Category: Race Recap

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Where It All Began • Fairfield Half Marathon, Fairfield, CT, USA

After a long day of celebrating with my classmates, I woke with my brain throbbing.  I knew this would likely be an issue.  As usual, I’d avoided alcohol completely, but even so the audible stimulation of the evening had wiped me out.  I’d spend a good chunk of the evening sitting quietly in the parking lot to escape the noise and decompress but even that wasn’t enough.  It had been yet another case of balancing physical health with mental health.  No regrets though: I refuse to allow my injuries to define my life.

On top of that, the weather had done a complete 180°!  Yesterday was hot and humid, like I’m used to in Miami.  Today was chilly and windy.  Suffice it to say that I wasn’t ready for that.  Regardless, for the first time in 20 years (I think) I donned my Prep Cross Country uniform shorts and began to prepare myself for the mental and physical battle ahead.  I have to admit:  I was pretty pumped that I still fit into those bright red running shorts from yesteryear!  To celebrate our 20 years, I’d rock them for another thirteen miles.  While I knew this wasn’t going to be a PR performance today, I did expect to put in a decent time – one at least worthy of a Prep runner!

The Fairfield Half will always have significant meaning for me.  Back in 1995, this had been my first ever half marathon.  That year, I’d gone from unable to complete more than two miles even with a break every half, to feeling confident enough to test myself with 13.1.  I’d went from a sedentary lifestyle, to that of a runner.  Although running had been painful (for as yet unknown reasons), I’d managed pretty well.  I was by no means elite as a freshman, but I was moderately competitive.  So I kept at it.  That June, I ran my heart out at the Fairfield Half.

I’ll never forget that race.  I ran strong.  I ran fast.  I crushed the hills.  I even got my first runners high.  I pushed myself harder than I’d though possible, even vomiting with less than a mile left to go.  But I didn’t stop.  I was on top of the world.  As I hit the gravel running back into the Jennings Beach parking lot, I gave it everything I had… and I got smoked by an old guy.  I finished with a solid 1:47:37, but was frustrated I’d been shown up by ‘grandpa’.  Invincible, untouchable, smart ass teenager… I’d just been put in my place.  I decided that one day *I* would be that grandpa!  In 50 years, I’d be the one sprinting past some too cool for school kid.  Yes… during that one race, running became central to my life.  There’ve been some detours, but that race was a defining moment.

I ran the Fairfield Half every summer while I was in CT, improving every year through my graduation.  In the summer of ’98, I ran the best race of my life:  1:25:34, good enough for the win in the 19 and under age group.  I’d just graduated Prep, was in the best shape of my life, and was ready to take on college.  For the first time in my four year running career, I’d won an individual accolade.  As a team, ƒpXc had been on another level.  Individually, I’d been just OK.  For the first time, I’d excelled!  I was proud of that trophy, even if it was broken within the hour.  That PR would stand until I was nearly twice that age, when I finally beat it in Tartu, Estonia!

This morning, I was simply shooting for a solid 1:35, a pace I should be able to comfortably run.  It didn’t start out well though.  With the ‘cold’ I wasn’t feeling it.  My first couple miles were slow and painful.  I was struggling and wasn’t even running a 7:30 pace.  It was going to be a lonnnnnnnng day.  I had started the race with Vin, and ran those first few miles with him.  Gradually I warmed up and began to feel at least a little bit better.  Just past mile two, we saw the first of our bomb squad (thats what Prep calls its cheering section).  There on the side of the road our buddy Kevin’s wife and baby were cheering us on.  As we ran past, I decided it was time to step it up!  I stripped off my shirt (I hadn’t earned the nickname Naked Boy in high school for nothing) and picked up the pace.  Slight problem:  my old Prep shorts waistband couldn’t hold the shirt.  I turned back, and left my gear with our crew!  And then immediately took on the first hill.

It was like an instant transformation.   Suddenly I was alive.  The pain was still there, but my body flowed smoothly.  My mental game was where it needed to be.  There would be no slowing down from here.  Originally I’d planned to go out moderately strong, survive the early hills, crush the middle miles, survive the back hills and finish strong.  Ohh yeah… and I wanted to make sure I beat all my old teammates!  The new plan involved continuous improvement:  Negative splits – despite the hills.  I caught up with Vin again.   His race strategy had been to take the first half easy, so after a short time running with him, I picked up the pace.  Still no sign of Matt and Kevin, we’d lost them somewhere before the start.

Halfway through the run, channeling his inner Coach Ford Sr., JT was out there on the bike to cheer us along.  HEY NOW PREP!!!!  Dahhhhh!  John, check the shorts!  I got the boost I needed, and picked it up a little more.  A little later on I see him again: how far ahead are the other guys?  Turns out, they’re not.  I’m into the last 5 miles – MR8K to go.  This is where I am strongest.  I just have to hold on through the hills.  I didn’t realize it, but Matt was just a tiny bit behind.  As we approach the toughest hills, Matt and I are side by side, the infamous Torpedo is just ahead.  I know I’m going to falter on the hills, so I accelerate into them.   I’ve got a slight lead as we hit the incline.  I’m left in the dust as we climb.  We hit the peak, and I immediately accelerate, closing the gap that had opened on the hill.  No sooner do I catch up, but the road slopes upward again.  Time for the worst hill of the race.  I take the hill hard, but I suck at the climb… I’m still losing ground.  I maintain that effort level.  When the climbing stops, I start moving.  I’m actually feeling fairly good, and my goal time of 1:35 is in reach if I work these last few miles.  I continue to accelerate.  I hear two random guys saying to each other they aren’t going to let me beat them as I pass.  I laugh to myself.  I’m on fire right now.  The hills are done, I’m feeling strong.  Nobody is passing me these last few miles.  I pick up the pace even more.  We run by Kevin’s family, but I’m so in the zone I don’t notice it until after passing them.  Shortly down the road, we turn left and approach Jennings Beach.  HEY NOW PREP!  A nice strong finish, and right on schedule with 1:35, my tenth Fairfield Half Marathon is in the books.

I’d won the Prep Millennium Division – a solid accomplishment.  Once upon a time, those guys were so far ahead of me, but now it’s my time.  Despite all the drama, now I’m in the best running shape of my life.  I feast on the post race fruit and pizza.  Unfortunately with the weather, it was not a good beach day… still we hung on the beach for a while, new friends and old, to celebrate another great run.  Some things never change.

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20 Years Now • Fairfield Road Races 5K & Fairfield Prep 5K, Fairfield, CT, USA

This weekend trip had a dual purpose:  not only was I here to run another few races, but it was also my 20 year high school reunion.  Man, just saying that makes me sound old!  It was over half my life ago that I roamed the halls of Fairfield Prep,  It has been decades since my teammates blazed through that Wickham Park 5K course to a dominating victory in the CIAC State Open Championship.  My four years at Prep, running for our cross country and track teams, are largely responsible for the man I am today.  It was there that I developed from a depressed and miserable child, gaining the confidence, courage and strength that have carried me so far since.   It was there that I found my faith, my foundation and myself.  I entered those double doors for the first time empty and lonely.  I walked out of them four years later a new man: a ‘man for others’ molded by the values of our Jesuit education.

So much has changed since then, yet so much remains the same.  Gone is my childish innocence:  I’d lived a fairly sheltered life.  Much of the turmoil and strife I’d learned about were only in textbooks; conflicts that seemed only academic… not real.  Now it’s different.  I’ve survived terrorism, battled corruption, and faced some of humanities darkest manifestations.  Yet those four years taught me the most important lesson of all: there is more that unites us, than that divides us.  Although the most powerful displays of that lesson were years in my future, it was here that I first discovered hope for humanity and our future.

In those days, running was central to my life.  Although I didn’t exactly enjoy it for the first ten months, during the summer between my freshman and sophomore year I fell in love.  The freedom of self-propulsion, the physical and psychological benefits of the sport, and the human bonds that it formed… running defined my life and my growth.  I’d lost that passion for a while… but in recent years I’ve picked up where I left off.  Running is once again central to my life.  In some ways, right now, it’s almost all I have left.  So, yes, I was excited to be back.  I was excited to reconnect with old faces and places.  I’m not sure what life will bring in the years that come, but I know the strength and values that my time at Prep developed will guide me through it.  This weekend, I’d celebrate the 20 year roller coaster ride that my life has been in the best way possible: running with some of the best friends I’ve ever had.

A few years back, the folks at JB Sports split the half marathon and 5K to different days.  Soon after the Lucas Challenge was born: Lucas being the Fairfield University mascot.  This year, to increase the chances of ideal racing weather, the race was moved forward two weeks from late June.  I was fired up when I heard that… although not because I cared about the race weather.  More importantly, now race weekend was reunion weekend.  I wasn’t going to be able to fly back to CT twice in June, now I didn’t need to.  Lucas Challenge here I come!  But wait… there’s more.   For the first time this year, Prep decided to host a 5K fun run as part of reunion weekend.  Would it be possible to do both?  The Fairfield Road Races 5K was at Jennings Beach at 8am.  One hour later on campus the Prep run would begin.  Since it was only two miles away… it was possible!  So I challenged my cross country teammates to the first annual “Jesuit Challenge”: dual 5Ks on Saturday and half marathon on Sunday.

Out of my group, Vin was the only other one crazy enough to accept that challenge.  Another younger Prep alum and cross country superstar also joined the fun.  On a very hot and humid Saturday morning, the three of us lined up with the crowd by Jennings Beach ready to take on the first 5K.  This was a good sized race with some solid runners: there was prize money on the line.  I knew I wasn’t going to be running a super fast time in the half (too many hills), so I decided to make this first 5K my hardest push for the weekend.  I’ve been hurting recently, so I knew that a PR wasn’t likely… but I’ll be damned if I wasn’t going to give it a go.  I started off strong.  My first half mile was right on schedule at about 5:40 pace, but I struggled a bit from there, slowing to just over 6 minute pace for the remainder.  With the heat today, I used the water stops to dump some cold water on my head.  It was a short race, so I wasn’t worried about hydration.  As I knew I was running slower than I’d hoped, the time clocks at the mile markers were a bit disheartening but definitely convenient and helped keep me from getting lazy.  20 years ago, my track PR at Prep was 18:15.  In cross country, my best performance was a 19:07.  Today, I’d come in at right around that mark with a 19:04, good enough for second in my age group.

With one down and one to go, Vin and I hopped in the car and drove to Prep (time was a little too tight to jog there).  Here there was a decidedly more relaxed vibe, and a much smaller crowd of about 100 runners and walkers, including a handful of mid 90’s cross country guys and a lot of the current runners.  No bells and whistles, no pressure… just a fun run.  Ready, set… the megaphone horn failed.  OK, let’s try that again.  Ready, set, go!  We were off, immediately starting with a nice uphill.  Did I mention how much I hate hills?  It took me a while to get in my groove, and even when I did I wasn’t going all out for this run.  I’d enjoy it.  This was a nice little tour of campus, allowing me to see just how much had changed in the 20 years I’d been gone.  Some things, like the universities crumby gravel track still remained.  2.9 miles later, ending with another uphill, I hit the finish.  Now the fun part: reconnecting with fellow Prep runners over a nicely catered breakfast.  I’d be spending a lot of time in the quad today: Tonight I’d be back for the 20 year reunion dinner!  Much has has changed since then.  My love of alma mater and running never will!

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So Alive • Cleveland Marathon, Cleveland, OH

I’ve found that life has a way of giving me exactly what I need, even though I often don’t even know it at the time.  Thats why I always treat obstacles and challenges as experiences.  Just like the ups, the downs are a critical part of the adventure called life.  So even though things have been really rough recently, I came to Cleveland confident of one thing: this trip was somehow going to exactly what I needed.

So I arrived in Cleveland and went straight to the expo.  This was race weekend!  Time to feed off that vibe.  Cleveland had a challenge series with races on Saturday and Sunday.  I had my own challenge.  I had hoped to run a small half marathon on Saturday morning a bit south of Cleveland, but for better or worse, it was a bit too far to work out.  On one hand, I was disappointed… but this did mean my legs would be fresher for the main event.  Exactly what I need right?  My real challenge was the marathon.  It was time to focus on that.  I could get another half in next weekend.

When I decided to run Cleveland, I had three basic choices: I could run the half and keep building my numbers for this years half marathon quest.  Or I could step up the mileage and go for the BQ – 3:05 would comfortably get me in, and there was a pace group to guide me.  Finally, I could all out race it, and most likely blow away my full marathon PR.  I know I’m in shape to hit 2:50-2:55.  On a perfect day (course, weather, injuries and so on), I might even be able to pull off the 2:45 GFA time I need to qualify for Berlin and Tokyo.

In Boston, the marathon has always been about the experience.  I’ve never really cared about my time.  Yelling to the crowd, weaving around to high five as many people as possible, plus my attire… these things are not exactly the recipe for a PR.  Cleveland would be a first for me.  It would be my first time racing the marathon.  If all went well, it would earn me that all important BQ.  Prior to being hit two years ago, I had been 100% confident that I could go out and qualify for Boston on any given day.  I didn’t get that chance.  My injuries sidelined that, and it’s only been recently that I’ve been functional enough again to move forward with that.  Still, there was a maybe.  I don’t know what my lingering injuries effects will be on any given day.  And they’ve been bad recently.  So I made the logical choice: I would stick with the 3:05 pace group.  I wouldn’t risk going out too hard, and if all went well I’d even run negative splits.  Worst case, I’d still have time to get in a BQ for 2019

Race morning I woke up to wind and rain.  Great.  Just what I needed!  Well, at least it wasn’t too cold!  I reminded myself that it was less rainy, less windy and less cold than Boston had been a month earlier and jogged down to the start.  Outside the arena, the Cavaliers playoff mantra: “Whatever it takes”… just like my original late 90’s Boston College SuperFan shirt.  Also, exactly what I was going to do today.  I was hurting, but I was confident: I would qualify for Boston on my first attempt.

Before I knew it, we were off!  There were two pacers leading a good dozen of us unicorn chasers.  With a group of this size, and two pacers who could run it comfortably, this was going to be a social run.  I liked that.  For the most part it worked out well.  I just struggled with the climbs.  Four or five miles in, I joked with one of the guys that every time I’d catch back up we’d start climbing again.  I can’t hold a pace uphill.  Definitely something I need to work on.

One things for sure: I was glad to have this group to run with.  I really was hurting, but keeping that 3:05 sign on my radar was the primary goal for the day.  As they ran each mile consistently just a tad over seven minute pace, I always knew exactly how I was doing and where I needed to be.  Other than those early hills, I was staying right on track.  Everything was falling perfectly into place.  The rain had eased up enough that it was barely a mist before stopping completely.  It was actually nice to run through that.  Just like a sprinkler.  The temperature was great for peak bodily performance.  And between the pace group, crowd and on course entertainment, there was just enough energy to keep me moving despite the pain.  While the rock band playing under a bridge was probably great for most of the runners, with my brain state it almost made me melt down.  I can’t control that, but I can accelerate a bit to get out from under that bridge.  Today I was going to accomplish my goal.

Everything flowed perfectly.  The miles passed quickly and somewhat easily.  The conversation saw to that.  Before I knew it, the half marathon course split off.  We were fully committed now!  A few more miles raced by.  The pain started to intensify.  I tried to ignore it at first.  I kept up the conversation and stayed with the group.  The pain stayed with me, and further intensified.   I knew what I had to do: I needed to circle back within myself.  This was an internal battle, and one I’d have to fight myself.  I deliberately dropped back from the group.  Just a bit…

That’s one of the beautiful things about having pacers.  Not only are they guiding and inspiring those running with them to hit their goal, the simple act of holding that sign up provides a perfect moving goal line for runners behind the group.  I had dropped back from the group, but that sign still kept me on pace.  I didn’t need to pay any attention to how fast I was running or anything else.  I could focus all of my energies inwards, and beat that pain.  It didn’t matter how much it hurt.  I knew exactly what I needed to do, and exactly how to compel my mind and body to respond.  There would be no more conversation and high-fiving the crowd.  At least not for a while.  Some of the others in the group periodically looked back “You got this Ken!”.  This is why I love this sport.  We are all in this together!

Externally, and internally…Exactly what I need.  That’s what was going to happen today.  I suffered through the miles.  My brain game carried me, and the sign ahead kept me on pace. I focused within.  That strength would carry me.  This was the longest distance I’d ever raced!  I was ready for it though.  Another energy gel.   Mile 20: forget the wall.  My magic miles are just ahead.  I passed the 21 mile marker and started to pick up the pace.  Physically I was far from depleted and now that I’d started the last MR8K… the pain meant nothing.  I had all the reason I needed to rock those last miles.  Today I was earning my bib for Boston 2019!  Despite the pain, the miles began to flow again.  I caught back up to the group.  It had fragmented.  I tried to inspire the few who’d fallen back to catch the group again with me.   One of the guys still carried the sign, and stayed on pace.  Several of the group stayed with him.  Right at 3:05 was where most of them would finish.  A few who had been running strong picked up the pace a little bit for the last few miles.  I closed the gap with them as well.  As we raced through the city, I hear a radio blaring: Love and Rockets.   “I’m alive, huh, huh, so alive”

Running to earn my BQ… running for Boston… I’d saved some of my best miles for last.  My legs were strong, and I was running for my town.  I’ll carry my cross, I’m on top again.  Yes… despite it all… I’m alive!  So, so alive!  Sprinting across that line, my first 26.2 mile race is in the books. Even though I hadn’t been feeling it today, I’d done exactly what I needed to.  Powered by my own inner strength, and some solid miles this year, with the assist going to a couple great pacers and a handful of my incredible running family… yes… it was a good day!

3:03:33.  An incredible race, a comfortable BQ, and a celebration of that fundamental fact:  I’m alive

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My Team • Sandbar Half Marathon, Englewood, FL, USA

Racing season is pretty much over here in Florida. Summer is rapidly approaching, and with that our temperatures are rising. It’s starting to get HOT! I don’t mind running in the heat though… I actually quite enjoy it. Racing is another matter! The hotter it gets, the slower those times end up being. With that in mind, the inaugural Sandbar Half Marathon, benefitting the local YMCA, was the perfect ‘end of season’ race for Southwest Florida.

The course, an out and back on scenic Manasota Key, is flat and large portions of it are shaded. This makes for a great chance to PR and see just how much you’ve improved over the season. Word to the wise though: if you are planning on chasing down that PR, watch your tangents. Although almost the entire course is on the same street, there are lots of gentle curves in the road. While my GPS put the course right at 13.1, the course was not certified this year. Race organizers, however, did indicate that was something they’d be looking at for next year.  With this being an out and back, you pass each aid station twice, so there was plenty of on course support.

This wasn’t just a fast course though! It was beautiful. Around half the race is run down a beautifully landscaped road with a great tree canopy, while the entire thing is surrounded by spectacular ocean and bay-front homes. You pass directly alongside the beach for a bit on the way out, and again on the way back. Finally, after an almost two mile loop at the south end of the key, you take a quick right and almost immediately are across the line. Then it’s time for relaxation, and celebration at the title sponsor: Sandbar Tiki and Grille. The beer flowed freely, and there was a delicious hot meal waiting, all to the backdrop of beautiful Manasota Key and live music. It was truly an awesome vibe. Even if you aren’t chasing down a PR, this is still a great event!

Yet despite the potential for a fast time, the beauty of the course and the afterparty… none of those were what struck me the most about this race. Instead it was the community. With around 600 athletes racing in both distances, this was quite a crowd for an inaugural event. And those athletes, the organizers, sponsors and local community were all super friendly and supportive of each other. I’ve said a million times that running, and races, bring out all that is good in humanity. This was a perfect example of that.

As I raced down the course, I was pleasantly surprised by how many of the local residents were out on lawn chairs cheering us on. Manasota Key is a very small community, so while there weren’t masses of spectators, the percentage of community engagement was impressive! Rather than get all up in arms about runners bogging down the only road, they embraced this event. The race course was not closed to traffic, yet this small community’s support made that a moot point. I probably only saw a dozen cars during the entire time I was running. Although runners were racing across both sides of the roads, drivers were patient and respectful… clearly this isn’t Miami! It was incredible to see this handful of drivers keeping a significant distance behind runners, inching along at times under 5mph, and waiting patiently until there was wide open road to pass. I never thought I’d say I felt comfortable running a race while sharing the lane with traffic, but thats exactly what happened here. It’s amazing what can be accomplished with mutual respect! While this may not be possible as the race grows (and I suspect it will) for now everything is perfectly balanced.

It wasn’t just the support of the locals that made this a spectacular day though. The entire community here was awesome. On out and backs, I always make it a point to cheer on the runners across the road from me, and I’m never the only one that does. Here it seemed like everybody was doing it! Mutual support of one another as we each pushed to run our own race… together! Then during the awards ceremony, race staff indicated they were short some medals. Last minute signups blew past expectations for total participants (which I think was reasonable considering this was the first year of the race). To make the situation right, they promised runners they’d be ordering and sending out medals to those who didn’t get them. Since there were still a few people out on the course at this point, I knew exactly what I had to do. I went back to the finish line: the last person on the course was just as deserving of getting a medal as I was. I’ve got plenty, waiting a bit for my next wasn’t going to hurt me! As if on cue, she finished a minute later and I handed her her medal! “Congratulations on a job well done!” You know how I said the running community rocks? Well I wasn’t even the only runner who went back to the finish ready to give up my medal. This community of runners, my team, is one I’m quite proud of! The Sandbar Half Marathon was a great event to celebrate a season of successes and support! Congrats to all who were involved this year, and looking forward another great run next year!

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Pure Bliss • USA Beach Running Championship, Cocoa Beach, FL, USA

I absolutely love running barefoot on the beach, so the USA Beach Running Championship has been on my radar for several years. Today it served as the perfect capstone to a month of meaningful races – Boston, OKC Memorial and now this! It has certainly been a fantastic month, and I’m more than happy with my overall performances.

Today I intended to win. When I first heard that there was a barefoot beach half marathon division a few years back, I knew I had to go there and win it! That had my name written all over it. So this morning, when I unsurprisingly woke just a few minutes before my alarm… I was ready! I jogged the three miles to the start of the race, checked in quickly and immediately slipped off my shoes and went out to the beach. It was beautiful! The sun was about to rise, and the dawn glow lit the horizon. Runners were milling about, and volunteers and race staff were scuffling with last minute preparations: You can’t exactly leave the timing mat out on the sand overnight, especially with the race designed to be at the lowest tide! That low tide meant the sand was hard packed, making it much more suitable for fast times, but the wind over the past few days had washed in lots of seaweed and shells. As we prepared for the start, barefoot runners were advised to tread carefully lest we step on something we’d regret. I wasn’t too worried as I’m used to running barefoot.

We lined up to start the race. My friend David, who dominated last year, wasn’t here this year. Maybe, just maybe, I could win the barefoot division and be the first overall finisher. That would be pretty sweet. From previous race results, I knew it was a possibility. But the stars would have to be perfectly aligned. I’d need to run one of my best races ever. Unlikely, but certainly possible. You know I don’t mind the long odds!

I toed the line right near the front and took off. The competition quickly spread out. Running on the sand is a very different workout than road racing, so I wasn’t at all surprised. Two young guys immediately took a comfortable lead, and I was not too far behind in third. There was a bit of a gap behind me. “Not too bad” I thought… 3rd overall and first barefoot. I could live with that! And if I got lucky, as the pain hopefully dulled a few miles in, I could try to work my way up and catch the leaders. Unlikely, but still possible. All the more fun!

We raced down the sand as the sun rose to the east. Those with shoes tended to stay a little further west. I welcomed the water splashing against my feet! The sand here was a bit more challenging than what I’m used to at home, but what I was most concerned with was those shells. As I ran, I tried to avoid them a bit. But I had no concerns about stepping on them when I needed to. With all my beach miles, I’ve toughened up my soles quite a bit! It was worth it to feel the sand between my toes.

The first two miles I was right where I wanted to be, and I felt good. Far from pain free, but I was moving well and definitely enjoying the moment. As I approached the third mile I got a side stitch on my right. Bummer! I tried the breathe out when that foot lands trick, but it wouldn’t go away. I’d have to run through it. I kept breathing out on the right hand side, but that cramp just got worse and I slowed considerably. I heard the crunch of shells as a runner gradually approached. There goes my overall podium, but whew… he had shoes! At this point, I knew I wasn’t going to catch the first two runners unless they completely burnt out. But I WOULD still win the barefoot division!

As he passed me, I tried to hang behind him for a bit but that cramp was too much. My feet were mostly OK, but those shells made things a bit rougher. I knew I’d likely have a blister or two to show for this effort… but not on the main running surfaces. Instead, it was the joints of the toes I worried about. They weren’t used to racing through slightly protruding hard objects.

I had to be careful running at the water line, as every once in a while I was running through ankle deep water as a wave came in.  I had also missed an aid station earlier because the table couldn’t be set up that close to the waterline. It was hot, hydration was necessary. I moved a tad inland as I approached the third water station, grabbed a cup, took it down quickly and attempted to throw the empty in the nearby trash can. Littering a beautiful beach is a very bad thing! Not sure if I made that basket, but at least I was close enough to make the volunteers job easier. Shortly after another runner passed me: I was hurting.

But the pain was meaningless. It was discomfort. It would pass: I would make it! I passed mile six. The halfway turn-around wasn’t too far off. The lead runner, now on his way back flew by! He was a mile ahead, and we were only halfway in. I needed to up my game! The runner up had fallen back a bit, but still seemed out of reach. As I approached the turn, the two who had passed me looped back. Both were in striking distance. I took the turn myself, and made a conscious effort to push the pace. Another barefoot runner was only a couple minutes behind me: If I faltered, I would fail. That barefoot division was mine to lose.

So I stepped it up. I pulled myself back to seven minute range. I knew I could hold that pace. Yes… I’d never raced this distance on the sand or barefoot before, but barefoot beach running and the positive energy of a foot race… how could I not celebrate this fusion of two of my favorite things?! On the bright side, the stitch made it a lot easier not to notice the normal back and leg pain. Left foot, right foot, breathe in, breathe out. Simple. The stitch subsided a bit. My pace increased proportionately. I’m at a solid pace again for a bit and then… revenge of the stitch! My right side was in agony! Left foot, right foot, breathe in, breathe out. I reminded myself that the barefoot division was still mine to lose. Left foot, right foot, breathe in, breathe out. Left foot, right foot, breathe in, breathe out. The stitch subsided just enough… one of the runners who had passed me was in sight.

Now I had a target. I’d catch the two who passed me, and minimize the gap between number two as much as possible. I ran through another patch of shells… so be it. I was gonna have a few blisters anyway. Now I was doing a little bit of weaving as well… the 10K runners had started a bit after the half, and many of them were still out on the course. For the most part it was easy to move around them, but it did make it hard to see how far ahead runner number three was. I caught up to number four. I knew I’d catch that other guy: I still had a few miles to go, and despite the pain I was on a roll. I skipped the last few water stops. Too many people around, and it would have slowed me too much. Gradually my next target came into view. No hesitation! I raced right on by. I hugged the water line, just running right over the shells at this point (I knew I’d have a few blisters either way).

Finally the finish was in sight, with a chute lined with beautiful conch shells. I moved up from the water line just a bit and sprinted through! Mission accomplished: First barefoot AND third overall! Now time for the afterparty! Chilling on the beach, with a backdrop of a Hawaiian band and even some hula dancing… now this is my kind of party. Plenty of food, and some creative drinks. I’m used to seeing post race beer, but mimosas and screwdrivers? Now thats a party!

Now the dilemma for the day: third overall, or first barefoot? Since the results are treated as different races, it had to be one or the other. On international barefoot running day, it was an easy choice for me: Barefoot Beach Running Champion! I even got a bottle of bubbly to celebrate, along with my seahorse finishers medal and conch shell trophy! Next year, perhaps I can earn a tougher choice: first overall, or first barefoot…

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Stronger Together • Oklahoma City Memorial Half Marathon, Oklahoma City, OK, USA

I’ve been running anywhere and everywhere I could this year.  For the most part, it didn’t matter as long as I was running.  Whenever possible I’ve been racing so I could be surrounded by more of the running community I’m proud to call my family.  But only one date was circled on my calendar: that of the Boston Marathon.  That much was non-negotiable.  Come hell or high water, I’d be there.

As April approached, another date got circled: April 29.  I stumbled upon the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon, and knew immediately this was somewhere I had to be.  Around the five year anniversary of the tragedy that changed me, and the 23 year anniversary of the tragedy there… I would definitely Run to Remember!  Every step I take, every race I run…I have five reasons that I cannot stop:  For Dennis, For Sean, For Krystle, For Lu, For Martin.  Five souls who were taken too soon.  Well that weekend, I’d have 168 more reasons.  That weekend I would honor the 168 lost in the 1995 bombing in Oklahoma City, and the 5 lost nearly 20 years later in Boston.  173 powerful reasons why this would be a most memorable race.

Originally, I’d hoped to run another half the day before in nearby Tulsa.  That one wasn’t meant to be.  Perhaps that was a good thing, as now my focus for the weekend was 100% in OKC.  I wouldn’t just “Run to Remember”… I’d race!  I’d run like the wind to honor their memories!  This one event would exhibit all that is good in humanity:  

The resilience and strength of the individual spirit as athletes of all abilities pushed themselves to their limits

The communal spirit as all came together to honor and remember those lost over 20 years ago

The camaraderie of competitors, volunteers and the greater community who’d come out in support of the athletes and cause

The Oklahoma Standard that drove their healing then, and still caries forward to this day, much like Boston Strong drives my own journey

Everyone of us has strength untold, and together that power only magnifies.  Here it would be on display at both the individual and community levels.  This is the kind of thing we need more of in our world!

So, Saturday around noon I showed up at the Cox Convention Center.  I was pumped.  This was going to be an amazing weekend!  I picked up my bib and ventured into the expo.  I stopped by the National Parks Service booth for a bit, as the great outdoors has been my medication and physical healing these past few years.  Across the way I met some great folks from Willow Brain Harmony and Monk Chiropractic.  I ended up spending over a half hour there for a brain training session.  Like Boston a few weeks ago, I knew I’d be pushing my neurological capacity – my brain is still far from fully healed.  Also like Boston a few weeks ago, this cause it was worth it.  The emotional, spiritual and mental health benefits of this exertion far outweighed the negative physical effects I knew would follow.  This NeurOptimal session seemed like exactly what I needed.  Incredibly, despite the busy external environment, I was able to get some much needed relaxation.  Unsurprisingly I was even more pumped for the race to follow.

I spent the entire afternoon at the expo.  Stopped by to visit with my friends at Roo Sport, and made new friends elsewhere.  Normally, one of the first things I do when I go a new place is type in “Running store” on Google Maps.  It’s an easy way meet some great people who share my passion for running.   With a race expo of this size, it was even easier – everyone was right on site!  Local running stores also tend to be model members of the community – often hosting free or cheap group runs, workouts and coaching and other social and fitness events.  At home in Miami, it’s the iRun Army for me.  Here in Oklahoma City, OK Runner made me feel right at home, a feeling that was reinforced on race day seeing team members celebrate their accomplishments on the course.  I hadn’t planned on it, but I ended up bringing home a new pair of Brooks shoes, as my current ones had covered way too many miles.

I stopped by the “Why We Run” booth and prepared myself an “In Honor of…” bib to wear during the race.  No hesitation: 168 + 5!  I would run for them all!  I was humbled to be featured by the races social media and expo teams!  As the hall closed, I was mentally exhausted… but oh so motivated!  Tomorrow would be an amazing race.  I called it an early night – my brain was fried.

The following morning, two minutes before my alarm, my body woke on its own.  I was ready for this!  As I ran down to the starting line at the Memorial, I knew my injuries were going to be bothering me all day… but I didn’t care.  This was worth it!  I would push myself to the brink for 173 great reasons!  Once there…surrounded by 25,000 others… I could feel the blood coursing through my veins… I could feel the energy.  This was the kind of environment I thrive in.  I feed off that energy, and then reflect it back stronger than before.  This was going to be a great race!

We paused in remembrance for 168 seconds.  In front of the Memorial, nearly three minutes of powerful silence passed for those whom I’d be running for momentarily.  25,000 strong we honored their passing, we honored our flag, and in their memory we began our race!  Despite the pain, I started out exactly where I wanted to be for the first mile or so.  Unfortunately it got much tougher from there.  At the first real hill, my legs went tingly (but not quite numb).  My back flared up… this was going to be a painful run.  Even so, I would not stop.  I had 173 reasons to keep on moving, 173 reasons that were more powerful than any pain!

I had to be smart though: no one race is worth sacrificing a lifetime of running!  I’d balance exactly on that discomfort/destructive line like I’ve done many times before.  I’d still thrive off of the crowd energy and put in a solid performance, but it didn’t look like a PR was going to happen today!  The crowd was impressive.  It was still dark when we started, but they were there cheering us on.  As the sun rose, we raced by the state capitol and a field of flags, through parks and beautiful neighborhoods.  And the city was out there supporting us the whole way.  There were plenty of aid stations stocked with electrolytes, water and gels, and they were teeming with energy!  All the support you could need!  As the forecast had predicted it was warming up fast.  That part didn’t bother me much though.  The hills were what got to me.  I’m used to flat, so although these hills weren’t monstrous, I definitely felt them.  Despite the pain, for 173 reasons I powered up the hills.  The crowd roared.  The support out here was great!  Plenty of high fives and cheering spectators.  Thousands of extremely enthusiastic water station volunteers.  Even a giant blue gorilla and lots of bananas supported us along the way.

As the miles wound down the banners came into sight:  running by 168 of them, each bearing the name of someone who was killed in the bombing.  168 names I didn’t recognize, but all the same… today I ran for them!  I was just a high school kid when it happened.  I remember bits and pieces of it on the news, but over time the world moved on.  Oklahoma City moved forward as well, but would never be the same.  While I will never fully understand their journey (as I wasn’t there), my own experience in Boston many years later gave me a much deeper respect and understanding.  I’ve called it Boston Strong… years earlier they called it the Oklahoma Standard.  You never fully heal from something like this.  Life is forever changed.  But as they did over 20 years ago, I have also chosen: it is not the darkness that will define me, but rather the light.  We are stronger together, and it is in those periods of darkness that we discover the inner strength that often lies dormant within ourselves and our community.  Today, again, that strength was on display.  25,000 of us ran in their memory, and thousands more embraced their role in this event, and the ongoing healing of the community.  Today we were all here helping and healing one another, in remembrance of 168 souls I never had the privilege of meeting, but whose memories I would honor on this day.  For them, and the five we lost in Boston… I powered through.  Down the Oklahoma Standard Stretch, around a few more corners and the finish was in sight.  I gave a bit of a kick, and powered through that finish as Bart Yasso commented about my “man shirt” (AKA no shirt).  For Boston, for OKC, and for the goodness inherent to our human race – today was a beautiful day!

Much like I do in Boston, I stayed in that finish chute for a bit, basking in the energy!  Munched on the type of post race chow I’m used to, and then some… cheeseburgers definitely hit the spot after those miles!  I made sure to collect my finishers shirt, as this will be one that gets a lot of wear.  Next up, a nice relaxing massage!  Yes this was a good day.  My race was done, but the day had just began.  I found my way to the grandstands, it was time to cheer on the thousands still on the course!  I would stay there as long as I could:  My brain felt like it was going to explode, I still struggle with these loud environments.  But sometimes its worth it.  I would spend some time this afternoon reflecting at the memorial and museum, but first I would celebrate the healing, the strength and the love here at the finish line.  I’ve always admired the stories you hear when you ask a runner “why?”.  Today I knew 168 answers to that question, and it was my privilege to cheer on some of those runners as they honored loved ones they lost 23 years ago.  The finish line is such a powerful place.  Seeing the facial expressions as first timers cross that line never gets old.  Cheering as athletes finish their race, relays teams cross together, and sideline support crews go crazy for their loved ones makes my day.  Parents carry their excited children across that line, celebrating the behind the scene sacrifices they’ve made for each other.  A few runners took a fall as they approached… the heat got pretty intense as the afternoon wore on.  But just as the city did 23 years ago, they got back up.  A struggle though it may be, they got to that finish line, on their own strength and surrounded by the strength, support and compassion of their community.  For it is when we struggle most that we learn a very important lesson:  Within all of us lies a hero.  Within all of us lies a strength beyond our wildest dreams.  And while our inner strength is powerful beyond belief… our strength together is immeasurable.

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Trust Nature • Cary Greenways Half Marathon, Cary, NC, USA

What better way to celebrate Earth Day than a beautiful run on a greenway?  How about adding in a bunch of incredible people to that backdrop?  That was why I knew I had to run the Cary Greenways Half Marathon this morning.  Today was a day to celebrate the natural beauty of our planet.  I wasn’t looking to run a PR today; instead I’d go for a leisurely run enjoying all that this rock we call Earth has to offer.  Earth Day should be spent outdoors, and ideally in good company.  This race was the perfect fit.

I’ve run plenty of races before with various different formats.  Almost all of them have a mass start, frequently split into corrals and waves depending on the size and location of the event.  This was the first time I’ve ever run a race with a rolling start.  This race is run on the local greenway paved trails, so a mass start would have been disastrous both to the greenway and to the runners who would have been tripping all over each other.  Since this was more of a “fun” race than a “fast” race, a rolling start made much more sense than a bunch of seeded waves.  This contributed to the relaxed, stress free environment of the event.  Yes, you were timed, and competing against other runners… but this type of start shifted the focus to you.  You start whenever you are ready during a two hour window.  Instead of judging yourself against the other runners around you, you only have yourself to directly compete against.  If its the distance which is your primary foe, this is perfect.  It’s you (and your friends that choose to start with you), the greenway and the clock.  If you prefer head to head competition and coming in first, this may not be the best choice for you.  On the other hand, if you are looking for a no judgement, stress free, and fun opportunity to push your limits… this is it.

I wasn’t looking for a PR today.  I wasn’t even planning on pushing too hard.  I just wanted a solid run, to enjoy the great outdoors and some good company.  Thats exactly what I got.  I arrived towards the beginning of the race, and got my start (alone) about a half hour after the first runners.  The course starts off from underneath the Kiwanis Shelter and zig zags a bit, then a short trek over mulch before joining with the main (and cleanly paved) multi use greenway trail.  Early on I encountered a handful of 5 and 10K runners on their way back home.  Mutual words of encouragement were exchanged as we all continued on our own races.  The greenways themselves were beautiful.  I’d seen this on previous visits to the Triangle area: So many beautiful places to run.  We started off running through Bond Park before crossing a major intersection and continuing alongside (but fully protected from) the main road for a bit.  Then more parks.  Other than a few short stretches parallel to the road, this was all selfie inspiring green.  Especially for a thirteen mile course within the actual town and not out in the middle of nowhere… this was beautiful!

And lets not forget that other critical ingredient: the people.  I love the running community, and was lucky enough today to meet another handful of incredible people.  From the new friends I made out on the course (as I opted midway to make it a social run as well as the healing run I’d originally counted on) to the volunteers who made it all work, there were plenty of great people in attendance.  With the rolling start, packet pickup was stress free.  Then there were volunteers all over the course making sure everyone went the right way at various intersections.  I almost did extra credit again, running right past the water stop that marked the half marathon turn around.  I figured the turn was around the water station, not right before it:  the volunteers quickly reined me in. They also worked stoplight magic… Despite several major live intersection crossings, I only had to stop once and then just for a few seconds.  It was a simple formula actually: they saw runners coming and pressed the walk button.  By the time runners reached the intersection, the traffic was stopped.  Amazing how simple the solutions to some of life’s “problems” can be sometimes.

Just over a hundred minutes later, another half was in the books.  Time to enjoy the grub, socialize and just bask in the warmth of the sun!  Beautiful weather, beautiful course, beautiful people.  Definitely a beautiful way to celebrate our beautiful planet.  This is the best medicine you can get.

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Impossible Is Nothing • THE Boston Marathon, Boston, MA, USA

Words are powerful. Yet they cannot even begin to describe this weekend. If you know anything about me, you know that my year is basically a countdown until the next Boston Marathon. My first experience with the event was during my freshman year at Boston College. I rolled out of bed in the morning and took the short trip from Newton Campus to Heartbreak Hill. There I cheered on runners as they passed. As each passed, I couldn’t help but think “That should be me”. It was both inspiring, and torture that it wasn’t me… yet! Already, the Boston Marathon had captured my heart and spirit. I had no idea just how much it would come to mean in the years to come. Call it Marathon Monday, Patriots Day, or the third Monday of April. Regardless of the words you choose, there is NOTHING like this. If you’ve participated by running, volunteering or cheering you know this. If you haven’t, you don’t know what you are missing! Come join the fun next year!

This day took on even more meaning just five years ago; the day long celebration cut short as two explosions shook Boyleston Street. As I stood there at that finish line, I swore I would not miss this race for anything. My psyche was shattered, but my body was spared. I swore I would always run for those who suffered even more than I that day. I’m a man of my word. After the psychological whirlwind that followed, I emerged stronger than ever and even more committed to Boston.

As this year has passed, my excitement grew. This was the five year anniversary of one of Boston’s darkest hours, and no doubt one of the most defining moments of my life. It was also the 122nd anniversary of the first Boston Marathon – a tradition like no other. Five years ago, we faced that momentary darkness and shattered it with boundless light. We will always continue to honor the memory of those we lost, and lend a helping hand to those who continue to suffer. We have, and always will, continued to celebrate the tradition that is THE Boston Marathon. We are Boston Strong, and always will be.

As soon as mid March arrived, I basically started stalking the weather. I’m not your typical runner. I’m not looking for the perfect PR weather here – I’m looking for the perfect weather to bring out the crowds. They are what makes this event so incredible. At first it looked decent. Early forecasts predicted moderate weather. Just cool enough to be good for running, and just warm enough to support strong crowds. Unfortunately that didn’t hold. As the day drew closer, the forecast got more and more dismal. When I went for a nice shakeout run around Jamaica Pond on Sunday, I got snowed on, and that was nothing compared to the storm that was just about to blow in. Yes, I grew up in the northeast and I’ve seen snow even later than this. But I’m a Floridian now… I’m no longer used to the cold.

This year, I was going to run with Boston Strong painted on my chest… I guess the weather decided to test just how ‘strong’ I was.

Sunday night, as is always the case, I couldn’t get to sleep early. No matter how prepared I think I am for the big day, I still can’t sleep the night before. The energy from the expo and marathon weekend has already taken hold. It’s time! Eventually I did get a little shut eye. I had set multiple alarms to make sure I was ready to go, but they were unnecessary. This is BOSTON! I was definitely ready! I woke two minutes before my first alarm and was ready for the best day of the year! I caught the bus to Back Bay, hopped on the commuter rail and was off to Hopkinton.

Now that I’d stepped outside, a little bit of dread kicked in. The weather was horrendous. I’d been telling myself it would be no worse than 2015 (which was quite a challenge itself), but this was something else. The thermostat was barely above freezing, the rain was coming down and was only forecast to get worse. And the winds were strong and basically would be blowing in our faces the whole race. Ouch. It didn’t matter, this was Boston. I had work to do.

Hopped off the train in Southborough, caught the bus to Hopkinton State Park, cleared security and took the next bus to the start area in Hopkinton. I still had a few hours before I’d be on my way. Normally the town center is like one giant block party, but the weather put a serious damper on that. By Boston standards it was a ghost town. By normal race standards there was still a solid crowd. I found my buddy Kevin at his Supahfans Streetwear booth and hung out with him for a bit. Hiding out under his tent with the cold rain pouring down and winds howling… yes, I questioned myself. Should I really do this?

Three scenarios played through my head: 1) I could back down and take the train back downtown 2) I could cover up and make the difficult journey just like all of the other runners or 3) I could be me – donning the paint and celebrating 26.2 miles of Boston’s spirit. I seriously entertained the first option, questioning whether my body could handle it. I knew my mind could. The second possibility was short lived. This wasn’t a race for me, certainly not in these conditions. Covering the distance meant nothing: Celebrating Boston meant everything. If I was gonna do it, it would be my way.

Well, when you are looking for it, life has a way of giving you exactly what you need. Between the temporary shelter from Supahfan Kevin, a good vibe from my new Italian friend Franzi, and words of wisdom from my coach Bryan Huberty: I got the push I needed. I would be true to myself. I would be true to the city I always call home, and I would honor the memory of those we lost. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t give it everything I had. Today I would prove just how Boston Strong I am. Go ahead and rain on this parade… the show will go on!

I stripped down to my skimpy red Fairfield Prep shorts. I’ve literally been running in those since high school, breaking them out once a year on Marathon Monday. It was brutally cold, and I was still sheltered under a tent. How crazy am I?! I took out the paint. First the gold. As I painted the cross on my face, I transformed. The doubt was cast out and replaced with pure confidence and fire. I would do this and I would do it my way. My love of Boston would stifle the cold; my inner fire would keep me warm. For Sean. For Krystle. For Lingzhi. For Martin. FOR BOSTON. This was our day. Nothing would take that away!

I took out the red paint, and filled in the remaining flesh on my face. My soul would be a furnace today, through the body it powers it would generate all the warmth I needed. I had waited all year for this. A quick spray of the water sealant, and the game face was on. It was time.

I caked the red as thick as I could over the rest of my body. I’d planned in advance: I had more red paint than I usually use. I piled it on. It was the only physical shield I’d have between myself and the elements. But the body is strong, and the heart and soul even more so.

The twist dispenser on my blue Mehron cream blend makeup malfunctioned: Boston Strong wouldn’t be pretty. But it would be! I dipped a finger in the paint and slowly painted “BOSTON STRONG” on my chest. With the broken paint stick and awful weather, I had to skip the same message on my back. It wasn’t the best paint job I’ve ever had, but it didn’t need to be. It got the point across.

25,000 runners poured across the start line. The elites were well over halfway home. I didn’t know it yet, but many of them had already dropped out. My run had yet to begin. But I was ready. Now, there was no doubt in my mind: Boston here I come! I patiently waited my turn, cheering on the runners as they passed. “See you in Boston!” I hear a few runners comment that they’ve seen me before. “You got this!” I yell back. I hear a “GO BC”, look over and see Doug Flutie. Go EAGLES! Fist bump and he’s off! Now it’s my turn.

At about 11:30am, dressed in tiny red shorts, Roo sport, two pairs of soaked through socks, my Brooks shoes, doubled up gloves, BC winter hat and a lot of body paint… I was off. For good measure, I’d wrapped my new friend Franzi’s jacket around my waist. At this point I knew I wouldn’t need it, but it was a psychological lifeline. It gave me an out (even though I knew I’d be fine), and thus was the last boost I needed. I’d done the hardest part. I’d started the race. Next stop: Boston

As soon as I started running, I felt better. The cold wasn’t a problem (ironically except for my hands and feet which were actually covered). The rain, and wind almost melted away. Yes… the weather sucked. But the energy that defines this event consumed me. I fed off that energy: absorbed it, magnified it, and blasted it back out into my surroundings! “YEAH BOSTON!!!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. Today was going to be a good day! I live for this!

For the first few miles, I weaved around the masses of runners, sloshing through the piles of drenched, discarded clothes. With the weather as difficult as it was today, the crowd was weak (by Boston standards). Yes I have high standards. Very high! There were still tons of spectators out there cheering us on. Sheltered under tents and umbrellas, bundled up in heavy winter clothes… still they braved the storm to cheer on. This is Boston!

The zipper on the jacket I’d wrapped around my waste was bouncing against my thigh. The cold metal against cold flesh stung with every step. I pulled off to the side, and tried to roll it up better as I ran. Oh no! My Roo was missing! Packed with a handful of gels to power me through the race, my Roo classic had slipped off in the push out the gate. My newer Roo still held tight. I wasn’t so worried about the lost Roo – it had served me well for about five years and I need to upgrade to the larger one soon anyway. Those gels would have come in handy on those middle miles though.

Surrounded by champions, I raced into Ashland, My first two miles had been unsurprisingly slower than goal pace. There’s a lot of traffic in that stretch. As the roads opened up a bit, I picked up the pace. I was right where I wanted to be. I zigzagged across the course, careful not to trip up any of the other runners. Wherever the crowd was – I was… high fiving everyone possible, yelling as I ran by “MAKE SOME NOIIIIIIIIISE!!!” Yes the crowds were weak by Boston standards, but still the course rocked a dull roar. As I passed, I made sure to amp up the decibel level. This was THE Boston Marathon after all!

Ashland center… the crowd was a little denser here. More work for me: More hands to high five, more spectators to fire up. But this is what I live for! My fastest mile of the day… I felt great, the crowds energy pulsing through my veins. I kept a solid pace into Framingham. Again, my feet flying through the center of town. More crowd… more energy… This is what I live for!

I couldn’t help but notice all the barriers lining the streets. Had the weather been half decent, all of those barriers would have been several deep with spectators cheering us on. Now, despite the weather, there was still a solid showing. My friends: you are among the real champions of the day! We ran because this is our Holy Grail. We had trained for months, even years to be here. Nothing could take that from us. What was in it for you? You cheered for us because you knew this was our Holy Grail. You cheered for us because your love of Boston and THE Marathon was far more potent than any inclement weather. You, my friends, make this the best day anywhere on Earth.

Powered by those cheers, I continued into Natick. My hands and feet were numb. Both pairs of socks had long been soaked through, and between the continuing rainfall and splashing through the puddles on the course… drying wasn’t going to happen. I tried fueling with a gel. Despite doubled up gloves, my hands were worthless. I dropped the first trying to open it. I struggled with the second. Eventually I succeeded in tearing the top open, but even then my fingers were too numb to squeeze out the gel. My teeth would have to suffice. It was awkward, but it worked… sort of. My legs started to go tingly – Not cold. I knew this pain too well. My back has been acting up a lot these past few weeks. These injuries just won’t go away, but as the eternal optimist in me remembered, I’ve done some of my best running since I was hit when I lost feeling in my legs. That… and this was Boston. That alone would get me through this. I had to be smart though. I slowed down a little bit just to make sure.

As I neared Wellesley, nature called. I was plenty hydrated today. In 2014 I’d learned my lesson about proper pre-race sustenance. A very painful lesson. I didn’t care about my time, so stopping in to one of the port-a-potties was no big deal…on a normal day. Today I feared that if i stopped I wouldn’t be able to start again. It was way too cold and miserable out. While my core and legs were like a furnace while running, if I stopped, the cold would set in. I held it as long as I could, but in the end natures call could not be ignored. I ducked into the john and the moment I stopped the cold set in. I felt my legs cramp up immediately and knew things were going to be a lot harder from here on out.

It didn’t matter at that moment. I was approaching the infamous Scream Tunnel. Did I mention how much I love the Wellesley girls? Even today you could hear them screaming from quite a distance away. The tunnel wasn’t as long as it usually is, but the girls that were there made more than their fair share of noise! On the approach, I collected myself. I could feel the energy building. “WELLESLEY WE LOVE YOU!!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. The response was proportionate. They screamed louder. Zooming by arms flailing, shouting for more noise. The girls lined up, screaming and yelling. Plenty of high fives. Just as many “Kiss me” signs. This is definitely one of the best parts of the course. Can’t we just run 26 one mile loops around Wellesley? Damn, I could probably handle 100 of those loops!

That energy kept me going for another mile or so, before I eased back into a slightly slower pace again. The crowds were pretty thin on the outskirts of Wellesley today, but there were still pockets of spectators and still thousands of runners trudging along. . We fought the elements together. The hills approached. Somewhere out here I missed the 1K Run Club. I had sort of been looking for them, but really all that was on my mind was getting to that finish. This weather was bad; I wanted to get dressed! I saw the MR8 tent off on my left. I was on the wrong side, and couldn’t cross over in time. But still, it was a boost, just like every one of those MR8, Stepping Strong, Limb-It-Less and other related singlets I saw on the course: For Sean. For Krystle. For Lingzhi. For Martin. This is why I cannot be stopped. I continued on despite the challenges! With less than 10 miles to go the cold was really getting to my extremities. Interestingly enough, my core was still fine: I was a furnace. I struggled with my fuel. Those gels are really difficult to manage when your fingers are numb.

We turned right at the firehouse. I had to stop and use the facilities again. Again, I instantly froze. Yet…I’m almost home! These hills are notorious for crushing marathoners dreams, but it doesn’t phase me at all. I know that at the top is home. With the help of the thickening crowds, the towers on the Heights drive me forward. I reach Centre Street. It was here I first watched marathoners run by back in 2000. I had no idea then how much this race would shape my life.

More and more of a BC crowd propels me ever upward. The hills have nothing on me. Tap my shoes together three times, or more accurately run three crazy miles… there’s no place like home! Another brief restroom break. Better to get it over with before BC, so the crowds can get me moving again. It’s after 2pm now. The crowds are relatively sparse. I remind myself that these small crowds I’m disappointed with are exponentially larger and louder than most races can even dream of. Many of these kids have been braving this weather for even longer than I have. The crew that was there was rousing. That energy would keep me going for a while.

Onward into Boston, I reach the BU crowds. Now with only 5K left to go the cold is starting to get to me. The rain is coming down, the winds are fierce, and its still way too cold. I still struggle with my gels. The cold has moved past my hands and feet. My upper arm feels like its going to freeze and fall off. My core is starting to shudder with the wind gusts. Less than 5K to go!!! The faster I run, the faster I can get dressed! I’ve got boundless energy left, I’m just too cold at this point. The crowds keep me going. I was so spent I’d almost been knocked out by a couple of excessively powerful high fives. I’m almost there! Mile 25… just over one to go! One last restroom stop: instant deep freeze. I summon my inner strength. It still said Boston Strong on my chest. I still needed to be Boston Strong! I trudge forward. This isn’t the pace I expected to be running, yet I was fired up! These certainly weren’t the conditions I expected to be running in – half naked no less! I’m too cold to scream at the crowd… but they are certainly screaming at me. That energy keeps me moving. I flail my arms as much as I can, but they are starting to get real cold too.

Finally! Right on Hereford! The road is littered with ponchos and trash bag raincoats. Thousands of triumphant runners have shed that layer down the home stretch. Nothing would stop them from their photo finish! Despite the most brutal of conditions, we’d conquered the course, hills and all! I’m still hugging the edges, as close to the crowd energy as possible. I had to be careful not to trip over all that plastic. If I went down here, it would be tough to get back up. The finish line was just ahead.

Left on Boylston! This is it! I give it everything my frozen body can muster, and pick up the pace just a tiny bit. I yell to the crowd. They roar back! At two specific spots, I glance left with a nod of remembrance to my fallen friends. This was for you! Arms flailing, I race down that final stretch and across that famed finish line once again! BOSTON!!! I’m home!

As soon as I slow to a walk, the cold grips me. My teeth start to chatter, the warmth rushes out of my body. It had done its job, now I needed to find heat. I wrapped up in a space blanket and rushed through the chute. Normally I’d linger here for quite some time. A quick thank you to many of the volunteers as I passed. I was so rushed I never even got to say hi to many of my friends I can count on finding there every year. Right now, all that mattered was heat. I’d literally just run a marathon half naked despite a windchill of about 25. I ducked into the warming room they had opened up for runners. The medical volunteers here were super busy. Shivering runners curled up in a ball all over the place, being tended to by an army of white jackets. Wow, I felt for them today! They had their work cut out for them. A major shout out, and thank you to all of the volunteers that braved this weather. The show must go on, and only because of them – it did!

It had been an incredible day despite the challenges. My mission accomplished, as soon as I was warmed up it was time for the annoying part: cleaning up. It wasn’t until 10 that night that my day was finally over. My body had warmed back up, but my brain still can’t handle the type of exertion this required. I’m going to be sidelined for like a week after this. Totally worth it.

Besides, plenty of time to recover: 361 days until the 2019 Boston Marathon. Get those BQ’s in! Hope to see you all there

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Hard Work Pays Off • Newport Rhode Races Half Marathon, Newport, RI, USA

With the Boston Marathon only two days away, it was only natural that I’d be back to my roots in the Northeast already.  Although I’ve generally tended to spend three or four days in Boston prior to the race in years past, this year I decided to do something different.  Instead of another (albeit fantastic) run along the Charles River the weekend before, I’d find myself a nice half marathon to run.  Lo and behold, my new friends from Rhode Races were hosting a marathon, half and 5K in Newport, RI.  Since I was flying into Providence, clearly this was meant to be!

Growing up in CT, I was very familiar with Newport.  I’d taken school trips to be awed by the mansions on the cliffs, but that was well before my running days.  As soon as I saw half marathon and Newport together, I knew this would be a beautiful course.  I also knew it wasn’t going to be flat.  I wasn’t concerned though:  Especially with the main event just 48 hours later, I certainly wasn’t going to be aiming for a PR here.  This would be a beautiful run, and although I’d still give myself a solid workout, I was quite content with the prospect of 13.1 miles of leisurely Newport scenery.  Since my legs are conditioned enough to run these distances on a whim, I didn’t worry about it affecting my performance in Boston.

While I had gotten myself squared away at packet pickup the evening before the race (and they even had Thursday pickup in nearby Providence), my friend was driving down from Boston for the race.  She was part of the 1K Run Club group that had made the trip up from Miami to cheer everyone on.  How awesome is that?  Well, there were so many runners that hadn’t made it out to the early packet pickup, that she and several others ended up getting a bit of a late start after finally getting their own bibs.  One of those late starts even leap-frogged me in the results, starting well after I did, but still finishing with a faster time.

It was cold on race morning; exactly the kind of weather I love to hate.  I dreaded stripping down to my race clothes, but I knew once I’d started moving I’d be fine.  Besides, it would be a bit of conditioning for the rapidly worsening Boston forecast!  Speaking of Boston, I was really pumped to meet a bunch of runners from Boston College!  I wasn’t exactly a serious runner during my time there, but it was quite cool to meet some fellow Eagles who share my newly rediscovered passion for running.

Sure enough, once we started running, I warmed up pretty quick.  Since we started at the beach near the historic cliff walk … there really was no place to go but up!  That uphill definitely got the heart pounding!  I knew this wasn’t going to be an easy course, but it was totally worth it.  We raced through the streets of Newport, passing some incredible sights along the way.  As we approached the halfway point we hit some of the most spectacular views of this course:  Brenton Point and along Ocean.  Wow!  Such spectacular scenery!  Seeing the waves break along the beach below as we ran by was phenomenal  Later on we were wowed some more: Newport is known for its Gilded Age mansions, and we raced right by many of them.  Finally we turned back towards the beach.  It was time to run back down that hill we’d labored up earlier, and that provided a great kick all the way across the finish.  Mission accomplished!

It was hard work, so no qualms about inhaling some pizza and other traditional post race grub.  On the topic of rewards, the finishers medal here was actually quite cool, especially when viewed as part of the bigger picture that it is.  While the piece of pizza shaped medal is nice on its own, especially with the translucent green contrasting the metal itself… it also nested some subtle magnets.  Those in the area who complete the whole Rhode Races series end up with one serious piece of bling at the end of the year as all of these fit into place together!  If I lived a little closer, I’d probably have to go for that myself.

Like life, running isn’t always easy.  But its always worth it, and if you put the work it, you reap the rewards!  Another fantastic half marathon in the books.  Next stop: Boston

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Extra Effort • Lake Minneola Half Marathon, Clermont, FL, USA

How hard are you willing to work to get where you are going? In the end, it really boils down to that. I wasn’t born to be an elite runner. I could never coast to victory. But I can, and will, outwork anyone to get to my finish line. Ask my high school cross country teammates… I’ll bust my ass day in and day out. I don’t care how much ‘better than me’ you happen to be. If you go easy, I’m gonna fly right by you. If you are willing to work too, then we’re both going places faster.

Todays Lake Minneola Half Marathon was both an exercise in that extra effort mentality, and a comical reminder that following blindly often doesn’t go well. A good race strategy always involves knowing the course. Taking the turns and tangents right, plus utilizing any hills and surface changes to your advantage can make the difference between a win or PR, and falling a bit short. I’ve been on both sides of that. Today I was on the wrong one… or should I say the long one.

With the main event (Boston) just eight days away, my strategy today was for a comfortable, steady run. Nothing elaborate. The forecast had been less than ideal, but we got a nice bonus of good weather. So I’d get to enjoy some really nice views of the lake. I’ll take that! I recognized some of the Central Florida regulars lined up at the front as being around my ability level and lined up with them. I certainly didn’t expect to win today, but keeping these guys in my sights would keep me right where I wanted to be.

The start for this course is just a bit further down the (paved) trail than the announcer and festivities, so when the national anthem started, it took a few lines before many of the racers realized what was going on and quieted down. After that, we were off. And my plans to run a comfortable pace went out the window. When the race announcer started off with a shout out to those headed to Boston and played Dropkick Murphy’s Shipping Up To Boston… I was pumped. So I decided to hang with the leads and see how I felt. I’d work a bit harder today than I intended, but I still had to be within reason. After all Boston was what mattered most. So I hung right behind for the first quick two mile loop, and got an extra boost when Sweet Caroline was cranking as we passed over the start line to begin the main loop around the lake. Boston gets me pumped. Boston is my strength. With that spark, I was actually right around PR pace for the first three miles.

After about 5K I pulled back a bit. My back flared up. It wasn’t worth risking next weekend to hold that pace, so I dropped back to the pace I had originally intended. Two miles later, there was now a significant gap between 1, 2 and me. A third runner floated by me. He looked strong, overall podium probably wasn’t happening today. I reigned in the urge to try and stay with him and instead just followed blindly. As he followed a sign pointing right away from the lake, I was just a couple dozen steps behind. As we took on a fairly challenging hill, I thought it a bit strange. I knew a bit about this course, and I didn’t recall this… but still I followed. We followed another sign, but the hill had slowed me, so now there was some distance between us plus another runner had caught me. Now on a straight away with the leads nowhere in sight…That made no sense, they shouldn’t be that far ahead. Our GPSs chimed, yet there was no mile marker. Sommer Sports always has their courses well marked…Ohh boy. As myself and the other runner are suddenly realizing we’ve gone quite a bit off course, a police car drives down the road announcing “Half Marathoners you’re going the wrong way!” We shout out ahead to our fearless wrong way leader, turn around and just like that placing well is no longer an option. Since at least a half dozen others had followed us, the top two were going to have a very commanding lead today!

Not to be deterred, I used that unplanned downhill and my frustration to pick the pace back up. As I retraced my steps, I looked closer at the signs. In my experience, Sommer Sports courses are well marked. They use double red arrows to point the way. Their logo is inside those arrows. The signs we followed were also entirely red, but just a single red arrow with a red logo underneath. The logo for a realtor. Apparently we were headed to an open house! Ha. After a nearly two mile detour I finally made it back to the lake. The red tape pointers that were present for all the other turns weren’t there. Why then hadn’t the police officer at the intersection corrected us? Well it turns out he knew the first guy to go off course (a local) and probably didn’t see his bib and thought he was doing his own workout as he often does in the area. I was right behind, so I was probably working out with him. Shortly thereafter, when the third guy followed us, he realized what was going on. He called out to the runner… who didn’t hear him because of his headphones. A few more followed as he radioed in what was going on. A true comedy of errors, and although the realtors signs were misleading, the fault was certainly our own. The course was marked, and properly mapped out. We just blindly followed somebody else signs. We got a bonus hill workout. Bravo!

Back on course, I held a solid pace most of the way. I had a slightly slower split as the course turned onto a paved trail, and the two leads (now miles ahead) flew by. It was a bit demoralizing, as I should have been right behind them. I wouldn’t let it stop me. Instead I accelerated back to my pace and continued my race. I got to 13.1 miles right about when I expected to (after adjusting for my back flare up around 5K). I slowed a tiny bit to laugh at the situation, then re-accelerated to a strong finish of my 14.75 mile ‘half marathon’. Since I’ll almost definitely never be racing 14.75 miles again, I even rang the PR bell!

I ran a bit more than I had bargained for today, so you better believe I enjoyed the pasta, rice and beans, chips, cookies and other post race chow. As the (tongue in cheek) winner of the Lake Minneola 14.75 miler: I earned that! Either way, I came out to have fun, and that was a success. I collected my bonus bling for doing both of the Sommer Sports halves this season and enjoyed the afterparty. I’ll be back at Waterfront Park, not to defend my 14.75 mile crown though.

So should I have cried because I didn’t get my third place overall? Nope, because I didn’t earn it. I went off course. I screwed up, and as a result someone else got there first. Had I been that other guy… honestly I would have reluctantly taken the award. In that scenario I wouldn’t feel like I earned it. By following blindly, today I definitely didn’t. Yup, I put in a little extra effort today. Yet I still finished top 20 overall and third in my age group. Despite the extra distance, I still kept my average pace right where I wanted it. I worked harder to get to that finish line, and it’s that extra effort that will continue to make me stronger. I don’t mind the extra work. Whatever is in front of me, I will grit through it. I will work harder. I will be stronger. Move my finish line? I’ll adjust, and still prevail. That’s how I roll… and run.