Well, with the Ibuprofen count officially under 4 a day, and the nightly icing rituals melted away, I thought it about darn time I relayed my NYC marathon story.

Let me first start by saying, how amazing all of the Dukes of Flatbush, particularly that guy I call my Husband, was through this whole process. A very sincere thanks to everyone for all of their well wishes, advice and encouragement along the way. And a particular shout out to the lady on First Ave and 96th St who was the ONLY person I didn’t know to call out my name- you will never know how much that helped. THANK-YOU!

I’ve taken a bit of time to write this for a lot of reasons. Partly because I needed to digest what exactly happened in those hours between 5 am and 6 pm on November 2nd, 2008, and partly because I really needed to get some rest! As I mentioned in my pre-marathon post, I was really looking forward to the two-week taper. My body, particularly my right knee and calf, were really giving me hell, and I was in an almost constant state of pain. I sought out the services of an acupuncturist, which helped tremendously, but even still I did not go into Marathon day in top form.

I’ll get this negative stuff out of the way, because as the administrator of this noble blog said- “It’ll be cathartic”. I’ll admit, I was pretty disappointed about not being in top shape on Marathon Day. After 2 + months of training, to be feeling rather questionable about your ability to perform is a bit of a lousy feeling. I didn’t play many team sports as a kid, so maybe this is something everyone else is used to by 32- I am not. I didn’t play through an ankle sprain and kick the winning goal. I didn’t get the MVP for getting two teeth knocked out and staying in the game to score four 3 pointers. I was a cheerleader- I broke my elbow doing a high kick and sat out the rest of the season out. Simply put, I’ve never played through the pain, it’s just not what I do.

OK, that feels better.

So there I was on the Saturday before Marathon Day, with perfect weather (crisp and partly cloudy with high of 50F) to look forward to, and I was a nervous friggin’ wreck about my knee. I went out for a long walk when a friend and fellow Marathoner called to ask how I was feeling. I described myself as the Owner of a Best in Show Contender at the Westminster Dog Show who had to leave Madison Square garden to go get a hotdog because they were too nervous to watch. This training process had done a lot of strange things to my mind, but this was getting out of hand. I was now simultaneously the Best in Breed, the trainer and the Owner. This had to stop!

What was the worst that could happen? “You could do real damage to your knee and wind up in serious trouble, Idiot,” I told myself. OK, fair enough, but really what are we talking about? Collapse in Williamsburg? Ambo in Central Park? I told myself that I could walk if I needed to, and in all honesty, that was fine. “There are plenty of people that walk, it’s not about the time. More importantly, it’s about finishing and raising funds for Jack’s Fund I reminded myself. Well, either the Viszla inside developed language skills or I was being to make sense. Either way, I was calm enough to go home and start the process of unwinding- 5 am does come early.

Per usual, I didn’t sleep much. It was a cold morning, but the spirit of the day most certainly got me out the door and onto the Subway Platform by 6 am. If your listening Mr or Mrs NYC Marathon Logistics Manager Man or Woman, I have to admit, I don’t think the Wave Start plan worked as well as you hoped. There were many, many runners that were in the 10:20 am start that had 5:30 am ferry or 4:30 am bus times. Doesn’t seem that it was the best use of staggered starts to then have people crowding the Staten Island Ferry terminal to stay warm before heading out into the sub 40 degree temp. But, I’m just saying. As I mentioned before, I consider myself a wimp. I know everyone talks about how amazing the Marathon Village is before the race, and how much fun it is to walk around and such, but I was freezing, so I stayed in the Ferry terminal till 8:30 before hoping on the bus to Fort Wadsworth.

Once there, I realized that there was a whole flurry of activity going on, and I clearly was not the only one that was a bag of nerves! People were literally walking in circles, too anxious and cold to sit, but too sore from months of training to move too fast! 9:30 am marked the end of Bag Check and in those few moments before I saw every type of salve, cream, gel you could imagine being applied to any and all body parts. Without shame, I too, joined the Vaseline’d Masses and got myself prepped for the race.

Before I knew it, we were lined up and stripping away our “give away” warm up gear. Without realizing it was really happening we were moving en masse up the platform up to the start line at the base of the bridge. Of course, Bruce Springstein’s Born To Run was playing on the speakers as I crossed over the start line. I chuckled to myself and smiled as I took off up the Verranzano Bridge and looked out over to Manhattan in the distance. I overheard someone say, “Doesn’t it look so far away?”. And strangely to me, it didn’t.

Coming into Brooklyn, I felt great. There was a dull pain in my knee, but it felt manageable. The tightness in my calf had subsided, I felt well rested, my digestive tract co-operated earlier and in all honesty, I felt like I was about to have the run of my life. Once on Fourth Avenue, I could see the Williamsburg Saving and Loan Building in the distance.

I live in Fort Greene, which is just past that at mile 8 so I settled in for an easy cruise up Fourth Ave, knowing that I would get a Dukes Welcome at the end of my block.

And there they were, my Bloody Mary’ed Cheering Section!

Luckily, my Husband brought out the Stick to the end of the road for a bit of mile 8 ITB release.

By this point, I was starting to question that “run of my life” comment. My knee was starting to feel very tight and tender, and each time I flexed my knee back after taking a step, it hurt even more. I slowed down from my 9 minute mile pace to a 9:30 for the next two miles to see where I was at. By mile 10 on Bedford Avenue, I stopped for a few moments to stretch out to see if I could loosen the ITB- it was beginning to feel like a rubber band being snagged on the outside of my knee with each step. No such luck. I stopped at the next Medical Tent to see if they had a Stick- for some reason this made sense to me, but of course they didn’t.

I was only 10 miles in, and here I was contemplating that I might have to serious consider walking for a bit. But walking on my right knee didn’t feel any better. The way I thought about it, it would just take longer and therefore hurt for longer. So I took off on my left leg, and just gently used my right foot to balance myself out. With that first step, I set my mind to running the remaining 16 miles on my left leg. Now I know this sounds insane, and of course it is. But it’s basically what happened. I stopped at two medical tents to have them tape up my knee to keep it from bending too far back, and I went about the business of getting through it.

Just passed seeing another group of friends at mile 14 in Long Island City, the pain was so bad that I stopped, folded over and started to cry. I don’t know if it was the pain, the frustration at my 11 minute pace or what, but I was pissed. All of this training, the resting, the icing, the balanced friggin’ nutrition, the Tetolling- I couldn’t believe it was coming to this. I think I even let out a bit of a Blue Streak- sorry to any kids that may have been nearby. After I few minutes, I got myself back together and got back to the business of the left sided shuffle. If it took me 7 hrs, I was gonna finish this thing.

I had been warned about the 59th St Bridge. With no crowds on either side, and the vibration of the runners pounding the expanse, it can be both daunting and exhilarating I was told.

As I made it up the incline, I got into a bit of a rhythm with the my new left sided gait and I was starting to settle in a bit. Just as I crested the bridge I realized that it truly “all down hill from here”. Not exactly the best thing for someone experiencing ITB pain, but you get the metaphor.

First Ave was pretty unbelievable.

Looking up those 50 or blocks and seeing a river of runners moving up the canyon of skyscrapers is a pretty remarkable site. There are so many spectators at this point too; never before have I felt greeted with such welcome arms to Manhattan. That said; I basically put my head down and wobbled my way up the Avenue, knowing that my Dukes Cheering Section was just 4 miles away.

By the time I got to mile 18, I realized that stopping to stretch was not a good idea; it became increasingly difficult to get started again and was more painful each time. It was also at that point that I realized that despite my difficulties, I was still within shot of my goal of sub 4:30. To do so, I would have to shave about 30 seconds off of my mile pace. One thing that has always been true during my training is that I tend to speed up after I get over the hump and enter the last 3rd of a run. Would that be true this time was the question.

I’ll spare you the grunting, wincing, cursing blow by blow of the last 8 miles, but they were the most intense of my life. The crowds down 5 Avenue and in Central Park were amazing. To each of the crazy spectators with the large “Beer” signs, thank-you for the laughs.

But I think this sign had to be the best-

With one last glance at my husband at the 26 mile mark, I ran those last .2 miles with tears in my eyes and a fullness in my heart that I will hold with me for the rest of my life.

At 4:28: 53, I can now say I know what it feels like to have made my own goal, banged up knee and all.

A week plus later, and I am not quite ready to tackle the pavement just yet. I might go back to Pilates for a bit, maybe even consider taking a Yoga class. I’m waiting for all of the swelling to go down to figure out what to do about my knee. I figure it makes sense to see what is just a result of all that training, and what may or may not be a lasting result before going to see a Doctor. To be honest I don’t want to know yet, I’d rather just bask in the glory for a bit longer.

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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

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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!”

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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.

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I can’t say that I was looking forward to running the NYC Marathon Tune-up this weekend, per se, but I was looking forward to seeing how my mind and body were going to deal with the added mileage. After the very amusing walking hallucinatory state that Reach the Beach put me in, I will admit, I was looking forward to meeting that stranger I have heard so much about over the last few years- “The Wall”.

With the Tune-up miles locked in, I needed to add two extra miles to the start to meet my 20 mile run requirement for the week. This meant a 5am wake-up, train to 57th street, then the 2.6 run up to the start at 102 st on the East Side for a 7am start. (I know, boo-hoo, but hey, it’s my first marathon and I’ll moan if I want to!) After a bit of a battle with shin splints after an 18 miler to Coney Island last weekend, I will admit, I wasn’t feeling all that strong going into Sunday’s race/ run. I had been slow all week, and just couldn’t seem to get the lead out. I knew it was gonna be another difficult one when I stepped out of the house that morning- it was muggy and already 70 degrees– oh dear.

By the time I arrived at the start after my warm-up, I was already drenched with sweat. The humidity was at 93%, and I was praying for the sky to open up- no such luck. Knowing my body, I resolved to take it slow and just see what running with the crowd felt like, and listen to what my mind and body were doing and just take it nice and easy. After 3 miles I realized I was running a 9:20 mile pace and there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it- nice and easy was all I had.

Running loops is definitely not my preferred training method. Even though I have a pretty nifty hill mantra (I love hills, I love *%$@*&% hills), I don’t like to have to use it on the same hill again and again- it seems to lose efficacy. That said; round and round the park I went for a good 15 (17.5 for me) miles with all systems pretty much in check. Slow, but in check.

It was at mile 15 that I realized that I must have dropped my 3rd Gel Pack somewhere. Opps! It was also at this moment that I also started to feel really cold. From sweaty to shivering in a matter of seconds. “Why didn’t I eat breakfast this morning?” Fearing a premature introduction to “The Wall”, I assured myself that I was fine, and reminded myself of the “Gel” table just past Columbus Circle at the bottom of the park on Central Park South. “All good, just get around the corner”, I told myself.

Just as I inched around the corner, and felt my head fill with cotton and my feet turn into 100 lb weights, I noticed that the table was empty.

“Well, hello Mr. Wall. So nice to finally meet you in person.” Maybe some good manners might soften the blow, I thought.

And it did. He’s a funny fellow that Mr. Wall. We laughed for a few steps, talking about what a crazy fool I am for taking this on. I should still be in bed, he’s right. Or better yet, glass of wine and a cozy couch. I know it’s only 9:30 am, but I’ve been up for almost 5 hours. TAXI!

We talked for a few more steps as warmth started to return to my arms, and we got near the Gatorade table- oh sweet nectar! “Three more miles, eh?” he asked. And with that, I was off. “What the hell is 3 miles?” was I needed to ask myself.

Just as I hit the 16 mile mark, I looked down and saw the brand of Gel I prefer. “Oh, wouldn’t that be nice,” I thought to myself. Then I thought for a moment and tried to do some math. Surprising how difficult that can be. My last gel was at 10 miles, the park is 6 miles. 10 plus 6 equals…come on Math don’t fail me know- 16! Oh my, it’s my Gel! Without thinking of how dirty NYC truly is (read: Horses in Central Park), I turned around, scooped it up and slurped it down- delicious, yummy, goodness, I love you Gel!

I don’t know if I really needed it or not, but I’m not trying to be a hero. Could I have run this race faster, sure? Should I have eaten breakfast? Yes! Will I run faster than a 9:40 pace on Marathon day? I don’t know. All I do know is that I ran 20 miles this weekend and I met “The Wall”- hopefully they will both be as gentle the next time we meet.

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This past Saturday saw a collection of hardy Dukes shake the cobwebs off their post-Reach The Beach legs and head on out for a long training run. It was a stellar day in New York and there was only one destination that made sense: Coney Island.

If you’ve never been to Coney you should make a trip ASAP. Those pernicious developers have their clutches on it and it’s fair to say that the next few years will likely yield a much different place. The result may be a more dynamic, vibrant and “safe” destination, but there are many amongst us who delight in the old, some what dilapidated carnie-hollow that Coney Island is today.

With that in mind, 5 of us headed out early Saturday for one of my favorite long runs. It’s a flat and easy 16 miles RT to Coney Island from Prospect Park and the payoff on this one is awesome. I mean, how many runs in NY involve a old-time carnival boardwalk??

A couple of those on-board have looming marathons in their sights; the White Witch is running NYC and All Business has the Philadelphia on deck. So I expect it was particularly encouraging to both of them that the distance felt so easy….especially one week after Reach the Beach. Just one of those magic days where the temperature is perfect, all systems check out, and the miles disappear in the rear view mirror with unusual ease.

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All this running is great and all, but, without getting too personal, it’s not without its maladies- muscle soreness, joint swelling, tendinitis, you name it. I went into this weekend’s Reach The Beach Relay with some pretty serious battle wounds, namely 4 blisters on my feet in all the wrong places– the back of both heals and underneath each of my big toes. I will be honest and admit these are not from training; they were all my reward for the awful transition from flips flops and Birk’s to the dreaded dress shoe. Ugh.

Knowing that 2 days of running would put those blisters through the paces, I invested in a box of Dr. Scholl’s Blister Treatment Pads in hopes of protecting the now open blisters from getting rubbed raw and terrorizing my every step. While the box promises they will stay in place for up to a week and goes on and on about how you are going to have to soak with water water to remove, I can assure you these suckers can barely hang on for three miles, let alone a few hours!

In all fairness, while they were in place, they definitely provided a much needed cushion between the open wound and my sock, making it much easier to run than if there was nothing there at all. Further, I know it’s not totally fair to put these things up to such a challenge as a 208 mile over night relay race as a product review, but seriously. At almost $1 per pad, they should stay on for at least a few miles. Unfortunately, for all they promise-

* Helps heal and prevent blisters
* Stays comfortably in place
* Thin and flexible to conform to the heel and other areas of the foot
* Sterilized for safe use on open blisters
* Nearly invisible
* Water-resistant

I think they only thing they succeed at is being sterile, which while in an overnight endurance race (read: no shower) is very useful in treating wounds.

So, the search continues for a comfortable blister treatment. Until then, I guess it’s back to a sterile pad and moleskin for me.

Go Dukes!

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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

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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.

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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.

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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”.

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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

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A group of Dukes went out Wednesday night and ran with the NYC Bridge Runners. The Bridge Runners are an area running crew that are somehow affiliated with Nike and promote running over, well, bridges. It’s always cool to take a lope that includes one of NYC’s amazing spans & it was an added bonus to do it with a bunch of new faces. The Bridge Runners have weekly runs on Wednesday night and usually offer two different options of varying length.

The Dukes showed up six runners strong and opted for the “longer” run which, while not really long, did provide all kinds of awesome scenery. I ran there and back as well, effectively doubling my mileage and upping the bridge-crossing ante (12 Miles, 4 spans crossed; 3X Manhattan & 1X BK). Great miles logged and hill training for RTB as the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges have looonnnnnng grades. All in all, an excellent evening spent running with friends and some good new runners met.

RTB:
RTB Training Report 2
RTB Training Report 1
RTB Announcement

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It doesn’t take being lapped by too many octogenarians out on the road to begin harboring home-baked theories about the prolonging effects of running. The sheer number of active, fit and healthy older runners certainly eclipses what could be considered the confines of a “lucky few” gene-pool. However, much of the medical establishment has long adamantly championed that strenuous activity, and running in particular, has more profound negative effects on the aging than it does positive.

A study released two days ago by Stanford School of Medicine confirmed what many in the running community have long known - running slows the aging clock.

“When Fries and his team began this research in 1984, many scientists thought vigorous exercise would do older folks more harm than good. Some feared the long-term effect of the then-new jogging craze would be floods of orthopedic injuries, with older runners permanently hobbled by their exercise habit. Fries had a different hypothesis: he thought regular exercise would extend high-quality, disability-free life. Keeping the body moving, he speculated, wouldn’t necessarily extend longevity, but it would compress the period at the end of life when people couldn’t carry out daily tasks on their own. That idea came to be known as “the compression of morbidity theory.”

Fries’ team began tracking 538 runners over age 50, comparing them to a similar group of nonrunners. The subjects, now in their 70s and 80s, have answered yearly questionnaires about their ability to perform everyday activities such as walking, dressing and grooming, getting out of a chair and gripping objects. The researchers have used national death records to learn which participants died, and why. Nineteen years into the study, 34 percent of the nonrunners had died, compared to only 15 percent of the runners.”

Perhaps not the fountain of youth itself, but an elixer almost as good. Maybe ol Ponce de Leon shoulda pulled his conquistador head out of his armor ass and laced up a set of kicks.

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Well, the DOFB more than survived it’s trip to Laconia for Bike Week ‘08. In fact, a damn fine time was had by all on a ride that was, as any proper bike adventure should be, filled with hilarity, calamities averted and plenty of cold suds. I’ll let the pictures do most of the talking, but first I’d just like to say a word or 100 about one particularly memorable event.

On the ride up I experienced one of those moments that every rider dreads, the kind of thing that puts a not in your gut just thinking about. I blew a front tire on the Merritt traveling at highway speed in failing light. Blowing a front shoe is one of those things you hear about happening but is by no means a regular occurrence. In fact, most of the folks I know who’ve been riding for a lifetime have never had their number come up. Let me tell you something - it is not a good time.

The tire went flat in about 10-15 seconds. Not with a bang or a pop…just all of the sudden the handling characteristics changed. At first subtly enough to wonder if it was odd pavement. And then, very quickly, the front forks started traveling about a foot in either direction, yanking the steering back, serpentining the bike and generally making it impossible to control. Mind you 75% of the braking on most bikes, and prob 90% on mine, is done with the front brake. So it was a pretty impossible situation to get the bike to rapidly slow while keeping it upright.

With mountains of luck, and a formation of Dukes behind me making sure I wasn’t struck by an oncoming car, I managed to keep the shiny side up and get to the shoulder. Where I no doubt would have remained if it weren’t for the formidable aid and patience of Sergeant Raymond LaPlante of the Orange PD. Ray pulled up on his police Harley to see what was doing and, over the course of the next 12 hours, not only helped us sort out local accommodations, sustenance/beverages and a great mechanic, but actually borrowed a trailer and, (on his morning off with his young son in tow!), pulled the wounded SuperBad from where I’d stashed her in the woods overnight to the shop for an early am fix that got us back on the road.

Ray’s effort not only saved our trip from ruin, it reminded all of us a bit about what’s so special about riding. That it’s appreciably different than traveling the roads in a steel cage. There’s a different connectedness to the experience of moving from place to place. You don’t always know what might happen (especially on an old bike), but that the journey in and of itself is adventure. And, more than anything else, the camaraderie of two wheels and that bikers look after one another.

So a hearty DOFB thanks and toast to Ray LaPlante. We sent many a cold beer to it’s maker this past weekend and damn it all if most of mine weren’t dedicated to his awesomeocity. Keep the rubber side down and looking forward to when we get to ride together!

The SuperBad being seen to by Art Handleman @ Valley Motorsports in Ansonia, CT. If you’re ever in a pinch with your machine in CT - Art’s the man to get you back on the road.
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Turns out - I had a “rust-based failure”. On older bikes that have seen weather at one point or another, the insides of the rims can get to rusting. Small metal filings eventually peel off and will, inevitably, roughly have their way with your tube. Here’s the shop tech de-rustifying the inside of my front rim.

To recap = small metal filings + rubber innertube + highway speed = bad. Put it on your list of shit to think about if you have a late model ride.
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Sergeant Ray and his awesome little boy Nathan flying the DOFB flag after dropping our side-show off at the shop. Nathan’s already bewitched by bikes and shows great promise. Rumor has it Ray may be heading up to NH this weekend as well. Boundless thanks to both of them for spending their morning sorting us out - couldn’t have done it without you fellahs. Have an awesome ride to the granite state Ray!
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Th big man…..Emperor of the Rage Hut, host for this Bike Week jaunt and head of the New Hampshire DOFB Chapter. Not a finer NH specimen to be found.
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Ride on Winni to the Wiers for a peek around, some grub and one (read:10) Margarita.
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Graham lends a helping hand to a parched Hombre
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2300 CC Triumph Rocket Sled….daaaaamn.
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Sweet trike art - Rowwwrrrrrr.
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The next day the Big Man took us on an epic ride up over the Sandwich Notch road, around through Waterville Valley and back over the Kank. Being dirt, recently graded and pretty steep in many places, The Notch road was especially challenging for some of the bikes. Fritz on the Yammie FJR1300 gets the hero’s salute for muscling that beast all the way through safely. That bike was built for smooth speed and she was more than a little ornery about the conditions. He rodeoed it though and, in exchange, was treated to a singular adventure through pristine NH back country. Nice work man.
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Big and mean never goes out of style in NH.
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DOFB, now with more Back Road Action!
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Juanito going native. The arm stripes perhaps suggest some sort of vestment. A man of the cloth? A country bishop perhaps?

Subsequently gathered evidence would seem to contravene this hypothesis.
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Graham loves it.
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Like Rodin’s thinker, this Duke too is made of granite. NH Chapter member (and lead carpenter) Whitney on his KLR. The KLR really is a perfect match for this guy and his natural surroundings.
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Top of the Kank….one of the best roads for riding on the East Coast and my personal favorite. The Dukes relay team will also be running the Kank this coming fall in the “Reach the Beach” 200+ mile relay. A painful reality not lost on those of us who’ll be on the squad as we climbed upward for 13 miles….
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Stop in Chocorua to visit the DOFB patron Saint - Ghee. Here’s she’s getting her annual ride around the block on the back of the Guzzer.
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Fritz on the Yammie. Can you believe he just took that 600lb beast over 20+ miles of mushy dirt logging roads?!?
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Heading back into the Wiers we start to get a taste of the action.
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Bike traffic for miles.
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Some local fauna met in traffic. The lady on the front claimed to have been arrested at last year’s bike week for mistakenly slugging a cop. Oops. Things can get a little dicey at Bike Week but come on ladies. These two sisters seemed a wee interested in a certain debonair Duke.
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This guy - can you believe it? No accounting for taste I suppose…
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Sunset at the rage Hut
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That pretty much concludes our trip. There were some other adventures had…a visit to the Franklin Girls’ natural lair, a few ‘old bike’ struggles with the Guzzi, electrical gremlins with the Triumph and many many coordinated high speed drifts to the curb of the highway for one dangling plate/about to be lost luggage/ atomic wedgie or another. But you’ll get that on these rolling thunder jobs.

Next year we’ll hope to have a bit more time and get a little more submersion into the epicenter of Bike Week. But I know I wouldn’t trade the ride we had on Saturday for much of anything - pure magic.

Thanks to everyone who was involved in making it happen this year…Ray and Chris especially!

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Just ran across this footage of trucks dealing with the silt during the 2007 Baja 1000. It’s the best video I’ve seen that illustrates the insanity of those sections. Also has some crashes that make a brother say “awoooooogah” - enjoy!

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