Race Report: Knickerbocker 60K

I ended my last post discussing race performance, disappointment, and understanding how lucky we are just to be able to even be part of a race. With all that in mind, this week I registered for the annual November 60k in Central Park.

Yes, it’s somewhat insane to run a marathon and then turn around and run even more, but my insanity has become a tradition. I’ve done this the last two years and come out alive despite risking high mileage burnout. If you’re going to run an ultramarathon, you better like running an awful lot, and like being a glutton for more punishment than most races have to offer. And as ultramarathoners know, it’s a different kind of race, different than even a marathon. In some ways an ultra can be a better experience.

So after taking a little longer than normal to get over the NYC Marathon, I waited until mid-week to decide whether or not to go for the 60K. It’s usually held on the Saturday before Thanksgiving, but this year it was moved up a week, so I had only two weeks to get over the last race, not three like the last few years. Long story short, I went for it despite concerns over my leg cramps in the marathon, and decided that I could just go out and try to run the distance on the assumption that I could drop out if things got really scary (such as an injury). Of course, anyone who knows me also knows I don’t normally enter races and not finish, but I won’t bore you with my personal mind games, I’ll just ignore them, right? Do the best I can and still kick myself when it goes south seems to be the norm, but this time the norm will not be in the program.


The 60K course is on the asphalt drives of Central Park. Starting on the east side, it runs north for a 1.4-mile loop followed by the central 4-mile loop of the park. And then… eight more of them. You try not to think about how the kilometers translate to miles, but I’ll tell you it’s 37.2 miles. Ultramarathons generally start off at 50K (a bit more than 31 miles) and move up in some sort of crazy round numbers from there. So this is one of the shorter distances, and with nine mind-bending loops in the park, I was happy it wasn’t any longer.

After I was reasonably sure I would be participating (if that’s what it’s called), I had written running pal Susie with an invitation to run or cheer us on, and she would indeed show up on the first lap. I also wrote another running friend, Tim, and let him know if he wanted to join me on a lap or two and watch me drift into an entertaining and amusing physical breakdown, he was welcome. He said ‘sure’ (he had just finished his first marathon in NYC two weeks before), and we decided to meet Saturday morning for a festival of masochism.

I couldn’t sleep much on Friday night, so I went in with only a few hours of sleep. However, I had slept just fine two nights before, and they say that counts most, so I decided not to worry. Saturday morning I went to get my t-shirt and number; I live two blocks from the start, and you can’t beat that commute, especially post-race.

After finding Tim, we joined the hundred or so runners at the start. It was definitely a low-key affair, the race organizer had to shout instructions over early-morning traffic. Since the marathon had been anything but low-key, it was refreshing to be part of a race that wasn’t such a big deal. I don’t mind huge, adoring crowds, but it takes the pressure off when two million people aren’t watching you and screaming at you and expecting you to ‘do it’ for several hours. Then again, there were no real spectators on the course except other recreational runners giving us funny looks as we passed by. So off we went at 8:30. For a few hours….

Susie was cheering at mile 2.5, and provided the best laugh of the day. As a large group of racers (which in this case means about eight folks wearing a bib) passed by, she yelled out a heartfelt ‘you’re almost there!’, one of our favorite spectator comments. She got a nice response from the crowd, and that’s when you’re reminded that ultra racers seem to have a better, relaxed sense of humor than many runners do. They’re not obsessed with finish times or being overly competitive, or anything much beyond being part of the journey. And they compensate for the lack of crowd support by offering their own encouragement to fellow runners. At one point, I was lapped by one of the faster runners who still managed to be genuinely encouraging as he passed by. You don’t get that in a shorter race, that’s for sure.

So Tim and I begin the laps, one after another, hoping to run each at a bit over a half hour. It’s a lot easier to break a course into half-hour-plus chunks, so I remind him to do just that. The sun is out, but it’s a bit colder than normal (below forty degrees), so heat is not an issue. The laps start to tick off, but knowing there are plenty of them left is not always easy.

And Tim sticks with me, I fully expected him to peel off after a few laps, but his strong pace keeps me going, and I keep him going by talking him through hills and being mildly positive about what lays ahead. I suggest we break the run into three sets of three laps to make it slightly easier to wrap our heads around the distance.

Somehow it all seems to work. We have two water stations, two miles apart, and each water station becomes a goal in itself, and we reward ourselves with a brief stretch and break every so often. It works, because I feel slightly better after each walking stop. Of course, the legs start to get stiff about the halfway mark, but not like they did in the marathon two weeks ago. I suck it up, while Tim and I manage to keep each other’s mind off of the fatigue by chatting every so often.

And on the last couple of laps I realize I’m not substantially slowing down despite the leg pain. Tim is feeling the pain, too, but he’s a trooper, and I also realize that he may very well finish the distance, his first. Wow.

We pass people walking, but the crowd is very thin, and seeing people with numbers becomes even less frequent. But we’re on the last lap, and there’s nothing stopping us. An older guy not in the race starts running with us and chatting and asking lots of questions, which gets our mind off of the final few miles… and I just keep the slightly slower pace going and make it to the last water station for a final ‘victory walk’. As I finish the last two miles, I realize I’m doing a PR. Tim’s strong pace in the first half and my ability to keep a reasonable pace in the second has lopped off about 20 or 30 minutes from my last 60K time a year ago, and I finish at about 5:35. What a different experience from two weeks ago. See? Sometimes you just show up for a race and do it and end up finishing well anyway. Of course, my relatively high-mileage year has something to do with it, but I’m not complaining.

Not that I wasn’t finishing with some pain and discomfort, but it sure was nice to cross a finish line feeling positive and reasonably happy. And of course, I’m happy to be done with those damn laps. Three minutes later, Tim comes across the finish time, and I know we’ve done it. It’s a few minutes after 2PM and we’ve been running since 8:30. We’re REAL happy it’s done and finished.

We go to the New York Road Runners offices to pick up our finishers’ plaques (if I’m going to run 37 miles I better get a frickin’ trophy or plaque), and for a little post-race food. What a day. My fifth ultra, Tim’s first, and we do fine.

So, boys and girls, thus ended my fall marathon season. And for me, on a high note. Not just because you’d have to be high to run three marathons in six weeks, but because I managed to do it all and end well. As I’m typing this I’m feeling some mild knee and glute and quad pain, but if I wasn’t I wouldn’t be alive.

The stats go like this: 5 races (2 marathons, a half, a 5-miler and an ultra) in six weeks, along with a couple of long training runs that I probably shouldn’t have done. 107.7 miles of races. I’m going to take it easy, if you can believe it.