Monster Dash Duathlon Race Report

Monster Dash Duathlon
Lowell, Massachusetts
Sunday, October 28, 2007

Results (time, pace, cumulative overall place)*
Run 5K: 18:24 (5:57 min/mi) – 11
T1: 2:50 – 18
Bike 15 mi: 37:33 (22.5 mph) – 7
T2: 1:15 – 8
Run 5K: 19:05 (6:08 min/mi) – 8
Finish: 1:19:07 – 8th overall (of 110)

*Official results included T1 time with Bike and T2 with 2nd Run; above is a guess on T1 and T2.

Race Report

With all things Clearwater on my mind, I had my eye on the Monster Dash Duathlon in Lowell, Massachusetts for the past several weeks. The duathlon was positioned nicely on the calendar – two weeks from my A-race – and although it would be my first ever duathlon, I knew it would serve as a great final tune-up to get me dialed in for a trip to Florida.

After a tough final training week before taper for Clearwater, I needed to wait until Saturday to see if I had race in my legs because I didn’t want to do the race on legs that felt heavy – then I would gain nothing from racing. So when Saturday finally came around, I was pleasantly surprised to find my legs not feeling fresh but certainly good enough, where I thought a final tune-up would further help get me dialed in both physically and mentally for Clearwater. This race would mark the beginning of taper proper.

First 5K

Toeing the line of my first ever duathlon, I wondered aloud how hard I should take the first run. Jim, the guy next to me, a speed monger with a 1:12 half marathon in his running shoes – and a very fast looking bike racked next to mine – shed light on his strategy: “Go hard… it’s too short not to.” As soon as I realized he was right, I started cursing my social ways for spending the final pre-race minutes chatting up friends instead of warming up. The lack of foresight, I knew, was my inexperience at short distances, for I knew a proper warm up was important, especially for me, a slow starter.

As soon as the gun went off, I found myself – surprise-surprise – with sluggish legs. I tried like I could to hold pace while I watched a collection of at least 25 other runners pull ahead. As the course approached the first hill, I had already started catching some of the fast starters, and on the hill, I was able to work by for a swift pass of several. At that point I could still see the leaders up the road. I figured I was in 15th place by then. 1.5 miles in, the course took a hard right along the mighty Merrimack River, where an even mightier head wind waited. It was on this long stretch back to home where I climbed all the way up to 11th position.

As I rounded the final turn coming into Transition, I was pleasantly surprised to see the leader just getting on his bike – meaning I wasn’t that far out of the lead. Close behind was my buddy Jim. I waved encouragement to Jim. He smiled back as he curled his arm into a fist and set off on his own chase.

Time: 5K – 18:24 (5:57 min/mi) – 11

Summary: The first run was fun. The wind was tough on the long stretch back to Transition, but I was able to keep my leg turnover high and stay fairly tucked in. Since I never looked at my watch or the clock, I had no idea on my time or pacing until results came out. If you told me before the race I would average 5:57 minute miles on the first run, I would have told you that it would have did me in on the bike.

T1

Through a chute along the outskirts of the Transition area and then a hard hairpin left back to the bike racks, I was able to see exactly who was behind me. There was nobody immediately, but 20 seconds back and more was a group of several. I knew I had to be quick in changing into Bike gear to maintain my placement, but even so, I gave it all back. Although I was fairly tidy and probably efficient only in my mind, I found myself down 9 places to about 20th overall.

Time: 2:50 – 20

Summary: Transitions suck. I’m slow. This race highlighted exactly what it is I need to work on, because being so high up in the standings and losing that many in brushing my teeth, combing my hair, and trimming my nails will keep haunting me if I ever want to pose as a Top 5 guy in the short stuff.

Bike

I couldn’t stop laughing at my pathetic slow-to-transition self. Here I was, cobbling along in my cleats, pushing my bike to the mount point, and watching guys who finished the run a minute or more behind me already on their bikes disappearing down the street.

I was laughing, but I was also motivating myself for a battle ahead. Almost as if I was testing myself, I wanted to prove my worth in my legs, not in how I get dressed.

With high winds and gusts even higher, I knew the bike would be tough. I was committed to taking the bike as hard as I could without a care for the second run. My goal was to make my legs burn, make myself question how I will run next, because I figured the first run coupled with a hard 15 mile bike would be akin to the tired feeling in the legs after, maybe, a 40 to 50 mile ride, a convenient little tune-up brick run for Clearwater.

Finally on the bike and heading directly into the wind, I pretended I was the strongest rider out there. My goal was to finish first. I knew it wouldn’t happen, but regardless, I got to work in doing my part, even if I conned myself.

Immediately I passed all the guys who passed me in Transition. I figured by then I was in, maybe, 15th place, maybe one or two notches higher. Slowly I picked off rider after rider. At one point, hammering into a nasty wind, I was amazed at my speed. Where I thought I’d be down under 20 mph, I was sitting rather comfortably and pushing quite hard at 22 mph. Occasional gusts from the side would push me over a few feet and often knock my pace low. The gusts because so frequent that I learned to stop fighting them and instead dampen them by letting the bike flow.

The middle part of the course was where the hills came. There were two or three that were enough to kill momentum and cause shift to a very low gear. I tried like might to power over them, but some were just too big.

By the middle part of the course, my legs started burning hard. I was riding mostly by myself. It was then when I started wondering how in the world I would run the second run.

Just then two guys ahead of me came into sight. I got to work. It took a mile before I picked off one guy and another mile before I got the other. I imagined I was now in 10th place, or somewhere thereabouts, where in reality, I was now squarely in 7th position. The guy in 8th hung on my shoulder as long as he could, which was also by no coincidence when I decided to drop the hammer a bit harder. Slowly I pulled away. As each hill, both down and ups, approached, I turned up effort. Flying down the long graduals and maintaining pressure on the pedals for as long as momentum would allow, and pressing hard on the hills in attempts to power over them, I watched my average pace climb from 21 all the way to 22.5 mph, where it would sit for the remainder of the ride.

A mile from Transition, still ahead of the number 8 guy and with not another athlete as far as I could see ahead, a guy with his family on the side of the road yelled further motivation my way: “7… You’re in seventh!”

Time: 14.8(?) mi: 37:33 (22.5 mph) – 7

Summary: I’m really beginning to like the bike. At times I feel very fast. Today was one of those days. Although the course was shy of 15 miles, I averaged 22.5 mph on a course filled with rolling hills in the middle – a course many said was hilly – and what I gather to be a 20 mph steady wind with gusts much higher. I wouldn’t go so far as to call the course hilly, but there were definitely two, maybe three, hills that would kill all momentum. All in all, if you subtracted Transition (T1 time was included in the Bike split), I’m willing to bet that I had the 3rd, 4th, or 5th fastest bike of the day. Which to me is impressive since my run splits weren’t quite that high. In other words, maybe I’m a better cyclist than runner.

T2

Transition from Bike to Run #2 was a repeat of T1. I laughed at my sorry slow-to-transition self as the guy in 8th place passed me… in Transition. No worries, I told myself, I knew I’d get him and maybe one or two ahead of him. Little did I know at that point how very wrong I would be.

Time: 1:15 – 8

Second 5K

Sitting 100 yards squarely behind the guy in 7th place, the place that was rightfully mine, I laughed again at myself for even thinking I was going to catch this guy – let along the “several more” I promised. My legs felt fatigued and filled with lactate. They didn’t feel like moving.

But move they did. It was as if my legs were in a zone, a zone not to be messed with, and they wanted to pump.

Out of Transition and on the course, I shortened my stride until my legs felt more fluid. Not long after I was back to form and racing myself. Only, the number 7 guy was still the same distance ahead. But not for long, I coached myself. Or so I thought.

Just then I heard a familiar whir as a rider whizzed by. It was then when I realized that I would have to get used to bikes come flying by me, as the run covers the last 3 miles of the bike course. Even cooler was seeing some pretty fast guys come by. And I was already out on the run. That was cool. I felt fast. But now I had to feel light on my feet. Thus began a two mile battle for position number 7, for as far as I could see, nobody was beyond him. It would only be he and I.

To the turn point in the run course, where the course does a hard right into the wind for mile and a half stretch back home, the 7th place guy was still sitting 100 yards ahead, and still nobody ahead of him. We were neither gaining nor probably losing ground, because I knew nobody was behind me as cars kept turning after I’d pass.

Squeezing to the far right of the road so that bikes could get by, I pretended there was no wind. I shortened my stride a touch and increased cadence and effort as long as I could. When my lungs and legs burned and I felt I would slow, I changed stride again to squeeze every bit of performance out of me. I put my head down and ignored the guy in front. I knew that if I stuck to do what I could, I would catch him.

Punching into the wind yet feeling smooth and efficient, I finally picked my head up… number 7 was now 50 yards ahead. I repeated efficient form with high cadence into the wind until I closed the gap to 20 yards. But just as I knew I had him, knew that I would get him just in time for the finish, I saw him look over to a guy with his family on the side of the road. It was the same guy who had told me when I was finishing up the bike that I was in 7th place. Only this time he was telling the runner in front of me he was in 7th. A glance back by my battlemate confirmed my suspicion that I was on his ass and hunting fast. It was enough to get him to increase pace enough to hold me off for the final turn, down a 200 yard stretch, and into the parking lot for the finish chute. Good for 8th place overall.

Time: 5K – 19:05 (6:08 min/mi) – 8

Summary: The last run was fun. Just when I thought I buried myself with my first run and an all-out effort on the bike in very windy conditions, my legs came to life. I really should do more of these short events because honestly, although it hurt to hold on, these are over before you know it. And my legs, although fatigued, felt at times very fluid and efficient… not fast, but efficient.

Finish: 1:19:07 – 8th overall (of 110)

Clearwater, I am ready.

Simon Lessing… Spencer Smith… this is a public call out to let you know that the guy over your shoulder will be me. I am aiming for a win.

Finishing kick…

Still finishing… still kicking…

Almost there…

Baystate Marathon Race Report

Baystate Marathon
Lowell, Massachusetts
Sunday, October 14, 2007

Results
Finish: 3:04:46
Pace: 7:03 min/mile
36^th Place Overall (of 717)
17^th Place Age Group M30-39 (of 128)
1^st Half: 1:33:45
2^nd Half: 1:31:01

Splits
1 – 7:26 – Crisp clear 41 degree morning.
2 – 6:51 – Spot Ironbuddy up ahead. Pick up pace to catch.
3 – 7:17 – Catch buddy. He’s set on 7:10’s.
4 – 7:11 – Steady with 7:10’s.
5 – 7:02 – Buddy has done several Ironman events.
6 – 7:10 – He’s feeling good.
7 – 7:06 – My legs are tired but otherwise okay.
8 – 7:02 – His HR is well in check. My heart is beating.
9 – 7:10 – Says he’s running quicker but okay because HR is in check.
10 – 7:06 – I suggest we back off unless he’s really okay running faster than 7:10.
11 – 7:12 – Fall into more Dreams of Iron talk.
12 – 7:08 – “You sure you’re okay?”
13 – 7:08 – He’s sure. His HR is still good.
13.1 – 1:33:38
14 – 7:09 – He’s feeling very good.
15 – 7:07 – Tells me about his perpetual cramping after mile 23.
16 – 7:12 – Suddenly buddy goes quiet. Now seems to be trying to keep up.
17 – 7:18 – I purposely slow the pace as he continues to fall several paces behind.
18 – 7:17 – Buddy falls way back as we crest the bridge at the turn for the 8 mile stretch on home.
19 – 6:55 – I cut loose, I’m off for the races.
20 – 6:56 – Oops. Still too early to push too hard.
21 – 6:56 – Be patient.
22 – 6:54 – Time is now.
23 – 6:47 – Pushing effort.
24 – 6:51 – Flying past people.
25 – 6:41 – In the runner’s high of my life.
26 – 6:33 – I love to run.
26.2 – 1:22 (last mile: 6:15) – Fluid in Motion!
Finish: 3:04:46

Race Report

The Perfect Marathon. 

If there ever was such a thing as a perfect marathon, one where the weather, the course, the companionship and comaraderie, and performance aligned to a pleasant and well-executed race, the 2007 edition of the Baystate Marathon was it for me. To say Baystate was a textbook case of “Runner’s High” would even fall short of the personal satisfaction and fun time I took out of my 33^rd go at the marathon distance. Maybe it was because this marathon, my 14^th in each of the last 14 months, would be the end of the marathon-a-month streak. Maybe it was because I would be able to put it to rest according to my schedule, not because of injury, burnout, or another ill forced end. Or maybe it was because I ran what I call The Perfect Marathon.

Baystate ‘07 was… The Perfect Marathon.

Clarence DeMar Marathon Race Report

Clarence DeMar Marathon
Keene, New Hampshire
Sunday, September 30, 2007

Results
Finish: 3:03:02
Pace: 6:59 min/mile
10th Place Overall
7th Place Age Group M01-39
1st Half: 1:31:45
2nd Half: 1:31:17
Splits at end.

Race Report

On a crisp, clear early fall morning, with temperatures dipping into the thirties and a sun intent on sleeping in a bit longer, I toed the starting line of the Clarence DeMar Marathon, my 32nd marathon and 13th in 13 months. Perhaps more importantly, the marathon was also to be the completion of a goal set back many years ago. Only, as I lined up in sleepy Gilsum, NH for the start of this point-to-point race ending 26.2 miles later in downtown Keene, I hadn’t realized how satisfying it would be to achieve a goal stuck in my mind since 1995.

With a downhill start over the first two miles, where I ran at an effort much less than my actual splits would otherwise say (7:14, 7:20), I settled into a comfortable pace with a few other runners.

By Mile 3 (7:15), I was deep in conversation with a guy doing Ironman Germany next year. As we swapped stories of Iron, I couldn’t help but notice that every time the road smoothed long and narrow for a glimpse far ahead, there was only a group of, maybe, 25 runners sitting farther behind the race leaders, both of which were in a category unto themselves.

Up a hill, down a long gradual, and up and down some more, Mile 4 (7:24) grew uncomfortable not for the pace or terrain but rather the constant distraction that there were so few runners ahead of me.

To this point, I didn’t have a time goal coming into this event. The goal, if anything, was to finish the 26.2 miles with a smile on my face and an experience to keep me motivated through the remainder of my training for my upcoming November triathlon in Clearwater, Florida.

In my book this wasn’t even a race. I had a hard training week the week before, including midweek hill work on the run and an all-day Tear Down the Walls (Wallpaper) Love Fest at my new house the day before. Pace didn’t matter. This wasn’t to say I wanted to go easy, or hard, or keep pace at a set metric; rather it was that I wanted to get out and breath the air doing the one thing I love to do most, and do it on a course painted with the brilliant oranges and reds of fall. I would let the rest of the day come to me. Come it did.

The lure of the open road ahead, where only a trace few runners flew, drew me in for a race ahead. Mile 5 (6:45) lulled me into the thrill of running out near front, and although I wasn’t near front yet, it drew out the Stallion in my legs for the race that was to come.

First action was to catch the pack of runners several hundred yards ahead. I closed the gap quickly with a blazing Mile 6 (6:30). My calculated reward for catching up was business I had behind a bush – I had to go, nature was calling, and I knew it would be best to close the gap, then go, rather than go right away and be faced with double the gap to close, something that might seem too daunting. At Mile 7 (7:49), I found my secret hideout and, as expected, another large gap opened between the pack. I was hopeful I’d get them in a mile.

Mile 8 (6:25) was quick but effective, as I was finally able to get the pack back within striking distance. I made a mental note that behind this pack, where I had just come, was no-man’s land. If I couldn’t hold with this pack once I caught them, my race would be very long as I would have to go the entire rest of the way alone. Mile 9 (6:55) gave me time to move into the scattered pack for a bit of rest.

By then my legs were pumping and charging and wanting to go. As soon as I saw another pack up ahead, the pack I knew to be the lead pack minus the two or three young bucks in a category by themselves and probably already a mile or two ahead, my legs got back to the chase.

Miles 10 through 13 (6:52, 6:40, 6:48, 6:47), I steadily increased effort in attempts to hunt down the group ahead. I was slowly gaining on them but very careful to keep it controlled, because I now had much more fatigue in the legs. At one point I had to tell myself to stay relaxed as I yearned to be with the pack so that we could all work together. But I knew they were running too quickly for me to catch them without doing my race in.

The pack ahead, I figured, represented the guys in the Top 20. If I wanted Top 10, I had to be patient, so although I hadn’t caught them in the last four miles, I had to stay on my plan with the knowledge that I am stronger than them. I will catch them, I told myself. I put out of mind the first three runners – who by now were so far ahead I couldn’t see – and pretended the first place guy was the one leading the scattered pack.

Through the half marathon point, I was a bit surprised to see a 1:31:45. With my slow start and bathroom break, both of which I figured added to at least 3 minutes, I expected more a 1:35.

Mile 14 (6:46) with a few hills and quick turns, I made a move to get closer to the pack; by Mile 15 (6:49) I finally caught the group of 6 who were in the beginning stages of scattering even more. If I had more energy, I would have tried to get them all to work together. Plus, I had something else on my mind.

By Mile 16 (7:04), I was growing hot and needed to remove my long sleeved base layer. I stopped at the next water stop and, like in my triathlons, got tied up trying to get my sweat-soaked shirt off and another back on. A friendly volunteer stood by my side with an awaiting cup of Gatorade. Back on with my outer shirt and down with the Gatorade, before long I was back running and again with my scattered friends. Just in time for… nothing. The pack disintegrated at Mile 17 (7:02).

Fatigue mounted in the legs. I started thinking about the finish and quickly cut myself off. I still had much too much work to do, perhaps more effort than to get to this point, and knew not to start counting down just yet.

Mile 18 (6:48), just when I was plotting when my legs might have a push in them to break out in front of whoever remained of the group, I suddenly found myself running all by myself with not a single runner ahead as far as I could see.

More challenging terrain was ahead. Mile 19 (6:59), the course slipped onto a bike path that meandered with sharp rolling hills through a large state park. It was then when I started doubting my ability and even cursing my decision to go ahead of the pack, because each of the hills and uneven pathway revealed tiredness in my legs. I feared the slowdown of all slowdowns was only a mile ahead.

Trust your training, I coached myself. You know you can push hard and lighten up a little for enough rest only to go hard again. You do it on the bike all the time. Keep the effort hard. You can do it here, too.

I trusted in my training. Mile 20 (6:48) came, and although I was now holding on where my time was now limited before crashing, I was able to resume a decent pace on down hills. This told me I still had a few miles in the tank. But would it be enough – I needed another 6.2 miles?

Mile 21 (7:02) greeted me with a most welcome sight. For the first time in miles, I finally spotted two runners up ahead. They, I knew, must be hitting the wall. I knew I’d catch them quickly. Quickly I did.

Mile 22 (6:56) hurt. I was holding on and wishing the rest of the course would be flat and straight, just like this mile. I knew it wouldn’t be. I was told about the killer hill at 23.

As advertised, a monster hill awaited at Mile 23 (7:14). I crawled up it with a stride so short you could fit a nickel between footfalls. Surprisingly, my pace was enough to pass another guy who was in very bad shape. I pumped my arms even harder to compensate for legs that didn’t want to move. I told myself that if I could resume pace and just hold on for a 3:05 marathon or even a Top 10 finish, I would reward myself with a visit to the Elm City Brewery in town after the race.

Finally over the hill, I laughed at my sorry ploy for fresh brewed beer because I knew I was heading there regardless of how the race went. Still, it was good enough to take my mind off the pain and get me over the hill.

Mile 24 (6:58), holding on by a bitty thread, I got a source of motivation by seeing a guy in white way up ahead, maybe a quarter mile. To inspire myself to hold onto my pace when I knew I was only a hill away from crashing a hard burn, I pretended he was in 10th place overall and stood in the way between me and a Top 10 finish.

Mile 25 (7:05) hurt like hell. Instead of focusing on wanting the pain to end, I kept forcing focus back to closing the gap on the guy in white.

At 25.5, I closed the gap. I knew that if I were to pass, I had to do it with authority such that he wouldn’t even think to give chase, for he would see there was no way he could catch me. With that I decided that I would begin early my final kick. I had just gone near all out for the past 2 hours; surely I had a few more minutes of even harder effort. As if to drive a knife in deep, I passed this guy with an amazing display of speed.

Mile 26 (7:04), now with only .2 miles to go, I glanced back once to make sure I was in the clear. Another glance just to be sure told me I was indeed in the clear I was.

As I rounded the final turn with the finish line looming all the way down the road, I glanced at the clock. Just when I thought it would read 3:05, it ticked rather comfortably under at 3:02:34… :35. Although I knew there was probably too much pavement between where I was and the finish to finish with the clock reading 3:02 and change, I gave it all I had. When I finally hit the finish line, the clock read a very satisfying and very hard-earned 3:03:02.

After results were posted, I discovered that the guy I had imagined to be in 10th place overall – the guy who I had passed near mile 26 – was indeed in position 10. That pass earned me a spot in the Top 10 of all finishers.

Later in the day, at the Elm City Brewery sipping away at an Octoberfest brew, I felt an immense sense of peace, even pride. Strangely, it wasn’t because I finished in a respectable (for me) 3:03; nor was it that I finished in the Top 10. All of those were good, but this feeling was more dated than that.

The feeling I had was that of accomplishing a goal set back in the early ‘90’s. Back then, when I first started running marathons, I set as a goal to run a marathon in each of the 7 New England States including New York. Up until Clarence DeMar, I had all states but New Hampshire, and although it was a minor goal, it was something I thought about during that entire time, as if a blemish on a record.

With the accomplishment of one goal, the dreams that were set therein forming that accomplishment are now set free to float and flutter abound. When they come down, as if sprinkling into your consciousness in the form of good feelings, they often crystallize together to form other goals. And although it’s too ripe to see inside these sprinkles, a few grains of these seemed to have formed into one that reads “50 States.” I have run a marathon in 14 different states. Perhaps I have 36 remaining…

Splits
1 – 7:14 – Crisp, clear 35 degree morning.
2 – 7:20 – Settling into comfortable pace with conversation.
3 – 7:15 – Trying to ignore there’s *only* 25 people ahead of me.
4 – 7:24 – Ignoring there’s now fewer runners ahead of me.
5 – 6:45 – The lure of open space was too much. I pick up pace.
6 – 6:30 – Trying to catch pack ahead so that I could run with somebody.
7 – 7:49 – Oops… Bathroom Break
8 – 6:25 – Back on the horse in no-man’s land trying to catch pack.
9 – 6:55 – Caught pack but see another ahead.
10 – 6:52 – Trying to catch next pack a quarter mile ahead.
11 – 6:49 – Still trying to catch pack.
12 – 6:48 – Wow. My legs are shot. Still have too much to go.
13 – 6:47 – Starting to pick off several pack runners who are now fading.
13.1 – 1:31:45
14 – 6:46 – Still trying to catch pack.
15 – 6:49 – Finally caught pack.
16 – 7:04 – Sitting in with pack to rest. I’m tired.
17 – 7:02 – So much for the pack – it disintegrates quickly.
18 – 6:48 – I pull away. Running all by myself. Nobody in sight ahead.
19 – 6:59 – Hills are getting to me. Stride a quarter inch going up them.
20 – 6:48 – But still feeling fluid enough on downs, still nobody ahead.
21 – 7:02 – More up hills. Spot two runners and pass.
22 – 6:56 – Open road. Few people around. Wondering about my overall place.
23 – 7:14 – Monster hill. And I mean monster. Pass one guy.
24 – 6:58 – Legs fried but holding on. See guy in white waaay up ahead.
25 – 7:05 – Holding on for dear life as I near guy in white.
26 – 7:04 – Finally catch and pass guy in white. Glance back to make sure he stays there.
26.2 – 1:22 (6:50) – Wow. I held on!
Finish: 3:03:02