Race Report: March Madness Biathlon… & Scotland Run 10K

Sunday morning I spent a lot of time in Central Park. Too bad it was still cold, and though the temperature was right about 27 degrees it still felt pretty chilly even with multiple layers on. No, I did not do the biathlon, though if I had my bike act together it would’ve been a nice event to enter. It involved two miles of running followed by two bike loops of the park, or 12 miles, plus another 2 mile run. The finish deadline for the 800 competitors was two hours, so it wasn’t a real killer, or at least didn’t seem like it to me (though I kept my mouth shut about the perceived easiness of the course while cheering on the racers). I did get to watch the transitions, see what gear people were throwing around, and watch some folks struggle on the final 2-mile run. The event was finished up by 9:30 so that the New York Road Runners could start the Scotland Run at 10. The Scotland Run caps off Scotland Week in New York, a celebration of bagpipes and shortbread and red plaid outfits and shit.

So onto the observations. One problem I noticed in the biathlon was with such a short time spent on the run before folks started hitting their bikes, the bike transition area was soon jammed, and it quickly became survival of the fittest. I saw one guy stop, sit down and block a whole aisle while he leisurely put on his bike shoes, and I was amazed angry racers weren’t pelting him with CO2 canisters. Granted, this was no hot shit Ironman competition, but it seemed a bit cramped and haphazard. I also noticed that the quality of the bikes slowly descended from ‘Terminator’ to ‘Big Wheel’ as the T1 time elapsed. Serious folks have serious rides, while the daytrippers are on bikes with banana seats and plastic tassles on the handlebars. Sure, I exaggerate, but not much. And I’m not criticizing anybody, but I didn’t see many speed records hit while people were running. I thought I’d at least see one 5:30 minute/mile runner, but not in this event, not even close. Those 5:30 folks were just waking up to run a 10K somewhere else.

As the event went on, I made it to the west side to cheer people on, part of my ‘pay it back’ campaign that helps competitors and engenders good karma for my later races. I saw a couple of guys I knew, which is always good when it’s 27 degrees and your standing on the side of the road and clapping like a wind-up monkey toy. Before it got old, the whole thing was over, and everybody was back at the start at the Loeb Boathouse. I had a half hour to get over to Tavern on the Green, near where the 10K was to start.

And unlike the small family feel I had experienced at the biathlon, the race start was pandemonium. Nearly 7000 runners had come out and were jamming the drives, and the starting gun/booty call made it even more insane. It was still cold, but warmer now in the sun, and I positioned myself not too far from the front of the line. After what I believed to be a bagpipe version of the National Anthem and some muffled, fast-food drive-through remarks from officials, we took off heading north to complete one loop of the park.

And of course, there’s the usual 15-minute per mile runners with headphones, walkers, etc., who get right up front at every race so the rest of us nearly kill ourselves when we nearly run them over in the first few minutes. Later this month, the NYRR will be instituting pace corrals based on previous finish times in short races to combat this problem. This time I was lucky, I was not far from the front; running pal Susie was behind me, and it took her 5 minutes to get to the start line. Which is ridiculous.

Anyway, off we went. And before the race I had looked up my best 10K time. And wouldn’t you know I got it in my head that I could beat that 42 minutes with a little more effort and determination than I usually give in a short race. So no water stops for me, and this time I’m paying strict attention to pace. After a fast start, I discover my first mile was under 6:45; funny though, it didn’t feel so good.

It got worse. Halfway through I realized I was running a 10K at a 5K pace. I started getting nauseous every time I was speeding up a hill. Not good. You’ve heard the voices: ‘I really can stop if I want to, it’s not worth getting sick over’ followed by ‘but you made it this far’ and ‘only a few miles to go’. Only to have this inner conversation repeating in a sickening loop every time it gets horribly uncomfortable. And of course, f-bombs start popping up between the nouns and verbs.

I knew I had to slow down going up the small hills, and I NEVER do that, but it was better than having some bagpiper along the course watch me hurl. Bagpiper along the course, you say? The Scottish shit was hardcore out there, I’m tellin’ ya.

‘I’m not doing this again’, I announced as I got all Nietszchean and ‘that-what-does-not-kill-me-only-makes-me-stronger’ on my own sorry ass. Then I hit the 5-mile mark between 32 and 33 minutes and I STILL cannot do the proper math to figure out whether I’m running fast enough or not. All I know is I’m slowing down and people are passing me and I don’t care, which says something right there about my state of mental health at mile 5.

We finally, finally start to see the finish line coming into view ahead, it’s the same finish line as the marathon, and isn’t that fucking cute. There’s a damn incline right here, screw the New York Road Runners for not picking a flat finish to this race and all the other goddamn races we’ve run, too. Yes, your pal Cranky sure got testy, because it was A.F.T that the G.D. race was over.

And the clock says 40:26. Holy Shit! How did that happen? Well, you ran your ass off to the point of almost throwing up, you idiot. What did you expect? …I was still having private, internal ‘discussions’, obviously. Later on I found out I was 13th in my age group of 358 male runners, which is about as good as I can get. Had I gotten a sex change on Saturday, I would’ve been the 13th woman overall. See what happens to your brain on race day? You think up crazy shit.

So after racing twenty 10K races over the last decade, I cut a minute and a half off the old P.R. from ’04, the same Scotland Run at that. Nice. But what wasn’t nice was feeling morbidly ill during the race, and getting to the finish on sheer willpower. So let this be a cautionary tale: race, and I mean at or above a 90% effort, at your own peril. I have no regrets (not now, of course, I’m sitting at a keyboard eating double chocolate chip cookies and opining about something that happened yesterday). But as I tell myself and you as well, be careful what you do out there and what you wish for. All that ‘racing’ crap can get you into trouble.


One more thing, NO WAY I’m racing in Boston, three weeks from today. If I have to stop at Wellesley along the way for coffee and donuts, so be it. Screw Heartbreak Hill, I’m taking my time.

(Here are some biathlon photos just so you know it’s the same crap going on everywhere. The final photo is of the 10K start only; as you might imagine, I was cursing and swearing too much to create cuddly Kodak moments.)

iPod Friday 29 – I’m Rick James, Bitch.

In an effort to get me to calm down and stop racing in the pool, and therefore discourage drowning, my swimming trainer advised me to come up with a mantra or something to play in my head to help me relax during the 8-10 seconds at a time when I’m face down in the water. ‘Ever try yoga?’ he asked, and I responded ‘no’, an answer that left neither of us surprised. ‘How about a song, or something like that?’ I asked, and trainer said ‘sure, if that does it for you’.

So the first thing that popped in my head worked somehow, and here’s how it went:


(diving, hands crossed, pointed forward; feet kicking)
She's a very kinky girl…
The kind you don't take home to mother
(head facing down; steadily blowing bubbles)
She will never let your spirits down
Once you get her off the street,
(move right arm down, start to bring up)


I had the rest of the lyrics, along with corresponding swimming ‘moves’ all ready to transcribe, but I figure you’ve heard this tune before anyway... Thus my swimming became ‘super freaky… yow.’

Soon I tired of ‘the kind of girl you read about in Newsweek magazine’, and got a little more current. So last week I started mentally broadcasting the tic-toc’s and doomsday riff off of Mrs. Ritchie’s new song out of Timber-Land.

I leave you with these songs, both have catchy hooks that can drive you crazy. Or get you to the end of the pool, which for me is pretty much the same thing.

Rick James – Super Freak (12”)

Madonna featuring Justin Timberlake and Timbaland – 4 Minutes

Tales From The Pool, Part 1

Last Friday was Good Friday, and I made my way to the pool for the fifth day in a row. Since it was a holiday for many local schools, the pool facility did not have its usual gaggle of screaming, larval New Yorkers in the shallow, blocked off, end. However, the AARP members who hit around mid-morning were in full force, with no Lisa Lisa in sight (an obscure and poor ‘80s cultural reference, I know). So I found myself in the shorter lanes, just doing the time to fit the crime. And I picked a lane right next to a sweet-looking 10-year-old little lady who had the day off from school while daddy (who worked at the pool) kept an eye on her.

Like me, she was doing 1-2 laps and stopping at the pool ends each time to assess her progress. More accurately, I was stopping to get some air, she was stopping to sigh heavily about the burdensome weight of life in the fourth grade and a ‘this-is-so-ten-minutes-ago’ completion of another lap. Then her sighs started getting more anxious, more like ‘I’m bored out of my mind, and I’d kill anybody here for a Hannah Montana download’. But soon I realized her boredom was getting converted into a desire to beat me, Grandpa Simpson, to the end of the pool.

I picked up on this as soon as I arrived at the end and looked over to see her looking benignly in my direction. ‘Oh, is that what’s going on here?’, I thought. And I looked back. She turned and dived. Then I knew it was ON.

So I made my way back, and Little Miss Sunshine decides to stop mid-pool to, well, just stop to check her goggles, and screw with my head. Hmmmm. I thought to myself: ‘that little swimming cap is hiding three 6’s, or maybe just a ‘665’, cause you ain’t all THAT, half a Miss Thang’. Underwater, a ‘snap’ could be heard.

I stopped the Tyler Perry show then and there and decided to get a little more focused. We took off down the pool. I’m counting my strokes, I can hear ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ on an 8-track in my head, with program clicks, and I make it. And Abigail Breslin, or that bee girl in the Blind Melon video, or whatever the hell she is, is already taking off. Dive! Dive!

We make it back about the same time, and I act like I have NO IDEA she is there. And she acts like she can barely float her ass in the pool, she’s so bored. But she sees me, and I see her, and our sweet looks at each other say it all: next time, you are toast.

I exit the pool (I don’t need a ladder, missy). I shoot her another look that says: ‘I’ll see you later in these pool lanes, little girl. And that’s when you’re going down.’

Yes, I know what you’re thinking, this is how a grown man trains for a triathlon. I swear it’s from the lack of oxygen in the pool.

Yeah, right.

Mugging in the Park

Sorry to be a posting fool these days, but this is kind of newsworthy…

Last night a jogger was mugged and stabbed in Central Park about 8:45, two robbers made off with his iPod; the jogger went to the hospital, but I believe he’s OK. This is kind of rare, but it’s the type of thing the news media jump on.

I don’t like running at night anyway, and I just happened to run this afternoon. And got pulled over by a reporter from WCBS mid-run. After an hour in the pool this morning, I was happy for the break.

Here’s WCBS’ website, and the story.

And here’s the brief audio. As you can tell, I was out of breath and full of brilliant observations.

And Runners, Too.

March 20th

Back in January, I wrote: “Training better start coming together before spring, because I’m not going to want to be throwing money at the three-sport lifestyle for months if I don’t enjoy it on some level, be it through better health or through satisfying some personal masochistic tendencies.”

Now it’s spring, at least on the calendar, and it’s time to assess. I have indeed thrown money at triathlon training, and continue to. But as Bob-O suggested, and several others as well, just work on the swimming and get ready for Boston. Well. I’ve been doing just that.

As for running, I PR’d in a 15K a couple of weeks ago, I’ve kept a reasonably OK weekly mileage of 40 miles or more, and finished a 3:15/22-mile run last Sunday that actually left me feeling good enough that I could’ve done a few extra miles. I have found that in light of all the biking (spinning) and swimming I’ve been doing I enjoy running more than ever, and in winter weather, at that. I wish my mileage was higher, but I just don’t have it in me to do more after swimming and weight-training and biking most days.

Biking is the remaining wild card, only because I’m not looking forward to the expense. I attended a workshop on how to change a tire on Tuesday night, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been sponsored by MasterCard. Of course, it wasn’t, my tri-team set it up, and it was certainly educational, but I could just see my compulsiveness to be overly prepared with high-tech gear winning out over fiscal responsibility. I can’t say much more than that, though I think once warmer weather arrives and I can enjoy the outdoors I’ll get into it and the bike money pit as well and feel better about it. Another thing, spinning makes my quads burn every time, but ‘whatever doesn’t kill you…’

As for swimming, tomorrow will be my tenth trip to the pool in the last twelve days. And I have indeed gotten better in two months of training. My breathing is rather improved. My swimming instructor agreed with my recent poolside statement that I am my own worst critic, so as much as I want to I will not make negative comments on what I can’t do. For weeks I was waiting for the breakthrough day when I would complete 50-100 yards without stopping, but I’ve decided that’s not the right approach. I’m just going to plug away at it, and if ‘it’ (whatever that is, perhaps a PR distance, perhaps a high level of confidence) happens in April or May or whenever, then so be it. Unlike running, when it comes to swimming I can’t be moderately competitive with my past race times or set up goals, I just have to get in the pool and keep at it and get better. And that I have.

Overall I’m not as far along in tri-training as I wish I were, but I’m not going to worry about it. Frankly, I’m a little bored thinking about it all, and if it happens that I later decide I’m not ready to finish the triathlon I signed up for in July, I won’t do it. Right now, I can’t say I won’t be ready, because I’m keeping with the training. And getting ready for Boston, I’ll assess where I’m at after that, too. But that’s where I’m at, and every time I have a bad training day or I’m unhappy with a workout, I’ll think about all the people half my age (warning: he’s using the age card!) who could not physically do what I’m doing and then I’ll S-T-F-U.

And you thought I’d just written a rational assessment without getting a little snarky. That, my friends, will probably never change… Then again, the cloying image of the kitten at the ‘peep buffet’ was probably a tip-off…

A Time For Healing

I come to you today to discuss something that has recently come to light. I do this because I feel the people need to know that I am honest with them. I speak to you today with the conviction that we must all work together, and to clear the air, so that we may move forward with the necessary determination to get the job done.

Running has always been important to me; what you don’t know is that at one time I was not faithful to running. During the late nineties, I strayed, and at one point I almost gave up entirely. But for the sake of my race times, I went for coaching, and decided to work through my problems; in hindsight, I had no one but myself to blame. And now I am faced with even bigger challenges. For now, two other sporting endeavors have threatened the peacefulness I've derived from running for so long. Rest assured, I will never turn away from my running career, and never turn away from those who made it possible. I now leave you to begin anew the monumental task of balancing the budget in the face of tri-ing expenditures. Thank you for your support and best wishes, and thank you to the state of New York.




(Ed. note: OK, there was only one bad pun in there, get over it. And if I have to hear about one more politician’s sex life (like our new governor’s) I’m going to lose my mind. Or go running instead.)