112 Days of Summer: Hybrid – Generalist Fitness Plan after the Pig

Flying Pig 4-Way Challenge
Dates: May 2-4, 2025
Location: Cincinnati, Ohio (State #19)
Races: West 50 Mile, Toyota 10K, Queen City 5K, Flying Pig Marathon
Times: 7:16, 58:18, 25:56, 4:48:54

I hit mile 21 in Cincinnati and I thought: “what if I ran a mile under 9 minutes right now?”  And, in an amazing event, I ran the next two miles under 9 minutes after averaging 11-12 minutes for the first 21.  I probably did hammer drop two miles too early because miles 25 & 26 were closer to 10 minute miles – blerg.  

I had done the 4 Way with Extra Cheese Challenge at Flying Pig (Friday – 50 West Mile; Sat – Toyota 10K and Queen City 5K; Sun – Flying Pig Marathon) so miles 25 & 26 were really miles 35 & 36 and I had done some racing or just under race pace throughout the weekend. 

This told me two things:

1) Half ass training for a long time gets some results (Between both Philly and Flying Pig, I had 6-7 months of half ass training);

2) Some more engaged training could be more effective

Coming off the Flying Pig Marathon, I wanted to get “into shape” which I have not been for several years now.  My estimate was to create a plan that could get me healthier and fitter in a five month / 20 week window.  Such a program would need to walk the line between effectiveness and fatigue managing. I was drawn to “hybrid training” where strength and cardio trainings are balanced.  In some ways I had been sorta doing this for a while. 

Hybrid Training

What is hybrid training? Simply speaking it is training to balance cardio and strength.  But it is a bit more complicated than that.  Fergus Crawley who competes at the age group level in Ironman and powerlifting has said that it is not simply doing an ironman plan and a powerlifting plan simultaneously.  You need to find a balance that mitigates fatigue and allows successful training of both modalities. 

This seems simple enough.  It is “simple” but also difficult for someone who is used to engaging in multiple activities.  Templates for the Hybrid Athlete are often designed on getting ready for say a marathon and a powerlifting meet simultaneously.  Nick Bare - who is a hybrid athlete and supplement company owner – argues that most of us should probably wave between say marathon focused training with lifting to powerlifting  focused training with running on the side.  This is more realistic to an average person; Fergus Crawley is an exceptional elite athlete: his feats of lifting 1500lbs on the same day he runs a 3 hour marathon are not for the rest of us. 

Now, I can already hear the folks from the 1980s and 1990s with their challenges.  “You can’t get stronger if you are running.” And “Cardio kills gains.”  Meta analysis has disproven this bro-science: “Concurrent aerobic and strength training does not compromisemuscle hypertrophy and maximal strength development. However, explosivestrength gains may be attenuated, especially when aerobic and strength trainingare performed in the same session.” But what do you expect from the people who still claim eating soy products feminizes men.

Generalism

I have not specific goals other than dragon boating for the summer, so this leads me to be able to be more general in my training.  What would generalism look like? Last year I wrote: “My training leading to this has failed because I was trying to get too deep into training of too many things.” The past year has seen me going too shallow into too few things. However, maybe I needed that.  I just was generally moving.  And based on 4:48 at Flying Pig after a weekend of racing – it showed general results.  But, now I think I want to get in better general shape – cardio, strength, strength endurance and mobility.

The Hybrid -Generalist Training

This comes to the 112 Days of Summer plan:  16 weeks – 4 blocks, each with 2 microcyles (2 weeks each).  The goal is try to do increase each of the above attributes.  I will schedule 10 workouts each week and hope to make 8 of them. I also want to have each block increase in intensity.  Powerbuilding – balancing strength and hypertrophy – and Dragon Boating will be the anchors of these blocks: 4+ paddling workouts and 5 + powerbuilding workouts.  Add to this 9-11 cardio workouts – running, cycling with “others” (kayak, rowing machine, etc.)  The generalist will schedule cardio workouts but will allow for changes based on weather, schedule, convenience and fatigue.  Each block will increase intensity on lifting, one intensity cardio workout and volume per cardio workout. 

Block A – 5/19 – 6/15

Block B – 6/16 – 7/13

Block C – 7/14 – 8/10

Block D – 8/11 – 9/7

Taper – 9/8 – 9/21

 

Outline of Microcycle

	MON	TUE	WED	THU	FRI	SAT	SUN
1A			Harvard Stadium		Hills	Run Long	Run Easy
1B		Dragon Boat	Bench	Dragon Boat	Squat		Hypertrophy
2A	Overhead Press		Harvard Stadium			Long Bike	Run Easy
2B	Run Easy	Dragon Boat	Deadlift	Dragon Boat			Row Erg

A Hero's Journey: A Windy City Odessey (10/7/18)

Urvi and I on Navy Pier

Race: Chicago Marathon
Goal Time: 4:00
Actual Time: 4:49

(translation of a recently disovered manuscript in the Meteora monasteries from Greek heroic hexameter.)

Sing of legs and man from Cantapontem!
Who came west to these Wolverine lake shores,
destined to run in the City of Winds
and plowed the asphalt fields from the Loop
to Boystown and to Little Italy.
Driven by the rage of blonde Demeter
his knee bore bony battles of Greektown
and Pilsen t'ward the finish in Grant Park.

So, Kalliope, Chief of all Muses,
remind me of Iessai of the morning,
and how he overcame the Sheep-Bearer,
with assistance of fleet footed Hermes
to travel the turbulent travails
Pheidippides once ran in Attika.

Willis (Sears) Tower

Blonde Demeter, from her art-deco mount,
watched with ire as Iessai ran down Halsted -
at the home of flaming saganaki.
She dashed to Olympus, her former home.
and called to Zeus, "Oh Brother, King of Gods,
from my aerie atop the Board of Trade,
I watch with anger as morning Iessai
who once disturbed my sacred rams at Vik,
now race thru my Illini city streets.
To finish with glory would spoil and mar
my sacred pastures in the icy North."

The Cloud-Gatherer answered his sister,
"Giver of Goodly Fruits, Iessai disturbed
your sacred rams and ewes six summers ere;
for one last time you may punish him thus.
I will allow you to keep him from fame,
but he must [fragment missing]

Bad photo of medal

Thus lovely crowned Demeter spirited
back to her home away from Olympus.
She saw Iessai was drinking Gatorade
on Adams sea toward Santorini.
Though born of the morning star, mortal and
knit together through joints and ligaments
was he.  When dipped into the Karolos
as a boy, it left his MCL vulnerable.
To this point the Bringer of Seasons struck.

Thus like a poisoned dart as Iessai turned
onto Halsted his knee was pierced in pain.
His gait went from Olympic to a limp.
The previous 17 miles now struck
knee and hamstrings brought him down to a walk.
As he fought between running and walking
Iessai combatted urges to stop and sit.
By 17.5, he could not.
At the lair of Illinois Chicago
embattled Iessai sat upon the curb.

Race winner, Sir Mo Farah making an appearance at our tent.

An archon approached, "You need assistance?"
Iessai declined. And the archon then asked:
"How has this race gone for you until now?"
"Leaving the chariot," Iessai began,
"Eos streched her rosy fingers over
the lake, we awaited the call to arms
as the gates closed and athletes climed fences
high as the mighty walls of Troy once were.

"Upon the launch of Apollo's arrow
the athletes, more than thirty thousand strong,
furiously charged the up wide Via Colon
and into the Chicago catacombs.
An easy pace, I ran behind Brendan,
but had to let him speed away ahead.
After the [fragment missing]...
... like snakes ... aged Anchises..."

And thus Iessai continued his story:
"By 15k, I had to stop again.
The knee had started to hobble a bit;
My hamstrings started to waddle a bit.
I whisked away from the field of battle
and on a wobbly gate, I stretched my knee.
Then heard my name and looked around to see,
Victor, from the Land of Trolley-Dodgers,
with Batavian Flor and Megan too.

Megan and I around mile 10

"Thither I dashed to join them on the road
the next two miles running concurrently -
serpentine shape slithering and sluicing
like a black and gold river over rocks
through the host of heroes battling the race.
We saw the Old Town and our Stop and Shop.
By the eleventh mile, it was no more.
I had to drop away from the phalanx
of the golden hoplites of Saint-Omer.

"By mile 12 I sat and watch the L train
for a while before battling forward
to West Loop where I stopped again to rest.
My knee was now thus a real problem;
I considered whereabouts of the L;
considered wherewithal of surrender.

Mile 12.4

"Is it dark before rosy fingered dawn?
Perhaps; I perchanced to be passed by yet
another of mine own golden hoplites.
Liz dashed by with an air of confidence;
whilst I could not maintain her pace, she got
me from that place, heading to better space.
And back through Greektown and saganaki,
I went." Iessai paused to stretch out his knee.
"Then I was struck by a bow's iron arrow tip,
I hobbled here and look for the L home"

As wounded Iessai wound up his epic,
the Archon nodded a touched his tortoise
shell shades, and began speaking in god-like
voice, "So now you sit here building defeat!
Blinded and oblivious to your fate!
King of Gods - whose power sways Earth and sky -
sent me down here from brilliant Olympus,
bearing commands for you to race the winds.
If glorious destiny cannot fire
your spirit, perhaps the fires of the Blaze
commemorated here for hundred years
can move you on toward fateful fortune!"
With these holy orders still on his lips,
the Archon vanished.  Iessai now knew
it had been fleet of foot, tricky Hermes.

Wounded Iessai arose to continue,
like Agios Yiorgios his battle
would start taming flaming firedrake.
Thus with just the power of will he stopped,
and forced Sparky D. Dragon to submit.
Driven by duty now, Iessai moved on
t'ward shops of Italia Minor.
Emboldened by beating machinations
of Demeter, Iessai fought with himself.
Each desire to stop met with a walk
then back to a run until he could not.

Sparky D. Dragon and I

But fleet Hermes had a trick up his sleeve.
Chicanos of Pilsen were out in droves
cheering all athletes but Iessai saw them
as carrying him.  The Sheep Bearer had not
given up her quest to avenge her rams.
And as wounded Iessai crossed Charon's bridge
on Cernak, Demeter's daughter lashed out.

Another pain drove into Iessai's knee,
he couldn't turn over or bend for the run.
And he found a port bench on which to sit.
Shy of 21 miles - five more to go -
Iessai had descended down to Hades,
in the dark thoughts, perhaps ne'er to return.
Persephone roamed the harvest belt
and now in the guise of a volunteer
offered wounded Iessai a banana
and pomegranate juice. Iessai declined
knowing the fruits would offer return
to the land of the living nor finish.

The bench I sat at for far too long

Once he rested his skin-clad human ship
and strengthened the the boat's ligament-built ropes,
Wounded Iessai left the land of dead,
bid farewell to his bench, made for Sina
and built back his speed. Hoping to finish
in fewer than five hours, ran faster
thru Sina and the South Side of the Sox.
And was shocked he'd made it to 24!

Chinatown

But, alas, Demeter had another
pain shot through his knee, at twenty-four - five,
hobbled Iessai was forced to stop again.
An archon said he could walk to the end.
Iessai nodded but replied, "I'll just rest
until I'm ready to run." Iessa knew
Hermes was with him and wanted him done.
His destiny was to run to the end.

Jo Ann and I at mile 25.5 

Up the broad, wide Michigan Avenue,
spectators cheered all the athletes with beer.
Iessai continued his hobble and wobble.
Stopping here for a picture with Jo Ann
(While Jo Ann's friends questioned his choice this late),
High fiving there some children on course.
With a half mile to go, with one last hill,
wounded Iessai fought slowly as runners passed.
But in the home stretch, rugged Ithaki
came into view.  A giant red banner:
the end was a blast and FINISH, at last.

Some of the SRR finishers - Chris, Robert, Liz, me, Brendan, John, Keiran and Pickle

That Was Pretty Epic: Boston Marathon (4/16/18)

Add caption

Race: Boston Marathon
Goal Time: 3:30
Actual Time: 3:54

"You know it's wild when you are wearing a stranger's dirty socks on your hands as gloves" - Deb Downs.

Only 10 months after my seizure, a terrible training cycle coming off an equally bad cycle from New York did not bode well for a marathon.  Which was alright I guess since the weather gods didn't help, either.

Throughout the week, weather forecasts got drearier and drearier.  By Thursday they were predicting 90% chance of rain and 20mph winds.  We all thought, okay this is bad but kinda like 2015 so we should be okay.

Then Saturday morning, it changed again.  Temperature predictions had dropped 10 degrees and now winds were 25-35mph.  And 90% chance of rain had basically become - MONSOON!

Sure enough, marathon morning was dismal and depressing.  My lack of training with nagging injuries just made it worse. If it was any other race, I would not have done it.

Hopkinton to Framingham

Dreams of requalifying for Boston were ephemeral. By mile 3, questions of such a plan began to dominate my brain.  Around the time the questions were in my head, I caught up with Deb; she was still nursing an injury and wasn't ready to run fast.  I joined her and pretty much immediately we were among the stragglers in wave 1.  But that was awesome.  My struggles with training, injury and weight let me join a friend who was also going through the motions and just going to finish the race.

The weather would trade between icy wind and downpours.  I kept trying to have Deb hide behind me (random other people kept hiding behind me without me telling them to).

Natick

By Mile 9, I was warmed up.  Deb was not.  Her hands and legs were freezing.  She picked up somebody's discarded poncho and attempted to make it into a skirt.  When that failed, she found somebody's discarded socks (that they probably wore on their hands) and put them over her gloves.

We did get to see Mama and Papa Downs in Natick Center.  Which gave us both a little pick-me-up since there were virtually no runners around us by then.  It was like running a smaller marathon with so few people around us.

Wellesley

At Mile 12, the first people in Wave 2 came flying by us (including the woman who was 5th fastest in chip time).  Then Meb and his group came by.

Deb and I kept clumping out our 8:00-8:30 pace.  The din of the Wellesley girls rose above the puddled pavement.

The Scream Tunnel was coming. In 2015 and 2016, I had intentionally moved to the left hand side of the road to avoid the tunnel and its accompanying stops and zigs and zags from runners.  This year I did not.

My arm fired my hand out and it high-fived every single girl reaching over the barrier. As I got thru and looked back Deb was doing the same. She had also never actually high-fived the girls, either and it was good that we got to really experience such a seminal part of the marathon.

Going through Wellesley Centre and Hills, we got a high-five from Coach Rick and Nichole Bukowski passed us.  (She also checked if we were okay, we were as good as we could be.)

The dip into Newton Lower Falls was brutal on my stiff left knee and weird lower calf thing.  But we hit that town flags and we made it -

Newton

Secret Hill 
This is where I took my leave of Deb.  8:00/mile pace would be required if I planned to keep moving.  (The old: "I know I'm just going to get slower, so if I start too slow I might actually stop").  So up the first (secret) hill, I ran, fighting to the Hospital and then tto he Firehouse.

30km Hill
The big swooping right turn swept up to the start of the 30km Hill.  I immediately went to the left so I was ready to acknowledge and receive acknowledgement from both November Project and Somerville Road Runners.  With November Project in my rear view, the wall was beginning to shake its fist at me.  I kept it together enough as I ran by SRR.

In the driving winds and pouring rains, SRR was nothing but a jumble of rain jackets and ponchos and trashbags.  Kate and Kari and Emma and Rod and Paul (he had a giant camera), were all that could be made out in the mass of water-beading vinyl.  Blowing a kiss toward Urvi, I went on my way.  But that was it for me.  Most of the fun of my race was over and forced a dejected slump as soon as I got around the corner and out of sight.

Hasher Hill
On the Orange Line en route to the charter bus, I read the latest issue RUSA's American Randonneur magazine. Included was a ride report from a woman who attempted a 200k permanent ride when she first started chemotherapy. By half-way through she had kept herself going by trying to push through for the next 10 miles and then the next 10 miles, etc.  I realized I wasn't on chemotherapy and that unlike many runners I have some meat on my bones that generally keeps me warmer.  So I wasn't too worried about the conditions affecting me medically any more.  So I moved from the next ten miles as she thought to the next "marker."

My first marker was Brendan K. I fought myself through the City Hall area to Brendan. I high fived him and got great chants.  Then it was to fight to the top of the Hasher Hill.  Brendan C. wouldn't be there but it was a marker and a progression.

Heartbreak Hill
Next marker was Heartbreak Hill.  I pulled over to the right and just put one foot in front of another.  clump clump clump.  Atop Heartbreak I pulled way over to the right so that I could adjust the left sock that had curled up and caused a numbness.

Brighton

At the Heights, the BC kids yelled as the sky opened in yet another Noahesque downpour.  It was the first time I acknowledged both a downpour and massive headwind simultaneously.  Visibility got to zero as the headwinds battered my chest.  "All of this misery can be over.  I can just hop on the Green Line and go home."  But the knowledge that after Chestnut Hill reservoir, it would be a point of no return.  There would be no way I could quit with less than 45 minutes left.  So I stumbled forward along Comm Ave and toward Cleveland Circle.

Brookline

I had fallen into dark and depressed place when I turned onto Beacon in Cleveland Circle.  So much so, I don't even remember the turn:

What I do remember is that the flag for Brookline was not right at Beacon but probably 1/10th of a mile ahead.  That means that Maryann's isn't in Brookline but actually in the City of Boston (Brighton).  Maybe that's how they got away with selling $1 Bud Lights to underage undergrads.  I always thought it was weird that the Town of Brookline that doesn't let you park on the street at night and whose cops pull over cars with black teenagers in it for no reason other than to ask where they were going would allow such a thing to happen.  Once I realized Maryann's was in Boston, that explained it.  

This strange digression into underage bars from the mid-90s probably kept me not thinking about running for nearly a quarter mile, which was good. I hit the Mile 23 sign and just told myself, "Just keep running for 35 minutes and you can f'ing stop."

After Washington Sq., my name was yelled from the left. It was Officer McGinty doing a detail with the tactical team.  Cutting across Beacon, my hand gave him a high five and I spoke to him for 30 seconds before heading on my way.

At Coolidge Corner, I found my mother and gave her a hug.  Just 25 more minutes and you can stop. A big cheer from Ray had me stepping a little quicker toward Boston.  I had to avoid a tall guy who had gone from running an 8:00 mile to near dead stop walking.

Boston

At Park Ave, you can see the Citgo Sign.  And at Park Ave, you can see the bridge over Yawkey Station. Crossing the 40km mark my legs tried to get a start over to the bridge over the Turnpike Just 15 more minutes and you can stop.

The overpass at Yawkey is perhaps the ugliest bit of nastiness.  It's the last water stop; it's steeper than it should be; and, at that moment there are only two things that can be going through your head: a) "I'm having a great race and in a little more than a mile, I'll be celebrating", or b) "Make this stop."  (There are surely people who are telling themselves both).  I had been in camp b for quite a while, jogging over to the right with people who were walking as they drank a last gatorade or girding themselves to not stop again.  Never did my legs go into walking mode, but sometimes "running" was far slower than other people's walking.

From the peak of the overpass my legs started picking up speed and thought they could put in one 9 minute mile (They couldn't) and then I almost ran into Tall Guy again as he had passed me running but was walking.  oh my god just run a speed you can keep running or don't stop in the middle of the back.

Crossing the one mile to go mark with the Citgo sign painted on the ground I gave a glance to the left at the sign itself and ahead was the Charlesgate bridge over Comm Ave.  Just get there, I told myself.  I just kept putting one foot in front of another.  Then the clouds opened up again one more time... and Tall Guy passed me and then started walking - fucker.

Gotta make the underpass; gotta make the underpass; gotta make it to the underpass.  I dipped my way under Mass Ave and prepared for the climb back up.  My left knee was find now but my right calf and periformis and hip were not. The downhill was murder.

Right on Hereford. I got ready for the obnoxious uphill.  Nobody was walking now, we were all going to run to the finish.  Here it was.... oh wait, except Tall Guy is in my way again.  It was now comically annoying rather than angering.

Left on Boylston.  I was so unhappy; so destroyed; so done with this miserable deathmarch across the MetroWest.  We hit the turn and I didn't even care.  Just get me to the finish. 5 more minutes and you can stop.  But then something happened.  There were runners around me throwing up there hands in joy and looking to each other and smiling. I realized, this might me their first time here.  Many of these people were fulfilling the dream that I had done in 2015.  This might be miserable and horrible but suddenly Bradley's advice came back to me: I'm in the goddamned Boston Marathon.

I proudly started counting down the blocks Gloucester, Fairfield and then Exeter.  Yeah, we're all going to do this!  We're finishing the Boston Marathon! We're all in this finish together!  Then as we passed Exeter Street, I saw in my peripheral vision - Tall Guy. We're in this together except that guy. I dropped whatever hammer I had left to make sure I went across before Tall Guy did, cuz fuck him.

I crossed the line and stopped running.  The pain was really setting in as  I made my way to the medals, found Freddi and got my medal from her.  Then my poncho and waddled down Clarendon to get to Back Bay Station.

Heading back toward the Park Street and Cambridge on the Orange Line, I texted Brian Lavalle in Vietnam: "Well, that was pretty epic."

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.

Bad Moon on the Rise: Malta Marathon (3/5/2017)

Finish line - Sliema

Race: Malta Marathon
Location: Mdina - Sliema, Malta
Goal Time: 3:00:00
Actual Time: 3:21:19

Tim Morin can sum up any marathon: "Marathons are hard."

I ran across the 31 km mark, I ran past a band playing some Creedence. "I hear the hurricanes a blowing...".  All I could think was, "Bad Moon on the Rise? Well, that's kinda ominous choice of songs."

Little did I know...

****
Urvi and I rented an apartment in Valletta (the Baroque - and still - capital of Malta).  But the night before the marathon we took the ferry over to the tourist town of Sliema (site of the marathon finish line) and spent the night at a hotel there (But, still within sight of our apartment in Valletta).

In the morning we were bussed from Sliema to the middle of the island.  The marathon started at the gates of the Medieval capital - Mdina.  And before the race, droves of internationals wandered the ancient city.  I hadn't realized we'd get a tourist destination too.

In the Cathedral Square, Mdina, before the marathon
photo by Urvi

 The race started right at 7:30.  It was 58F and still a bit overcast.  Not terrible, but not great.

The raced wrapped its way around the central hills of Malta in a pair of figure eights.  So, constantly got shots of rolling farmland and vineyards leading up to the old capital with its spires and basilica dominating the area.

Mdina
(photo blatantly stolen from a real estate developer's site)

My plan had been a simple break the race into 5ks and each 5k race 5 seconds faster per mile.   Things were looking good for the first 15k, which I ran through at 1:05:23.  But, I started to notice the heat and the fact that "partly cloudy" was not as "cloudy" as I would have liked.

near-ish to the 10k
notice how fresh and un-sweaty we still are.

My shirt was now stuck to me from the sweat.  But, many of the local Maltese were out and cheering - especially around the two passes of the National Stadium.  Still, there was a lot of shadeless open road.  Any trees were both that gorgeous gnarled and twisting variety you get in the Mediterranean; but, also as you get in the Mediterranean, about my height and not full of leaves.  Where there was some shade was running through the little towns.  But there were also cars to compete with.  (99% of drivers were respectful; and some even encouraging).

Just past 25k the course turns onto the straight road back toward Valletta and Sliema.  Quickly you leave the Arcadian imagery of timeless Mediterranean.  The road becomes a modern road with trucks and industrial shops and 20th century apartment blocks.  By now, I had realized there would never be a 3 hour marathon and probably not a PR (3:05).  But, as we went through the last quaint village of Attard around 29km, I thought I could still break my second fastest marathon at 3:12.

Leaving Attard, the course  gets real industrial as it directs you toward the tourist waterfront.  This is where I passed the Creedence band.

"I see trouble on the way"

The 32km marks starts 5k on a freeway.  While the baroque capital is ahead with its basilica and spires, I was suddenly done.  The exposed shadeless asphalt was only broken by the occasional dip under a bridge.

I walked off and on on the highway as half marathoners (who'd started 1:45 after us), whizzed by me.

At 37 km, the road violently goes down to the waterfront.  And in a long - seemingly interminable - meandrous route, the marathon snakes along the waterfront.

Finally with about 1 km to go, you run through a cafe and then a gas station (why?) to hit "the Strand" (the main waterfront road of Sliema).  With view of Fort Manoel and Valletta on your right, and tourists of all kinds cheering on, I put my head down and jogged into a finish.

Celebrating at the awesome beer bar in Valletta -  67 Kapitali

While I'm not unhappy with my marathon, I think more access to water and powerade would have helped.  And Urvi's marathon turned bad... but I'll let her tell that story.

On the plus side, I was the first American!

Basho's 26 miles: The Koan of the Marathon (10/16/16)

At Mile 12 with Chris and Jake

Event: Baystate Marathon
Location: Lowell, MA
Goal Time: 3:00:00
Actual Time: 3:05:30

Basho said to the assembled monks: "If you have a staff, I will give you one; If you have no staff, I will take it away from you.
~Koan 43, The Gateless Gate

At around mile 24 and a half, Jake - who was leading the second half of the 7/min mile pace group - passed me with the one guy left.  It was exactly as I suspected.  In fact at mile 13, I told Jake: "I'll see you after I blow up."

****

There had been little majesty in this training season or in the few days going into the race.  I guess the grandeur of the marathon has either worn off or I was merely less interested in this specific one. Even as I walked up to the start line I didn't have the same fear/excitement.

But, I hoped it would be like Basho's paradox.  I needed fear/excitement so it was given to me externally.  Instead the majesty of the marathon would have to be created by me - not by circumstances.

It helps you when you wade across a river, when the bridge is broken down; it accompanies you when you return to the village on a moonless night. But if you call it a staff, you will go to Hell swifter than an arrow.
~ Commentary of Koan 43, The Gateless Gate

But, I still had my plan.  I was going to try to run the first half at 7 min/mi and then the second half at 6:45/mi.  When I got there Eric Ahern and Chris Antunes were at the start as the 3:05 pace group leaders for the first half.  Chris was going to run 7 min/ miles.  So, like Hannibal Smith ...

****

The first half, I just sat on Chris and the 7 min/ mile group.  For a few few miles (5-7) where I slowed letting the group go at pace uphill and then I would rejoin them on the downhill; other than that I stayed right with the group.  I still felt great as we came up on the Rourke Bridge near the halfway point. Brendan Caffrey was there to cheer which gave me a pick up.  Then I caught sight of Jon Cusick, Brendan Kearney and Greg Soutiea.

As we got onto the bridge, Jake jumped in with us, since he was leading the second half of the pace group.  When we got to the half way point I looked back at Jake:

"I'll see you after I blow up."
"You dropping the pace"
"yep"
"Good Luck!"

****

At Mile 18

"The deep and the shallow everywhere
Are all within my grasp.
It holds up the sky and the earth;
In every place it spreads the True Doctrine."
~ Verse of Koan 43, The Gateless Gate

Miles 14-19, I increased the effort and dropped the pace.  The months of running 6:45 pace once a week or so started to come into play.  I felt tired but stuck to the pace as best I could.  It was great that right after the second crossing of the Tyngsboro Bridge at mile 18, Deb, Jason and Peter were there to cheer and kept me in the zone for one more mile on pace.

But, by 20, this pace was gone.  It was time to race without being able to race...to have a staff without having a staff.

From 20 miles on, I would look at my watch and figure out, “What would my finish time be if I ran 8 minute miles the rest of the way?” 

Miles 21 and 22 were still close to 7 minutes but I was definitely flagging. The third appearance of Brendan Caffrey cheering on the sideline was awesome.  I could barely comprehend the words, but the meaning was good enough to jump start me again (even though I'm pretty sure I told him: "There's too much hockey left"?).

Miles 23 and 24 were pretty much a blur.  I kept the “What would my finish time be if I ran 8 minute miles the rest of the way?” bit going.  I found that it took me a bit to multiple minutes left by 8 and then add 2.  Then I would add that number to the time at the mile.  By the time I had done that math, I had covered 400m.  It was like how Toby described Michael on the Office: "Michael's like a movie on a plane, you know it's not great but it's somethin' to watch. And when it's over, you're like, how much time is left on this flight, now what?"

As Jake came by me, I said; "Told you, you'd come by."  The guy who was the last of the pace group tried to get me to go with them.  But I didn't have it.

The deep and the shallow were everywhere.  I couldn't run any faster but I knew that if I just kept this effort, I would still have a monster personal record.  

As I ran over the construction-ridden and lonely VFW Highway, I just put my head down and tried to stay near this woman who was running slightly faster than me.  Somewhere in there I got cheers from Julie.

I got back into downtown Lowell and saw the Spinners stadium where my first marathon had finished; then I had an zoned out exchange with Frank Georges. (I was on the verge of vomiting.)  I had no sprint left in me and it felt like I had run the last mile at 9 minutes (It wasn't until hours later I figured out that I had still broke 8 in that last desperate "wade across the river when the bridge is broken down."

With one last turn, the finish line appears 100 yards ahead.  I saw the clock at 3:05 and cruised in for a 6 and a half minute PR.

****

Despite my need to vomit and lie down, I was so happy to see Urvi immediately upon finishing, who had had a course PR in Half. 

As I said on facebook right afterwards: "It takes a village to make a great race."  And throughout the day I had been able to share many of those who helped bring me here, including Nichole, Erin, Mark, Brendan, Robby, Urvi, Deb and everyone else who I can't remember right now.