A few weeks ago the nice folks at Tech4o, dropped a Mens Accelerator Running Watch in my mailbox for a review. Since its arrival I have been putting it through the Dukes of Flatbush torture tests and am ready to report. For the rest of this post I will refer to the watch as the Accelerator, because it is shorter and sounds kind of cool. 
For me the gold standard of running watches is the Garmin 405 , and was my baseline for comparison and testing for the Accelerator. The first impressions of the watch are that it is a nice fit and of course much smaller than the Garmin. It sits nicely on the wrist and the display is just OK. It could be a little sharper and is probably a level below a Timex Ironman and without the Indiglo feature, so a little tough to read at night, but adequate.
Now lets get to the fuctionality of the Accelerator. My main test of this watch was to see the accuracy of the distance measured against the Garmin 405. For most runners, any watch can tell time and do laps, but the distance measured is the key feature we are looking for. Let me begin by stating I did not really read the manual too well so not sure if I needed to calibrate the watch, but to tell you the truth it did not really matter.
My first run was an easy 4 miler, that wound around Volunteer Park in Seattle. The results were Garmin 4.01 miles, Accelerator 3.98 miles. Not too bad. The second event was a walk around Vancouver BC and the Accelerator and Google Maps both were within 5% of each other. Since I am never sure how accurate Google Maps are, I consider this a win in terms of accuracy. The third and fourth runs were 5 mile runs around Seattle and both times the results were the same. Garmin 5.02 miles, Accelerator 4.97 miles.
So in terms of accuracy, I can say that the Accelerator worked and for a runner that is looking for a general range of distance and is not obsessed like your truly, it is an excellent lower cost alternative to a Garmin. I think the Accelerator is around $70, so compared to $350 for the Garmin, so a pretty good value. The Accelerator has a bunch of other features such as steps, calories burned, dual time and a countdown timer, but I cannot account for how accurate the calories burned works and a timer is a timer and there was no chance I was counting steps.
I will keep the Tech4o in my watch rotation along with the Garmin 405 and a couple of Timex Ironmans
Every day feeling like a race lately? Make your arrival at home the feeling of Victory you deserve!
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Well, folks, I’m in the final stretch and, I will admit, I’ve never been so thankful to ONLY be running 25 miles in a week! After two weeks of 35+ miles, my knees and calves are definitely starting to act up, and I too, now know the pain that is ITB Syndrome. Ice, Ibuprofen, The Stick- these now are my very dear friends. But this is not new news, almost everyone I’ve talked to says that the two weeks of taper are not only the most welcome of the process, but also the most needed to get the bod back in shape and healed up for the LAST big day. It’s funny, I never thought about it like this before, but the marathon is not just one day, it’s 90+ days of getting your @$! out there and going for a run even when it’s the last thing in the world you want to do. I am still in awe that I have made it this far. With my big runs behind me, it all feels like down hill from here.
For my last 20 miler, I ran from the Brooklyn Promenade
, across the Brooklyn Bridge, across Wall Street, up the West Side Highway, across Central Park South, and then over to the 59th street bridge. Next, up to Roosevelt Island
for a loop, then back over the Pulaski Bridge into Brooklyn for the victory 5 miles back along Kent Ave and the Navy Yard. I thought I might be going insane around mile 18 when inner my monologue turned into a full on debate between three disparate voices- the one telling me to stop- Ms Whiney, the one telling me to get my act together- Ms Tough Gurl, and the one telling Ms Tough Gurl to “DIG DEEP” and “YELL LOUDER”- Ms GET IT DONE. When I end a long training run, I always ask myself if I have the remaining miles to 26.2 in me. As I rounded the corner at the end of that run, I asked myself if I had another 6 in me. Thankfully, Ms GET IT DONE answered, and the response went something like this. “HELLS YES!”
My 16 miler in Tampa, Florida last weekend, while not as entertaining, was quite a feat. Down in Tampa for a wedding, I had to make an early break from the post rehearsal dinner festivities to get some rest for the 8:30am 16 miler the day of the wedding! Who am I? My sister plotted the course for me along the Upper Tampa Bay Trail 
, which is really something many urbanites don’t see much. 8 miles of paved trail through lush forest, along a canal, with water stops every 1/2 mile- crazy! Even though it was over 85 degrees, that run felt like cake walk to the week before. A bit of soreness around mile 12, but I stretched it out and kept running, it was only 16 miles after all.
Now, I’m all about the recuperation. I’m looking forward to my afternoon dose of Ibuprofen, an easy four mile jog and perhaps an Epson Salt Bath tonight. With my last two big runs behind me and only a 6 on the horizon for this weekend, I’m feeling great. 
Oh, yeah, and that 26.2 the week after, but, I got that one- “NO PROBLEM!”
I swung by Banky’s latest art installation here in Manhattan. It’s a store in the West Village named The Village Pet Store and Charcoal Grill that is an animatronic menagerie. It’s hard to describe so take a look for yourself:
“I wanted to make art that questioned our relationship with animals and the ethics and sustainability of factory farming,” Banksy explains in an official press release. “But it ended up as chicken nuggets singing.”
This gentleman who claimed to be the store owner was fielding questions from a TV reporter and when asked about the hot dogs, said it was very sad, that they were rescue dogs. Ba da bing!
Norther Duke (and key Reach The Beach squad member) Laura passenger pigeoned this report in about her maiden marathon effort this past weekend….RIGHTEOUS!
perfect (adj.): Supremely excellent in quality or nature.
Synonyms: absolute, consummate, faultless, flawless, impeccable, indefectible, unflawed
October in Maine is a tricky thing. Having wed in a record-breaking, torrential rain just under 3 years ago, I knew it was risky to sign up for the Maine Marathon as a first-timer. But as a 40+ year old New Englander, I also knew I could be in for a real treat, and that it was. Clear and cool at 7:45 AM, the weather on the Portland, ME coast was consummately, supremely excellent in nature for the duration of the race. It simply could not be improved upon in any way, and for that I am forever grateful. The course is lovely, winding around the urban inlet of Back Cove for 2 miles, then heading out through the tree-lined streets of the coastal towns of Falmouth and Yarmouth, with a couple of detours for scenic ocean vistas. It’s not too hilly, just enough to be interesting (and nothing like the monsters in Reach the Beach.) The energy of participants was great, the crowds were supportive, and a few spectators pegged me as a first-time marathoner (by my yellow race number) and gave me hearty shout-outs.
My only complaint about the day, aside from the abject misery of the last 4 miles, was the dearth of, ahem, “facilities” for, um, taking care of business, as it were. So, to the organizers of the Maine Marathon, I say: In the name of all that is good and pure in running, for f*ck’s sake, put more port-a-potties on the course!!! Please, just Google the phrase “runner’s diarrhea” and let the results be your guide! I was only two minutes off my target time, and you know why? Because after desperately seeking and running too fast for at least a mile and a half, I finally leapt over a ravine, scaled a stone wall, drew blood on my legs from brambles, found a spot where I was reasonably out of sight of 2,000 people running by on the road, and dug a cat hole so I could finally relieve myself of the pressing burden I had been bearing in my bowels since my last GU shot, then had to scavenge on the decaying forest floor for a reasonable medium for tidying up that wouldn’t leave me itching, chafing, or sprouting mushrooms 17 miles down the road. And once I got back on course, it was at least 3 more miles until the next port-a-pottie. What is *wrong* with you people?!?
There, I said it. I totally recommend this race otherwise, but do beware.
Aside from that one significant complaint, it was all good for the first 16 miles or so. Blue skies, autumn foliage, ocean breezes, great volunteers, adequate water stops. It was heaven. Yes, I started out way too fast, but who cares? I was feeling awesome! Early fall in Maine really can be heaven.
At some point, I slide into Purgatory. The pain creeps in and stays. “OK,” I think, “OK, so this is what the 2nd half feels like. That’s OK. I can take it.” Another mile. And another. That’s OK. I check my stopwatch/heart rate monitor, and although my HR is where it’s been all morning, my mile times are starting to slip. That’s OK. I have a cushion, as long as I don’t have to go on another bushwhacking adventure. I knew 4:05 was ambitious. 4:10 might still be in sight. Another mile. It’s really starting to hurt now. In places I don’t usually notice. In lots of places. In new ways. All at the same time. With every step. In between steps. I’m really tired. I’m really, really so tired, and it hurts so much. I try to find inspiration in my head somewhere. I think of my dad. I start to choke up and can’t breathe well. I change the subject. I pass some spectators, who cheer me on. I look at them and say, “Don’t ever do this.” They laugh.
Somewhere around mile 21, I realize I have been periodically shaking my head violently from side to side like a lunatic, telling myself no, No, NO! I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to walk. I can’t slow down. “Pain is temporary. Regret is forever.” I’m strong. I’ve trained for this. It’s a beautiful day on the coast of Maine, and I’m outside. Look around. Enjoy the scenery. I am going to make it. Another mile. 4:10 is not happening. That’s OK. 4:15 was always my true goal. I can do that. I can do that and I will live. I do not have to stop and walk, in order to live. I will live through running a 4:15 marathon. No, no, no, no, no, I am not going to walk. Just keep going. As the sun has risen in the sky, a few clouds have rolled in to keep it cool and comfortable. The setting is still heaven, but I am in hell.
I hit the wrong button on my stopwatch. I’ve lost my cumulative time. I’m too mentally hopeless to do math at this point, so I have only my heart rate to go by.
Sean meets me at mile 23, to run with me for the last 3 miles. Sweet fancy moses goddamn motherf*cking sh*t jesus mary and shiva this hurts so bad. I say something like that to him. I moan, grunt, complain, plead, groan, and he knows exactly where I’m at because he has done this 5 times. He goads, cajoles, coaches and distracts me toward my goal. Around mile 24 my right butt cheek seizes up, and along with the demented head-shaking I now have an ass-punching tic. I want to stop so badly. Would it be so bad to miss my target time? I feel utterly wretched. But I’m so close. Maybe I can still do it. I hit mile 25 and pick up the pace, but I have nothing left. I am whimpering.
I’ve done some pretty tough sh*t in my life, but never before have I ignored the raging demands of my body to just stop, for such an extended period of time.
Sean leaves me to run the last .2 on my own. “This is all yours,” he says. “You’ve done it. Enjoy it.” Man, am I glad I married that guy.
As I limp across the finish line, I hear my name and town. The race clock says 4:17:something. It doesn’t matter. It’s done. I can finally stop. I stagger through the chute, refuse the space blankets, let them remove my timing chip, bend down to receive the finisher’s medal, and collapse in a heap in Sean’s arms.
My final time is 4:17:00:00. Just 2 minutes off my target. I’m OK with that. I’m finally done, there are no mushrooms sprouting in my underdrawers, and it’s still a perfect day on the coast of Maine.
This diagram below that accompanied an article in this weeks NY Times is a nice way to understand where from the cow all those delicious meals come from.
As Summer turns to Autumn, Tasty Tuesdays are back in full swing. Fearing divorce, I concocted a late Summer-early Autumn menu featuring a tried and true Panzanella salad that I usually do many times a Summer. For some reason I just didn’t get around to this Summer, so I figured I should get on it before tomatoes disappeared until next year! The rest of my menu was my attempt to connect with my inner Mario Batali, 
and while adventurous, was not like my recent trip to Babbo.
Let’s focus on the Panzanella.
1 baguette
1 pint cherry or grape tomatoes
1 lb fresh mozzarella
1 red onion
2 cloves minced garlic
Olive Oil for basting
Salt and Pepper to taste
½ cup pesto vinaigrette
This recipe takes the whole bread, tomato and mozzarella salad to new heights by not only combining it with a fresh pesto- balsamic vinaigrette, but get this, you actually grill the bread, mozzarella, onion and tomato first! Basically, the original recipe calls for several tomato, red onion, mozzarella and bread skewers, lightly dressed with olive and garlic, that are grilled, removed from their skewers, and then tossed with the Pesto-balsamic vinaigrette- and let me tell you, it’s really delicious. That said; having suffered through cleaning quite a few grills of molten mozzarella, I’ve come up with a better method to ensure that everything is cooked properly when combined. Moreover, I’ve abandoned the recipe for the vinaigrette and just make it how I like it now – I encourage you to do the same.
Firstly, if you have stale bread, use that. Stale bread toasts better and won’t get soggy like fresh bread does. If you don’t have any “day old” around, try to cube (about 1 ½ inch square) the fresh bread up few hours ahead of when you plan on making the Panzanella- this will let it dry out a bit. Next, key step here, when you are about 5 minutes out from getting started, put your mozzarella in the freezer. I can’t tell you how much it easier it is to cut cold mozzarella. Not only that, but it helps the cheese hold it shape a bit better during the grilling process. Without doing this you could wind up with melted cheese all over the grill!
As far as assembly of the kabobs goes, there is the main point of difference with the original recipe. Rather than combining the ingredients on the skewers, I do a few solely cherry or grape tomatoes, a few red onion kabobs and then combine the bread and mozzarella (cut into 1 inch cubes) on the last few kabobs before lightly dressing them with a bit of minced garlic, salt and pepper and olive oil. By doing this, you can control how much heat each of the ingredients get. Personally, I like the onion and tomatoes to get a bit more charred, so I get those on the grill first while I am putting the bread and mozzarella skewers together.
When making your pesto, use your favorite recipe. Some people use pine nuts, some walnuts, I like crushed red pepper; all that matters is that at the end you add a bit of balsamic vinegar to it and a touch more oil than you normally would to give it a slightly looser consistency. I usually make my pesto in a food processor, but I have done it by hand as well. If you have the time, give it a try- it’s quite sexy.
Once everything is grilled to your liking, remove from the skewers into a large bowl 
and toss to combine with the 2/3 of the pesto vinaigrette. I plate, and then top each with a bit more vinaigrette, salt and fresh pepper. Yummers!!
In an effort to usher in Autumn, I followed the Panzanella salad with Monkfish and Pancetta kabobs served with roasted butternut squash with fennel and lemon.
They were tasty but lacking some oommf. Next time I might make lemon oil or herb-anise vinaigrette or something to add a bit more acidity to the dish.
I followed that with black figs, with fresh ricotta, lemon sugar and balsamic reduction- sort of a dessert and cheese course in one. While I liked it for being light and fresh, I think next time I’ll combine the lemon sugar with the ricotta in advance with a touch of lemon juice tie those flavors together.
Till next year, goodbye tomatoes. Bring on the squash, figs, apples, pears, and Brussels sprouts!
Received this transmission and just had to share. Submitted by a roving wild-man adventurer who we’ll call Hazard. Shit is so ill – makes me long for the mountains:
I have been back from Yosemite for almost a week and trying to re-adjust to “normal” life. Just wanted to share a few photos. I went to Yosemite on September 7th to meet my friend JW and climb for two weeks. C joined us on the 12th for five days as well and we gave JW some time to prepare for his El Capitan (ed: !!!) climb. JW was planning to do the ascent the week of September 22nd with a German climber, Felix. Unfortunately Felix got sick the second day and they had to rappel down from the climb.
JW and I did mostly cragging, which consists of short multipitch climbs. The valley was very dry but the temperatures were perfect and there were not too many tourists. After September 15th there was a large influx of climbers including three very famous climbers. JW could tell you their names; I don’t pay that much attention.
The most noteworthy climb we did was Royal Arches. It’s a famous climb set up in 1931 by a climber staying at the Awanie Hotel. He was convinced that he could find a route up the cliff face to the top. After several failed attempts, and one bout of heat stress, he finally did. The climb is 16 pitches (rope lenths) long and about 2,400 feet high. In 1931, when the climb was first established, it was rated a 5.7. Most climbers today would agree that it is significantly harder. In 1931 the hardest rating was a 5.9, today the hardest routes are rated 5.16d.
JW
Hazard being sweet
JW and I started climbing at 6:00 a.m. in the morning. We climbed non-stop and finished the last pitch of the climb at 9:00 p.m. at night. We bivied on a small but comfortable ledge and the next morning hiked 8 miles up over the ridge by North Dome and then back to Camp 4. We finally arrived back in Camp 4 around 3:00 a.m. and promptly went to the Awanie to celebrate.
Gotta say, that’s a totally serious effort. Arches may not be the most technical, retarded-spiderman climb, but 16 pitches and a night spent on the rock in Yosemite should qualify as righteous in anyone’s book. Rock on with your bad-ass self Hazard & thanks for sharing.
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