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!”
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.
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.
First The Grey Lady bit on our enduring pepper coverage, and now this! If the “Special Interests” editor wants to just give a shout, we’ll happily provide countless story ideas for only the cost of a few beers and attribution. Here’s one on the house that’s got crazy legs: Los Compadres suck eggs, probably are behind all the sketchily complex debt products and certainly are to blame for the global financial meltdown. Scoop of the news cycle - you’re welcome.
Professional courtesy gripes aside, it’s an excellent article on LeMons - a race that seems to have been designed for the Dukes of Flatbush. The Dukes know a little something about 24 hr contests - stay tuned for future DOFB beater racing supremacy.
This note was delivered this morning by winged foot messenger form an intrepid Northland Duke…..glory was his this weekend and he’s kind enough to share.
My Esteemed Dukes,
It is with great honor and sense of obligation that I have joined your exalted ranks. As a sign of my good faith and dedication, immediately upon returning to my native lands I set about a conquest to claim lands for the ever expanding Flatbush empire to the north. I am pleased to report that the summit of Mt. Katahdin was claimed for the Dukes as well as all territory visible from its summit (see attached picture). All vassals encountered upon the way were made to grovel before the Flatbush flag, and I would have dispatched any Los Compadres encountered, but I am sad to report that none were spotted. Becoming hungry during our expedition, I hunted down one of Maine’s alpine parakeets with my bare hands. My trusty assistant is seen in the second picture holding our substantial feast immediately prior to roasting.
For the glory of the empire!
Res Firma Nitescere Nescit
-The Duke of the North
16 Sep
Posted by Graham as Adventure, Reach The Beach, Run, Sports
356 teams competed in the 10th annual Reach the Beach relay race held this past weekend in New Hampshire. The official results are in and I’m happy to report that the Dukes of Flatbush had an impressive showing in their innagural race. We ran 209.5 miles in 28 hours, 49 minutes and 50 seconds, a 8:16 pace. We placed 43rd out of 167 teams in the Mixed Open Division, and were 129th overall.
Big props to the team that brought it home this year: Birch, Fayth, Laura, Sean, Christina, Steph, Kevin, Jennifer, Jon, Kristin, yours truly and the indefatigable team leader, Chad. Additional posts will follow that document the amazing stories that happened along the way, but it was an epic journey and I couldn’t have been happier to share it with my fellow Dukes. We killed it.
As anyone who follows this blog is aware by now, the Dukes of Flatbush are competing in tomorrow’s Reach the Beach relay. We head up to NH tonight and will be rarin’ and ready to go for our 1:20 pm start tomorrow. It looks like the hurricane gods are cooperating with us; we seem to have dodged Ike and hope to remain gale-force-wind-free for the whole weekend.
Supported by our trusty west-coast Mission Control, we’ll be doing our damndest to live blog the effort. Expect up-to-the hour reports with all the latest on conditions, DOFB feats of strength, churlish rants and NIST certified chafe ratings. So check here early and often, and keep your fingers crossed for our intrepid squad of running reprobates.
9/9 RTB Update
9/8 RTB Update
9/3 RTB Update
8/20 RTB Update
8/15 RTB Update
8/6 RTB Update
The forecast is sorting itself out for the end of the week in NH and the DOFB team is in the final, nostrils flared in anticipation, stages of preparation. Bags have been packed, night-gear tested, anti-chaffing salves concocted and distance mantras honed. Not a whole lot left to do but hop in the van Thursday evening, head north and hope Ike doesn’t change his mind!
For those who may be in NH and inclined to come out and witness a spectacle, the Dukes are slotted for a 1:20pm Friday start and expect to finish on the coast sometime around 6 the following evening. Check out the course info for the nearest segment of the route & and do come out to properly heckle the teams.
———
In totally unrelated 24 hr racing news, I recently came across another race that would likely appeal to a number of us - the 24 Hours of LeMons:
Each LeMons race is for cars purchased, fixed up, and track-prepped for a total of 500 dollars or less. But before reaching the grid, you’ll have to survive trials like the Personal-Injury-Lawyer Anti-Slalom, the Marxist-Valet Parking Challenge, and the Wide Open Throttle Rodthrowapalooza. Twelve hours into the race, the car voted People’s Choice is called in and awarded a cash prize; simultaneously, the car voted People’s Curse is called in and summarily destroyed. At the end of 24 hours, a gala awards ceremony plies the survivors with trophies, plaques, and four-figure purses in canvas bags full of nickels. What’s not to like?
This video of what happens to a cheater’s car is not to be missed - genius. We’ve already missed the East Coast season’s races, but I suspect you’ll be seeing a menacing DOFB beater entered in the years to come.
While the weather is still beautiful here in Seattle, I am on a mission to try to get as many hikes in as possible. My target today was Mt. Si (sigh) in North Bend, about a 45 minute drive from Seattle
Mount Si
The Climb: 4,167 feet (1,270 meters)
Distance: 4 miles from the parking lot to the summit plateau.
Vertical elevation change is about 3700 feet and starts at about 700 feet.
I had received warning from locals that the Mount Si trail gets extremely crowded as it is one of the best hikes close to Seattle and not to expect the place to myself. Luckily the locals were wrong and Mount Si was not empty, but the track was not packed and everyone moved off the trail to let my pass as I half sprinted up.
The dash to the top was great as the trail is somewhat narrow, but steep with a lot of switchbacks. As I got to the top I was a little worried about the clouds, but as you can see from the pics below, the clouds threatened but then cleared as I got to the top of Mount Si.
Overall this is a great hike and a little challenging up and down. 4 miles up is not too bad , but the 4 miles down are harder than you think and legs got a little soft for the last 1/2 mile.
03 Sep
Posted by Graham as Adventure, Run, Sports, Training, Travel
The Dukes of Flatbush have fielded a 12 person team to race in the 2008 Reach the Beach relay race next Friday. If you haven’t seen the other posts, it’s a continuous 24 hour relay race that covers 210 miles. We’ll each do three legs, running one leg every 8 hours or so. I just downloaded the .kmz file for Google Earth so I could get a bird’s eye view and I gotta say, this is some pretty impressive distance for 24 hours. The course starts in the Northwest corner of New Hampshire and runs all the way to the beach in the Southeast corner. All I can say is “Res Firma Nitescere Descit”.
At long last, it’s The New Guy (holy crap it’s about time!) with his inaugural dofb post. It’s only fitting that Reach the Beach take top billing.
This evening one-third of Dukes: Team RTB took to the streets and bridle paths of Central Park for an evening jaunt. The run is of special significance because it marks two team members’ foray into an elite RTB training regimen; for our very own Stephanie and Kristin, it was their third run in 24 hours. They managed 6 last night, 5.5 this morning and capped it off with 4 tonight. Now that’s impressive! Meanwhile, reports suggest that Duke MFP has been knocking out two-a-days while Laura has been putting in 20+ mile days. And speed-demon Sean’s team The Chipmen rocked the Vermont 100 on 100 last Friday in a blistering 6:34 team pace, winning the Masters age group. Team Dukes will not be stopped!
RTB Training Tips:
*from now until race week, work in at least one two-a-day every week w/ 6+ mile legs
*train for your night leg: start wearing your headlamp or carrying a small flashlight on a long run each week (even if it’s a day run)
*if you don’t already own two new-ish pair of sneaks, get them; you’ll want to rotate shoes across your legs to prevent shin splints and other injuries
Today I finally had my chance to get out into the Cascade Mountains and hike in a beautiful location and only a 35 minute drive from Seattle.
My trip was to the scary sounding Rattlesnake Ridge , where I did not see any snakes but did see some beautiful scenery.
Hiking Time to Rattlesnake Ridge: 1 hour
Miles: 4 Round trip
Elevation gain: 1,175 feet
I spent time in Baja this year riding a dirtbike from from Ensenada to Cabo San Lucas. Along the way, I heard tall tales of a creature named the Chupacabra - a bloodsucking beast that prayed largely on farm animals, particularly goats. I know everyone has been caught up with the Montauk Monster, but here’s some video taken by a cop down in Texas of what he believes is the legendary Chupacabra.
We seem to be having quite a mythical year. What’s nhhkjkkjkhxt? Nessie? Bigfoot?
I love kooky, old, weird, outrageous stuff & have long been a devotee of the sort of “make not buy” and ‘exhume the old” thinking espoused by the fellers behind MAKE, Boingboing and Hooptyrides. I also am particularly enamored by vintage electronics and all manner of mechanized contraption (the mo dangerous the better), so this here discovery really tickled my noodle.
Over on Hootpyrides I came across a hell of a fine Galaxie 500. In the course of investigation [read:drooling], I learned about a paragon of 60’s devil-may-care engineering, Turbonique. These crazy bastards made various after-market upgrades for speed junkies which generally boiled down to strapping as much thrust to a chassis as physically possible and hoping for the best.
Obviously this was at a time when it was still acceptable to sell wildly dangerous shit to the public. We’re not talking about NOS here - we’re talking about a genuine Jet engine! While some good has undoubtedly come from the intervening years of government mommying, I, for one, have a healthy yearning for a time like this. A time when the tools for rampant foolishness were readily availible and, if you wanted to risk life and limb by bolting a thrust engine to your ride, well then the more power to you.
Thanks for the brain-tickle Mr. Jalopy, excellent stuff as always.
Few things in life turn out to be as good as their name, but Punkin Chunkin is definitely one. Every year, a bunch of people get together to see just how far they can throw a pumpkin. You are probably thinking it’s a strongman competition where giant Swedes throw gourds over a 20 foot wall. No. It’s much better than that. The classes in the competition merely hint at the insanity - Air, Centrifugal, Catapult, Trebuchet, Human Power, Human Power Centrifugal, and Torsion Catapult. I could go on, but a picture is worth a thousand words. Check these out…
Just how far are we chunkin these punkins? The world record currently stands at 4434.28 feet, a little under a mile. Are you kidding me? The event is held in Bridgeville, Delaware from October 31 - November 2 this year. Count me in. I’ll blend in perfectly…
DOFB
