Red Rock Canyon Marathon, Las Vegas, Feb. 18, 2017

"Start out slow, then back off."

That was the strategy advice from a fellow runner as we stood in the rain at the starting line of the Red Rock Canyon Marathon on Feb. 18. With the inclement weather and the difficulty of the course (not to mention my recent gluteal injury), it seemed pretty sound.

The start line. It was this gloomy the entire time.

At the "go" command, right on the nose at 6:15 a.m. PST, before what would have been sunrise if the sun actually did come out that day, we began trotting along the Scenic Drive of Red Rock Canyon. Because of the rain, a river of  runoff was spilling onto the road at a spot in the first mile. We were warned that it would be a few inches deep and several feet wide. It was well above our ankles and took about five or six steps to get through.

We had 25 miles to go, it was chilly (upper 40s) and raining the kind of cold rain that gets you right down to the bone, and our shoes and socks were already saturated. I remarked to a fellow runner that I had run 15 marathons, and never had a rainy one; I come to the desert, and it rains.

No matter. With my newfound outlook of low expectations, I took the first mile nice and easy at a nine-minute pace.

OK, that was too slow. I mean, I wanted to keep things light, but I also wanted to come in under four hours, so I picked it up a bit. Besides, dressed only in a t-shirt and shorts (and cotton gloves) while everyone else was bundled up and wearing ponchos, I needed to move a little faster to warm up. I hate wearing excess clothes in the rain. It is just more material to be uncomfortably wet on my body.

And so, for the next eight miles, with only a few welcome respites of level ground or short downhills, it was a long steady climb uphill. I maintained an average pace in the low eights, passing folks (from all over the country) and wishing them well and offering good cheer despite the miserable weather. All the while, I listened to Phish's excellent 2/18/97 show (exactly 20 years ago!)

Finally reaching the top - a full thousand feet above the starting point), I took a good look around at the view (or what I could see of it in the dreary weather) and began my descent - a five mile stretch back down that 1,000 feet. Gravity pulled my legs and I was not about to try to to stop it, averaging a pace in the low 7s and greeting all the half-marathoners coming toward me for the beginning of their race (they started at the marathon turnaround point), one of whom informed me that I was in ninth place.

I hit the halfway mark at around 1:44, which put me at an average pace in the high 7s. And unlike other races, when I would try to maintain my pace for the second half, I did not have any illusion that an even split was plausible. For this race, rather than gun for a 3:28, I looked at it as having a 32-minute cushion to finish in less than four hours. After all, for the next five miles, my focus was to climb that 1,000 feet steadily and carefully, ensuring that I would still have enough gas in the tank for the last eight miles.

I peeled the heavy cotton gloves off my freezing wet hands and got down to the  hard work, passing the eight place guy somewhere in the 16th or 17th mile. He was having some major difficulty and I could tell he was probably going to hit the wall. I chatted with him a bit, then soldiered on. My pace was into the 9s again, but - and I can not keep stressing this enough - I never felt like I needed to beat the clock. I only needed to beat the course.

When I finally did hit the peak in mile 18, the work was definitely not finished. The downhill was much more gradual and those brief respites I mentioned in the first half now seemed like enormous hills to climb. But I did so, the only way I know how - one step at a time, making sure to take in the beautiful scenery (despite the fact that it was still raining).

The rolling nature of the next few miles made the final few miles of steady decline more difficult than they should have been. My legs were fatigued in a big way, but I never felt like I would hit the wall. I was barely squeaking out 8-minute miles, but I never felt like I had betrayed my body or my training. I was running the right pace for this particular course on this particular day.

After sloshing through the giant puddle/river again in the final mile, I saw Gloria, who ran with me for the last tenth of a mile or so. My body and brain were taxed, no question, but seeing my girlfriend there gave me the last bit of strength to finish strong and with a smile at 3:36:30.

It was my fourth slowest marathon, yet one of my proudest. I thought a lot about Park City during the race, and as I conquered this mountain I felt like I was getting my revenge on the mountain that crushed me in Utah. I win this time, mountain. I got the last laugh.

Astonishingly, because the winner of the race was in my age group and runners were not allowed to receive duplicate awards, I received the first place medal for my age group (men 40 to 49). I was stiff, sore, aching, freezing, soaked, and could barely walk. But I was thrilled. And hungry. After grabbing a couple of pancakes and some granola from the nice volunteers in the big box truck, Gloria and I made our way to the car, which she had so nicely brought right to the finish area.

We got back to our hotel on the Vegas strip, took nice hot showers, and headed out to the brunch buffet, where I proceed to eat for three straight hours, rolling right into dinner.

Hey, I earned it.

Bumpy road to Marathon XVI

Sometimes the most satisfying races are the ones that do not go nearly as planned.

For a while, I had nothing on the agenda after the Block Island 15K in September. I had spent the past year in constant hard training and racing, using Hal Higdon's Advanced programs and had sufficiently beat myself up.  I was strong, I was fast, I was lean...but I was also exhausted.

So I did some maintenance running - no speed work on the track, no tempos.  Just running miles.  And it felt great.  So great, in fact, that in the absence of all that stuff, I found myself doing my fastest long runs and incredibly consistent mid-length runs.  By mid-October, my long run (13 to 15 miles) paces were in the low-7s, my mid-length (six to 10 miles) paces were in the high-6s, and my short runs were in the low to mid-6s - and none of it felt like it even required much effort.

Clearly it was time to register for my next marathon, and I landed on the Red Rock Canyon Marathon in Las Vegas.  It seemed like my kind of thing - I am not the kind of guy that would go to Vegas to run the big Rock and Roll Marathon, but a small no-frills, February race, in a scenic out-of-the-way area from Sin City?  Perfect.

As I continued training through a mild December, things only got better - almost every long run was my fastest ever and at sub-7 paces, culminating in a 20-miler on New Year's Eve at a 6:58 pace.  I was in PR territory.  2016 had shaped up to be one of my best running years, and I was going into 2017 super strong.

But that did not last very long.  My first few runs of 2017 left me feeling not quite right, and by the end of that first week, I realized I must have pulled a gluteal muscle.  At first I tried to power through it, but eventually the right side of my buttocks was in agony with every step I took.  With the marathon only six weeks away, what could I do?

I took a full week off from running.  My girlfriend Gloria insisted that I should take two, and she was probably right.  But I was already missing key training runs.  After my week off, I had a 50-mile week on the schedule, but I ended up doing about half that.  I built the miles back up gradually, and with varied levels of pain.  Some days it hurt, some days it was merely uncomfortable.  On no days did I feel good.  By early February, I was not enjoying my runs - I was only doing them as training for my race.

As race day drew near, Gloria and I began planning out what our Vegas vacation would entail and I started looking into the details of the race to familiarize myself with what would be in store.  I was bummed about my injury, but at least the race is in a desert, so it would be warm, dry and flat, right?

Wrong, wrong and wrong.

Not only did the weather forecast indicate it would be less than 50 degrees and raining, but I finally got around to looking at the elevation chart for the event and, wow, did that knock me for a loop - the course starts at 3,790 feet above sea level, climbs a thousand feet in the first eight miles and descends back down for the next five...and then we turn around and go back!

At first this was daunting.  Into what had I gotten myself??

Then, I had a revelation - this was going to be an amazing challenge and a hell of an adventure and there was absolutely, positively, no pressure. The hope of a PR that faded with my injury would have been extinguished anyway the second my feet hit the ground running on this insane course.  In fact, my injury - and the slower, more measured pacing that I adopted to deal with it - would end up helping me. There was no chance of going out too fast, or pushing too hard in the first half.  For the first time since New York City (and the first time ever under my own name), I could go out there and simply run with no expectations other than to keep a steady pace, not hit the wall, and finish strong in under four hours.

This was an exciting new prospect for me. For once, I was able to set a reasonable goal based on the situation dealt to me.  This would not be a crash-and-burn like Utah, or a well-run race with a disappointing end like New Hampshire.  I was going to go to Vegas with the woman I love, to run a difficult course with a smart, steady game plan, and, dammit, I was going to have fun doing it.

Phish at Madison Square Garden, Dec. 29, 2016 (with my girlfriend, Gloria!)

.

Me and Gloria at Secaucus train station on the way to MSG

I love it when Phish sets up a theme, even when it is something as simple as starting each show of their New Year's Run with an a capella barbershop tune. Night two started with "Sweet Adeline", the first performance of the song in five years, and only the second in this millennium (not to mention my first ever!)

Two more bust-outs near the top of the show made it instantly memorable - the first "Peaches en Regalia" in four years and the total shocker of "Secret Smile", in only its ninth performance since its 2003 debut (though I would have preferred the original arrangement), sandwiched between "Mike's Song" and "Weekapaug Groove", both of which were solid, along with the rest of the set, from oldies like "Poor Heart" to the always welcome "Roses Are Free" to the fantastic Page McConnell tune "Beauty of a Broken Heart". "46 Days" rocked, "Brian and Robert" chilled, and "Theme From the Bottom" was standard, if not a bit of too much of the slow stuff.

The big fun of the show for me, though, was being on the Chase Bridge at MSG for the first time. I was reluctant to get tickets for that section because it is high up and I figured the sound would suffer. But not only did the sound end up being very good, the view was excellent and the seating arrangement - just a few rows in each section - made for a comfortable experience with no crowding and tons of dancing room. I would sit there again, for sure.

The view from the Chase Bridge

Not only that, but my girlfriend Gloria, rapidly becoming a bona fide Phish phan ever since our summer shows together, was there to enjoy the night, as well. We had a blast dancing to "Down With Disease" to open Set II.  Yet another in a two year streak of awesome "What's the Use" segues knocked my figurative socks off, and after the bliss of "WTU", the fun machine kicked into gear with "Fuego" and "Meatstick" (kids, please learn the dance!).

Things got dark and strange when "Kung" showed up in the coda of "Twenty Years Later", a song that still struggles to achieve flight, but the percussion jam in "Makisupa Policeman", with all four members of the band crowded around Fishman's kit, brought another unexpected highlight. Add to that the kind of "Harry Hood" climax that brings chills and smiles all around (check out that video that went viral of the kid in the crowd, broadcast on the webcast cameras), and it is safe to say that we had a damn good show there. The "Julius" encores are not what they used to be, when every "Julius" was the best "Julius" ever, but it was a nice exclamation point for a great show.

"Makisupa" percussion jam

Phish at Madison Square Garden, Dec. 28, 2016 (with my best phriend aLi!)

Way back in 1996, the Phish presence on that newfangled internet thingy was relatively strong for such a nascent medium. On the newsgroup (remember those?) called rec.music.phish, phans found each other to discuss the band's music and trade shows on cassette (remember those?). After I mentioned that I had heard neither "Free" nor "Strange Design", a user named Ali (who adorably wrote her name as aLi, with a flower as the dot on the "i") offered to send me a copy of 11/22/95 (Landover, MD), which included both songs, the former being an epic 35-minute jamfest.

In the weeks and months after that, Ali and I became good friends, trading more tapes, chatting online, talking on the phone, and finally, on 10/21/96, meeting up at a show. During the next few years, we saw several more shows and even played in our own band together, until we had a falling out in 2002, just before the end of the Phish hiatus.

Happily, we finally reconnected in 2014 and I learned that while I spent the intervening years going even deeper into Phish (seeing 60 shows in the 12 years), Ali had seen two - one in 2003 and one in 2009. She had dropped off.

It took two years of nagging to finally get Ali back to a show, and when she finally did on 12/28/16, it ended up being a fantastic night that seemed almost tailor-made for her.

Starting the show with an a capella "Star Spangled Banner" was momentous - it was the same opener as 10/21/96 - our first show together, at that very same venue. And though I am sure Ali could have done without "Halfway to the Moon", I knew that the rocking "Stealing Time From the Faulty Plan" was a 3.0 tune that she could get behind. But other than those two, it may as well have been 1998 during the first set, with tunes like "Train Song", "Prince Caspian", "Roggae", "Funky Bitch", "Stash" and "Cavern".

The big surprises in Set I were the bust-outs of "Lonesome Cowboy Bill", played only for the eighth time ever (one of which I saw in 2011), and "Corinna", played for the 27th time ever (and I have been lucky enough to see it five of the nine times since its 12/31/99 bust out, which, as it happens, I also attended with Ali). Neither song had been played since 2012, and both made us very happy.

Set II was more indicative of a 2016 night of Phish, but there was still enough onto which an old fan like Ali could grab on, like a huge "Wolfman's Brother" opener and some great rockin' in "Simple" and "Chalk Dust Torture". The MVP jam, though, was "Golden Age". The composed section was a little rough, but the almost 20-minute jam was quite the vehicle. Not up to Super Ball standards, but great nonetheless. The weirdest moment was the "Tweezer Reprise" jam in "Martian Monster" that had me cracking up and left Ali scratching her head.

"Wingsuit" effectively brought its Pink Floyd-esque coda and "Possum" was "Possum"; but since Ali does not like Pink Floyd and she was sick of "Possum" even in 2000, the set ended rather anti-climatically for her. So when she said, "I hope the encore isn't just 'Good Times Bad Times' and good night," I assured her that we would probably get something a little less predictable.

Amazingly, she was spot on, but it was at least a kick-ass "Good Times Bad Times" before the good night.

Nice to have you back, aLi, for our first show together in 16 years. It was, indeed, a good night.

Ali, me and Jesse Jarnow at PNC Bank Arts Center, Holmdel, NJ,  7/15/99

Me, Ali, her now-husband Jim, and his then-girlfriend Laura at Nassau Coliseum, 10/9/99

Me and Ali at Big Cypress Seminole Reservation, 12/31/99. My favorite picture of us.

Me and Ali (and my '85 Toyota pickup!) back in Holmdel, 6/28/00

Me, Ali, her then-boyfriend Jay, and my brother Ben at Meadows Music Theater in Hartford, 7/1/00.

Me and Ali at the Pepsi Center in Albany, 9/8/2000.

Ali and me at Madison Square Garden, 12/28/16

Westfield Turkey Trot 2006

A little more than 10 years ago, on Nov. 25, 2006, I ran the Westfield Turkey Trot, my first five-mile race.  Here is my race report, as published in my previous blog. 

---------------------------------------------------------

I Mean It This Time. I Swear.

"Comfortably hard," is what I believe the term is for running as a pace that's faster than an easy jog, but not an all-out breakneck run. That's what I did on Sunday and Monday, and that's what I'm sticking to. Honestly.

Okay, so over the weekend, I didn't. On Friday, after my errands, I had exactly one hour to run, shower and put on my suit for a wedding that evening. I had to run fast. There was simply no time for lollygagging.

I wound up running my 5K route faster than ever. Elated, I decided then and there that Saturday's five-mile race wasn't going to be the fun back-of-pack run with my friend. I was going all out, one more time.

First, I had to get through the wedding, with its enticing open bar and that one guy, Craig, who kept urging me to do shots with him. I know better than to drink the night before a race, but Craig was convincing..."Come on, you'll do fine tomorrow. Do one more shot with us."

I felt surprisingly well on Saturday morning as I drove to Westfield for its annual Turkey Trot. But five miles is an odd distance for me. My usual short runs are 3.1 miles and my mid-length runs are typically seven miles. Would I start out too fast and fizzle from trying to keep my 5K pace? Or would I be too conservative, only to find that I saved up too much for the dash to the finish?

None of that mattered because I made the error of starting too far from the front of the pack. The chance of getting a fast start was gone as I desperately tried to maneuver around the hundreds of people in the middle of the 749-person pack. It made for a slow first mile, but it helped for the rest of the race because with each mile clock (YES! I love mile clocks!), I happily calculated my falling per-mile/pace. And who wouldn't get a psychological charge out of passing runner after runner throughout the course?

Despite the nasty stomach cramp that crept up in the last quarter-mile, I finished strong and my pace was comparable to my 5K pace. No complaints here!

I should have rested Sunday but instead opted for the comfortably-hard run. The continued strain I put on myself on Tuesday, trying for a six-mile run, led to a pain in my right heel in the second mile. Knowing better (though a little late), I stopped and walked home.

I owed myself a rest day. Tomorrow, I go back out and fight the good fight against the gung-ho runner in me. Gotta keep that guy at bay this winter.

Stampede Through Clifton 2006

A little more than 10 years ago, on November 19, 2006, I ran the Stampede Through Clifton, my fifth 5K.  The following was my race report, as posted on my previous blog...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I promised myself that it would be my last 5K of the season.

After the race, I told myself, you're going to take it easy; jog more, run less; leave the stopwatch at home; chug along leisurely during the winter.

But until then, I continued, you're going to train hard. At the Stampede Through Clifton 5K on Nov. 19, you will test your mettle; confirm how far you've come since your first 5K in April; how you've overcome injuries. It will be the triumphant culmination of the work you've put into your first year as a runner and the fun you've had doing it.

Four days a week for months, I ran practice 5K's, keeping a hearty pace while building toward a finishing sprint. Sometimes it was exhilarating, sometimes disappointing. Some days, I ached; some, I felt invincible. Occasionally, I even surprised myself, beating my personal bests on almost a weekly basis.

Maybe I overtrained. After Thursday's run, something didn't feel right...my calf, ankle and that pesky Achilles were acting up. Friday, I aborted my weekly long run due to the pain. Saturday, I rested. All day. Contrary to what my mom (who has run every single day for the past quarter century) thinks, rest days are important and valuable.

Early Sunday morning, I truly felt ready. Ready to run my best, fastest and hardest. Ready to end the year with a bang.

It was everything I'd hoped for, and running with my colleagues made it more even more fun (pictured clockwise from top left: Me; Tim Norris; Ashley Kindergan; Harry; Ashley's boyfriend, Andrew; Carolina Bolado; and Jean Stevens). I'll spare you the details of the race; it'll suffice to say that I exceeded all my expectations, achieving a new personal record and even placing in my gender/age group.

My personal victory was so gratifying that I still can't wipe the smile off my face, despite the soreness in my legs and feet. Oh yes, I overdid it (look at the photo - that is genuine pain on my face), but it was worth it. I'm taking two rest days, and then I'll fulfill the rest of the promise I made, to take it easier in the coming months.

Of course, Jean (who also placed in her gender/age group), did mention something about a 5K in Franklin Lakes next month...and what was it my friend Elaine said about a New Year's Eve race in New York City?

"You're obsessed," says Mom, the pot to my kettle. So be it, but I love the feeling of accomplishment and I am having tons of fun! Can you blame me?