Blessing of the Fleet

Among the many wonderful things about being a runner is the fact that getting older comes with some perks. Earlier this year, I joined the ranks of the Masters division, which instantaneously catapulted me from a mediocre open runner to a decent Masters runner. I've found myself looking around in the starting corral, trying to gauge the age of other runners. It's something of a race within the race, and at big ones like the Blessing, it's easy to lose sight of the other old guys among the throngs of younger racers after the gun sounds. It feels a little like those chase scenes on the sidewalks of New York, where the good guy is trying to track down the bad guy and has to contend with all of the other interlopers. Anyway, it's been really fun, and the Blessing (which is what this post is all about, in case that wasn't clear) was my first time vying for a placing in the Masters division of a big race.

As has been the case in most years I've done the Blessing, I had no idea how fast I could expect to run, so I gave myself a target of 5:45 pace (57:30 total time) based loosely on how I'd done previously at this race and where I estimated my fitness to be. This time, however, I promised myself to go no faster than that pace until at least the start of Mile 7. My mantra was 2/3 pacing, 1/3 racing. I would stay patient until Mile 7, watching the pace and keeping it around 5:45, and then I'd forget the watch and start to race.

With the race starting on a gradual downhill, it's always a challenge to hold back. To counterbalance this, I started farther back in the pack than usual. This put me in quite a bit of traffic for most of the first mile, perfectly doing its job of keeping my competitive juices at bay. However, it also meant that I had completely lost track of the few 40+ guys I knew were in the field. Rather that worry about it, I put my head down, kept a steady pace, and waited to see what the race brought me. 

I'm somewhere in that sea of people. (Photo from RI Independent.)

Over the first three miles (5:43, 5:45, 5:40), I passed gads of people, old and young alike, and entering mile 4, I pulled up behind Mike Daniels -- a fellow Master -- and his TNT teammate. I thought about going right by but decided to hang out for a bit and keep the big move in my pocket for later. The pace slowed (5:50 for the 4th mile) but staying put proved to be a very wise decision, as those guys had a different race plan that apparently involved a bigger move of their own up the hill just after turning off Ocean Road. I couldn't safely match it without burning myself, so I hoped I'd find a way to regain contact up the dreaded 108 section. This didn't happen either, as I lost even more ground and slowed a bit more than I would have liked. Miles 5 and 6 were 5:47 and 5:55. 

The start of mile 7, where I'd planned to start "racing" coincides nicely with our departure from 108 onto shaded, quiet roads. I let myself open the stride up a bit, stopped looking at my watch, and tried to attach the proverbial tether to the TNT duo. I must have hooked only one of them, as I was able to catch the younger guy but couldn't gain any ground on Mike. I recalled from Strava that he does exceptionally high mileage (his weekly totals are just lower than my typical monthly totals), which, in my estimation, would make him an unlikely candidate for a blow-up in the final miles of a race like this. I couldn't quite say the same for myself. Regardless, mile 7 was a 5:34, and, for now, I was feeling great. 

Then, suddenly, I wasn't feeling quite as great. My legs tired significantly on the tiny climbs over the next two miles. I managed to run 5:45 and 5:44 for 8 and 9 but with increasing effort throughout. I still held out hope that I could close with a big final mile. Unfortunately, just as has happened at every Blessing I've run, I was beset by leg cramps. This time, it was my hamstrings. I had to settle for maintaining pace, trying to keep a short and efficient stride, and avoiding a major issue. This got me through to the final half-mile, where the streets are lined with people, and the mad dash for the finish begins. I decided I had nothing to lose and tried to pick off as many people as I could. The steady pace turned into a furious sprint. I passed five people in the last 100 meters, only to have one young guy nip me back at the line. The final mile was 5:28, with the last 0.1 at <4:40. 

Moments from getting passed back by that young man. (Photo from RI Independent website)

The overall time was 57:33, just a hair off my arbitrary goal. (Note: the official results seem to have missed my chip time, so I'm listed as finishing in 57:39. This is obviously not a big deal, though it meant placing 47th instead of 44th. The horror!) Speaking of age group results, I placed 3rd in the Masters group, 10 seconds behind Mike and another guy who I didn't even know was up there. Congrats to those guys on a great race; I clearly have some work to do. I wish I could have had an uninhibited last mile, but the cramps come with the territory for me, so it's time for some shorter races!

Afterward, I caught up with several racers, took a dip in the ocean with Jonny, and got further drenched in a downpour jogging back to my car. In subsequent days, my legs were insanely sore, as usual, after this race, once again proving the old maxim that leg soreness is inversely proportional to race fitness. 

Results                Independent Article

Bridgton 4 on the Fourth

Among annual traditions, the Bridgton Four on the 4th ranks as perhaps the top non-holiday on my calendar. Coinciding with our yearly trip to Maine, it's a fun, high-energy race with strong competition, and I've done it every year I've been able since 2012. This would be my 7th time -- more than any other race I've ever done.

Part of the tradition of this race is suffering through brutal heat and/or humidity, which are almost givens in Maine in July. Not this year, though. An unusual cold snap had hit the Northeast, and the weather on race morning was rainy with temperatures in the 50s. How odd it was to be bundled up in sweats and a jacket as I drove over to the race that morning!

I'm typically full of nervous excitement on the morning of any race, but this time I was just plain tired and wishing I could take a nap. It wasn't just the dreary day that had sapped my energy; I was 36 hours removed from our trip to Colorado and not yet adjusted to the time zone change. My body was also still recovering from a big hike three days prior I'd done with my friend at high elevation (nearly 14,000 ft) that had me coping with some mild altitude sickness in the ensuing days. I decided to take a ten-minute nap in the car before starting my warmup as a compromise. The most impressive thing I did that day was actually falling asleep in those ten minutes -- a napping feat I've accomplished only a handful of times in my life. 

Post-nap, I took a brief jog over to a not-so-secret potty (the lady coming out before I went in told me, "It's absolutely disgusting in there," and she was underselling it), and got back to the car with just enough time for a quick change of shoes. 

The rain was abating, but still coming down, as the final few minutes ticked away before the race. My legs were still feeling sleepy after my usual 30-second race-pace acceleration, but I assumed they'd feel themselves once the real racing started. 

Speaking of racing, I hadn't done it in quite a long time. It had been just short of 18 months since my last race, thanks to a combination of COVID cancellations and a spate of knee injuries. I've had long layoffs before, so I reminded myself that it would all come back to me (just like Celene promised!). 

A minute or so before the start. I'm in the orange hat on the left of the photo.

I lined up in the second row behind the starting line, along with the other special runners whose bibs gave them the privilege of being in the spacious fast-person area rather than being crammed in behind the rope with the common folk. The race took off right on time, with a group so eight or so flying out to the lead ahead of me. The competition can vary year-to-year at this race, but there are always some fast runners whom I have no chance of staying with, and I am content letting them go right from the start. 

Just after the start, with the eventual winner (right) already seizing a gap. Me and my orange hat are tucked in behind the next set of runners.

My goal in the race was to run sub-22, which seemed doable based my other results at this race and a vague sense of the kind of shape I was in. I'd also hoped to keep alive my streak of four consecutive top-5 finishes. There is some significance to this, as the top five finishers receive awards at the race, and I'm a sucker for extrinsic motivators. 

The course design makes it difficult to pick a pace and stick with it, as only the first mile is relatively flat, but even that one is net downhill and often a bit fast. I hit the mile mark in 5:18 and had just moved into 6th place, a step or two behind another guy. The top four were already almost out of sight, so I put my top-5 goal out of mind for the time being. 

The second mile includes a long, two-part hill that spans the entirety of the mile. It's not terribly steep (100-ft gain over the course of the mile), but it is relentless. I stayed neck-and-neck with the 5th-place guy, and at the top we were joined by another runner who'd evidently paced himself better over the first mile. The second mile split was 5:47, and I was feeling less confident with each passing stride that I'd hit either of my goals.

In the third mile, after a brief flat section, there's a final, steep, gut-punch of a hill. Even knowing that it's the last hill of the race doesn't make it any easier to get to the top. The three of us continued to trade the lead on the hill, and then both went right by me as we started the long descent that would consume most of the remainder of the race. This was especially frustrating because I'd promised myself to be aggressive on the downs. No matter how hard I tried to convince my torso to lean into the hill, it just wouldn't abide. I eventually got into a better rhythm and held the gap they'd established, even gaining a bit on a steep part. The third mile split was 5:29. I was about 5 seconds over 22-minute pace and not sure I had enough left in the tank to get it.

Well, my gas gauge was clearly out of practice, too. I was able to pick up the pace just enough at the start of that last mile to drop one of the guys and pull ahead of the other guy and into fifth place. Once I did that, the competitive fire came roaring back, and I decided I could absolutely not let him pass me back. The pace got uncomfortable, and his footsteps stayed close for a while, but I kept ratcheting up the pace. I ended up running a 4:59 final mile, with the last half-mile at 4:40 pace. I definitely didn't think I still had that kind of finishing speed. (Granted, the last mile is all down a slight gradient, but this was still faster than I'd finished in any of my previous attempts at the race.) I nabbed that coveted 5th-place result and easily beat my goal time with a 21:41. This turned out to be my third-fastest time in seven tries. (One sort of cool note is that I was at least 11 years older than everyone else in the top 10, and my USA jersey was older than four of them.)

150 meters from the finish, mercifully with a small edge

The patriotic finish line shot

Practically flopping across the line

I think this one captures the way I was feeling better than the others. However, despite the look on my face, there was no post-race yacking. 

I was pretty happy with how this went, especially because the PFPS in my left knee, which had been bothersome over the previous three weeks, mysteriously disappeared after the race. This is not the first time an injury has vanished post-race. I'm not sure I've found the new cure-all, but it does warrant some investigation. 

And, since I'm sure you were wondering, I did get my nice long nap once I got home from the race. It was blissful. 

Results             Race Video             Race Writeup

2020 Recap: Part IV: The usual year-end stuff

This is the fourth part of the riveting saga known as my 2020 Recap. I've previously covered injuries, trails, and an old race; this time I will stick to the "usual" year-end recap format. (I say "usual" because I do these irregularly. I'm currently on an every-other-year cadence, but that is purely accidental.)

The year in a few sentences

2020 got off to a solid start, running-wise. Half way through the year, I was on pace for more than 1500 miles, which would have easily been my most since college. I was also biking and roller skiing a fair amount to supplement my running. Despite having few extrinsic motivators, I managed to get in a harder effort many of those weeks, as well. This training block was bookended by two decent 5Ks - the first, in January, was a 15:50 at the Charlestown Chili race (on an arguably short course), while the second, in May, was a virtual 5K on the track. From that point on, there was no racing and relatively little running for the remainder of the year. 

I won't go into more detail than that, since I've already covered the injury story in my recent post. You can see the interplay between the injuries and mileage for yourself in the graphic below.

This "overlay" of mileage against injuries is always a fun trip down memory lane. It also shows just how consistently I'm dealing with pain of some kind. The most persistent pain this year was in my lower back, which really picked up after getting the dog, just as it has in the past each time we had a baby. I'm hoping this subsides as the dog gets older. This is one of the few injuries that hurts more on the bike than while running. 

In the end, my mileage was a shade over 1000. It's nice to have crossed the completely arbitrary 4-digit threshold, but of course disappointing to decline for the second straight year, as you can see in the chart below. (You could argue I've been declining for much longer than that, but let's stick to the mileage-based arguments for now.)

A strong first half allowed me to just crack 1000 miles for the third consecutive year. Maybe 2021 will be the year I finally return to 1500.

On the bright side, between working from home and few business or family trips to speak of, 2020 afforded me more opportunities (both in terms of days and time in the day) to work out. You can see this play out in the two charts below.

In 2020, I averaged just over six days a week of activity (317 total days). I was somewhat surprised to discover that this was the most I'd ever done. The fact that I worked from home and had no business or family travel to contend with made it significantly easier to get out nearly every day. And I can say with certainty that the only days I took off after Covid struck were planned in advance. I'm not sure I'll ever have this kind of opportunity again, but it has motivated me to keep it going as long as possible in 2021.

I hadn't really tracked this metric until I needed a pick-me-up this year. The only explanation I can think of for the uptick over the past three years is a renewed commitment to cycling on my days off from running, especially on the trainer during the winter months. And I can thank my old video games for making that part of the equation possible. Without them, I don't know that I could bear even 10 minutes on that thing.

My workouts were divided mostly between running, biking, and roller skiing. In the chart below, you can see that, when able to run, it is the dominant activity. The biking and skiing time didn't vary much until I wasn't able to run, when they naturally became a bigger factor. Lifting, meanwhile, was once again an afterthought. I would like to address this "weakness" (har, har, har) in 2021.

Aside from a couple of down weeks when I was especially sick or injured, I maintained a pretty consistent routine. As usual, the summer months, with their extended daylight and good weather, allowed for extra workout time

Thanks to the extra time available, and the dearth of running in the second half of the year, I was able to hit my highest cycling totals ever. It's the tiniest sliver of a silver lining. 

Lots of time in the saddle this year (relatively speaking). Looking back, the 2004-2005 peak coincided with my triathlon phase; 2008 was a big duathlon year; 2010 was an injury-plagued campaign. Meanwhile, the recent peak reflects doing more cycling on my off days.

You can thank Strava for helping me easily keep track of shoe mileage. It's interesting to see how the Hoka Cliftons really dominated the pre-injury half of the year. When I returned to running, I seem to have struck a nice balance across the eight(!) shoes in the rotation. I have to admit, even I didn't realize I had so many shoes in use right now. 

Looking ahead

I can no longer confidently set running-related goals, given the number of ways outside of my control those could be derailed. So, let's try a simple, whole-self approach to goal-writing for 2021:

1. Beat my 2020 total # workout days (317 days / just over 6 days a week)
2. Beat my 2020 total run + bike + ski time (300 hours / 5.8 hours per week)
3. Run my first race as a 'Masters' runner (I turned 40 at the start of the year, so I really hope this one is achievable) 

Photos

Here you'll find one photo, taken during a run, ride, or ski, from each month of the past two years. Why two years, you might ask? Well, I didn't manage to get a year-end post out last year, so I'm a bit overdue. A few observations while combing through Strava to find these:

• It's amazing how many of my favorite photos of the past few years have come from the mountains around New Paltz. It's equally sad knowing I'll seldom have the opportunity to experience that area in the future, now that my parents have moved.
• The variety of photo locations was, of course, greatly reduced in 2020. I'm glad Rhode Island still has some scenic spots to snap the occasional picture.
• It's interesting to see that the same things capture my attention year-over-year -- the snow and ice in January and December; the fall colors in September and October; views in Maine in July; and, strangely enough, sunsets in November.

January 2020: Mike runs ahead on the aptly named Undercliff trail at Mohonk (Gardiner, NY)

January 2019: Frozen face after low-single-digit temps in Burlingame (Charlestown, RI)

February 2020: Morning Boston skyline over the Charles (Cambridge, MA)

February 2019: The only picture I took during this month was of my victory in Tecmo Super Bowl (which, I should mention, came out in 1991) while riding on the trainer

March 2020: A wave splashes on Pier No. 5 (Narragansett, RI)

March 2019: New growth after the devastating fires at Cheesebro Canyon (Agoura Hills, CA)

April 2020: Daffodils abloom at Biscuit City (Kingston, RI)

April 2019: The lush Marquam Trail (Portland, OR)

May 2020: Low tide at the Town Beach (Narragansett, RI)

May 2019: Along the Leine (Gottingen, Germany)

June 2020: The newly reopened Mohonk Gatehouse entrance beckons (New Paltz, NY)

June 2019: Misty beauty along Lake Mohonk (New Paltz, NY)

July 2020: Our new pup enjoys his maiden voyage in the kayak (Fryeburg, ME)

July 2019: Speckled Mountain summit (Lovell, ME)

August 2020: Sure, there's a nice quote, but this photo of the URI library is the only photo I took in August, so it earns its spot here by default (Kingston, RI)

August 2019: Classic shot of the Trapps ridge at Mohonk Preserve (New Paltz, NY)

September 2020: Early fall colors along the Mountain Division Trail (Fryeburg, ME)

September 2019: 18th Century buildings at Valley Forge, PA. Fun fact - In 1777, during the Continental Army's encampment at Valley Forge, it temporarily became the 7th largest metropolis in the United States. 

October 2020: Fall tones on the South County bike path (South Kingstown, RI)

October 2019: Deciduous and Coniferous reflections on Tarbox Pond (West Greenwich, RI)

November 2020: The sun sets on Wordens Pond (South Kingstown, RI)

November 2019: Amazing glow of the setting sun (San Juan, PR)

December 2020: Snowy roads in Tefft Hill (Kingston, RI)

December 2019: Fresh snow on the Tri-Pond Trails (Peace Dale, RI)