"Hands on a Hardbody" in White Plains, N.Y.

There was one rather important and defining thing that I did not know going into the production of Hands on a Hardbody (the fourth I have seen in as many years) at the Play Group Theatre in White Plains, N.Y., on Sunday. 

Nestled in the downtown shopping district, it is a non-descript, but well-maintained little theater. I actually passed it twice before I found it.

I got there mere minutes before showtime and did not even have time to open the program. The lights dimmed and Ari Davids-Ergas came out as Benny Perkins with his opening monologue. 

A bit young for Benny, I thought, but that's no big deal. The top-notch band kicked in with Jakob Reinhardt nailing the Trey Anastasio lick in "Human Drama Kind of Thing", out comes the rest of the cast and...

 ...Oh my god, they're all kids...

...and they're almost all girls.

That is what I had not known - the Play Group Theatre main stage productions are made up entirely of teenagers.

OK, this should be interesting. There are a lot of talented kids out there, so let's see where they take this. 

As they all delivered their introductory lines in the opening number, my mind was spinning in circles as I realized that because of the large number of girls, some roles were gender-swapped. Frank Nugent was now Frankie Nugent, Don Curtis was Dawn Curtis, Jesus Pena was Maria Pena, and almost unbelievably, Ronald McCowan (big, black dude) became Ronnie McCowan (skinny white girl).

Kiki Weiss (as Dawn) showed that a gal singing "If She Don't Sleep" to her mama, Janis Curtis, (played with over-the-top old-lady-isms by the remarkably animated Samantha Schaier) is just as effective as a husband singing to his wife. And Tanya Magana, while absolutely believable in her subtly scathing dialogue as Maria, suffered a bit in "Born in Laredo" from the key being too low for her voice, evidenced by how comfortably (rather than climactically) she sang her final high note. They transposed the key down for Reed Rosenberg (excellent as Mike Ferris) to sing "Burn That Bridge", so bringing it up for Ms. Magana's number should not have been out of the question.

But, holy moly, the biggest surprise of the show came from Sarah Fortinsky, who had the herculean task of transforming Ronald into Ronnie. Amazingly, Ms. Fortinsky owned it as if the part was always hers. Not only does she have serious acting chops, but she infused her rendition of "My Problem Right There" with all the right humor and Southern charm in her fantastic singing voice. From where I was sitting, she seemed to bear resemblance to a young version of Kristen Wiig, with all the sublime talent to boot. After her wonderful spotlight tune, which leads to her character's removal from the story's contest, I was sad to see her go (and thrilled to see her return in the back half of the second act). Ms. Fortinsky is a star in the making.

But she was not the only one with A-game talent. When Taya Bokert stood up on that truck and sang her verse in "If I Had This Truck", I was sold. I cringed a bit when this young girl had to play the sexual overtones of her character Heather Stovall, but I have to hand it to her for digging into it knowing her parents were probably in the audience. Ms. Bokert is a brave young actress with a killer voice.

Also showing signs of immense talent were Maddie Burton, absolutely nailing it as Norma Valverde, and belting her gospel tune ("Joy of the Lord") like a pro; and Florry Arnold, who, despite lacking the plucky moxie of previous portrayals of Kelli Mangrum, always made clear the root of hope and longing in her need to win the truck and escape her dull life ("I'm Gone"). Every time I looked at Ms. Burton and Ms. Arnold, I saw the souls of their characters.

The gents did a fine job, as well, but most were better actors than singers. Mr. Davids-Ergas had every nuance of Benny down pat. As the singer with the most vocal turns, he had to do a lot of heavy lifting, and he was carrying it well until the final number ("God Answered My Prayers"), in which he began to waver. But he wrung every bit of emotion out of the final lines to great effect, even if he was not hitting all the right notes.

Dylan Lesch had a challenging and very grownup role to play in JD Drew, which might be a bit too complex for a teen. When he sang "Used to Be", he landed the melody and the emotion therein, if not the wise-sage gravitas the part requires. Itai Rembaum had a superb vocal turn in the deceptively difficult "I'm Gone" (especially those tricky harmonies) which gave his portrayal of Greg Wilhote all the more heft, so when he finally ran off after Kelli, the payoff worked even if his character was kind of lost in the shuffle for a while.

And while Jonny Tolchinsky was excellent in his portrayal of Chris Alvaro, the hard-nosed Marine, his tune "Stronger" should be a showstopping powerhouse and Mr. Tolchinsky was clearly struggling through it.  The kid needs a lot more work on his singing to match the gift he has for acting.

After all, that is what Play Group is obviously about - cultivating the theatrical talents of teenagers. No kid in this production lazily walked through his or her part. No phoning it in, from the small parts (props to Catie Burnell as Cindy Barnes) to the starring roles, these kids are dedicated and that came through during every minute of the show.

Hands on a Hardbody is a character study at its heart. It is no light romp, despite its breezy country-Americana score by Anastasio and Amanda Green. The Music Man this is not. It is a play mostly about adults and their real adult issues. It was a bold choice for a kids' theater production, but Jill and Steven Abusch and all the staff and teachers and crew, clearly had a lot of faith in their young actors to pull it off.

The immortal Prince

A colleague had asked me on Friday for my reaction to Prince's death and the first thing that came out of my mouth was, "I can't believe it.  I thought he was immortal."

She also asked if I was a fan.  I have liked Prince since the day I heard "1999" when I was eight years old, but I never really considered myself a fan. However, the more I thought about how much his death impacted me, the more I realized that perhaps I was.  So I wrote her an email and in response, she told me it was so well put that I should post it.

This, of course, is a blog about running and Phish, but there is a connection to Prince.  Phish has covered "Purple Rain" several times and "1999" once (on 12/31/1998, natch).  I got to see them do the former on 12/30/1994 (at Madison Square Garden, where I would see the man himself do it a decade later), in which Jon Fishman did a solo on the vacuum cleaner that was not only startlingly musical but truly soaring; and 7/4/2012 at Jones Beach, as part of my favorite first-set ever. Oh, and as my friends Meredith, John and Marshall can confirm, I found myself dancing on a table to "I Wanna Be Your Lover" at the M Lounge at last year's Phish festival, Magnaball.

So with that connection in place, here was what I had to say about Prince in the wake of his death:

Prince is one of those musicians that transcends time and pop culture and genres and fads.  He simply “is”.  I can’t even bring myself to use the past tense.  

So yes, I guess I am a fan.  But the fact of his constant being kind of led me to forget about him for a while.  You don’t think about the sun and the moon every single day, but they are always there. And when you stop to take notice, you realize how amazing they can be at any given moment, especially in those moments like a beautiful sunset or a bright full moon.  That is Prince.

I have all the albums from the golden era of 1984 (Purple Rain) to 1992 (that symbol thing).  Around the World in a Day was a total musical game changer for me and I was only 10 years old.  I was obsessed with "Raspberry Beret" in particular.

After 1992, I dropped off, but came back every so often and each time I did, I was just as blown away as before – like with the triple-CD ‘Emancipation’ album from 1996 and ‘Musicology’ from 2004.

The latter finally get me out to MSG to see him play an incredible live show.  The dude did everything – tore it up on electric guitar, piano and bass, and even did a little acoustic set in the middle of the show.  After he played a super-sexy slow jam (I think it was “On the Couch”), I turned to my friend and said, “I think Prince just made love to me.”  He was that intense and intimate in his delivery.

The question came up about how we can mourn someone we do not know.  But if you believe that a true artist like Prince puts his heart and soul into his music, then the question is irrelevant because we do know him.  On some emotional or even spiritual level, we know him.  We know his desires, his fears, his loves, his losses.  

Maybe some of the sadness comes from the fact that we connect with him on such a raw, personal level but he never knew us - that we never got to tell him our own hopes and dreams and loves and how they were shaped by his art.   We’re extremely affected because his music touched our lives in a personal way; and even though we know that millions of other people feel that same connection (so how personal can it really be?), we are totally OK with the one-way love affair that we all share for this one magnetic personality.  We are not only OK with it, but we embrace it and, when he dies, each other.

The beautiful thing about art, though, is that it’s forever.  For the rest of my life, I can keep going back and listening to all those great Prince records and keep feeling that feeling.  In a sense, I suppose I was right – he is immortal.

My first 10K - the SOCH Great Causeway Challenge

One could say I got bitten by the race bug rather quickly after my first race - so much so, that I was eager to not only run another race, but run a longer race.  Somehow, I landed upon the Southern Ocean County Hospital Great Causeway Challenge, a mere three weeks after my first race outing, 10 years ago today, April 22, 2006.

A decade hence, I have absolutely no idea what possessed me to drive 100 miles from Parsippany to Manahawkin by myself on a Friday night after work for a small 6.2-mile race early Saturday morning, with no plan whatsoever other than to run the race.  I drove around the area late Friday night looking for a place to stay because I had not even bothered to set that up in advance, finally happening upon the Barnegat Motel after swinging by the high school where the race would start the next morning.

Because I did almost no research, I found out that the event also included a 30-mile bicycle race.  There were about 60 people in the event, a third of which ran the 10K, with a third biking the 30 miles and the other third doing a biathlon.

I remember the start at the school and a turnaround point in the middle, but honestly, I do not have much of a recollection of the race itself. I recall enjoying the surroundings despite the lack of supporters, volunteers, or even other runners.  I remember thinking that it was downright funny that I came in second place overall, simply due to lack of competition. But hey, I got my first medal as a result!

But most of all, I had accomplished a new feat. Sure, I was already doing eight-mile training runs, but increasing the race distance soon was a big deal. In the coming months, I would do some more 5Ks and up the distance yet again. And by the summer, I would also start writing a blog about it.

Marathon XV

Hot on the heels of my successful return to marathon running, I am officially registered for my 15th marathon (in my 14th state!):

The Shipyard Maine Coast Marathon on May 15, a point-to-point race in Maine from Kennebunk to Biddeford!

I am extremely excited about this for a few reasons:

I am taking it seriously, but not too seriously 
Instead of the intense training through which I put myself for the Myrtle Beach race, I am instead stepping back to using my own 10-week modification of the Hal Higdon Intermediate 2 program.  No speed work, just mileage and a few pace runs.  I plan on running a 3:14:00 or better, but I am not even considering trying for anything near a PR.

Short turnarounds can be fun
After Myrtle Beach, I felt like I still had a lot of energy to spare and did not quite want to lose the fitness and distance that I had built up.  Sure enough, during the next week I ran a total of 29 miles after only two post-marathon rest days.  I have done some shorter turnarounds than this (six weeks between Clarence DeMar and New York City, eight weeks between Fortitude for First Descents and Central Park), so it should be no problem.

I missed a whole year
2015 was a bust, with zero marathons, thanks to my back injury.  Time to catch up!

New state, baby!
Maine, here I come!!

Phish New Year 1995

This past year, I was fortunate enough to attend all four shows of Phish's New Year's Run at Madison Square Garden in New York. Twenty years ago, I missed the first three, but attended the ultimate one (at that very venue) regarded for quite some time as the greatest show ever. It was my first New Year's Eve show.

Little had I known on Dec. 31, 1995, Phish had already been tearing it up for three nights. On Dec. 28, they rocked the Centrum in Worcester, Mass., playing with nonstop energy as they ripped through the classics of their early days ("The Curtain", "Possum") and kicked out the big jams in "Tweezer" and "Slave to the Traffic Light". A 1995 show that starts with "Split Open and Melt"? I am all ears.

Newer fare like the still-evolving "Taste That Surrounds" and the still-stretching "Down With Disease", not to mention "Stash" and "Fluffhead", gave the first set of Dec. 29 a lot of meat, but the star of that show was the surprise epic "Bathtub Gin -> The Real Me -> Bathtub Gin" in Set II.

When they brought the party to Madison Square Garden on Dec. 30, the mondo jams and fiery playing kept coming. Even with "David Bowie", "It's Ice -> Kung -> It's Ice", an excellent "Mule Duel" and a raucous "Run Like an Antelope", there was still plenty of gas left in the tank for the amazing night to come.

My brother and I had amazing seats on the floor of MSG on 12/31/95, and danced up a storm to our first encounter with "Punch You in the Eye" and got a big kick out of our first "Colonel Forbin" story (with Tom Marshall singing "Shine"). It was only our fourth show and we were up close on the biggest night of Phish's year.

You have probably heard the official release (and if you have not, then do so!)
, so I do not need to tell you how much Set II rocked out like gangbusters right from the huge "Drowned" opener that segued beautifully into "The Lizards". "Runaway Jim" was pretty hot, too, but even that was no match for the way-out "Mike's Song" that led into the strangest set ending yet - a digital delay loop from Trey that grew out of the jam and faded away without the usual "Weekapaug Groove" sandwich. I remember wondering just what the heck to make of it.

During set break, I witnessed what most of the audience probably never noticed - Jon Fishman came onstage and had someone shave his beard. Could this night get any more odd, I wondered?

Yes.

Giant Van de Graff generators sparked to life, sending bolts of light all around the stage, three mad scientists (Trey, Page and Mike) turned knobs as crazy sounds emanated, and a platform containing Fish as Old Man 1995 was raised above.

Lights flashed! The countdown commenced!! And at the stroke of midnight, the platform broke apart revealing Fish reborn as Baby 1996!!!

Huge balloons descended from the rafters while the rest of the band played a beautiful "Auld Lang Syne". With Fish back at the drums, we finally got our "Weekapaug" and the first jam of the new year had everyone dancing, dancing, dancing. The gorgeous segue into one more 'Quadrophenia' song, "Sea and Sand" provided only a few minutes of quietude before the ridiculous knockout punches of "You Enjoy Myself", "Sanity" and "Frankenstein", not to mention the rip-roaring encore of "Johnny B. Goode".

It was 1 a.m. and we had been through a wild ride. We left Madison Square Garden sweaty and spent as we headed downstairs to catch the next train to Ronkonkoma, but not before I picked up a piece of one of those balloons which I still have to this day.

It would be almost 10 months until I saw Phish again, but having the memory of that show made the wait a little better.

The beginning of a decade of racing

I distinctly remember laying on the concrete bleachers in Brookdale Park in Bloomfield, N.J., telling my mom on the phone how nervous I was.

In my eight months as a runner I had run greater distances than three miles. Heck, I had done eight by then. But this?  This was a race. And races were for real runners and that was not me. I was just a guy who ran (and not a whole lot), not a "runner".

That was 10 years ago today at the Building Tomorrows 5K, my first race ever.

It happened completely organically. After weighing in at 175 pounds in 2003, I started frequenting the gym, first at the Y then at William Paterson University, a few days a week. By August 2005, I had grown accustomed to my semi-daily workouts, so when the Rec Center closed for maintenance for a couple of weeks, I decided to hit the pavement.

I jogged.  In my old sneakers and sweatpants.  Sometimes in jeans.  On Route 46 in Parsippany.  I had no idea what I was doing.  But I kept doing it and I liked it; and I had no desire to go back to elliptical machines.

So by the time my friend Elaine told me about the April 1 5K at Brookdale, I should have been totally ready, but I was absolutely terrified.

It is weird how certain little details come back in my mind. I do not recall the start, but I remember that it did not take long for the fear to turn to joy while running along the park's paths.  At the end of a downhill I recall smiling to the volunteers as they cheered me on.  I even remember that "American Idiot" by Green Day was playing on my first-generation iPod Shuffle (courtesy of my big brother) at that moment.

I also distinctly remember getting freaked out at the uphill climb into the home stretch and the elation of crossing the finish at 22:51 (7:21 pace) – 64th overall, 58th of 229 males, and fifth of 22 men age 30-34.

It was the start of something amazing and addictive in my life.  It has become the focus of my attention for a decade, the basis for the goals I strive to attain.

Ten years later, I still often run at Brookdale Park, and I still can not help but smile when I do.

Myrtle Beach Marathon

It was a good day.

Saturday morning, March 5, at 6 a.m.:

It had been 16 months since my last marathon and I stood at the starting line for the Myrtle Beach Marathon knowing that this would be my last attempt at a personal record (3:04:41).  After six months of being sidelined from an injury, I had a non-stop autumn of short race PRs followed by the most intense marathon training of my life (Hal Higdon's Advanced 2 program).  I had to face it - I am not getting any younger so it was now or never.

Yet, at the same time, I was fully prepared to fall short and, if necessary, readjust my goals as I went along.  One perk to getting old is getting wise.  No more early rash moves to sabotage my race. I would use lessons from my previous races to make this one as good as possible.

Mom and I arrive at Myrtle Beach airport.

My mom (who came for support, not to race) and I flew into town on Thursday and spent Friday walking the area surrounding our hotel.  Packet pickup was a breeze at the sports center.  We had an early pre-race dinner at a local Italian joint (Ramando's) and the pasta primavera was perfect.

The view from our hotel balcony at Breakers Resort. Don't let the photo fool you, it was chilly and windy!

One of multiple stops at the local Piggly Wiggly, my favorite name for a grocery store.  Everything was within walking distance of the hotel.  No rental car needed!

The course map, from MBMarathon.com

6:30 a.m.

The race started right on time.  It was a chilly but manageable 39 degrees as the sun began to rise.  Giant flags indicating goal-times helped everyone get to the right spot at the starting line on Grissom Parkway at 21st Avenue.  I planted myself with the 3:05:xx crowd.  They even had pacers for every 10 minute range beyond that, and at go-time, I stuck with the 3:05:xx guy for the first few miles.

The pacer said that the first few mile markers might be a bit off.  We turned left onto Joe White Avenue and right onto Kings Highway and, with everyone's GPS watches beeping about a tenth of a mile after the markers, it seemed to be true.  Still, the guy was running awfully fast for a 3:05:xx pace as I clocked a 7:02, 6:57 and 6:55 in the first three miles while staying near him.

So I hung back a little bit and, as we passed the airport and turned right on Farrow Parkway to head into the Market Commons downtown, I nailed my PR pace nicely with a 7:01 and 7:02 for Miles Four and Five.

Turning right onto Howard Avenue and left onto Reed Avenue, the Market Commons section was good time.  With cheering crowds, funny signs, a band playing "American Girl", and the fun of first watching the leaders come toward me as I ran north and then watching all the people behind me come north as I ran south, everything was going smoothly on this easy, flat course.  The sun broke through the clouds.  I took off one glove (the other was still holding my starlight mints inside).  Miles Six and Seven - 7:02 and 7:08.  Perfect.  Steady as she goes.

Unfortunately, the left turn put us directly into the headwind as we began the nine-mile northbound trek along Ocean Boulevard.  I fought with it for a while, trying to keep up the pace and, though I hung strong, I realized I was expending too much effort.  There was another burst of sideline support in these miles and that helped me hit a 7:02, 7:08, 7:06 and 7:02 for Miles Eight through 11.

Thinking about the Lower Potomac River Marathon (almost exactly two years ago) in Maryland, I remembered the importance of racing smart.  If the wind was going to slow me down, so be it.  Maybe I would be able to make it up.  Maybe not.  But I know that pushing too hard to maintain this early would mean a big wall 10 miles later.  So I backed off a bit with a 7:14, 7:10, 7:10 and 7:09 for Miles 12 through 15.

Even in those miles, I was reading my body's signals and I could tell I was still giving too much.  I am pretty sure that there was a gentle but noticeable incline which did not help matters.

By now I was almost a minute behind my PR.  Trying to make up the time seemed like a bad move, but perhaps I could push a little bit more in the last few miles of Ocean Boulevard, hoping that after the left turn, there would eventually be both a tailwind and a downhill.

However, I could not muster the energy.  Not yet.  So I did the opposite, backing off even more and letting my legs dictate the pace.  Even with a 7:17 and 7:23 in Miles 16 and 17, there was still plenty of hope for a second or third best (3:04:43 to 3:06:28).

Sure enough, after the U-turn on Grand Dunes Boulevard (Mile 18  - 7:26) and a return to Kings Highway, it was downhill with the wind at our backs and the sun in the sky.  I knew that it would not get any better than the 7:13 in Mile 19 but even as I slowed down again, I felt good despite the fatigue in my legs.  I thought again about Maryland and how my legs got tired but I never hit the wall.  I thought about the Fort Myers Beach Marathon, too, though, and how I hit it at Mile 25.  I promised myself I would not let that happen here, so I rode the good vibes and willed myself to keep steady into a 7:21 in Mile 20.

There is a difficult mental struggle that happens when you know you are heading in the direction of the finish, but then forced to turn off and run in a different direction, so the right turn on 66th Avenue was mentally crushing, but I kept it together in Mile 21 with a 7:22 thanks to some more great crowd support. A short stint along a trail in Mile 22 before popping back out onto Grissom Parkway kept things visually interesting but the 7:29 felt too forced.  At that moment I was extremely glad that I had extended my training runs to 22 miles because it felt familiar despite the effort.

I thought about the Missoula Marathon - how I reached into a very primal part of myself, unleashing this monster within that not only defied but embraced the pain of these miles.  I considered trying to summon that beast, but there were another series of turns - a left onto Grand Daddy Boulevard with a U-turn back to Grissom, a right onto 48th, left onto Oleander, left onto 44th, right onto Mayfair, left onto London - and they rapidly sapped my will and energy.  I was in the doldrums for those two miles and I knew it.  No point fighting it.  7:41 and 7:49 for Miles 23 and 24.

Two hours before, I was heading for a PR, but fourth best (3:06:29 to 3:10:44) was now my goal, and I had no doubt it was completely attainable.  I started doing those mathematical negotiations that I tend to do (if I slow down this many seconds per mile, I will get a fourth best and still get a Boston qualifier).  I was hurting, but I was strong.  There would be no wall.  Period.

Happy to be back on Grissom, it was a tough task to get through Mile 25 with a 7:43, but with the Broadway at the Beach shopping complex in view, I could see that it was the home stretch.  It was not enough to know it.  I needed to see it.

I gathered my last bit of strength, dug deep for that last bit of gas in the tank, lengthened my stride despite the pain in my quadriceps and let out several repeated unattractive grunts as I hit a 7:22 for Mile 26.

I rallied to the entrance of Pelican Field with determination and pride, but none of the overwhelming emotion of previous races when I approached the finish line completely spent and trying to hold back tears of joy (Philadelphia and Missoula) or pain (Clarence DeMar Marathon in Keene, N.H.) or sadness (New Jersey, missing my BQ by mere seconds).

This time all I could see was the clock as I heard a voice on my left say, "Get under that 3:10!" while I watched the seconds of 3:09 tick away.

I finished with a 3:09:44, feeling nothing but...good.

I missed my PR, but I felt good.

My legs were burning, but I felt good.

All the good parts of all the good marathons I had run gave me all the tools I needed to run my fourth best ever.  It was also my best (and first Boston qualifier) since Central Park in February 2013.

Maybe Mom was the good luck charm because she was at that one, too.  Maybe I did not need luck at all.  Maybe I just needed it to be good.

And that is exactly what it was.

Post-race photo by Mom.

This was really cool - one of the tents in the finish area had a computer into which you key your bib number and it prints out this little slip with your unofficial results!  

For what it's worth, here are my official results: 

50th of 1,421 overall

46th of 824 males

6th of 124 males age 40-44

10K time: 42:47

Half-marathon time:1:32:14

Some well-deserved relaxation with a cup of coffee on the balcony....

...and a leisurely walk on the beach with Mom, my good luck charm.

Here's a video of the race course from MyrtleBeachOnline.com: http://www.myrtlebeachonline.com/sports/marathon/article59624396.html