The first two times I ran RTB, I was in a "regular" 12-person team. 200 miles divided by 12 people isn't too bad... about 16 miles total, spread out over three legs in around 24 hours. Last year, I was in an "Ultra" team, so there were only six of us splitting up the 200 miles in six legs each. I ran about 31 miles last year, and it was so brutal. I hated every second of it. I hated running up hills in the pitch black darkness, having no idea how much farther the hill would go on, or even if my next step would be up or downhill. I hated running completely sleep-deprived, to the point where I was imagining other runners creeping up behind me when there was no one, absolutely no one, within half a mile of me. I hated running 20 miles of the steepest hills I had ever experienced only to realize that I still had 11 more miserable miles to go. I even hated finishing each leg, because I knew that I had less than three hours before I had to do the whole thing all over again.
And most of all, I hated the fact that there was another Front Runner team, perfectly matched up against us in their pace, who ran almost side-by-side with us throughout the whole race. It was so intense. So stressful. I just wanted it to be over as soon as it started. I had never been so exhausted, scared, miserable, almost delirious in my life.
And as soon as it was over, I couldn't wait to do it again. It was the most amazing experience ever. I have never felt myself pushed to the absolute limits quite like that, both mentally and physically. I was in a great van with people who were among my very best friends in the world, whose support, encouragement, camaraderie and general craziness helped pull us through those 209 excruciating miles. It was an experience I will never forget.
But this year, things are different. My running has been crap. I still have this damn butt issue that I think is just never going to go away. And after last year's experience, I'm just plain scared. And to top it off, I'm just getting over a cold now, which kept me from running over the past few days. And my ankle is still sore from when I, in a state of semi-drunkeness combined with lack of adequate lighting, fell off the boardwalk in Fire Island several weeks ago.
When I realized that RTB was fast approaching about a month ago, I tried to ramp up my running a bit. I've met this with some very limited success. Last week, I joined the Front Runners on the Saturday long run. It was supposed to be an 18-miler, from W. 73rd Street around the northern tip of Manhattan. I started off the run kind of following my running buddies Mikey and Matt. But after about 4-5 miles I realized that there was just no way I could keep up with them for 18 miles. So I fell back a little, and I started running with Jim.
Jim promptly got us lost. Ugh, I was so annoyed. Not because of where we ended up, though. He had led us into Inwood Hill Park, at the very northernmost tip of Manhattan. It was my first time in the park and it was actually quite nice, with some pretty dramatic views. Its valleys, boulders and ridges were apparently formed by glaciers thousands of years ago and seem virtually untouched since then. I was happy to have discovered this new part of New York City that I had never known of.
I was annoyed, though, that our 18-miler was going to turn into a 20-miler. However, we ended up accidentally taking a shortcut, which cut about a mile and a half off from our run, so we were back on course without that much added mileage. I was so relieved. At ten miles into our run, though, I began to feel like I had had enough. I was thinking of places to turn off and just take the subway back. The last 5 miles of the planned route had us going along the last five miles of the New York City Marathon, and I couldn't imagine going up that endless 5th Avenue hill. In the back of my mind, I thought maybe I would run to Marcus Garvey Park (around mile 13.5) and just call it a day.
About 12.5 miles in, Jim clipped his foot on the uneven sidewalk and fell, scraping himself up a bit. He was fine, but that was the end of his run. (One mildly amusing sidenote: several people witnessed the incident and told Jim to call a lawyer. Jim and I are both lawyers!) I did not trip. But I was handed the perfect excuse to cut my own run short. I decided to hitch a ride back to the start with Jim, ostensibly to make sure he was OK, but in reality, I just had enough. I went back to the church, somewhat disappointed and ashamed that I couldn't finish the long run.
That afternoon, though, I forced myself to go outside and finish the last six miles. It was slow. And instead of the gentle incline of 5th Avenue and the rolling hills of Central Park, I did my six miles with Dane on the pancake-flat boardwalk in the Jersey Shore. I wasn't proud of my running that day, but at least I got in my miles. I viewed it as a small victory in getting back, slowly, into shape.
The Tuesday afterwards I made myself go to the outdoor Central Park workout. It was my first workout since May or June, and it was a tough one: two times 25 minutes of nonstop hill running. Just up and down and up and down Harlem Hill, continuously for 25 minutes. The first time I did ok, but the second one, I pretty much fell apart. The awful thing about this workout was that since it was just going back and forth a bunch of times up and down the hill, everyone who was running downhill could see the pain and agony on my face as I struggled to trudge uphill. Many people offered words of encouragement--"Keep it up, Dave!"--but I just wanted to hide in a hole somewhere. The only thing that kept me going was my fear of being lapped by Josh and Rich. Each time I reached the bottom, I contemplated stopping and cutting the run short, but I felt that would be even more embarrassing. So I just kept going, slowly, through the 25 minutes of agony.
With last week's disappointments, though, came some runs that I thought were pretty successful. On Wednesday's fun run, I ran the full six-mile loop with Matt. When I got to Harlem Hill this time, I charged up it like a speed demon, doing whatever I could to redeem myself after the prior day's disappointing workout. It felt so great, so exhilarating, to be able to climb with such power. And then, when we hit the last mile or so, Matt and I kicked it up even more. It felt like an all-out race, but I didn't let myself fall back. WOW! I had almost forgotten how it felt to run fast. It was so much fun! Matt's Garmin said we finished that last mile in 5:53...amazing! I haven't run a mile that fast in a very, very, very long time. It made me feel like I'm back, back to running!
And on Saturday, I ran the Fitness Magazine 4-Miler. It wasn't one of my faster 4-milers, but I think I did respectably well. It was the first race in a long time where I pushed myself. My final time was 27:02, or a 6:45 pace (splits were 6:46, 6:41, :59, 6:36). I'm encouraged, though, because I know I've been getting faster, and I know I can do even better.
I just don't think I can do much better by Friday, when I have to run 31 miles. :-/
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The evening after Dane and I ran our six miles on the boardwalk in Jersey, we went to Jimmy's Italian Restaurant in Asbury Park with Josh and Chris. Jimmy's is one of those old school, old world New Jersey Italian restaurants where you would maybe expect to see Tony Soprano sitting at the next table. They serve classic Italian dishes in hearty portions. I got the linguine with broccoli rabe and sausage and Chris got the lasagne, pictured below. The food was among the best Italian that I've had in a very long time. Josh got the veal marsala, which was soooo good. I never order veal because, you know, the whole animal cruelty thing. But every time I taste a little bit, I feel like I've been missing out on a little bit of heaven.
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