2015 Fred Lebow Half Marathon recap

     I'm a runner of habit. I find a race I like, and I continue to do it year after year. So yesterday was my 8th consecutive Manhattan Half Marathon, now officially rebranded the Fred Lebow Half Marathon  after the late, great first president of NYRR. So running this race each year brings back memories of the past years races - The pre dawn carpools from Montclair NJ to the Upper West Side. Checking the weather forecast obsessively to see just how cold it will be, how many inches of snow we will or won't get (The race was turned into an un-timed, un-scored "fun run" because of heavy snow in 2012), and what direction the wind will be blowing on East Park Drive. Wondering what happens to the ducks in the South Lagoon during the cold (Theories include someone coming by in a truck and relocating them for the winter). Remembering the days when the front pack would be lapping me by mile 7, about to finish their race while I still had a grueling 6 mile slog up and down the cold icy hills until I could make the final turn onto the 72nd street transverse and end this suffer-fest. Hey, the faster you run the quicker you can get back into warm dry clothes and enjoy the free mini pretzels, right?
     Well as I sit here in my warm dry clothes with Grant Green playing on the Hi-Fi, and as the "Nor'Beaster" begins to drop it's 24+" of snow on New York City I'm still replaying yesterday's performance in my head. I like to use this race as a gauge to see how my Boston Marathon training has been going, and what I need to work on and what seems to be working just fine. For starters I ran a PR. Official time was 1:19:01, a personal record of 55 seconds. I ended up in 15th place Overall, back 3 from last year's 12th place finish, and 2nd in my new Age Group. Last year I was able to win the 30-34 Age group with a slower time-showing just how talented a field showed up for this year's race.

Fred Lebowski

     As is usual with this (and so many races) the first 400 meters or so was a lot of jockeying for position, settling into place, and ignoring the sprinters in the lead. After about a mile or two of slightly rolling hills I was settled into a nice chase pack of about 4 or 5 runners. Two of which I made the mistake of underestimating and who took me at the 10 mile mark. It was easy to tell this was going to be a fast race, with the lead out vehicle already completely out of sight by the time we got to the Harlem Hills around mile 4. I was able to drop a few runners in my pack and hung on to the back of a new pack as I moved up a position or two while we descended through the Upper West side, and past the starting point, now about mile 6. I checked my overall pace on my GPS watch and noticed I was holding a 6:02 pace. Last year I had PR'd here by holding 6:07's. "Was this a fool's game?" I thought to myself. Either I was about to pay for my aggressive pace and blow up through the second lap, or I was going to hold this and run a pretty nice PR. To be completely honest, I was confident of a PR, and didn't actually realize just how aggressive I was racing or if I should slow down or speed up. It felt good, so I went with it.
     Right about the 7 mile mark, as the Harlem Hills had broken up my pack I realized I was completely alone. The next runner looked strong, but was at least 100 meters ahead of me. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed my competition was also 100 meters behind me. Great...no man's land. Completely alone, save the little Devil and Angel- one on each shoulder- as they started in with their business. "Quit now! Walk back to baggage check, change into your dry warm ups, and go hang out at the designated meet up spot in Starbucks while you stay warm and wait for all your team mates and friends to come meet you and laugh at you about how you went out too fast and blew up! Its getting painful, and you still have 6 more miles of hills!", the Devil prodded. "Don't listen to him!", the cherub pleaded. "You're somewhere in the top 20 right now. You are running the best half marathon of your life, and your going to give up because it's getting uncomfortable? How do you think everyone else in this race feels?" If only I could stay on pace and get to Mile 8, the Harlem Hills would be the last big challenge. And in what seemed like a blink of an eye, I was powering up the Harlem Hills near Central Park North, slowly starting to lap the walkers, when out of nowhere, a runner with an obvious height to weight disadvantage (think Michael Phelps) to me started passing me. As I looked down at my watch I realized I was slowly giving up time, now struggling to hold 6:13 pace. I held on, only giving up a few seconds and as we finally crested the last big hill and made our descent South, I caught back up, and we absorbed another runner (also built like a swimmer-massive back and shoulders and large arms). I was able to get the words "lets work together to finish this" out, when they both started to pick up the pace. The mile clicked off and we were now were well into mile 10, weaving in and out of hundreds of runners trying to find a hole in the crowd to get the tangent, when I looked at my watch and realized we were now at 5:40 pace. Devil or Angel no longer had any influence, this was a suicide mission to think I could hold this pace for another 2 and a half miles. They had bested me, and all I could think was "I hope they aren't in my age group" (Turns out they were both in the 40-45 age group - proof that younger doesn't always mean faster!). I settled back into a more manageable pace in the mid 5:50's as we hit the 12 Mile mark, and past the starting line for the final time.
     Now weaving in and out of the sea of humanity, I just kept waiting for the break where finishers cut to the left, and those starting their second loop stay to the right. Finally! As I approached the left turn cut-in at 72nd street I knew I had one last finishing kick and was definitely going to PR. But it hadn't occurred to me just where a 6:02 pace would land me. As I kicked into my final sprint, I stared at the clock, clicking away...1:18:57, 1:18:58,  was I actually about to break 1:19? That wasn't even the plan, and just last year I was astonished to break 1:20 for the first time ever. I crossed the line, caught my breath and took a look behind me. The footsteps I heard were only in my head, there was no one behind me for another 39 seconds. I looked again at my watch, and realized I actually hadn't hit stop, but hit "lap", and that my watch was still running. Did I break 1:19? I would have to wait until official results were posted later in the day, to realize I had missed it by a mere 2 seconds. A little cool down, a meet up at Starbucks, and back in the car, Jersey bound.
     And thats's that. I have a new PR. And a new Fred Lebow cycling hat, which I, for one, like. (Yes, I realize I might be the only one the likes it. But I still say it's better than my 400th race shirt.)  I probably won't purchase the pictures but, if you need a visual to my story click here to check out the official race photos. Or maybe don't. I apparently didn't do a good job of getting the gel I took at mile 6 into my mouth and have brown globby stuff all over my teeth and face in the finish line photos. Being a runner of habit, I'll most likely be there again next year, aiming for a new PR, and remembering my first ever Manhattan half in 2008, when I did go out too hard, blew up, and Doug Williams  passed me about mile 12, laughed and asked "what happened to you?" But that's another story for a different day.
-PK


   

Lets start at the present

     I've heard it over and over..."Do you have a blog? You should write about your running, your races, and your (mis)adventures as an endurance athlete and coach." I guess I haven't ever pursued this blog for the reasons that: A) I think I'm a pretty lousy writer, B) I don't think anyone would actually care to read about my training, and coaching experiences, and C) Every time I do try to sit down and write something I end up going back after 24 hours, re-reading it, realizing that what I wrote is not very good, and deleting it. So here it goes- my own running blog. Maybe there will be a post here and there about my other big passion, being a drummer, musician, and drum teacher, but generally I've started this blog for the purpose of running related stories. If you want to know about my drumming life click here to go to my website.
     So lets start at the present- Today, Sunday January 18, 2015. Sunday mornings mean one thing for most runners- long runs. With the Fred Lebow Half Marathon only a week away I was aiming for a  run of about 15 Miles today. I headed out of my house for a 7 AM start at a hosted run a member of The Essex Running Club was having at her home in West Caldwell. The course called for a few residential hills before heading to the West Essex Trail for an out and back 6 miles, then back on the streets and hills for some post-run hot oatmeal and home baked carbs, some conversation while we defrosted, then home by 9:30. The weather forecast- not too great. Just hovering around freezing with heavy rain predicted to really start coming down by 10 AM. Sounded like I'd just make it by the skin of my teeth.
     So as I stood shivering in a driveway in West Caldwell NJ, with the freezing rain beginning to fall in the pre dawn cold I eagerly awaited for my training partners to gather and begin our run. The first mile or two we ran at a comfortable pace, conversing, and enjoying the company of my three other running compatriots. Soon it was just myself and one other runner, affectionally nicknamed "Madman" who had already ran 6 miles from his house to get to the start and was looking to run 22 miles in total. (Do I really need to get into the origins of his nickname?) A few wrong turns and an increasingly icy course later we began noticing our traction getting worse by the minute.
     There was the inevitable slipping and sliding, until we realized the street was becoming a solid sheet of ice, as the sidewalks had apparently already been for some time. So along the suburban lawns of western Essex County we continued, slipping and sliding, turning our watches off and on every 30 seconds. (Madman who doesn't turn his watch off at brief stops says we were running at a  10 min + pace.) As I tried to convince him we would be sure to have great footing if only we could finally reach the trail head, and he tried to convince me that this was not only completely pointless but downright dangerous we began to turn back and walk. As we crept across the frozen sidewalk, now about to throw in the towel, we found a small park with two adjacent baseball diamonds. Finally getting some decent traction on the grass we looped and looped and made figure 8's around and around the tiny park for another 4 miles. What had become an aggravating exercise to just stay upright was actually becoming fun again. We traded stories of playing in the rain in our younger days, and wondered who were the bigger idiots: us running around this little park for 15+ laps or the slipping and sliding cars on the nearby street. We both agreed-if not for one another's company this would be a total nightmare.

Your author's failed attempt at rehydration

     As we finally made it back to the hosted run at exactly 10 Miles, we got into some dry clothes, gathered around a warm fireplace, re-loaded up on some homemade carbs, watched runners slide in the door, and swapped stories of how many times we fell, how many miles we didn't complete, and checked our phones to read the official reports of how bad it all really was. The salt spreader who glided into 3 cars, the runner from our club who was picked up on her way home by a good Samaritan in his brand new SUV only to slide and crash it minutes later, the reports of slippery ice covered streets, the 38 car pileup on the Turnpike, and the 400 reported car accidents. Suddenly those extra 5 miles I didn't run didn't seem to matter. I was warm, safe, with friends, and about to finally get into the car and drive home now that the travel restrictions had been lifted and the roads finally safe to navigate. Madman of course ran his 6 Miles back home. (I still don't need to explain the nickname, do I?)

     So my first race of 2015 is now 7 days away, and I guess you can say I started my taper by default. The forecast calls for dry, but cold conditions this week, and on race day. Will it really matter as I'm racing in Central Park next weekend that I was forced to cut my run short? Probably not. I finally got the inspiration I needed to start up this blog, and I've added another story to my arsenal about playing in the rain in my younger days. After all the training and suffering we do isn't it mostly about having fun and spending time with friends anyway?
-PK