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I love this race. It was the first Multisport race that I ever competed in. Way back in 2009. I finished in 9th place overall in that race. I thought they would all be that easy – boy did I have a thing or two to learn. I reflect on that race and think of the changes in me… Running 7:30 minute miles was good – now that is an easy training run pace. Running out of transition in bike shoes (now they are clipped into the bike pedals, and I get in them on the fly – saves time in transition and it’s easier to run). 19 MPH on the bike was really good. I hadn’t swam yet. Ahhh – the good old days.

Anyways, this race takes place in and around Mendon Ponds Park – just south of Rochester, NY. It’s a 2/10/1 Duathlon (2 Mile run/ 10 mile bike/ 1 Mile run). The runs are trail runs, and the ride is on some fairly hilly roads. It’s a short race, and in a typical season, I could redline the whole thing and be done with it. This season, however was far from typical. I had to wait until we got closer to race day to make that decision if I could even do it. Hamstring injury or not, if I could do the race, I was going to give it a try. After some moderate success last weekend at the Fly By Night DU, I was encouraged, and I decided to give it a go.

Now the question switched from “if” to “how”. As in “How am I going to race this race?” After a little thought, the game plan became obviously simple – “You can’t run, and you really can’t run at all going up hill, so, take it easy on the run, hammer the bike, and hope”. Hope… That hasn’t been in a game plan for me before. Well, Hopefully I won’t get hurt and wreck the rest of my season.

On race morning, the forecast was IDEAL. Upper 60′s, bright sunshine and no wind. I get to the race site, find my typical spot in transition , make some small talk and warm up. I take a trot down through the low spot on the course to have a look, since it’s generally muddy there, and knowing that will help me pick my path through there. It’s pretty dry – only a little muddy, but good news just the same. I trot back to transition, tidy up and head to the start line. I take a few quick strides to get the feeling of running fast. While I’m doing them, I chuckle thinking that this is a pointless exercise since there is no fast running in my immediate future. T-minus 2 minutes until we start. I rehearse my plan one last time. Take it easy, hammer, take it easy again, hope – got it. Let’s “race”.

It’s time… “Runner’s SET!!!” “GOOOOOOOO!!!!” We’re off. Across a field, up a little embankment, over a road, then downhill through a field to the low point of the course and into the trails. I was genuinely concerned with the initial downhill section of this run because my leg could be outstretched and that position could cause some serious damage to my hamstring. As we get to the road, I look across and there are 6 or 7 of us that are up front. 6 or 7 of US means that I’m in that group. Am I dumb or what??? I’m supposed to be taking it easy. Through the field, down the hill, onto the trail. I’m in 4th. Really smart… We come to a road that is uphill – hamstring doesn’t want to play ball and I have to slow. Probably a good thing. I get passed by 2 guys. I don’t even try to catch them. Over the hill through the single track trails. I’m worried about rocks and roots, mud, uneven footing, and any other surprises. Making matters worse, I have sunglasses on and I can’t see too well. We finally make it to pavement, and I’m still in 6th. I break cardinal rule #1 – I look behind me. Why?? I don’t know why – we are only 5 minutes into an hour long race. But… there is no one there. No One?? I don’t dare look at my watch (it would have told me I was running at a 7:05 pace right then, and my first mile was 6:43 (which is why there was no one there)). Surely, they’ll come and get me. Back off the pavement to a field then up a steep hill. No can do… I consider walking. My method of getting up this hill is slightly faster than walking – more like a shuffle. I know there are a couple more hills like this ahead. My mind starts to wander. Back to the task at hand. We pass a water stop – the guy says “Looking great. you’re in 6th.” I knew that, but I think “the guy in first is probably already on his bike”. He wasn’t… Down the hill, through the muddy section to the other “hill”. Can’t do it. I have to walk it. Still no one behind me. I run it in. Into transition in 14:56. Sub 7:30 miles. On trails. Had to walk twice. That’s pretty good. In and out in 37 seconds – faster than all but a handful, but most importantly, faster than everyone ahead of me. I didn’t pass anyone in Transition, but 37 seconds with a shoe change – that’s pretty good.

I run with my bike to the mount line, cross the line, and hop on. I start pedaling with my feet on top of my shoes. Once I’m going, I slip them inside and fasten them. This was perfect. I start to get aggravated at how bad it was last week. Back to the present. Time to HAMMER the bike. In theory, this is a good plan. Although I didn’t let myself think of this, in actuality, this plan shouldn’t work. I haven’t spent enough time on the bike to be able to ride a ride the could be considered “HAMMERING it”. 40 miles in the last 5 weeks leading up to last weeks race, and 3 more rides this week. Oh well – hammer it as long as you can and hope. We’re hoping again? The ride is hilly. I know this course like the back of my hand. I know how to ride the downhills to maximize my speed for the uphills that follow. I also learned how to make the small chainring up front my friend last week in Watkins Glen. Higher cadences make climbing easier, faster, and less taxing on the legs and lungs – all good things (especially for an under trained athlete who has to run off the bike). I start passing slower racers from the other race. “On your LEFT!!!” as I pass rider after rider. I’m flying. Descents upwards of 30 MPH. Flats in the 22 – 23 MPH range. I pass a rider that I know was ahead of me in the run. I’m in 5th. I’m looking up the road for my next victim, when a guy that I chatted with at the start line blows by me (en route to the 4th fastest bike split of the day). I try to ride with him, but on an uphill he is too strong. Then I get passed by another guy who I think is in my race. I’m in 7th. I keep both of them in my sights. The 2nd guy is in way too big of a gear on the up hills. I know his legs will be shot for the run. I blow by him – back in 6th. Another descent, he passes me, then another guy passes me. I look at my watch. 19.8 MPH average pace through 8 miles, and I was going 23 MPH when they both passed me. These boys can RIDE!! Hope ya’ll can run…

9 1/2 Miles in - shoes are undone. Almost time to take my feet out

I’m in 8th. I keep my eyes on all 3 of these guys. The first guy is pretty far ahead of me by now, but the other two are still right there. We head down the hill back to transition. Feet out of the shoes. Brakes. Right leg over the seat. More brakes. At the dismount line, I step off and break into a perfect running stride. Just like my bike mount – perfect. Back into Transition in 30:30 – 19.7 MPH, and the 9th fastest ride of the day. I’m still in 8th.

Unbuckle the helmet while running with the bike. Rack the bike. Quick swig of water. I try to get my running shoes back on, but I can’t bend over to do it. I kneel. I’m in. Grab my visor, leave my sunglasses and I’m off. Out in 56 seconds. Average at best. SLOWER than everyone ahead of me, but still in 8th. I have work to do.

The last 2 guys to pass me on the bike and I all exit transition pretty much together. I see the last guy to pass me on the bike first – he’s right ahead of me – he stops for water. 1 down. I see the 2nd guy to pass me. Now, he’s right ahead of me. I don’t want to pass him too early, but I remember him grinding away on those big gears going uphill. I want to see what he’s got. I want to pass him with authority and make a little statement. I blow by him on the downhill section. 2 down. Back in 6th. I look for the first guy to pass me on the bike. He’s nowhere in sight. This course is an out and back (it has a turn around at the halfway point), so I can see where I stand. We start up that road again, and I have to slow down – in all my excitement about the race and my place, I forgot about my hamstring. Unfortunately, it did not forget that it doesn’t like to run uphill. I see the guy ahead of me. Not good news. He’s too far ahead of me, and at this pace, I won’t catch him – too much real estate between us. Frankly, at this pace, I’m more worried about what’s behind me. I make the turn. I’m still ahead of both of them, but they gained on me. I take off back down the road – I may need that cushion for the uphills ahead. Back through the mud. To the last steep hill – can’t do it. I walk up it. I run down the other side – carefully. My speed takes me up the other side. I can see the 1st guy to pass me. He’s closer than I thought, but still too far ahead. I take off. I ran the last 1/4 mile at a 6:40 pace. I cross the line in 6th. My second run was a 7:46 mile – the third fastest on this day.

Jim Y finish

All in all, I was pleased with the day. Even though I had the 6th and 3rd fastest runs, I DID take it easy (I had to walk a few times). Even though I DID hammer the bike, I still got passed by 3 guys (while only passing one). I missed the feeling of racing. I loved being competitive again. My times weren’t my best, but the resulting finish time was in line with my previous races here, and I was pleased with my placement (6th Overall and 2nd in my Age Group).

Funny how I was in 6th three tenths of a mile into the race. Also funny that I came in 9th in 2009, 8th in 2010, and 7th in 2011. I hope this trend doesn’t continue – I doubt I can win this thing at 51. There’s that word again… “Hope”. It’s a good word. I hope my healing continues and I don’t have to use it in my race plan anymore.

Hamstring injuries do have their perks. I didn’t see this one coming.

I had to skip this race last year due to some other obligations, so I was granted a deferral into this years race. This was going to be my first race of the 2012 Tri/ DU season. I wasn’t ready for it, but since I was in, I was going. As I was starting to ease back into training, it became blatantly apparent that there was no way I was in good enough shape to race this race. Participate in it – probably, but race it – not a chance. Making matters worse, in recent weeks, I’ve been busy and the weather hasn’t cooperated, so I’ve been unable to get any time on the bike. By that I mean 3 rides totaling 40 miles in almost 5 weeks. I have been able to run with this schedule, but I’m still easing back into that, so the distances are short and the paces are slow. I started to think about this race and I thought – If I had a runner… We could do it as a relay. Shortly thereafter, my son, Adam, comes in and asked my if he could start running. Light switch – ON. “Hey Adam, Wanna do a race with me?” “What do you mean?” I explained the whole thing and he said he wanted to do it. Just like that, I had my runner. We ran a couple of training runs together, but he did most of his training on his own.

This race takes place inside the Watkins Glen International speedway. It’s one of my favorites. The race starts and finishes on Victory lane, transitions in pit row, Bike rides are on the track, and runs are in the infield. When I first heard about the race, I thought “it’s NASCAR – ride around an oval, banked turns – cool”. Then a buddy of mine said, “No, it’s a road course”. I replied with “Whatever, it’s still NASCAR, how hilly can it be?” The answer is VERY. Both the runs and the rides are both hilly. The ride has a 120 foot climb over a mile, followed by a 120 foot descent over a half mile, then an 80 foot climb over a half mile. It’s one hill after another – 35 MPH, then 10. The run is no picnic either. Clearly, we had our work cut out for us.

Race day rolled around and the weather was perfect. Almost 80 degrees and sunny – hardly a cloud in the sky, and virtually no wind. Since the race starts at 6:00 PM, it would get cooler as the race wore on. Our plan was to have Adam start the race and run the first 2 mile run, then I would ride, run and ride, and he would finish the race. Can’t wait!!

Team Yeager

Grandma and Grandpa came. Jackie came. No one wanted to miss this one.

I got set up in transition and took a quick lap around the track. I was riding a different bike this year – Still a Valdora PHX, just a different one. With all of the trouble I’ve had with front end shimmying and shaking, I decided to try a different bike. I knew this course would be the true test as there are several high speed descents (approaching 40 MPH for me), and, confidentially, I was nervous about that. I was anxious to try the bike and make sure all was OK. I had enough time for one practice lap, and all was just great. Back to transition to have a quick warm up run with Adam. Done – ready to go!!

We lined up on the start line together – near the back. He wanted to pass rather than get trampled – good idea. “15 Seconds!!” Adam starts counting down. When we get to Zero, everyone starts running – no horn or starting gun – just go. I headed back to transition to wait for him. The run is a 1.7 mile loop that is downhill at the start, and almost all uphill the whole rest of the way. Quite frankly, it’s a brutal run. He came through in 13:13, or a 7:50 pace. Nice work, Kiddo!! He hands me the chip, and the race number belt, I grab the bike, and I’m off. Well, sort of…

Here he comes!!!

I run across the timing mat to the mount line and into a wall of people stopped to get on their bikes. I almost run into one. I swerve and miss him. I look down and my bike shoes are upside down. I flip the left shoe around and it won’t stay. I step on it, pedal down, the right shoe hits the ground and falls off the bike. Are you even kidding me??? I pull over, stop, turn around, wait for a free spot, get off the bike, go get the shoe, and try this fiasco again. Great start…

Angry with the start, I really hit the bike hard. The stretch out of pit row is downhill, so I drop to the lowest gear that I have and I am flying. I am passing people like crazy – a dozen, maybe more and I’m still in pit row. I’m going 30+ by the time I get to the track. Bike feels great. I’m really pushing the pace. Legs are tired. In the middle of the last lap, I start to think about the race – both how the ride is going and the run that lies ahead… “I’m still above 20 MPH. I know that with my brilliant start, I’m certainly over 21 MPH – a GREAT start for me considering the lack of training. I was starting to think about the run – worried about running on tired legs, but really worried about my hamstring. I haven’t tested it. All of my running has been on flat ground at slower paces. How will I react???” Just then, I shift to the big ring up front. No way!!! Chain misses and goes off the front. Are you even kidding me? I stop – again. I have to get off the bike. It’s stuck in the front derailleur. I finally get it free, and it gets stuck in the crankset. I load the chain onto the bottom of the crankset and pedal backwards – it falls off. I try the top and pedal forwards – chain gets stuck. I pull it away and use my thumb as a guide. Cut my thumb. It’s on. I haven’t dropped a chain in 2 years. In fact, the last time I did, it was in this race in almost the exact same spot. I ride HARD back to transition to try to make up some lost ground. I pull back into transition in 32:35 or 19.1 MPH. I know I let time get away. My legs are trashed.

Where's my Dad???

T2 - ready to run

In and out in about 40 seconds, I am determined to make up some time on the run. I forgot that I haven’t run fast since January. I forgot that my hamstring is still very sore. And, I forgot that I just beat myself up on the bike. Heading out of T2, I hear Adam yell “Go Dad!!” So cool.

"I need oxygen"

In typical fashion, I started out too fast, running a 6:15 pace through the first half mile (which was downhill). I passed runners in bunches. As we turn up hill, my pace slowed to what felt like a walk (it was about a 7:30 pace). The uphill never seemed to quit. Still picking off runners one by one. We finally had a slight downhill section right near the end – my legs were so tired I almost fell on my face. Panic. I have to ride again. This isn’t gonna be pretty. I know that lack of training is catching up to me. Back into transition in 12:12 – 7:11 min/ mile pace – pretty good considering my lack of training. My only bright spot on the day.

"Here we go again..."

The second ride can be classified as tired and slow, but uneventful. I was just too tired to keep any momentum going up those hills.

Almost done

Back into transition in 35:09, or about a 17.5 MPH pace. I ran hard with the bike to our spot. I racked it and gave Adam the timing chip and race number, gave him a high five and said “Go get ‘em, Bud”. “Okay DAD!!!”. What a partner!! Like a flash, he was gone.

"Go Get 'em!!!"

Like a flash… Until he stopped for water 50 yards into the run. Huh?? What have you been doing for the last hour and 20 minutes in transition??? He later said “it was there”. Hahaha. I decided to go to an area right before the finish chute and wait for him. Maybe we could run through together. He saw me waiting for him and he waved to me. I ran out on the track and started running with him. We rounded the last corner together and there were some kids with outstretched hands. “Give ‘em five”. He did. “Now bring it home”. He took off.

Bring it home!!!

Running through the chute, the crowd started going crazy for him since he was in an all out sprint. The announcer says “Here comes Team Yeager. That’s how you finish a race.” He put his arms in the air like he just won an Olympic medal. His 13:50 (7:58 pace) was worthy of one.

My champ

Racing's fun, eh kid?

When all was said and done, we finished the race in 1:49:33. Team Yeager finished in 21st of 44 relay teams, but, more importantly, we had fun, and he said “When’s the next one?” as we walked back to the car. Anytime Bud. Anytime…

Well, it’s been a ride. Not a good one, but a ride nonetheless. If you read my last 2 posts, you’ll know that I suffered a nasty partial hamstring tear that seemed like it took me an eternity to recover from. While only partially recovered, I have been diligent in my rehab and I was recently cleared to start some light running. I learned a lot through the process, and added new routines to my training (strength training and stretching). I WILL come out of this a better athlete in the end. That process, however, has cost me. A goal of mine since 3 months after my first marathon was to run the Boston Marathon. To actually get in and then not be able to run it was just not fair. Shortly before the race, I heard the following quote – “Experience is what you get when you don’t get what you want”. This was said about a guy who lost in a playoff in a major golf tournament, but I found this quote to be particularly relevant in my case too. Since I was in, I was going to go to Boston and experience the Boston Marathon anyway. This whole process from injury through recovery to Boston was going to be a learning experience for me.

I learned that hamstring tears come in all shapes and sizes, but they are classified in 3 ways – a little overuse, and you are back to normal in a couple of days is a Grade One. A complete tear where the hamstring is detached from the pelvis and falls down to a heap behind your knee is a Grade Three. Anything in between these is a Grade Two. I was in this abyss of a category, and the recovery time is not an exact science. Rest (inactivity with the muscle), stimulation and stretching, followed by gradual strengthening is the road to recovery. I played by the rules. I did everything by the book. I stretched every day. Did my exercises. I could slowly feel the improvement. Gradually it went from hurting all the time to just being sore, to just being sore some of the time, to feeling fine most of the time and so on… After a couple more weeks of no activity, then a couple weeks of PT, I was given the OK to start training on the bike. This was a blessing for me – without it, I think I would have lost my sanity. The progress was slow and steady, but my focus never wavered – I kept my eye on the prize – fulfilling my dream of running the Boston Marathon. That dream faced a reality check when, a month before the race, I realized that there was no way I’d be in shape to do it. That reality lead me to hope that I could at least run some of the famed course. As the weeks wore on with no running on the horizon, my Boston dreams were fading. Quite frankly, my racing dreams for the whole season were fading as well. At my PT session on April 10th, my trainer says “let’s see you run on the treadmill”. “Seriously??” “Yes.” I got 1/2 mile runs with 1/4 mile walks at a snails pace. But I was running!! No pain. I ran outside on Wednesday and Thursday. 4 X 1 Mile runs with 1/4 mile walks in between. For the first time in this whole ordeal, I broke Doctor’s orders and did something I wasn’t supposed to do (I ran farther and faster than I was supposed to). But I had to know – could I do it? Some pain – not painful, but not painless – it wasn’t too bad. I knew the marathon was out, but maybe, just maybe, I could run some of it. I chuckled at the thought of my preparation – get in marathon shape by mid December, take 2 1/2 months off, run (2) 4 mile run/ walks, then head out to the most prestigious marathon in the world. Yep, sounds good. Let’s go!!

So, Why this one? Why the Boston Marathon. To a non-runner, you wouldn’t understand. To a casual runner, you might understand. To a shorter distance (non-marathon) runner, you might understand too. To a casual marathoner, you get it. But… to an accomplished marathoner, this is THE holy grail. The US Open of road running. The Super Bowl of marathoning. The streets of Boston are closed. The race happens every Patriot’s day – a day like a second 4th of July in New England. The course is the same route that Paul Revere rode 236 years ago… Remember, “1 if by land, 2 if by sea”, “The Redcoats are coming…”, etc. They reenact the battle of Bunker Hill on this day. Businesses are closed. The Red Sox play at 11AM, and the city opens their arms for 27,000 runners to make the journey from Hopkinton to Boylston Street. The Cheer, yell, blow horns and whistles, use mega phones and bull horns. They offer hugs and kisses, high fives and low fives, orange slices and water, Gatorade and beer. Little kids and college kids bring signs. Spouses, parents and grandparents bring signs. Some make you laugh, some make you want to cry. They are 3 to 30 deep on both sides of the street the entire way. They are in the streets, sidewalks and medians. They are in trees and front yards, on rooftops and hanging out of second story windows, on cars and front porches, step ladders and stairways, fire escapes and railings. Some stand, some sit. Some sit on Dad’s shoulders. Some bring chairs and blankets. Some have cookouts on their front yards. Some have keg parties. But most just stand, watch and cheer. 500,000 or more. It’s crazy. They all lose their voice. They cheer for everyone and no one in particular. They make everyone feel like a rock star. It feels like you are running out onto the field to play in the Super Bowl – for 26.2 miles. Not only does the race have the most elite field in the world, the race is one of the 5 major marathons run around the world each year. If you happen to be athletically gifted enough to find your way into this race – you NEED to run it. Couple that with the fact that it’s the oldest Marathon in the world, and it is trluly the pinnacle of Marathon road racing. Even with all the history and prestige, the experience of running this race might just be better. That is why we want to run this one.

I was making the trip anyways, regardless if I could run it or not. I earned my spot, I was going to go and take in the whole experience. I was sharing a room at the Sheraton – Boston with Dan Giblin and John Brind’Amour. Gibby and I train together a lot, and JB and I do sometimes. JB was in a similar situation to me, but his training was a little bit further along than mine, but nowhere near where he’d like it to be. He was running anyways. Gibby, on the other hand was running better than he ever had in his life. He was primed to PR this one. This was his 50th marathon and his 10th consecutive Boston. The forecast from 10 days out looked perfect – upper 50′s, overcast, and a brisk SW wind (meaning the race would be almost all downwind). Five days out, it got a bit warmer (low 70′s) and sunnier (overcast to mostly sunny). Then all hell broke loose… The next day, the forecast was for mid 80′s. By Friday, the forecast was 87 and Sunny and the B.A.A. started sending out heat advisory emails. These notifications basically advised runners to consider not running. Yeah right – it’s the Boston Marathon for cryin’ out loud. Monday came and temps were right around 90*. Fortunately, the humidity was low and the wind was out of the Southwest (so it was downwind). This race was going to be brutal. I felt particularly bad for Gibby. To get into the shape he was in and then not have the weather cooperate was unfair and cruel. I can only imagine how hard it would be for him to turn the page on this one.

There are no deferrals for medical reasons. Your BQ is good for one year/ one race. You’re in – you run. If you can’t – tough luck. You can start the process over just like everyone else. I already signed up for the Rochester Marathon in September, 2012 to try to get another BQ for the 2013 race. Hopefully I’d be able to get back. Rewind to this race… My plan was to start the race, run/ walk for 5 or 6 miles, then drop out and hitch a ride back to town with the medical truck and watch the finish. Easy enough.

Getting ready for the show

On Saturday afternoon, I found a winning lottery ticket. The B.A.A. decided to offer a deferral to any runner who decided not to run. Wait. What?? If you DON’T run, you are automatically in for the 2013 race. I read it again. And again. The stipulation – I had to go to the expo, pick up my number, and then not start the race. No problem. So, let me get this straight… I’m in the Boston Marathon for 2013?? YES. Off to Boston.

Got my number

On race day, Gibby and JB head for the busses @ 6:15. I got up shortly afterwards and headed downstairs. By 7:15 I was walking down Boylston Street towards the finish line. People were lining up outside the barricades. Already??? The leaders won’t be coming through here until Noon – that’s 5 hours from now. Little did I know that 5 hours from then, they would be 30 deep there. The roads were closed, so packs of 3 to 50 cyclists were riding the race course – cool idea – wish I had my bike with me. My plan had changed. Since I couldn’t officially start the race – I planned to now run as a “Bandit” – an unnumbered runner. Generally frowned upon in the running community, bandits are just that (people who don’t pay or register for a race, and do it as a freebie – they tax the race’s resources and are a logistical nightmare). I however, didn’t feel bad about it. I paid (and I have to pay agin next year). They were counting on me running anyways. I made my way out to the 17 mile mark and waited for the race to come to me. The wether was as promised – upper 80′s, not a cloud in the sky. I watched the wheelchair racers whizz by. Then the elite ladies and the elite men. Finally, I started seeing some Red bib numbers.

Elite Ladies @ the base of Heartbreak Hill

The B.A.A. has a unique registration process. It does so by having a Boston Qualifying (BQ) time for each age group. Based on how much you beat your BQ by will determine when you can register. The more you beat your BQ by, the sooner you can register. Once the field is full, they take all the qualifying times (regardless of age group or gender), and they sort them in order – fastest to slowest, and they assign bib numbers based on that. So, a runner with a bib number of 8500 will have run a BQ in almost the same time as runner with bib # 8501, and everyone is assigned a start corral based on their bib number. This ensures that runners of similar abilities all start together.

Standing on a wall at about mile 16 1/2, I start to see the red bib numbers. I can tell about when I should see my buddies, because I know their bib numbers. The numbers gradually get higher. I see Tim Dwyer. Then Matt Kellman. I know Gibby must be close. I scan the field for his neon green and black Fleet Feet racing jersey. I see him and I jump off the wall, across the sidewalk and into the race. For the second time in a week, I break Doctor’s orders – I’m running – running hard (I’m with the guys running with the bibs in the low 2000′s (sub 3 hour guys, or averaging in the 6:50 – 7:00 min/ mile pace)), and I didn’t stretch first. I have no idea how my hamstring will react to this. So far, so good – leg feels fine. My watch says we’re running 7:30 and heading uphill. I’m ahead of him. He doesn’t see me. I slow my way to move back to him. We are at the 17 mile mark and at the base of “Heartbreak Hill” – the toughest section of the Boston Marathon Course. The Boston Marathon Course is a Point-to-Point race (it starts in one area and goes to another place as opposed to a loop that starts and finishes in the same place). Point-to-Point courses are not allowed for World records since they do not have even elevation change and wind conditions. The Boston Marathon Course, for example is a net drop of 460 feet from start to finish and it is frequently downwind. The first half of the course is generally downhill, and splits are often quite fast. It’s difficult for a runner to “behave” in the first half, because of the downhills, but there are some very tough hills in the second half. A tired runner who spends too much energy in the first half will be in for a world of hurt in the second half. I was at the base of where these hills begin. “Heartbreak Hill” is a series of three hills stretching over a 4+ mile span. They are all reasonably steep but not too long. There are some downhill stretches in there as well, so the net climb is only 140 feet, but the three hills are formidable (60 feet over 3/4′s of a mile, 40 feet over 1/2 mile, then 90 feet over 6/10′s of a mile). It’s not so much that they hare that big on their own, but after 2 – 3 hours of predominately down hill running and their position on the course (miles 16 to 20), they are a legitimate test of the fortitude and condition of even the most accomplished runner. Making matters worse, the down hills that follow are steep, and they wreak havoc on the already severely taxed quad muscles in your legs. This late into a marathon – that’s just plain cruel.

This is what was ahead of me – way to jump in head first. We run together for 3 miles. We chit chat and continue to head up. He is running strong. This late into this race under these conditions, and he is moving along. I’m tired from running at this pace going up this hill, and I just started. I can’t believe how good he looks. All of a sudden, he is gone. He was slightly behind me, but I can’t see him. I slow down and walk a water station. I don’t see him go by me. I start running again. I run a couple mile by myself. As we near the Boston College campus, we start to see college kids lining the roads. They all want high fives. I give them five – sometimes there are so many that I use both hands. It’s hot. I take water from little kids. I run through hoses spraying the runners. I have my Rochester Marathon shirt on and get lot’s of “Go Rochester” cheers or “Hey, Rochester” or “Yeah, Rochester!!”. More high fives. Signs from girls wanting kisses. Still no sign of Gibby. I get to the 22 mile mark and I still feel OK. Running 5+ miles with the guys with the sub- 3 hour guys – am I nuts? I see a Fleet Feet jersey – walking. Oh no! As I get closer, I realize it’s not Gibby, it’s Matt Kellman. Knee problems, and today is not his day. He’s had 8 straight sub 3 hour marathons leading up to this race. He raced in the Half Ironman Worlds, and is always at the top of every local race. This guy can bring it, and this must be killing him. I slow and walk with him. The downhills are killing his knee, so we walk the downhills and run the uphills and the flat sections for the next couple of miles. More cheers for Fleet Feet and Rochester. Finally, we round a corner and we see the Citgo sign (anyone who has been to Boston or has seen a Red Sox game on TV can picture this iconic sign). We both know we can make it in from here. We come to another downhill just past the 24 mile marker – Matt slows to walk, I keep going and wish him well. I know I can’t cross the finish line without a number, so I look for my escape route. 2+ miles from the finish and there are steel barricades on both sides. I pass the 25 mile marker. Still no out. At about the 25 1/2 mile point, I see some port-a-potties on the sidewalk, and the barricades are split. PERFECT!! I duck off course and head into a port-a-potty for a minute, open the door and slip away into the crowd. I’m really not ready to be done running, but my day is over. 8+ hilly miles at a pretty aggressive clip. I couldn’t be happier.

The walk back to the hotel is insane. The crowds are so thick that you can’t walk through them. One 1/4 mile stretch took me 20 minutes. Back at the corner of Hereford St. and Boylston St, and I’m amazed at the transformation of the intersection since I was last there 6+ hours ago. An ordinary city intersection is now an amphitheater. Thousands of people trying to will exhausted runners another .4 miles. The finish line is in sight once the right turn is made onto Boylston Street. Now I see why they get there 5 hours early. I’ll see you folks next year – I’m already in!!

Afterwards, the Rochester contingent had their own post race party at a Pub called Fire & Ice. Every time a new finisher walked in with a mylar blanket and a new shiny medal wrapped around their neck, the place broke out in applause. Your name and time was written on a blackboard. Eventually, they started over and the faster names were replaced by slower names, but the cheers didn’t stop. The running community is awesome. They don’t care who you are, they just welcome you. They just did the same thing you did and they can appreciate what you’ve just accomplished. They feel your pain and wish you the best.

I learned a lot from this experience. I learned that you have to listen to the Doctor’s and do what they advise even when it’s not what you want to hear. I learned how to train for the next Boston Marathon. I learned that Gibby knows all the tricks!! He taught me to go to the expo late and go back to the finish area after the race is done – we scored some awesome free stuff at both places. I learned the importance of pacing and knowing the course, and running it with a game plan. I learned that the city of Boston has some AWESOME fans! I also learned that I truly do love running and I can’t wait to kick my training back into full swing again and get ready to run this race next April. I didn’t get what I wanted (actually running the race), but I did get experience. Looks like that quote was right after all…

As per my last post, writing this post sucks too…

When I got that news, I knew I was no longer racing the Boston Marathon – instead I would be participating in it. I earned my spot, so I was determined to do whatever I could to get to the start line of that race. As I spent more and more time away from running, I was still determined to do whatever I could in that race, even if that meant only running the first 6 miles. With the race 2 weeks from today, reality set in. Not only am I not in Marathon shape, I’m not in any running shape. I haven’t run a step since February 4th. Still can’t do it…

Although there is a light at the end of this tunnel, it sure seems like it’s quite a ways off in the distance. For the last 6 weeks, I’ve been working hard towards a full recovery. I’m still healing. I’m stretching every day and doing strengthening exercises. My flexibility is 100% better than it was 2 months ago. I’m still not running, but I can bike pretty hard and I can run on the eliptical. I stretch like crazy. I strength train 5X per week now, and I have been in the pool more since mid February that I was in all of 2011. I guess I’m in a different kind of shape now. I know the running will come back eventually.

My race season is in doubt. By the time I can race again, most of the Tri’s and DU’s that I want to compete in will either be already completed or sold out. I am registered for the Fly By Night DU in Watkins Glen on May 12th. That could be a very slow, easy run. I’m also registered for the 2012 Rochester Marathon in September. With any luck I might be able to get a 2013 BQ there (if the race isn’t already sold out).

As for the 2012 Boston Marathon – I will be participating in it – as a spectator.

Hope to see ya’ll on the race course soon!!

Writing this post sucks.

In the days following the Miami Half Marathon, the pain in my butt area didn’t so much as improve, as it did move. After a couple of days, the “pain in my butt” localized, and I suspected that my Piriformis pain was actually being caused by a tight hamstring. I tried a short 5 mile recovery run on Wednesday – no good. After gutting it out for the first mile or so, it seemed a little better, but after about 4 miles, I had to walk home. Nervous about my training for Boston, I tried to run again on Sunday – a week after the race. Again, no good. I walked home. Time to take a little time off.

After a week of rest and stretching, the Piriformis pain went away, but the “Pain in the butt remained”. I finally saw the doctor, and he delivered what I feared – Partially torn hamstring and a Grade 2 strain in my left hamstring. The tear is right up near where the hamstring connects to my pelvis. It had been 2 weeks of no running, and only 2 attempted 5 milers in the last 3 weeks. He wanted 2 more weeks off. No biking either. He said I could swim and strength train my upper body, but no legs. He wants me to start Physical Therapy in early March. When I asked the question that I had to ask, I already suspected the answer. “Can I run the Boston Marathon?” “When is it?” “Mid April”. “I won’t rule it out, but it’s ‘Doubtful’”. As we had this discussion, I was already doing the math backwards. April 16th is 8 weeks away. 2 more weeks off. Even if I can resume a normal marathon training week of 50 miles per week (which I couldn’t) the day I start PT, that gives me 6 weeks until race day. Add in a 1 week taper, and there is no way I can be ready. At least not to race it. Probably not to even finish it at a leisurely pace. So, just like that, a tight hamstring appears in training, a slip on a patch of ice, and my Boston dreams are over – for now. I qualified once, so I’ll do it again. I’ll get my first Boston – someday.

I ran the full marathon in Miami in 2011. I had a great race until a prolonged stop in a port-a-potty at mile 19 derailed my aspirations of a PR. In short, though, I loved the course and wanted to return. The race takes place at a great time for me since I’m already in Florida on business at this time. In September, I registered for the Half Marathon, thinking it might be too close to Boston to run the full, but I decided to leave the door open for that option. While I decided to train like I was running the full marathon, my training never really hit the level I’d have liked to run the full marathon, and several nagging injuries put a stop to any further thoughts of changing my registration to the full marathon. Those nagging injuries included a mild Sports Hernia, and most recently, a bout of Piriformis Syndrome (a pain that is in the butt cheecks and crotch and can extend down into the legs when aggravated). It is near the Sciatica, so anyone who knows that pain can relate. It’s not pleasant to run with, so I took it very easy the last 10 days or so hoping the rest would do me good. Making matters worse, I developed a cough and some chest congestion over the last week.

Last year, my brother drove me to the race site from his house in the West Palm Beach area 90 miles away. We left at 3:00 am for a 6:00 am race. It was a hassle, so this year, I booked a hotel a mile and a half from the start/ finish area. I’d stay in the city, get a warm up run to the race, and a cool down run on the way home. Great plan – until I actually got to the hotel. It was falling apart in an awful part of the city. Homeless people everywhere. “Working Girls” on the streets out front, and “self employed” gentlemen pushing shopping carts full of whatever they could “find” (to turn to “gold”) on the streets of downtown Miami. No chance I’m even getting out of the car. I changed the reservation as I was driving away from the hotel. Unfortunately, the only place they could find for me was 20 miles south of the race site. “I’ll take it”. On to plan B.

The new hotel was nice enough. When I got back to the room after walking out to grab some dinner, there were 4 fire tucks in the parking lot with lights flashing. Immediately, I had thoughts of sleeping in my car. All ended well and I was out by 9:00 pm. Afraid I was going to oversleep, I was up before the alarm at 3:20 am. I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I flipped on the TV and started watching reruns of Cheers while I stretched out my tight Piriformis. I was out the door by 4:30 am for a 6:15 race. Traffic was light until I got to close proximity of the race site, where it turned to a stand still. My GPS said I’d be at the site by 4:50 when I started driving. As I sat in traffic and tried to find an open parking lot when I was moving, I watched the arrival time on the GPS move to 5:15, 5:30, 5:45… I started to geniunely worry that I’d be in my car when the gun went off… I thought of all the people in running clothes I saw waiting for public transportation when I was driving in and said “what a hassle” aloud as I drove past them. I now faced the realization that all of these people were probably in their start corrals while I was STILL in my car. At 5:45 I found a place to park. I made a quick note of where I was and realized that I had to carry my car keys with my during the race – Nice!! I made the short walk to the race site and was in my start corral before 6:00. PHEW!!

Race day saw temps higher than normal (low 70′s), and very humid with a nice stiff breeze… Not ideal, but workable. I knew that my unclimatized body might have some issues with the humidity. My goal was a sub 1:30 half marathon – or 6:53 pace. A tall task when healthy and trained. I wasn’t either of those things. I shifted it to 1:32, and that seemed like a tall task too. Secretly, I was just hoping for a new PR at the distance (mid 1:34 ish). We’d have to see what the day brought us.

The gatekeepers who were letting people in to their respective corrals didn’t do a very good job. The guy next to me had a camera around his neck. Two girls near me were talking about hoping they “wouldn’t get trampled” at the start. Many runners with “non-runners” physiques (not to stereotype, because they may be able to run too), were scattered all around. Like last year, this was going to be a slow start.

I felt slighted when I got my corral assignment – Corral C. I’m not the fastest guy here, but I wondered who in the world would be in Corrals A & B. I got my answer – Corral A was for Wheelchair participants who got an early start, and Corral B was for the Elites – a varying collection of past and present Olympians, professionals, and other guys who can flat out fly. Cool. I’m good with Corral C. At 6:05 the Wheelchair racers go. At 6:15, the elites go. 10 seconds later, we go. Oddly enough, when it’s our turn to go, we walk to the start line. That’s right… we walk, in an orderly fashion to the start line. How strange… So, with little fanfare, we were off. Despite being about 50 feet from the start line, it still took me over a minute to get there. Once on course, it seemed like I was in last place. There were literally thousands of “runners” ahead of me, with no signs of open road ahead. Walkers, a lady in a hula skirt, a guy in a matador costume – they were all ahead of me. 9:00 min miles (and slower) seemed to be the norm. Out of the gate, we make a right hand turn up over a bridge to head towards South Beach. People were walking – already… How did these people get ahead of me??? Like a fool, I tried to make make my way through the crowd – I spent 2 miles weaving through this mess. My pace didn’t really suffer because of it, it was just a hassle. 7:03 first mile, 6:38 second mile, 6:56 third mile. 6:45 miles seemed easy, so I went with it. 21:30 for the first 5K. The first part of the course heads from downtown Miami towards Miami Beach. We passed Cruise Ships that were all lit up and people cheering from their balconies. It was just a strip of road out over water linking the two land masses together.

As we got onto the island of Miami Beach, we started seeing incredible spectator support. My body felt OK, but the humidity was tough. Sweat was pouring off me. Against my plan, I stopped to take a gel at the 4 mile marker and I walked through the aid station to drink. I felt better. 7:26 mile 4, including the stop. 6:57 mile 5, walked to get a drink through an aid station and went 7:07 in mile 6. By this point, my “pain in the butt” was bothering me, I was sweating like crazy from the humidity, but, thankfully, I wasn’t coughing (I put cough drops in my pocket… just in case). The pain in my butt was moving down into my leg. Not good, and I knew I was on borrowed time. Even still, Running through South Beach at dawn is a favorite – such a contradiction… Seeing the ultra health conscious crowd merge with the party-all-night crowd – each in their element at the same time. The crowd support in South Beach and Miami Beach were both very uplifting. They cheered without bias – we all got a warm reception.

I walked an aid station in Mile 7. 7:21 with the stop. 7:10 for mile 8. My pace for the day was still hovering around 7:05. Pretty good, all things considered. We ran past Miami Beach Golf Club around Mile 8. I chuckled thinking of how the golfers who enjoy peace and quiet must have reacted to the cheering and live bands that were lining the perimeter of their golf course. Into Mile 9 and we headed back towards the mainland. For me, that couldn’t come soon enough. I planned on a gel at the 9 mile aid station. Slow stop with lots of water. 7:32. My butt (and leg now) were in rough shape. My hip was bothering me too. Just hold pace. My body was in rough shape, and this would be an interesting finish. One good note… As the temperature went up, the humidity actually went down. By this point, I wasn’t sweating as much, and it was quite comfortable.

I walked the aid station at mile 10. 7:22. Through mile 10 in about 1:12:00. With 5K to go, I was still on pace for a new PR, but gone are the thoughts of sub 1:30. The sign for mile 10 is on the upslope of the last bridge heading back to the Miami city limits. Off the bridge and up one block is one of the most electric areas that I have ever run in. I knew it was coming, and coming off the bridge, I turned to the guy next to me and I said “Are you ready to feel like a Rock Star?” He looked back and smiled and said “Ohhh Yeah!!!”. The road is closed to traffic, and the 2 lane road in each direction narrows to 2 lanes total. People are crammed in between the buildings and the barricades – 20 deep at spots. All yelling – for us. As I entered that section, I gave the “raise the roof” sign. The place went nuts. Love it!!!!

For a brief quarter mile, I was running on pure adrenaline, and I could not feel the pain. As the crowds dwindled, my pain resurfaced. Mile 11. The pain was also on my right hip now. Running hurt. It was tough to even walk. My mind is saying “C’mon, only 17 minutes to go. This is EASY!!”. My body is saying “not a chance”. I walked for 30 seconds to rub my butt, hamstring area and right hip. It did the trick. My goal was to trot it in and get this thing over with. People are passing me by the truckload. I can’t believe I even care about that at this point. “Grit your teeth and get outta here”. I run. 7:51 for mile 11 with the walk. 7:34 for mile 12. No stops, just slow running – it’s all I got left. I tell myself I have less than 10 minutes to go. I try to pick up the pace… at least I’m not getting passed anymore – getting passed bugs me. Mile 13 passes in 7:17. I’m around the last corner and I can see the finish line. Some kid sprints past me. Same kid stops to puke – in the finish chute – before the line. That sucks. I think of the 16,000+ behind me that have to run by that and have a whiff… yuck. I give it all I have. 6:15 pace for the last 1/10th. 1:36:13. Disappointing, but still the second fastest Half marathon I’ve ever run.

While I was disappointed with my time, it was impossible to be less than thrilled with my placement – both overall and in my age group. I finished in 431st out of 16,000+ (top 2.5%), and 47th out of 1,000+ in my age group (top 5%). All that, despite being passed by hundreds in the final 2 miles of this race. It really left me wondering what I can do at this distance. I know that if I’m healthy I have a sub 1:30 in me – somewhere. To go 1:36 on a day where nothing seemed to go right left little doubt. On second thought, I change my mind. One thing did go right… After wandering the streets of Miami for 30 minutes after the race, I did manage to stumble upon my car. Bonus…

***As a footnote to this story… After a couple of days, the “pain in my butt” localized, and I suspected that my Piriformis pain was actually being caused by a tight hamstring. After a week of rest and stretching, the Piriformis pain went away, but the “Pain in the butt remained”. I finally saw the doctor, and he delivered what I feared – Partially torn hamstring and a Grade 2 strain in my left hamstring. Meaning… I ran this race with a partially torn hamstring muscle, and, as I look at the results, I chuckle. I wonder how it could have been if I was healthy.

Ahhh… the calendar flips to January and Old Man winter decides to show up. Better late than never, Bud. Through January 12th, Rochester, NY had a whopping 5″ of snow, and most of that happened while I was in Florida over the holidays. My rake is still in front of my snow shovel, and I have yet to wear any of my winter running gear. Only one run over icy sidewalks (the TIGR Irondequoit Marathon), while there have been several in shorts in December. January 11th was 50 degrees and sunny… What’s going on here?

As they say, that was the past… January 13th saw temperatures fall to the low teens, and, with snow and wind, we were reminded what it is supposed to be like in Upstate New York in January. Six inches of fresh snow was beautiful to look at. In the back of my mind, all I could think about was – I have to race in this stuff tomorrow morning. I desperately hoped that it would get a little warmer, the snow would stop and a plow would scrape it off to bare pavement. No luck on any of those three wishes. 14*, still snowing, and the unplowed roads were the consistency of cookie dough under a 3″ layer of fluffy white snow. To add a bit of a challenge, these roads were plowed yesterday afternoon, and that left a thin sheet of ice in the low spots, and… since you couldn’t see it, you didn’t know where the ice was to avoid it.

I train on these roads almost every day, so I wasn’t missing this race. The Goldrush running group that I run with on Saturdays was the sponsor of this race, and it is named in honor of Don Curran – a founder of the group who passed away on one of those Saturday morning runs. While I never met Mr. Curran, this was even more reason to get to the starting line – regardless of the weather.

As I drove to the site, I couldn’t help but look to my left to have a look at Lake Ontario. She was rolling over – whitecaps out quite a ways. The lake should be frozen by now, but it’s still in the 40′s. We’re in for it if the wind changes. My thoughts return to the race, and I went from “Have a great race” to “I hope I don’t get hurt”. I saw Gibby as soon as I pulled in, and we decide to warm up together. I wear a jacket and a pair of trainers (trying to keep my racing shoes dry). It’s chilly and very windy. The roads are slushy and awful. I know this is going to be a lousy run, even though I feel great. As we get to some pavement, I hear this sound – it sounds like someone has a rock in their shoe… It’s not me. Gibby… He says he put screws in the bottom of his shoes. Sly dog!! Lesson learned. After a 2 mile warmup, we get back to the start. I head to take off some clothes and change my shoes. I wanted to try racing in less this season, so, despite the 14* temp, I was wearing a performance mock, arm warmers and a tech shirt. The wind was a concern, but it’s a 20 minute race. We’ll soon find out if this is OK.

We get in the starting corral, and my shoes are icing up just standing there. I stomp my feet to remove the ice. Again. And again. All of a sudden, I hear “Runners SET”, “GO!!” I’m way off to one side, but one row back from the front. We surge forward as the start is downhill. Immediately, the pack thins out. As we pass the 3 mile sign (facing the other way), 1/10th of a mile into the race, we are almost single file already – strange this early into a race, especially given the size of the race (250+ runners). The roads are slippery, and my frozen shoes are taking me all over the place. Running down that first hill, I pass Gibby. Just a clue, but what the heck am I doing??? I try to slow, but I can’t. As we get the the first corner, I look ahead to see the pavement on Lakeshore Blvd. Just as I’m happy to see that, I hear a splash, then another. I look down, and the first one was the guy in front of me soaking my right leg. The second one was me soaking my right shoe and my left leg. SUPER!!!

Gibby's in the Green Jacket. What am I doing??? DUH!!! Starting to run in tire tracks.

Up Lakeshore at a crazy sub 6:00 min/ mile pace. I know it’s too fast, and I know I’d pay on a normal day, but I suspect that I’ll need as much time as I can get when the roads are decent, and I’ll be forced to slow later, so I go with it. Onto Colebrook – frozen. Onto Oakridge. Horrible. We are running single file. There is one tire track, and we are all in it. If you move out to pass, you’ll slow down, so I just stayed where I was. We turn onto Edgewater Dr. for a brief downhill reprieve before continuing uphill. The 1 mile mark is on that uphill, and I pass it in 6:22. I’m really lucky to be going that fast, and I know the fast part of the course is still ahead of me.

As we run up the hill, we lose our tire tracks, and my feet start slipping all over the place. I can’t get a grip, and there is no push off. People start running by me. This stinks!! As we round the corner onto Colebrook, I hope for better roads. No such luck. My pace slows to around 7:00/ mile. We get to Washington and I hope to really fly here. Almost 60 feet downhill over a 1/2 mile stretch. Last year I was on a sub 6:00 min/ mile pace through here. This year – 6:45 and happy to be upright. As we turned onto Eaton Rd, there was a glimmer of hope – a clean (but wet) intersection. That was short lived, however, since Eaton was just like all the rest. No tire tracks, just frozen slop. Past mile 2 with a 6:52 mile and running at 6:37 for the race. I know this race is going South, but I can’t do anything about it.

The rest of the way is pretty flat, but the finish is uphill. I was hoping that I could hold my 6:37 pace to the finish. I knew this would be a tall task.

Down Eaton Rd. back to Colebrook and then to Lakeshore. At least this was downwind now. I pick up the pace as much as I can (I get down to the low 6:00 min/ mile pace right before we head back into the park. All that’s left is about 1/4 mile – uphill in the slop. I try to hold the pace and I can’t. My legs are going everywhere. I can see the finish line and it says 20:44. Ughh… that’s not so good for me. Over a minute slower than last year. Gibby yells “Pick it up!!! He’s gaining on you!!” I try. There’s not much left. The guy 2 people ahead of me slips and falls on the timing mat – not good. I cross in 20:56 and was able to hold off the guy behind me. 20 seconds slower than last year. Good thing I held that guy off – he was in my age group.

"Pick it up!!! He's gaining on you!!"

I ended up finishing in 27th place overall, and 4th in my age group despite my time. I guess it was tough for everyone. While I don’t know where I rank in the series, I did beat the guy who beat me in the first race. There were a couple of VERY fast times in the 2nd race (that I didn’t race in), so I’m guessing I’m probably in 3rd or 4th place with 2 races to go.

Afterwards, Gibby and I took I nice easy recovery run through the roads in Durand Park. The snow changed to big, fat flakes, and for a moment, the sun came out too. Running though the fresh powder with the snow clinging to the pine tree branches reminded me why I love running when it’s a winter wonderland. Add in some great conversation with a good friend, and it was a perfect ending to a nice race day. Funny how we were able to turn a 3.1 mile race into an 11 mile run with a 3.1 mile race in the middle of it.

1700 miles of run training. 2100 miles on the bike. 4 hours in the pool – LOL. OK, it was 14 swims in 7 hours. 23 races (1 was a DNF). 19 PR’s. For races that I’d previously competed in, all but one were faster in 2011 than any other year (I was sick for the one that wasn’t). This was a season that allowed me to hit performance levels that I thought were “impossible” in the fall of 2010. Times and paces that I thought were unattainable, now stood next to my name. Top 3 placings were routine – in fact, I had 18 top 10 Age Group finishes (the 4 that weren’t top 10′s were top 10%). A USAT National Ranking in Duathlon? The Boston Marathon? Pinch me.

On a recent run, I reflected back on the 2011 season, and then my running and racing up to the 2011 season (I feel that I turned a corner sometime in the summer or fall of 2010). The reflection was intersting. I remember agreeing to my first marathon and my brother said “Go buy “The Competitive Runner’s Handbook” by Bob Glover”. I did. In the book he talks about categories of runners (Elites, Local Champions, etc. all the way to Novice Competitors). I tried to figure out where I was. Being competitive, a reasonably good athlete and clueless, I assumed I fell into the “Advanced Competitor” group. I chuckled as I remembered this. My first 10K was a 51+ minute affair that left me gasping for air and thirsty for more. That effort produced a middle of the pack finish for a very average runner. I remember thumbing through the results that Thanksgiving day and wondering. How? How in the world do these people run THAT fast?? It’s funny, because I still wonder the same thing after every race. There are fewer ahead of me now, but those that are run ridiculous times that leave me scratching my head. According to Bob’s book, I’ve graduated to a Local Champion and his description of that groupset is very flattering – This level is achieved by those with the talent, dedication and energy to reach at least the top local class. This is a serious level of competitve training. The local champion usually finishes in the top 5 or 10 of his age group in local races, and sometimes wins. Wherever I fall, It has been a challenging, but fun and rewarding ride. 2011 was a season to remember for me. It was quite a ride.

Rather than break this recap down by race (I’ve already done that in previous posts), I thought it’d be fun to look at the season as a whole…

In February, 2011, I won 3rd place in the 40-44 Age Group in the Freezeroo Winter series. This was a 6 race series in which your top 4 races counted towards the season series. I had only run 4 races, so they all counted. I had a 6th, 2nd, 4th, & 5th place Age Group finish in those 4 races. My overall finishing places ranged from 18th to 29th (in fields of 250+).

In March, 2011, I started a quest to compete in the Rochester Runner of the Year (RROY). 11 races. You need to race in a minimum of 5 races and your top 6 count. I only raced in 5, and one of those finishes was outside of the top 10, so, my score was only computed on 4 races. Still, I managed an 8th place finish for my Age Group for the season. Until this year, I had only scored points in ONE RROY race.

The Summer brought on the start of the Triathlon/ DUathlon season. My love affair with Triathlon Swims isn’t growing, so, I put more energy into the bike and run this year and changed my focus primarily to Duathlon. In the past, I’d use DU’s to prep me for Tri’s. This year, I used Tri’s to prep me for DU’s. The 2011 SCORE THIS!!! Multi-sport series consisted of 4 races. I registered for 3 of them (and subsequently dropped out of one due to illness). The season score was based on your top 2 races. I managed 2 PR’s, and (2) 3rd Place Overall finishes. These 2 performances were good enough to earn me the third place Overall Male for the 2011 Series (Overall, not Age Group). Racing in smaller fields, but being in contention to win taught me a new way of racing – racing up front and racing against the field as opposed to racing against my own previous times. I liked this new style of racing very much.

Funny thing happened as my racing improved in 2011. In Triathlon and Duathlon, each race is “scored” in order to give each athlete a National ranking. The scores I was receiving for the races I was racing were improving – dramatically. Last year, my season average for DUathlon was 79.52 – good enough for a national ranking of 117 in the 40-44 age group. This year, I’m up to 85.45. Moving up 1 point in these scores is a seemingly impossible task. Moving up 6+ points is unthinkable. For 2011, in my Age Group, I ended up finishing in 72nd Nationally and 6th in New York State. My Triathlon score improved too – not by as much, but there are more people, so the smallest jumps leapfrog a lot of people. I moved up 3 points and almost 1000 spots in the Triathlon rankings. In my Age Group, I finished the year ranked 1168th Nationally and 67th in New York State for 2011. Too bad they don’t have this for runners…

In September, 2010, I was driving home from Augusta, GA and trying to figure out what to do next. I had some unfinished business with the Marathon distance, and I really wanted to give myself a shot at running in Boston. So, I trained – hard. I was in a precarious spot. My qualification time to get into Boston was 3:30:00 since I’d be running it in the 45-49 age group. I had only run 1 marathon slower than that, but… anything can happen on race day, and, I really wanted to get in with a Sub 3:20:00 effort – the way I was originally trying to qualify. In January, 2011, I ran a 3:23:09 in Miami and I got my elusive BQ. It wasn’t a great race for me, and it wasn’t the way I wanted it, but I got it. Two weeks later the BAA changed the registration process for the 2012 Boston Marathon – even though I had run my BQ, I thought I might still not get into the race. That wasn’t an option for me. I needed a better time to get into Boston, so I registered for the Cleveland Marathon in May, 2011. I ran a 3:17:52. A new PR (by 5+ minutes) and a BQ the way I really wanted it to happen. On September 16th, 2011, I was officially accepted into the Boston Marathon.

This season has been beyond my wildest dreams. Until I got into this season, I could not fathom racing at the speeds that I was able to race at in 2011. All of this is not without sacrifice. Several people have made me better, driven me to be better or allowed me to take the steps to be better.

To the Gold Rush Runners… The day I started running with Ya’ll, is the day I started getting better. You guys make me a better runner every Saturday morning. Your race times were the ones that I thought were just goofy 18 months ago, and now I dream about getting them with you guys. Thanks for the push, the advice and the good times.

To JB, Gibby, and Barry… Everyone needs someone to train with. You guys are the best. I love the camaraderie and the stories. I look forward to every run, ride and swim. Just when I can’t go any faster or further, you always do. You three make me better. I’m grateful for that.

To Mom and Dad… Thanks for coming to my races and listening to the stories about them when you couldn’t come. I’m sure the stories bore you, but I love telling you about them. Dad, the message you left me after I got accepted into the Boston Marathon was one of the most special things you’ve ever done for me. It meant more than you’ll ever know. And Mom, I love seeing your smiling face at the races. I can picture the two thumbs up and hearing you say “Go, Jim!!!” when I need it most (usually in some form of Oxygen debt from racing too hard – LOL). Thanks to you both!!

To T… We talk on the phone more days than not. We bounce questions and ideas off each other. Unfortunately, we only get to train a few weeks per year together, and we race together even less. You are an unbelievable triathlete – the whole package. I envy that and you drive me to train harder (probably without knowing it). Your performance at Ironman Louisville was beyond inspirational. I got choked up following you on the internet that day. You truly are an IRONMAN. More than that, you are the best friend and brother that everyone should have.

To Jackie and the kids… Thanks for all your support. I LOVE having you three at every event you come to. It seems like whenever I need a smiling face, a sign or a cheer, a high five, or someone to run down the finishing chute with me – you’re there. You stood in the wind and rain on a miserable mid-40 degree day in Cleveland to watch me bust a new PR in the marathon and get my ticket to Boston. You froze right along with me at the freezeroos. You ran with me at the Fathers Day and Fourth of July races. You got up at the crack of dawn to watch me exit the water of the finger Lakes tri and then disappear for two hours on the bike and run courses – but you were there when I finished. I’m inspired by all you do – athletically or not. Danielle with your gymnastics and Adam with your hockey and baseball. To you both – your grades… Those must come from your Mother. . Jackie- you’re the glue that keeps us all together. I’m not sure how you do it. Thanks for the notes you leave me in my race bag when you can’t be there – I bring them into transition with me or carry them in my Fuel Belt for good luck. Thanks for dealing with my bikes all over the house and my sweaty clothes hanging in your other closet. Thanks for listening to every race detail and putting up with my ugly feet. LOL I know that this hobby of mine adds a strain to what we can do as a family, and I sincerely appreciate all the latitude and support you give me while I follow my dreams.

3800 miles of training. 320+ hours. 300+ workouts over 365 days. Over 300,000 calories burned. Other hobbies and activities are cast aside. Running in the dark, or the rain, or the 90+ degree heat, or the snow covered roads. Riding at the crack of dawn or at break-neck speeds to beat the setting sun. Lap swimming, treadmill running and riding the bike on the trainer. Sneaking in just before the first pitch or the first vault because I was racing on the same day. Limping and hobbling at family picnics due to a tough workout. Having to bring my bike and a bag full of running stuff, swimming stuff and nutrition and fuel on a family vacation. Is it worth it?? Selfishly, of course it is.

I can only hope 2012 will afford me a season half as much fun as this one was.