It has been cold here in New Jersey during the past week or so. It has also snowed a few times. To that, I say, "So what?"
Do not let the snow discourage you from getting out there and running. Granted, icy conditions may be a problem and I certainly would not want to see my fellow runners falling and getting hurt. But on snowy days like this past Saturday and yesterday, why not get on out there? If you do, here are a couple of tips:
Dress warm. For slower runners, that means bundling up - wear a few layers, a winter hat, heavy duty gloves and long socks. Be prepared for those items to get wet from falling and kicked up snow as well as your inevitable sweat. For faster folk, that means compression shirts and tights. Even at 20 degrees, you will be surprised how quickly you warm up once you get going.
Your shoes will definitely get wet, so wear an older pair. When you are through, crumple up pages from newspapers and stuff them into your shoes. The paper will absorb the moisture, helping to dry out the shoes before you need to use them again.
Most of all, have fun! Remember how much you used to enjoy playing in the snow as a kid? Now is not the time to worry about splits and pace. Rather, get out there and channel that youthful energy to have a ball in the winter wonderland. While you are at it, why not drop to the ground and make a snow angel or two?
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
I'm going to MSG for New Year's Eve!
I was 25 the last time I saw Phish on New Year's Eve. I am now pushing 40. It has been 15 long years.
That is not for lack of trying and also a bit for lack of options. To wit:
After the mother of all NYE shows (Big Cypress in Florida, 1999), Phish only played two such concerts in the next decade, both of which were in Miami. In 2003 and 2009, I was not in much of a position to do that kind of traveling.
Since then, they have done every Dec. 31 at Madison Square Garden and I have tried to get tickets each time, both through the band's own mail-order system and through Ticketmaster. I am happy and grateful to have attended excellent shows on Dec. 28, 29 and 30 in the past three years, but the golden ticket of New Year's was ever elusive.
Until now. This year, after applying for all four nights through mail order, I received only one, but the best one of all. Two days later, I landed the 28th and 29th through Ticketmaster.
Finally, it's time to break out the party hat and champagne flute (do I still have my Big Cypress flute??) and party down like I did in 1995, 1997 and 1999. I can barely contain my excitement.
Christmas? Who cares about that? Dec. 25 is just a stop along the way. The real festivities begin on Dec. 28. I hope to see you there.
That is not for lack of trying and also a bit for lack of options. To wit:
After the mother of all NYE shows (Big Cypress in Florida, 1999), Phish only played two such concerts in the next decade, both of which were in Miami. In 2003 and 2009, I was not in much of a position to do that kind of traveling.
Since then, they have done every Dec. 31 at Madison Square Garden and I have tried to get tickets each time, both through the band's own mail-order system and through Ticketmaster. I am happy and grateful to have attended excellent shows on Dec. 28, 29 and 30 in the past three years, but the golden ticket of New Year's was ever elusive.
Until now. This year, after applying for all four nights through mail order, I received only one, but the best one of all. Two days later, I landed the 28th and 29th through Ticketmaster.
Finally, it's time to break out the party hat and champagne flute (do I still have my Big Cypress flute??) and party down like I did in 1995, 1997 and 1999. I can barely contain my excitement.
Christmas? Who cares about that? Dec. 25 is just a stop along the way. The real festivities begin on Dec. 28. I hope to see you there.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Trinity Academy Reindeer Run 5K
I was itching to get back into marathon mode, but after my surprisingly good showing at the Passaic Valley Rotary River Run, I decided to try my luck at the third annual Trinity Academy Reindeer Run 5K in Caldwell on Dec. 7, a mere six days after the PV race.
This would be my shortest turnaround ever, but I felt good about my short game.
It was chilly that morning, but dry - only days before two snowstorms would slick up the region - so footing was not a problem.
Much of the first half of the race, mostly a straight shot up Smull Avenue, was uphill - not steep, but enough of an incline to warrant some extra work. If you have read my race accounts before, you know that I make my move on hills, but usually not so early in the race. Nonetheless, I went for it and, during the course of that first mile and a half, worked my way from eighth place to third.
By the time of the turn onto Mountain Avenue, I had a pretty good lead over the fourth placer, but the two guys ahead (clearly a couple of college track kids) were long gone. Literally. I could not even see them anymore. I was in third, but had no one to follow. It was a good thing there were no more turns on the course because none of the cops and volunteers at the intersections had any interest in directing me where to go. At each previous turn, I had to point in a direction with an expression on my face as if to say, "This way??" (I was working too hard to actually talk.)
At the Mile 2 sign, I started fizzling, but with a mile of mostly flat and downhill to go, I dug deep and pushed hard. I grunted an awful lot.
I refused to look back, but I had convinced myself that the person behind me was closing in, so I extended my legs as far as they would go on each turnover (my tactic at September's Heroes Run), even though I could feel the burn in my groin.
Up ahead, I could see the crowd of people, just before the intersection of Bloomfield Avenue. I knew that was the end, but...
Where was the finish line? All I could see was a wall of people and tables, but no chute, no clock, and yet again, no one pointing me in the direction of where to go. And here I am barreling at them at a sub-6:00 pace. So I yelled, "WHERE'S THE FINISH???"
Startled, everyone started pointing to my left, toward the side entrance of the academy where the finish chute had been set up. That did not allow me time for a final kick, but with the way I sprinted down Mountain Avenue, I would not have had much anyway. Besides, I nailed my finish at 18:35 - four seconds faster than six days prior - so who am I to complain?
I grabbed some water, coffee, a bagel and a banana and headed straight back to the course, cheering as many people as possible to their finish. One of my favorite things about finishing early is being able to give a little something to the folks behind me. I may have somehow managed to get myself in the top 10 percent of almost all my races, but providing some encouragement from the sidelines is one of the most rewarding things about it.
Speaking of rewards, what a day for swag and prizes! The registration came with a cotton long-sleeve T-shirt and the prize for the top three placers in each age group was a comfortable and cozy wool knit hat with the race's reindeer logo on it.
Even though I received my prize, I hung around for another hour for the award ceremony, since I came in third overall. I think it is impolite to place in the top three and then ditch. Heck, maybe I would get a medal.
As with the PV race, there were no medals, but instead I was given a $25 gift certificate to the Fleet Feet running store in Montclair (at the PV race, I received a $25 gift certificate to the New Balance store in Hasbrouck Heights), so the race almost entirely paid for itself!
Plus, my gift bag also contained another one of those hats. I have long been opposed to duplicate awards (when the overall winners also win the age group awards), so I found one of the volunteers and asked them to find the fourth placer in my age group and give it to him.
What can I say, I was filled with the Christmas spirit and the satisfaction of another successful race - my fifth best 5K (out of 29 since 2006).
This would be my shortest turnaround ever, but I felt good about my short game.
It was chilly that morning, but dry - only days before two snowstorms would slick up the region - so footing was not a problem.
Much of the first half of the race, mostly a straight shot up Smull Avenue, was uphill - not steep, but enough of an incline to warrant some extra work. If you have read my race accounts before, you know that I make my move on hills, but usually not so early in the race. Nonetheless, I went for it and, during the course of that first mile and a half, worked my way from eighth place to third.
By the time of the turn onto Mountain Avenue, I had a pretty good lead over the fourth placer, but the two guys ahead (clearly a couple of college track kids) were long gone. Literally. I could not even see them anymore. I was in third, but had no one to follow. It was a good thing there were no more turns on the course because none of the cops and volunteers at the intersections had any interest in directing me where to go. At each previous turn, I had to point in a direction with an expression on my face as if to say, "This way??" (I was working too hard to actually talk.)
At the Mile 2 sign, I started fizzling, but with a mile of mostly flat and downhill to go, I dug deep and pushed hard. I grunted an awful lot.
I refused to look back, but I had convinced myself that the person behind me was closing in, so I extended my legs as far as they would go on each turnover (my tactic at September's Heroes Run), even though I could feel the burn in my groin.
Up ahead, I could see the crowd of people, just before the intersection of Bloomfield Avenue. I knew that was the end, but...
Where was the finish line? All I could see was a wall of people and tables, but no chute, no clock, and yet again, no one pointing me in the direction of where to go. And here I am barreling at them at a sub-6:00 pace. So I yelled, "WHERE'S THE FINISH???"
Startled, everyone started pointing to my left, toward the side entrance of the academy where the finish chute had been set up. That did not allow me time for a final kick, but with the way I sprinted down Mountain Avenue, I would not have had much anyway. Besides, I nailed my finish at 18:35 - four seconds faster than six days prior - so who am I to complain?
I grabbed some water, coffee, a bagel and a banana and headed straight back to the course, cheering as many people as possible to their finish. One of my favorite things about finishing early is being able to give a little something to the folks behind me. I may have somehow managed to get myself in the top 10 percent of almost all my races, but providing some encouragement from the sidelines is one of the most rewarding things about it.
Speaking of rewards, what a day for swag and prizes! The registration came with a cotton long-sleeve T-shirt and the prize for the top three placers in each age group was a comfortable and cozy wool knit hat with the race's reindeer logo on it.
Even though I received my prize, I hung around for another hour for the award ceremony, since I came in third overall. I think it is impolite to place in the top three and then ditch. Heck, maybe I would get a medal.
As with the PV race, there were no medals, but instead I was given a $25 gift certificate to the Fleet Feet running store in Montclair (at the PV race, I received a $25 gift certificate to the New Balance store in Hasbrouck Heights), so the race almost entirely paid for itself!
Plus, my gift bag also contained another one of those hats. I have long been opposed to duplicate awards (when the overall winners also win the age group awards), so I found one of the volunteers and asked them to find the fourth placer in my age group and give it to him.
What can I say, I was filled with the Christmas spirit and the satisfaction of another successful race - my fifth best 5K (out of 29 since 2006).
Monday, December 2, 2013
Harold Schumacher Passaic Valley Rotary 5K River Run
One of the first 5Ks I ran when I moved to Little Falls in 2008 was this one, which starts in town and passes through Woodland Park and Totowa. Since then, I have run it every year except 2012. And in a banner year that has included my two fastest 5Ks ever, I ended up with the best result of my five stabs at this course. Not bad for a guy pushing 40.
I was sad to see that participation had dipped a bit this year, but who could blame people for staying away from a race that was jinxed with disaster two years in a row - first, getting postponed from its new Halloween date in the freak blizzard of 2011, then run in the aftermath of Superstorm Sandy last year?
It is not an overly challenging course, but the hill on Riverview Drive that comes in the second mile can be quite the PR-breaker. Luckily for me, I have been training on that road so I feel I have some home field advantage knowing in advance how much energy to save and then expend on it. After running the first mile in under six minutes, I pushed up that hill and passed a couple of people in doing so. See you later, guys, this is my town, and my hill!
Actually, the race completely belonged to Rob Albano, a young man from Pompton Plains who won the Apple Chase 10K (at which I also nailed a PR) back in May. This kid is crazy fast. HE owned the course yesterday, finishing in a jaw-dropping 15:47.
After losing a bit of steam in the end of the second mile, through the residential south end of Little Falls, I picked up the pace and finished strong on the downhill to the end. I knew I ran a good race, but 18:39 was pleasantly unexpected. That is a mere 11 seconds off of my PR.
Meanwhile, as I huffed and puffed past the finish line, winner Rob was already hanging out in the parking lot. Amazing. The second place guy did a sub-17, but the next bunch were more in my competitive range, so I ended up with a 9th place result overall (of 144), taking second in my age group (which only consisted of nine men ages 30 to 39).
Still, that placing got me a $25 New Balance store gift certificate, so I am beyond thrilled with yesterday's experience.
Plus, I was home in five minutes.
Full results here: https://runsignup.com/race/results/?raceId=1075&eventId=11650
Friday, November 29, 2013
898-5875 - Reba's phone number?
"Here's an interesting little notion. Did you realize that most people's lives are governed by telephone numbers?"
(from Douglas Adams' "The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy")
For 21 years, I have been enjoying the song "Reba". It was the second Phish song I had ever heard.
And for 21 years, I kept getting thrown off by the staccato hits and pauses that come at the end of the composed fugue section just before the jam.
I finally decided to count the beats between the seven sets of staccato hits and I found that the section is comprised, in eighth notes, of a measure of 8, followed by a measure of 9, then a measure of 8, then of 5, of 8, 7, and 5.
8-9-8-5-8-7-5
Sounds like a phone number, right? So that got me wondering if Reba was a real person and if, in a crazy yet subtle way, Trey Anastasio decided to expose her phone number to the most attuned ears in Phish's tiny audience in 1989.
Or maybe Dougals Adams was right and, even without our knowing it, the things we do in life are governed by telephone numbers. And because of that, it was so incredibly easy to commit it to memory that I have not missed the beat all year.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Mountain men
"I'm the man from the mountain. Won't you come on up?"
While spending a week exploring the mountains of Utah, I could not help but sing songs that refer to mountains (yes, out loud, to myself), usually Phish songs.
At some point I realized while "Mountains in the Mist" may be the most direct and obvious, several of their songs make passing references to mountains. So many, in fact, that one can not help but wonder if these guys from the Green Mountain state always have mountains on their minds.
Mountains can be found in the Anastasio/Marshall songs, with lyrics presumably written by Tom Marshall - "Two Versions of Me", "Walls of the Cave", "All of These Dreams", "Back on the Train", "End of Session", "The Wedge".
If you count cliffs, there are more - like the "cliffside push" in "Limb by Limb" and the "unclimbable cliffs" in "Nothing". Even Mike Gordon, whose lyrics seem to be devoid of mountains, mentions a cliff in "Sugar Shack".
Trey Anastasio's own lyrics are chock full of mountains - from the early days of "Runaway Jim" to more recent fare like "Kill Devil Falls" and "Twenty Years Later". Most of the songs in his "Gamehendge" saga mention The Mountain. Even songs that are peripheral to the story refer to mountains or The Mountain - "Llama", Jeff Holsdworth's "Possum", and the liner notes to "The Divided Sky".
Even frequently-played cover songs have mountains - the lyric above comes from the Rolling Stones' "Loving Cup". And "Rocky Top" is, I presume, about a mountain.
Despite the multitude of songs I mentioned, I am sure I missed some. Mountains are everywhere in Phish's songs. Let us go on up.
While spending a week exploring the mountains of Utah, I could not help but sing songs that refer to mountains (yes, out loud, to myself), usually Phish songs.
At some point I realized while "Mountains in the Mist" may be the most direct and obvious, several of their songs make passing references to mountains. So many, in fact, that one can not help but wonder if these guys from the Green Mountain state always have mountains on their minds.
Mountains can be found in the Anastasio/Marshall songs, with lyrics presumably written by Tom Marshall - "Two Versions of Me", "Walls of the Cave", "All of These Dreams", "Back on the Train", "End of Session", "The Wedge".
If you count cliffs, there are more - like the "cliffside push" in "Limb by Limb" and the "unclimbable cliffs" in "Nothing". Even Mike Gordon, whose lyrics seem to be devoid of mountains, mentions a cliff in "Sugar Shack".
Trey Anastasio's own lyrics are chock full of mountains - from the early days of "Runaway Jim" to more recent fare like "Kill Devil Falls" and "Twenty Years Later". Most of the songs in his "Gamehendge" saga mention The Mountain. Even songs that are peripheral to the story refer to mountains or The Mountain - "Llama", Jeff Holsdworth's "Possum", and the liner notes to "The Divided Sky".
Even frequently-played cover songs have mountains - the lyric above comes from the Rolling Stones' "Loving Cup". And "Rocky Top" is, I presume, about a mountain.
Despite the multitude of songs I mentioned, I am sure I missed some. Mountains are everywhere in Phish's songs. Let us go on up.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Alexis runs Philly
This past winter I wrote about how I coached my friend Alexis as she trained for her first half-marathon. After that race, it warmed my heart when she told me she was hooked. As a missionary to spread the joy of running, she was my first convert. She even expressed interest in running a full marathon.
I suggested Philadelphia because it was my first and my decision to do it came hot off the heels of my first half-marathon. I knew it was a fun race, a great course and big enough to get a big-city feel, but small enough to not be too overwhelming. During the summer, she committed to it and started her training.
Check out Alexis' blog for the rest of the story, including all the excitement, nerves and emotions that comes with running one's first marathon: http://alexistarrazi.wordpress.com/2013/11/21/i-am-a-marathoner/
I could not be happier for her accomplishment. Her story made me remember the joy of that first marathon - breaking barriers, everything being so new, the thrill of the crowds cheering as the finish line approaches. Alexis reminded me of the essence of marathon running, something I may have lost along the way, emphasizing those lessons I learned a week earlier in Florida.
I suggested Philadelphia because it was my first and my decision to do it came hot off the heels of my first half-marathon. I knew it was a fun race, a great course and big enough to get a big-city feel, but small enough to not be too overwhelming. During the summer, she committed to it and started her training.
Check out Alexis' blog for the rest of the story, including all the excitement, nerves and emotions that comes with running one's first marathon: http://alexistarrazi.wordpress.com/2013/11/21/i-am-a-marathoner/
I could not be happier for her accomplishment. Her story made me remember the joy of that first marathon - breaking barriers, everything being so new, the thrill of the crowds cheering as the finish line approaches. Alexis reminded me of the essence of marathon running, something I may have lost along the way, emphasizing those lessons I learned a week earlier in Florida.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
The Inaugural Fort Myers Beach Marathon
It was a secret for everyone else and then a surprise for myself.
Unbeknownst to my friends and family (who were worried that I was overdoing it), I jumped right back into marathon training, starting in the middle of the Hal Higdon Advanced program with an eye on a Maryland race on Nov. 17. I wanted to continue my one-per-state streak, but needed something drive-able because I could not afford another big airplane trip. I knocked out 18, 19, and 20 mile runs with surprising ease.
In the meantime, my dear grandfather from Cape Coral, Fla., passed away. You may recall that I was supposed to run a marathon in his hometown last year, but it was cancelled. And then he was gone and I would never get to show him my stuff and make him proud of his grandson's accomplishments in running.
I stretched the budget and booked a flight for the memorial service, landing in Florida on Friday, Aug. 8. That evening, I looked at the local paper and saw an article about a new marathon taking place on Sunday, a mere 12 miles away from Cape Coral. I made up my mind right there. I announced at the memorial service the next day that I was going to run that race for Grandpa and my cousin was going to run the half-marathon.
Mikey and I got to Fort Myers Beach before the crack of dawn to do race-day registration. We got our bibs, stretched a bit and hit the start line. There was no time to be nervous or to over-think it.
This being Florida, the course was almost entirely flat. However, this being Florida, it was hot and humid. I had been training in the increasingly colder northeast. Heck, Mikey had not been training at all. Shirtless, with my bib on my right leg and Grandpa's old business card on my left, I headed out of the starting gate with 230 marathoners and 558 half-marathoners. Within a half mile, we went over the bridge out of the beach town - the one "hill" (and it was big).
Deliberately hanging back and trying my hardest to start out slow, I somehow knocked out almost precise 7:17 splits up to Mile 13, directly on target for my modest but challenging goal of 3:11. But by then it was around 8:30 a.m. and the sun was heating things up. And since most of this section of the race took place on main roads like San Carlos Boulevard and Summerlin Avenue, there was a lot of blacktop to add to the heat. Perhaps that is why my 8:08 13th mile gave way to a 6:47 14th mile once we got into beautiful Lakes Park.
Inside the park there were a bunch of twists and turns within the double loop along its paths. Some were tree lined and paved, some dirt, some little foot bridges over water. The new terrain helped me stay within a reasonable if not ideal time frame, with 7:20-ish splits for miles 15 through 19.
I watched the people coming at me on the backside of the loop, and noticed that I was consistently passing people that had been far ahead of me in the first half of the race. I counted as they passed, and as I passed others. I was in eighth place! Then seventh...sixth...fifth...fourth!
Then it was back out on the road and time to keep on keeping on. It was lonely out there in miles 20 through 22. No other runners around me, cars speeding by, only a handful of spectators. A fast female runner passed me - she looked strong, I was fizzling out. 7:55 splits.
Amazingly, I passed her at the next water station and she never returned to overtake me. I was back in fourth...and then I passed a guy who looked more burned out than I was.
But I was definitely burning out. I wondered if I would ever see that Mile 23 sign. It seemed like forever. It was more than eight minutes. Ditto for Mile 24.
But then, like a beacon of hope, I saw the bridge back to FMB. I just had to get over that bridge and I was home free, right?
Not quite. I was in Mile 25 and the bridge was only a half-mile from the finish, so where was that extra mile? As this question hit me, I was instructed to turn left. Just. Before. The. Bridge. It was heartbreaking. And that, I believe, is what caused me to slam into The Wall.
"Who hits the wall in Mile 25???" is all I kept thinking as my body started shutting down and the run turned into a shuffle. Grunting and groaning as I passed people who were walking the half-marathon, I pushed up the bridge.
"Push...push...push...Got...to...do...it...for...Grandpa..."
Cresting the bridge with a 9+ minute pace for the last two miles, I tried as best as I could to lengthen my stride, no matter how much it hurt. This was for Grandpa. This was how I would have wanted him to see me finish. Strong. Just like he was.
Mikey was on the sidelines, taking video of my final approach as I yelled, "This is for Grandpa!"
With a final time of 3:18 and a third-place standing, I was more than happy. I kissed the sky, loudly proclaimed my dedication of the race to George Sorrentino, and collected my medal.
Excepting the disasters in Delaware and Utah, this was my slowest marathon. Yet it felt as good as my best races.
This is what I learned right then and there: If the goal is not a PR, but rather something more existential, then the clock time does not really matter. What matters is finishing strong. What matters is feeling good about the accomplishment. What matters is making Grandpa proud, even if he is not here to say so.
(official results and photos at FortMyersMarathon.com)
Unbeknownst to my friends and family (who were worried that I was overdoing it), I jumped right back into marathon training, starting in the middle of the Hal Higdon Advanced program with an eye on a Maryland race on Nov. 17. I wanted to continue my one-per-state streak, but needed something drive-able because I could not afford another big airplane trip. I knocked out 18, 19, and 20 mile runs with surprising ease.
In the meantime, my dear grandfather from Cape Coral, Fla., passed away. You may recall that I was supposed to run a marathon in his hometown last year, but it was cancelled. And then he was gone and I would never get to show him my stuff and make him proud of his grandson's accomplishments in running.
I stretched the budget and booked a flight for the memorial service, landing in Florida on Friday, Aug. 8. That evening, I looked at the local paper and saw an article about a new marathon taking place on Sunday, a mere 12 miles away from Cape Coral. I made up my mind right there. I announced at the memorial service the next day that I was going to run that race for Grandpa and my cousin was going to run the half-marathon.
Mikey and I got to Fort Myers Beach before the crack of dawn to do race-day registration. We got our bibs, stretched a bit and hit the start line. There was no time to be nervous or to over-think it.
This being Florida, the course was almost entirely flat. However, this being Florida, it was hot and humid. I had been training in the increasingly colder northeast. Heck, Mikey had not been training at all. Shirtless, with my bib on my right leg and Grandpa's old business card on my left, I headed out of the starting gate with 230 marathoners and 558 half-marathoners. Within a half mile, we went over the bridge out of the beach town - the one "hill" (and it was big).
Deliberately hanging back and trying my hardest to start out slow, I somehow knocked out almost precise 7:17 splits up to Mile 13, directly on target for my modest but challenging goal of 3:11. But by then it was around 8:30 a.m. and the sun was heating things up. And since most of this section of the race took place on main roads like San Carlos Boulevard and Summerlin Avenue, there was a lot of blacktop to add to the heat. Perhaps that is why my 8:08 13th mile gave way to a 6:47 14th mile once we got into beautiful Lakes Park.
Inside the park there were a bunch of twists and turns within the double loop along its paths. Some were tree lined and paved, some dirt, some little foot bridges over water. The new terrain helped me stay within a reasonable if not ideal time frame, with 7:20-ish splits for miles 15 through 19.
I watched the people coming at me on the backside of the loop, and noticed that I was consistently passing people that had been far ahead of me in the first half of the race. I counted as they passed, and as I passed others. I was in eighth place! Then seventh...sixth...fifth...fourth!
Then it was back out on the road and time to keep on keeping on. It was lonely out there in miles 20 through 22. No other runners around me, cars speeding by, only a handful of spectators. A fast female runner passed me - she looked strong, I was fizzling out. 7:55 splits.
Amazingly, I passed her at the next water station and she never returned to overtake me. I was back in fourth...and then I passed a guy who looked more burned out than I was.
But I was definitely burning out. I wondered if I would ever see that Mile 23 sign. It seemed like forever. It was more than eight minutes. Ditto for Mile 24.
But then, like a beacon of hope, I saw the bridge back to FMB. I just had to get over that bridge and I was home free, right?
Not quite. I was in Mile 25 and the bridge was only a half-mile from the finish, so where was that extra mile? As this question hit me, I was instructed to turn left. Just. Before. The. Bridge. It was heartbreaking. And that, I believe, is what caused me to slam into The Wall.
"Who hits the wall in Mile 25???" is all I kept thinking as my body started shutting down and the run turned into a shuffle. Grunting and groaning as I passed people who were walking the half-marathon, I pushed up the bridge.
"Push...push...push...Got...to...do...it...for...Grandpa..."
Cresting the bridge with a 9+ minute pace for the last two miles, I tried as best as I could to lengthen my stride, no matter how much it hurt. This was for Grandpa. This was how I would have wanted him to see me finish. Strong. Just like he was.
Mikey was on the sidelines, taking video of my final approach as I yelled, "This is for Grandpa!"
With a final time of 3:18 and a third-place standing, I was more than happy. I kissed the sky, loudly proclaimed my dedication of the race to George Sorrentino, and collected my medal.
Excepting the disasters in Delaware and Utah, this was my slowest marathon. Yet it felt as good as my best races.
This is what I learned right then and there: If the goal is not a PR, but rather something more existential, then the clock time does not really matter. What matters is finishing strong. What matters is feeling good about the accomplishment. What matters is making Grandpa proud, even if he is not here to say so.
(official results and photos at FortMyersMarathon.com)
Monday, November 18, 2013
20-miler and Phish in Connecticut
The first thing I did when I got to Connecticut for the third and final night of my Fall Tour shows was map out a place to run. I was positively thrilled when I found the Farmington Canal Trail in Cheshire. Much like my favorite place to run in New Jersey and Pennsylvania - the Delaware and Raritan Canal Trail - it is a paved recreation trail that was created from the towpath of a 19th Century canal.
My leisurely paced out-and-back on this flat, scenic surface on a crisp autumn day was a perfect running experience as I headed to Hamden and back. Never fatigued, smiling throughout, still glowing from the previous night's Phish show (yet surprisingly not tired from all the dancing!), I finished the run with a swift almost-sprint for the last three miles. I even jogged an extra mile for good measure.
Then it was off to the hotel for an ice bath and right back in the car to head to the XL Center in Hartford.
One would think that I would not have it in my legs to dance the night away at the Phish show, but one would be wrong.
The show kicked off with a killer rendition of Velvet Underground's "Rock and Roll". The audience went absolutely bananas. After a fantastic jam, the crowd started...booing?? What the hell? Trey then said something about dedicating the song to a great artist and asked for a moment of silence. I had no idea what he was talking about, so I asked the guy behind me.
"Dude, Lou Reed died today."
That was heavy news, but it explained a lot - the crowd was not booing, they were saying, "Louuuuuuuuuuuuu". That is what I get for spending the day running and not paying attention to the news. When on Phish tour, I get my news at the shows.
The first-timer sitting next to me was positively stoked about "Ocelot" which was great because it is nice to see someone get excited about it and also because it was a particularly excellent version. The set included songs like "Tube" (at four minutes, way too short), "Fee" (I'm so over it), "Nellie Kane" (a former rarity that I can now do without), "NICU" ("Play it, Leo!") and "A Song I Heard the Ocean Sing" (the weakest song on the otherwise strong 'Undermind' album), with the highlights sprinkled among them:
"Halfway to the Moon" is a Page McConnell standout for 3.0. I never tire of it. "Maze" blows my mind more now than it did 20 years ago, with Page's insane soloing on the organ and Trey's frenetically choppy rhythm guitar. "Lawn Boy" is always a lounge-y treat. And "Walls of the Cave" was well-executed in the front half and packed the right amount of punch in the back half. I always want that F# buildup to burst like an enormous bubble into the B chord for the jam and this one did not disappoint.
"Chalk Dust Torture" opened the second set, continuing its status as the song I have most frequently seen Phish play. I think I am up to almost 30.
Someone tweeted on Sunday morning that there was going to be great Hartford "Tweezer" and he was so right. "Tweezer" got dull in the later years of 1.0 and was hit or miss in the 2.0 days. But there was something about the "Tweezer" tour opener in Bethel, N.Y., in 2011 that brought me back around and eager to hear it again. Every version since then has been stellar.
"Golden Age" another huge highlight, every time, lived up to its status in my mind as the best cover song of 3.0. I am an unstoppable dance machine when Phish plays this, and the jam did everything to keep me interested and grooving.
"Birds of a Feather" and "Halley's Comet" were good enough, but unless they start jamming on them more, I do not think I can get too excited about them at this point. But the "2001" jam was a surprise - they stretched it and bent it in ways I have not heard since the late '90s.
"Fluffhead" - the original banner of 3.0 which served to bury the "Fluff"-less 2.0 - was well-played in its changes (not to mention the "jumping" part) and nice and big for the ending.
As with "Walls", I am very particular about the buildup in "Slave to the Traffic Light" (especially with both being set-closers). The crescendo is what makes or breaks a "Slave" and, thankfully, it has been reliably the former almost every time these days. I recall a time in 1997 when I was so frequently disappointed with it, but that is becoming a distant memory.
And who can argue with a rock-tastic encore of "Loving Cup" and "Tweezer Reprise"? Though my legs were getting sore, I could not stop leaping with excitement and frenzy during the closing section of the latter.
Three days of stellar Phish shows, 30 miles of excellent running. That, dear reader, is a perfect weekend.
My leisurely paced out-and-back on this flat, scenic surface on a crisp autumn day was a perfect running experience as I headed to Hamden and back. Never fatigued, smiling throughout, still glowing from the previous night's Phish show (yet surprisingly not tired from all the dancing!), I finished the run with a swift almost-sprint for the last three miles. I even jogged an extra mile for good measure.
Then it was off to the hotel for an ice bath and right back in the car to head to the XL Center in Hartford.
One would think that I would not have it in my legs to dance the night away at the Phish show, but one would be wrong.
The show kicked off with a killer rendition of Velvet Underground's "Rock and Roll". The audience went absolutely bananas. After a fantastic jam, the crowd started...booing?? What the hell? Trey then said something about dedicating the song to a great artist and asked for a moment of silence. I had no idea what he was talking about, so I asked the guy behind me.
"Dude, Lou Reed died today."
That was heavy news, but it explained a lot - the crowd was not booing, they were saying, "Louuuuuuuuuuuuu". That is what I get for spending the day running and not paying attention to the news. When on Phish tour, I get my news at the shows.
The first-timer sitting next to me was positively stoked about "Ocelot" which was great because it is nice to see someone get excited about it and also because it was a particularly excellent version. The set included songs like "Tube" (at four minutes, way too short), "Fee" (I'm so over it), "Nellie Kane" (a former rarity that I can now do without), "NICU" ("Play it, Leo!") and "A Song I Heard the Ocean Sing" (the weakest song on the otherwise strong 'Undermind' album), with the highlights sprinkled among them:
"Halfway to the Moon" is a Page McConnell standout for 3.0. I never tire of it. "Maze" blows my mind more now than it did 20 years ago, with Page's insane soloing on the organ and Trey's frenetically choppy rhythm guitar. "Lawn Boy" is always a lounge-y treat. And "Walls of the Cave" was well-executed in the front half and packed the right amount of punch in the back half. I always want that F# buildup to burst like an enormous bubble into the B chord for the jam and this one did not disappoint.
"Chalk Dust Torture" opened the second set, continuing its status as the song I have most frequently seen Phish play. I think I am up to almost 30.
Someone tweeted on Sunday morning that there was going to be great Hartford "Tweezer" and he was so right. "Tweezer" got dull in the later years of 1.0 and was hit or miss in the 2.0 days. But there was something about the "Tweezer" tour opener in Bethel, N.Y., in 2011 that brought me back around and eager to hear it again. Every version since then has been stellar.
"Golden Age" another huge highlight, every time, lived up to its status in my mind as the best cover song of 3.0. I am an unstoppable dance machine when Phish plays this, and the jam did everything to keep me interested and grooving.
"Birds of a Feather" and "Halley's Comet" were good enough, but unless they start jamming on them more, I do not think I can get too excited about them at this point. But the "2001" jam was a surprise - they stretched it and bent it in ways I have not heard since the late '90s.
"Fluffhead" - the original banner of 3.0 which served to bury the "Fluff"-less 2.0 - was well-played in its changes (not to mention the "jumping" part) and nice and big for the ending.
As with "Walls", I am very particular about the buildup in "Slave to the Traffic Light" (especially with both being set-closers). The crescendo is what makes or breaks a "Slave" and, thankfully, it has been reliably the former almost every time these days. I recall a time in 1997 when I was so frequently disappointed with it, but that is becoming a distant memory.
And who can argue with a rock-tastic encore of "Loving Cup" and "Tweezer Reprise"? Though my legs were getting sore, I could not stop leaping with excitement and frenzy during the closing section of the latter.
Three days of stellar Phish shows, 30 miles of excellent running. That, dear reader, is a perfect weekend.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Night Two of Phish at DCU Center, Worcester, MA
I stayed in Sturbridge, Mass., between Phish shows in Worcester, where I did a 10-mile pace run on the afternoon of the second show. I ran north from the main drag of Route 20, past I-90 and up into the big hills of Brookfield and was lucky enough to see some of the lovely and colorful fall foliage that still remained on the trees in late October. Despite the hills, I managed to nail a 7:09 pace. It was amazing pace run result, considering I was not even training for a marathon - I was just trying to stay in marathon shape.
The opening rat-a-tat-tat snare drum of "Party Time" kicked off Phish's second night at DCU with a festive bang. I was way up behind the stage in section 315, but the sound was perfect and I had lots of dancing room, which I totally used. The party rocked on into "Punch You in the Eye" and the first set continued to bring the heat on that chilly evening. Though "Back on the Train" and "My Soul" were good enough, the set's big moments came with "Bathtub Gin", an excellently executed and ferociously jammed "Stash", and a great (though shorter than I had hoped) "Simple".
And then there was "Ride Captain Ride". Since 1987, the band has played several hundred shows, yet only dug out this nugget 17 times. Since 1993, when I first saw them, they have only played this old Blues Image song (who even remembers them?) 10 times. How I have managed to see four of those is beyond me. It is a fun little ditty about sailing on a mystery ship, but it is legendary for its rareness at Phish shows. Like when I saw "Skin It Back" last year, the thrill was not so much in the song itself, but in the feeling that it is a once-in-a-blue-moon moment when Phish plays it.
OK, it is not exactly the same, since "Captain", though less rare, is a much cooler tune.
Set one ended with a raucous-as-usual "Character Zero" a song typically reserved for the end of set two or the encore, and in retrospect, it is no wonder. The second set was so far out and blissful that even a big number like that was not needed.
Back in the late-'90s and definitely in the 2.0 period of 2003-04, we would occasionally be treated to the kind of set with jams so huge that Phish would end up only playing a handful of songs. This night was a throwback to that, but with all the precision and major-key bliss that has been a staple of recent years. The Who's "Drowned" as an opener lasted 20 minutes. "Light", 13 minutes of glorious jam. When the funk of "Sand" is the shortest of the first three (seven minutes), you know you are in a thick set.
"Theme From the Bottom" slowed it down, but the large ending gave way to a "Mike's Song -> No Quarter -> Weekapaug Groove" combo that absolutely destroyed the room. And for the first time to my knowledge since the mid-'90s, they closed the set with "Weekapaug" but without a big rock-n-roll-ending of bashing out the final chord. It simply was not necessary. We were blown away.
And like "Ride", Led Zeppelin's "No Quarter" is another rarity - only six performances since its debut in 2011 - that I have managed to see them play more times than I deserve (I have been treated to half of them).
The encore was awkward, with a guest drummer (Kenwood Dennard) to whom Jon Fishman referred as one of his favorites. He did a nice job with "Boogie On Reggae Woman" but made a mess of "Possum".
Still, nothing could erase what the second set did. It was one of those magical nights that would remove any doubt (if there had been any, which there had not) about why I keep coming back for more, even after 94 shows.
The opening rat-a-tat-tat snare drum of "Party Time" kicked off Phish's second night at DCU with a festive bang. I was way up behind the stage in section 315, but the sound was perfect and I had lots of dancing room, which I totally used. The party rocked on into "Punch You in the Eye" and the first set continued to bring the heat on that chilly evening. Though "Back on the Train" and "My Soul" were good enough, the set's big moments came with "Bathtub Gin", an excellently executed and ferociously jammed "Stash", and a great (though shorter than I had hoped) "Simple".
And then there was "Ride Captain Ride". Since 1987, the band has played several hundred shows, yet only dug out this nugget 17 times. Since 1993, when I first saw them, they have only played this old Blues Image song (who even remembers them?) 10 times. How I have managed to see four of those is beyond me. It is a fun little ditty about sailing on a mystery ship, but it is legendary for its rareness at Phish shows. Like when I saw "Skin It Back" last year, the thrill was not so much in the song itself, but in the feeling that it is a once-in-a-blue-moon moment when Phish plays it.
OK, it is not exactly the same, since "Captain", though less rare, is a much cooler tune.
Set one ended with a raucous-as-usual "Character Zero" a song typically reserved for the end of set two or the encore, and in retrospect, it is no wonder. The second set was so far out and blissful that even a big number like that was not needed.
Back in the late-'90s and definitely in the 2.0 period of 2003-04, we would occasionally be treated to the kind of set with jams so huge that Phish would end up only playing a handful of songs. This night was a throwback to that, but with all the precision and major-key bliss that has been a staple of recent years. The Who's "Drowned" as an opener lasted 20 minutes. "Light", 13 minutes of glorious jam. When the funk of "Sand" is the shortest of the first three (seven minutes), you know you are in a thick set.
"Theme From the Bottom" slowed it down, but the large ending gave way to a "Mike's Song -> No Quarter -> Weekapaug Groove" combo that absolutely destroyed the room. And for the first time to my knowledge since the mid-'90s, they closed the set with "Weekapaug" but without a big rock-n-roll-ending of bashing out the final chord. It simply was not necessary. We were blown away.
And like "Ride", Led Zeppelin's "No Quarter" is another rarity - only six performances since its debut in 2011 - that I have managed to see them play more times than I deserve (I have been treated to half of them).
The encore was awkward, with a guest drummer (Kenwood Dennard) to whom Jon Fishman referred as one of his favorites. He did a nice job with "Boogie On Reggae Woman" but made a mess of "Possum".
Still, nothing could erase what the second set did. It was one of those magical nights that would remove any doubt (if there had been any, which there had not) about why I keep coming back for more, even after 94 shows.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Phish at DCU Center, Worcester, MA
Imagine my delight when Phish announced its first fall tour in three years.
Imagine my elation when I found out that the entirety of the tour would be in the east.
Imagine my utter joy when they said that the tour would be capped off with a three-night run, including Halloween, right here in New Jersey.
Imagine my disappointment when I could not get one darn ticket to any of those Atlantic City shows.
What to do? Go to New England.
I managed to secure tickets to both shows in Worcester, Mass., and the following night in Hartford, Conn., and, boy, am I glad I did. Those shows, my 93rd, 94th and 95th, were well worth the drive, cost of gas, hotel room and outrageous parking fees.
Friday's show was one of those that looks ho-hum on paper (with the exception of the rare four-song encore!), but to listen to the show is to hear Phish firing on all cylinders.
"Funky Bitch" was a nice start, standard for sure, but once "Wolfman's Brother" kicked in, the band was locked and there was no turning back. My view from behind the stage was so cool, seeing the crowd doing the "Wilson" chant and digging the deep grooves of "Cities" and "Free".
"The Curtain With" has finally gotten to a point in my head that I can almost dismiss the dreary memory of it being the last song Phish played at the awful Coventry, Vt., concert before breaking up in 2004, and has become enjoyable again in all of its excellence. So much so, that it did not even occur to me how weird it was that they played "Rift" two songs later, with its middle break being exactly the same as the "Curtain" coda. "My Mind's Got a Mind of Its Own" was a nice little two-minute treat before the incredibly raucous "46 Days" set closer.
I love huge first sets and the second set built on the already impressive show, with a "Waves" opener that created those Zen moments that Victor D. Infante wrote about in his excellent article in the Telegram & Gazette on Sunday. "Carini" and "Down With Disease" rocked the house and brought more monster jams and "Backwards Down the Number Line" seemed more rollicking than usual. "Sneaking' Sally Through the Alley" brought the funk and the one-two punch of "Cavern" and wild "Run Like an Antelope" closed the set leaving everyone satisfied. For me, the dancing only stopped for a beautiful rendition of "Dirt" and a solid "Prince Caspian". Otherwise, there was just no stopping the party.
Trey Anastasio must have felt the same way because after the encore of "Contact" (again, with my view from behind the stage offering an excellent visual of the entire arena's audience doing the signature arm-waving), the band launched into "Suzy Greenberg" with Page McConnell absolutely killing it in his piano solo. On any other night, that would have ended the show perfectly, but when I saw Trey turn around to Jon Fishman and yell for "Rocky Top", I was floored. The breakneck bluegrass song came to a close and Trey turned around to Fish yet again. I watched his mouth and saw it say, "Good Times". And with that, the show entered the history books with the first four-song encore in God-knows-how-long as they brought the house down with Led Zeppelin's classic "Good Times Bad Times".
When the insanity finally stopped, I'm sure the statistics were the farthest thing from anyone's mind. We had just experienced a killer show that, granted, consisted almost entirely of songs from the 1980s and 90s, yet sounded fresh and exciting. That is the key to the band's ability to never become an oldies act.
Imagine my elation when I found out that the entirety of the tour would be in the east.
Imagine my utter joy when they said that the tour would be capped off with a three-night run, including Halloween, right here in New Jersey.
Imagine my disappointment when I could not get one darn ticket to any of those Atlantic City shows.
What to do? Go to New England.
I managed to secure tickets to both shows in Worcester, Mass., and the following night in Hartford, Conn., and, boy, am I glad I did. Those shows, my 93rd, 94th and 95th, were well worth the drive, cost of gas, hotel room and outrageous parking fees.
Friday's show was one of those that looks ho-hum on paper (with the exception of the rare four-song encore!), but to listen to the show is to hear Phish firing on all cylinders.
"Funky Bitch" was a nice start, standard for sure, but once "Wolfman's Brother" kicked in, the band was locked and there was no turning back. My view from behind the stage was so cool, seeing the crowd doing the "Wilson" chant and digging the deep grooves of "Cities" and "Free".
"The Curtain With" has finally gotten to a point in my head that I can almost dismiss the dreary memory of it being the last song Phish played at the awful Coventry, Vt., concert before breaking up in 2004, and has become enjoyable again in all of its excellence. So much so, that it did not even occur to me how weird it was that they played "Rift" two songs later, with its middle break being exactly the same as the "Curtain" coda. "My Mind's Got a Mind of Its Own" was a nice little two-minute treat before the incredibly raucous "46 Days" set closer.
I love huge first sets and the second set built on the already impressive show, with a "Waves" opener that created those Zen moments that Victor D. Infante wrote about in his excellent article in the Telegram & Gazette on Sunday. "Carini" and "Down With Disease" rocked the house and brought more monster jams and "Backwards Down the Number Line" seemed more rollicking than usual. "Sneaking' Sally Through the Alley" brought the funk and the one-two punch of "Cavern" and wild "Run Like an Antelope" closed the set leaving everyone satisfied. For me, the dancing only stopped for a beautiful rendition of "Dirt" and a solid "Prince Caspian". Otherwise, there was just no stopping the party.
Trey Anastasio must have felt the same way because after the encore of "Contact" (again, with my view from behind the stage offering an excellent visual of the entire arena's audience doing the signature arm-waving), the band launched into "Suzy Greenberg" with Page McConnell absolutely killing it in his piano solo. On any other night, that would have ended the show perfectly, but when I saw Trey turn around to Jon Fishman and yell for "Rocky Top", I was floored. The breakneck bluegrass song came to a close and Trey turned around to Fish yet again. I watched his mouth and saw it say, "Good Times". And with that, the show entered the history books with the first four-song encore in God-knows-how-long as they brought the house down with Led Zeppelin's classic "Good Times Bad Times".
When the insanity finally stopped, I'm sure the statistics were the farthest thing from anyone's mind. We had just experienced a killer show that, granted, consisted almost entirely of songs from the 1980s and 90s, yet sounded fresh and exciting. That is the key to the band's ability to never become an oldies act.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Re/Max Heritage Properties - Heroes Run 5K
The park that sits in the middle of the quaint and pretty downtown Chester served as the starting and ending point for the Heroes Run 5K, a well-organized, small-town race by Re/Max Heritage Properties and a great staff of volunteers.
I entered the race after some research led me to last year's inaugural run which drew only 82 people and a winning time that I knew I could beat.
That is not to say that I went into it expecting to win. After all, I probably was not the only one that noticed the soft field from last year. Plus on the rare occasions that I had been in the lead in previous races, I somehow managed to lose it - the Leonia 10K in which I made a wrong turn came to mind, so I started scribbling the route directions on my hands with a Sharpie marker.
This year's Heroes Run grew a little, but the field was still small. When the race started, Chester's own Stephen Jeffs darted out into the lead, temporarily dashing my hopes of my first win. Still, second place was easily do-able here, so the goal was to simply trail Stephen for as long as possible.
As I came up alongside him on Fairmount Avenue in the second mile, I told him, "Don't worry, I'm not going to beat you," because I figured he probably came here for the same reason I did and, frankly, I did not think I had a kick in me for the end. He responded that he thought I might.
Here were two doubters in the lead, each thinking the other would pull away. Stephen was so nice that when he saw me checking my directions, he spared me the effort of reading the red scribbles on my hands, alerting me to each coming turn as we navigated the roads north of Main Street. We ran side by side on the uphill of Hedges Road and on the turn from Hillside Road onto Ammerman Way (which, by the way, had no street sign - good thing I had Stephen and my hand notes to help!).
Rounding the corner toward Cedar Tree Lane, we came upon a downhill that was about two-tenths of a mile and severe enough to have to make a choice - bound down and let gravity pull me with long strides or hang back and focus more on shorter leg turnover.
I chose the former, stretching my legs as far as they would go (leaving me with some groin ache later on), leaving Stephen behind. Because in the end, with less than a mile to go, it was not about Stephen anymore and it was not about winning either. It always comes down to the same thing - beating the clock. All that time I was jockeying for position, I had no idea how I was doing compared to my own previous races. Maybe I was in PR zone; maybe I was well over 19 minutes.
Pushing as hard as I could on the last stretch of Collins Road, trying to keep the momentum from the downhill and still fully extending my legs, I saw the clock still in the 18s. And they were holding tape at the finish line! I'm going to actually know what it feels like to break the finish tape!
My first win was with an 18:46. I have lost age group awards with better times. But that did not matter. I ran a great race, with a time of which I can be proud and, darn it, I won!
Talk about a confidence booster.
Oh, for the record, after the race I apologized to Stephen for telling him I was not going to beat him and then doing so.
I entered the race after some research led me to last year's inaugural run which drew only 82 people and a winning time that I knew I could beat.
That is not to say that I went into it expecting to win. After all, I probably was not the only one that noticed the soft field from last year. Plus on the rare occasions that I had been in the lead in previous races, I somehow managed to lose it - the Leonia 10K in which I made a wrong turn came to mind, so I started scribbling the route directions on my hands with a Sharpie marker.
This year's Heroes Run grew a little, but the field was still small. When the race started, Chester's own Stephen Jeffs darted out into the lead, temporarily dashing my hopes of my first win. Still, second place was easily do-able here, so the goal was to simply trail Stephen for as long as possible.
As I came up alongside him on Fairmount Avenue in the second mile, I told him, "Don't worry, I'm not going to beat you," because I figured he probably came here for the same reason I did and, frankly, I did not think I had a kick in me for the end. He responded that he thought I might.
Here were two doubters in the lead, each thinking the other would pull away. Stephen was so nice that when he saw me checking my directions, he spared me the effort of reading the red scribbles on my hands, alerting me to each coming turn as we navigated the roads north of Main Street. We ran side by side on the uphill of Hedges Road and on the turn from Hillside Road onto Ammerman Way (which, by the way, had no street sign - good thing I had Stephen and my hand notes to help!).
Rounding the corner toward Cedar Tree Lane, we came upon a downhill that was about two-tenths of a mile and severe enough to have to make a choice - bound down and let gravity pull me with long strides or hang back and focus more on shorter leg turnover.
I chose the former, stretching my legs as far as they would go (leaving me with some groin ache later on), leaving Stephen behind. Because in the end, with less than a mile to go, it was not about Stephen anymore and it was not about winning either. It always comes down to the same thing - beating the clock. All that time I was jockeying for position, I had no idea how I was doing compared to my own previous races. Maybe I was in PR zone; maybe I was well over 19 minutes.
Pushing as hard as I could on the last stretch of Collins Road, trying to keep the momentum from the downhill and still fully extending my legs, I saw the clock still in the 18s. And they were holding tape at the finish line! I'm going to actually know what it feels like to break the finish tape!
My first win was with an 18:46. I have lost age group awards with better times. But that did not matter. I ran a great race, with a time of which I can be proud and, darn it, I won!
Talk about a confidence booster.
Oh, for the record, after the race I apologized to Stephen for telling him I was not going to beat him and then doing so.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Recovery training
I knew I was in for a world of hurt.
When I finally got the shoes on and hit the pavement, it was slow going. And it was painful. Every muscle in my legs felt sore. Even my feet felt fatigued from the moment I hit the ground running. So it went for the next week or two.
In addition to following Hal Higdon's programs to train for races, I also follow his post-marathon training guide. The Advanced level five-week plan is an excellent reboot after any marathon, whether triumphant or grueling (or both). It focuses first on simply getting back out on your feet. Then it re-introduces some speed work - some 400-meter track intervals and some one-mile intervals - each week pushing a little faster. So at first, you do your repeats at marathon pace, but after a few weeks, you do them at 5K pace.
The program concludes with a 5K race and that usually dovetails nicely into a season of continued short races for me until I burn out from it and need to get back to the long, slower miles. Remarkably, I have run some of my best 5Ks at the conclusion of this post-marathon training.
I knew that thanks to Higdon's training schedule, I would be ready for a late-September 5K, but I also knew a PR was not in the cards. What I needed, then, was a mental boost, so I specifically set out to find a race with a "soft field" (I just learned that term from a fellow runner) - one in which I could conceivably get some hardware. Sure, running a race has its own rewards but there is nothing like bringing home a medal, even if it is for third place in a five-year age group, to make me feel great about my accomplishment.
Among the dozens of September races in northern New Jersey, I found a tiny 5K in Chester called the Heroes Run. Last year, its inaugural, the race had 82 participants and the winner clocked in at 20:34. I wanted a soft field, and I found one.
to be continued...
When I finally got the shoes on and hit the pavement, it was slow going. And it was painful. Every muscle in my legs felt sore. Even my feet felt fatigued from the moment I hit the ground running. So it went for the next week or two.
In addition to following Hal Higdon's programs to train for races, I also follow his post-marathon training guide. The Advanced level five-week plan is an excellent reboot after any marathon, whether triumphant or grueling (or both). It focuses first on simply getting back out on your feet. Then it re-introduces some speed work - some 400-meter track intervals and some one-mile intervals - each week pushing a little faster. So at first, you do your repeats at marathon pace, but after a few weeks, you do them at 5K pace.
The program concludes with a 5K race and that usually dovetails nicely into a season of continued short races for me until I burn out from it and need to get back to the long, slower miles. Remarkably, I have run some of my best 5Ks at the conclusion of this post-marathon training.
I knew that thanks to Higdon's training schedule, I would be ready for a late-September 5K, but I also knew a PR was not in the cards. What I needed, then, was a mental boost, so I specifically set out to find a race with a "soft field" (I just learned that term from a fellow runner) - one in which I could conceivably get some hardware. Sure, running a race has its own rewards but there is nothing like bringing home a medal, even if it is for third place in a five-year age group, to make me feel great about my accomplishment.
Among the dozens of September races in northern New Jersey, I found a tiny 5K in Chester called the Heroes Run. Last year, its inaugural, the race had 82 participants and the winner clocked in at 20:34. I wanted a soft field, and I found one.
to be continued...
Monday, October 14, 2013
Recovery Day Four
With a morning flight booked out of Salt Lake City, I needed to return my rental car and check in for my flight. I found the nearest gas station and in my haste filling up, spilled gas on my shoes.
And man, I was thirsty - good thing I have that water in the...oh shit, I forgot about the cooler in the trunk.
I removed the remaining water bottles, dumped the ice in the gas station lot, and chucked the cooler in the nearest Dumpster. Realizing I still had a quarter-bottle of Jack Daniel's, emptied the whiskey into one of the water bottles. No point in letting that go to waste. So I returned the car, guzzled the water, and then, in the airport, pounded the JD.
Sitting in the Salt Lake City airport at 10 in the morning, smelling like gas, drunk from a whiskey breakfast, and still having not had a proper meal in the three days since the race, I had set myself up for a world of hurt when running resumed the next day.
But at least I came back from Utah with some stories to tell. That is what adventures are all about.
And man, I was thirsty - good thing I have that water in the...oh shit, I forgot about the cooler in the trunk.
I removed the remaining water bottles, dumped the ice in the gas station lot, and chucked the cooler in the nearest Dumpster. Realizing I still had a quarter-bottle of Jack Daniel's, emptied the whiskey into one of the water bottles. No point in letting that go to waste. So I returned the car, guzzled the water, and then, in the airport, pounded the JD.
Sitting in the Salt Lake City airport at 10 in the morning, smelling like gas, drunk from a whiskey breakfast, and still having not had a proper meal in the three days since the race, I had set myself up for a world of hurt when running resumed the next day.
But at least I came back from Utah with some stories to tell. That is what adventures are all about.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Recovery Day Three
So much for the big, nutritious breakfast.
It was my first time in a bed in three days, so slept long and deeply (natch). I had barely enough time to pack up and check out. Then it was on the road to Salt Lake City.
My first stop was Antelope Island, which is an island park that sits in the Great Salt Lake with hiking trails, beaches, campgrounds, roaming bison and pronghorn antelope. Here I am dipping my feet in the lake, which I found to be murky, kind of gross, and teeming with bugs.
Without a lot of time to spend, though, I did not get a chance to walk the trails, though I did drive the length of the one main road and stopped to take photos of the view and the wildlife.
Later, after walking around Salt Lake City all day seeing the sights and learning about the history of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I was finally hungry and needed to eat. Since I knew it would be my only meal in the city before going home, I wanted it to be special - from just the right place. The more I walked around, the harder it was for me to decide where to eat.
By this time, my brain was probably in a complete fog from not having had a proper meal in four days, not to mention walking around in the sun every day, drinking nothing but water, beer and whiskey. In that stupor, I made the boneheaded decision to not eat at all because I could not decide where to go. At the end of the night, I simply checked into my last hotel room and crashed out, continuing to completely blow my recovery in every way possible.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Post-Marathon Day Two
To Zion!
I spent Day Two of my not-quite-recovery at Zion National Park in southwestern Utah. This meant more hiking, more blazing sun, and still not much eating.
In retrospect, I can not fathom why food did not figure into my days, but I ate the bare minimum - the yogurt and the raw fruits and vegetables that I bought on Saturday. I drank a case of water, though. Thankfully, I knew that to be important.
All the while, I explored Zion as much as one could in a day.
I even took a horseback ride along the canyon river.
By the end of the day, I was beat. Utterly fatigued from two-and-a-half days of not recovering from the marathon. The plan was, initially, to sleep in the car one more night instead I drove north through the night and checked into a hotel in West Valley, Utah, at around 1 a.m.
First order of business - a shower. I was filthy. Then a solid night's sleep in a comfortable bed.
Around that time, it had occurred to me that I had not moved my bowels in almost three days. And that was when I realized that I had not handled my recovery correctly. If I was not taking in food, where was my body getting its nutrients? Probably taking it from my muscles, which were already depleted. Bad news.
Tuesday morning - big breakfast. No doubt about it. But the damage was already done.
I spent Day Two of my not-quite-recovery at Zion National Park in southwestern Utah. This meant more hiking, more blazing sun, and still not much eating.
In retrospect, I can not fathom why food did not figure into my days, but I ate the bare minimum - the yogurt and the raw fruits and vegetables that I bought on Saturday. I drank a case of water, though. Thankfully, I knew that to be important.
All the while, I explored Zion as much as one could in a day.
I even took a horseback ride along the canyon river.
By the end of the day, I was beat. Utterly fatigued from two-and-a-half days of not recovering from the marathon. The plan was, initially, to sleep in the car one more night instead I drove north through the night and checked into a hotel in West Valley, Utah, at around 1 a.m.
First order of business - a shower. I was filthy. Then a solid night's sleep in a comfortable bed.
Around that time, it had occurred to me that I had not moved my bowels in almost three days. And that was when I realized that I had not handled my recovery correctly. If I was not taking in food, where was my body getting its nutrients? Probably taking it from my muscles, which were already depleted. Bad news.
Tuesday morning - big breakfast. No doubt about it. But the damage was already done.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Still not recovering at Arches National Park
Waking up to this view is pretty awesome if you ask me (same view as last night, but at sunrise):
I spent most of the day after the race at Arches National Park, hiking some trails and taking in the natural beauty of one of Utah's treasures.
By the time I did the hike up to Delicate Arch (the famous one you see on postcards, Utah license plates, tourist websites, etc.), the sun was blazing and the temperature was in the mid-90s and there was absolutely no shade. I brought plenty of water with me and hydrated like crazy, but once again, eating did not seem to cross my mind.
With wobbly legs and some leftover fatigue, I managed to hike the 1.5-mile trail which went uphill almost 500 feet. All worth it.
But it was soon time to leave Arches...
...because I had another destination to reach by the end of the day - the Four Corners, the only place in the country where four states meet. The park in which that spot sits is on Native American land and it closes at 8 p.m. I got there at 7:30. Whew!
Here I am standing in both Arizona and New Mexico (with Utah and Colorado over the line in front of me) adding two more states to my goal of getting to all 50. That makes 43.
And by 9 p.m., I began my drive through the night across northern Arizona and back into Utah on its southwestern side to visit Zion National Park.
But not before a photo with one of the official welcome signs.
It was a day and a half after the race and I still had not eaten a meal, slept in a bed or showered. I was having too much fun to realize I was doing everything wrong.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
How not to recover from a difficult marathon...
After re-gaining my senses in the First Aid tent at the Park City Marathon in Utah, I drove the half-hour to my hotel in Sandy, took a shower, checked out, and got on the road. I had four more days in the state and I needed to see as much as possible, starting with Arches National Park.
Before making the trek to Arches, I stopped at the local supermarket. I was feeling weak and not hungry at all. Still, I figured I had better grab some healthy food for the road trip. A kind gentleman at the hotel gave me his giant Styrofoam cooler (he was checking out and heading to the airport), so I bought some cold food like yogurt and various fruits and veggies. Plus the cooler was already stocked with some beer and whiskey (score!).
What I did not buy was anything with carbohydrates or protein (besides the yogurt) or salt. Pretzels would have been a great idea. Protein shakes would have been a good idea. Instead, I ate a head of kale for dinner. You read that correctly - a head of raw kale. And some grapes. Way to replenish the muscles, Daniel.
Then, following a few hours on the road, when I finally got to Arches in the evening, I cracked open a brewski. Yes, beer for dessert.
To cap off the evening, did I tuck myself into some comfortable hotel bed, soothing my aching body with the comfort of a soft, thick mattress?
No, I pulled into a parking lot at Arches, put the seat back, and slept in the driver's seat of my rental car.
On the plus side, this was my view (the Windows Arches) as the sun went down and I got ready to drift away to sleep.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Park City Marathon: the wall elevated
"You came all the way from New Jersey for this marathon?! You're crazy!"
So said Sue, the nice lady at the first aid tent, while I laid there half-dazed with an oxygen mask on my face. How did my ninth marathon end like this?
I did my hill training. I got to town early to adjust to the elevation. I spent all day Friday studying the course. I did everything I could. Yet nothing seemed to prepare me for the challenge of the Park City Marathon.
Access to the start line was fast and easy. I love these small marathons for that. There was plenty of space to park in the Newpark plaza. No crowds, no shuttle buses, no problems.
It was still dark with perfect weather - cool and cloudy. I felt surprisingly ready. When the race kicked off, I bolted out behind the front-runners and out of the plaza on Newpark Boulevard and then Highland Drive. I deliberately tried to hang back a bit and not keep up with the leaders, but kept a healthy pace for fear of going too slow in the easy section.
At the first mile marker, I nailed a 6:20. Way too fast. I slowed it down for a few miles, still pushing on the uphills, especially the steep one around the next turn from Old Ranch Road to Trailside Drive, but relaxing on the downhill.
By the time I wove my way through the neighborhood with its lovely houses, past the school, and onto the bike path, I was in the zone. When I came to the end of the bike path and started the seven-mile stretch on the part dirt, part paved Rail Trail, I was on target for my 3:03 PR. I watched the sun rise over the mountains and everything felt right.
The nine-mile stretch of uphill began gradually in the eighth. By the ninth mile marker, I was still right on track with my goal pace of 7:01 I was working a lot harder than I should have been. Maybe the elevation (6600 feet above sea level) really does have an effect. Though it did not look like I was going uphill, it was feeling like it.
By the tenth mile I fell behind, but I was thoroughly in the moment and intent on simply running the best race I could at that time. And if I had to adjust and readjust the definition of that as the race went on, so be it.
The course turned off the Rail Trail and onto the bike path alongside Deer Valley Drive and that is where the real work started. The incline was no longer gentle. But now in the 14th and 15th mile, after already running an incline for seven miles how could I gather the strength to push it to the top of the hill in this ski-lodge portion of town.
It is too bad that all my focus had to be diverted to this problem because from time to time I did notice that the path would have been aestethically enjoyable on any other day - snaking through underpasses and winding past parks.
If the final uphill push to the summit of 7200 feet was the end of the race, maybe I could have summoned some last blast of energy. Instead, I merely trotted at a pace of around nine minutes to that 16-mile mark figuring that I would make up lost time (or not lose any more) on the 10 miles of gradual downhill. The worst was supposedly over.
To my surprise, I had nothing left for the descent. Gravity helped me hit my last sub-8 mile in the 17th, but that short, steep monster of a hill in the 18th, just past the shopping plaza and the two small pedestrian bridges, was the final nail in this marathon's coffin.
Everyone that I usually beat was passing me - women first, then older guys, then the costumed guy. Somehow I mustered up the energy to yell to the guy that was way ahead of me on the road as I was about to make the turn he missed. And in a few minutes, he passed me for a second time as we ran through the residential streets.
How did this happen? When did this happen? I had hit the wall and I did not even know it.
On the bike path alongside Highway 224, I hit Mile 20 with a 10-minute mile. Each mile was slower than the previous one. On the dirt path back toward Old Ranch Road, I struggled to run an 11-minute mile. In the 24th, 12 minutes was the best I could do.
I can not describe the misery of the last two miles. This was now a race to beat my worst time (3:54 in Delaware last year), so I kept forcing one foot in front of the other, determined not to walk, even as I was now shuffling at a 13-minute pace.
Crossing the finish line, there was no triumph, only sweet, blessed relief. Too much relief, actually, as my body immediately began to shut down. My legs buckled a bit...my head started getting dizzy...my eyelids heavy...
Suddenly a woman was holding my arm while I entered the finish chute. "Come this way," she said, and then there was a man holding my other arm. My memory of it is fuzzy, but by the time we finished the short walk from the finish to the first aid tent, Sue and Herb were basically holding me up.
I was laid down on a cot and Herb put an oxygen mask on me as Sue took my blood pressure. A doctor who was originally from Paramus, N.J., (small world!) checked on me.
It took about a half hour for me to feel some kind of normalcy (discounting the soreness in my legs). I hung around a few minutes longer, but I had a schedule to keep - check out of the hotel in Sandy and head to Arches National Park in Moab.
There were no stomach troubles and no missed turns to blame for my poor showing. It was a difficult course - one of the hardest in the country, according to Sue, after telling me I was crazy - and I gave it my all.
That made me feel good. Proud, even. Crazy? No way - it was worth everything I put into it.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
A big nine-mile breakfast
Those (few) that watched my little movie about my experience at the Boston Marathon all seem to remember one particular moment.
As I crested the infamous Heartbreak Hill, the last of a series of hills through Newton in the second half of the race, I looked right into the camera I was holding and yelled (huffing, puffing and all red-faced), "Is that it?? I'm from northern New Jersey!! I EAT HILLS FOR BREAKFAST!!!"
See it in this segment:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZikyUD6umqU&feature=youtube_gdata_player
Three years and four marathons later, I find myself daunted by the sight of the map and elevation chart for today's Park City Marathon.
The first notable challenge is the mixed terrain (paved roads, bike paths and dirt trails) and the myriad twists and turns in the route (will this be another Delaware?).
But the elevation chart is the real eye-opener.
It basically looks like a bell curve. The first mile is relatively flat (though starting at 6,400 feet above sea level). Then it shows a mile-long 200-foot upgrade followed by a slight drop and a flat stretch into mile seven.
And then it is all uphill for nine miles. Nine. Straight. Miles. Gradual at first, but then increasing to a 400-foot incline over two miles (14 to 16). That is more than just breakfast.
It is mostly downhill for the remaining 10 miles, save for a short, steep uptick in the 18th. Though cruising downward 600 feet for eight miles may sound like relief, it can be a painful hell on the Achilles and extensor tendons as well as the calves. After more than an hour of burning up the quadriceps, the sudden and relentless pounding on the lower leg muscles (with gravity adding force to the impact) may end up being torture.
Almost all of the reviews on marathonguide.com use words like "challenging" and "tough". They say it is not a PR course and I see why.
But they also talk about its scenic beauty as one of the best. So will keep the same attitude I had in Missoula, Mont., two years ago. That race was not my best time, but it was a great time.
If all I am looking for is a PR, why travel so many miles? I am here to see Utah, not just run a race. I can not wait to take it all in.
Wish me luck. See you at the finish.
Wish me luck. See you at the finish.
Friday, August 16, 2013
Terrible taper
Ah, the taper.
No, not the guy that magnanimously records the Phish show to share with the rest of the world. That dude is so not terrible!
I am talking about the three week period between the final 20-mile training run and the marathon.
Usually, it provides a wonderful sense of relief, even triumph, knowing that the hardest part is over and the only thing left on which to focus is the race itself. You glide through the series of shorter and shorter runs, feeling your muscles repair and your strength building, so when race day arrives your legs are fresh and ready.
Usually.
For this, my ninth marathon, I do believe I overtrained and I am paying for it. I can not undo the damage done. I slogged through a 13-miler two Saturdays ago and even my mid-week five milers have felt efforted when they should have been effortless. My eight-miler this past Saturday was merely OK.
On the upside, my speedwork days have been rather successful. The last hill training day had me bounding up a one-third mile hill at an average of 2:07 each on four passes, and charging down twice at around 1:53 each.
On the final track day - just four 400-meter intervals - I burned through them at an average of 1:22 each. That is seven percent faster than my 5K pace.
Still, with less than two days until the race, I do not feel ready. My muscles do not feel like they have bounced back, ready to spring into action. I feel like I need more rest. But I am out of time.
In about 22 hours, I will call upon my body to run 26.2 miles at a relatively fast pace - ideally 7:01, realistically 7:15. I have no idea whether my body will accept or reject that idea.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Back to the audience Phish tapes
I realized something last year after the Atlantic City Phish shows.
The awesome and pristine soundboard recordings provided by LivePhish.com for around 10 bucks apiece are missing something crucial - the audience.
A Phish show is a communal experience. When you are there, you are among friends with whom you bond, sharing those special moments of great jams, surprise song selections and crazy segues.
Sometimes the audience participates in a way that enhances the experience even more. In A.C. last year, the shouts of "Woo!" from "Twist" carried through to the next song "Piper" by the band and audience alike. I was in the front there, and there was clear interplay between us with the "woos". By the time the encore came, the band probably forgot about it, or at least put it behind them. But as "First Tube" began to swell, we started doing the "Woo!" shouts again. Trey saw it, acknowledged it and, I believe, played to it. It was like electricity flowing between the band and the fans.
When I got home, I excitedly downloaded the shows and the first thing I went to was "First Tube". None of what transpired came through on the recording. It was just another (excellent) "First Tube".
Several months later, I was thinking about that night, so I downloaded the audience recording of "First Tube" from Phishows.com. It gave me chills - the whole experience came flooding back. The thrill of really being there, not listening at a distance, was present in that recording.
I thought about it again this year at SPAC when the audience was singing along to "Cities". I started to wonder when "Cities" became a singalong. You would never know it from the soundboards I had been downloading for 10 years.
So in the interest of saving some money and getting the communal experience again from listening to shows I can not attend, I will be exclusively downloading the audience recordings this year. They take me back to the time when all we had were audience tapes and they remind me of how great it is to be at the show. Great jams still comes through - we certainly enjoyed them through every hissy Maxell tape back in the day.
Now they are more accessible than ever and free thanks to the tapers that still schlep their equipment to the designated taper sections and to Phishshows.com which puts them out there for all who care to listen. We do not even have to pay for postage and blank tapes anymore!
After the tour is completed, maybe I will cherry pick a few choice songs, jams, and shows to listen to in the amazing high-quality audio provided by LivePhish.com. But for now, I will favor the vibe of the experience over the clarity of the sound...and save 10 bucks each time.
The awesome and pristine soundboard recordings provided by LivePhish.com for around 10 bucks apiece are missing something crucial - the audience.
A Phish show is a communal experience. When you are there, you are among friends with whom you bond, sharing those special moments of great jams, surprise song selections and crazy segues.
Sometimes the audience participates in a way that enhances the experience even more. In A.C. last year, the shouts of "Woo!" from "Twist" carried through to the next song "Piper" by the band and audience alike. I was in the front there, and there was clear interplay between us with the "woos". By the time the encore came, the band probably forgot about it, or at least put it behind them. But as "First Tube" began to swell, we started doing the "Woo!" shouts again. Trey saw it, acknowledged it and, I believe, played to it. It was like electricity flowing between the band and the fans.
When I got home, I excitedly downloaded the shows and the first thing I went to was "First Tube". None of what transpired came through on the recording. It was just another (excellent) "First Tube".
Several months later, I was thinking about that night, so I downloaded the audience recording of "First Tube" from Phishows.com. It gave me chills - the whole experience came flooding back. The thrill of really being there, not listening at a distance, was present in that recording.
I thought about it again this year at SPAC when the audience was singing along to "Cities". I started to wonder when "Cities" became a singalong. You would never know it from the soundboards I had been downloading for 10 years.
So in the interest of saving some money and getting the communal experience again from listening to shows I can not attend, I will be exclusively downloading the audience recordings this year. They take me back to the time when all we had were audience tapes and they remind me of how great it is to be at the show. Great jams still comes through - we certainly enjoyed them through every hissy Maxell tape back in the day.
Now they are more accessible than ever and free thanks to the tapers that still schlep their equipment to the designated taper sections and to Phishshows.com which puts them out there for all who care to listen. We do not even have to pay for postage and blank tapes anymore!
After the tour is completed, maybe I will cherry pick a few choice songs, jams, and shows to listen to in the amazing high-quality audio provided by LivePhish.com. But for now, I will favor the vibe of the experience over the clarity of the sound...and save 10 bucks each time.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Building up and falling apart
Weeks 14 through 16 of training followed the same pattern - sore and weak beginnings, strong middles and disastrous ends.
The weeks on Hal Higdon's Advanced 1 are front-loaded with short and/or easy runs. Even in the heavy, 50+ mile weeks, the five-, 10-, and five-mile runs on the first three days are at a comfortable pace. Coming off a long run, the first day is rough, the second a struggle to be better, and the third a mostly-recovered gallop.
The fourth day is reserved for speed business - hill training, speed intervals, or tempo run, depending on the week. I tackled these like a monster, pushing hard on six uphills (1/3-mile at around 2:07 each) and two crazy fast downhills (1:53 each), eight 800-meter track intervals at an average of 2:57 (which is faster than I should have been doing) and tempo runs up to 50 minutes with 15 minutes in the middle at 10K pace.
The fifth day is rest, thankfully, because the sixth day is a pace run. I admit, I worked harder than I should have with these. Every other week is pace, but I did it every week - doing runs of up to 10 miles at goal marathon pace of 7:01 - a lofty goal, yes, but I like a challenge and I want to break my 2009 PR.
By the time the seventh-day long run came around each week, I was not in top shape, fatigued from the work of the previous days:
My 13-miler in the summer heat was pathetic and painful, with aches everywhere.
My final 20-miler, along the Delaware and Raritan Canal (this time on the Pennsylvania side, 10 miles south and back from New Hope) started wonderfully but with a devolved in the middle and led to a crash into "the wall" at Mile 18.
My final 13-miler was another slow slog, with aches in my lower back, extensor tendons, and quadriceps.
From here, the plan is to taper the mileage, which is most welcome. But I can not help but feel like my peak training ended with a whimper and not with the strong, resounding triumph for which I had hoped.
It is going to be a shaky couple of weeks until the race.
The weeks on Hal Higdon's Advanced 1 are front-loaded with short and/or easy runs. Even in the heavy, 50+ mile weeks, the five-, 10-, and five-mile runs on the first three days are at a comfortable pace. Coming off a long run, the first day is rough, the second a struggle to be better, and the third a mostly-recovered gallop.
The fourth day is reserved for speed business - hill training, speed intervals, or tempo run, depending on the week. I tackled these like a monster, pushing hard on six uphills (1/3-mile at around 2:07 each) and two crazy fast downhills (1:53 each), eight 800-meter track intervals at an average of 2:57 (which is faster than I should have been doing) and tempo runs up to 50 minutes with 15 minutes in the middle at 10K pace.
The fifth day is rest, thankfully, because the sixth day is a pace run. I admit, I worked harder than I should have with these. Every other week is pace, but I did it every week - doing runs of up to 10 miles at goal marathon pace of 7:01 - a lofty goal, yes, but I like a challenge and I want to break my 2009 PR.
By the time the seventh-day long run came around each week, I was not in top shape, fatigued from the work of the previous days:
My 13-miler in the summer heat was pathetic and painful, with aches everywhere.
My final 20-miler, along the Delaware and Raritan Canal (this time on the Pennsylvania side, 10 miles south and back from New Hope) started wonderfully but with a devolved in the middle and led to a crash into "the wall" at Mile 18.
My final 13-miler was another slow slog, with aches in my lower back, extensor tendons, and quadriceps.
From here, the plan is to taper the mileage, which is most welcome. But I can not help but feel like my peak training ended with a whimper and not with the strong, resounding triumph for which I had hoped.
It is going to be a shaky couple of weeks until the race.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
A cold, wet summer night with Phish at Jones Beach, July 12
It was not how I imagined my 20th anniversary show.
On July 23, 1993, I went to Jones Beach Ampitheatre with my brother and a couple of his friends to see Phish, a relatively unknown band with a growing and dedicated following.
We decided the week before to go see this band that we had gotten into the previous summer. We went to our local Ticketmaster outlet and bought tickets for $19.50 each. I only recognized the "album" songs, but was thoroughly impressed with the way they jammed on the songs. I was 18 years old and had never heard rock music do this thing that I had only known jazz to do.
Twenty years later, almost to the day, I attended my 92nd Phish show at that very same venue. The ampitheater has gotten larger, as has the Phish crowd - good luck getting tickets the day they go on sale, let alone afterward - and the prices have gone up to $45 to $60 (still much cheaper than many other bands!), but it was still Jones Beach and it looked much the same.
Unfortunately, it was pouring. Not a shower or a sprinkle - POURING. This wasn't the warm summer rain of SPAC, this was torrential. And it simply would not let up.
I wore my quick-drying polyester running clothes, figuring that if the rain did stop, I would dry off quickly. What I did not expect was the cold ocean wind that would have me freezing on a July night coming off of an intense heat wave.
Listen to it now and you will hear an amazing show. The first set included a string of excellent songs, including my first treat to Page's "Beauty of a Broken Heart" (a "purple" for the set list book!), one of my favorite of Mike songs, "Sugar Shack". It was a perfect mix of the old and new, culminating in a one-two punch of "Reba" (the song that hooked me in 1992) and "David Bowie". But it was so difficult to enjoy while being drenched by cold rain.
We huddled under whatever cover we could find during set break. Many guys were hanging out in the bathroom because it was warm and they could try to dry their clothes under the hand dryers!
The rain thankfully slowed down and stopped for the second set, but it was just as (if not more) uncomfortable with the cold ocean wind whipping through the apmitheater while Phish did a monstrous, non-stop, segue-filled jamfest of the Velvet Underground's "Rock and Roll" into Deodato's funked up "2001" ("Also Sprach Tharathustra" to some), into "Tweezer" with an awesome segue into the Talking Heads' "Cities" and a seamless move into "The Wedge".
"Wading in the Velvet Sea" was almost a given (what with the water theme of the beach and the rain also alluded to in the first set's "A Song I Heard the Ocean Sing" and "Water in the Sky") and the big ending of "Character Zero" topped it nicely. But, damn, it was cold - yes, COLD - and uncomfortable and I would be lying if I said I was not glad it was over.
Well, almost over. A totally botched (but charming, I suppose) "Sleeping Monkey" coupled with "Tweezer Reprise" ended the night and I could not get to my car fast enough. I had a towel and some dry clothes in there that were calling my name.
Some shows have a you-had-to-be-there vibe. For this one, I would say you might be better off if you were not.
On July 23, 1993, I went to Jones Beach Ampitheatre with my brother and a couple of his friends to see Phish, a relatively unknown band with a growing and dedicated following.
We decided the week before to go see this band that we had gotten into the previous summer. We went to our local Ticketmaster outlet and bought tickets for $19.50 each. I only recognized the "album" songs, but was thoroughly impressed with the way they jammed on the songs. I was 18 years old and had never heard rock music do this thing that I had only known jazz to do.
Twenty years later, almost to the day, I attended my 92nd Phish show at that very same venue. The ampitheater has gotten larger, as has the Phish crowd - good luck getting tickets the day they go on sale, let alone afterward - and the prices have gone up to $45 to $60 (still much cheaper than many other bands!), but it was still Jones Beach and it looked much the same.
Unfortunately, it was pouring. Not a shower or a sprinkle - POURING. This wasn't the warm summer rain of SPAC, this was torrential. And it simply would not let up.
I wore my quick-drying polyester running clothes, figuring that if the rain did stop, I would dry off quickly. What I did not expect was the cold ocean wind that would have me freezing on a July night coming off of an intense heat wave.
Listen to it now and you will hear an amazing show. The first set included a string of excellent songs, including my first treat to Page's "Beauty of a Broken Heart" (a "purple" for the set list book!), one of my favorite of Mike songs, "Sugar Shack". It was a perfect mix of the old and new, culminating in a one-two punch of "Reba" (the song that hooked me in 1992) and "David Bowie". But it was so difficult to enjoy while being drenched by cold rain.
We huddled under whatever cover we could find during set break. Many guys were hanging out in the bathroom because it was warm and they could try to dry their clothes under the hand dryers!
The rain thankfully slowed down and stopped for the second set, but it was just as (if not more) uncomfortable with the cold ocean wind whipping through the apmitheater while Phish did a monstrous, non-stop, segue-filled jamfest of the Velvet Underground's "Rock and Roll" into Deodato's funked up "2001" ("Also Sprach Tharathustra" to some), into "Tweezer" with an awesome segue into the Talking Heads' "Cities" and a seamless move into "The Wedge".
"Wading in the Velvet Sea" was almost a given (what with the water theme of the beach and the rain also alluded to in the first set's "A Song I Heard the Ocean Sing" and "Water in the Sky") and the big ending of "Character Zero" topped it nicely. But, damn, it was cold - yes, COLD - and uncomfortable and I would be lying if I said I was not glad it was over.
Well, almost over. A totally botched (but charming, I suppose) "Sleeping Monkey" coupled with "Tweezer Reprise" ended the night and I could not get to my car fast enough. I had a towel and some dry clothes in there that were calling my name.
Some shows have a you-had-to-be-there vibe. For this one, I would say you might be better off if you were not.
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