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.
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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
Nicely done, nicely written.
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