend.

I looked up Hal Higdon's Multiple Marathon training guide and got back outside on Wednesday and Thursday for some slow short runs. Saturday I did an equally slow six-miler, but with more strength, more confidence.

Sunday's 14-mile easy run included my first sub-8 mile since the middle of last week's marathon. The rest of this week's runs were all at sub-8 pace. Suddenly, I started thinking that not only was a marathon in four weeks possible, but a decent time goal was possible, too.

Within a week, my whole attitude changed from "never again" to "I can do it again in four weeks". I will see how the rest of this week pans out, then make my decision. If things continue to look up, then I will see you in New York City.  

But you will not know it is me because I shall not divulge the name of the person whose bib I will use.

The Clarence DeMar Marathon (Part Two)

Part Two - Race Day

From the outset, the mantra was always "Run the race for which you trained."

When I felt great and was tempted to speed up, that mantra reminded me to hang back. When I started doubting and slowing down, it helped me keep up speed. So when things started falling apart at Sunday's Clarence DeMar Marathon in Keene, N.H., I kept questioning why. What did I do wrong? Why is this not working?

We were bussed to the start line in Gilsum, where I did a very slow warmup mile. It was a chilly morning in the mid-50s, but it would quickly heat up to the high 70s by noon. The gun went off and I cruised down the first big hill a little too quickly, with a 7:03 mile, but talking to Shannon McGinn, a fellow New Jerseyan, in the second mile helped me dial it back, doing mile two at 7:20. I probably should have hung back some more, but I did not want to start out with too great a deficit in my 7:08 pace goal, so I said goodbye to Shannon and pushed up a small hill in the third, only to cruise into the downhills at 6:49 and 7:01 for the next two miles.

"Run the race for which you trained."

Knowing I was too far ahead of my goal, I pulled back, taking the next few miles at 7:12, 7:10 and 7:18. Back on track, I pushed a little, but I surprised myself with a 6:58 in the eighth, so I pulled back again, taking the next few miles even more slowly than the others - 7:18, 7:29, 7:21 - enjoying the scenery of running along the water and knowing that it would not be time to truly race until after the halfway mark. 

Mile 12 had the part with the dam in Surrey and the sight was too gorgeous to rush through, so I took one more slow mile at 7:17 and decided it was time to start moving. But I suddenly did not feel able to do so.

For one thing, my stomach started getting those unsettled feelings that have plagued me too often in the past. The questions started - Was it the pre-race Clif Bar? The Shot Block gel in the 9th? The morning coffee?

"Run the race for which you trained."

This time it meant to speed up, no matter what. My body told me to slow down, but my mind disagreed. So I pushed, only to end up with a 7:25. At the halfway point, I think I was on pace for a 3 hours and 12 minutes. Fine. Keep pushing for the 7:08s and get as close as possible.

Mile 14 was uphill along the golf course, and I motored through it at 7:11, giving me a renewed confidence which was shattered a mile later when all I could muster was 7:45 with the same effort. The 7:21 in the 16th was to be the fastest of the final 12 miles.
 
Still, I felt like this race could be salvaged. After all, 3:07:00 was an ideal goal, but 3:14:59 (the Boston qualifying time) was good, too. And it was still do-able, even with a 7:42, 7:46 and 7:35 in the miles through a loop in a residential area on Keene's outskirts and toward Wheelock Park. Heck, I was still in 25th place, where I had been most of the race. If I was slowing down, so was everyone else.

But slowing even more to a 7:53 in the 20th, I knew things were getting irreversibly bad.

The next mile was the mystery trail mile which started with a big downhill, went under the highways (Routes 9, 10 and 12) and ended with a big uphill.

And that was where I hit the wall.

Cresting the hill and running into the main residential section of Keene, I hit the 21 mark with an 8:14. As I passed a sign that said, "Remember, you PAID to do this!" I had to chuckle to myself.

But there was no laughter left in 22, as I struggled to muster an 8:27, beating myself up physically and mentally, trying to figure out how it all went so wrong again. Then I heard a voice behind me call my name. Realizing it was Shannon, I uttered, "Oh shit."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked as she passed me by, while still nicely offering some encouragement after I essentially insulted her. I spent a lot of time afterward wondering why "oh shit" was my reaction, and I guess it was because she told me she was gunning for 3 hours and 20 minutes. If she was passing me, then I was way off my own goal.

And it would only get worse - 8:42, 9:12, 9:37 - as more runners passed me along the rolling hills of the cemetery.  I searched my body for any extra strength I could find. At this point, I was merely surviving. The last mile was a dismal 10:01, which was weird because I felt like I was rallying to the finish and I thought for sure I had picked it up for one last bit of oomph.

At the turn into Keene State College for the finish line, there were people cheering so loudly, I had to hold back from crying. I thanked the crowd for being so great and pushed to the line where, in the last few yards, I saw Mom holding a sign that read, "Go Dan! 40 - Fast and proud!"

I heaved my deadening body into the finish line at 3:24:21, hugged Mom, and tried my best to make sense of what had happened.

I saw Shannon and apologized for the "oh shit". She did phenomenally well - a 3:15 with a negative split. Had I stuck with her, I would have had a much better race.

But therein lies the rub. I could have shot for a 3:15 or 3:20 and gotten it. But then I would have always wondered if the 3:07 was possible had I taken the risk and reached for it. I said in this very blog last week that I have to learn to sacrifice a few minutes to save several, and I thought I was doing so by going for 3:07 instead of a PR. So, no regrets.

Now it is back to the drawing board - figure out what to do next and rearrange my goals. While my peers are peaking at age 40, I will be aiming lower.

But that is the whole point - you train for a race and you run the race for which you trained. Whatever the goal, and whether or not you achieve it, is irrelevant. The success is in having the guts to stick to it. For my next race, I will train for a race that is less risky and I will run that race accordingly.



For Shannon's excellent account of her fantastic race, see http://shannon-creatingmomentum.blogspot.com/2014/10/an-anecdotal-study-of-impact-of.html

The Clarence DeMar Marathon

Part One - Pre-race
The first and most important thing to note about the DeMar Marathon is that it is possibly the most well-organized, runner-friendly race that I have encountered. From the moment I entered the beautiful city of Keene on Friday, I felt welcomed by the town and the race organization.

The first stop was Ted's sporting goods store for early packet pickup, where the five ladies at the registration table sang "Happy Birthday" to me. How is that for a welcoming committee?

I spent Saturday morning exploring downtown Keene with my mom, who accompanied me on this trip for support and to celebrate my 40th birthday. In the afternoon, we drove the race course, scoping out the turns, terrain, and sights, so there would be no surprises for me the next day. The map we were given was excellent, the turns were already clearly marked, and the mostly downhill course was beautiful. 

For those who enjoy country scenery, this course has it all - babbling brooks, farmhouses, a golf course, hills in the distance, colorful autumn leaves while running on residential streets, through parks and a cemetery, and even along top of a dam

Here's Mom and me at the W.S. Badger Company in Gilsum, the starting line for this point-to-point race:

The course runs along some lovely rivers and streams:
 

...and over the top of the Surrey Dam:
 

One mile was along a bike/hike trail, so that would remain a mystery until Sunday because we could not drive it.

Saturday evening's pasta dinner included a presentation by Gary Allen, a sub-three-hour marathon runner in five consecutive decades, which included inspiring stories from his experiences and about Clarence DeMar. At my table, I helped impart wisdom to a first-time marathoner and gained some from a veteran of races in almost all 50 states. 

Adding that to the Friday lunch I had with my own personal marathon guru, Tim Norris, the man who helped me get started down the marathon path, and you can say I had all the mental tools for Sunday's race.  I even got a pretty good night's sleep.  I was content knowing that I did everything right for this race.

Marathon running at 40

Today I turn 40 years old. With that comes a new age group and a new Boston qualifying time, which serves as a great benchmark for goal-setting.

But really, what changes at 40? How different will Sunday's race be from the one I ran six months ago?

The aging process can not be stopped, so at some point we all have to live with PRs as a thing of the past. Runner Dave Griffin wrote a book called 'After the Last PR' which I would like to read in the future.

And yet, in the short distances, I have defied the usual expectations of running into my late 30s. Who else gets personal records in short races at age 39? Short races are young men's games, yet I managed to get PRs in the 5K, four mile, five mile and 15K distances, and even place high above many of my younger competitors.

Even if you take into consideration, that I started running at 30, I still can't imagine there are too many people who are hitting short-race  PRsat the end of their first decade in the sport.

With the marathon, I have defied expectations in very much the wrong way. Most marathon men I know hit their PR at or around 40. Yet I can not seem to top my 3:04:42 from the Eisenhower Marathon in Abilene, KS., in 2009 at age 34. Not for lack of trying, of course. 

While my 3:06 finishes in the Missoula and Central Park marathons were at least close, the excrutiating wall-hitting, stomach-turning nightmares of Gansett (though with a surprising 3:13), Fortitude for First Descents (the nadir at 3:54) and Park City (a close second-worst at 3:53) are experiences I do not want to re-live. Because of those crash-and-burn experiences, I do not think it wise to use the occasion of my 40th birthday to try again for a PR. 

Perhaps then, marathon running at 40 means running smarter, if not always faster. In that sense, I already began my journey into Masters running in March, when I learned at my previous race that sacrificing a little bit of time and getting a 3:10 ends up being better than gunning for a record and ending up with a 3:54. It is a weird notion - trying a little less in order to gain a little more.

If that sounds like an excuse for playing it safe, so be it. But I can not take another marathon in the 3:50s. I would rather inch my way back toward the PR, even if I never get there.

Therefore, the idealistic goal is 3:07, enough to move my average up by one minute to 3:17.  That would put this race as my fourth best out of 12. Realistically, I can still be thrilled if I beat my new Boston qualifier time of 3:15. And even if I do not make that, beating my average time of 3:18 will make me happy.

What I want more than anything, though, is to not hit the wall, to finish strong and to feel good knowing that this is exactly the right way to spend my 40th birthday.