Tomorrow

Tomorrow I will be running the Ashenfelter 8K race in nearby Glen Ridge, N.J., a huge Thanksgiving tradition that I have avoided throughout my running life because I never really liked big races.

But now, after the problems I had with my last few small races, I decided it is time to graduate to this race that will see around 2,000 people running the approximately five-mile distance.

There will be nothing even close to a win, not even in my age group (these cats are fast), and that is just as well.  It is perfect, in fact, because this race will remind me why I train hard in the first place.  It is not to beat the guys around me; it is to beat the clock.

I have put myself through some intense training this past month.  Some of my training runs have been faster than my 5K races.  If I can capture that energy tomorrow, I will be looking at a PR (6:01 pace or better).

No medal, no prize, just the satisfaction of knowing that at 41 years old after an injury that caused me to be sidelined for months (and it still has not been the same), I can still set personal records.  That is the best award - nay, reward - of all.

Here is hoping.

Summers of 1995 and 2015

Phish had completely solidified its sound by the end of 1994 and spent the summer of 1995 letting the whole country know it, playing a whopping 22 shows in 15 states from June 7 to July 3.  Prior to that, on May 16, they played a one-set benefit show in which they introduced 10 new originals and covers to their repertoire (see how the "Wingsuit" Halloween set in 2013 was not completely unprecedented?).

From that show and throughout the tour, most of the songs that would eventually comprise the following year's 'Billy Breathes' album were debuted and tweaked, if not perfected.  Listen to these early versions of "Theme From the Bottom" for a slightly different arrangement; hear how "Prince Caspian" started as a three-minute ditty with no coda; notice the undeveloped middle section to "Free"; and how "Taste" began only with the verse and chorus sections we know today.

In addition, future rarities "Ha Ha Ha" and "Spock's Brain" were introduced, the latter given to the audience to decide upon a title from a multiple choice that also included "The Plane" (too obvious) , "The First Single" (too cute) and "Is Real" (too conceptual). Eventual B-side "Strange Design" also made its first appearances in exactly the form we know it today, but completely different from the version that ended up on the "Free" single in 1996.

As for covers, the uplifting gospel of "Don't You Wanna Go" made for a great set opener; "I Wanna Be Like You" from 'The Jungle Book' served as the wackiest Jon Fishman lead vocal tune yet; and "Lonesome Cowboy Bill" foreshadowed a Halloween set that was still three years away.

The jams of summer 1995 continued the looseness and exploration of the previous year, but because these guys were reaching new heights of playing and listening, the jams got less noisy and dense, and more pointed and musical while still stretching out long, far and wide.

Phish seemed to also be acutely aware of the music that was released in June on its first live album, 'A Live One'. The "Tweezer" on June 17 veered toward the "Montana" track, while the vocal jam in "You Enjoy Myself" on June 19 recalled the guitar sounds of the album's "Tweezer" track from Fall 1994.

Both summer 1995 and summer 2015 ring with the sound of a cohesive Phish soaring to new heights and expanding its repertoire.

In 2015, new songs like "Blaze On" and "No Men in No Man's Land" became instant classics (though I'm sad that the lovely ballad "Shade" didn't get very far) and the jams in the older tunes included such mind-blowing peaks that it's hard not to notice the band has truly perfected what has come to be known as the "bliss jam". For specifics, read any of my posts from the eight shows I attended.

The closing three-night stand in Colorado continued the Labor Day tradition (now in its fifth year) of Phish bringing the party, the power and the funk to Dick's Sporting Goods Park. By the end of the third show, no one cared anymore that the band broke its pattern of playing a show or set in which the first letter of each song title spelled something. And when the enormous, almost-third-set final encore that started with a rousing "Tweezer Reprise" featured non-stop rarities of "Harpua", "After Midnight", "NO2", "Keyboard Army" (first time since 1995), "Your Pet Cat", "Once in a Lifetime" (first since 1996), and the debut of the perfect closer, "United We Stand", the fact that it spelled "THANK YOU" was mere icing on the cake.

That encore was an instant classic which will be talked about for years. As will Magnaball. And the Mann. And Summer 2015 on a whole. Just like Summer 1995.

North Jersey Haunted Half Marathon

I had been training extremely hard throughout October with the intention of running the Trenton Half Marathon on Nov. 7, but other plans got in the way. Not content with scrapping my half-marathon plans altogether, I came across the North Jersey Haunted Half on Oct. 24 - two weeks before my previously planned race date. 

Since returning from my injury, I have been what feels like amazing shape despite some continued aches in my back ranging from mild to moderate. But coming within seconds of my 10K PR was a clear sign that I was moving forward.  Pushing to the next distance level seemed like the right thing to do.

But could I cut two weeks off a training program from which I had already cut the first few weeks (when I was training for the United Way 10K)?  I was going to darn well try.  And at least this race, in Pompton Plains, was close to home.

Arriving at Greenview Park was a cinch and parking was no problem.  It was a bit chilly (38F) at 7:30 a.m., so I stayed bundled up during stretching and a light jog. When the race started at 9:30, I blasted off to an early lead and my swift pace warmed me up nicely.

A warning to anyone planning on running this race: There is no sideline support (fine with me) and very few markers and volunteers indicating where to go (not so fine, considering my past experiences).  

The first half of the race was lonely out in front and I was constantly filled with the dread of making a wrong turn or not making a required turn.  The only thing I could do was run straight until directed otherwise. 

This turned out to be a pretty good tactic on the long straightaway of the first two miles along West Parkway.  With the second and third place runners well behind me all I could do was focus on my stride and hitting my marks - a 6:30 pace would be great; a 6:27 would put me in PR territory.  

I hit the first mile in 6:07.  Damn.  Too fast.  That will surely come back and bite me later.

Yet on this pancake-flat course in my new Saucony Hurricane ISO shoes, I seemed unable (if not unwilling) to slow down.  The next few miles along the Boulevard were all between 6:10 and 6:20, as I was almost hypnotized by the fast and steady whap-whap-whap-whap of my feet on the pavement.

Then came the turns.  Lots and lots of turns.  Another warning: the entire second half of this race is filled with turns - more than there should be with so few volunteers - mostly along the same streets.  It was dizzying.  Thankfully there were some signs pointing to the turns, but almost no signs or volunteers indicating not to turn. Every intersection presents an option, and runners shouldn't have to even think about it. There were several moments when I truly wondered if I was still on the course.

Managing to slow down a bit into the 6:20s through the ninth mile I found myself back on West Parkway where I began, hoping that I was going the right way.  After Mile 10, there were no more mile markers, freaking me out even more.  All I could think about was that I was heading toward a huge PR and one bad turn could ruin it.  Again.

My worst fears seemed to come true - again - at the intersection of Boulevard and Ackerson Avenue where I had turned during the sixth mile.  There were three volunteers standing at the corner talking to each other and none of them were looking at me quickly coming their way.

"WHICH WAY???" I screamed, startling them as I closed in.  One of them pointed into the turn onto Ackerson.  I did not know that he was dead wrong until I came around the bend and saw the 5.75-mile checkpoint I had passed earlier.

I was off course - AGAIN - and really, really, really pissed off.

The race director came running out with a megaphone (this spot was geographically close to the finish), telling me to make another turn which would put me back in the right spot.  With my adrenaline pumping from my PR pace and the frustration that this had now happened for the third time in my last four races, plus not knowing how far this detour had sent me way off, I started cursing up a storm for all of Pompton Plains to hear.

It turns out that the block down which I turned was parallel to the proper block (Mandeville Avenue), so the difference in distance was negligible.  But when I passed the finish line (in the opposite direction) I wondered again if I was in the right spot (I was) and had to startle another couple of volunteers into pointing the way to go.  I had no idea where I was anymore, and I was looping around some of the same streets for the third time.

I was confused. I was angry.  I was fuming.  And I was sprinting.

When I finally came back around to finish for real, the clock said 1:22:06.  That came out to a 6:16 pace.  Though I was not wearing my Garmin, that was consistent with my pace at the 10-mile mark, so I trust that my detour neither added nor subtracted too much time.

That means I nailed my first half-marathon PR in four years and I won my third race in as many months.

Strangely, the runner behind me, Anthony Parga, must have missed a turn somewhere and cut off part of the course, because he crossed the finish line before I did. So the results page shows his name on top, but even he admitted afterward that he knew I had actually won. He got it backward, though, thinking that I ran too long instead of him running too short.  There is no way that he was running in the 6:20s in the first half and then sub-6 in the second half.

Plus, the directors awarded me with the winner's trophy, so they knew, too.

So I will accept the 1:22:06 as a proper time and, yes, I will damn well accept my win.

Again.

Cresskill 10K - the aborted race

Having participated in 74 races, I understand how difficult it must be to stage a race, especially in busy, overpopulated Northern New Jersey. The logistics must be staggering - obtaining the permits, getting police cooperation for road closures, hiring a timing company, promoting the event, getting shirts made, securing food and drink, requesting volunteer help, having the course certified by USATF, and making sure the whole thing goes off without a hitch.

I also understand that races that are still in their infancy will always have some bugs to work out. 

However, there are certain things that absolutely, positively need to be addressed and perfected before any race starts, and the most important one is the need for clear, proper signage and/or volunteers to ensure that runners stay on course and in the proper direction.

In this blog, I have chronicled several occasions in which this particular inadequacy has caused major problems (American Legion Leonia 10K, Fortitude for First Descents Marathon, Sprint for Soldiers 10K), but none have caused a complete abortion of the race until yesterday's Cresskill 10K.

Even before the signage became an issue, there was a huge problem at the start: the 5K participants - including the walkers - were lined up about 50 yards in front of the 10K runners.

Take a minute and picture that in your head: Fast 5K runners in front, slower 5K runners behind them, then walkers, then 10K runners. You read that correctly - fast runners (albeit very few) behind a gaggle of walkers.

Needless to say, we were practically mowing everyone down at the start of the race. Things were starting out badly and it would only get worse.

Sometimes, the worst positions to be in are the front of the middle or the back of the front, where you are too far back to see the leaders, but too far ahead to be chasing anyone. This happens to me often with small races, yet I still foolishly signed up for this very small 10K on a whim. My second-best ever in Newark last month felt like a springboard to a potential PR and my training has been spot on for it.

Fellow 10K runner Rob Albano (the amazing runner that I met two years ago at the Pompton Plains Apple Chase 10K) managed to push though the throng and get out in front of even the 5K racers and I followed quickly behind. By the first mile marker, Rob was out of sight and I was in second place with no one behind me. When the pace bicyclist caught up to me, he assumed I was in the lead and he stuck with me. I found out later that Rob had managed to hook up with a police motorcycle that guided him through the course.

That was lucky for him, but unlucky for me. 

The signs were easy enough to follow for the first two and a half miles, during which I was on track for a PR. The bicyclist and I then came to a somewhat confusing intersection with two signs - one with straight-up arrows that said "All runners" and another pointing left that read "10K return". My instinct was to follow the "all runners" sign, but the cyclist and the volunteers on the course all told me to turn left.

Though it was later determined that my instincts were correct, I followed the instructions given to me and turned, only to come upon another intersection with no signs at all. The bicyclist was as confused as I was. He told me to turn right, but after a few blocks we both realized we were off course.

My race was blown. I told him to point me back to the start/finish ar the rec center and to go back and check for other lost runners.

Upon returning, I found the race director, Julie Balay, and told her the 10K got screwed up because of the signage problem. She seemed to get defensive (and who could blame her?) and sternly told me about how that was impossible and that she put those signs there herself that morning. I tried to explain that even the lead cyclist got confused and informed her that there may be lost people out there, but she seemed stuck on the idea that I was challenging her ability to direct a race.

Thankfully, the cyclist got back and vouched for me. Still, when I requested a refund, Ms. Balay was not immediately accommodating, claiming that the race shirt alone was worth the registration price and that I should understand that "it's supposed to be a fun event".

Trying my best to hide my incredulity, I explained that I did not come for the shirt and I would gladly give it back. Plus, fun (and charity) aside, I paid $35 to post a time on a USATF certified course. The race was promoted as such and, through no fault of my own, I did not get what I was promised. All of the intense training that built up to that race was blown away because the signs were not crystal clear and the volunteers were not well-enough informed of the course. I certainly was not going to let them keep my 35 bucks.

Ms. Balay finally relented and, thankfully, her attitude shifted from negative to positive, which went a long way toward making me feel better. In addition to agreeing on my refund, she asked that I come back next year, assuring me that the start-line issues would be worked out and the course problems would be addressed.  In the weeks since, we have had a pleasant exchange of emails about what happened, how to pay my refund, and what can be improved for next year.

In the end, Ms. Balay understood my plight as a runner, just as I understand her plight as the race director. There is nothing more important in racing than that dynamic, because in the end, if a runner pays to participate in a certified race rather than go for a typical Sunday run, there is an agreement between the parties involved - runners follow the rules of the race and directors give runners a well-organized chance to compete.

Otherwise, as happened last week at the Cresskill 10K it was lose-lose - Cresskill Public Schools did not get my money and I did not get an official race time - possibly a PR - posted.

Incidentally, the incredible Rob Albano, with the benefit of the motorcycle, won the race and beat his goal of 32 minutes. Kudos, Rob!

United Way 10K for Healthy Kids on Sept. 13

I won this race!

This time, I say that with all the pride and sense of accomplishment that goes with a true, bona fide victory.  

Arriving on the empty streets of downtown Newark early on a Sunday morning was quite pleasant. Despite everything you have heard about the city, downtown can be a visually appealing place, especially when you remove the people and the traffic.

The United Way 10K for Healthy Kids was a relatively small affair - only about 170 participants, but there was excitement in the air at Military Park. People were genuinely jazzed about the race and United Way gave us the feeling of involvement in a good cause. In addition, the police motorcycles leading the way along the well-marked course provided a security in knowing that all we had to do was run - no confusion, no losing focus while searching for signs or volunteers to point the way.

The first two miles consisted of a loop around the area of the New Jersey Performing Arts Center. I intentionally stayed back behind the group of lean young men whom I was certain would top the leaderboard along with the woman that kept pace just in front of me. 

But I had trained hard and very specifically for a pace in the 6:20s and something in me said that I was not running up to speed. In a daring move, I pulled ahead of all of them before we even reached the first mile marker.

Powering up the brief incline, I figured that one of those guys would overtake me on the downhill, so I kept up a decent pace as we came around to the starting line area to begin the second loop, which took us farther out for the next three miles. One guy came up alongside me but fell back after a minute or so.

Normally, I do not enjoy being in the lead.  It has only happened a few times and it freaked me out each time. I am much better at chasing down my opponents than setting the pace.  This time, I could feel my pace. I was not wearing a watch, but I knew I was hitting my goal. All I had to do was chase those police motorcycles.

Somewhere in the third mile, a kid on the side of the road said, "I knew that guy was going to win!" This startled me because we were not even halfway done and, really, who looks at *me* and thinks "winner"?

With that kid's words ringing in my ears, I pushed the pace with boosted confidence. Unfortunately, the steep hill at the end of the fourth mile was a spirit crusher. There was no keeping pace up that monster, so the best I could do was shorten my stride, motor up the thing, and try to make up the time on the downhill. 

Cresting the hill, my quads were burning and my lower back was starting to feel the stress. I extended my turnover as much as possible while still recovering from the uphill.  

Then my legs suddenly took over. As I pushed my way to the five-mile mark, it felt like my legs were disengaging from the rest of my body and working on auto pilot, carrying my top half with neither input from my brain nor attention to any other aches and pains. 

Just...keep...chasing...the...motorcycles.

At one point there was a sharp enough turn that I could turn my head slightly to see how close on my heels the second-place runner was. What I saw was nothing. Not a soul. Holy moly, I really had this race in the bag. Now it was only a matter of competing with myself and I was sure I was on target with that, too.

Coming around for one final loop around Military Park and into the finish line, I gave it everything I had left as I watched the clock tick past 38 minutes. Not only had I beaten my goal of a sub-40, I was coming in under 39.

38:40, to be exact. And I won! 

As I like to do, I stayed near the finish line and cheered almost every other runner as they all reached for their own goals. Everyone's race is important to them, and they deserve the support whether they are fast or slow, advanced or beginners. 

After the race, the vibe in the park was as wonderful and pleasant as the weather. There were post-race stretches, with United Way members and the mayor of East Orange getting involved in the fun, photos being taken, and a general air of a good time in a city that, sadly, is not known for that.

Plus, did I mention I really won? I broke the finishing tape and everything! Sure this field did not have any elite runners or even big-shot amateurs, but I won fair and square and it was the thrill that I did not feel at the previous race. 

Do not get me wrong - the Sprint for Soldiers was a good experience, but difficult terrain, course length discrepancy, and poor signage that led to me falling far short of my goal time made it hard to accept as a true win.

On Sept. 13, though, I got a taste of the success that comes with hard training, perseverance, and certainly some luck - not only winning the race, but running my second best 10K ever (of seven total) as a 40-year-old recovering from a back injury. That is what I call an achievement.


To view the photos of the race, go here: https://anthonyb.smugmug.com/Events/2015-Run-for-Healthy-Kids/

Look at photos #128-135 for pics of me at the starting line.

Photos #192-197 show me pulling into first place in the first mile.

Photos #519-526 show the big win!! 

Phish at Magnaball, Watkins Glen, NY, Aug. 23

I managed to get up and get out for a 14-mile run on that Sunday morning, outside the concert grounds and through the incredibly hilly surrounding town. It was brutal work, but nothing could shake the great vibe of the weekend.

When I finished, it was another bucket shower and then off to the concert grounds to ride the Ferris wheel, have another cocktail at the M Lounge, enjoy some food, and soak in the atmosphere for one final day.

Phish came out swinging again that night. Although none of the first set performances will make the Phistory books, it was a relentlessly solid and often rocking set that included an incredible "Maze" and the rare "Buffalo Bill".

The second, final set of Magnaball (and my last of the tour), was chock full of big jams ("Down With Disease", "Mike's Song > Fuego > Twist > Weekapaug Groove"), and  beauty, too ("What's the Use", "Dirt"). It also had some wild surprises: it was the third "Use" that month, "Scents and Subtle Sounds" was played for only its third time since its previous performance in Watkins Glen in 2011, and "Martian Monster" sandwiched the set, opening and closing to the crowd's delight.

The "You Enjoy Myself" encore should have come as no shock, but there was still a "wow" factor as the band kicked it up and knocked it out of the park as fireworks blasted to close out this truly epic weekend.

In the end, as we drove home the next morning, it was clear to us that we had witnessed - no, EXPERIENCED - a Phish festival that will forever stand with the best of them. We are lucky that we will always have the memory and the mp3 download to get us through the next several months without Phish.

For me, it was eight shows in four states in two weeks. I could not think of a better summer vacation.

Full set list:
Set 1: Punch You In the Eye, Buffalo Bill, A Song I Heard the Ocean Sing, Limb By Limb, Waiting All Night, Theme From the Bottom, Maze, The Line, Stash, Reba, I Didn't Know, Character Zero

Set 2: Martian Monster Down with Disease, Scents and Subtle Sounds, What's the Use?, Dirt, Mike's Song, Fuego, Twist, Weekapaug Groove, Martian Monster

Encore: You Enjoy Myself

Phish at Magnaball, Watkins Glen, NY, Aug. 22

Saturday morning, I woke up remarkably rested after spending the night outside in my sleeping bag and having the sunrise wake me up.

First stop, 9:30 a.m. yoga at the Studio X tent. After that stretchy hour, I ran six miles throughout the venue, checking out the various campsites, with some folks cheering me on as I passed.

Then it was a bucket-shower (with my battery-operated shower head), a few beers at camp with my buddy, Marshall, and off to the afternoon set which began with a cloud-clearing "Divided Sky". We staked out a good spot in the center but far enough back to avoid the big crowds.

Once again, the set list was a veritable mix tape of new and old Phish tunes and everything in between: the slow groove of "Camel Walk" is one of the band's oldest songs; the try-clapping-to-this "Mound", the ever-danceable "Tube", the super-funky "The Moma Dance", and the rocking "Sample in a Jar" repped the 1990s; the too-infrequently-played "Army of One" and one of my favorites, "Undermind", provided a dose of 2000s; plus the brand new Mike Gordon tune "How Many People Are You?" and Page McConnell's "Halfway to the Moon" kept things current. Plus, the Los Lobos cover "When the Circus Comes" brought back memories of the Great Went. Trey Anastasio's solo band song "Scabbard" and the raucous set closing classic "Run Like an Antelope" provided the highlights. And this was all during daylight.

There is simply not enough praise I can heap onto the second set of this show.

I love when "Wolfman's Brother" is either the set opener or closer. In this case it was the former, with a thick and climactic jam that set the stage for the greatness to come, though there was not much about "Halley's Comet" that would indicate as such. But "46 Days" was unleashed and that usually means the rock energy gets cranked. So much so, in fact, that the subsequent "Backwards Down the Number Line" (which can sometimes fall flat - see Merriweather) kept the good times a-coming. When "Tweezer" came out of the gate, it was ON, and the set took off into the stratosphere.

As "Tweezer" raged on, the jam somehow worked its way back into a "Number Line" groove, with blissful major-key climaxes. Seventeen minutes later, as "Prince Caspian" began, I could hear the echo of my old friend Rob Johnson who, at the Big Cypress festival in 1999, moaned and groaned about the song.

I hope Rob heard this version. There has never been anything like it. Not only did it go on for about a quarter-hour, but it broke free from its I-IV shackles and ventured far, far out. And just as "Tweezer" found itself in a jam befitting the song before it, "Caspian" somehow managed to get into a huge "Tweezer" groove, ebbing and flowing and providing still more climaxes - enough, in fact, to end the set. It was epic.

The third set began joyously with "Meatstick", but why does no one in the crowd do the dance anymore? Don't they know that 16 years ago at Camp Oswego we were trying to break a world record with thousands of people doing it? Now, you can't even find a dozen.

During "Blaze On" I began moving up into the crowd from the nice, peaceful open area in which I had been with Marshall to meet up with some other friends. It was so difficult moving through the throng that I did not get to appreciate what was probably a great jam on this excellent new tune. I found Meredith and John in time for the over-played but crowd favorite "Possum". "Light" (always reliable for a good jam) followed a sing-along "Cities", but I had enough of the thick crowd and moved back to where the view was not great, but the sound was good and the dancing room a-plenty. The latter proved beneficial for the funk of "555" and the "Boogie On Reggae Woman" encore, as well as the rock climaxes of the set-closing "Walls of the Cave" and the show-closing "Tweezer Reprise". All this, plus a beautiful "Wading in the Velvet Sea", made for another excellent set in what was easily a tour-highlight show.

And still, the day was not even done.

Like many others, we suspected that the festival tradition of late Saturday night sets would continue at the enormous 175-foot wide drive-in movie screen on the side of the concert field, so Marshall, Meredith, John and I hung out at the nearby M Lounge tent, which had transformed into an all out disco dance club. We ate, we drank, we danced on the table to Prince (OK, only I did that). At 1 a.m., the band, reportedly behind the screen, began the spaced-out, hour-long, free-form, songless jam while the screen showed trippy, colorful images that included vague but recognizable shots of the band, and the huge letters atop the screen that spelled "Magnaball" flashed and glowed. Though it is tough to beat the superb Tower Jam ("The Great Gag in the Sky") from the It festival, the "Drive--In Jam" came close, both musically and visually.

At around 2 a.m., the four-set show containing five and a half hours of music, and a non-stop day that began (for me) 18 hours earlier, had finally concluded. Sensory overload - in all the right ways - is a hallmark of Phish festivals. This particular Saturday had everything. There was not a moment that was not filled with good times, great music, and friendly faces. It is almost unbelievable that there was still another day to come.