H called the night before (he is running the Boston Marathon Monday). I'm sure I sounded miserable but he gave me a great pep talk that helped me a ton during the race. I think just knowing I wasn't alone in having to run a marathon during strange circumstances and had supportive words was a big boost. I paced myself carefully and slowed down as appropriate to get myself through. At mile four I felt like I wasn't working hard at all, and yet my legs were giving strong warnings that they were close to breaking down. At mile ten it felt like I had run a very long way, and asked myself, "How much farther?" and the answer of sixteen miles sounded incredibly daunting. At that moment it was like, "whoa, the marathon is no small feat". But once I got halfway done it seemed less daunting, and increasingly so as miles ticked by. And M, H, S, and B were cheering me on at various points in the race, giving me a huge boost each time.

At mile nineteen there is a turnaround. I thought I was all alone, but as soon as I turned around I realized there was a pack of twenty people directly behind me, chasing. Suddenly all I could hear was the sound of feet running behind me, and that put a competitive spark in my running that I haven't felt in a long time. I stayed ahead of that sound for many miles, working hard, amazed at how well I was running and that the two people behind me were keeping up.
At mile twenty-four, with only two miles to go in the race, all I could wonder was "how am I going to get through these last two miles?". A runner who had been running hard right behind me for the last several miles made a move to pass, but I let that carry me along so we ran side-by-side. We ran this way for a while, one person would push the pace, the other would keep up, then the other would push pace harder. We were going faster and faster. I was so wrecked and tired that I forgot that it wasn't two years ago when I was running the same course in the best shape of my life. And there was extra motivation, it hurt, but if I could ride this wave and get this thing over with quickly let's do that! With a mile-and-a half to go we ran almost forty second faster pace than the rest of the race. For the last half mile I was running faster than I had two years ago. I crossed the finish line after running a big negative split in just over three hours, a time I am incredibly happy with.

I went into the race assuming it was going to be a disaster. I might have been feeling a bit dramatic in my own head, but those weeks of anxiety had taken a toll on me and I was almost hoping it would be a disaster so I could call it the last run of my life and be done with running forever. But boy, I gotta say, the thrill of letting some unforeseen inner strength take over at mile nineteen and carry me along for the last seven miles was pure magic, reminding me of why running marathons is so awesome. Dagonnit! Maybe I need to sign up for 2022 Boston Marathon after all.

My wife drops me off at the starting line. On the car ride I decide to run barefoot, knowing full well that there is a high likelihood that this choice means sacrificing the race. Ultimately, this is the mentality that brought me to barefoot running in the first place. Rather than put too much focus on maximizing speed and trying to create a guaranteed outcome, forge ahead into the great unknown along an uncertain path. I already have a pretty good idea of what's behind door number one. Whammy or big bucks, I want to see what's hiding behind door number two. I hop out of the car and meet up with fellow runners. I’m a little discombobulated, I had meant to leave my sandals in the car but now I have them with me. I will need to either wear the sandals for the race, or put them in someone else’s drop bag. Volker helps me out. I wrap the sandals up in my extra shirt and Volker deposits the drop bag to be picked up after the race is over. We run a brief warmup. The area is surfaced with horrible pebbles. My feet are begging for mercy and I cry uncle. A few minutes before the race starts I run over to the drop bag area to see if I can get my sandals back. Alas the sandals are already en route to the start. Maybe it’s for the best. I dug my grave now it’s time to lie in it.

Is this all just race anxiety? Or are these concerns real? Yes to both, they are one and the same.

Over 2,000 runners are lined up at the start. We observe the giant U.S. flag hanging from a firetruck ladder while the national anthem plays.

Pre-race announcements are made, including an unprecedented mention about somebody running the race barefoot. I get a few amused looks from the runners around me. Meanwhile I’m feeling more than a little insecure about this whole situation.

The race starts promptly 15 minutes late. The first 50 feet are on the worst type of gravel road. I started up near the front so I have got to suck it up and run fast to avoid getting trampled. Next up is the annoyingly pebbly road we warmed up on. A slight uphill is followed by a big downhill with several particularly steep sections and sharp turns. The moment of truth comes at the two-mile mark: the newly paved bike path.

The bike path... is... it's... perfect! It's as though the path is so new and smooth that debris hasn’t yet had a chance to accumulate. What a relief! I immediately relax and pick up the pace. I get into race mode and look for folks ahead of me to gradually catch up to. I’m in no rush, 13.1 miles is a long way. Around the halfway point I am approaching two runners. Just as I catch up to one of them, my wife and her friend are spectating enthusiastically. Shortly after, a runner up ahead starts walking. He said it's his hamstring. I am feeling it too, I ask, "your right hamstring"? "Yeah!". The bike path has a slight left lean that allows water to run off when it rains. This slight unevenness is taking a toll after running on this unusual surface for so long.

One 50-foot long unpaved section of the path is covered in the gnarliest of railroad rocks and gravel, marring the otherwise smooth surface. Yikes. A baiting crowd is cheering apprehensively at the end of this gauntlet.

I pick up the pace and charge through. It’s much easier to hang on with intense focus for 10 seconds rather than drag it out to a painful 25 second tiptoe. The elevated effort triggers something in the brain that immediately embraces the aggressive approach and it's over before I know it.

I see a runner taking a break up ahead. I go by, and he quickly catches back up. I’m feeling ok so I keep pace. After a moment of silence we chat for a bit. With two miles left, the bike path is coming to an end. He warns me of some upcoming sharp turns.

The remaining roads are rough. The course makes its way onto the bike path along the Hudson River for the final stretch. We are now running along this painted green path, "stay on the green!". The roughly textured path is killing my feet which by now are sensitive and tender. I am just thankful that the previous nine miles weren’t like this! I can deal with it, knowing that the end is near. All manner of expletives drool from my mouth. I do my best to dole them out while I'm alone and curb them while spectators are watching.

I push hard to the finish, completing what turned out to be an excellent race. As soon as it's over, I feel much better. The unknowns are now knowns. The source and destination of all my anxieties are behind me. I can look back and say I’m very happy with the outcome and wouldn’t have changed a thing. I just might need a few days of taking it easy after this. Not such bad thing once in a while.

The Hyannis marathon involves repeating a 13.1 mile loop two times. During my first loop, packs of half marathoners keep me company. This is the first marathon in five years that I have run with a solid block of training making me feel 100% prepared. I focus entirely on staying relaxed and keeping to my planned pace.

As I near the end of the first lap, I know that M is waiting with a big bag of stuff. I carefully plan exactly what I want to change into. I am in brutal condition and behaving like a caveman as I approach the love of my life repeatedly screaming, “BAG!”, “BAG!” while she takes pictures with her phone. “I have your bag right here!”. “PUT IT ON THE GROUND AND OPEN IT”.

“BROWN SWEATER MITTENS!”. M rifles through the bag and hands over everything I need. I trade my shirt for a wool sweater, and my new awful gore-tex gloves for my old trusty cycling wind-breaker mittens. Ahhh the sweater feels good even as it catches the rain. The pit stop takes no more than 30 seconds.

At this point I am a little better equipped but my poor skinny bare legs are suffering. The wind is blasting my face and soaking wet chest. Usually a tailwind provides a pleasant break, but not today. The ice cold wind finds it’s way up my wet back and makes me shriek with discomfort. Meanwhile areas of the road are flooding several inches, which serves as my only comfort because the ice water feels strangely warm on my numb feet and legs.

At mile 16 my ambitious plan switches over to my conservative plan. At mile 20 I am unable to keep pace with my conservative plan, and I just can’t pick up my frozen legs fast enough. My pace steadily drops mile after mile. I’m losing confidence in my co-ordination and am just trying to avoid falling on my face with my stumbling legs. Meanwhile I’m all alone, running down the middle of the road, with cars driving by at fast speeds. My priorities become: don’t fall over, don’t get run over, and keep moving forward.

I don’t catch up to anyone, and despite my steady decline, no marathoners catch up to me. I am pretty sure I’m in second place, and I never let go of the possibility that #1 is fading worse than I am, that I might catch him towards the end of the race no matter how much I slow down. However he dressed properly and ran a great steady race, completing the race 5 minutes ahead of my goal finishing time, and 15 minutes ahead of my actual finishing time. With 4 miles to go my peripheral vision is flickering but I realize that stopping will only delay my arrival at the finish line so I run along as fast as my legs will let me.

In my day-to-day living, I have a lot of raw emotion that only gets occasional releases that are carefully governed. I absolutely love competing, I love being able to simply run faster and in doing so unleash my deepest aggression. While running there are many opportunities in which the pace you run can be nice and supportive to those around you. On the other hand, pace can be wielded as a weapon with which to crush your opponents. Well you know what? While racing, more often than not my instinct is to crush kill and destroy. At some point I gave myself carte blanche to let that beast out of it's cage during races. I'm not sure there is any safer or more appropriate place to let that out. And it's a bizarre dynamic, to try to crush others by crushing ones self more. The purpose? A race is a vision. I can visualize the event, with competitors I respect, fear even, and rather than shy away, choose to show up and throw down and give it my all. Finishing on top is but one of many possible outcomes. But it's the outcome we are all pushing for. I would be gypped if the competition weren't doing everything they could to destroy me. I owe it to them to do the same.

I felt pretty good before and after the Ghostly Gallop 5k a few weeks ago. For the first time in a year or more I feel like I am able to get some decent training runs in while still feeling good for races. I would love to keep this going. I've had some great races this year, but they have been islands in a sea of aches and pains resulting in poor training. At the Stockade-athon last year, I had to run easy because of the beginning of injury setting in. The year before I woke up before the race with a nasty case of vertigo where I couldn't walk straight and was falling into walls on my way to brushing my teeth. Fortunately the vertigo was mostly gone once the race started, and it turns out that balancing is easier while running at full speed, much like while riding a bike.

The weather is cold today, too cold for barefoot. I arrive with a big bag of clothing to choose from, but at the last minute decide to err on the side of being a little chilly with sandals, shorts, gloves, and a long-sleeved shirt. I have been obsessing over the list of entrants, and am most worried about TVO and KL, two masters runners from nearby counties in Vermont and Massachussets. KL won the masters division at last year's Stockade-athon and TVO is has been a fierce competitor at many of the races I've been running lately.

My plan is to start conservatively. I always try to not get carried away with everyone running too fast at the beginning. A lead pack of runners takes off immediately out of reach. A second ball of runners forms behind them just ahead of me. With the wind in my face and TVO at my side I run a little harder than planned in order to draft along with the pack. We cruise along together for a few miles. As soon as we start settling into a steady rhythm I suddenly have a premonition of running comfortably to the end and then getting outkicked by the competition. Without much speedwork I don't expect to have any extra kick for the end of the race, so it's important that I put in the effort early on and don't wait until the end. TVO is my main concern right now, and my vicious competitive side takes over and increases the pace a little which decreases the comfort level. I think I can keep this up, but now instead of a sure thing a little bit of risk of blow-up has been introduced.

After mile 4, the ball of runners has gotten ahead of me and TVO has fallen back a bit. I'm largely on my own. The runners up ahead are all familiarly faster than me, so as much as I'd love to catch them I don't feel any shame following them to the finish. It's hard to keep as strong an effort when I'm in no-man's land. I don't know my pace since I didn't bring a watch, but I can tell my effort level isn't as much as it might be if there were more nearby runners providing immediate pressure. And it's just as well, an increased effort level could very well break me by the end.

At mile 8 or so we run around a lake where it's easy to look to my left and see if anyone is coming up behind me. I only see one green singlet behind me, a fellow Willow Street teammate. It seems like enough distance separates us that I should be able to hold onto my place, but within a few short minutes BL catches right up to me. We run together through the cemetery, then he blazes off ahead down the final stretch.

I cross the finish line and eagerly watch for other runners. AK finishes in a great time, taking the 2nd place masters spot, followed by TVO and the remaining masters runners. I am thrilled, but can't help but wonder if there are alternatives to the ruthless approach?

35 runners make their way across the grassy field on the first of two laps around Delaware Park in Buffalo. This race includes only the 40-49 age group. A few days ago I tried running at a fast pace for a mile and had all kinds of problems, so I’ve already decided not to push too hard at the start of this race. If I’m going to hold it together for 3.1 miles, my best shot is to ease into it. It also helps that TVO ran the 50-59 race a few hours ago and warned me that the course looks simple and flat, but is hillier and rougher than it looks.

A few familiar fast runners take off ahead while I settle into a group of 5 runners. There is a stiff headwind, so I just try to relax and let the group pull me along for the first lap. I had plenty of time during the drive to Buffalo to scrutinize the competition, and I’m pretty sure I’m right in the pack of runners I need to stick with. Someone from the sidelines yells “go Tim” to the guy right in front of me. Sure enough, Tim is one of the dudes I need to watch out for. We both ran a one mile race this year, and he was one second faster.

The course winds its way awkwardly past soccer fields, baseball diamonds, trees, and park benches. Two sacks of dried concrete sit in the center of the marked course. Because I’m in a tight group, avoidance is not an option so I leap over the sacks.

As I run, my eyes are nearly blinded by the sunlight reflecting off the giant metal spikes on all my competitors’ shoes surrounding me. The flags marking the course occasionally take us off the grass and onto a bike path surfaced with black quartz. The black rocks look like indian warheads, terrifying in bare feet, but during a warmup run I learned that it feels surprisingly soft as the loose stone presses into the sandy trail. When we run on this ugly surface I feel compelled to run extra fast rather than expose any weakness. It’s a little to soon, but once I start running a little faster I keep it up and chase down the next small group of runners.

By the second lap I’m gaining confidence that I can hold onto this pace. Meanwhile some of the runners ahead are blowing up, I can only imagine that they are making the same discoveries that TVO warned me about. Rather than stay too comfortable I keep scooting ahead catching several runners, with one competitor staying nearby. Nearing the end of the second lap I stay in front of him, but in the last two hundred feet he gives a strong kick and puts some good distance between us. Me, I am super psyched to have held it together for this race and don’t try to outkick him and end up finishing the race in the same second as him, albeit several feet behind.

It was another fun race, I think it was my first race this year where I felt reasonably good before, during, and after. I'm hopeful that this is the beginning of some decent training and a good running year next year!

Several runners stop on the sidelines to pee on trees. Rain is coming down steadily. Various pieces of runner trash litter the ground including hats, gloves, goo packs, and discarded shirts. A folded green rectangle attracts my attention. As it comes closer and I pass over it, I recognize President Jackson’s visage: it’s a twenty dollar bill! Pause for a second.

I am a scavenger by nature. Anything I can find I pick up. A piece of webbing, a metal meter stick, skateboard parts, a carabiner, a trailer pin, and other side-of-the-road refuse are just a few examples of items I have excitedly bent over, picked up, and carried home on my long runs. In fact I still have each of these treasures. The ultimate prize would be any form of cash. Pennies, nickels, you name it. This comes from my upbringing. The saying goes, if you find a penny heads side up all day long you'll have good luck. In my family this was considered absurd. It’s good luck to find a penny, end of story. Heads or tails or covered in mystery slime makes it no less lucky. My father would not hesitate to pull the car over at the merest glint of shining metal that might indicate a coin score.

Back to the race. Twenty dollar bill huh? Now that I have passed the bill, am I willing to stop, reverse my direction, bend over and pick it up? I would lose seconds off my time. Heck I could pull a muscle and my day could be over! Most importantly, today is all about fighting. We are fighting our aging bodies, anxious minds, and the worst weather in recorded Boston Marathon history. The only way to the finish line is to crush all obstacles in our path, including the simple distraction of a twenty dollar bill. Make it a hundred dollar bill! A thousand! It matters not. We’re not here to scavenge. I glance back and watch in amusement as the bill disappears in the distance, getting passed by countless runners. It’s as useless to us as any other wet piece of paper on the ground. That’s when you know this is different from a routine run. This is a race.

Pre-Race

I repeatedly pop my umbrella right-side-in as the wind blasts it inside-out while I make my way to the Boston Commons and hop on the yellow school bus to the start. I am capable of imagining worse weather so at least I have that going for me. The heat is blasting on the bus. Rules are posted at the front of the bus, things like, “Keep hands, feet, objects, and negative comments to self”. As we get close to the start, an inch of snow has stuck to the ground. The bus drops us off at a high school in Hopkinton where giant tents protect us from the falling rain. I am the early bird which means I get one of the few precious seats with a backrest by leaning against a tent pole between two garbage cans. A perimeter of ice surrounds the tent where the snow has slid off the roof. It’s 7:30 and the race starts at 10. With few hours to kill, I have plenty to keep me busy. I sit there and actively try to keep my feet warm, wrapping them in a sweater, sitting on my sandals like a nest to keep them warm, and regularly squeezing out the wetness from my socks. It’s miserable. I look around, what have other people done smarter than me? Oh, nothing, everyone’s in rough shape, shivering and sad looking. Eventually we are called up to go to our corral. I’m in wave 1, corral 8.

The Race

I’m pretty unsure of what pace to shoot for, but trying to get a Boston qualifying time (under 3 hours and 15 minutes) seems like a reasonable goal. I followed a training plan this year, but due to general circumstances I skipped almost all of my key workouts. Fortunately I got in one last decent 20-mile run 3 weeks ago, which is sort of the bare minimum, but at least it gave me confidence that I could survive the marathon. I feel good and keep an average pace of 7:15. At mile 10 my legs go a little wonky (something they’ve been doing lately usually as soon as I run a little faster or longer than I’m used to). I slow down a little and my legs recover, like always. The rain is coming down steady. Occasionally we’ll crest a hill, the wind will be blasting, and the rain comes down in an absolute downpour. It’s exciting! Freezing water just drenches me. “There it is!” That’s the weather we were so afraid of. Fortunately my clothes do a decent job of keeping me reasonably comfortable. At mile 10 I’m in the zone, sort of forgetting where I am. The scream tunnel at Wellesley brings me back to the present. I run along giving high fives, the Wellesley students look like they might explode if I don’t.

As I run I am regularly reminded of how incredible everyone is. The runners, the volunteers, and the spectators. Everyone is out here together making this thing happen despite the worst imaginable conditions, transforming what could be a terrible day into a day no different than a bright sunny Patriot’s Day. This race is amazing. It’s truly an honor to be a part of it.

At mile 13, any freshness has left my legs. It’s going to be work from here on out. I break the race up into pieces. Mile 16-20 are the infamous Newton hills. I just need to cruise up to mile 16, then get through those tough 4 miles and try to leave some energy in reserve for the last 6 miles. The hills come and go. I reach mile 20 and can’t believe how easy it was! I consume a celebratory caffeinated gel pack. Heartbreak Hill was nothing! I’m feeling great so I take off at a fast pace. It’s all smooth sailing from here. As I look around I start getting the impression that something isn’t right. I look ahead. It turns out I had it wrong. The worst of the hills are at mile 20.5, which I now must face after over-exerting myself like an idiot. Oh well. I make sure to proceed up Heartbreak Hill gently. I reach the top and begin the final 6-mile stretch. By mile 22, I am struggling. My left hip is sore and tightening up, and my right knee is misbehaving. I have slowed to 8-minute miles and expect to continue to get slower from here. Unless. Is that… Caffeine kicking in?

Ok, so here are my options. I can downward spiral for the next four miles, running slower as the pain increases, thereby increasing the pain by making the run take longer. OR! How about I just pretend it’s a 5k race and run like a berserker? I *like* running fast. I *want* this to be over with as quickly as possible. Why don’t I just do that?

The next four miles go by effortlessly. I'll pay for this tomorrow but the pain melts away as I increase into a more aggressive pace. I am weaving in and out of runners like a crazy person. At mile 26 I look up to see M and J cheering me on at the sidelines. Seeing them cheering is by far the happiest moment of my race. I wave, point, and yell emphatically. I am wearing the brightest smile of my life, at least I think I am.

I’m flying. I run at a nearly 6 minute pace to the finish. I’m feeling great. I refuse a blanket and forget to pick up my finisher’s medal. Whoops! I double back and get it. Then it’s a short walk to J’s apartment. My brain isn’t functioning but I manage to find my way. I take a hot shower, restoring feeling to my toes, after which we go out for an awesome meal and drive home. Success! What a great year to run! (I can say that now that it's over).

More likely these are phantom pains that all marathoners feel. They are just worse than usual today. Phantom pains combined with a bit of real soreness after a training cycle with more downs than ups.

Logistics are sorted, clothes are picked out, bib and gels are pinned to my shorts. I lay down for 5 hours of deep slumber. Nothing actually matters except waking up, eating breakfast, and getting myself to the starting line. I bundle up and head out the door to the nearest T station. Last year a police officer held open the subway gate saying, "on Patriot's day, marathoners ride for free". For that reason I didn't bring a charlie card with me, not really thinking about the fact that no guardian would be holding the gate open for me, and that the station has no way to buy a charlie card. But that's no big deal. I can just stick my panic-stricken face through the gates and yell, "uhhh would somebody swipe me through? I can give you two dollars." Lucky for me Bostonians are incredibly kind and generous and somebody paid my way.

I get on line for the bus and take a seat. I remain quiet for most of the ride and finally open up to the runner sitting next to me. He's from the midwest, has been running for most of 10 years and has never run the Boston Marathon before. He asks if the crowds are thin for the 'rural' parts of the race. I tell him that last year there were hoards of screaming crowds for the entire 26.2 miles. "Where do they come from?". The occupants of each town along the way show up in mass numbers to represent. Without wanting to give away too much, I describe to him the Wellsley all-girls College. For the better part of a mile, depraved college girls are crawling over each other reaching out for high-fives and kisses, screaming like they're at a Beatles concert. There is more raw energy behind the sidelines than anything 30,000 runners could possibly dish out. He asks if I have advice. Yeah. That's easy. The race begins with several downhill miles. It's impossible not to go out too fast. But do everything you can to hold back at first.

We spend a few hours at the Athletes' Village before being allowed to walk to the starting line. I help myself to a banana and some water. I visit the portapotties, then hide from the intermittently pouring rain under a tent. I walk around a bit and meet up with B. His training has gone incredibly well and it shows. He is confident and ready to run. We chat with C for a bit, who runs a lot of races in Albany.

I head to the starting line. It's an incredible honor to be in Wave 1, Corral 1. I don't expect to run as fast as anyone in the corral, but starting directly behind the elites feels like a once in a lifetime opportunity that I don't want to pass up. I stay in the back of the corral, at the far left. Before long, the elites make their way through. I stick out my hand and high five Meb, Ryan Hall, Sage Canaday, and all the rest.

The national anthem, then the starting gun. We're off! I keep what feels like a comfortable, mellow speed, trying to keep my spirits up while a thousand runners pass me over the next 20 miles. J blazes past in the first mile with a hearty hello. The first 6 miles are effortless. Looking at my watch, miles are ticking by more quickly than I would have planned for, but not so fast as to raise major concerns.

I see some young outstretched hands. I run over to the sideline for some high fives. I slap a larger hand amongst the smaller ones. I look up and hear, "Jake Stookey!". It's C's hand, she's here to cheer on H! What are the odds?

The miles quickly stop feeling easy. Over the next 13 miles or so, a weird sort of hip pre-pain appears and steadily grows. It weighs heavily on my heart as I run. With 20 miles still to run, all I can think about is that it's going to explode at some point. I realize however that I'm running a great pace and it hasn't exploded yet, so I stick with it. The cold and the rain are not helping with the mental aspect of the race. Negative thoughts start to overpower the cheers from the crowd, making for some really difficult miles. My pace slows. I have entered the Newton Hills. 5 miles or so with a significant incline overall. Except I don't know that I'm going uphill. All I know is that I'm going slowly, everything hurts, and that I am sucking. I reach mile 18, where M is going to be cheering for me. Then I reach mile 19 and there's no sign of her. This is my darkest mile. I am truly upset, thinking that I somehow missed seeing her. I make my way to some porta potties. Not really for any good reason, I think I just want to take a break for a minute or so. I've been thinking that I'm not really out of breath while running. However when I stop to take a leak, I can feel my heart pounding and hear my heavy breathing and realize how warped my perception gets during the excitement of a race.

I duck under a rope and get back into the race. Before long I see M on the right and give her a big kiss. As I run away she yells, "Your bleeding nipples!". I look down. Yes indeed, my nipples are bleeding.

I suddenly hit the perfect storm of positive emotions. I indulged in a bit of a rest. I didn't miss M after all. For the first time in the race the remaining miles are not daunting at all. I crest heartbreak hill and hear an announcer say, "this marks the end of the Newton Hills, it's all smooth sailing from here!". As if all of that wasn't enough to lift my spirits, mile 20 means it's time to suck down a caffeinated gel packet.

6 miles? That I can do. I start putting some muscle into the run and passing some of the multitudinous runners who passed me over the first 20 miles. I feel great, like I'm flying. I hold back just a little bit, I can feel the wide open veins in my legs quavering, on the verge of cramping. I catch up to D, a familiar looking sandal-wearing runner. We trade a few words. It turns out he finished two places in front of me at this year's JFK 50 miler. I see J, a local runner with the Willow Street running club who yells out my name.

I know my buddy J will be at mile 26. The rain is really coming down now, and the chill wind is tearing through but I'm feeling great. I hear my name and look to see a bearded face and yell back, waving frantically. Let's bring it on home!

I cross the finish line, amazed at how things turned around for me. I grab a hooded space blanket and a water, and march quickly along to where I'm supposed to meet up with M and J to grab lunch. There is no reason to dilly dally in my soaking wet short shorts and t-shirt. Many people will get hypothermia today, let's just hope it's not me. I walk briskly for several blocks. A runner walks up behind me and says, "Are you from Albany? I'm used to seeing you run barefoot, I hardly recognized you in sandals". The lucky guy takes a right into his warm hotel. I keep walking. Eventually taking a right into the subway station, from which a steady stream of piss-warm subway air wafts out. Another runner says, "I've never been so happy to hang out in a subway station."

Before long we all meet up and grab an awesome lunch at the same restaurant and same table as last year.

The soreness is generally mild, it never causes me to limp or show any kind of visible swelling. Two things seem to make it feel worse:

1) Extreme running - Long bouts of running long and/or hard
2) Extreme rest - Lounging around on the couch

Things that make it feel good include simple sane activities like walking, biking a few miles, or yardwork.

The soreness makes me feel uncomfortable while sitting, sleeping, running, etc., so pretty much most of the time. Worse than anything else is how it weighs on my spirit by making all future running endeavors seem like a bad idea.

Each knee 'pops' only once if I hop on a bike and pedal a few times. Or if I walk upstairs. This occurs every morning, and a few times throughout the day. Also at times there is a mild crunching or creaking in my knees when I bend them. I suspect the soreness is a result of whatever friction causes this creaking, which over time causes irritation.

It's difficult to pinpoint the location of the soreness, except to say that usually feels like it occurs deep within my knee, right in the center there. At times when it's the most accute, soreness appears on the inside of the knee, which as I understand it suggest s that it's not IT-band related.

Sometimes I notice that my knees want to bend inward while I'm running. It's very slight, but my knees sometimes knock together, and feels related to the soreness on the inside of the knee. It's as if the inside of the knee wants to collapse just a little with each step. We had a coach in high school with knees that bowed inward pretty badly while walking, it feels kinda like the very early stages of that.

My upper leg muscles seem very tight. Not in a stiff-legged way, but often times the muscles don't feel like 'flesh', instead the feel like thick leather, or to exaggerate a little: almost like rock or metal.

I've come to look at the knee as not a 'thing'. The knee is a void between your upper and lower leg. So the cause of knee soreness is not the knee, but everything around it: the upper leg, lower leg, feet, hips, etc.

I usually do yoga at work once a week, and our really excellent yoga instructor R, keeps encouraging us and me in particular as an inflexible runner, to work on 'hip openers', suggesting that it will work wonders for running. Being stubborn, I'm not easily convinced, and the anatomical whys and wherefores are all too complicated for me to wrap my head around.

I was talking to H who has been feeling perhaps similar pain in his knees. He went and saw a doctor about those knees. The Doc probed his knees and said,

"Where's it hurt, here?"

"Yup."

"And what about your ankles, does it hurt here?" (probe probe)

"Yeah."

Followed by an explanation that what happens to runners who run too much without giving the body a chance to keep up. He said that the hips gradually get tight which affects the biomechanics of the legs. An inward tendency starts with the hips and works it's way quickly to the knees and the rest of the leg.

I find it interesting how well this resonates with how I've been feeling as well as the recommendations from my yoga instructor. Putting it all together, it seems that maybe the 'hip openers' R has been pushing are worth focusing on. For the most part, this includes three yoga poses:

Frog Pose
Pigeon
Knee to Ankle Pose - Second pose in the video

Links

R's Yoga Studio - We are very lucky to have her instruct us once a week, highly recommended

This year I focused on racing. Race, recover, race, recover. For next year I'm thinking I'd like to focus on training. Train train train race, Train train train race. With some races mixed in of course. Which will mean a change in focus from filling my weeks with regular long runs to harder efforts on fresh legs. I have built a foundation of endurance and would benefit from working on strength and form at faster paces.

I came across this Youtube video yesterday.

Transcription: "You're gonna do 3x200@33 seconds with 200 meter recovery, then you're gonna do 5x1000@3:08 with 300 meter recovery, and then 3x200... 33, 32, 31 200 meter recovery, that's an old Oregon Team Workout if you can do that you've got sub 15."

Makes a "sub 15" 5k (4:50 pace) sound easy right? Just one long sentence is all it takes. Right now my PR is 17:30 so I've got a long way to go. Pace calculators tell me that if I ran a hard 5k on a good day I should be able to hit 16:41 (5:22 pace). But I am interested in how to push past the pace calculators.

In table form:
warmup
3x200@33s w/200 meter recovery (4:24 pace)
5x1000@3:08 w/300 meter recovery (5:00 pace)
3x200@33s, 32s, 31s, w/200 meter recovery (4:24, 4:16, 4:08 pace)
cooldown

Mine went more like:
2 mile warmup
3x200@34s w/200 meter recovery (Promising!)
1x1000@3:28 w/200 meter recovery (Ow my calf! Time to slow down)
4x1000@4:00 w/200 meter recovery
3x200@40s w/200 meter recovery
2 mile cooldown

So a conservative workout for me would be:
2 mile warmup
3x200@40s w/200 meter recovery (5:20 pace)
5x1000@4:00 w/200 meter recovery (6:25 pace)
3x200@40s w/200 meter recovery (5:20 pace)
2 mile cooldown

4/1/2016
4 mile warmup
3x200@38,38,40s w/200 meter recovery (5:00 pace)
5x1000@3:47,3:42,3:41,3:43,3:37 w/200 meter recovery (5:55 pace)
3x200@38,36,38s w/200 meter recovery (5:00 pace)
2 mile cooldown

4/19/2016 target for a 16:40 5k/5:22 pace
2 mile warmup
3x200@38s w/200m recovery (5:00 pace)
5x1000@3:30s w/200m recovery (5:35 pace)
3x200@38,37,36 w/200m recovery (5:00,4:52,4:44 pace)
2 mile cooldown

The above plan was cancelled because a lacrosse game was being played on the track, but I tried again on 5/24, and ended up running faster than targeted:
target for a maybe 16:26 5k/5:18 pace
2 mile warmup
3x200@36s w/200m recovery (4:50 pace)
5x1000@3:24s w/200m recovery (5:28 pace)
3x200@36,35,34 w/200m recovery (4:50, 4:42, 4:34) (last one was onofficial - watch died)
2 mile cooldown

The 300 meter recovery is really difficult to keep track of, because that breaks up where you start each set. So I did 200 meter recovery instead. Maybe runners do it that way because your starting point helps you keep track of which lap you are on.

As the start time for the race approached, I did a 10-minute warmup jog in my corral. It felt great to move and get the blood flowing a little. We were moved to the starting line at the toll booths on the Verrazano Bridge. World champion runners like Meb Keflezighi, Wilson Kipsang, and Lelisa Desisa were announced and briefly interviewed 15 feet from where I stood. We were yelling within easy earshot, our individual cheers getting attention from the greats. Talk about inspiration for the start of a race! OMG. It was awesome.

The National Anthem played and the race started! I was caught up in a tight group of people for the first mile up the incline of the Verrazano bridge. The wind tore across the bridge nullifying gravity. By that I mean loogies, snot rockets, etc. whizzed horizontally through the air at face level until they either encountered an obstacle or flew off the edge of the bridge. I'd imagine like spitting in a crowded space shuttle.

Before long I started to feel a light sweat under my arms, so stripped down to a light t-shirt, shorts, gloves, and sandals. I prefer to feel the brisk air than to sweat. I'm happy as long as my hands, ears, and feet aren't too cold.

I was optimistically running at a 6:15 pace without bothering to take the stiff headwind into account. By mile 4 I was already starting to feel the burn from running, not a good thing with 22 miles still to go. I felt no commitment to stay at that pace, but figured I would stick with it and see how it went.

For most of the early miles I constantly heard, "Go Superman!". Apparently a costumed character was running nearby. One hilarious little kid didn't seem to quite get it. He thought we all looked funny. He was yelling, "Go superheros!" to everybody.

I was eager to hit a new borough but it felt like I was stuck in Brooklyn limbo forever. The whole first half of the race is in Brooklyn. At around the halfway point I saw the back of a familiar-looking head in a purple singlet. I could have sworn it looked like B's nephew S who ran in my van at the 2013 Adirondack Ragnar. I recalled that he lives in the area, ran the NYC marathon last year, runs at a similar pace as mine... It's entirely possible it's him. As I drew close, sure enough, it was S. We greeted each other and talked a bit as we ran together for several miles. What a lucky break, having someone to run with during the middle-mile doldrums.

Somewhere on the Queensboro Bridge we parted ways. The course is on the lower level under a steel ceiling and my GPS watch went wacky. I tried to take in the amazing view as we approached the giant wall of skyscrapers of Manhattan. I made sure to stake my territory by running in the center of the middle lane. It's not very often foot traffic owns the bridge, but today, this bridge belongs to ME. Large plastic water bottles labelled with handwritten elite bib numbers sparsely littered the bridge. The elite runners get special water stations where they can deposit their drink of choice. The scavenger in me was tempted to grab a bottle with one of the top runners' numbers on it to keep as a souvenir. Kinda gross though: "He DRANK out of this!" so I just kept running.

It was an incredible feeling descending into Manhattan. Nobody was on the lower level of the bridge to cheer so there is a moment when you go from dark, quiet, windy silence to roaring crowds cheering in the sun. I knew I could expect to see M in the upcoming crowd which put another huge spring in my step. Previously I had been focused on things like keeping pace and drafting, but at this point I was just running. The road was six lanes wide and Mindy could be on either side. At mile 18 I heard her yelling my name from the far side of the road so I made a sharp right to run perpendicular to the other runners to give her a big hug, much to the surprise of the Man in the Yellow Shirt.

I'm running into the wind behind two other guys. A woman on the side shouts, "way to work together!". The guy in the Blacktoe shirt, leading the pack, looks back and freaks out. He yells to the guy behind him, "What the hell how about somebody else takes the lead? I had no idea there were 60 people drafting behind me!"

After that, some of the positive energy started wearing off. I could feel The Wall approaching. The cure was in my shorts: a caffeinated gel packet, but I made the decision to hold off until mile 20 before playing that card, which meant a mile or so of perseverance. At mile 20, as soon as that mocha flavored energy hit my tongue, I felt ready to take on the final 6.2 miles.

The crowds really picked up at this point. Runners had spread out, so I was enjoying some individual attention from the people yelling from the sides. At one point I watched as a woman from the sidelines yelled in slow motion, "Hey guy in flip floooooops... I thiiiink thaaat iiiis awwwwsommme!!". I was super psyched to hear M calling my name again at mile 23 for another much needed hug and boost of support.

For the last several miles I picked up the pace a little. Or to be more realistic, I slowed less than most other runners. It felt great. I was smiling, enjoying the cheers, and picking off runners. Meanwhile, photographers from Marathonfoto were everywhere. I couldn't resist trying to get captured in some goofy poses. As I came into view of one photographer, I was all set to present my ultimate pose but she actually put down the camera to point at me and yell something about the flip flops. Lol.

Another woman was standing on the sidelines. Her hand was outstretched. I'm pretty sure it was there for high-fiving. However, she was talking to a friend, her face pointed away from the runners, having long since forgotten about her outstretched hand. I ran past and at the last second my hand shot out to give her an unannounced high-five. I wish I could tell you her reaction, but there was no looking back. Laughter? Anger? The world will never know.

We ran around the southern end of Central Park and took a right turn. Mile marker 26 let us know we were on the very final stretch, just 0.2 miles to go. I picked up my pace, enjoying the guilty pleasure of passing people. Suddenly in front of me a runner seized up, grabbed his quad, and limped to the sidelines. I thought to myself, "don't be that guy" and slowed back down a little.

I cross the finish line. Smiling from ear-to-ear I collect my finisher's medal. Someone wraps a tiny thin space blanket around me and tries to tape it on with a flimsy piece of NYC-marathon branded tape. Meanwhile another volunteer hands me a 10-pound ball and chain to carry for the next few hours. It is a bag with 3 large drink bottles, an apple, power bars, and god knows what else. All I know is that I needed 3 hands to hold the space blanket, another two to hold the sack of crap, and some new legs to carry me out of here. As thirsty and starving as I am I don't have the hands or the time to ingest anything in the bag. I still have my wits about me at this point. I need to get to Family Reunion Area S where M would be waiting with warm clothes. As I am now, I'm very nearly naked in a howling winter wind so the sooner the better.

I walk forever through a gauntlet of thousands of volunteers. At first it's nice, they say, "congratulations you did awesome, how do you feel?" And I respond with a hearty smile and "thank you I feel great!". By the 100th conversation like this every half second, my responses get slightly less enthusiastic at which point their true raison d'être is revealed. Now they grab my elbow and say, "are you all right? Do you need the medical tent"? I give a big fake smile and "no thank you, feel awesome!". I want to say, "I just ran a f'ing marathon I'm f'ing freezing I need to get to my f'ing wife with my warm clothes as quickly as possible. Do you have a teleporter to teleport me to Family Reunion Area S? If so great, otherwise get out my face". But I am well aware that the punishment for any kind of backtalk will mean getting dragged kicking and screaming to the dreaded medical tent where I will freeze to death all the while getting interrogated, poked by needles, signing papers, anything but warm clothes and a shortcut home.

I lie through my chattering teeth to another hundred volunteers and tell them how great I feel. I get to a fork in the road. To the right is baggage pickup, the long walk in the wrong direction for people who dropped off warm clothes at the starting line. For people who did not drop off warm clothes, there is a shortcut to the left. I notice signs saying, "You must have a NO BAGGAGE bracelet to take the shortcut". Bracelet? WTF? I got no baggage to pick up. I'm TAKING the SHORTCUT. I walk to the left. Volunteers surround me. "Do you have a bracelet?" Yes I have a bracelet. It's right here. You don't see it? Hm, it must be under one of my gloves. Or maybe the other glove. That's funny I HAD a bracelet. It must be here somewhere. This guy does not give up. He escorts me to the baggage lane. On the other side of the fence I see other runners getting repeatedly harassed for their bracelet and I realize there's no point in fighting it I'm taking the long way home.

I walk past van after van containing peoples' drop bags starting with van 50,000-49,000. Followed by 49,000-48,000. And so forth down to 1,000. I watch shivering as countless prepared runners collect their drop bags and change into warm clothes. I occasionally try to jog but realize I will definitely hurt myself trying to run carrying this giant grocery bag so I just keep moving. It feels like hours before I get to exit central park. Of course now I'm way far north of where I need to be. I head south in a tightly caged in area. Nobody is here, I am very alone. I walk and walk. After forever I get to the area where "NO BAGGAGE" bracelet people took the shortcut. On the other side of the fence, volunteers are wrapping those people in giant wind proof fleece blanket ponchos. OMG this sucks. Not only did I have to take the long walk of shame without the benefit of collecting warm clothes, but I'm also going to miss out on the warm blanket. I hold back my tears. Eventually the two paths merge. I put on my best "sneaking into a concert" face and make my way backwards to the shortcut lane. I pass a few blanket volunteers, turn around, and act like I have a bracelet. I target a vulnerable youth volunteer, less likely to be adamant with the bracelet check, who thankfully wraps me in happy stolen warmth.

Signs point the way to "Family Reunion". They have been swirling around in the wind for hours and are now pointed every which-way. I ask a volunteer where the reunion area is. She says ask someone else. I work my way along, asking volunteers who keep pointing me south and naming different street intersections 12 blocks south, plus a few blocks west. I finally reach the street where my reunion area is! All I have to do now is work my way west and I am there! I start to walk but a wall of cops stops me. "You can't enter here. You can only exit via 64th street or 58th street". My jaw drops, are you kidding me? These guys are serious so I head back north and exit there. I walk along a quiet street. I'm hugging the poncho hood to my face for warmth. I am marching and not paying attention. I walk blindly onto Broadway as a Taxi honks and yells. That was a close call. As I turn around and head south, the cabbie screams at a NYPD traffic officer for letting me wander into the street. Like it was his fault.

Oh the suffering. This is the worst. I make my way to the intersection where I'm told I will find Family Reunion area S. I finally get there. It is a line of hundreds of normal people as they wait to get scanned by cops before entering the Reunion Area. I skip my way to the front and look to see that the reunion area is the place I was trying to exit from half an hour ago when they told me I wasn't allowed to exit there. There is no sign that I can see saying, "S", it's just a place like any other. I asked to get through, they told me to get on the end of the line. I look around for M, maybe she's over there. I don't see her so I hang my head and drag my feet to the end of the line. I stand there for 30 seconds when M comes running over. She had just arrived and had gotten on line only minutes before! We did it!

I put on warm clothes and we skedaddle. As it turns out even if I had gotten to the meeting place sooner, I would still be standing there in the cold waiting so maybe things worked out for the best.

Things to keep in mind if I ever do this again:
* Eat a good breakfast and bag a good lunch for the start
* Bring lots of disposable warm clothes to the start, to be donated in the corral
* Think about doing a drop bag. Warm clothes at the finish are a good thing to have. Or if not, be sure to wear the special 'no drop bag' bracelet or else you get stuck with a very long cold walk and no warm cape to wear.
* Arrange transportation ahead of time as soon as possible - I mean MONTHS before the race. I've heard advice recommending the ferry. Because the roads close early and the buses need to guarantee your safe arrival, they get you to the start way early which means sitting around in the cold. The ferry is more flexible. It would have been great to arrive at 7:30 or 8am instead of 6:15.