Summer 2013 Megafuntastical: Berkshires Tres Veces

I've been absent from this blog because of a summer that has been just too much fun. Now well into autumn, it is time to catch up a bit.  Here is the first post in the series I like to call Summer 2013 Megafuntastical.
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I love how the thread of life bunches up, sending me to the Berkhsires tres veces in less than a month. It’s as though life writes its own narrative, twisting and turning, falling and climbing, and I am but the transcriber.

Going Rogue

Memorial Day Weekend came and after months of preparation, on the road, in the trails, and on a few excel spreadsheets, the team headed for the hills of Berkshires.  Thirty six of us (or so) drove a few hours in the rain so that we could run in the rain, cheer in the rain, stand in the rain, and play drinking games indoors.

The trail was muddy and wet. The hills were steep and forced lots of walking. I started toward the middle, which may have been a mistake.  My intention was to race, but I was stuck behind a few folks as the course funneled onto a single file trail in the woods.  Luckily the runners were courteous and let me pass where possible.

The terrain was rough in some parts, the trail consisting of jagged rocks.  And I saw people in nothing but Vibrams.  I was pretty close to wearing my Merrell Trail Gloves and was thankful that I did not.  I settled on the Merrell Mix Masters which served fairly well.  I'm still not convinced about the upper, but the toe box and sole feel great. 

I came close to falling numerous times, almost tripping or rolling my ankle, but managed to stay on my feet. Some teammates weren't so fortunate, arriving bloodied at the finish line- but with smiles, too, which I loved seeing. Throughout my run, other than my own survival and fun time, I was thinking of the team which we trained for this day.  We took them to some pretty challenging trails in preparation, and I think that may have scared a few of them.  The thing they hadn't experienced was the rain.  I hoped they weren't hating life up in the hills. More than that, I was wishing they were loving it.

I didn't run with a camera, but one can always count on Rachel for pics.

Why do I love trail runs? They're honest and unforgiving. To survive, much more than a road race, a runner has to yield to the terrain, taking only what it will give. There is need to anticipate each step, to be present and mindful. In a way, a runner becomes one with the trail and in this way can really get to know his/herself.

There's talk of us doing this again as the Rogue Alumni event for Summer 2014.  That chatter has me a little bit excited.  No lie.

The Union

My Guatemalan family arrived while I was away for the team's rogue event.  We spent the week in Brooklyn and I juggled work, running, and family as best I could.  There simply weren't enough hours in the day.  But on Friday, May 31st at approximately 10:41PM I crossed the 200 miles threshold for the month. A few days later I was back in the Berkshires for my brother’s wedding.

I had been wanting to get back on the bike for weeks. This was my first ride since September.  I left with a vague plan of tackling about 30 miles. 48 miles later, I had visited Vermont for ice cream and a cider donut, climbed a bunch of hills, and made my ass really sore.  I mean, really sore.  It was great.

The Berkshires: Great landscape for a ride.  Great views.

Entering Vermont.  On the hunt for ice cream.

Assuming "biker" also includes "cyclist".  Because we badass.

On Wednesday, I was looking to run about 10 miles.  Not wanting to do an out and back, I searched for a loop on the country roads available to me and found a 12 mile loop that included a somewhat aggressive elevation climb.  I realized as I got ready to leave that I forgot my water bottle which is kind of a drag for a 12 mile run, but felt I would be just on the inside of my dehydration range and would be fine.  But whoops, I got lost and did 15 miles.  That run kinda sucked at the end.

Roads?  Where we're going, we don't need roads...

In the middle, though, it kinda ruled.  I ended up hitting the trails for a second time in the Berkshires, parts of which reminded me of Scotland.  And On the easier parts if this run, when I could think, I outlined the speech that I was going to give at my brother's wedding the next day. 

Picture doesn't do it justice.  So green.

View from the top.

Father’s Day Ride

Mark and I had been trying to make plans to train together all spring, but our fairly busy schedules never quite lined up.  After he suggested a weekend of training near his home in eastern Massachusetts, for some reason I suggested we ride from his house to Rotterdam.  Well, I know why I did.  I wanted to spend father's day with him *and* my dad and this seemed like to logical solution.  As things played out, it became apparent that my dad wasn't going to be in Rotterdam.  He was going to be in Brooklyn that day, ironically, in my apartment.

We stuck with the plan, though, and surprised Mark's mom in Rotterdam on Saturday instead, and I got back to Brooklyn to visit with my dad on Sunday. Though it rained right up to the minute we started, the clouds broke and we saw nothing but sunshine from then on out.

Psyched to get started!

Day One

Day Two

Ride Statistics

More Photos Here

The trip spanned 178 miles over two days with an overnight stay in Northampton.  I made it a point to have us stop in Amherst for some Antonio's Pizza.  The ride was quite manageable, even though I hadn't trained for this. I moved along at a fairly slow pace and Mark was patient with me. The hills were no joke, but it was a beautiful ride.  This touring trip with the overnight stay was great fun.  And it made me miss being on a bike.

And seeds of doing another Ironman were planted... 

I Don't Waffle. I Eat Them.

My second test of the year came with a little bit of fanfare.  Despite finishing 87 seconds slower than my 5k PR, I finished first in my age group and 8th overall out in Clinton Township.  It helped that the faster runners ran the 15k instead.  And it was a small field.  Still, I'll take the little medal and the sub 7:00/mi pace and move on to the next.

My pacing was pretty good on this somewhat hilly course, as it was during my latest half marathon and that's encouraging to me. I'm going to line up more 5k tests.  Because of their shorter distance, I'm able to test myself more frequently and (hopefully) see progress sooner.  Something around Father's Day would work out best, I think.  And I can sign my parents up, too.

8th out of 186 ain't bad.  But I want faster.

It's May already and I had imagined being faster than this by now. Building this base has been a slower process than I expected.  Adding to the delay was a stubborn series of colds that just wouldn't let up around the end of March. That killed my training momentum.  And I've had to avoid the gym and my love of free weights because of some issues with my back that Leslie is working on.  Can you believe it?  Two visits and she didn't even touch my legs because if the mess that was my back. So my upper body and core are lacking in strength, too.

But it would seem I'm back on track.

I've gotten a lot of miles in on my urban commute workouts.  They are exactly what they sound like and I  normally do them at a pretty fast click.  I like to think of them as fartleks or cruise intervals.  Sometimes I have to slow down because of pedestrian traffic and sometimes I have to come to a complete stop because of car traffic. But when I can let loose and go, I do, like on the Manhattan Bridge on my way home or though Harlem on the way to Yankee Stadium for a game.  Ranging 6 to 7 miles, they've been great to integrate even more into my workout routine.

I've been seeing progress in my long runs, specifically my *bad* long runs.  A bad long run I did last week where I felt sore and sluggish and where my bowels weren't cooperating translated to an 8:43 pace over 16 miles.  A few weeks ago, that would have more likely been a 9:30+ pace. I'm sure my fitness plays a part, but specifically, I'm feeling more efficient with my form.  I'm able to hold it longer and easier, staying relaxed throughout, sometimes even getting more relaxed as the run progresses.  A good 16 miler translated to an 8:30 pace two weeks ago.  Both these runs were done at effort level 2.5ish out of 5 on average.  I will need a good long run at this effort level to equate to a 7:45ish (or less, hopefully) pace to get to a sub 3-hour marathon.

On a 12 mile urban commute and 1/2 mile hill repeat combo day, I took note of the salt buildup on my face.  It is getting warmer and my miles are getting longer.  A sweat test will be in order some time in June.  It will be good to get a measurement of that again before it gets the better of me.

My face is as salty as my attitude.

Last week my mileage was 51.8, including a 7 day stretch that was 60+.  I felt pretty beat up by Saturday, but that is to be expected.  Monday I rested, sleeping 14 hours(!), recovering from that mileage as well as the excellent fun times that happened over the weekend, including the Run for Hope, which raised money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society via the RALLY campaign, and cheering the New Jersey Half and Full Marathons.  This week I have another 50+ miles planned and don't expect there to be any problems. Last night's urban commute was completed at a 7:29 per mile click including a sub 7:00 mile coming off the Bridge.  Thursday, I'll be introducing 1/4 mile hill repeats into my workouts to make my lungs and heart bigger.  I'm hoping the SCBkR tHrILLer group will be out to run with!

TNT BK just before the Race for Hope 5k put on by the students of the NJHS at the Battery Park City School, which was only part of the day's training.  These runners completed between 9 and 18 miles before noon.

With miles up and french fry consumption down, I've been losing fat at a descent rate.  Nothing extreme- it's probably one pound a week now, but I don't weigh myself so I don't really know.  I just go by feel- how my jeans fit, but most importantly, how I feel on a run. I am pretty excited about being at a point that I'm happy enough with to eat fries again.  I miss fries.  Especially from Bear Burger and Dram Shop. And Daisy's disco fries.  Yum.  I think I'm close.  I probably have another month before I start cheating giving myself a french fry allowance. Maybe sooner if I continue with these 50+ mile weeks in a healthy way!

Flea market find after a trail run in the Atlantic Highlands on the Appalachian Trail with the team. Now I'm gonna eat waffles for breakfast, too!

Bermuda Baseline

The Bermuda Mile took me 6:17?  Really?  Did I get lost in the triangle somewhere?  Slow.  Granted, I wasn't pushing hard-  I was probably at 85% effort.  And sure, I was sick... But still, that result disappoints me.  I was hoping to clear 6:00 with that effort level.  I was well off pace.

Though my mile was slower than I wanted, this first race of the Bermuda Triangle Challenge was a fun event.  I love the distance and I loved that the team loved it, too.  Hamilton shut down their main street and came out to cheer. The band played and the kids raced. It was a fun venue.

The Warriors take Bermuda.

I am fired up for the mile.

My 10k finish time was 49:50.  I was aiming to get under 50 minutes and run at 85-90%, which I accomplished- barely.  It was a damn hilly course and my under-conditioned legs felt it.  But it was fun and quite beautiful.  And I was still able to get back out and cheer for and support my team.

Very enthusiastic high-five with Ava!

BK TNT ready for the 10K.

Finished up the race and came back to cheer, of course!

My original plan was to race all three events, but I wasn't very diligent on my training.  I wanted to at least race the half marathon, but I scrapped those plans Saturday night.  I had been fighting a cold all weekend and it was winning.  Luckily, Amanda found me on the course and we paced each other to a decent finish.  I clocked in at 1:56:34, again doing about 85-90%.  If I had raced it, I would have targeted a 1:45:00 finish.

Amanda and I finish the half with smiles.

The weather on Sunday was wet.  Very wet.  Amanda and I finished, changed into our coach shirts, and headed back out.  The only way to stay warm was to run.  Our legs were pretty tired, but the team is a huge motivator.  It took me too long to get my act together and I missed a few half finishers and didn't get to see some full marathoners finish their first loop.

But as soon as we got back on the course, we saw TNTers coming. I was trying to make my way out further in the course, but it felt a bit like swimming against a current in a river- in more ways than one.  I'd see a TNTer and run with them a bit.  Then I'd let them do their thing and head out to find the next.  The back and forth pattern didn't lend to be getting very far out.  I only made it out to mile 23 or so.  I was hoping to get closer to 20.

And then there was the rain and the street-rivers it created.  The water was ankle deep in many places along the stretch I was running.  I was probably carrying an extra five pounds of water in my clothes, maybe more.  Teammates almost had to swim to the finish at that point.  It was challenging.  And it was lonely out there.  Everyone did finish though, and our last runner came in at about 5:30 which was great.  I was proud.

Cold and wet and still out cheering for TNT and everyone else.

Seriously. Look at that rain and that energy (and that hat on Katie's head).

Josh has an entourage as he approaches the finish.

 After, I ate an overpriced not so good burger then headed to the hotel where I crashed hard.  I developed a fever.  My body fought so hard to stay healthy for these events and finally gave out.   I was happy.  I popped some drugs and napped. I went to bed early that night, chilled the next day, went back to 18 degree New York City for a couple days and was pretty sick for the week.  When I got to Miami on Friday (I know- hard life) I was still sick, but on the mend.

Bienvenido a Miami!  Race morning.

So where do these Bermuda times put me? Way way off my PRs.  I have a lot of work to do and it starts now.  I've signed up for the Suffolk County Half Marathon in March.  I plan to race the hell out of it and really test myself.  It's hard to say what I'll be able to do and with just 6 weeks of solid training to between today and race day, I think getting a PR may be a stretch.  But let's see.  Let's see how well training goes and how disciplined I can be.

Bonus Bermuda Pic.

Bonus Miami Pic.

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!

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

Transition 2> 0:10:35
Start of Marathon 8:04:46 [next entry]