Summers of 1994, 2004 and 2014

They sound like a band on a mission, crossing the country with a new album in tow and a sense of purpose. They hit the new songs hard, and long before the tour even ends the new tunes are instant classics - jam vehicles that soar, pop numbers that swing, funk that shakes. Everyone leaves the shows feeling good about what they experienced, and the hardcore fans are excited to hear what comes next. 

That description applies equally to Phish in the summers of 1994 and 2014. 

Of course, in 1994 they played a heck of a lot more shows. They were in the process of conquering the country, making sure every college kid got a taste of this new thing they were offering. Summer tour that year was an extension of the spring tour, as they promoted 'Hoist' while perfecting and stretching the songs of the first Phish decade. I defy you to find one "Tweezer" that was not phenomenal; a "David Bowie" that did not destroy everyone by the time of its frenzied ending; or a "You Enjoy Myself" that did not serve its multiple purposes of booty-shaking, nirvana-reaching and vocal weirdness. 

While each show was stunning in its own right, there is an amazing arc that can be heard when listening to all of it straight through. The band is still improving and the audience is still learning what these guys are all about. Audiences were being encouraged to follow along on these strange musical journeys - the Gamehendge story was told in its entirety for the last two times. Musical teases and references were being carried over from one show to the next. A connection developed between band and audience, linking show to show. 

The jams were wild and experimental, the solos were raging and peaking, the bluegrass was fast and energetic. However, Phish had not quite learned how to reach the depths of dirty funk yet. A friend of mine once differentiated music that sounded vertical vs. horizontal. I can not explain it, but I totally got it. Phish was very vertical at the time; it would be a few years before they got horizontal. 

Twenty years later, Phish has lost the youthful energy that sent every "Split Open and Melt" wailing into the stratosphere, made every "Run Like an Antelope" a thorough workout, and made every "Sparkle" end with such frenetic speed that it was difficult to even find the downbeat. But experience, patience and practice has breathed new life into the oldest songs and given the new tracks the meat on which to gnaw. 

"Everybody gets a 'Fuego'" was a meme on Twitter as Phish broke its old rule about playing any songs two nights in a row. And why not? "Fuego" is such a fantastic new song that to deprive a one-show venue of it just because it was played at the previous one is ridiculous. 

Phish made its own rules and broke them as summer 2014 got underway. It continued the no-cover-songs edict that began when they broke that other rule last Halloween about covering another artist's album. Then the band broke that rule, too, as covers started creeping back in. 30 years into their career together, these four guys still know how to keep us guessing. 

While "Tweezer" took a backseat as the major powerhouse, other classics like "Chalk Dust Torture" and "Bathtub Gin" kept the jam juices flowing. Elsewhere, the funk of "Sand", the bright positivity of "Light", and the accelerating tension of "Piper" provided forums for the kinds of improvisation that could not have been achieved 20 years ago. The 1994 Phish certainly did not have the greasy groove of "555" or effortlessly silly syncopation of "Wombat". 

Plus, what Phish lacked in amount of shows this summer, it made up for in length of each. The average 1994 show was around two and a half hours. The average 2014 show exceeded three, with one show in Maryland (the wackiest show of the tour, with crazy song segues and a hilarious Jon Fishman vocal/vacuum turn) clocking in at three and a half. I can run a marathon to that show. 

And then there is the summer of 2004. Coming halfway between a summer of growth and a summer of rebirth, it was a summer of finality. The announcement came in May that the June and August shows would be the last. My tour buddy for the first leg, Jesse Jarnow, said at the time that he wanted it to be like a Viking funeral. 

At first, I thought he might have gotten his wish for a two month ending that sent the whole thing off in a glorious blaze. The first few shows were surprisingly good, with killer jams, tight execution and a surprise visit from Jay-Z. But the ship started sinking prematurely when it became obvious that Trey Anastasio had such a hard time playing the parts he had written. 

The plus side was that for every flubbed composed part, there was a jam around the corner that went places the band had never gone before and would only occasionally visit since. Every jam was long and weird. It was not unusual for a set to have only five or six songs, for jams to go on for 20 minutes. For that alone, 2004 holds a special place for me. 

Still, the final weekend in Coventry was a mess. I shudder to think of the difficulties getting there - sitting still on a highway for 36 hours, waiting for something to happen; getting out and walking when they said the mud was too thick to let any more cars in; being driven closer to the venue by locals for five bucks. And I cringe when I listen to how poorly almost every song was played (though there were some good bits). Instead of a fantastical, fiery send-off, it all landed with a thud. 

The "4" summers are all important parts of the 30-year Phish story. 1994 saw the band reaching new heights in an arc that would continue for another five years. 2004 brought the band's second era to a disappointing and confusing close. And 2014 echoed 1994 as the trajectory of musical growth that began anew five years ago continues to rocket skyward.

Prelude to the TCS New York City Marathon

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

I did not get it.

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

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

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

...except this:

I totally get it now.

The real reason for the pre-race jitters

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

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

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

And so, I lie awake worrying about that stuff.

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

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

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

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

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

Things are not going as well as hoped

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A funny thing happened on the way to recovery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Clarence DeMar Marathon (Part Two)

Part Two - Race Day

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

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

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

"Run the race for which you trained."

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

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

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

"Run the race for which you trained."

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

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

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

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

And that was where I hit the wall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

The Clarence DeMar Marathon

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

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

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

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

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

The course runs along some lovely rivers and streams:
 

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

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

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

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