Sunday, December 23, 2012

It's About Time

What's on the calendar?  What's in the pipeline?  What's up next? When asked of a runner by a runner, the subject is obvious: the next event.  I ask this often of my running friends and I've been asked this quite a few times since finishing the Ironman. Where does one go from there?  My answer had been the Prospect Park Turkey Trot.  Now that's done, it's the Bermuda Triangle Challenge- a modest one mile race (Friday), 10k race (Saturday), and half marathon (Sunday) combo.

The Team trotted with me around Prospect Park.

I will be completing this with Team in Training as a fundraising participant and will be coaching the even as well.  If you need a cause to donate to before the year is out, please consider dropping a few bucks here.  This will be a fun event and I'm looking forward to it.  Is this the next big thing for me?  Well, I guess not.

To Boston Qualify was my goal back in 2010 when James and I were tearing up the roads of Brooklyn, Manhattan and London.  He got his in Philly that November.  I got 10 miles worth of cramps in NYC which led to my electrolyte geek-out and a search for my mid-sole. Then in July 2011, I kind of got sidetracked when I signed up for what I thought would be my only chance to do an Ironman in my backyard (US Ironman Championship in NJ/NYC) and train with TNT.  I feared this may be the only TNT IronTeam ever. As it turns out, IronTeam is back for 2013, but the NJ/NYC Ironman is not.


A running rendezvous with James in London.  Oct 2010

Since that fateful fall season of 2010, Boston has lowered its qualifying time by 5 minutes, done away with the grace 59 second overage, and I turned 35, putting me in another age group.  That all equates to almost no change for my qualification standards, but a big change in my attitude.

Boston says I need 3:09:59, but for me, it's no longer about the BQ.  I want a sub-three finish time.  This is the next thing on my calendar even though it has no fixed date.  I'll be chronicling my progress in the coming months. If all goes well, my PRs posted to the left will be updated regularly.

Happy Holidays to you all and have a great new year.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

RTB 2012: Gangnam Style

Woah.  It's been over two months since Reach the Beach.  Life has kept me busy and away from this blog, but I still want to share a bit of a recap.  Take my hand as we jaunt down this 200 mile relay toward the beach.

The jump-shot.  Thanks to Sarah Y, a Warriors tradition since 2011.

Two Teams, Twenty-Three Runners
The word is out. The warriors are good. Real good. The best. And I know enough excellent people now to form two teams. After a few weeks of wrangling, 23 of us departed Brooklyn in four vans. Kevin and Mark joined us from the left coast this year, and Kara again flew in from Denver. Syed, Sarah, Dan, Daniel and I rounded out the returning alumni. The rest of the team was made up of South Central Brooklyn Runners. For the past couple years I've been dipping into my TNT team to pull a couple runners.  This year, my TNT friends made up the vast majority. We were joined by Rachel, Travis, Larry, Amanda, Sarah, Kristen, Brian, Carlota, Alexis, Kris, Chris, Laura, Farah, Caitlin and Suzy.

The 2012 Warriors
Gangnam Style 
I'm not one for pop sensations not called The Beatles, but this guy Psy and his Gangnam Style were the perfect set up for our team and the weekend.  The dancing started days before we left and continued into the departing vans. The first wave took off from Brooklyn around 10am and the second wave departed at 7pm.

We've had one van depart later in the past because of work schedules.  Along with the usual, Suzy actually few back from England to make the event that afternoon.  And Carlota negotiated with her super rigid schedule to duck out at 5pm and had to return to the office by noon on Sunday.  Yup, that meant a 6:30am return time.  But it was well worth it.

Facebook was a flurry of activity.  Rachel set up a Warriors 2012 group page and shared our commuting exploits.  This turned out to be a great way to keep up with the antics in the other three vans including Larry's singing, Caitlin's first McDonald's burger, and Kara and Farah hula hooping.

Greetings from Brattleboro (series 1 of 2).

Greetings from Brattleboro (series 2 of 2).
Ba da ba ba ba I'm lovin it!
Cluckin' Crazy.
BMs vs Kills
Our running times, while solid, were average when compared to the other 450 or so teams.  Our pooping prowess, on the other hand, was extraordinary.  Assuming all other teams counted their collective bowel movements during the race, I'm sure our numbers would top theirs. As Kristen expressed, She had a "PR in BMs!"  I wonder if there are other teams out there that count their poops.  Come to think of it, I don't think I've spotted any other vans with kill tallies either. Hmmm, maybe we just like to count.


Where is the Blinky!
It doesn't have to be as complicated as it turned out to be. But I forgot to give the safety gear talk Friday morning which would have explained the process on how we trade off the safety gear. Having two teams sharing the gear made it worse. I had meant to separate it all out and just totally forgot until dusk. In retrospect, I hope everyone involved agree this wasn't a big deal.  But at the time, everyone, including me, was freaking out.  On little sleep, under time pressure, and expectations to perform, a small issue isn't so small.  Cracks appeared. And some tears. But no one had keys thrown at them and no doors were slammed. Never did we turn on each other.

Laura models the latest safety fashion.
Night Run
Caitlin feared bears. Kristen couldn't see a damn thing. Amanda took a spill. Suzy was cursing my name, as was Rachel... and probably a few others. Rookies fear this run. Some hate it while they're doing it. But all eventually fall in love with it.  What's the allure of the night run at 3am?  For me it's the same draw I have to  running in the rain or a snow storm.  It's the new experience.  It's like a different type of tourism.  I'm not visiting a new place, but rather a new circumstance.  Pair that with a generous dose of runner's high and it's irresistible.

Ready for the night run.
We bad.
Jump-shot en la noche!
Dawn is coming.

Tear-away Pants meet Slo-mo Video
It doesn't get any better than this.  A couple years ago Kevin and I joked about how our next piece of warriors swag should be either tear away pants or booty shorts. I knew it would be fun, but could not come close to imagining the hilarity that ensued. And with the introduction of slow motion by the brilliant Amanda, well, I'm not going to bother describing this in words. Just watch the video.



Start Times and Finish Estimates
I did a bad job estimating our times this year. I was a bit rushed and didn't fill out my own excel spreadsheet correctly. My estimates were off.  But you know what else?  I realized this year that how we have been registering our time estimates with RTB has given them the perception that we are faster than we really are.  I'm going to change that for next year.  We're missing out on some of the creative fun from other teams. Generally, the slower teams are goofier. And though we've got some speed, our goofiness trounces our fastness (see BMs vs Kills above).

One of the 80 or so teams that we tagged.
I lost it
I yelled at Syed.  I've apologized to him already, but I'm gonna do it here, too.  Sorry, captain.  The man stepped up and took on the responsibility of being the captain of the other team and van daddy.  My frustration got the best of me.  Managing 23 personalities was overwhelming.  I fell victim to the very thing I warned my teammates about.  This event is naturally and inherently stressful.  That stress and exhaustion can be a catalyst for amazing things and hilarity or bitter things and broken friendships.

This year, I handed off a lot of responsibility to Syed, Rachel, Travis and Daniel. Alexis and Brian helped with van logistics, and Kevin again helped book hotels. Without these people we would not have pulled this adventure off, not just for the logistical tasks they took ownership of, but for their positive attitudes, energy, team mentality, and friendship. Thank you all for your help.

Syed can dig it.
Thank You Can I Have Another
I will forever quote MK's description of the weekend, "Reach the Beach is better than Christmas morning."  My Warriors feel this.  They've fallen in love with this weekend like I have and I've fallen in love with all of them because of it.  This Saturday, I'll be registering The Warriors once again for 2013.   It will be my seventh time returning to NH.  Yup, I'll have two teams, maybe three even.  Yup, I know it was hard to manage. And yup, I want it all again.

Smiles.

Warrior Tattoos

Leg one high fives.

Dan: Seek and Destroy
Rachel and her favorite Picards
Warriors *W* was big this year.
Amanda's well deserved finisher's medal.

The Warriors 2012 Edition


Sunday, November 18, 2012

Run, Interrupted

As the week unfolded post Hurricane Sandy, the inner torment of my friends and fellow runners grew.  The storm damage was worse than we feared.  Many of us were lucky, eating Thai food in Park Slope, watching dvds in the warmth of our not-flooded homes.  Tuesday came around and as I celebrated my 35th birthday out at a bar in the neighborhood, it appeared the city took a wallop, but would bounce back in time for Sunday's race.  The mayor agreed. But he was wrong.

Storm run at about noon on Monday, maybe 6 hours before the eye hit the coast
Bloomberg declared that he'd be happy if restoration of power and the MTA took only a few days.  In the same breath, he suggested the Marathon should go on.  By Wednesday, the true destruction of the storm was being discovered and the casualty numbers increased.  The inner debate amongst my running friends had already begun.  Should I run on Sunday? Is it right? Many of my friends asked this question. I could feel the inner conflict brewing in them.  I jumped in the debate suggesting that the race would benefit the city economically, which is no doubt true. And pushing forward would help the healing process. But how about the resources needed to hold the race?  And was holding this celebration of human will disrespectful to a city still reeling?  That afternoon, the mayor confirmed the race would go on.  Some felt relief to finally have an answer, but no relief came for that knot in the pit of their stomachs- or to mine.

I ran to work on Thursday morning to avoid the troubles via MTA or car.  I was confronted three times and told, "They better not hold that marathon if I don't have any power yet."  Bloomberg, I'm sure, was hoping for this event to be unifying for the city, but that was not what was developing.  Already conflicted runners were now becoming the target of the city's frustration.  That inner conflict became inner torment in many.  I couldn't focus on my daily job.  I needed to get out and help this city get back to right.  I needed to do this immediately, and definitely before Sunday's race.  I couldn't imagine feeling this way come Marathon day- the day I describe as a New York City holiday.

I urged my marathon friends to run on Sunday for the city and to avoid thinking that *not* running the race would be helpful.  Rather than be passive, be proactive- get out there and help.  Many of them had already done so days before.  This race was going to go on, so we had to make the best of it.  Where do we start?

This running blog is about to turn into a Sandy Relief blog...

I started Thursday night.  Saira and I made an attempt to deliver a few bags of canned goods freshly picked from our respective cabinets.  We first headed toward Red Hook, because it was the closest, and because I knew of the location thanks to the help of my friends. Alison created a Facebook group that would serve as a how-to guide in serving during the recovery.  It has proven to be an amazing resource.  Unfortunately, by 9:30PM, it seemed the Red Hook drop off spot was closed, so we made our way toward St. Jacobi Church in Sunset park, where we discovered Occupy Sandy.

The site was bustling with activity, even at that hour.  They were receiving donations and sorting them appropriately.  We were greeted with a smile and when I asked about us coming back in the morning, they were thrilled, even more so when I offered up my car with 3/4 of a tank of gas.  They could use us.  I was happy.  That knot started to loosen.

St. Jacobi Church- the Occupy Sandy hub in Sunset Park (taken by Jeremy Zilar)
Saira and I arrived back at Jacobi Church after breakfast and were fast put to work preparing food.  They had a pick up scheduled in about an hour and we, along with a couple dozen other volunteers, were preparing sandwiches.  More donations came in.  Then more people.  Lots more.  Too much, even.  There weren't enough tasks.  We found ourselves in dish-washing duty for a couple hours, which I was happy about.  It was steady work.  And really, that's all most Americans ask for, right?

Lara, my college girlfriend, was then suddenly next to me.  It was great running into her.  I wasn't surprised.  We've run into each other in random places in the city.  This one probably made more sense than any.  Her heart led here here.  As did mine.

After noon at some point I was summoned by one of the coordinators and dispatched to the Rockaways.  My mission- to stuff my car with as many supplies and volunteers as I could and get to the St. Francis School on 129th Street and Rockaway Beach to lend a hand.  So Saira and I, joined by Jennifer from Connecticut (took a 4 day weekend to come volunteer in NYC), Andrey (from Bensonhurst) and Jeremy (a NY Times staffer) piled into the car stuffed with blankets and diapers and headed out.

The drive there was a tour of destruction.  We hopped on the Belt Parkway and after passing the Verrazano, we had an open view of destroyed boardwalk, washed out asphalt and guardrails, and tons of deposited sand, left by the surge.  As we crossed the bridge into Rockaway, we could see sand covering all the streets.  It was eerily quiet.  The power was out.  The roadway was collapsing in some spots.  I turned the pop music off.  It didn't seem appropriate.  We drove by washed out possessions piled high in front of flooded out homes.  And we passed mounds burned debris, piled in front of the ruins of burned out homes.  There was a lot of gasping in the car. Jeremy took these photos while we were there.

St. Francis was swarmed with trucks and cars making drops.  Dozens of people were lending a hand- many of them locals.  We were told to contact Dean or Steve by our dispatcher at Jacobi.  Dean suggested some things we could help out with- sorting clothes, canvassing the area to let people know the relief spot was there, carrying things, or even delivering MREs (meals ready to eat) to anyone who seemed to need them.

Dean gives us direction at St. Francis School in the Rockaways (taken by Jeremy Zilar)
There was definitely a demand for help at this joint and I was quickly roped into a train of people unloading water and food from a huge truck.  Soon after, I found myself directing traffic between those donating and picking up.  I helped load an unload other vehicles.  And at some point that afternoon I met Yunice.  She was another coordinator at the St. Francis site.  She was coordinating with FEMA and I found myself helping her fill FEMAs little car full of supplies to take down to 92nd street.  We were told they were pretty desperate for supplies.  I offered to fill my car to bring more down and Yunice decided to come scope that site out.

On the way, Yunice pointed out her parents' apartment building, one of the Dayton Towers.  She described what she saw during the storm and how she felt- cars being washed around by powerful waves and the fear of death.  She had actually come back to be with her parents rather than evacuate.  She hadn't driven around yet and was shocked to see the destruction of her childhood home. 

When we arrived at 92nd Street, what we found was basically two young women manning a table, trying to dole out goods to people as orderly and fairly as possible.  FEMA had a big truck that was used for charging cell phones.  I was a bit blown away by this.  The FEMA guys really didn't seem like they knew what they were doing.  In fact, they seemed happy to be helping and taking orders from the two young ladies manning that table.

Yunice and I quickly emptied the car and returned.  I commented on how inept the FEMA guys seemed.  She agreed.  I asked her how she became involved in the relief effort.

"I decided to come in and help sort clothes today."

What? I didn't comment, but I assumed that she had been doing this for days and was probably recruited for her medical skills.  Nope.  Maybe for her leadership abilities?  Nope.  There was no recruitment.  She'd been volunteering as long as I had.

Later that afternoon I chatted with Dean a bit and asked how he found himself here.

"I was walking by.  I came to help my friend clean out his basement and decided to come in to see if they needed help.  That was yesterday."

I was simultaneously impressed by his and Yunice's initiative and saddened by how inept they made my government seem.  The city wasn't coordinating this effort and neither was FEMA.  This was quite literally a grassroots movement, manned by volunteers who simply care and with Occupy Sandy creating connections and developing a relief network.

Perhaps the government was quick and effective in other areas affected by the storm, but I didn't witness that first hand.  City employees- cops and even a bus load of corrections officers from Rikers Island were lending a hand.  But it was Dean and Yunice who were coordinating them and helping to set up the 92nd street site with a supply infusion.

Rikers officers lend a hand (taken by Jeremy Zilar)

It soon became dusk and we raced the sun to get everything into the school before darkness took over.  Without power, this relief site was shutting down for until dawn.  A bit after 6PM, I said my goodbyes to Yunice and Dean and thanked them for what they were doing.  Our carpool gathered and we took off back to Brooklyn.

As we crossed the bridge, mobile service returned and I received an influx of texts, including this one from Rachel: The NYC Marathon has been cancelled!!!


Ok, back to running...


Most of my friends were relieved. All were disappointed. As a friend who was supposed to run said, It's a lose/lose situation. I'd say the biggest gripe runners have was the way it was handled. It would have been better to just cancel right away. They (and I) spent the week trying to rationalize why it was ok for them to run. We all wanted to believe that running was somehow a good thing for the city at this time. An economic boost? A rallying point? Something.

But that wasn't the reality. What the city needed most was a morale boost and man power. NYRR, the organizers, have been on a trend to cater to international runners more than local and it really showed this week. A significant number of people scheduled to run the marathon were directly impacted by this storm- home flooded, no power, family dead. And nyrr's action and words basically implied, "oh well, not everyone will show up." I can't say this is their true intent and I can't pretend to know what they were thinking (partly because they did a pretty bad job of communicating), but to me, NYRR and the mayor seemed way out of touch.

I spent Saturday coaching and preparing for Sunday's outing: Team in Training was going to Staten Island.  Scheduled to run the marathon starting in that borough,  this selfless group that I have the fortune to be a part of rallied how they saw fit.  100 runners were bussed to Staten Island from Brooklyn that Sunday as planned.  Rather than running shoes, the team donned work boots. We carried shovels and brought our good will to our neighbors in need.

I sorted the hell out of those clothes.

On Marathon Sunday, literally thousands of marathoners descended on the city and volunteered. This was probably the most precious resource that was not being counted. All those bodies- like 40,000 or so- that would have been diverted to support or run the race- not just cops or generators- but neighbors as well as foreigners who sucked it up and stayed to give a hand. It was just one day. But what a morale boost this was for those hit the hardest. A woman in SI told me, "You are all angels from heaven! Now I know we're going to make it through this." I corrected her: "Actually, we're angels from Brooklyn."

We are not *just* runners.

For me, to have or not have the marathon was not about disrespect. I never really bought into that. People can do whatever they want. Thousands did a marathon in Central Park anyways. I don't blame them- they trained a loooong time to get to that point. And I bet a large number of them probably did that AND volunteered. But having the marathon tore up most people I know inside- they felt so conflicted wanting to both. The work that it takes to prepare for a 26.2 mile run is not trivial. But cancelling, though disappointing, made the choice easy and clear and nearly all spent the day doing something for their city that was still in pain and that they love.

Ok, that was only *kind of* about running...

Today, yesterday, and last weekend brought some much needed closure to many runner's training season.  Today I spent the day cheering on Amanda, who has been training for way longer than she should have been, and she housed the Brooklyn Marathon.  She conquered all 2 little and 6 big loops of Prospect Park.  Much of the rest of my NYC Marathon refugee friends had similar stories, running in Philly today, Richmond yesterday, Harrisburg, PA last weekend, and sheesh, even a couple doing a the Knickerbocker 60k in Central Park.  Yup- no marathon?  Screw that- let's do a 60k instead. 

And all throughout their extended taper, they volunteered their time and money toward supporting and rebuilding our city.  Brooklyn TNTers teamed up with Two Boots to make meals and deliver supplies to the Rockaways last Sunday.  Manhattan TNT headed to Staten Island to help out some more.

I'm constantly inspired by these people.

Amanda's sub 4 hour marathon mission is a success!

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Ironman US Campionship 8:04:46

By the time I started running, the winner was less than a mile away from the finish. It was a long race and this is a long blog entry. Thanks for sticking with it.

I dumped the warm water in my bottle and refilled it with ice water at the suggestion of a volunteer.  I started out at an easy pace and immediately spotted Ed and Kait.  Hamsi was also in the crowd and called out my name.  Lots of familiar faces and voices were around and about.  I was psyched.  Psyched to be off the bike, psyched to be running, and psyched to see my friends and family.  Dude, totally psyched.

Kait caught me leaving the transition area.  Did I mention I was psyched?
I turned my watch back on.  I knew it wouldn't last the whole race, but I was most concerned with my heart rate on the hills.  I was going to be excited and I needed to stay disciplined and conservative.  My legs felt good, but that's always how it starts.  Then the bomb drops and I'm cramping.  Stay conservative. Just had to stay conservative.

This course was tough- no lie.  The first 14 miles consisted of two out-and-backs on in the Palisades Park.  Most TNTers know how hilly these roads are.  My Ironteam knew, too.  We trained out here.  That is one of the benefits of living in the host city (even though we were in NJ, technically)  I stayed relaxed as I climbed out of Ross Dock for the last time and saw Coach Scott perched upon a rock.  I gave him a thumbs up. He had a big smile on his face.

Some people hate out and backs.  It's true, I do enjoy destination runs and races, but out an backs allow me to see my teammates as we passed each other.  And that was really great.  I found myself wondering what lap they were on.  But it really didn't matter.  We exchanged high fives and encouragement.  It was a reminder that we weren't doing this alone and that we were doing this for more than just ourselves.  I saw other familiar faces out there.  Ramon and Kara were out supporting their teammates and cheered me on.  Peter was out on the course as well.

Coach Scott had recommended that we walk through the aid stations, essentially doing a run/walk strategy.  I seemed to have forgotten this for the first couple stations, but started to do it.  The aid stations were a bit overwhelming.  The volunteers were sooo enthusiastic.  I volunteered for the Lake Placid Ironman in 2009 and remember being the same.  There were so many options.  Besides water and the Ironman Perform Gatorade-like drink, there was ice, Coke, a variety of Gu, pretzels, chicken broth, wet sponges, and more, I'm sure.

I was pretty much only interested in water and Perform. The volunteers would yell out what they were offering.  All I needed to do was take it or yell out what I wanted.  In most cases, I'd say "Water!" and two volunteers would help pour water into my bottle.

"Would you like some ice?"

"Sure!  Thanks!"

I wasn't stopping at each aid station, because I had that trusty water bottle.  I learned the hard way that I can't really survive racing a marathon cramp-free without it. 

I stopped to pee again at mile 7 and as I left the porta potty I heard Coach Scott yell out to me.  "Joel!  How many fingers?"

"What?"

This had something to do with his how are you feeling rating system.  I eventually just yelled out that "I'm feeling awesome!" and continued on my way.  I was feeling damn good. Except for one thing. Do I need to poop?  I thought about that as I covered the next few miles.  In that time, my watch died, I saw more teammates, completed the last turn around, and made up my mind. Yup, I had to poop.

I was carrying a gps device that friends and family were tracking me with.  When I was moving, apparently a little arrow icon would appear and move along the course.  When I stopped, it became a dot.  My brother later told me he watched as the arrow became a dot and stayed a dot for awhile. He wondered, Is he ok? Yup.  You were just watching me poop.

Climbing those hills was challenging and each hill felt harder, but I kept pushing.  My legs ached. I was just tired, that's all. I could keep going.  No need to slow down.  I passed mile 14, which meant I was finally on my way out of the park.  A lot of people were walking at this point.  I was the only one running out of the park and up the hill toward the George Washington Bridge. 

To cross the bridge, I had to climb stairs- about 75 of them- then descend about 75 on the other side.  I took it easy with the stairs, walking them, but I darted over the bridge.  That felt liberating.  It was a nice mile long flat stretch where I felt I could open things up a bit and test my legs.  Yup, tired.  Yup, still plenty in the tank.

Crossing the GW, squinting from the wind.

On the other side, a nice size crowd was gathered to welcome the runners  Daniel was among them.  He called out to me and I waived back. It was a great welcome to New York City and it was a taste of what was to come.  Yeah, Manhattan.  The home stretch. 

As I passed the first aid station on this side of the bridge, a volunteer called out to me.

"You're gonna catch a lot of people at that pace!"

Did somebody day kills?  My mouth started salivating.  Other volunteers called out asking if I wanted water or ice or sponges.  I didn't want anything, except kills.  Instead of slowing at this aid station, I sped up and made my way through Washington Heights to the bike path.


There was a lot of wind up in that first part of the bike path that I wasn't expecting.  I was hoping for a nice smooth run to Riverside, but this wind was kind of beating me up.  It swirled, pushing me back and side to side.  I let myself slow a bit and looked around.  Families were out having barbecues, playing music and  spending a Saturday by the river.  They seemed oblivious to the fact that an Ironman was passing through their picnic ground.  At one point a group of kids were sitting right on the course playing a card game.  I kind of loved this.  It was so New York.  On any given evening, there are thousands of things going on in the city.

Suddenly, I realized I was cruising at a nice pace.  The wind stopped, or perhaps became a tail wind.  This run was feeling great.  No cramping.  Feeling strong. No bomb dropped. Retrospectively, I can say this stretch, if not the whole marathon, was a victory lap for me.

Another kill.  I had net 603 of them during the marathon.
Syed! Amanda!  I was surprised by their familiar faces and stopped to give and get some hugs.  Amanda told me how popular the "Go Complete Stranger" sign she made was.  I told them I was feeling great.  Yes, the celebration had begun.  I was so happy to see them.

I moved quickly toward Riverside Park, anticipating seeing more friends near the TNT aid station.  I tried not to let it occupy my thoughts.  I tried to stay in the moment.  I have miles left.  I have a few turns to go.  Pass this walker.  Don't knock anyone over at that aid station... Look out for the random cyclists...

And then they were there.

The roar of cheers was just amazing. The welcome was overwhelming.  Louis was the first person I saw.  Then everyone else. Michelle, Rachel, Travis, Brian, Sarah, Kristin, Casey... too many to name and to be honest, I was dazed by the group's presence and definitely didn't spot everyone. I stopped and gave and got lots of hugs.  They were so excited for me and I was so excited to see them all. I felt awesome.



This made the race- my friends and family and all the support and love they gave me.  It was just amazing.  I have thanked them.  I've thanked you all. And I am doing so again here in this blog.  You all need to understand how special this day was for me and it was so special because of you all.  Accomplishing an Ironman is pretty cool.  Having you all in my life is just balls-out amazing.

Brooklyn Love.
 

Hugs.
 I turned the corner and was blown away by the TNT aid station.  Jeanette handed me water and Perform.  Maureen cheered me on. I got hugs from Jim and Amy.  Some guy sponged my back, which I wasn't a fan of, but still appreciated his enthusiasm and support.  (Sorry I freaked- I'm paranoid about chafing.  Especially in my butt crack. I was fine.)

I entered Riverside Park, in which the course snaked along for a couple miles.  Cary and his crew were there, as were Sarah and Lawrence, Carla and Anjali, Angela, Lisa, Pam and Christie.... so many hugs and high fives were doled out and received and I'm sure I'm forgetting some.  Still, I love you.

I turned out of the park and got more TNT love on my way to the finish.  More people were running at this point.  They could taste the finish as could I.  Soon I could hear Mike Reilly, the voice of Ironman, announce finishers.  A couple of turns later I could see it.

I spot Ed and Kait.
I slowed, scanning the crowds, looking for my parents.  There they were.

I gave them more hugs, then went off to find Ed and Kait.  Ah, there they were.  More hugs.

How one crosses the finishline is often a choriographed move.  Many raise their hands in triumph. Some fist pump. I've seen one guy "airplane" to the end.  I wasn't sure what I was going to do.  And yes, I thought about it.  Also to consider was the official declaration by Mike Reilly that were were Ironmen. I slowed even more, trying to create space between me and the runners before and after me.  Man, they were going slow.

Finally, I just walked through the finish line, big smile on my face.  Yeah, I'm happy with that. 

Run > 4:20:36

Finish > 12:25:22

Done.
Happy.


Ironman US Championship 1:00:55

The bike course started with a steady climb out of Ross Dock. I shifted to my lowest gear and took it easy.  There was a lot ofbike traffic, but it didn’t really matter. Most everyone was going easy at this point.  Then I saw them-  my beautiful friends.  

My friends rule.

Syed, Amanda, Casey and Rachel all rule.
Most popular sign on the course.
Donned in TNT purple, Amanda, Rachel, Syed and Casey lined the bike course with signs, cow bells, and energy.  I was thrilled.  They had huge smiles and were cheering for me,calling my name.  I made my way over to them and gave them all high-fives.   As I rode off, I thought about how for them to be out here at 8:25am-ish, they had to wake up before 6am probably, skip their own GTS, drive over to NJ, just to be here and see me for that handful of seconds. I get overwhelmed with love just think about that right now as I type.

The course leveled off enough as passed the GW bridge forme to up shift.  I grabbed a bottle ofwater from the first aid station- I probably didn’t have to, but wanted to beconservative.  Shortly after, I hit ahuge bump on the road and the bottle went flying out of its cage.  Oh well. I didn’t need it.

I could feel myself wanting to push hard, but I didn’t.  I reminded myself that the first loop shouldfeel like a normal long Sunday ride.  Ikept pace with a few teammates for a while, but as the field thinned, we spreadout.
 
Staying relaxed.

My parents were starting their volunteer shift at mile 18at 11:30.  I had already warned them thatthey would probably miss me on the first loop. I scanned that aid station just in case as I grabbed another water andIronman Perform drink.  Nope, not thereyet.

A bit further down the road the cyclists were slowingdown.   A woman was on the ground,volunteers around her diverting traffic.  She took a horrible spill.  She lay motionless, face bloodied, waitingfor medical support. 

This road was pretty rough.  There were a few stretches of smooth asphalt,but the majority was concrete slabs. With each break between slaps, the bike bounced.  Potholes where frequent and cyclists neededto be alert.  Some were freshly filled inby Ironman, others were simply marked with yellow spray paint.   Lots of people popped tires.  And there was at least this one really badcrash.

I reached the turnaround and everyone slowed down andfiled into a single line.  “This is a verypolite turnaround,” I said out loud.  Thecyclists around me laughed in agreement. We were all having a good day. 

The downed woman was still lying motionless on theground.  “Where the hell is theambulance?”  Fellow cyclists were indisbelief.  “She’s been out there fornearly half an hour!”  Yeah, where thehell was the medical support?

This sport is dangerous. We risk a lot to practice it. That’s the truth.  It’s not likesky diving or Nascar, but crashing on your bike when going anywhere between 15and 50 miles per hour is not fun, I imagine (I’ve been lucky enough not to havedone so yet).  Neither is drowning duringthe swim or straining your heart to the point of death.  A man died in the Hudson during theswim.  I think it was after I gotout.  I have yet heard the cause ofdeath.  Rather than read about the death, check this article out. I never told my mom about thesethings, fearing that she’d freak out.

I made my way to the end of the first loop and stopped atthe special needs bag area, grabbed my bag, and used the porta potty for the first time.  At this point I was well ahead of my planned calorie intake.  I was aiming for 250 calories per hour, but was probably closer to 300.  I reloaded my pockets with Gu and potatoes and was off.  The turnaround wasn't far.  I could hear the roar of the crowd before I could see them.  That was cool.  And they were plenty loud.

I made the turn and a few moments later, my watch beeped at me.  The battery was low.   

What the hell?

It had only been slightly more than three hours.  It usually lasts eight.  This was frustrating.  After thinking a bit, I stopped the watch and put it in power save mode.  This way, I could tell the time and the battery would last all day.  I needed 250+ calories per hour.  This, above all, was the top priority.


At some point leading up to the race, I made the decision to stop and hug them.  There was no need to fly by.  Especially when they drove 2+ hours and volunteered for 6 hours just to get a glimpse of their son riding a bicycle on the Palisades Parkway. So when I spotted them- my dad had just made a water bottle hand off with another cyclist and my mom was gathering empty bottles into a recycling bag- I stopped.

"Hey, how's it going?" I said to them.

"Hey!!" My mom was excited and gave me a hug immediately.  My dad decided to squirt me with a water bottle.  He thought it was funny.  I was worried about chafing.

We chatted a bit.  I told them I loved them and thanked them for volunteering.  My mom told me how strange some of the volunteers are.  I agreed- they were probably triathletes hoping to sign up next year.

I made a second bathroom stop, then continued toward the turn around.  At this point, my ass was hurting.  I expected as much.  I was shifting more than earlier and standing regularly for some relief.  Just after the turn around, I stopped to pee again.

Probably tired of being on the bike at this point.
 Why do I keep bringing the pee stops up?  Well, during a marathon, I don't stop.  I knew I'd be stopping.  I knew I would err on the side of too much hydration rather than dehydration for this event. And I would still stop one more time before getting off the bike course.  I also knew there was no way that I was going to pee on the bike.  Why?  Ok, indulge me while I go off on this tangent...

Back in June, I did a 90 mile ride along route 20 in the Catskills.  It was wicked hot and I was drinking a lot.  I had stopped to pee a couple times, but needed to go again.  This was about mile 70.  I've heard that hardcore cyclist just pee while riding.  How?  They just stand and pee.  They don't whip it out first.  They don't pull over.  They just ride and pee.  I had to try it, no?

It was fairly horrible.

How much detail do you want?  I'll spare you most of it, except for this: I had a puddle of piss in my right shoe for the next 20 miles.  Yeah.  Awesome.  Never again.

Ok, back to the race report...

Mileage signs were somewhat sporadic and I could no longer rely on my gps watch.  But I was quite familiar with the highway because of driving it dozens of times.  I just went by feel and counted down the exit signs.  I was ready to be off the bike.  I wasn't exhausted, just wanted off.  So actually, I sped up a bit.

I passed the special needs bag area which was empty and cleaned up.  The turn around was no longer there and the crowd vacated.  I exited the Parkway, knowing there were just a couple miles to the end of the course and took stock.

I had most of a bottle of Perform left, one Gu, and a few potatoes.  I was still ahead of my calories and my stomach felt fine.  So I decided to take the Gu and finish the bottle of Perform before I reached transition.  I popped in another potato while I was at it.  I also took the watch off and put it on my wrist.

Approaching transition.

I mainly coasted down hill, spotted my brother again, hopped off my bike at the dismount marker, walked it to a volunteer, and decided to get out of my cycle shoes immediately rather than clunk around in them.  I grabbed my run gear bag and made my way to the steamy changing tent.  I had a big smile on my face as I changed, I knew what I needed to do.

I laced up my shoes as a volunteer helped stuff my cycle gear into the bag.  I loaded my pockets with fuel and salt and stuffed my SCBkR hat back in the bag and tied the Warriors bandana on.  I grabbed my water bottle and got out of there.


Marathon time, baby. 

Bike> 6:53:16

Ironman US Championship 00:00:00

There comes a time in every man's life when he must decide whether or not to jump into a river polluted with raw sewage.  This was my time...

BOOM!

7:00AM had arrived and the age groupers, as we are called, began trickling into the river, jumping from the barge.  It was exciting and hilarious all at once.  From my ferry, 4th in line and waiting patiently to dock, we watched as the athletes jumped in.  Most did a simple jump, a few belly flopped to our amusement, and only a couple thought to cannonball.

The swim portion of the Ironman was never in danger of being canceled, it seemed.  The rationale was quite simply, the proportion of sewage that made it's way into the river those couple days- about 3.4 million gallons- wasn't that big a deal.  It wasn't much more than is normally in there, I guess.

As my ferry turned to dock with the barge, the toxic levels of the Hudson were the farthest things from my mind.  I wanted in.  My fellow athletes wanted in.  We tried to be patient as we emptied onto the barge and pushed forward, but we were excited.  Everyone was psyched.  It was an amazing and electric atmosphere.

I looked toward the course, the hundreds of swimmers already in the river, and up at the George Washington Bridge in the distance.  "That is so bad ass!" I pointed and gave everyone around me my opinion of the view.  I exchanged some high-5s with teammates as we crossed the timing mat, and seconds after, I was in the water (feet first, but I should have cannon-balled).  So I began to swim.

We file onto the lower level of the barge.

The water was salty, as I had expected. The field was fairly spread out.  Most kept close to the buoys, sighting off of them.  I stayed away and sighted off the GW Bridge west tower.  I knew where I was going.  No need to cling to the buoys.  That gave me an advantage, since it meant I could be off on my own, practically undisturbed, and I could be relaxed and just swim.  That advantage may have been negated because I wasn't getting as strong a current pull as the others probably were.  In fact, there were times where I felt it was actually driving me toward the shore.

The kayak people- race officials, I guess- waived me more toward the buoys a couple times.  Rather than argue, I veered toward them more.  But I kept relatively straight, aiming for the GW Bridge tower closest to New Jersey.  That's where the transition area was.  That's where we're getting out of the water.

The second half of the race seemed to go much faster, which makes sense since that's when the current was forecast to change.  It suddenly got more crowded as all the swimmers veered toward me and the exit.  It also got disgusting.

The Hudson River has a layer of sludge at the bottom.  You can't step onto it- it's not ground.  Not dirt or rock.  It's sludge.  If you try to step and push off the "ground", your foot and leg will sink into it and get stuck.  It's muck.  It's disgusting.  With thousands of swimmers thrashing about in shallow water, the water turned grayish-brown.  Even though I could reach the bottom of the river with my elbows, I dare not stand up until I was on the ramp that led to land.  Volunteers reached out and pulled us up.

"That was pretty disgusting," I commented to one.

"Dude, you were in the Hudson," was his reply.

There were actually showers for us to run through to wash the shit off our faces, etc.  But some guy stopped and stood under it for who knows how long.  I didn't hang around.  I went around and made my way to the strippers.

No, not that kind of stripper.  These were volunteers who helped get our wetsuits off.  Rather than wrestling with it myself- it's the tightness that makes it difficult- I had two people peel it down, sit me on the ground, and rip it off my legs.  Quick.  I slung it over my arm, made my way through the field of blue bags grabbing mine before the volunteer could find it.  I shuffled along toward the changing tent.  Ed spotted me and called out my name.  It was great to see him so early on

Hi Ed.

The changing tent was steamy.  Not in a good way.  It smelled of sweaty dudes.  A bunch of teammates were around- we must have gotten out of the water at the same time- and we all got out of our river clothes and into our cycle gear.  Coach Scott specifically suggested we change out of whatever we swam in because the Hudson is disgusting.  He feared the smell may catch up to us after a few hours.

I wasn’t speedy about it, but I got my gear on and fuel in my pockets, and was out ready for my bike.  I grabbed it and walked it to the “mounting” line.  I looked over my shoulder at the clock.  It read 8:18AM or something.  That meant I definitely was faster on my swim than expected.  Good.  On schedule.

Swim> 0:52:01
Transition 1> 0:08:54

Bike Start: 1:00:55 [next entry]