26.2 Quatrains of Doggerel: NYC Marathon (11/5/17)

Cool Medal with my middling pumpkin beer at Baker Street

Race: New York City Marathon

Goal Time: 3:12:00

Actual Time: 3:29: something

prelude

Upon the black asphalt road we huddled,

As first elite women ran t’ward Brooklyn.

We waited in the rain for our turn in,

Dressed in matching yellow, me and Tuttle.

i

Then camouflage clad sent a cannon boom,

While Frank aloud sang: “Start spreading the news,”

And up the Verrazano Bridge we flew

Finding our own area, pace and room.

ii

Descending America’s longest bridge

I was running easy but way too fast;

This pace could not continue nor long last,

Down the easy steep pitch into Bay Ridge.

iii

Into the borough of trolley dodgers

I ran first into high fives from Declan

Then further on those of papa Brendan.

Someone was flying the Jolly Roger.

iv

And now us Or-ange joined with Green and Blue

The first hill we would climb was here on Third

Unhuman crowd like a wildebeest herd

Migrating en masse up Fourth Avenue.

v

My pace was still keeping an even keel

No trouble yet from the humidity

My stomach had yet shown acidity

Indeed this may have been the best I’d feel.

vi

Somewhere in Brooklyn was lost in the mix

Another sixteen hundred meters flat

Where there was either or both this and that

But I cannot recall mile number six.

vii

Suddenly I heard someone yell my name

Then to the left I was forced to swervey

For there was Kathy and my wife – Urvi

For a moment I was the Run of Fame.

viii

I slid across the road from Left to Right

But on the left I heard some cheers: Who Dat?

Jumping up and down were Megan and Matt,

Raised arms as if victory was in sight.

Tuttle and I at the start

ix

In Flatbush a band played a song catchy

With its bongo break it had made hip hop

Carrying me briefly from start to stop

Ran with my mind thinking of “Apache.”

x

Up the road as narrow as Tourmalet

Thru wild crowds to left turn in Clinton Hill

With another look and shout ‘nother thrill

Seeing Jason cheer where Jeremy stays.

xi

These cheers took and lifted my spirits high

This may have led me to run too quickly

For my stomach turned and I felt sickly

There in Williamsburg I puked on the side.

xii

Cheers dulled to quiet in Hasidic ‘hood

Ignoring race going about the day

They allowed the runners on their own way

Ne’er looking up from their phones tho they could

xiii

And into the last section of Brooklyn

Before the Newtown Creek that makes the joint

We ran by the cheers of Poles in Greenpoint

Past the flags toward Queens I kept pushing.

xiv

Over the Creek to Long Island City

Is carried by the bridge named Pulaski

(Not as famous as Dave’s New Jersey)

But upon the halfway point is pretty.

Mile 7 in Brooklyn

xv

Off the Pulaski another borough

Down into the town of Shea and Bunker

For only a mile in Queens we hunker

Another trip must to be more thorough

xvi

Over Roosevelt on the Bridge of Sighs

Quiet as church mice alone and desert

The day’s humidity had soaked my shirt

I felt that tell tale burn within my thighs.

xvii

Off the quiet of Queensboro’s skid

And onto First in the center of town.

The Bronx is up and the Battery’s down.

As if: “Springfield’s that away!” “Thanks kid!”

xviii

Into the East Eighties, First carried me.

I had to keep working and not relax

But then I heard a roar behind from Max

Sadly wife was there but I did not see.

xix

When I thought it was time to run faster

It was exhaustion I began to know

Thru the cheers of East Harlem barrio

Alas of marathons, I’m no master.

xx

Over the Willis Ave into the Bronx

I heard my name, just like cherry cola

It was SRR’s first chair viola

That dragged me through an early round of bonks

xxi

Once away the djs sounds faded

My queasy stomach turned and growled again

I hurled on the side finding no trash bin

And onward I continued unaided

xxii

Back into Manhattan on Fifth I ran,

Circumnavigating the Garvey Square

Developing dreaded hundred-yard stare

Hoping I could stop as soon as I can.

At Mile 17 with point of approval from Max

xxiii

The park was lovely and fearful sight

I cannot say that I was not forewarned

That this hill is a bull and I’d be horned

But I tried to put up a mighty fight

xxiv

But farther South into the Ninety streets

Was the mountain I had not been apprised

Its steepness and length became my demise

I had been bullied and I had been beat.

xxv

The next to last mile to myself I talked

Per Mark whom I had not seen nor heard.

Of what rabble I know not what the words

But ‘round the boat house I began to walk.

xxvi

Out on fifty ninth and cutting back in

To Central Park I fought myself to run

It was not fast and no it was not fun

That final mile I took on the chin.

.2

So, Three and a half hours was my mark,

Have to walk miles out of Central Park.

Purgatorio: Wachusett-Purgatory Chasm 200k (4/22/17)

Pretty sure that's Avalon out there - King Arthur will be coming any day now.

TOP TRIP
Event: NE Rondonneurs' Wachusett-Purgatory Brevet
Distance: 200k
Goal Time: 11:00:00
Actual Time: 12:10:00
Miles on the Day: 156

A mini-epic poem for a mini-epic ride

Create Routes or Search for a route from millions at MapMyRun

(after Dante)

Down Mass Av'nue to speed my rapid course,
My little bike carried Jesse from bed
And soft pillows' sleepy magnetic force.
Valdez's magic liquor striking my head
Waking up through my personal prologue
Down empty streets to Bedford my bike led.

Calling to Calliope to unfog;
To Ghisallo to shake from poets' suite
The words from my mind and onto this blog.
At Hanscom did we all Randdoneurs meet
For the cuesheets,bathrooms and brevet cards,
Before off on two hundred k on streets.

Evan's Notch in my building's bike room - fully loaded

Away we dashed - red lights blinking as stars,
Amidst unearthly milky way of mists.
New Garmin -Virgil - would direct me far:
Beeps for turns to come and bonks for ones missed.
But new gadgets cannot drive untrained legs
And hills through Harvard/Bolton still exist.

Acton's Minuteman Monument - maybe the last time I saw another Randonneur on the road

At Lancaster those legs began to beg
Despite the route ahead and up did plow
The higher up, the lower in the dregs
I felt. As fog fell like a heavy shroud
Concealing the road to Wachusett Mount
Thus, literally, a climb to the clouds.◦

1392 feet - felt more like 13,920

Wheeling from the controle - forced to dismount.
Any speed downhill became empty boasts,
Surprised from the fog had to account
For eerie beasts appeared like gobbling ghosts
breaking the mists in unholy surprise
I slowed from speeding down to merely coast.

Below the clouds the sun threatened to rise
Flaming off rain and overcast amuck ~
But only peered translucent in the skies.
When that evil hiss of tyre flat struck
I was forced in cold drizzle and damp mud †
To twist away a tube and get unstuck.

This is where horror movies start

In Grafton with Vet School and blooming buds
The road rose up toward the sky again
Fears of Wachusett began to flood
A muddled mind seventy miles atwain.
One long climb would bring me to the Chasm
Where it was easier I ascertained.

To Chasm

Hike into the gorge - iconoclasm - ⋆
Was I the first to do upon this day.
Slipping on rocks and other phantasm
Thru canyon and o'er rim I made my way
To pavilion where Evan's Notch was parked
Awaiting me to trail Virgil's display.

Create Routes or Search for a route from millions at MapMyRun

Purgatory Chasm

The final forty-six was marked
By fewer hills and more flats; but, as night
began to fall and make yet further dark
I worried about cars and driver's sight.
Lights white and red returned for extra beeps
Making ahead less dim and l'il more bright.

Tired on a long day I want to sleep
Through Great Meadows - forest and bog - I flagged
With miles to go and promises to keep. ☭
Almost home and through Walden Woods, I dragged
O'er the hill that ere high as edelweiss.
Two hundred brutal k, from now I bragged.

On to Somerville and Seth's meatballs nice,
And Paul's coffee stout, earthly paradise.

---
Editor's Notes
◦ - I see what you did there
† - Is there any other kind of mud?
⋆ - Maybe you shouldn't try to rhyme chasm.
☭ - Not certain you wrote this line...

---
Other pics from the ride

Horse with a sweater on.  He appeared annoyed I was there.  (or she)

Apple Blossoms in the mist

After my flat, I thought about switching to these.

Fancy l'il bus

Playing around in the Chasm

Purgatory Chasm - detail

At mile 87 - odd sign on a Purgatory ride

Last stop to get on reflector vest and square away the lights.

Winter of My Discontent: February Racing (2/1-2/22/15)

(With apologies to the Bard of Stratford) 

Barded Steeds: Super 5 (2/1/15)

Oh, Captains, my Captains (wait wrong poet...)

Race One: Super 5

Location: Cambridge, MA

Goal Time:  ??:??

Actual Time: 36:56

Now is the winter of my discontent;

Last year had shone beneath the bright gold sun.

Short pants did I deem dare to wear back then.

This great annum no such cold gold was spent.

Championship Sunday icy frigid

The winds did blow. Aligned as knights to fight

Against the sun, Lancastrian hibern

Girds its shining armor: black steel, rigid.

From past winters I thus did take the leads

Battling miles but five; each l’il faster

At end Catching on Carrie-Anne then Scott

Running as I was mounted barded steeds.

                Ere long, the run n’er fast nor slow was done

                Neither by me the race was lost nor won.

Lour’d Clouds: Martha’s Vineyard 20 Miler (2/14/15)

Martha's Vineyard - 2014
There was apparently more snow and problems this year so they had to cancel.

Race Two: Martha’s Vineyard 20 Miler

Location: Vineyard Haven, MA

Goal Time: 2:30:00

Actual Time: --:--

The White Winter blizzards coldly did blow

Then feet, now meters, are piled mountain-

Like high. Fuji-esque mound do climb about

As white frost falls first once then thrice as snow.

For then the fourth cold storm came forth aloud

Not hiding deep among ocean’s bosom.

Instead the race - twenty long clicks - cancelled.

Again we are lour’d  o’er by winter clouds.

Nat and I ran: Carriage Road and Comm Ave

Meeting the girls at Newton Fire House

Then over Newton hills – marathon pace(?)

Oh times are slipping down what the legs have.

                A long run back along the course to home

                And over the river of frozen foam.

               

Average RunMute (2/18/15)

11 Miles from Cambridge-Seaport-Cambridge

Inman Street, Cambridge

Back Bay from MIT

Esplanade

Boston Common

Snow Farm, Seaport

Skating Rink, Common

Comm Ave

Detour?

No Delight: Five Colleges 10 Miler (2/22/15)

Finishing under my goal time!

Race Three: Five Colleges 10 Miler

Location: Amherst, MA

Goal Time: 1:10:00

Actual Time: 1:09:19

The race in Western Mass of No Delight

Away fast from Amherst High School we dash

Into the rural fields and roads of snow

Third mile climb: fifty three meters in height.

Appearing distrustful of Tom at Mile One
photo by Tom Cole

Then, across miles of snow mush and dirt road,

The sixth – the first to race running hard down

Before it climbs again – seventh and ninth.

But, the eighth I get into sprinter mode.

Finally catching up to Michael Quinn

Passing many who left me back for dead

Slowing with miles of muddy roads ahead

The tenth I dashed with lightning speeds and grins.

            Survived I have the winter months but one;

            Man, soon I hope the sun of York will come.

photo by Tom Cole

One From the Vault:

That time Culla let Harrison drive, Martha's Vineyard February, 2014

"Now I'm driving the bus!"

100 miles in 20 lines: CRW Spring Century in 4 tankas (5/18/14)

Photo from CRW's album

Event: CRW Spring Century: North to New Hampshire
Ride: Northeastern MA and Southern NH.  Harold Parker Forest and beautiful stretches through Newburyport, Topsfield etc.
Mileage: 104.52 (129.41 for the day)
Actual Time: 7:01:32 - PR! (6:14:18 moving)

miles 1-27

spinning way too fast

charging hills, gunning flats, speed

without that concern

for 75 more miles 

to come. and yet, I ride ride.

miles 28-47

after miles i deflate

sipping silently upon

dark black coffee hot

rest and repose ready me

for the miles left ahead.

miles 47-78

rolling away now

slowed by oversteamed spinning

enjoying chirping

birds and vernal smells of the

merrimac and maudslay spring

miles 78-104

second wind blows on

me like snow eating chinooks.

miles thru exurbs

sail quickly underwheel.

gliding in - hot dog finish.

Paddle Prattle and Saddle Skedaddle: A Trip to Ipswich (5/18/13)

FOOTE BROS MAP

TOP TRIP

Distance: 16 miles cycling; 8 miles canoeing
Location: Ipswich, MA
Sights: Bradley Palmer State Park, Ipswich River Wildlife Sanctuary



As Urvi described it: it was one of those mornings you don’t want to get out of bed, but you knew it would be worth it once you did. I got up and made us some lunch while allowing her to sleep another half hour or so.  Then, I got her up and we got packed and ready for the day.  We left Winter Hill; and down through East Somerville and East Cambridge, I took her my new back way through the Riverpoint Park and over the Commuter Rail, through the locks and BAM into the Avon Walk to North Station.  Rare for me, we got there with comfortable time to spare.  I had 20 minutes to buy tickets and get oriented and what not before the train out to Ipswich.

IPSWICH STATION



As the Ipswich Train Station and the Canoe rental place are on the same street, it should be easy to get to.  AND, basically you have a 50/50 chance of heading the right way.  Guess which way we headed…

Fortunately you realize in seconds that you not heading “into the wilds” but into the quaint center of town.  A quick 180 and Urvi and I were off in the right direction. In the three mile ride from Ipswich to the Foote Brothers Canoe, Topsfield Road changes from quaint town center, to exurb residential to about as rural as you can get in Eastern Mass with horses and all~



HORSES



Over the past 12 years I have done this trip maybe 15 times.  I have gone with various people and groups of varying sizes.  There was the time Johnny’s paddle broke and always the driver Joe refused to let him use the only working one so Johnny spent an hour just sitting there doing nothing.  There was the time Gabe’s mom came with us.  In 2008, there was the “Pirates of the Ipswich” trip where maybe 15 of us went.  In 2010, 
we had a fun group that is recorded on this site.

But the most memorable was probably 2004, when Jason and I flipped the canoe into the freezing water that I once memorialized in verse:

An Unexpected Icy Swim

Early in the season –
A sunny warm day the reason
To make an early run.
The Ipswich runs high and fast,
Winter’s melt flooding
The banks
And flowing the cast.
My cousin and I float
Along the steady stream
In our boat.
But a gaggle of kayakers
Cut off our angle.
And into an oak flood we get tangled.
With branches and brush
My paddle and arms get mangled.
We splash and we sploosh
And flip into the Ipswich
In a big KAPLOOSH!
We save the canoe
While watching the gorp
Float from view.
Then I swim against the stream,
Flailing
And wailing,
With the fever
Of unholy fervor
And the PFD
Holding me back.
I attempt to cry out:
“Oh my God it’s cold!
Oh my God it’s cold!”
But it merely projects:
“MUUAAA!!!
MUAAA!!!!”



But now I got to take Urvi on another of my favorite trips.  (Ranked #8 on my Top Trips list, as of this writing).  As we waited for the canoes to be loaded aboard the trailer, we walked around the sight of Willowdale Dam.



THE IPSWICH



URVI and I at the DAM



Once we got driven to Salem Road and the boats into the water, Urvi and I tried to quickly get away from the large group that had shared the van ride with us.  Then, we were out in nature: just the two of us enjoying the soft paddling on the river and the plethora of geese about. (Seems the Canada Geese have taken to the region over the past two years).  While we didn’t get any classic herons standing in the water, we did see a few flying.


TREES


COLT ISLAND MARSH


HORSE BRIDGE



LESS WILD PARTS



Outside of the flock of Vietnamese who were having problems – exacerbated by their groupthink navigation – we didn’t run into any problems.


FLOCK of VIETNAMESE



We pulled into Foote Brothers and bid our farewell to Canoe #9 before hitting the road back to Ipswich Town Center.


CANOE NUMBER 9


URVI RIDING

With two hours until the 6:00 train back to the City, Urvi and I had a late lunch and a couple of pints at the Choate Bridge Pub.  I got home in time to get some rest for tomorrow’s adventure: CRW Spring Century.



URVI at PUB

A New Year's Haibun: Shamrock's NY5 (1/1/13)

Race: Run Your Hangover Off 5 Miler
Location: Woburn, MA
Goal Time: 32:30
Actual Time: 33:32

It's a tradition in Japan to write poetry for New Years'.  So I present:

5 Tough Miles: a Haibun

The cold stings like ice knives upon my naked legs.  Breathing like a walrus in a flack jacket I attempt to pretend to follow the conversation Neil is holding.  And with a little first mile group I go toward the inevitable failure of the race.

Oh, it's downhill and
I run like Hermes; but, it
cannot last this way.

Rollers Neil promised begin as mile two commences.  But a hill too steep for such a nomenclature awaits.  My first mile group - Andy, Megan and Neil fly away like eagles late for appointments on a mountainside aerie.  (Greg only steadily opens up his gap on me).

Hills are not rollers;
Indeed, like Everestt or Fuji
they appear to me.

Third mile is but a desperate heave.  Through the suburban streets I weave.  Each lawn is a mini-treeless tundra sleeping below a New Year's blanket of snow.

Hilly roads delight
passing icebergian white;
fourteen minutes left(?)

Momentarily I forgot, the hills of travail the want of trails.  Here upon Horne Pond I once rode, lost among the memories and streets of long ago.  There's a beautiful trail that wraps the pond in easy jaunt.  But to the shores we do not go - another hill instead.

Here at mile four
Many feet above the shore;
don't want to run no more -

800 meters before the end, I was promised but one hill left to tend.  I tried to save myself on the rise so that down I could surprise Aharon and pass him just in time to cross that finish line.

I didn't.

Finally that is done
New Years' race and nothing done
Now, I'll get a beer.

SRR Shoutouts -

Too many to count.

Saga of the Maraþon: Reykjavikur Maraþon (8/18/12)

(at the start)

                     

Race: Reykjavik Marathon

Location: Reykjavik, Iceland

Goal Time: 3:10:00

Actual Time: 3:18:50

(After SnorriSturluson)

In the 30^th year of the reign of Olaf Folkekongen – King of Norway – Jesse Spencerson went with his family to move his homestead from Atlanta in the south of Vinland to Boston in the North.  From then he set a goal to run the Marathon of Boston one day.

By the 40^th year in the reign of Margrethe II – Queen of Denmark – the qualifying time for Jesse Spencerson was 3 hours and 10 minutes.  In his first battle of the year – at Providence – this goal he failed to achieve.  And thus it left like Nevsky’s Battle on the Ice – the Marathon of Reykjavik.

The day of battle dawned, and with his forces for marathon and half and 10K, Jesse made his way down the Wash Road toward the start of the race.   Under the Red Awnings brought by the Islandsbank, Jesse of Somerville and the rest of the forces awaited the start.  As the gun was fired he spoke this verse:

1. Upon the sound of the starting shot

The surge of Hoenir’s human cohort

Took by winged foot the tölt toward

Thor the Thunderer’s blessed forty-two.

And past the councils of Man and the Geese’s pond,

The thousands in the cohort thinned in pace

And spread in gait into the capital seaport’s gate,

As I began the road to Boston’s qualifying place.

With a couple of easy miles to warm the legs and face the challenge of running 24.2 more at a pace set to qualify for the Boston time.  At 5km in there was a band of troubadours playing one of his favorite songs – “The Final Countdown” – and thus Jesse knew this was his day.

(longboat sculpture, Reykjavik)

The race turned toward the harbor - shops once placed as a poor country’s entrepôt – and ran about the old village’s kitchens and shops.  Then past the sculpture of the longship, Jesse said:

2. The wrought relic raises its iconic mast

And glints against the outline of Ejsa

Harkening back to the water-walkers ridden

By the founders of the City and Commonweal.

Along the coast I run

Hearing the call of Siegfried’s music horn

Following the words of Egil’s mead of Odin.

It carrys my feet at a quick gate

It carries my kilometers ever faster.

Down from the first great hill, he ran with allies found along the way.  These five men pitched into the wind hid about the long road into the city.  But upon 18K, those battling the full marathon went left and those battling only half stayed straight.   Jesse Spencerson was the only of the five to go left.  And up the second mighty hill he ran toward the hills of the sports halls and stadia.  Alone. 

At 20K words of encouragement and greetings of support came from Brian as Jesse Spencerson passed.  At half way through (21.1) the time was but 45 seconds off, enough for him to close and still qualify.

  

(Hamming it up for the Camera)

 

Winding through the park atop the hill Jesse ran through the zoo and past the hockey rink.  He was passed quickly by the relay men in green and then soon by Brian of the Three Musketeers relay.  Jesse told him of the position of the men in green. 

Out of the park and tired Jesse entered the bike path that ran along the south and against the old National Airport.  Of course there was yet another pretty (yet small) foss along the way.

30K struck and Jesse was hit with a moment of truth, 45 seconds slower than his wanted pace.  Thus, he spake:

3. Alas another 45 I need to make

If I am to Shawmut be in 2013.

Oh the speed is not fleet of feet

And the lead to qualify flees from me

Perhaps with another 2000 meters along the sea –

As long as I see no tricks from Loki –

If I can but save this race for me.

But at 32K, alas, he was not faster but 5 seconds slower.  Thus, Jesse with no chance to reach his goal accepted this minor defeat and as not to injure himself for another week, with hiking and biking in Iceland to see, slowed to 8 and 9 minute miles.  He dropped in 9K from 40^th to 63^rd as those many in the middle passed him.  At 1 mile to go (right before 41K), he made a last desperate charge.  First passing an Albanian and then 5 others.  His last 8 minute mile brought him in to break 3:19 and place him in 57^th!

(First place team award, finisher medal and BIB)

4. Though city streets

Over central Olmsteadian like ponds

Along seaside boulevards

Upon the hills of suburban avenues

Down into dells on parkland paths

Through fog engulfing dunes

            With reeds two meters high

Now I make my way around

To the big finish to cheers of friends.

Hooray! Hooray!

Marathon number 4 complete.

SHOUTOUTS

-          Mariah took second overall and second in her age group

-          SoRad, Korynn, Brian T and Laurie all had PR’s!

-          Shark Tank also qualified for Boston (on her “goddamn Birthday!”)

-          The Three Musketeers (Andy and Brian K.) took second in the relay

-          SRR – En Fuego (Mariah, Brian T and myself) won the team competition

-          SRR – AV Club (SoRad, Korynn and Victor) took third in the team competition