Marathoning in the Rain

Gene Kelly may have romanticized singing in the rain as glorious, but as I recently found out, marathoning in the rain just isn’t quite the same. And based on the photographic evidence from this year’s New Jersey Marathon, the cool, wet weather didn’t fill me with a happy refrain or put a smile on my face either.

After finishing the New Jersey Marathon last year, I left the Garden State quite impressed. The flat course, which weaves through a handful of small towns on the Jersey Shore and finishes on the Boardwalk, has the friendly, low-key vibe one might expect from a oceanside weekend destination. With race organizers providing convenient day of travel, its logistically readymade for New Yorkers wanting a marathon getaway- just board a 5 AM charter bus to the start, run the race, and take one of the hourly New Jersey transit trains back to Manhattan.

Falling approximately ten weeks after my LA Marathon racecation, I thought extending my marathon readiness would be rather simple. I’d begin with a reverse taper, run a couple 20-milers, and then enjoy a traditional taper. In a perfect world, I thought I might be able to break my standing marathon PR that I’d set on this course in 2015. Alas, the words “perfect world” should rarely, if ever, be used in the same sentence as “marathon.”

Work, life, as well as succumbing to the dreaded office cold and cough the weekend of my planned peak long run, all contributed to a less than optimal training period. In the intervening weeks between LA and New Jersey, I only logged 170 miles and completed just a single 20-miler. As race day neared, I knew I’d be testing all reasonable bounds of preparedness.

As the first Sunday in May neared, the weather forecast was rather unwavering in its call for rain. The only question seemed to be when the predicted showers would arrive and how long they’d last. At least this year I wouldn’t have to worry about becoming sun burned!

A little after 6:00 a.m,, the chartered buses pulled into the Monmouth Park parking lot. Inside the racetrack, the only wagers being placed seemed to be on when the rain would begin. Ahead of the 7:30 a.m. start I had plenty of time to collect my bib and mentally prepare for the morning ahead. Outside on the track, a few trainers were on the track exercising their horses. The working animals were simply majestic. I was transfixed, and only wished my stride could be half as efficient and effortless as the thoroughbreds before me. While I could’ve watched the training session for hours, this day’s call to post would be for runners, and that time was nearing.

As if right on cue, midway through the short walk outside to the baggage trucks the rain began to fall. The drops continued as waited in the corrals, and, with varying intensities, persisted for the next 26.2 miles.

For much of the first 12 miles the course remains mostly inland, weaving through mostly residential streets, as well as a commercial stretch of, what I presume to be, downtown Long Branch. While the crowds were more sparse this year, the rain had certainly not dampened their spirits. Racing in the rain certainly had to be more fun than just standing in the rain!

Between miles 11 and 12, the course splits, where marathoners head south and those running the half head toward their boardwalk finish. For a fleeting moment, I looked wistfully at those who were nearing their final mile. I felt like a wet dog.

The number of runners had dwindled since turning southward. Under last year’s blue skies I had found this portion of the course rather peaceful. I’d enjoyed hearing the sound of my own feet hitting the pavement. This year’s slosh of feet against wet pavement and the accompanying puddles just weren’t as rhythmically appealing.

As I neared the 18 mile mark, I felt remarkably strong, all things considered. Because the first half of the course weaves through so many residential streets, properly running the tangents is an impossibility- at least for me. But while I knew my Garmin splits wouldn’t match the official course mileage, I was surprisingly on track to PR if I could maintain my pace. But in marathoning, “ifs” are about as valuable as a nugget of fools gold.

Shortly after mile 19 the course heads back northward, including some jaunts along the Atlantic Ocean boardwalk. Here, the rain was complemented with a steady breeze coming off the water, providing a natural chilling effect.

While my clothes, socks and shoes had been soaked for miles, when it was time for my next energy gel I realized the wind and rain were also taking their toll on the dexterity of my fingers- I couldn’t get the darn GU packet open. My fingers looked like they had soaked in a bath for too long, and had become utterly useless. I tried ripping the gel packet with my teeth. For a minute I thought I might have inflicted some dental trauma, but eventually I was able to get the packet opened just enough to squeeze out some gooey energy. In relief, I looked up and out at the grey skies only to notice that the salt water was mixing with the rain to form heavy white droplets along the bill of my hat. There they hung until the weight of the salt finally gave way to the breezy gusts, causing them to blow away one by one. I resorted to counting the falling drops as a way to distract myself from the cold and wet unpleasantness.

Through 22 miles my Garmin showed that I had managed a pretty steady pace, hovering between the 8:40 – 8:50 mark. By mile 23, however, I was beginning slow, with the pace inching up to around 9:00. At the 22 mile point it seemed that despite the conditions and having undertrained, I could very well PR. That soon changed, however.

The mental fortitude I’d maintained thus far seemed to drift away around mile 23. I was overcome with annoyance and misery. I lost the urge to fight for a time goal. My pace dropped to 9:25, then 9:29. The time it took to muster through the last full mile was the same as the final .2, 9:15. I didn’t bother to kick. I was cold, wet and ready for a towel, dry clothes and a bed.

I finished the 2016 New Jersey Marathon in 3:54:01, just a minute and eleven seconds off my standing PR of 3:52:50. And I’m ok with that. Candidly, I didn’t think my physical training was sufficient to come that close, so in many respects I surpassed my own expectations. Most important, with each marathon I learn a little more about the distance, and even more about myself. It’s been said that training should be as much mental as it is physical. That was laid bare during the final miles in New Jersey. It’s a lesson that though I admittedly haven’t paid enough attention to, will definitely become an more central focus throughout my next training cycle.

Racing the Friendly Roads

In year’s past, I’ve spent the winter months counting the days until the mid-March NYC Half.  After all, the 13.1 mile trek from Central Park to Wall Street is as energetic as it is iconic.  But with a February marathon already under my belt, and another marathon on the horizon, this year’s event seemed to sneak up.

New York is such a special place for a runner.  Very few cities can offer such marquee races attracting participants from around the world. It’s been fun to see how much this event has evolved since my first outing in 2013. As I stood in line at one of the two designated security entrances at the Southeastern edge of Central Park awaiting my turn to be cleared so I could enter the start area, I thought back to my first NYC Half outing.

Then, before the bombings in Boston, there had been no lines. I’d arrived extra early, sipped a hot chocolate inside a nearby Starbucks, before casually making my way towards the baggage check area and then on toward my coral. There had been just one wave, and with a long, steady stream of more than 15,000 runners, I crossed the starting mats 25 minutes after the professionals has begun their trek.

Four years later, about the only familiarity at the start was the sound of the hovering helicopter, providing aerial shots for those watching on television at home. Sure, the air was just as crisp, and after the fact realized I’d actually worn the same black Under Armor long sleeved top, but that’s where most of the similarities ended. The course had since been modified to allow a larger field and United Airlines had staked its claim to the race as the title sponsor.

The hoopla surrounding this popular half marathon had continued to grow, now attracting more than 20,000 runners, though I had to admit my interest had not kept pace. But while it, at least for now, no longer held the pinnacle position on my winter or spring racing calendar, it was still a fun and challenging 13.1 mile trek.

In year’s past, the field had been corralled by an honor system of self predicted finish times that each individual would input at the time of registration. In my experience, the exuberant, and often unrealistic, optimism of some inevitably led to a slow start, when coupled with the unavoidable congestion. This year, the system was modified. Those with NYRR race histories were sorted according to their prior performances, or a distance equivalency metric. As a result, my October outing had moved me up to the first wave, a first for me in this event.

The first 10K of the NYC Half course snakes in, out, and back into Central Park until finally releasing runners to the friendly city streets for the trek to Wall Street. Adopting a “leave no hill behind” approach in the course design, the first portion presents the most challenging miles of the day, elevation-wise. More than the beginning of the morning’s journey, crossing the start meant a respite from the near freezing temperatures, as my body would finally begin to warm.

The most recent half marathon I’d actually raced was October’s Grete’s Great Gallop, occurring towards the end of a focused 16-week marathon training buildup. On paper, the NYC Half course should be more favorable for faster times. But, if topography were the most determinative factor to a runner’s performance, I’d of never realized the result I had in October. For a distance runner, there are always many factors at play any time one toes the line, both physical and mental. That’s one of the reasons I truly love this sport—with so many factors to contend with on any given day, each race allows an opportunity to grow, that is, if you let it.

During the almost immediate ascent up Cat Hill, the first, I was struck by how relatively clear the path around me was- the gridlock so common at the start of such a big race was missing. I wondered if the aerial photographer in the helicopter had somehow been swapped for a traffic reporter who had radioed to the ground to successfully keep a steady a flow.

From the start, spasms of self doubt pulsed my synapses, disrupting my mental and physical rhythm. Was my pace too fast? What pace is realistic for me with my current fitness? How close to my October finish time could I come? What does the Garmin show? How does my effort feel? From the start, these thoughts consumed me in Central Park, through Times Square, down the West Side Highway and all the way to the finish. After 13.1 miles of overthinking, I was completely mentally fatigued.

The next day, I came across an impeccably timed Runners World article reported on some new research findings that delved into what I should have been concentrating on during my race. The article summarized, “Monitor your body for signs that you’re running at an effort you can sustain to the finish. But do so only periodically. For much of the race, focus on running with as good form as possible, because doing so will could help you to run faster at the same effort level. And if there’s a pack running at your speed, tuck in. Let the pack take your mind off of pacing so that you can allot your mental energy to keeping your body relaxed and running efficiently.”

Non-runners often assume the most daunting aspect of distance running rests in an athletes physical fitness, but it’s actually one’s mental focus that everything else springs. It’s also the aspect that is difficult to train for, making the expression, “there’s no teacher like experience,” a truism when it comes to racing. Finishing in 1:49:33 didn’t make this year’s NYC Half my fastest, though it also wasn’t my slowest. It was just ok. But if the experience allows me to become a better racer and to avoid similar mental fatigue in the future, then its lasting teachings may ultimately make it far more than “just ok” in the long run.

A Marathon Sightseeing Tour of Los Angeles

With warnings that a polar vortex would plunge the east coast into a President’s Day weekend cold spell, I was comfortably certain that my quick escape to Southern California would yield a polar opposite forecast. That surety gave way to reality, as even the most experienced marathoners struggled during Saturday’s Olympic Trials, the warmest on record. To successfully complete my Sunday trek to Santa Monica, it was obvious this marathon mortal would need to adopt a cautiously conservative approach.

My most recent marathon, New York City this past November, tested me in ways I hadn’t expected. I was still scarred by those final miles, where a failure to adapt my hydration and pacing strategy to  the conditions had dealt a crushing blow to my confidence. These memories, still vivid and raw, coupled with a shorter, 12-week training regimen had led me to eschew setting any time goals. Instead, I aimed to focus on adapting to the warmer conditions while reclaiming my mental fortitude.

It was just a short shuttle bus ride from downtown LA to the starting line at Dodger Stadium. The pre-dawn air was comfortably chilly, and I savored the cool temperature that I knew would rise steadily once the horizon gave way to a beaming sun. I made may way into the stadium, which served as a temporary staging ground. Though I’d seen countless views of Dodger Stadium on television, this was my first time inside the historic stadium. I marveled at how cool it was to be  able to freely meandering around. As a first time visitor to Los Angeles, I couldn’t wait to see so many of the city’s landmarks that I’d only admired previously on screen. In my mind, the TMZ tour bus didn’t have anything on today’s stadium to the sea course.

Soon enough, it was time to check my baggage and head to the corrals adjacent to the stadium, just beyond the walls of the outfield. As the skies began to give way to the day’s light, my anticipation was building.

For many events, great care is given to the actual start to tie into a city theme. In New York, it’s the firing of a howitzer cannon, followed by a rendition of Sinatra’s New York, New York. New Jersey’s start occurs outside a horse track, so a call to post bugle is apropos. In LA, the signal to start was given by the wailing of a siren, which I found reminiscent of a slow speed car chase. I doubt that’s the association they were going for, but I found it fitting, nonetheless.

After clearing the start line, the course almost immediately began an uphill climb, followed by a sustained downhill. Throughout, I focused on controlling my pace as I headed toward the next landmark on the day’s sightseeing itinerary, the Chinatown Dragon Gate. As I passed under, I longed to capture these sights for posterity. For the first of many times this day, I wished the Google Glass had made it to market. Just two miles in, I already knew it was going to be a thrilling day.

From Chinatown, we headed toward some familiar downtown roads. As wound our way toward Grant Park, the meet-up site of Friday’s Ryan Hall shakeout run, the crowds were mostly sparse, but those who did gather were evidently deeply concerned about our collective future. As runners, its not uncommon to be conscious about our soles. If our soles are too worn, injuries can arise. Conversely, if our soles aren’t broken in, and blisters can confound. But whether peering over an overpass, under a tree on the left or alongside a building on the right, a remarkable number of spectators were resolutely holding signs scribbled with dire warnings- for our souls. I had no idea marathoners were such a sinful group, but apparently we were in immediate need of repentance. Indeed, the eclectic spirit of the City of Angels was alive and well.

Whether training over the Queensboro, Brooklyn, Manhattan, or even the Triboro bridge, or routinely climbing the Cat or Harlem hills, inclines are part and parcel of New York City running. That said, the ridiculously steep multi-block (I lost count) climb through the downtown portion of the course was no joke. Focusing on effort, I felt my pace increasing, commensurate with the grade. My mind drifted as I eavesdropped on two locals behind me commiserating about their most recent marathon experience. As they regaled each other with war stories over the difficulties of New York’s bridges, I took a deep breath and pushed forward. After all, I was a New York runner. This, like those bridges, was merely breakfast.

Finally heading out of downtown I looked forward to arriving in Los Feliz, which, according to the official race program, was where I’d be able to see the Hollywood sign for the first time. Alas, the sign was nowhere to be seen. There were so many landmarks along this course, that their associated mile markers were a blur. Los Feliz remained elusive.

As the day’s temperature continued to rise, I had just settled in to a comfortable pace when otherwise ordinary streets gave way to a lush greenery and a picturesque fountain. In my Los Feliz haste, I’d somehow forgotten that I’d first pass Echo Park.

When it comes to leisure reading, I’ve always been a fan of mystery and legal thrillers. LA-based writer Michael Connelly is one of my go-to authors, and one of his first books I read was titled, Echo Park. I had envisioned Echo Park as a crime-ridden dumping ground for bodies. As I ran by, I realized that presumption was misplaced. The park looked absolutely stunning. I realized if I’d likely fallen into the same trap as longtime Law and Order viewers, who probably think analogously of New York’s Central Park.

Nearing the 7 mile mark, I maintained my position alongside the lefthand side of the course. Hydration would be key today, and I wanted to make sure I was always inline to easily grab a cup of fluid from a volunteer’s outstretched hands. Having learned my lesson from last fall’s New York outing, once I’d secured a cup I’d take more than a quick gulp. Today, I’d gulp and continue on, before finally draining the liquid gold.

I may not remember the exact time or milage moment, but I will never forget looking up and to my right and seeing those nine white letters standing upright along the hill in all their glorious wonder: Hollywood. As quintessential as the Empire State Building, it was the single sight I’d been visualizing for weeks in all its glory! From that point on, smile lines would be permanently etched on my face. I was running in the moment, and having the time of my life doing so.

For much of the course, spectator masses would appear in pockets. But whether the roadside was thinly or densely populated, their support was buoyant. Makeshift aid stations appeared as storeowners unloaded pallets of bottled water, while residents poured bottled water in cups. Tubs of orange slices were handed out by various running clubs, while members of various community organizations armed with spray bottles spritzed momentary relief from the heat. It’s one thing to prepare a homemade sign to encourage an individual marathoner. But the the forethought and genuine care of these most meaningful gestures of encouragement were quite another. I was both appreciative and awestruck.

With its namesake sign serving as a beacon, I was ready to make my way into Hollywood. Running down Hollywood Boulevard, just beyond the spectators lining the side of the street, I began to make out etchings in the sidewalk. Their star shapes were instantly recognizable, and I could feel my pace quicken with excitement. I consciously eased up, determined to fully take in the atmosphere. Off to the right, was a stage, were a couple, one clad in running clothes, beginning to take their marriage vows. I’d remembered reading that on this Valentine’s Day, a makeshift chapel was available to couples ready to tie the knot. The effort was a publicity stunt designed to promote the upcoming release of the sequel to “A Big Fat Greek Wedding.” Of course, this was Hollywood, after all.

Continuing on, there was the Dolby Theater. Where were the American Idol contestants, I wondered. Had I missed the famed Chinese Theater? Nope. There it is. I’m not sure I’d ever had so much fun running. When I usually take that dreaded gander at my race photos, I’m normally wearing a focused expression. On this day, however, I have photographic proof of my miles-long cheek to cheek grin. The elation was as demonstrably obvious outward as it was felt inward.

I was on such a high that I didn’t notice leaving Hollywood and entering West Hollywood. But as I made my way through West Hollywood, I did notice the rising temperature. The fluid stations stretched a good distance, and I began taking both gatorade and water. By mile 14, I faced my first bout of discomfort. Prior to the shakeout run, Ryan Hall had provided attendees with his anecdote for when difficulty seeped in: gratitude. So rather than turning up the volume of my music, I did the opposite. I turned it down and started thinking about how thankful I was. My appreciation to be running this race. My gratitude for the ability to run. My thankfulness to the support of my family’s encouragement. In no time, I was back on track.

By around mile 17, the loud Hollywood sign gave way to a more understated, yet iconic brown and yellow sign. I was entering Beverly. Hills, that is. Swimming pools, movie stars. Though with my bright orange singlet and shorts, I was feeling more like Jed Clampett than Carlton Banks. As I turned the corner onto Rodeo Drive, I couldn’t help but notice that one spectator sign that is a marathon mainstay was conspicuously absent: run like you stole something. I guess they figured this wasn’t the street to plant that sort of idea.

As Beverly Hills turned into Brentwood, the miles were accumulating. The sun was also in full force.  So far, my hydration approach was working, but I wasn’t ready to let my guard down yet. While I have always abided by the admonition to never try anything new on race day, I decided to make an exception.

After downing a cup of gatorade at the 18 mile fluid station, I grabbed a water. I took a quick gulp, then brought the cup over my head and poured the remaining liquid onto the back of my neck. As the water rushed down my back I instantly felt a jolt of alertness. The pour not only had a cooling effect, but also a rejuvenating impact. Where I had begun to feel a bit sluggish, I was now feeling fresh. It’s not a novel trick, I’d seen others do it countless times. Why hadn’t I? I did the same at mile 19. And mile 20. and mile 21. Like watering a blooming plant, each pour had an invigorating result.

Passing the 20 mile mark, the fabled point where the marathon begins, the elevation began to climb again. I again channeled my thoughts, focusing on gratitude. Yes, my legs were tired, but I wasn’t dehydrated. And mentally, thanks to Hall’s tips, I was in fine shape. I remained in the present and continued on, putting one foot in front of the other.

In the later stages of a marathon, a mantra can be a helpful tool to push through the final miles. “Pain is temporary, pride is forever.” “I got this.” I’ve successfully used each of those before. On this day, I turned to Sir Isaac Newton for inspiration, “What goes up must come down.” Knowing that by mile 23 the course would yield a much deserved downhill, I adopted Newton’s scientific observations for solace during the challenging late terrain.

Once I finally began the course’s final descent, I was euphoric. I honestly felt the best I had in the closing miles of any marathon to date. As the elevation lowered, fog enveloped the sun and the temperature seemed to drop with each step.  As excitement and gravity took over, I let my legs take control. When the terrain eventually leveled out the air was thick with a soupy fog. I’m sure the sea was around, somewhere, I just couldn’t see it. I wasn’t sure how much longer till the finish, but I knew it was drawing nearer. Then, just ahead and seemingly out of nowhere, it appeared.

3:58:21. Not my fastest marathon, but not my slowest. But I’d managed the heat, maintained my mental wits, paced well, hydrated properly, finished strong, and most importantly, savored the sights of LA. I could not have asked for better, and I was elated.

Oscar winner John Huston may not have been speaking about the LA Marathon when he observed, “Hollywood has always been a cage…a cage to catch our dreams,” but he might as well have. Coupled with the Olympic Trials, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to exceed the high expectations set by this runcation.

Cheers, Challenges and Champions Make the NYC Marathon

When this year’s New York City marathon week kicked-off, I couldn’t help but stare at the calendar in disbelief that November was approaching so quickly. The 2015 event would be my second 5-borough trek and third marathon effort in twelve months.

In preparation for this race I’d upgraded from a “conservative” training plan to a “moderate” program, and was really relishing the training journey. I’d emerged from the hot and humid summer months a stronger runner, and had even achieved a couple of personal bests in the half marathon and 5-mile race distances in the recent weeks. I’d integrated more runs over the Queensboro bridge into my training, and had even made an effort to schedule a handful of treks up the 5^th Avenue hill. There was no doubt, I was certainly fitter and more prepared this year.

My pre-dawn journey to Staten Island could’ve inspired an apt sequel title for a sequel to an old 1980s Steve Martin and John Candy comedy. In this version, which I’d dubbed, “Trains, Ferries and Buses,” I was sure the odd couple would’ve found great comedic material from an underground ride in subway cars with marathoners wearing brightly colored shoe and clinging onto clear plastic starting village bags at one end, and disheveled party-goers still decked out in a random assortment of Halloween costumes at the other.

Once at the ferry terminal, I momentarily found myself quite confused trying to figure out who was heading to the starting line and who was heading home to Staten Island after a night of partying in Manhattan. A race the day after Halloween – in New York – had definitely brought out the creative sides of some runners. Just ahead of me in line for the 7AM ferry, I could make out Dorothy, the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, and who I suspected would eventually become the Cowardly Lion. I supposed that if the marathon organizers tired of using the “Get Your New York” slogan, they could consider borrowing the USA TV Network’s tagline, “Characters Welcome.”

Though I was wearing a throwaway hoodie and sweatpants over my shorts and tank top, these layers were largely unnecessary. It was a sharp contrast to when I entered the start village last year. Then, the gusty winds, at times in excess of 40 mph, were most unpleasant, and I still had mild case of PTSD from that epic struggle over the Verrazano. This year, the wind was nonexistent, and the temperatures were hovering near 60.

When the wave two runners were marched from the athletes village to the start line, the excitement was palpable. The helicopter tasked with providing the national television audience with those iconic starting line images hovered overhead and began to draw nearer. Waving arms erupted into cheers as the “eye in the sky” passed directly overhead. I had always (mistakenly) assumed that a mounted camera was responsible for the fine aerial coverage. I gasped as I saw a cameraman hanging mostly outside, tethered to the inside of the aircraft by a number of presumably strong straps. Shaking my head in disbelief, I hoped his insurance was paid in full.

In no time the twin canons’ reverberations signaled the beginning of the day’s marathon journey. Through wafts of gunpowder I made my way up the Verrazano. It’s often said that though it’s the steepest incline on the course, it doesn’t feel that way. It’s been suggested this is due to one’s adrenaline and freshly tapered legs, but I don’t think that’s the case. It’s simply a slow go. The NYC Marathon is self-seeded, in the sense that runners input their own predicted finish time upon registering and they are corralled accordingly, without verification. More than a few of these projections were based in as much reality as an episode of “Keeping Up With the Kardashians.”  Combine that with the sort of congested start one would expect at any large race, let alone the world’s largest marathon, and it’s going to be a slow start. Though in the grand scheme of things, an unavoidable slow start isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Following the up and down of the Verrazano Bridge and with Staten Island in the proverbial rear view mirror, I settled in for the long trek through Brooklyn. My primary goal for the day’s journey through New York’s most populous borough was to keep my pace around my target range, which my training plan had pinpointed to be between 8:22 and 8:35. As the miles ticked by, my Garmin showed I was holding relatively steady in the middle-to-upper range, though I knew that “officially” I was more likely slightly exceeding the upper portion of this range by a tad (after all, it’s impossible to run the tangents on such a congested course).

I had adopted the same fueling and hydration approach as my two previous marathons – one gel every six miles, and grabbing either water or Gatorade at nearly each aid station. Despite this seemingly smart (and proven) hydration strategy, by the Brooklyn midway point I noticed I had worked up a greater sweat than I’d expected. The back of my hair was damp, and I noticed some salt had already begun to accumulate on my temples. I double and triple checked my Garmin, to confirm and reconfirm my pacing was on target. It was, and it by no means could’ve been considered aggressive. Looking around for some sort of validation, I noticed a number of other runners nearby also seemed to be noticeably sweating more than I would of expected. I made a mental note to grab Gatorade instead of water at a majority of the aid stations to help replace the sodium I was losing, focused my thoughts on the long march towards Queens.

When I walk outside my Upper East Side apartment and stand on the street corner, I have a clear view of the Queensboro bridge. But until last year’s New York City Marathon, I’d never run across it. The steady incline, which comes at mile 15, is often described as a long, lonely and quiet portion of the course, which adds a physical and mental challenge for marathoners before they’re jolted back to life by the thunderous crowds that will be waiting in Manhattan once they exit the bridge at mile 16. Since last year’s race, I’ve run over the Queensboro countless time as I logged training miles through all seasons. Its hills were a great addition to my regimen, and I’d actually looked forward to this segment of the course. Based on my year-over-year splits for the Queensboro Bridge miles, the training runs had certainly paid dividends- I’d managed to shave more than a minute off my pace this year.

As I headed up 1^st Avenue toward the Bronx, the Manhattan crowds were certainly more plentiful and raucous than last year- though they still hadn’t eclipsed Brooklyn’s amazing revelers. Some might say that Manhattan’s crowds seemed to be more fair weathered than the outer boroughs. Though I won’t judge, I think it’s safe to say weather played a bigger role than initially expected – both on and off the marathon course this year.

In the days leading up to marathon Sunday, I had watched the prospect of rain enter and leave the race day forecast. I’d also noticed the projected temperature range inch upward from the mid 50’s to the low-to-mid 60s. As one whose body temperature “runs hot,” I took issue with those forecasters describing the conditions as “ideal,” but wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. In fact, I didn’t give it a second thought. After all, I’d completed any number of training runs, not to mention races in much warmer temperatures, albeit not a marathon. Why should this be any different?

With the Willis Avenue Bridge in sight, I’d soon be crossing the 20 mile mark for a quick one-mile Bronx “run by.” With my mile splits having consistently remained well within range throughout the race thus far, after hitting the 20 mile mark I began to feel progressively unwell.

Making my way through the Bronx, I initially wondered if I had hit the fabled wall- something I’d avoided on my two previous marathon outings. But as I took a self inventory, I soon realized that likely wasn’t the case. My legs felt just fine, and I definitely wasn’t fatigued. The pace I’d kept thus far wasn’t too different from my typical long run pace. I had fueled on schedule, and knew that my glycogen levels weren’t depleted. But as I neared the Madison Avenue Bridge and the 21 mile mark, I felt hot, dizzy, nauseous, and ever so thirsty.

Every runner’s body is different and responds to the surrounding environment differently. It seemed the 60 degree temperatures had been deceptively warmer than I’d anticipated. And while 60 degrees would have been just find for a half marathon, I was learning that, for me at least, the temperature’s impact on this day’s marathon distance was becoming very real.

I’ve not completed enough marathons to be anything other than a novice, but I’d distilled all the guidance I’d heard into a theory that’s guided my approach to the 26.2 mile distance: ultimately, successfully completing the marathon is a balancing act. One must always keep  their pace, nutrition and hydration in equilibrium. And because that point of equilibrium will be impacted by environmental, course topography and other external factors, it’s a 26.2 mile balancing act that could give Philippe Petit a run for his money.

By mile 21, I was out of equilibrium. Though nutritional fueling wasn’t a factor, my hydration had not met the needs required by my pace. I’d ignored the salty sweat warning signs back in Brooklyn, which should have prompted me to increase my hydration. The amount (just a few sips) of water and gatorade I’d taken in at each aid station hadn’t been enough, I should have either gulped down more before tossing my cup, or adjusted my pace. Now, my body was involuntarily forcing me back into balance. The 60 degree weather may have been ideal for the spectators, but it certainly wasn’t for me. I was pushing the limits of dehydration.

The final 5 miles were a chore. I had no choice but to slow down considerably, otherwise I’d of at best been sick, and at worst needed attention. I adopted a modified fartlek strategy in order to make it to the finish line in an upright position. I’d run, then slow when my body screamed for balance, and repeat. At aid stations I grabbed both gatorade and water, and focus on making it to the next station for more. It was a humbling experience.

Heading into the race, the portion of the course I had most feared was the never-ending 5th Avenue hill. I remembered how brutal it had been the year before. Ironically, the topography of the 5th Avenue didn’t seem to bother me this year. Throughout the final 5 miles, not once did my legs feel fatigued. Fitness-wise, I was in great shape, though dehydration had managed to trump all else.

In those final five miles my pace ranged from just under to a little more than 10:00 a mile. In the moment, I was embarrassed, frustrated and upset. When I finally crossed the finish line I had one thought on my mind: opening the recovery bag so I could chug the nice big bottle of Poland Spring water I knew would be waiting inside. It may just have been the best tasting pint (that wasn’t amber colored) I’d ever tasted.

When I mustered up enough courage to check my time I learned that, despite the rough final miles, I had managed a 3:55:37 finish. Though I was capable of better, I’d still completed the course nearly 5 minutes faster than last year!

In the immediate aftermath, I’ll admit that I was letting the last few miles cloud my perspective of the entire day. But after finally making my way home, showering and getting something to eat I turned on my computer to see live posts from the finish line, as finishers continued to stream in. Darkness had fallen and the course had officially closed, but marathoners of all ages, shapes, sizes and abilities continued to jump for joy as they received their medals. Their journeys were inspiring, and provided a much needed reality check. They may not have adorned laurel wreaths, but their perseverant attitudes made them true champions. Seeing these images provided some much needed perspective.

When I finally closed my eyes to finally get some much needed rest, I knew I’d sleep soundly knowing that after the day’s 26.2 mile tour of New York I’d gained far more than just another medal. The lessons of the day, as humbling as they were, would ultimately make me a better runner.

A ‘Galluping’ Raceiversary

Just three years ago I wandered into Central Park unsure and nervous for my first race, NYRR’s Grete’s Great Gallup. There were two events that day, a 1.7 mile unscored run followed by a half marathon. It had only been about two months since, on a whim, I’d purposefully run for the first time. I didn’t make it far- just a couple blocks – before my smoker’s lungs howled. I knew I needed to quit smoking, and hoped running would be a cessation tool that’d actually work.

Back then, not unlike elementary school, a mile felt like a major accomplishment. Since I’d successfully worked up to 2 miles, I was pretty confident I’d be able to cover the 1.7 mile distance I’d registered for. Remarkably, the actual running was the least of my worries. Having never been to a road race in any capacity, I wasn’t sure what to expect. To prepare, I’d anxiously pored over NYRR’s website, reviewed photo galleries and even googled inartfully phrased searches such as, “What to expect at my first road race” and “What not to do at a race?”

I arrived early that crisp October morning with three goals for the day, 1) not to embarrass myself, 2) look like I belonged, and 3) finish. Admittedly, I was focused on faking it until I made it to the finish line.

As I awaited my first start, I was greeted by two friendly runners and asked whether I was running the half marathon that morning. I almost burst out laughing. “Nooooooooooo!,” I exclaimed with added emphasis. Initially, I was proud of my internet sleuthing skills, as I figured my efforts to look like a runner who could navigate 13.1 miles had worked. That is until my 1.7 journey began, and I realized that most of the participants seemed to be either elementary or junior high school students, or walkers.

Despite that heaping serving of humble pie, there was something about the race atmosphere I found unmistakably captivating. Whether it was the seemingly professional organization complete with upbeat music blaring at the start, the picture perfect fall weather in Central Park, the joy of crossing the finish, or the belief that I was capable of so much more than completing a 1.7 mile unscored event – I was brimming with excitement, and couldn’t wait to sign up for another.

I was touched with a sense of nostalgia on my short walk Central Park this past Sunday, as I was acutely aware the day’s race would mark the three year anniversary of my first race. What I once thought to be a ridiculously insane distance – 13.1 miles – had become a training staple. And a distance I swore I’d never have the desire to complete –  26.2 miles – well, I was a month away from lining up at the start of my third. Over the course of the intervening years, I’d actually become a runner.

This year I hoped to mark my raceiversary with a half marathon PR. Though any route that encompasses two full loops of Central Park could hardly be considered a PR-friendly course, after the previous week’s Bronx outing I thought it was fully within the realm of possibility. Less certain, however, was whether I could break the sub-1:45 barrier.

With temperatures in the mid-50s, autumn had arrived in Central Park. Listening to the pre-race instructions, I was pleasantly surprised to hear Grete Waitz’s widow Jack take the microphone to address the crowd. Since my first Gallup, I’d come to appreciate the substantial and inspiring contributions to the sport Grete had made, and I found Mr. Waitz’s words laced with spirit.

When it comes to racing, aside from a full marathon, I am not one who has a great grasp of pacing. Further, I found effort descriptors to be too abstract to be helpful. However, midway through the race I had a breakthrough – I finally understood the expression “comfortably uncomfortable.” I was maintaining a generally steady effort, but I could feel consistently pushing myself out of of my comfort zone.

I remember glancing at my watch to check my pace every so often, but, frankly, I didn’t know whether I was on pace or not. I knew my limitations, and for me, trying to do math while on the run was a futile exercise. Besides, running the tangents is nearly impossible at these events, so even if I was able to manage the on-the-go pace computations, they wouldn’t have matched the official time. Further, because the course traversed so many hills, accounting for natural ebbs and flows of the course would only further draw focus away from actually running. Instead of worrying about whether I was on target or not, I decided to devote my attention to remaining comfortably uncomfortable. I figured that if I managed that, the rest would work itself out.

As I passed the 13 mile marker and began the turn onto the 72^nd Street transverse the finish line came into sight. I was struck by just how far that .1 mile can seem!

My elapsed time was closing in on 1:45. I’m generally not one to kick at the conclusion of a race, but on this day I was going to give every ounce I had left. My head literally bounced up back and forth- between looking ahead at the nearing finish line and at my wrist. The instant I hit the mat and stopped my watch I wasn’t sure I whether I had made it. I knew it would be close.

With a finishing time of 1:44:57, I may have only had three seconds to spare, but from where I stood, those three seconds felt the same as three minutes. By any definition, it had certainly been a great gallup.

Tradition might hold that on one’s three year anniversary, a leather gift is in order, but for my third raceiversary, a half marathon PR will do just fine.

When 10 + 10 = Renewed Confidence

After 11 weeks of summer training, the shortened daylight and relentless humidity had finally given way to fall. As I awaited the start of Sunday’s Bronx 10 Miler the chill of Sunday morning’s mid 50 temperatures was a shock to my system. The cool down could not have come at a better time, as I was running out of adjectives to describe just how insufferable I’d found the summer to be. Either the season needed to change, or I would need a new thesaurus!

With just a little over a month until marathon Sunday, my weekend long runs were nearing their peak. Each of the previous two weekends I had logged 18 miles, and though I knew I should trust my training, doubts were creeping in. Those runs had been tough, and I wasn’t pleased with my pacing. I’d initially attributed my frustration to the 70 degree weather and above average humidity, but I was beginning to conflate perception and reality. A mental summer fog had set in.

Needing to complete 20 miles on Sunday, I planned to run – not race – the Bronx leg of NYRR’s five-borough race series, then tack on an additional 10 miles by running from the Bronx to Central Park and eventually finishing at my doorstep on the Upper East Side. But as the old saying goes, “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

Whether it was the cool weather, the festive atmosphere of more than 9000 runners, or all of the above, my legs refused to settle into a steady long run pace once the congestion of the first mile gave way. As the initial miles ticked by, my splits progressively dropped. By miles 5 and 6 I practically gasped when I saw I was clocking sub 8:00 miles. Physically, I didn’t feel as though I was expending much effort, but mentally I was worried that I’d pay the price in post-race miles.

As I passed the mile 5 marker, I just decided to go with the flow. If I suffered during my route to Manhattan, so be it. Maintaining a steady effort-based pace, I continued on toward the finish, completing the 10 mile route in 1:21:23 (8:09 pace). In terms of effort, I’d consider it a “semi-race” push, landing somewhere between an all-out and a long training endeavor. As I crossed the finish mat, I felt like I’d struck the right balance.

Grabbing a bottle of water and sucking down a vanilla orange GU, I was more than a little apprehensive about my jaunt back to Manhattan. My confidence had been a bit stirred after my two prior weekend 18-milers had been more difficult than they should have been. I wanted to believe those runs had been challenged by the heat and humidity, but perhaps my fitness hadn’t progressed as much I’d wanted to believe. Where did perception end and reality begin?

For a few minutes I thought about bailing on the additional miles and instead taking the 4 train back to the Upper East Side. But after running into an acquaintance I knew from some of the group runs I’d taken part in during the winter and spring months, I found myself inquiring whether he was planning to run back as well. He wasn’t. Though after verbalizing my intentions, I knew there was no way I’d be hopping on the subway. Feeling as though my words had just sealed a fully enforceable international treaty, I bid farewell and headed south.

Following Grand Concourse, I headed to 138^th Street to join the marathon course and follow the route I’ll take again come November. The route provides a nice opportunity to take on the seemingly never ending climb up the 5^th Avenue hill, which is by far my least favorite incline – whether I’m running 26.2, 20, or just a handful of miles. I made my way into Central Park continuing on to the famed Tavern on the Green finish. I paused a couple of times for GU and water, and took humor in a few funny looks from some who must have noticed the Bronx emblazoned bib- I imagined some must have wondered exactly how many wrong turns I must have taken to arrive in Central Park. But I was in good company, as I there was a small army of Bronx 10 mile run finishers easily recognizable with their race bibs still pinned to their chests.

After 18 miles, I headed toward home to finish up my mileage on the far eastern side of the island. Tired and ready for food, a shower and a nap, I wrapped up the second 10 miles at an 8:38 pace, giving way to an overall pace of 8:20 for the 20 miles.

Some long runs are better than others, and this had been one of the better ones. 10 plus 10 may equal 20, but on a day like this, the sum of this simple equation restored a much needed sense of confidence. A result far more meaningful than basic math might let on.

26.2 Miles? “Shore!”

After 16 weeks, more than 460 miles and a welcome change in season, on Sunday, April 26, it was finally time to make the trek to the Jersey Shore to begin my second 26.2 mile journey. Aside from the distance, I knew there would be very little the New Jersey Marathon would have in common with my first outing, last fall’s New York City Marathon. The logistics, field size and course were sure to provide a sharp contrast.

A chartered 5:00 AM bus made traveling to the start convenient, but the early departure time had a cascading effect on the morning’s preparations. I was used to setting pre-dawn alarms, particularly for races in the outer boroughs, but the preparations required for those half marathon paled in comparison to readying myself to run a full marathon. Successfully navigating these logistical hurdles gave me the most angst.

Crawling into bed while it was still light outside on a spring Saturday night so I could rise at 2:30 Sunday morning was definitely a first. Based on my dog’s look of disbelief when I nudged him out of bed to take him out at the unseemly hour, I wasn’t the only one who thought I might have gone mad. After showering, alternating sips of coffee and water, and eating a light breakfast, I was right on schedule and ready to head toward the Atlantic ocean.

As I slowly opened my eyes as the bus pulled into the Monmouth Park Race Track parking lot, in the distance I could see a jockey taking a horse on a training lap around the dirt track. Inside race day packet pick-up was set-up right in front of a row of betting windows. It seemed like a surreal environment compared to the New York packet pick-ups I had grown used to!

After picking up my number and shirt, I found an open place amongst a sea of runners to eat a final pre-race banana, pin my bib and secure my baggage for checking. Heading to the baggage drop-off I took note of the ample sunlight and the cool 46 degree temperature- it was perfect marathon weather. Of course, depending how quickly the bright sun would warm the course would determine whether it would remain ideal as the miles accumulated.

Entering my corral I recognized a familiar sound emanating from the public address system. The baritone belonged to the voice of many New York Road Runner races, and I found it strangely comforting. As I looked around, it was difficult to spot bibs with a matching blue stripe denoting fellow marathoners amid the sea of red-striped half marathoners. It had the makings for a very lonely second half.

Before long each wave began their trek toward the ocean. Wave by wave, a bugler would sound the “call to post,” an air horn would sound and a recording of Jersey’s favorite son Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” would mark the beginning of our oceanward journey.

I had been assigned to the E Corral, with the 4-hour pace group visible just about 10 or 20 yards ahead. Reasonable congestion at the start of a marathon can be a blessing in disguise, serving as a reminder to resist the urge to start too fast. Though I soon classified the congestion I was experiencing as clearly “unreasonable,” and decided to push forward in hopes of finding room to settle into a steady pace.

The mostly residential roads in the early miles reminded me a lot like the small towns I’d grown up around in Iowa. There may not have been a lot of spectators, but those that had congregated on their front lawns were certainly enthusiastic. I couldn’t resist chuckling at the group of twenty-somethings sitting on couches and recliners alongside the curb in front of their house. With all their furniture on their lawn, I surmised their living room was probably pretty empty right about now. Either they had planned a 7:30 AM neighborhood party to watch a marathon, or they’d taken Jeff Foxworthy’s redneck-themed comedy a little too literally.

It wasn’t long before I passed the 4 hour pace group, and my pacing seemed to be on track. 8:52 (1), 8:39 (2), 8:51 (3), 8:39 (4), 8:44 (5), 8:45 (6) – I was finding my groove. The 3:55 pace group had started in the wave ahead of me, so I was pleased once the leader’s signage became visible. I ran generally even with their group for a few miles, but by looking at my Garmin they seemed to be running these miles a tad ahead of their proscribed pace. Rather than tuck in with them, I just focused on running as steady as I could.

8:46 (7), 8:47 (8), 8:47 (9). By mile 9 (more or less), I encountered the largest of the crowds of the race lining the streets of the Long Branch business district. I couldn’t help but laugh at the man holding a sign with a color photo of  NBC’s Brian Williams that read something to the effect of, “I remember when I ran my first marathon…” I mentally awarded him points for the day’s most creative and current sign-making effort.

8:48 (10), 8:44 (11). Just after mile 11 the course split and the half marathoners began their loop alongside the ocean and toward the finish. By this point, the 3:55 pace group was behind me and the road ahead seemed sparse. It was on to Asbury Park.

8:39 (12), 8:39 (13). I knew the New Jersey Marathon route journeyed through a number of small towns, but I couldn’t name them most of them. So beginning at the halfway point, I tracked my progress by drawing on my New York Marathon experience.  At 13.1 miles I imagined entering Queens. 8:38 (14), 8:43 (15), 8:47 (16). At mile 16, I visualized coming off the Queensboro Bridge and entering Manhattan.

I may have shivered in my shorts and tank top while awaiting the start, but the rising mercury and bright sun had left me drenched in sweat. Since mile 3, I had made sure to hydrate at every aid station, and decided to take more Gatorade than water for the added nutrition. Throughout the course, nothing was more refreshing- literally and figuratively – then coming upon an aid station. The volunteer’s enthusiasm was contagious. Their hydration hand-offs were spot-on, and on a day when fluids were essential to staving off exhaustion they really added to the on-course experience.

I truly enjoyed the quiet jaunt along the shore. While some runners look to draw energy from huge crowds, I’ve always embraced the solitude of the long run. The serenity of these miles were so relaxing, and the miles just seemed to click by. As the highway met the town of Asbury Park, I noticed the Stone Pony, the famous site where Jersey native sons rock legends such as Bruce Springsteen and Jon Bon Jovi began their careers, over my right shoulder. With the Atlantic Ocean over the left, the unmistakable “beach town” vibe was invigorating.

With mile just 18 ahead, I knew the turnaround at mile 19 was not too far ahead. At this juncture the course took on a life of its own, up streets, over sidewalks, along an ocean boardwalk and through the Asbury Park Convention Hall Arcade. I was having so much fun!

8:38 (17), 8:37 (18), 8:46 (19), 8:48 (20). By mile 20 I was retracing my steps back to the finish in Long Branch. So far, I felt good. Well, as good as one can feel at mile 20 of a marathon.

In mile 21 I began to slow a bit- though not dramatically. I was also beginning to pass a noticeable number of runners. I couldn’t count the number of folks who had slowed to a walk or who had pulled over to the side in order to stretch. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I could feel the salt that had accumulated on my forehead and temples. Back on the lonely highway, I concentrated on putting on foot in front of the other.

9:01 (21), 8:59 (22), 9:04 (23). It may sound like a contradiction, but while my pace had decreased roughly 13 seconds per mile between mile 20 and 23, I felt ok. I realized that I really had no idea whether this was a “generally acceptable” differential, or if my acceptance was naiveté. Regardless, I felt ok.

By mile 24 I was playing leap frog with a few runners ahead of me. I was hot and thirsty, and  ready to hit the final stretch of boardwalk.

8:55 (24), 8:52 (25). The noise of the crowd assembled along the final stretch was enough to shock the system. Especially given the long, quiet stretch to Asbury Park and back that had consumed me for last hours. 8:50 (26), 8:35 (.2).

Crossing the line at 3:52:50, I looked over my right shoulder at a white beach and blue Atlantic Ocean and was taken aback at the postcard-like view. Certainly a welcome sight after 26.2 miles!

Overall, I was satisfied with my race. My official splits (10K, Half, 30K, 40K and finish) were nearly even, I felt stronger during the final 10K of this event than I did on my first outing, and the finish time was solidly within the range (3:50:49 – 3:57:42) my training plan had predicted per my training and fitness. Across the board, this cycle has yielded some significant personal gains, and I’m already looking forward to building on this foundation once I begin my fall training cycle. But until the next 16-week regime begins in earnest this July, I’ll be channeling Jersey native Bruce Springsteen’s “High Hopes” as I continue putting one foot in front of the other.

Embracing the Cycle

As my current marathon training cycle winds down, I can’t help but reflect on how this journey has compared to my first.  There was the familiar feeling of fatigue that began to set in as the mileage climbed to its peak.  Ahead of my Saturday morning long runs, my Friday nights remained low key — usually spent on the couch watching Keith Morrison narrate a Dateline mystery.  Of course, I continued to enjoy the customary Saturday afternoon recovery nap.

But the sameness was accompanied by some clear differences.  The seasonal contrast was striking. I moved my training from the East River and Randall’s Island paths to Central Park.  I added some group runs to the mix. But most notable, this second training cycle has yielded far more noticeable fitness gains.

Racing the United Airlines NYC Half

United Airlines NYC Half

I’d only last set a half marathon PR at this event once – the first time running it in 2013.  Since adding the mid-May Brooklyn Half to my repertoire, the spring weather and mostly flat course has made it my go-to PR course. But after finishing this year’s Manhattan Half only about a minute off my 2014 Brooklyn Half time, I felt primed to make the March 15 NYC Half PR memorable.

Going into the race with 300 miles already under my belt was substantially greater – more than 200 miles – than the mileage I’d accumulated ahead of last year’s endeavor. But coming 10 weeks into the 16-week training cycle, I was far from fresh. My race week runs had left me wondering why on earth I had opted for a spring marathon, as I was also beginning to battle mental fatigue. I hoped this event give me a jolt of much needed optimism.

Fortunately, all those sub-freezing runs weren’t for naught.  Finishing at Wall Street with a 1:48:56 PR suddenly made it all seem worthwhile.

Racing the United Airlines NYC Half

Spring Melt Down 10K

Somebody forgot the advise Mother Nature of this late March event’s “spring” theme. With a below freezing temperature of just 25 degrees at the start, “winter, please just go away” may have been a more appropriate race caption. But after months of running through much colder conditions, the weather was certainly not unfamiliar. Previously, I had recorded my fastest time at this distance during last June’s Queens 10K. Sandwiched in between my two peak long runs, I was looking forward to testing my fitness – and cumulative fatigue – on a full Central Park loop.  Considering my Queens personal best was achieved along a mostly flat terrain, the Melt Down’s counterclockwise loop would provide some added difficulty.

The chill I had felt at the start had long since evaporated by the time I crossed the finish line. The mercury may not have budged much, but the elation that accompanied a new 10K PR more than made up for it. Completing the loop in a smidgen over 50 minutes at an 8:05 pace was an improvement I hadn’t really expected. Mornings like this suddenly made all those dark, cold runs easily justifiable.

At the finish of the United Airlines NYC Half

Scotland Run 10K

Coming a week after the Spring Melt Down, I hoped to build on what seemed like some fitness momentum at the annual Scotland Run. My peak 21-mile long run was scheduled for the following day, and I was elated to be nearing the taper. This course encompasses a clockwise loop of Central Park, which I’ve always found more challenging. But the festive atmosphere complete with Scottish dignitaries and bagpipers is a “can’t miss” event!

As soon as I crossed the start line I was reminded the event’s popularity brought with it significant course congestion. The first mile was particularly frustrating, and I found myself mentally cursing those who had seemed grossly mis-corralled. Passing was virtually impossible, as the road was so packed there was nowhere to slide by. A few runners took to the inner grass to get by, but I wasn’t going to risk an injury to do so. I took a deep breath, settled in and let it go. It was the nature of the event – one I enjoyed – and a nice lesson on patience.

After the first mile the course opened up some, and I was able to maneuver around and complete the race feeling pretty good. In fact, when I checked my finish time I initially thought there must have been an error. My pace per mile was only 2 seconds slower than the week before – I was expecting far worse. To give a sense as to how congested the initial mile was, my first split was 8:45. But as the course opened up, so did my times – 8:01, 7:46, 7:58, 7:41, 7:40. Yes, patience can be a powerful virtue when it comes to racing.

Racing the United Airlines NYC Half

Run for the Parks 4M

Given my recent race performances, I was pretty confident that I could achieve an overall pace per mile PR at this 4-miler. Last spring I had dropped it down to 7:52, and I was excited to see how far I’d come. I’d increasingly recorded more frequent mile splits in the 7:40 range, so I knew I was making some gains. As the final race before my intensive training culminated, the timing seemed perfect. The weather couldn’t have been more conducive for this purpose either – mid 40s and sunny.

Perfection! Awaiting the start, I actually began experiencing butterflies of excitement.

But as Salvador Dali wisely noted, “Have no fear of perfection – you’ll never reach it.” At mile two I felt something flapping against my left shoe. I glanced down, and it appeared that part of my shoelace had slipped through the knot. I always double knot my running shoes, but I’ve learned that not all pairs have the same shoelace length. I have a pair of Brooks Ghost 7 that double knot easily. I have another pair with a shorter length lace that can be problematic. If not careful, the aglet will slide on through the second knot thus negating the double knot. I realized I must not have been careful enough.

I mentally analyzed my double knot technique and wondered why the first instance of a failed double knot had occurred during a race, not a training run? And on a race that I had aimed for a PR! And why wasn’t Brooks more thoughtful about their shoelace lengths? Then, I questioned my sanity for actually thinking this clinically about double knots. All the while, the flapping sound had become more pronounced. As I neared mile 3, the entire knot had become compromised- both laces were flapping in the wind. My shoe was becoming looser with each stride. I would have to stop along the side of the course and tie my shoe. Should this be classified as a “wardrobe malfunction” or “equipment malfunction” I wondered as I re-laced for the final mile.

I accepted that I’d likely not PR, so I concentrated on finishing as strong as I could. Crossing the finish I stopped my Garmin and instantly looked to assess the damage. A 7:49 pace. I vacillated between satisfaction and dejection. Yes, I had somehow improved my pace by three seconds – but I was filled with “what ifs.”

While I have no idea how this training cycle will impact my performance at this Sunday’s New Jersey Marathon, it has undoubtedly produced results during my recent race outings.

Mile Flashbacks

When the second weekend of September presented the opportunity to race the 5th Avenue Mile a day before running the New York City Marathon 18 Mile Tune-Up, I found the distance juxtaposition irresistible. Though I assumed the mere mile trek would be a comparative cake walk, I was soon reminded that such expectations can be quite deceiving.

As I walked the handful of blocks west toward 5th Avenue on that overcast Saturday morning, I had vivid flashbacks to my elementary school days. Each year our physical education class would face what seemed like nothing short of a herculean task: run a mile. For many, myself included, it was the most dreaded day of the year.

Four laps around the track seemed like cruel and unusual punishment. Having the shortest legs in the class, I always thought one or two laps should suffice. Now, decades later, I still had relatively short legs – very possibly the shortest among those who would soon be voluntarily lining up to test their speed. As I neared the start area, I marveled at how my perspectives toward running had changed.

The mile-long stretch of New York City’s famed 5th Avenue seemed like such an easy distance. After all, I had grown accustomed to incorporating the qualifier “just” whenever describing a 5K or even a 10K. I had forgotten that underestimating the challenge at hand often leads to surprises.

I had grown so overconfident that it wasn’t until I was lining up alongside the other runners in my heat that I realized I had absolutely no idea how I should pace myself. Looking around, I wondered what the chances were that I’d finish dead last. After all, with runners divided according to gender and age it was a much smaller heat than I’d anticipated. Though on this day I’d be running in the 35-39 age grouping, suddenly I felt as though I was 10 years old again. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been so nervous before a race.

At the sound of the gun my reflexes took over, and I just started running. My mind was as empty as the blanks in the starter’s pistol. As a steady stream of runners passed by me, I felt as thought I was moving in slow motion. Any sense of speed or effort was suddenly gone.

At the quarter mile mark my legs were slowing down and my lungs were burning. I stared at the sign in disbelief – surely I had tone farther than the equivalent of one lap around a track. Were my eyes playing tricks on me?

By the time I hit the halfway point, I was gasping for breath. In all of the distances I’ve completed to date, this measly mile had quickly become my most difficult. My chest and lungs were killing me. I just wanted to finish.

Miraculously in the final quarter mile, with the finish line in sight, I trained my sights on a runner ahead of me who appeared to be struggling too. From the safety of the finish area I looked behind me, not exactly sure what I’d see. Though there were some runners still making their way across the mats, I felt no comfort in knowing I hadn’t finished dead last. Gasping for breath, I half expected to see my old classmates milling around – I felt as though I had traveled through time back to Woodrow Wilson Elementary School.

The burning sensation in my lungs was real and painful. Initially I felt completely dejected. But as I headed back north I tried to wrap my head around the surreal experience.

As reality set in, I realized that I had let my mind get the best of me, and I’d started out too fast. Had I eased into the race – even a little – I probably would have fared better. I also should have considered practicing some mile intervals, so I had a better sense of what to expect. While I had enjoyed improving on the 800 intervals in my marathon training plan, they didn’t prepare me to properly pace a fast mile.

In addition to the obvious takeaways, I was also left with a number of questions. Why had my lungs burned – was it a function of hitting my VO2 max threshold to an extent I hadn’t previously done? Was the mile a distance that my frame and body just isn’t wasn’t meant to run well?

Despite feeling like the longest mile I’ve ever run, my official time of 7:06 revealed it had actually been my fastest. Ever. It may not have been the prettiest performance, but I survived.

Yes, I finished toward the back of the pack – just like when I was ten. But the intervening decades has given me the perspective to appreciate what really matters: the true enjoyment derived from running comes from within. Armed with a new distance PR to improve upon, I look forward to taking on the mile next year with the wisdom that only comes from experience, practice and, of course, age.

A Tale of Two Sundays

The mid-May Brooklyn Half marked the completion of my 13th race for 2014. In the weeks since Brooklyn, however, my training lagged. I rarely ran, and instead focused my attention on strength training at the gym. With three races on the calendar for June, another July 12th and then marathon training beginning on July 14th, I wanted a mini “reset.” Alas, the Father’s Day Portugal Day 5-miler signaled the end of my brief running respite.

The Portugal Day-themed race is one of my favorites. The crowd always seems to cheer a little bit louder, the post-race entertainment is enjoyable and the clockwise course route, minus the Harlem Hills, is a nice change. Despite the jubilant atmosphere, on this occasion my mood was anything but festive following my finish. While I wouldn’t consider my performance abysmal, it was certainly suboptimal.

The first two miles seemed rather routine, but somewhere along the third mile I began to struggle. With each and every step my mind began to fixate on the mounting unpleasantness. Later I’d learn that my perceptions were seriously divorced from reality, but in those moments I had somehow convinced myself that it was the warmest day of the year, the humidity was nearly 100%, my body wasn’t made to run in this heat, I was running the slowest I had all year, and I may have to crawl across the finish to make it. For some bizarre reason I found myself adopting the most bizarre mantra, “a body in motion stays in motion,” for the final miles. Hardly a motivating incantation. Yes, it was one of those races.

When reality set in, I quickly discovered that my mind had gotten the best of me. The temperature was no higher than it had been during my early May outings and the humidity was negligible; while I didn’t set a PR, I hadn’t succumbed to a complete physical meltdown- finishing in 41:18 (8:16 pace).

Had my brief running respite impacted my fitness, halted my body’s acclimation to summer running, played with my confidence? All of the above? Or had I just experienced an “off” day? The following week I returned to a more productive training schedule and tried not to jump to any quick conclusions – or excuses – for why my Portugal Day effort had been subpar. Instead, I wisely chose to focus on this weekend’s Queens 10K.

The Queens 10K, one of NYRR’s “5-Borough Series” of races, follows a generally flat course through Flushing Meadows Corona Park. With last year’s event occurring in July, I gladly welcomed the June calendar change. Of course, traveling to races in Brooklyn and Queens always presents a nice test of basic arithmetic, as I calculated and recalculated exactly what time I would need to wake up in order to make it to the train and arrive at the start on time. This particular equation would require a 4:45 AM alarm. Maybe not “Brooklyn Half early,” but early nonetheless.

With transit running ahead of schedule, I arrived in Flushing Meadows more than an hour early, with plenty of time to spare. As I sat on a park bench and caught the beginning of what appeared to be a locally organized soccer game, I sought to center my thoughts. I prepared myself to just run and let the chips fall where they may, no pressure. With this being my third race at this particular park, I summoned the confidence that I knew what was ahead. I broke the course down into quarters – a trek to the lake, a trip around the lake, an out and back passing Citi Field and then the final stretch to the finish. As I awaited the start, the air seemed a bit cool in my tank top. Compared to the 80 degree temperatures I had trained in during the week, it seemed like a perfect June morning.

My pre-race preparation paid off. By the half way mark I was trekking right along. It was getting pretty warm, and the Gatorade was a nice energizer. More water at miles 4 and 5, and before I knew it I was rounding the famed Unisphere and heading for the final stretch. As I rounded the Unisphere someone running ahead of me hollered at a spectator that he was going to PR. At that point I decided to steal a glance at my Garmin; I let out an audible gasp as I realized I just might break my own 10K PR- a feat I hadn’t even considered as realistic. Unless I slowed in dramatic fashion, I figured it was quite probable.

Since I began racing, I’ve noticed that there are two types of finishers: those who begin a full-on sprint at the sight of the finish and line and those who don’t. I fall into the latter category. By the time I reach the finish I’m generally spent, having already left everything I had on the course. I’ve always taken the viewpoint that if one has that much energy left at the end of a distance outing, their overall time could have been even better had that effort been spread throughout the course. As was typical, a number of speed demons sprinted past as I concentrated on just finishing strong.

Parched and drenched with sweat, I felt like a “comeback kid” after achieving an unexpected 10K PR with a 50:57 (8:13 pace). After learning that the temperature was 67 at the start with 70% humidity, I gleaned a true appreciation for the perspective that a week of solid training coupled with a proper mental attitude can provide.

Two weekends and two dramatically different races. For me, this tale of two Sundays served as a poignant reminder of why running is a lot like life: there’s no substitute for preparation, never underestimate the impact of one’s mental state and always remember that perseverance is the key to unlocking reward.