Mark Kaufman

NYCRuns Brooklyn Half Marathon – April 28, 2024

I was reluctant to do this race: rain was predicted, and it was a logistical nightmare to drive in from the suburbs to Greenpoint; we were required to load into the race area between 5 and 6 am to start running at 7; and the finish line was in Prospect Park, 15 subway stops (or a 9-mile UBER ride) from the starting line where I’d park my car. But then the rain prediction evaporated, and temps were going to be in the low 50s; I managed to get to bed by 8:45 for a 3:30 a.m. wake-up; and…

Even though my pre-paid, reserved parking lot was blocked off by the police because of the race, I found a spot two blocks from the starting area. So a good start!

22,000 people signed up for this race! “The 3rd largest half marathon in the U.S.” My priority was to run by what felt good, but keep track of the time. I wanted to do better than Coach Steve’s estimated finish of 1:48 hours = 8:15 per mile “based on the available data.” Use that as a minimal acceptable limit, not as the best I could do.

Hurry up and wait. We went through security, gathered in a parking lot before going into the pre-assigned corrals…

Because I had left my Garmin in the car (rookie mistake!), I’d have to hit the lap button on my watch so I didn’t have a lot of data during each mile, only after passing each mile marker. But the lack of data was probably a good thing – less information to worry about.

Wave 1 is crowded, and folks are friendly (and young!) and I chatted with another triathlete wearing an Ironman 70.3 shirt, and it takes us almost 4 minutes to cross the starting line. Early on I meet another age grouper by the name of Andy (“What’s our pace? I left my Garmin in the car!” “That one was 8:13”), he sees my Philadelphia Marathon hat, asks if I’m from Phillie and says he’ll do his 11th Phillie Marathon this fall. I surge ahead, then he surges ahead, and I’m okay with being dropped: I am racing MY race, and Andy is clearly a Runner.

At Mile 3, I realize I’ve been running at around 8:00 min/mile, and decide that’s a nice goal. I run up to someone to comment on his shirt slogan, and realize the extra effort made my hamstring twinge, so I back off the pace. By Mile 5, I’m still at around 8:04s and my only concern is whether that’s sustainable, it’s starting to feel challenging, but I also don’t want to get slower, beating Coach Steve’s prediction has now become its own priority, competing with the “have fun” part.

I freak out a little at what I think is Mile 6 and my watch says “10:30” minutes, but I realize that’s the 10K (6.2 mile) marker, so I’m only a little slower. I’m breathing more deliberately to bring my heart rate under control; we’re about to start hitting the long hills and I don’t want to blow up. I have the discipline to follow my nutrition plan: at mile 6 or 7 or 1:00 hour, even though I don’t feel like it, I drink my flask of UCAN energy drink (feeling SO smart despite looking stupid with a water belt, as I never slowed down and jostled for a cup at the rest stations; instead, sipping every mile when I wanted, and still comfortable carrying a cell phone in the big pocket, in prep for that post-race UBER ride!) but I don’t want to give up the 8-minute goal, that’s what would define “Success,” and I realize: fearing failure is not a helpful thought, and we (the surging crowd of runners) get over that hill and the glory of downhill.

Still, at Mile 8 or 9 I’m anxious again that this is really starting to hurt.

Instead I focus on the extraordinary long, straight road crowded with runners, and the sun is beautiful, shining on the spring trees at the end of this vista, and there’s simply no room for the thoughts that make me anxious, yes this is getting tough but only 3 miles to go and I start to surge at Mile 11 and realize dammit this isn’t my last mile, there’s TWO more miles to go, and Andy (remember him?) is next to me and says “go for it”, and I’m quietly telling folks that I’m passing them (“on your left” like riding on the bike path) and with 1 ½ miles to go I warn a couple “I’m between you” and the young woman says “go for it” (or something like that) and I am getting FASTER and the curving road in Prospect Park seems familiar (did a duathlon here years ago) and impossibly long and I’m at the Finish Line.

And Bam! My watch says I averaged 8:01 min/mile!

Like they say in the Kindergarten report card: “Exceeded expectations”.

I was surprised to find that my last half marathon was way back in 2019, and my best was in 2014 (1:36:21!) and of course I was faster then, but today’s race was faster than the two HMs I ran in 2018. And faster than the 15k and 20k races I ran earlier this year. As far as I’m concerned, this is PR.

And: my fourth race in a row (the 15k, 20k and Oceanside 70.3) where I enjoyed the entire race. THIS time with some reference to the watch, as a way to keep me motivated to go faster. I’m on a roll.

Ironman Oceanside 70.3 – April 6, 2024

This was my first race where I had to bring my bike on a plane.

Reconstructive surgery in Larry’s garage

I chose this race because it fit my schedule and to visit my college roommate Dzu Do, who had moved from New Jersey to San Diego in 2023. I then realized I had other friends to visit in the area, starting with Larry Binderow who shared his beautiful home in Rancho Santa Fe on Thursday and Friday before the race. Great to see him in his native habitat!

With Larry Binderow, Esq.

Racked bikes at the Transition Area on Friday — the coldest day on record for San Diego (41 degrees F). And it poured.

And it poured the day before the race.

But that just meant the next day would have nothing left in the sponge and, by definition, warmer!

Getting to the race Saturday morning was a logistical nightmare, but good practice for adapting to changes. Rolling with the punches. Annoying, but nothing more. First, the GPS took me to the Oceanside Transit Center parking lot, but no one was there — until I found the parking lot building. Then, I joined around 75 people waiting for the shuttle bus to get to Transition. It took 30 minutes for 2 buses to arrive; we squeezed in, standing in the aisles, and got to Transition only 15 minutes before transition closed!

Waiting for the shuttle buses with 75 other athletes…

Still, glad I didn’t join the handful who had decided to walk the 2 miles… Dumped out everything I had brought, set it up and ran out. Not enough time to worry!

I had been concerned (actually, terrified) about swimming in the ocean, and yes, the water was 60 degrees on race day. Still, waiting to get started, I met all kinds of people — two quiet, weather-beaten brothers from Utah in their 50s; a guy from New York, and two from Connecticut — and the excitement was palable. Lined up with others behind the pacer’s sign for those expecting to swim at a 1:40 min/100 yd pace. Everyone shuffling towards the four-at-a-time chute onto a sloping dock and suddenly we’ve crossed the starting line and we are IN THE PACIFIC OCEAN!

GOOOOOD MORNING! Actually, with my full-length wetsuit and neoprene swim cap, it really wasn’t bad. In fact, it felt great. They initially planned to have us run into the surf and swim around the jetty in a clockwise “U”, but the surf was so rough we were re-routed to stay inside the bay, swimming the 1.2 miles in a counterclockwise route, leaving buoys to our left, turning at the red buoys, then back to the same starting place. The water was quite calm, and felt like a favorable current going out. Dug into my new, improved stroke — reach reach reach for the catch, elbows high on the return, breathing 3-2-3 and sighting frequently, nudging up next to and then past the folks in my way (gently, didn’t kick anyone, I promise!). It felt strong, it was delightful, I was choosing my route rather than depending on drafting for more than a few minutes. The only trouble was seeing the orange buoys on the way back (rather than the outward-bound yellow buoys) as we swam into the rising sun. Finished and stumbled out in 42:18 minutes – slower than planned, but it felt solid.

Swim out. Hadn’t practiced taking off the wetsuit…

THEN I felt the cold. I decided to run run run to T1 to get warm again— rather than stopping to slip off the wetsuit. Didn’t work so well: I sat on the ground, struggled out of the suit, tried to dry off, put on a long-sleeve biking shirt (Hastings Velo!) because the air temp was only 50 degrees, tried to put on gloves but couldn’t so put them in back pockets, heard the announcer say “must wear your race bib on the bike” so put on my running belt with holsters for water flasks to which I had oh so cleverly attached the race bib (whoops, that’s not so aerodynamic), helmet with magnetic visor (a little cracked because it hadn’t travelled as well as I’d hoped in my carry-on) and started to ride.

I didn’t shiver. But I couldn’t unclench my jaw for 45 minutes.

Could NOT stop clenching my jaw after leaving that cold water!

I also couldn’t feel my feet, so pushing hard felt great, and the power meter indicated I was cruising along at 190-200 watts, my sustainable goal, for the first hour or so. And I realized: this is simply a gorgeous place to ride. We hit the first of the four big hills at around Mile 20, and at some point we entered Camp Pendleton, a Marine base (complete with three armed Marines who responded to my “Thank you” with grunt-shouting “Hoo-hah! Hoo-hah!” Seriously.). The rolling hills and valleys were covered with different shades of green and brown, the shadows were sharp and crisp, the day was sunny. It felt amazing to be there. And eventually I warmed up (especially on those longer, steeper hills), but still glad to have the extra layer on the downhills (when we unfairly faced headwinds!).

Eventually, warmed up and enjoying the ride

At around 2 hours, I started slowing down — enough for a lot of people to pass me — including those that didn’t look like great riders on fancy bikes. Marveled at a heavy woman who was a powerful rider (“Yeah, this is my favorite part” she said); chatted with two other guys from Utah, one in a bright yellow shirt (“yeah, those brothers are Randy and John, they train with us”); a young woman with blond ponytail left me in the dust; leap-frogged with a young guy in blue/purple/green tri-suit (“nice to see you again!”); was dropped by no. 1370, a guy in an olive-green shirt. And rather than dwell on falling behind, I just did what felt sustainable. Oh, well, it’s a 3-part race, I was NOT going to blow up on the bike. I kept on enjoying the scenery and enjoying the race. Took my nutrition, had a caffeine gel at 3:00 hours (boom! Optimism!).

At one point a dreaded referee rode up next to me, sitting backwards on a motorcycle while someone else drove. I got out from behind the rider ahead of me – we’re supposed to be 12 meters behind to avoid a drafting penalty! – and the referee said, “Why don’t you just finish passing this rider?” Did it, she smiled, and I dodged a penalty! Finished in 3:22 (17 mph) – a mediocre result, but I had fun the whole ride.

Ah, the run. I decided not to look at my watch, and just do what felt like a strong pace. And… I passed dozens of people, including yellow-shirt from Utah, woman with pony tail, blue/purple/green suit, olive shirt. THAT was satisfying.

First loop of the 13.1 miles was solid, with some uphills and that wonderful turnaround; second loop was harder, but didn’t kill me, just sticking with what felt strong and sustainable. And at Mile 11 I realized my watch hadn’t been ringing at me every mile because — wait for it — I hadn’t even started the watch on the run.

I laughed and realized I had been truly immersed in the race, picked up the pace the last two miles (at least, it felt like I got faster, and a guy I passed said “now, that’s a nice pace”), and finished the way I started, with a smile. Ran the half marathon in 1:52:59, an 8:37 min/mile average. I had expected to do 8:20, but so it goes.

This was my best race ever as far as attitude: I had never before enjoyed the entire thing. Results were mediocre: 6:10:30 total, maybe my worst for this distance, but for the first time that feels less important than being delighted with the experience. And did okay among my peers: 22/75 for age group, (32nd in the swim, 39th in the bike, 22nd on the run); 1,015/2,711 OA.

Leaving the race was another logistical nightmare: walked almost 2 miles to transition to get the bike (no shuttles arrived), miraculously packed all of my stuff into the net bag I had brought to avoid blocking up transition, wedging the bicycle pump between my handlebars and aero bars; and slowly riding back two miles in traffic to the parking lot building. Exhausting. Oh, well, racing is an exercise in patience, resilience and adapting. Getting to the rental car was the real Finish Line. (Note to other triathletes: if you’re going to do this otherwise wonderful race, stay in a hotel near the starting area. Driving in and parking and depending on shuttles was… overly challenging.)

Afterwards, visited the other fine folks who inspired me to travel to sunny San Diego: stayed Saturday night after the race with Rachel’s cousins, Jeff and Debbie Margolis, in Corona Del Mar,

Get the local clan! With Zan, James and their girls

visited Dzu and Han Do in Carmel Valley on Sunday,

Dzu Do in his beloved convertible

and had breakfast with Mark Laska on Monday.

So wonderful to spend time with each of them, and to see why they’ve chosen to move to and live in such a beautiful place. A great trip, a great race, and quite the journey!

Fairfield 20k – February 11, 2024

With Greg Donat, friend from high school and college, after the race.

Last week’s 15k had been almost magical in shifting my attitude and didn’t know if I could re-create the magic. So, I had some doubts about this race: didn’t get enough sleep the night before; and wasn’t sure I had trained enough to run 20k (12.4 miles) — farther than the 9.3 miles of last week’s race and a 10-mile workout of a month ago.

Arrived at the elementary school parking lot a solid 40 minutes before race time — checked in (using the same bib as last week’s “Boston Buildup” race), found the men’s room (even the faculty had child-height toilets!), and ran a couple of blocks. That got me warm enough to take off a layer and meet up with high school and college friend Greg Donat (who took up running races only a few years ago and made the cut for Boston this year). I had politely declined to warm up with him — I am not running a marathon and don’t need 2 extra miles before and after a race!

This was such a low-key affair that they didn’t have an airhorn or anything — the crowd simply surged forward, and someone near me said, “Have we started?” Coach Steve had suggested that based on my 8:12 pace from last week I’d average 8:25 today. Frankly, I was relieved that Greg planned to run a 9:30 pace so I didn’t have to worry about keeping up with him.

Right away, I got into enjoying the motion and the effort and the thrill of pushing — enough to continually feel that I was moving FORWARD, resisting the lag, enjoying the uphills (wow, these marathoners don’t seem to slow down at the hills!), LOVING the downhills. Only looked at the watch to make sure it was clicking off some mileage — whoops, that first mile was a 7:40, but it felt fine, not rushed. Kept checking in: the left knee started aching but then stopped, this pace is sustainable, each mile marker was spray-painted in purple on the road so I didn’t have to check my time.

Saw a guy around my age looking at his watch and I thought, “what are you checking for? You already qualified for Boston!” Chatted with a woman in her 30s dressed in yellow jacket, and she said, “that woman ahead of us in black? She’s at every race I’m in and she’s always ahead of me until the very end.” Woman in yellow surges ahead, I catch up to the woman in black, and tell her about my conversation; she replies, “Oh, please, I’m twice her age!” Later, I say, “Finally! another uphill!” to a fellow age grouper, with short gray beard and built like he’d been a tremendous athlete when he was younger, and he just laughs.

And then the downhills are so continuous, I can’t believe it; my quads are aching but I’m feeling fine. I turn to a guy with gray hair and say, “is there an uphill coming? Do you know?” He ignores me! Either he’s an asshole or he’s digging deep or he’s just deadly serious and that’s what got him into qualifying for Boston. After the race ends, he came up to me and said, “I couldn’t hear what you were saying.” He’s partly deaf and reads lips!

And, lo, another result better than expected: 1:44:38, or an 8:05 minute/mile pace. My only goal with this crowd was to be in the 50th percentile, so 6/11 AG (60-69 years), 75/190 OA was fine.

After cheering on Greg’s finish, he agreed (while we tacked on another 1/2 mile) that running can be pretty joyful. And going inside the school cafeteria to stretch, I bumped into the woman in black, and the guy with the gray beard, and a third runner in her 60s. They all had changed into warm dry clothes and were chatting and asked me, “So, see you in three weeks?” at the final, 25k race in the series.

I don’t know if I’ll do another, longer training race. But it’s a nice bunch of people, dedicated to running, and it’s nice to tune into each mile as its own celebration that culminates in a Finish Line.

Boston Buildup 15k (Ridgefield, CT) – Feb. 4, 2024

This may have been one of my best races ever, starting at an elementary school in Ridgefield, Connecticut (50-minute drive from my house), with plenty of room, warmth, and toilets….

Focused on the right priorities: (1) don’t get hurt, because my training for a Half Ironman is progressing nicely (thank you, Coach Steve); (2) don’t look at the watch (thank you, John McD) except for when it buzzed on my wrist the first mile of the 9.3 mile course: 7:45, that’s too fast, but it was a lovely downhill on a narrow road into a sunny morning with tall, bare trees…. And (3) have FUN (thank you, Vassilis)! Felt like I was running with all these friends and their good advice.

Pretty obvious that having fun was (and always should have been) the most important priority. I kept checking in on the status of the ship’s vitals (Mile 4: hamstring tweaking; maybe my posture needs adjustment, or slow it down?) and of the captain’s mental state (“Oh, no, that guy is passing me!… That’s not a helpful thought. I won’t think about it. What a beautiful day! Ooh, another downhill!”)

Here I was, racing with these folks who were preparing for the Boston Marathon (I qualified for Boston but didn’t make the 5:29-minute cut that Boston’s race directors imposed to reduce the field from 31,000 to 20,000 runners). So I sometimes felt like an imposter, but recognized “that’s not a useful thought; I won’t think about it; damn, what a great day!” Everyone around me is dead serious, no one saying a word. In contrast, my jaw is hurting at Mile 7 from smiling so much.

Miles 8 and 9 were uncomfortable, but arrived sooner than I expected (another benefit of not looking at the watch!), leapfrogged with another guy my age wearing a shirt from a triathlon we’d both done, got passed by the young woman who I had passed early in the race and who had gas left in the tank for a wonderful sprint, and I finished still smiling.

And the metrics were great! Steve had predicted I’d run 9:00-9:15 minute/miles (based, he forgets, on the reasonable workouts he had given me), and I finished in 1:16:22 – an 8:12 minute/mile pace. And my heart rate average was 143 bpm — totally reasonable, middle of the range.

For once, I was merely curious about my results relative to others in the 60 and older range. Turns out pretty good: 5/18 for AG (60-69 year old men, not including the 70+ guys who were included in the “Veterans” category), and 67/177 OA. But more importantly, I had fun. Now, THAT’s a sustainable attitude to take me through another season.

Sleepy Hollow Halloween 10k — 10/28/2023

I had mixed feelings about running this one. Having focused on swimming most of the summer to prepare for crossing the Hudson River, this was my only race after that Big Swim. Not a lot of running in these legs, but not a long course, either. Friday night, I walked into a curb with enough force that I flew across the sidewalk and into a hedge, and hurt my right foot’s big toe. I assumed I wouldn’t be able to run the next day, so went out with Rachel and friends for a beer and got to bed late. But next morning, the toe was not sprained or broken, and it felt okay in running shoes. So, I would have another excuse for any mediocre results: I’m almost 61; I bruised my big toe; and the cat ate my homework.

This is a great community event, complete with someone in a headless costume on top of a horse. (He couldn’t race; horses are not allowed!). During my warmup, I came across a portable toilet with a short line — gold! — so got near the starting line moments before the race began.

Coach Steve and I thought that with such limited training and such a hilly course, I’d average 8:05 minute per mile. I figured anything under 8 is a damn good mile. So imagine the thrill when not just the first downhill mile but also the second relatively flat mile were in the 7:30s. At about 2 1/2 miles, I saw the lead runner coming back — he must have been at mile 4, and was a wonder to behold. (I later spoke with him — Harbert Okuti, from Uganda, lives right there in Tarrytown — and he finished in 31:54, an unbelievable 5:08 min/mile pace. “This guy runs with the big boys” said a seasoned participant.)

The work got serious around mile 3 1/2, when the pretty neighborhood got a bit steep. I was leapfrogging with a balding guy in a white shirt, and around mile 4 1/2, I caught up and asked how old he was. “5 (pause). 8.” I said good, we were in different age groups, because I was 60. Apparently that demoralized him and he fell behind…

Some downhill going towards the Philipse Manor train station and then the awful run into the Kingsland Point Park (where we had finished the Lighthouse Swim), and as I started the uphill to get out of the park I realized that I would have to dig deep…

… and I thought about my parents. And for the first time, instead of feeling overwhelmed with sadness at losing both of them this year, I suddenly felt lighter, buoyant. My Mom wasn’t around to worry that I’d have a heart attack while racing; my Dad wasn’t around to shake his head and ask why I put myself through this; and all I had was the blessing of remembering them. I picked up the turnover and it felt great.

The final 0.2 miles in the Sleepy Hollow races is always up, up, uphill. But knowing I was at the end made it easier to work harder. Finished, exhausted — but not hurt, and complete.

Bottom line: 48:50, or 7:52 min/mile. As they say on kindergarten report cards, “exceeded expectations”. Alas, no age group podium — 1st place (67 years old!) finished in 46:56, and 2nd and 3rd place were 3 seconds apart from each other, at 48:19 and 48:22. There’s no way I could beat those times. But 4/47 for AG, and 110/1,200 (yes, 1,200 runners) is fine by me. This was my best effort for that day. And that’s the new standard of a good race.

The Lighthouse Swim – Sept. 10, 2023

This was a bucket list challenge: a three-mile swim across the Hudson River. The Lighthouse Swim begins in Nyack, NY and exits in Sleepy Hollow, NY. I literally learned to swim long distance to do this event. But between hosting a bar mitzvah, breaking a foot, and bad weather, I had tried 5 times to get to the starting line. THIS was the year I was going to DO it.

Lucked out two weeks before the event: as I was leaving the pool at the JCC in Tarrytown, the aptly-named Sara Swan (whom I hadn’t met before) asked if I was doing the Lighthouse Swim, and said she and some other friends would be training in the Hudson during the 10 days the JCC pool was closed. So, I met with her, Alex(andra), Jason Poure (who didn’t do this event but was training for the New York 70.3) at beaches on the Hudson five or six times to get acclimated.

With Jason and Alex at the Tarrytown pool, a morning when we couldn’t get into the beach – and just as well, the river had white caps!

And are days later, with Sara and Jason, another day at the beach!

Good opportunity to experience bad things: at the end of one swim, my calves cramped and I had to “limp” my way in with breast stroke — so I had to prepare for that possibility.

Weather reports predicted torrential rain for the night before the Swim (which would have created nasty water from the runoff) and thunderstorms in the morning (which would have canceled the event, for fear of giving new meaning to “diehard commitment”) but neither occurred. And for the first time in 14 years, I got on the bus and it actually took us from Sleepy Hollow to the dock in Nyack! Chatted with some Serious Swimmers, including Dale all the way from Kansas City (“…Missouri! We hate Kansas!”).

I knew that after 40 minutes, I’d be cold, and I expected the 3.2 miles to take me 2:10 hours (based on my mediocre speeds during our open water training days: 2:23 min/100 yards). So I wore a wetsuit (along with only 10 others of the 80 swimmers). Dan Fingleton, terrific marathoner from the Hastings Running Group, had volunteered among the kayakers – and we had a kayaker for every two swimmers. (“Couldn’t get much safer, Mom”.)

A lot of dedicated volunteers made this possible. *Photo by kayaker Dan Fingleton

I waited on the dock and we went in waves – “slowest first”, but without any estimated pace. Sara and I walked up in the fourth wave, and we slipped off the dock into the warm water (73 degrees or so).

Sara and I waited for the wave to start… “Where’s the second buoy?”

Started up strong, but decided that this was something I was going to survive, not race. The goal was to get to the other side without cramping or at least without needing assistance. The sight buoys anchored along the route were pretty frequent and helpful. More so were the two rows of kayakers — so I could have just sighted looking at the kayak next to me (whoops! If I can see this guy, I’m turning my head too much!). At one point, one of the kayakers was in between the rows of the other boats so I couldn’t see the buoy, and I must have made some noise because she eagerly said “do you need some help?” And I said, “no, I want you out of my way!”

One at a time, my right foot cramped; then my left calf; then my right calf. Each time I caught it early, didn’t give in to the temptation to do breast stroke (I had learned that made it worse) and instead focused on my abs; somehow, that forced me to stop kicking from my knees, and the cramps went away.

In the last third — where I could see I was next to the last two towers of the Tappan Zee Bridge (I refuse to call it the Governor Mario Cuomo Bridge!) — I stopped to shout “Woot woot!” Because I was in the middle of the Hudson River, that’s why. Just before the end, I could SEE the lighthouse, OMG, almost there! and started going straight for the beach, but the kayaker next to me said “they want us to go north to that buoy” so I grumpily followed directions, and a good thing — others who went “straight” for that inflatable finish line ended up being pushed down river by the current and had to swim north again. One guy had to be pulled in, because a barge arrived, and he was too close to get out of the way safely.

Bottom line: I finished it!

Final time was 1:24 (and final distance was 4,000 yards, or 2.3 miles, rather than 3.2 miles as I had expected), 2:07 min/100 yards — faster pace than I expected. Very happy to have achieved this one — and now that I’ve done it, I’ll can do it again, with lesss trepidation.

And ten minutes after the last swimmer got out, it started to rain — hard enough to eliminate visibility!

I also swam to raise money for Feed Westchester. The support from some VERY generous friends put me among the top fundraisers (for which I received an insulated coffee mug labeled THE LIGHTHOUSE SWIM). PLUS I won a raffle (I never win raffles!) and won a free month at the JCC in Tarrytown — where I had met the core group of these friendly, strong swimmers.

Litchfield Hills Triathlon – July 8, 2023

Got up at 3:15 a.m. to leave at 4:15 to arrive at West Hartford, Connecticut by 6 a.m. (Surprise: Litchfield is only 1:30 drive from home, but Litchfield Hills are 1:45 hour away….) Had prepared EVERYTHING the night before, and had time for 5-10 minutes of PT for the bursitis in my hips just before driving. Had considered sleeping in, not feeling ready or pumped up for this race, but as long as I was awake and as long as I was driving… might as well do it.

Nice, friendly people volunteering and racing. “General seating” on grabbing a place to rack the bike, but found a place on two slots from the end of the row (easy to find) and near a garbage can and fence (easy to leave my oversized gear bag).

Race Director Mark Wilson preaching to the choir before the race began…

The swim: Lots of jostling – only three mass wave starts (men under 40, men over 40 and over, women and relay teams – remember this detail for the end of the blog…) – so it was hard to find clean water. On the other hand, easy to draft off someone the first loop (out of the water to run across the beach after the first loop was challenging — hard to walk let alone run!) and beginning of the second loop. Finally got into a rhythm and enjoyed the water (short sleeve wetsuit was fine, won’t ever listen to that stupid Monster Lake fisherman’s website about water temperatures for various lakes – they had reported 64 degrees!). But whenever I relaxed I had to remember to stay smooth but work harder, this is a race! Apparently I didn’t remember enough: my speed dropped from 1:48 min/100 yds to 2:05, ultimately averaging to 1:54 min/100. (Coach Steve had predicted 1:55. The guy’s good with numbers…). Finished the 0.9 mile swim in 31:25.

Transition 1 included a long run along a rocky dirt path. I tried to take off my wetsuit sitting down on the bench where I had left my shoes. Big mistake: gotta stand up and step on the suit leg I’m removing. Not sure how much time that cost. And then run/walking the 1/4 mile to transition (heart rate through the roof / walk to get HR under control…). T1 in 6:18.

Bike, as advertised, started with screaming downhills and rolling hills for the first 15 miles, then up! up! up! for the remaining 10. My 5-mile intervals told the story: 21.6 mph, 25.7 mph (!), 19.2, 18.4… then 12.3 mph for the last ascent. Got into leap-frogging with Doug Casey, nice guy I had met on the line to the outhouses before the race: I repeatedly passed him on the flats and downhills (reaching, um, 49 mph, which I only learned after the race, fortunately), he passed me on the uphills, and as noted, the ride ended going uphill… Truly sharing the road with traffic – van turned right slightly ahead of me! Big trucks slowing down in the middle of the route!

Good news is bursitis in my hip scarcely flared up (apparently PT is helping) but adductors felt tired early on, and my wattage/speed dropped towards the end even at moments of flat road. 1,340 feet of elevation over the 24.8 mile (40 km) course. Finished in 1:14:36; average speed: 18.9 mph, avg. power: 197 watts. Not bad on a tough course.

All I want to do is FINISH, take home my participant’s medal, and sleep…

Run (walk!) on the grass to transition, and probably would have been faster changing to running gear if I hadn’t been panting so much. Some mixed feelings when I saw a guy who had passed me on the bike with “62 [years old]” on his calf getting into transition a few feet ahead of me…. Maybe I’m chasing him, maybe he’s chasing me… T1 in 2:21.

Hard to rev up and get moving into the run, and knew it would be rough: the race ended mostly uphill. Even when we started running the early downhills I knew this was going to be another race like Kingston’s last year, where I felt I had to earn each and every mile. Really, ideal weather — warm but almost entirely shaded. Rest stops every mile had “barrels” to dispense into cups — not enough volunteers, I guess, to hand out the water. Off in the distance was Doug (who kept and increased the lead he took on the bike; let it go, he’s not my age group) and then he was gone… Another guy way ahead I thought was in my age group seemed too far to catch as well. Oh, well.

Doug Casey took 3rd for his 55-59 Age Group — a most gracious bunny to chase, even if I couldn’t catch him.

I just tried to maintain my speed and ended up picking off the younger runners who were within reach, counting those who passed me and those I passed — netting out at 11 racers. (I could not catch that young woman with the pony tail for the life of me, but that big guy who took a break at every water stop finally lost his mojo at mile 5…).

Once I realized that however hard I ran, my ranking at the end of the race was likely already sealed, it was hard to push harder. The temptation to take it easy on the uphills was tremendous, but this was MY race, going as fast as I was able, checking in and feeling whether I could push harder, just focus on that nearby mailbox, now the tree a little farther down the road, OMG I’m at mile 5 and what feels like immediately after I turn the corner and for once the Finish Line appears earlier than I expected. (And my Garmin says I was right: the run is only 5.6 miles, not 6.2.) Finished in 47:20, which apparently translated to 8:31 min/mile. (Steve had predicted 8:30… Damn, he’s good.)

Bottom line: 2:42:12, 2/13 for Age Group, 48/179 OA. Not my fastest, but not my slowest either, and felt fine for this challenging course.

But especially humbling: First place overall was my age group – 64-year old, legendary Bill Schumann in 2:11:43 (!), beating 2nd place (30-34 AG) by one second! The guy who came in second didn’t even know he hadn’t won until after he finished — because Bill had been in the second wave of men who started the swim 3 minutes after the younger men’s first wave! And if that weren’t humbling enough, Rick Klutey, the guy who took first place for our 60-64 age group (since overall podium finishers don’t also win their age groups), finished 7th overall in 2:18:15. Yes, 1st place AG was 24 minutes ahead of me.

Among the participants: training buddy and neighbor Jason Poure, here relaxing after the race

Well, the metrics didn’t matter to me during the race, and I’ll stand by my new attitude: did the best I could on that day, felt strong, and enjoyed most of the race. “Who could ask for anything more?” Other than asking for… beer.

Southern Tier, my favorite brand, was a sponsor. Even if they handed out flavors I had never contemplated, any race that serves beer at then Finish Line is a damn good race.

Sleepy Hollow Sprint Triathlon – June 18, 2023

Drove up with racing buddy Alan Golds, walked down from street parking to the Hudson River transition area, lovely community event complete with many first timers (like I was, 11 years ago!) and others chatting that this was their only race, every year.

Donny, a swim buddy from the JCC, was among the newbies.

Waited to run into the water, two at a time — thought we’d be self-seeding based on expected finish time or pace, but no such luck, and a lot of thrashing to get around big guys doing breast stroke. Tuned into a new way to improve my catch and got through the 1 km (0.6 mile) river swim feeling confident. A little choppy, maybe a slight headwind before being pushed to shore. Seven big orange buoys made sighting very easy. I expected to swim at 1:48 pace, but official results were better: 14:58 = 1:42 min/100 yards.

Ran out, stripping off wetsuit near the shore – water lubricating the removal – puffing pretty hard for the run into transition. Looked like one bike in my rack/Age Group was gone (probably the guy who had attached his shoes to his pedals!)… T1 in 3:38.

And Zander runs out. Finishes 2nd OA in the swim in 12:19, = 1:24 min/100 yd. 1st in Age Group for 50-54; as I’m approaching the finish line, he’s leaving, and shouts “Pick up my medal!”

Rode as hard as I could – no reason to pace and conserve, it’s a sprint — and was virtually alone for the entire ride. “Either I’m ahead of everybody, or way behind the better swimmers…”. Going through the Regeneron corporate campus I didn’t even see a volunteer and thought “once again, I missed a turn on the bike course!” Wasn’t sure where that “slow down! Slow down!” sharp turn was so was cautious much earlier than necessary — and the turn turned out to be easier to handle than advertised. Bottom line: 35:26 for a 10-mile course = 18.6 mph. Would have liked to be faster on the downhills, but hadn’t trusted the pavement.

T2 in 1:34. In contrast with the first time I did this race, I did NOT run out of transition still wearing my bike helmet 🙂 … but had to run back a few yards to take my watch off the bike.

The run was bright, virtually no shade along the riverbank and next to construction and rows of new condos and I felt maxed out from the beginning.

Passed a few people, none in my age group, but gratifying. My Garmin said I averaged 7:30 min/mile over the 3.1 miles but official results were even better: 22:01, or 7:20 per mile.

Bottom line: 1:17:38, 2/9 AG (2nd to John Weber, who was the guy who calmly came in 1st to my 2nd place years ago at the local Toughman 70.3). 20/188 OA, so… fast enough to be in 2nd place for 55-59, 50-54, and 45-49. Which was gratifying. AND…. 6 minutes faster than the same race in 2012. Experience IS better than youth, in so many ways.

With Alan Golds and Tom Andrews — each of us took 2nd in our respective Age Groups!

And then, with all the kids running to the finish line with their fathers, and the announcer wishing us all a happy Father’s Day, I remembered that this was my first Father’s Day without my Dad. It just sneaks up on you, doesn’t it?

Harryman Olympic Triathlon – May 13, 2023

First race of the year, and I had missed a lot of training because of our family’s losses during the winter. On my drive up to Harriman State Park — all of 30 minutes — I thought about what Coach Steve suggested: since I couldn’t reasonably expect much in the way of a finishing time, I might focus on the process, just checking in along the way how I was feeling and whether I was doing the best I could at that time. Which is really the obvious and best advice for everything else in life. A new attitude for me, frankly.

The race was only 400 people, roughly divided between the Olympic and 70.3 distance, and an odd distance to more easily accommodate the 70.3: 0.6 mile swim (instead of 0.9 mile, but it made it a simple two laps for the longer race); 28 mile bike ride (instead of 24.8 miles, to make two loops = 56 miles), but your standard 6.2 mile run.

I met some folks racking the bikes including Ryan Farr and Sermet Alver two other members of Coach Steve’s TEAM TRIENDEAVORS!, who found me because the bright red team shirt.

I also met the friendly Brian Gurski, and we ended up talking the whole time until the race began. Realized that virtually everyone at this race was younger than I, which confirmed my new definition of middle age: when you keep track of how old OTHER people are.

At the edge of Lake Welch, the 50+ year old men were the third wave. A guy at the front shouted out “We’re the more seasoned athletes!” To which I responded, “You mean, like salt and pepper?” (based on the color of hair and beards).

The water’s reported temperature had almost scared me away from racing — 57-61 degrees, according to a lake fishing website — so I had borrowed from Coach Steve a thermal wetsuit, which turned out to be unnecessary and a mistake: unnecessary because the water was probably in the upper sixties (teaching me not to trust an online temperature report that didn’t change during the week, despite warmer air temps), and mistake because I felt like I was a sausage. So, I got into a comfortable swim, but couldn’t push very much, because my arms felt restricted. Checked in: How am I feeling? Like it’s a nice day for a short swim. Lousy results: 23:16 (including the run up the beach), something like a 1:59 min/100 yds. 89/225 Overall.

Stripped off the suit before I left the beach — the water in the suit being the best lubricant for that purpose — and got through Transition 1 pretty quickly. As I left, a guy shouts out, “Go, Salt n’ Pepper!” T1 in 2:14 — now, 71/224 OA…

Bike was a very hilly course — 2,500 feet over 28 miles — and although I used to not care about hills because everyone was going to suffer with me, now that I’m 60, I feel it more…. Especially with a new condition: bursitis in my hips, which kicked in at around 20 minutes (rather than waiting until 45 or 60 minutes, back in the salad days…). So, I realized that skipping PT in favor of other training is simply not an option anymore; really, I might skip the workouts in the future in favor of PT, because when my hips are stiff and preventing me from generating power, what’s the point of trying to get stronger? But the good news with this new attitude: rarely do I marvel at the beautiful scenery, dappled sunlight through freshly green trees, chatting with the other slow to medium riders. (At other, longer races I’ve thought, “This is kind of pretty. So what. Everything hurts…”). On the second loop, found myself calling out “on your left, on your left!” Then apologizing when I realized the two folks ahead of me were slowing for that treacherous hairpin turn before climbing again….

Got through it, enjoying it more than most any other race (the silver lining to the hip pain limiting my wattage output), but another lackluster metric: 1:47 for 28 miles = 15.7 mph. 69/222 OA. Still, wishing I could tell my folks that it was going well…

Run was hilly too: 960 feet over the 10k. I’m just plugging along, noticing but not judging the pace, breathing hard but getting my heart rate more under control, it’s still pretty (though the pavement is pretty broken up, and I’m mostly staring at pavement) and I plan on cranking it out the last 2 miles but after pausing for the last of water stop my right hamstring starts to cramp up and I realize if I stop I’ll never start again so on we go. Not much left in the tank to get much faster, but i remember that it ends downhill and there’s the inflated FINISH LINE archway, and it’s DONE.

Run was 53:18 = 8:34 pace (a lot slower than I hoped, but all I could do today). Bottom line: 3:06:21, which is… 59/222 OA (pretty good for an older guy) and 1st in Age Group (… out of 2 finishers in the 60-64 bracket; I think 2 more guys dropped out; so, it could be worse!)

Real bottom line? I enjoyed this race more than most, because even though I couldn’t tap into the power/wattage/speed I’ve had in other events, I was in the moment without judgment for virtually all of it. “He CAN be taught.”

But also this was the first race after my mother died in January of this year, and my father in March. It was a rough winter. If my mother were alive, she would have been worried all day until I called to tell her I had survived; if my Dad were here, I’d have to tell him again what a triathlon is, and watch him shake his head and say, “Why would you do that?”

A tree ring for every year, right? Not enough years with my parents.

Philadelphia Marathon – November 20, 2022

Spoiler alert: this was not my fastest marathon, but it was my best one. In control the whole race, an unbelievably constant pace, and after failing by 1 minute to BQ (that is, Qualify for the Boston Marathon) at New Jersey, the first of four prior marathons, in THIS race, I qualified.

After a week in Miami for the International Trademark Association (INTA) Leadership Conference (including a late night with The Opposition, a rock band of very talented lawyers from around the world), I flew into Philly on Friday before the Sunday race.

Other than rehearsing until midnight Monday and playing until midnight (rather than 1 a.m.!) Tuesday, the INTA conference had been a study in moderation – e.g., napping for an hour Thursday afternoon, because I was Doing a Marathon on Sunday.

Flew into Philly, registered late afternoon at the Convention Center, got a Beyond Burger instead of waiting until 8:30 pm for a table at the nicer Italian restaurant (crowded with the next day’s half marathoners). On Saturday, had lunch with our nephew Josh at a Korean hot pot restaurant which was AMAZING.

Korean Hot Pot at the Chubby Cattle. (Josh ate the shrimp, thank you.)

Leaving Chinatown, I saw a group of 6 African men, slight and mostly short, with one of them peering into his cell phone for directions to wherever they were going to eat — The Professionals! OMG, this was the closest I would ever get to such greatness. I said to the guy with the cell phone, “Good luck! I’ll be watching your backs…”.

Had to have a FaceTime call with Coach Steve to determine what to wear, because on race day the temperature was dropping to 26 degrees and 21 with the wind chill, so dressed on the warmer side: tights, long sleeve tech shirt, heavyweight tech shirt over that — and two more layers of old clothing I’d take off and leave by the roadside as the race began.

Saturday night pasta dinner with Hastings’ own Dan Fingleton (who ended up running an extraordinary 3:10, a 7-minute PR!) and his friend Elana.

Tried to get to the starting area by 6:00, pleased to get there at 6:09. But waited a dangerously long time for security, rushing to find the line of UPS trucks to store dry clothes for after the race, and getting through the portable toilet line (alas, I cheated, pretending to know someone near the head of the line for the toilets) — just in time to rush through the corrals to my assigned section a few minutes before the horn went off at 7:00 a.m. Tight, but sufficient!

I found myself next to two pacers shooting to finish in 3:50, and we could tag along if we wished. I struggled with a range of goals: I had trained to finish in 3 hours, 45 minutes, just to come within spitting distance of the 3:31 I had done in my first marathon. I wanted to look back and not feel that even though the next three races over the years — two in NYC, another in NJ — had been 40 minutes slower, and I had completed two Ironman triathlons, the Marathon was not going to be the distance that kicked my ass. But 3:50 was BQ time for 60-64, and I had backup goals: finishing without losing steam or walking would be achievements as well…

I stuck with those two pacers. My watch said we were doing 8:35-8:40 min/miles, suggesting they were much faster than the 8:50 we should be doing — but they kept saying we were on target, and as the ever patient and generous running buddy Zander knows, my watch can be wildly inaccurate. When the stick broke in half in the wind and the shorter guy carried it, they were hard to see, but the bigger guy talked a lot and loudly so I followed pretty closely. In the early miles, got acquainted with the group and settled in through Miles 1-7, with great, enthusiastic crowds on Walnut Street, wind at our back as we crossed the Schuykill (“SKOO-gill”) River, feeling ready for the first hill approaching Drexel (having visited Josh 4-5 weeks ago and run 18 miles of the course).

Felt solid but anxious that an old injury would flare up or I wouldn’t get past the 14-mile wall I had run into in the past; ready to back off the hubris of trying to reach my prime goals so I wouldn’t crash and burn like the Brazilian pro in the NYC Marathon, two weeks ago (who took a 2-minute lead but fell apart at Mile 20).

Failed nutrition was why I had bonked in 2016 and 2017, so I felt crazy but happy to wear a water belt throughout the race: taking 4 gulps of UCAN “superstarch” at 0:45, 1:45 and 2:45, giving it 35 minutes to kick in and last for an hour, with SALTSTICK tablets and HUMA gels on the hour to supplement (and caffeine to give me super powers at 3 hours); and Precision Hydration in the other 10 oz. bottle, sipping it for two hours before I had to fill it at an aid station and pop in another half-tablet (because plain water tasted dissatisfying). Miles 8-12 were the hills going into and around the Zoo’s park, and the pacers were great (“shorten your stride!”) so I picked up my cadence and felt solid but worried, wondering whether the pace was too fast.

Ted, retired from the military, talked too much around Mile 13 and made me anxious, so I pulled away as we crossed the bridge back to the east side of the river, and I could feel my heart rate was kicking up a the fateful Mile 14 (“feel” because Iwasn’t wearing my heart rate monitor, it had crapped out from a low battery on my last run on Friday in Miami; Miami was so, so long ago…) but I stayed calm (an achievement in itself) and got to Mile 16 feeling strong so I decided to kick it up a little and at Mile 18 thought I would leave the pacers.

We’re facing into the wind as I go up the hill towards Manatuck, a hip little street area where we’ll turnaround, and at Mile 20 I was in virgin territory (having only run as far as 18 when I trained) and still feeling solid but cautious. Whenever my attention wandered, I focused on keeping my cadence up as I got fatigued, and on Gratitude as my mantra.

Even when I thought I was surging ahead, I stuck with the 3:50 Pacers…

In Manatuck I thought I was wearing sunglasses because it was a little dim and I realized my eyelashes had frozen, and approaching and rounding the turnaround there were cheering crowds, and a kid with a sign “To Pee or Not to Pee?” to which I said, “Put that sign away!” because I hadn’t thought about it until then, and folks offering cups of beer on the roadside, so close that I could SMELL it. The home stretch of the last 10K, I can handle 10K, wind is in our faces again and thought I was picking up the pace but annoyed to hear people cheering “3:50 Pacers!” Dammit, they were right behind me.

But this was my race, and I poured on what I had, 5k left, I had gas in the tank, tried to get faster and panting but not as badly as some folks grunting around me, needed to get ahead of them because their pain made me too aware of my own, passing folks who were walking and had obviously started much faster, I’m focusing on form and a mile to go and OMG the wind as we approach the boathouse and there’s the Museum and the finish line is surprisingly near and the crowds are screaming, and I MADE IT, arms raised, feeling blessed, eyes tearing up.

Bottom line: 3:48:21 and unbelievably consistent pace throughout the entire race: 8:42 min/mile at 10k, 8:43 at 13.1 miles, 8:43 at 30K, 8:43 at finish. Not the 8:36 pace I had wanted for a 3:45 finish, but still fast enough for the 3:50 that qualifies for Boston (in 2024, maybe, depending on the “discount” they impose to limit the race to 25,000). And the fastest since my first marathon in 2014, a vast 25-minute improvement over the last three marathons. 24/147 AG; 2,811/8,377 OA.

More importantly, I had been in control the whole race; I hadn’t bonked; I hadn’t walked; and my legs seized up AFTER the race, not during it. Everything hurts, nothing is injured. The pain cave wasn’t too dark, and I kind of enjoyed the whole race.

Coach Steve Redwood at www.TriEndeavors.com had been amazing and patient: after a season of triathlons, we focused on running and building mileage; did strength and cycling once a week, skipping the swims; and he helped me get through mild injuries and regroup with This Race as the goal. I was never more ready for a marathon.

I’m not sure why I do endurance races, but I know I found meaning in this one, and success, not just because of the numeric result and BQ’ing but also because I owned it. Big thanks to Rachel, my long-suffering wife, for being the most supportive person on the planet.