Race recap: Comrades Marathon

The Comrades Marathon has one of the most storied histories in all of running. The race is so old that its distance, which varies a bit from year to year, is more than double the modern marathon distance of 26.2 miles. Comrades started in South Africa in 1921, and up to then there had been no official marathon distance. It was typically a long run of around 25 miles, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t call your much-longer run a marathon too. The distance of the race was simply the distance from Pietermaritzburg to Durban, around 90k. Despite the standardizing of the term “Marathon”, Comrades stuck with tradition and calls itself a marathon to this day. 

I chose the race because for some reason I really wanted to run my age in miles. At age 56, that meant I needed to find a really long race, and Comrades was about that length, and has a wonderful history and tradition to boot. As it turned out, the official length of the course this year was only 87.7k, or 54.5 miles. But I only learned that fact a few weeks before the race. Flights and hotels were booked, so this would have to do!

A few weeks later I was at the race expo collecting my swag and race bib, and Greta got this photo of me next to the Comrades logo. 

With apologies to Princess Leia, I look a little chubby for an ultra runner, but I had definitely put in the miles of training, and I was pretty sure I could finish the race under the 12-hour cutoff. 

The next day, the day before the race, I decided to do a little shakeout on the promenade in Durban. Turns out thousands of fellow runners had the same idea, and it was like a huge party out there, with teams running in their official gear, singing as they ran. I took a short video to try to capture the feeling. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced!

I wanted to explore this amazing place, to try exotic foods, but I knew that walking around too much before a long race was not a good idea, so I chilled at the hotel and found a pasta place for race-day dinner. 

Finally, after a fitful (and short) sleep, I got up at 1:30 am to get ready for the race. I grabbed a quick breakfast, then walked from my hotel to the Durban Exposition Center, where buses would transport us to the race start. I recorded the 1-mile walk to the bus stop in case I would need to count it as part of my 56-mile day. 

There was a long, but orderly line for the buses, and soon we were on our way to Pietermaritzburg for the start of the race. We arrived at 4:15, in plenty of time for the 5:30 race start. 

At Comrades, the cutoff times are enforced from the starting gun, not the time you cross the start line. With 20,000 runners, folks at the back of the pack may take 10 minutes to cross the line, so naturally everyone wanted to get to their starting spot as quickly as possible. 

Unfortunately a critical sign was missing directing folks to the “F” corral, where I (and several thousand others) had qualified to start. We ended up in a log jam, with a big fence blocking our entry. Frustrated runners asked race officials to let us in, but we were told to wait, while others from corrals lower on the list (whose direction signs weren’t missing), were clearly getting in ahead of us. Eventually someone just pushed the temporary 8-foot-tall fence down, and we all poured into the starting area.

 

Fortunately, once everyone was in the starting area, we all settled down and awaited the start, now only 20 minutes away. At this point, the runners started breaking into song! I’ve been in dozens of races, and this is definitely the first time that’s ever happened. Here’s a little video clip of the moment. 

Finally, after more songs, the national anthem, and a bungled attempt by the DJ to get everyone energized for the race, the starting gun went off at exactly 5:30. And we slowly made our way to the start. After 8 excruciating minutes, we finally crossed the line, and the race began for real. 

My plan for the first 20 miles was to limit my pace and make sure I didn’t try to run too fast. I was hoping to finish in under 11 hours, which requires an 11:45 per mile pace. I knew I could easily achieve that pace, even if I tossed in a few minutes of walking per mile. As it turned out, going slow enough over the first few miles wasn’t really a problem. The course was so crowded that you had little choice but to run the same pace as the people around you. Then there was a massive bottleneck in Mile 3 where the course narrowed from 4 traffic lanes to 2. My pace for Mile 3 ended up at 14:44. Combine that with the crowding during Mile 1, and my average pace for the first 3 miles was 14:30! Finally things started to open up a bit, and I refocused on keeping a steady, comfortable pace. This photo should give you a sense of just how crowded it was during those early miles. 

That said, we were being treated to some beautiful countryside at dawn, with a crowd of like-minded people who all just loved running. Things could be worse!

Comrades Marathon traditionally changes direction every year, alternating starting in Durban on the coast, or Pietermaritzburg in the mountains. When you start in Pietermaritzburg, it’s called a “down year” because the run is mostly downhill. So this was a down year, but if you take a look at the elevation profile, you’ll see that’s only half true: there is a whole lot of climbing too—adding up to over 3,800 feet!

The downhill doesn’t really begin in earnest until you are more than halfway through the race. The accepted wisdom for Comrades in a down year is to not wear yourself out in the first part of the race; you will then be able to recover time in the second half. But I knew from my training that I would slow in the second half no matter what, and my legs would be trashed by then no matter what. I had to build a bit of a cushion at the start or I would be in jeopardy of not finishing. I wanted to at least be running that 11:45 pace, which would give me an hour of cushioning that I would almost certainly need!

As I tried to pick up my pace a bit over the next few miles, a man passed me and told me my race number was falling off my hydration pack. At Comrades you are required to have a race number front and back, so I stopped to remove my pack and fix the problem.

 

I was able to fix the number and awkwardly re-seat the pack on my back, but it had cost me a precious minute of race time. I hastened to get back to running. After a few minutes I noticed something seemed wrong about my pack. I patted the side where my fuel gels should be and it was empty! They must have fallen out while I was adjusting my race number! I had lost at least 5 of the 20 gels I would need for the rest of the race. I had already adapted my fueling plan for the race because it wasn’t easy to get the water out of the floppy race-provided sachets into my flexible water bottles. I ditched my plan of mixing my own Tailwind during the race and would be relying on the official energy drink for the race, “Energade,” which I had only tried for the first time the night before. Now I would need to rely on Energade even more. I decided to load up early on Energade and save my remaining gels for later. 

At least now it wasn’t quite so crowded and I was able to run steadily without worrying too much about the other runners. I clicked off several miles in the 11-minute pace range and caught up to the 11-hour “bus,” which is what they call the pace teams at Comrades. I’m not usually one to stick with a pace group, but I figured that with all the hills in this race, it would probably be easier just to stick with a group than to try to plot my own plan. So I just got on the bus with these guys and ran.

 

For the next 15 miles or so I was comfortably on the 11-hour bus. It was a little more crowded on a bus because perhaps 200 people were sticking with one pacer, but it meant I didn’t have to think and could just stay with a group. We walked a lot on the uphills and ran more on the downhills than I was comfortable with, but I didn’t have much trouble keeping up with this group. The only time it was a problem was at aid stations, when it was difficult to get what you wanted with 200 others grabbing for it at the same time. This little video gives you a sense of what it was like near aid stations with the 11-hour bus (I’m having trouble adding videos from my phone so you’ll have to follow this link to watch)

Otherwise things were going well. We were in a beautiful, hilly region, and it was quite a sight to see the seemingly infinite train of runners ahead and behind us:

I was through mile 25 and still feeling pretty good. But I was also beginning to wonder when our long descent out of the mountains would begin. I kicked myself for not doing a better job memorizing the course beforehand. We would crest a hilltop, then make a long descent. I would think surely we were done with the biggest hills, and then we’d start up another one. 

At some point in this section, I lost contact with the 11:00 bus and was again running on my own. It was nice to be out of the crowd for a bit but I was also bargaining with myself over when to take walk breaks, when to push a little harder. 

I was definitely slowing down, though, running more miles in the 12s and 13s and fewer in the 10s and 11s. But I did finally make it to the serious descent. When I did, I wished I hadn’t. 

Now, around Mile 33, pain shot through my legs with every step. I was supposed to be running faster on these downhills, but I just couldn’t, and my pace was stubbornly in the 13s. 

I slowed even more for the climbs, which became bigger and more frequent around Mile 43. 

I spent my time going over and over the paces I would need to finish. I had no shot at sub-11 hours, but what would I need to finish in 11:30? How much could I slow down and still be assured of finishing before the absolute 12-hour deadline?

At Mile 48 the 11:30 bus caught up with me. Could I stick with them for the next 6+ miles? I decided to give it a shot. Once again I got into the rhythm of the group and was able to pick up my pace. I made a video of them chanting, over 50 miles into the race. It definitely helped to be running with a group again. 

But after just a few miles, I could no longer keep up, the pain of running downhill was too great and I had to walk. I was walking everywhere now, up and down, barely running at all. But there were just a few miles left. I was walking at a 15-16 minute pace, and by all my calculations it looked like I would make it with several minutes to spare. 

With just 2 miles left, I was passed by the 12-hour bus. If they were accurately pacing, I had to stay with them or get eliminated from the results. Fortunately another runner confirmed that there were several 12-hour buses, and this was just the first one, well ahead of schedule. I decided to try to run again and was surprised to find that I could. We were well within the city of Durban now and the hills weren’t quite so steep. With a mile to go I actually passed the bus and continued ahead on my own. 

I knew Greta was waiting at the finish stadium and I didn’t want to be in a big crowd as I finished. I timed it just right and ran into the stadium with a solid 10 meters of empty turf ahead of me. It was almost as if I was running alone. There were thousands of fans screaming for me and the other runners. I made my way around the stadium. I ran around the final corner and saw the finish line. I raised my arms in triumph. There might have even been a fist pump in there.  I saw the clock click to 11:46:00 just before I crossed the line. I had done it! And Greta did see me, snapping this photo as I headed toward the line! 

According to my watch, the total distance of the run was 55.29 miles. Added to the 1.03 from my walk to the stadium, that puts me comfortably over 56 miles at age 56. 

I wish I could tell you more about how amazing and how difficult this run was for me. Maybe I will find the words someday. But I would say that if you are at all inclined to run Comrades, and you have the means to do it, then you should. It’s like no other race I’ve experienced.

There’s lots more I could say about this race, but I’m exhausted, so I’m going to leave you with this Strava record. Thanks for reading!

Brief Race Recap: Ellerbe Marathon

My main focus this spring is training for the Comrades Marathon, a race with a storied history that began before anyone had settled on the distance for a "Marathon." The Comrades course distance, at 89+ kilometers, didn't prove popular enough to become a standard, but the name stuck. I'm registered for the 2023 edition on June 11, and I started my training regimen for it last December.

When you are training for a race this long (this year's edition should be close to 56 miles), a run-of-the-mill 26.2-mile marathon is a training run. So when my friend Chas invited me to join him at the race, I figured it would make a good mid-cycle training run, and hopped on board. I've done the Ellerbe Half Marathon but never the full, so it would make a nice notch on the belt as well.

Comrades requires a marathon or longer as a qualifier. This time is also used to set your starting corral for the race. I had already qualified at New York, but my time of 4:34:50 put me in corral 7 out of 8, and with over 15,000 runners in the race, it would take a long time for me to even cross the start line. With a hard 12-hour cutoff based on the race start gun, I would need every advantage I could get to be awarded a coveted finishers medal. So I set my "A" goal at Ellerbe to be sub-4 hours, which would move me up to Corral 4. The "B" goal was sub-4:15, which would still place me in Corral 5, and that would be a heck of a lot better than Corral 7!

I haven't been specifically training for a marathon, Ellerbe is very hilly, and I didn't taper for this race, so I really had no idea of what I was capable of, but 4 hours seemed possible -- that works out to a 9:09 pace per mile, and most of my training has been at that pace or faster. My longest run, however, was a 19-miler at a 9:23 pace, both shorter and slower than if I had been doing focused training for a 4-hour marathon.

Ellerbe is a small, friendly race in a small, friendly town in central North Carolina. There were about 70 runners each in the marathon and the half marathon, which started an hour later. The course has lots of hills, and the marathoners must run it twice. It's a "lollipop" course with a 2.5-mile "stick" you run at the start and the end, and an 8-mile "candy" loop in the middle. The stick part is nice because you end up seeing both marathoners and half-marathoners coming and going. The loop is where most of the hills are. 

The course

The race starts in the middle of the road out of town. You run behind a police car for the first couple miles, and then you're own your own in the countryside. My plan was to run comfortably around a 9-minute pace on the flats, pick it up a bit on the downs, and put in an equal effort on the climbs. The first several miles trend downward, so I was around an 8:40 pace and felt very comfortable. Peter Asciutto (of "Idiot Run" fame) was out of the course and got this photo of me and another runner a couple miles from the start:

After a while I chatted a bit with the runner in blue, and he was also shooting for a sub-4. But when the serious hills started a couple miles later, he pulled ahead of me as I didn't want to overdo it on the climbs. 

I noted that the really big hill finished up around Mile 7, which would be Mile 20 on the second loop of the course. If I could stay on pace through that point, I would have a shot at my sub-4 race.

Throughout the race, there were  friendly volunteers. Though the course wasn't closed, there was very little traffic, and what cars we did see were extremely courteous. The whole town seems to come together for this event.

Another Peter Asciutto photo -- I think around Mile 11

The course flattens out near the end of the loop, with just a couple gradual uphills heading into town. But at this point I started to notice that my watch wasn't quite agreeing with the mileage markings painted on the road. My watch ticked off the miles a few hundred yards before each marker, and the difference seemed to increase with each mile. Despite this, I made it to the turnaround at 1:58 -- two minutes to spare on my quest for sub-4.

This time around, however, the 8:40 paces didn't come quite so easily on the flats, and my uphills were in the 9:30s and 9:40s. I did some figuring in my head around Mile 18, and it looked like I'd need to average about a 9:20 pace for the rest of the race to finish under 4 hours. I made it up the big hill before Mile 20, but even after this point, the course was hillier than I remembered. I was keeping my pace in that range or faster when I was running, but I needed to stop for water at the aid stations, and that slowed me down quite a bit. I ran Miles 21-23 at 9:35, 9:20, and 9:32 pace. And my watch was getting farther and farther behind the mile markers.

When my watch clicked through at 24 miles, my elapsed time was 3:37. If my watch had been accurate, I would have had almost 23 minutes to run the last 2.2 miles -- a comfortable 10:18 pace. By the time I got to the actual 24-mile mark, I only had 18 minutes left. This would have necessitated an 8:11 pace, and I was in no condition to run that fast. Realizing that sub-4 was impossible, I let myself slow down. I ran Mile 25 in 9:58 and 26 in 11:26. I crossed the line at 4:05:28, with my watch reading 26.63 miles. It doesn't seem like much, but that extra 0.4 miles meant there was no chance of me reaching my goal.

Chas (who had finished first overall with an impressive 3:10:13) took a photo after I crossed the line that pretty much sums up how I felt at the time:

 

Happy to be done, but also kind of annoyed

But now, thinking back on the race, there really isn't anything I would do differently. I'm not training for this race, I'm training for Comrades. This is my fitness level right now, and it's where I need to be. I was able to run 6 miles the day after the race (something I would never even attempt if this was a normal marathon) as required by my training plan. I'll continue to put in more miles, and there will be weekends down the line where I run 38, 40 miles — much more than this weekend's 32. If all goes well, I should be able to finish Comrades in June, and go farther than I've ever gone in a day before. If I finish it (or if I don't), I'll write about it here... and then move on to the next challenge! Stay tuned!

Click here for my Strava record of the race

Brief Race Recap: The South Mountains Half Marathon

After my difficult DNF at the Val D'Aran 55k, I pretty much decided to give up on trail racing. If I couldn't complete that race, there was no way that my ultimate goal of finishing the UTMB CCC 100k was going to be possible, even assuming I could qualify for the race in the first place.

But if there is one thing I've learned over the past 12 years of running, it's that I shouldn't ever say "never." So in a move that surprised no one, I signed up for another trail race -- the South Mountains Half. In my defense, it's "only" a half marathon -- albeit one with over 2,700 feet of climbing and some tricky trails. Add in a cold drizzle on race morning and all of a sudden it's not exactly an easy race. Here's the elevation profile.

As you can see, the race is basically two big climbs and two big descents. Other than a big staircase in Mile 7, it's all quite runnable. I didn't have a specific plan for the race other than "don't die," but after starting off the race and heading up the first big hill, it seemed like a pace of 5 miles per hour, 12 minutes per mile, might be sustainable, so that's what I tried to do.

Using a run / walk strategy, I made my way up the hill that spanned miles 1-4 in 48 minutes, pretty much right on target. I passed quite a few runners on the way up the hill, but then the route turned onto a long, downhill singletrack trail. Downhill is definitely my weakness on trails, so I focused on looking a few steps ahead and trying to maintain a steady clip even over obstacles. But the trail was wet and covered with slippery leaves, and I didn't want to injure myself for what still would be my primary focus this season, long road races. Inevitably I started to hear footsteps behind me, and I let two runners pass. A few minutes later, I was letting some more runners pass. Another runner was behind me, but I didn't think he was gaining much ground. But after a couple minutes of him right on my tail, I let him pass as well. "You'll probably pass me back on the next climb," he said. As he tore off ahead of me, I wasn't so sure of that. I managed to make my way down the 2-mile descent at around an 11:30 pace, so I was still on target for a sub-12 pace for the race. Here there was an aid station, and I refilled my water bottle and grabbed a fun-sized Snickers for the road.

Next was the climb up High Shoals Falls, 600 steep steps. I knew there was no way I would be doing this at a 12-minute pace, so I just tried to climb quickly and steadily. I finally arrived at the top on a runnable trail, and resumed a similar pace. Mile 7 had 520 feet of climbing and I finished it in 17:30. The next couple miles were also mostly uphill, but still very runnable. I tried to give myself reasonable mini targets, like "just run for 3 minutes," then let myself walk a bit to recover. I picked off several runners, including the guy who had passed me on the big descent, who gave me an "I told you." I said I was sure he would pass me on the upcoming downhill. I got through Mile 8 in 13:57 and Mile 9 in 11:38. 

Then I turned onto the Shinny Trail, a steep, singletrack descent for the next 2.5 miles. The first bit of it wasn't too bad and I managed a 12:48 pace. But then the trail got steeper and more technical. Once again several runners passed me, including the guy I'd been trading spots with for the entire race. "I told you so," I said. 

"You'll get me on the next climb," he replied. Unfortunately there were no climbs left in the race, so I didn't see him again until the finish. My pace for Mile 11 was a slothlike 14:48 while descending 380 feet. 

At the bottom of the Shinny trail, you cross Shinny Creek several times. Because I was going so slow, I was starting to get cold, and now my feet were getting wet. I knew the trail would soon be getting easier, but I wondered if I could take advantage of the easy trail with cold feet and legs. Fortunately, my legs did respond, and I was able to run a respectable 11:27 for Mile 12. Now I was on the easy tourist path with just a quarter mile to run, and I picked it up even more, finishing at an 8:44 clip. I crossed the line, high-fived Brandon the race director, and headed to the hut in the parking lot, where they were serving delicious hot chili. My friends had already finished, much faster than me, but I was happy with my efforts and the fact that I didn't die! 

Overall my time was 2:39:08, which works out to a 13:03 pace by my watch. But watches are notoriously inaccurate on trails. While my watch logged 12.19 miles, the official course length is 13.3 miles. Assuming that's accurate, my actual pace works out to 11:58, which means I beat my goal pace. I'll take it!

Click here for my Strava record of the race

Race recap: The New York Marathon

The New York Marathon this year was supposed to be a celebration. I had spent 10 years trying to qualify for the race, and finally did it this past February. When I couldn’t get into the race via the standard qualification process, I decided to run for a charity, the Choroidoremia Research Foundation. I successfully raised over $3000 for the charity, and so I was allowed to enter the race!

But after a summer spent hiking across Spain, when I arrived home at the start of September, I was out of shape for running. I set up an aggressive plan to train for the race, but it was too aggressive. After a long flight across the country to visit relatives in mid-September, I could barely walk! It turned out I had acquired runner’s knee, a common affliction for people who try to ramp up their training too fast.

I took the week off of running, then visited a personal trainer, who told me that I could probably rehabilitate fast enough to finish the New York Marathon, but it would be very difficult. I had six weeks to do it.

I took a conservative approach to my training, with no speed work, lots of stretching and strength exercises, and very gradually building up my mileage to a long run of 18 miles two weeks out from the race. I was running slowly, but I could at least run a relatively decent distance. It would have to do.

Two weeks later, I was in New York, waiting to board the Staten Island ferry for the race. After 10 years, I was finally here, but the weather was not good. It was already over 70°, and was forecast to get up to 75. I generally do best in races at around 40°, so this was almost as bad as it could get.

Outside the terminal 

Inside, with a few thousand friends

Still, it was exciting to actually be heading to the start of the race. Claire, a Davidson runner who I had only just met a few weeks before, ended up sitting right across from me on the ferry, and we chatted nervously as the sun rose over New York Harbor.

Then it was off the ferry to get on a bus for the 4-mile ride to the race start. But the the plaza where the buses were arriving to pick up runners was chaotic, even by New York standards. I made my way to a "line" where hundreds of folks were pushing toward the line of buses. There must have been 10,000 people in the plaza, and the buses were loading painfully slowly. Then the row of buses would depart and another row would ease in, as the runners shoved forward. It seemed like I was only moving forward a few inches with each bus, and there were hundreds of people ahead of me. After a half hour or so of waiting, someone asked if this was normal. Several veteran runners said it it wasn't; usually you could just hop right a bus as soon as you got off the ferry. That DEFINITELY wasn't happening. I took a picture of the scene.

Craziness!

Some of the runners said we should let those who were in Wave 1 get on the buses first. That made some sense, but how could anyone be sure the runners cutting ahead were being honest? What if that meant the Wave 2 runners (like me) missed their own starting times? People were yelling for folks to push forward; other people were yelling back that that was the stupidest idea they'd ever heard. I had arrived at the bus stop around 6:45, with 3 hours to spare before I was supposed to start, but now it was looking like I might miss my starting wave. It was after 8 am, and there were still mobs of people pushing and trying to get onto the buses ahead of me. One Wave 1 runner decided to jog to the start, adding an extra 4 miles to his days' run. Honestly that might have been better than standing in a hot crowd for 2+ hours!

I finally got on a bus around 9 am, arriving at the starting area at 9:20. Then I walked towards the starting area, stopping at an open porta-potty. But then suddenly I noticed that signs to the Orange corrals (my assignment) were pointing backwards. Could I have missed a sign? I turned around and found the right pathway to my corral. I arrived just as the corral was closing. "Hurry up," the race official said, and I ran through the starting area as ropes were being pulled up to close it off. I got to the starting area and looked ahead at a sea of people. Behind me was an empty freeway. I had just made it!

In the corral

Soon the PA announcer counted us down, and we started the race, with the song "New York, New York" blaring over the loudspeakers. By the time I got to the start line, the song was over, but I was really here, and this was really happening. I couldn't resist taking a selfie on the bridge; it was just an awesome scene, with 10,000 runners all starting this epic event together (and 3 more waves of 10,000 to come!).

I'm on a bridge! Running a marathon!

A fireboat with the Manhattan skyline in the distance

The race route crosses the Verrazano Narrows bridge and then spends the next 11 miles in Brooklyn. After the excitement of starting the race, it was time to get to the business of making sure I finished it. My plan was to run the same pace I'd been running in training, about 9:15 per mile, for as long as I could. I had completed an 18 miler at this average pace, but I had slowed down drastically over the last couple miles. So the last 8-10 miles of this race might well be much slower than that 9:15 pace. Now, 3 miles into the race, I was feeling just fine, and a 9:15 pace felt quite comfortable.

In the streets of Brooklyn, people were starting the line the course and cheer us on. Some folks had signs; My favorite was "RUN FAST, WE HAVE REALLY BIG RATS IN BROOKLYN." I tried to high-5 as many kids as possible and just soak in the spirit of the community.

The runners' guide promised aid stations with Gatorade Endurance and water every mile starting at Mile 3. I was also carrying 6 gels for fuel. Since the weather was warm and humid, I knew I would need to drink as much as possible. I also had brought some electrolyte tablets but somehow those hadn't made their way into my pockets at the race start, so I decided to drink as much Gatorade as I could during the race. In the past I haven't done well with Gatorade, but more recently I had trained with it for my Ironman, so I knew I could tolerate at least some of it.

As the miles ticked by, I amused myself with little observations about the culture of the race.

• Unlike in Boston and Chicago, people in New York would dash across the course in front of runners. For the most part they managed this without incident, but for some reason even large groups of people would all try to cross together. There was no way a big group could cross without making a collision course with some of the runners. PEOPLE, I wanted to shout. YOU AREN'T GOING TO GET LOST! JUST CROSS ONE AT A TIME AND REGROUP ON THE OTHER SIDE!

• "Allie" was the most popular name for a runner. I would say that "Go Allie" signs outnumbered all other names on signs by at least 2:1.

• This was the only race I've been in where runners routinely stop in the MIDDLE of the road. They were, like, answering their phones, or taking a selfie while STOPPED. What part of RACE don't these people understand?

Me taking a selfie without stopping. It can be done, people!

• The smell of marijuana doesn't bother me during a race, but chestnuts roasting give me a nearly instantaneous gag reflex. Fortunately there was much more marijuana being consumed along the course than chestnuts.

• There is a Lorimer Street in Brooklyn. It's a little different from Lorimer Road in Davidson though:

Not as many trees. Other than that, pretty similar to Davidson ;)

As we got closer to the center of Brooklyn, the crowds got bigger and rowdier. The course was taped off with police tape, but no one paid any attention to that, and fans were out in the middle of the street. 

We were getting funneled through a narrower and narrower corridor

I would say the inconvenience of being packed tightly among the other runners was roughly balanced by the energy and enthusiasm of the crowds, so all in all it wasn't too much of a problem. 

During Mile 14 we crossed over the Pulaski Bridge and into Queens. This section of Queens was fairly industrial so there weren't quite as many people as in Brooklyn but there were still plenty of folks to cheer us on. After 2 miles in Queens we got onto the Queensboro Bridge and headed towards Manhattan.

I had been told this was the quietest part of the race, but even though it's a big climb to cross the bridge, I didn't have much difficulty with it. I think I was anxious with anticipation of coming out onto First Avenue in Manhattan where the largest crowds of the race would be. Soon, I descended into Manhattan and got to see those crowds for myself. They were AWESOME! Super loud and enthusiastic (though still biased towards runners named "Allie"), and it was a huge help. 

Running up First, getting cheered by a few hundred thousand friends

Miles 17-20 were on First Avenue, and despite the enthusiasm of the crowds, my body was beginning to remind me that I hadn't run this far even once during training. So far I had only been taking walk breaks at aid stations, but I bargained with myself, telling myself I could start taking an extra walk break each mile after Mile 20. I had kept that 9:15 pace up until about Mile 11, but now my pace was more like 10:00. I didn't really have a time goal for this race other than making sure to finish in less than 4 hours and 50 minutes (which would qualify me for the Comrades Marathon next year). I started to do mental math to figure out what I needed to do to stay under 4:50. I convinced myself I should be fine as long as I kept the pace faster than 12:00 per mile. 

The course crossed into the Bronx for a mile and a half. As we headed back towards Manhattan a woman held a sign indicating it was the LAST DAMN BRIDGE. In Harlem now, I passed a big high school band, who SCREAMED with glee at the person running behind me. Who was it? J-Lo? Drake? No, it was a classmate of theirs.

I was running on Fifth Avenue alongside Central Park, then into Central Park. Just two miles left! But I had spent almost everything to get to this point. I walked the hills. I turned onto Central Park South. One mile left! Then I turned back into the park and headed toward the finish line. I had watched Shalane Flanagan and Meb Keflezighi run this section to victory. Now I was running it! I crossed the line! I had done it!

My time was nothing special, 4:34 and change, but it was solidly under the 4:50 I needed. But New York had given me a fantastic race. Now I just wanted to sit down. Unfortunately, they don't let you do that at the end of the New York Marathon. I had to walk a mile to get out of the park. Finally, on 76th Street, you can walk back into the city. I looked for a park bench. The best I could do was a half-wall in front of a brownstone. I sat there and rested my aching legs. In a minute a man joined and asked how my race went. I said it was tough, but I really enjoyed it. Then I asked how his race went. "Oh, I didn't run the race, I LIVE here!" Embarrassed, I thanked him for sharing his wall with me. He told me it was his pleasure, then offered me a beer. I was in no condition to keep a beer down, but I thanked him for the offer. I chatted with him for 10 minutes, then headed out into the city to meet up with my family. 

After 10 years of trying to qualify and run the New York Marathon, was it worth it? Absolutely! It wasn't my fastest race, or even what I should have been able to do given where my training was earlier this year, but it was about as good as I could have expected under the circumstances. And I got to experience New York in a really cool, fun way, and see New Yorkers at their best. Would I do it again? I'm not sure -- there are lots of other things I want to do first. But I would highly encourage anyone who's inclined to run a big city marathon to try to get into New York. It's an amazing experience!

Click Here for the Strava record of my race.

Race report: Val d’Aran PDA 55k

Update: Now with photos!

I wanted to do a destination ultra this year in a scenic location and settled on Val d’Aran. It takes place in a spectacular setting in the Pyrenees in Spain, and it’s also a qualifying race for the UTMB CCC race, which has always intrigued me. 

Meanwhile my wife Greta wanted to go to Spain to walk the Camino, a 500-mile traditional pilgrimage route. The stars aligned this year and we decided to do both. First up was Val d’Aran. Me and running buddy Joey signed up for the 55k (34-mile) PDA race (short for Peades d’Aigua, which means Water Footsteps in the Aranese language). We knew the course would be challenging, with 10,000 feet of climbing and 11,000 of descent and a 13-hour time cutoff.

But I felt I had done enough bleacher and hill training to prepare myself for the pounding I would take on this challenging course. So we all flew to Spain, taking care to put all our race essentials in carry-on bags and checking only non-essential gear. That turned out to be a great plan as the airline did end up losing our bag!

Two days later we were at the start of the biggest trail race either of us had ever taken part in, with over 1,500 participants!

There were three emcees at the start, hyping up the runners in Spanish, French, and English. It really was exciting to be a part of such a huge event! Joey was in the first wave at 7:30, so I watched him start and then quickly lined up for my own start at 7:45. 

Before I knew it, we were off and running through the picturesque streets of Salardú before heading out for the trails. The first mile or so was paved, but soon we began heading up into the proper mountains that loomed above the valley. Here’s the elevation profile of the race:

[Map from 2023 edition; might be a bit different]

We had 2 hours to get to the first aid station at Bahns de Tredòs, 500 meters (1500 feet) above the start line. I had made a cheat sheet—a little card with all the important data from the race, most importantly the pace per mile I would need to make it to each aid station before the cut-off time. Overall I would need to average about 20 minutes per mile—not a problem on a flat, smooth surface, but often a challenge on steep, rough terrain. 

There were so many runners in this race that occasionally the trail would get backed up with runners as the runners ahead encountered a difficult bit of terrain. At one point I was at a complete standstill waiting for the runners ahead to climb the first really steep section of trail. I was shooting for an 18-minute pace, and despite the halting nature of the pack, I easily hit that goal as I arrived at the first aid station. My plan was to get some Isotonic, an electrolyte drink that was We supposed to be at every aid station, and see how that went down since I had never tried it before. However there was a lot of confusion at the station, with so many runners and different languages spoken, and I ended up with lemonade. 

On the way out of the station, we had a flat-ish, runnable road for a quarter mile or so, so I took the opportunity to get some actual running in. I must have stumbled over a pebble, and before I knew it I was flat on my face. “I’m fine,” I shouted to no one one particular. A fellow picked up my hat, which had fallen off, saying “here you go, mate,” so I guess he was Australian. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him though, for he soon dashed off ahead of me. 

It wasn’t long before the course got steep and technical again. At each difficult pitch, the group slowed to a near-standstill. I tried to take the opportunity to get some calories down, but the lemonade wasn’t agreeing with me. In hindsight I should have consumed some of the gels I had in my pack. I was worried about running out, but at this point I should have been focusing on the energy needed to get to the next checkpoint, which could end up being my last if I didn’t get the energy I needed to move fast enough. 

This was a beautiful area, with several gemlike lakes. I kept thinking I should take a photo, but I didn’t want to let anyone pass me, lest I get caught behind them at the next traffic jam. There were also several race photographers along the course. As it turned out, this was a good call. The race photographers got some really great shots!

Meanwhile I still needed to make sure I got to the next aid station on time. I had to make it to the Colomers aid station by 1:00, 5:15 after the start. This was about 14.5 miles from the start, again needing about a 20 minute per mile pace. But it also involved over 3,000 feet of climbing and 2,000 feet of descending from the previous aid station. Very little of these trails was runnable, so I basically had to power hike this terrain at what would be quite a brisk walk even on level pavement. 

On the climbs I could easily hold my own, but whenever we started descending, a herd of runners would soon be on my back, and I felt obligated to let them by. After summiting the Coth de Podo at 8,500 feet, it was basically a non-stop descent to the Colomers aid station at 6,400 feet. 

Steep!

By the time I made my way to the station, I was within a few minutes of the 1:00 cutoff. I was still unable to find any of the Isotonic energy drink so I just scooped up a bunch of the (very good) chocolate provided, filled up with water, and grabbed a couple of granola bars for the road. 

Next aid station was Mount Romy, 7.5 miles away, and I needed to average an 18:00 pace to make it there by the cutoff at 3:30 pm. Fortunately it was a decent gravel road heading out of the aid station, and I took the opportunity to eat a granola bar as I walked briskly uphill. Unfortunately this didn’t last long, as there was a tape across the road and trail markers arrayed straight up the side of a mountain. I was exhausted, and this route seemed so steep that I could hardly imagine climbing it at all, let alone at an 18:00 pace. I briefly considered walking back to the aid station and dropping out. But I had to give it a try. I started up the hill.

The hill was so steep that I could touch it if I extended my arm straight out. At least the footing was relatively good; it was basically stepping up on tufts of grass. A few hundred feet up this climb and we were stopped by rescue workers escorting a runner down. She was moving under her own power but needed two rescuers to help her down. When they passed, I kept moving. Eventually we reached a trail with more reasonable switchbacks, but it was still a very steep climb. My pace had slowed to 40:00 per mile, and I needed to be moving at an 18:00 pace!

This continued on for an excruciating long climb. Surely we must be close to the top. Cresting yet another ridge, the woman ahead of me screamed “no! No, no, no, no, no!” She was speaking Spanish, but somehow I got the gist of her sentiment. I made my way over the ridge and my suspicions were confirmed: there was another huge climb ahead of us. At this point, I was defeated. I stepped aside a took a little break. I needed to average an 18:00 pace and I was doing a 45-minute pace. There were still nearly 5 miles to the aid station and I had just over an hour to get there. But still, it  was absolutely beautiful in these mountains and I was absolutely thrilled to be here. I decided to just focus on enjoying the run, and not worry about pace. I took another break, took a photo, and continued on, letting others pass if they wanted to. 

Endless climbing

I reached the next summit, Tuc Salana, at 2:19. I had until 3:30 to get to the aid station at Mont Romies, over 5 miles away and 2,000 feet below. First would be a punishing descent, the steepest I’d yet experienced in the race. 

It was steeper than this looks!

Slowly I picked my way down, logging a 30-minute mile and leaving me just 40 minutes for the next 4 miles. Mercifully, the trail flattened out and I was finally able to run a bit. Perhaps if I had been better with my nutrition I could have run more than I did. I began a pattern of running two minutes, walking one minute, and kept it up for a couple miles. Eventually I had to go to one minute in and one minute off, but I was actually passing some people. I pulled off a 12:30 mile and a 13:40 mile—but I needed 10-minute miles. Then we were done with the flat section and the trail once again turned downwards. My pace slowed.

Finally I arrived at Mont Romies, 30 minutes too late. My race was done. I took in some water—lots of water—and began to wonder how I was going to be transported off the mountain. Then I overheard the race timer telling another runner they weren’t actually stopping anyone from running here. We could try to make it to Arties, 5k away, before the cutoff—but we now had just 25 minutes. I don’t think at that point I could have run a flat, paved 5k in 25 minutes, let alone a 5k on steep, technical, rocky trails. But it was also clear that no one was going to give me a ride! 

I was blistered, beaten, and exhausted, but I started down the trail. I’d like to say that after a few minutes I started to feel better, but I really did not. I just made my way down, another 1,800 feet of descending, until the trail finally flattened out a bit as I neared town. I was running through the streets of an alpine village, and folks sitting in cafes were cheering me on. But it was too late. I trudged into the aid station, and the race timer smiled and gave me a thumbs down. I was 35 minutes past the cutoff. He cut the bar code off of my race bib and sent me into the aid station to recover. I drank a couple warm Cokes as I texted Greta and asked if they could pick me up. Hopefully we could still see Joey finish the race.

Thirty minutes, a liter of water, and a beer later, and we were at the finish line waiting for Joey to finish. The race was hard on him too, but he finished the race, well ahead of the cutoff. At least one of us was able to experience the thrill of finishing the toughest race either of us had ever attempted. I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t join the ranks of finishers, but I’m truly glad for the experience. Look for me next at a ROAD marathon. How does New York City sound?

Race Report: 2022 Duathlon Nationals

Two months ago I qualified for the New York Marathon, running a 7:15 pace over 13.1 miles. Two weeks ago I wrapped up my training for the Duathlon Nationals with a hilly 5-mile tempo run at the same pace. So why, now, could I barely hold that pace over a flat 5k? 

I was in Mile 3 of the first run at the draft-legal sprint duathlon national championship in Irving, Texas. It was a hot afternoon but the course was flat. I had already adjusted my expectations for this event. I just needed to be in the top 18 in my age group to qualify for the 2023 World Championships in Ibiza, Spain.

While 2 weeks ago I had been feeling strong, today was an entirely different story. In the intervening week, I had come down with a nasty cold. A week ago I went through a box and a half of Kleenex in a day. Six days ago I dragged myself to the drugstore to get a COVID test and more Kleenex. The test was negative, but the cold was hitting me hard. Four days ago I finally felt good enough to go for an “easy” run that wasn’t easy at all. 

The next day I went for another run that felt a little better, and I decided that I just might be able to make my way to Texas and give this race a shot. 

Arriving in Texas on Friday for my Sunday race, I was still going through Kleenex at a prodigious rate. The spring allergy season wasn’t helping matters, and I doubled up on meds. I set up my bike and rode to the race start to pick up my packet — it was a hot and humid afternoon, and the weather only looked to get hotter over the next two days. I retreated to my hotel room to cool off. 

Saturday’s shakeout run felt a little better but I could tell there was no way I would be racing this event at the pace I could have easily done just two weeks ago. I settled on a goal pace of 7:00 per mile for the first run, only barely faster than my recent half marathon. 

The format for Nationals was a 5k run, then a 12-mile ride, then a 2-mile run. Now, 2 miles into the first run, even that 7:00 pace was slipping away. “C’mon, Munger,” I told myself, “just get to the ride. Then you can catch someone’s draft.”

I finally arrived at the transition area and was able to locate my bike quickly. To save time in transition, I had put flat pedals on the bike so I could ride in my running shoes. That worked great, and I ran to the bike mount line and hopped on. There was another cyclist just ahead and I accelerated as rapidly as I could to try to catch his draft. It was no use—I couldn’t catch up. I decided to relax and wait for someone to catch me. In a minute, another rider passed me and I jumped onto his wheel. 

I was able to hang on and recover a bit. After a minute, I passed him and said “30-second pulls?” He said okay, and we were a team. Another rider passed us and we joined him with the same offer. But clearly this guy had overextended himself just to catch us, and we dropped him. After a couple miles with my new teammate, I was starting to flag on my pulls. I told him I wasn’t sure I could keep this up. 

“Just do what you can,” he said. “Whatever you can do will still help me.” So he started pulling for a minute at a time while I did 30 seconds. Then a group of four caught up to us and we hooked onto them. They had one really strong rider, and my buddy was very strong, while me and the other three guys were a little weaker. We would hang on for dear life when the strong guys were pulling, then get a bit of a rest when one of us pulled. 

I managed to hang on to this group until we were about a half mile from transition. Then I let them go on ahead while I prepared myself for what I knew was going to be a slog on Run 2. Thanks to the drafting, I ended up with an average pace of 21.5 mph for the ride. Still weak from my cold, there’s no way I could have done that on my own!

As I dismounted, I realized just how much the hard ride had taken out of me. I hobbled with my bike to my slot in the transition area, removed my helmet, and headed out for the run. Since I didn’t have to change shoes, I was ahead of my cycling group, but I figured this wouldn’t last long in my condition. There was an aid station just outside the transition area and I stopped to walk for 5 seconds to make sure I got some water. I dumped the rest of it over my head, which offered a bit of relief from the 88-degree afternoon heat. 

My pace at this point was barely faster than a 9-minute mile. Slower than my usual “easy” pace. Surely I could at least get down to an 8-minute pace. A couple of the guys from my cycling group had passed me, so I focused on keeping them in sight. I passed through the first mile in 8:15. Not great but at least it was an improvement. I took another 5-second walk at the aid station to get some water and dump more over my head, then plodded on. I could still see one runner from my cycling group just ahead. “Hang on, Munger,” I told myself. 

I tried to pick it up for that final mile, but the best I could do was maintain the same pace. It would have to suffice. 

I ran through the finish and managed to stay standing to get my medal and let a volunteer drape some cold, wet towels over my shoulders. The guys from the cycling group were there, and I thanked them for pulling me along. Then I went off in search of shade, where I could collapse and check the results. 

I was 10th in my age group, which would probably qualify me for worlds, but there was a caveat. I’m in the 55-59 group, but current 54-year-olds would also be eligible for my age group at the 2023 worlds. I went to the USAT tent to check my qualifying status, and they told me I had made it — as the 16th qualifier out of 18! 

I know I could have gone much faster if I had been 100% healthy going into the race, but I’m proud of this effort. I gave it everything I could at the time and I made the team for worlds. I’ll take it!

Details of my race are on Strava, linked below. 

Run 1

Ride

Run 2

Race Report: The Wilmington Half Marathon

I have been trying to qualify for the New York Marathon for a long time. A really long time. Because I'm better at [relatively] short-distance races, even though it's tougher to qualify for than Boston, because New York allows you to qualify with a half-marathon time, it has always seemed tantalizingly possible for me to do. Rather than rehash the many times I have tried this, I will just offer the links to my posts about [most of] my attempts.

2011: Bridges Half Marathon: Needed a 1:30, ran 1:31:38. 

2012: Mississippi Blues Half Marathon: Needed a 1:30, ran 1:31:00. 

2013: Myrtle Beach Half: Needed a 1:25, ran 1:26:36

2013 (Fall): I was in shape to do a sub-1:25 but tripped during a cool-down run, got injured, and ended up not running any half-marathons

2014-16: Injuries and triathlons

2017: Houston Half: Needed a 1:32, ran 1:45 in HOT weather. Then ran a few more halfs but the closest I got was 1:36. 

2018. Houston Half again. Didn't even do a race report. Needed a 1:32, ran 1:35:13.

2019: Kiawah Half. Needed a 1:32 and ran a 1:38.

2020: Focused on the Ironman

2021: Covid wiped out this year and I'm not even sure what happened

Which brings us to 2022. My plan for this year was to not even think about running fast and work on the ultra distances. But then I somehow lost 14 pounds at the end of 2021 and it seemed like I might finally have the speed to qualify for New York, especially since I turned 55 in January and now all I needed was a 1:36. How hard could that be? I honestly thought it wouldn't be too hard, despite the fact that I had only run that fast once since 2013...

So I signed up for the Wilmington Half Marathon on February 26. I executed a two-month training plan, which went exceptionally well. Would this finally be the day I would qualify for New York? On race morning, I was as confident as I ever had been that I could do it.

To run a 1:36 half marathon, you need to average 7:20 per mile. But courses and GPS watches can be inaccurate, so I decided to set myself up to run a 1:35:00 -- a pace of 7:15 per mile. Several friends were running in the race, but I expected Jake and Ben to be well ahead of me, and Joey, Chad, and Kaylen to be somewhere behind me. There was no pace team doing this pace, so my performance in the race would be a matter of me and GPS watch. The weather was nearly perfect, 50 degrees with a north wind. The course arced from Wrightsville Beach in the east to downtown Wilmington in the west, a bit south of the start. There was only one section of less than a mile where we would be heading north into the wind, and only a few gradual hills on the course. In short, conditions could hardly be better.

After jogging a few hundred yards as a "warm up" I found my way to the start line, where I saw Ben near the front and gave him a fist-bump and wished him luck. He was using the race as a tune up for his marathon next week but still would finish about 20 minutes ahead of my planned time.

The race started on time and soon we were headed out of Wrightsville Beach and across two bridges onto the mainland. I monitored my pace and forced myself to slow down a couple times. Even so I ran the first few miles faster than planned, 7:09, 7:08, 7:08. Still, that meant I had over 30 seconds in the bank, and I didn't feel at all like I was struggling. My watch clicked through Mile 4 at 7:12, which also would have been great except for the fact that there was no mile marker here. For the first three miles, my watch and the mile markers matched perfectly, adding to my confidence that I would be able to monitor my pace accurately. Now with no Mile 4 marker in sight, I was a bit confused.

Finally the marker showed up at about Mile 4.4. I could only hope that it was just this marker out of place and we wouldn't somehow have to run an extra four tenths of a mile. I was ahead of pace but not THAT far ahead of pace. Fortunately the Mile 5 marker once again matched my watch perfectly, and I ran that one in 7:08 so I now had at least 50 seconds in the bank.

I ran Mile 6 in 7:18, which caused me a little concern since it was a fair bit slower than the first 5 miles. But I was still feeling fine, and with 50 seconds in the bank, I could actually afford to run even as slow as 7:25s for the rest of the race. 

Mile 7 proved to be the toughest of the race. It started on an uphill onramp, then turned straight into a 12-mph headwind. I reminded myself that this part of the course was probably the only place where we'd be running directly into the wind, and that I did have 50+ seconds to burn, so I just tried to put out the same effort as the other miles. Towards the end of the mile, we turned out of the wind and my watch clicked through the mile at a 7:28 pace. So now I had 40+ seconds in the bank and less than half the race to go. I could still do 7:25s for the rest of the race and hit my goal time, and there shouldn't be any more headwinds.

This section of the course did prove a bit annoying though, as we were on a full-on expressway with the traffic coming towards us. One lane was coned off for the runners but cars still raced by at 55+ MPH just a few feet away. It was also a little hilly because we occasionally crossed an overpass. Miles 8, 9, and 10 went by in 7:13, 7:13, and 7:27. My math was getting a bit fuzzy at this point but I was pretty sure I had at least 50 seconds in the bank. The Mile 10 marker was off by about a 10th of a mile, which set me to worrying again about the overall race distance possibly being off. If we had to run even an extra 10th of a mile, then my 50 seconds would quickly evaporate! But assuming the race distance was accurate, I should be able to cruise in at a 7:35 pace and still hit my goal.

Fortunately the Mile 11 marker again synced with my watch, and I ran that mile in 7:24, which meant I had at least 45 seconds in the bank and only 2.1 miles to go. I could run 7:40s and still make it!

I ran Mile 12 in 7:17. I was going to make it! My friend Ian had dropped out of the race with a niggling injury but had driven us to the start and now I saw him running ahead of me, carrying all our gear towards the finish area. Soon I caught up to him and jokingly told him he'd better hurry up. Actually the race course included a short out-and-back before the finish so he had plenty of time to see me finishing.

Ben was at the turnaround, having finished his race in 1:16. He ran along with me for a quarter mile (really a jog for him) and then let me go on solo to the finish line. Ian was a couple hundred yards from the finish and caught a great picture of me as I realized I was going to make it:

Yeehaw!

I ran through the line with an official time of 1:35:15, securely under my goal! I did it! As it turned out, I was second in my age group as well. I could hardly believe I had finally made it! Soon I was on the podium getting my photo with the two other age group winners (out of 40 in our division), and then it was time to celebrate! 

YESSS!!!

The only caveat: I've officially qualified for New York, but I'm not necessarily going to get an entry to the race. There are a limited number of slots for the race, and they are allocated on a first-come, first-served basis. I know registration opens up on March 9, but so far there's not much information about how exactly it will occur and how they decide who gets the spots if it's a big free-for-all when registration opens up. But even if I'm not able to register this year, I won't let myself be disappointed. At this point, it's become much more about the quest to qualify for the race than actually DOING New York. And if I somehow can't register this year, I still feel like I've earned a spot, so I will just enter the lottery each year until I get in to the race. 

One thing they can't take away from me, after over 10 years of trying, is that I QUALIFIED FOR THE NEW YORK MARATHON.

Now all I have to do is come up with a new goal. Fortunately, I have a few ideas....

Click here for the Strava record of my race