I Wrote Another Book!

I am delighted to announce that I've officially finished writing my 4th book. The table of contents was the last step, and it took me days to figure out the details and to format properly. Currently I'm working on formatting for publication (by shoe-horning the 92,794[!] words into book size) and working on the cover art. I should be done in about a month. "54 Runners, 54 Stories: The Tale of the 2012 JRunners Relay Race" will be in libraries, stores - and who knows, maybe at a book reading (my holy grail) - very soon.

Tikun Ha'eretz

My mom - a Sabra, born and raised in Haifa - related a story to me recently.

She said that one day, her two yeshiva-learning brothers came home with horrible blisters on their hands. They had dug foxholes for Israeli troops in advance of the six-day war.

Excuse me? What now? Yeshiva boys? Foxholes? What?

Well, back in the day, the army would place a call to the yeshivas. The students would come down, and explain that they were yeshiva boys. The army would confer understanding on their preference, grant them meaningful work, and return them to the yeshiva the next day.

Let's rewind a quarter-century from the six-day war to the second World War. My grandfather did not endure labor or concentration camps. He was in a whole different flavor of hell. It closed with him living a life on the run and with enslavement to the Soviet army, but it began when he and his friends were enslaved by the Germans as foxhole-diggers while the allies fired upon them.

Foxhole diggers.

Under pain of death, my grandfather dug these holes for the enemy.

Twenty-five years later, his sons dug holes for their Israeli brethren.

This is what you call a tikun, a wrong made right, a repair in the torn fabric of the world, a poetic and beautiful poetry of the circle of life.

I wonder if my uncles knew this and understood it and took it to heart as they did their esteemed work. If my family has not yet realized this connection, then I am proud to be privileged to make this revelation.

My prayer on this day is simple: Let us all appreciate, love, and cherish our country of Israel. Let us repair what is broken, mend what is torn, unite what is divided. May each of us contribute, in the most meaningful way possible, each and every man, woman, and child, in the most appropriate ways.

Am Yisrael chai.

Never again.

Yom Haatzmaut sameach.

My Chai Lifetime Marathon – and New PR!

My Chai Lifetime Marathon – and New PR!

by

Martin Bodek

 

I had never been hurt for so long, never been so close to quitting, and never been prouder of a finishing time than I was at the 2012 Brooklyn Marathon – the 18th marathon of my running career.

What started in perfection and middled in pain, concluded in triumph.

Here’s what went down on the most beautiful day for marathon-running that one could imagine:

After putting in more training miles than ever before (300 more miles at that point in the season than in the same point of any previous training), enduring the frustration of having only one chance at a marathon PR (due to the NYC Marathon cancellation), and getting some serious inspiration from a fellow marathoner I acquainted myself with at random (this was to be her 20th marathon for the year, 182 marathons in total), I stood at the start line, ready as ever.

Confidence was my middle name that day, most especially because I had run my first ultra just one month before. I considered it a 31.25 mile training run. Most people worry about having put in a long enough longest-run-of-the-season before their marathon. I had exceeded that. I felt strong, powerful, healthy and poised to go sub-4 for the first time in my career. Today was that day. It had come. Running the race was only a formality to attain that which I had sweated for.

Man proposes and God disposes, as they say.

What they say is right.

The announcements were made, the stock of those with 2012 NYC Marathon t-shirts was taken, the songbird rendition of the National Anthem was botched lyrically, my JRunners colleagues had all wished each other well, and we were off for multiple loops around Prospect Park.

Mile 1: Everyone took off, smartly and slowly. I ran at this point with a friend by my side, who is faster than me by infinite degrees, but we were all taking it easy. 26.15 miles would be enough for speedwork. Just .2 miles into the race, we came upon a BQ(Boston Qualifier)-caliber friend of ours, and we proceeded to heckle him. Why? Because he’d e-mailed the group of fellas the week before advising he’d be ignoring the rest of us to focus on running. We let him have it, in good nature. He took it well, but the surrounding runners were clearly puzzled by our actions. I cleared the mile in well under sub-7:30 and was feeling great. It was going to be a good day.

Mile 2: We didn’t slow down at all. I had the leg strength to keep this up. It was yet early, but the ease with which I was putting down the miles was an excellent harbinger for success. I slowed down to a sub-7:45 mile. Oh yeah, real slow. My buddy at my side was primed now, warmed up and ready to take off, so I bid him adieu and best of luck on a potential BQ time.

Mile 3: I spent the mile coasting on a flat portion of the park, really feeling it, really grooving. I thought it would be quite the coup if I could catch up with my friend, tap him on the shoulder and surprise him with my field position. I laid down another mile, just under 7:40.

Mile 4: Guess what I did towards the end of the mile? Caught up with my buddy like it wasn’t no thang. He was quite surprised to see me keeping up and asked me how I was feeling. I said, “Dude, I’m doing 7:43 per mile, and I’ve never felt better.” Ironically, just a minute or so later, I’d never feel worse. I would encounter…

Disaster.

I lost focus for a moment, admiring the construction occurring for the “Lakeside” upgrade project for the park. While my head was in the clouds, my right foot hit paydirt in a small pothole. A single wedge-shaped portion of asphalt remained – much in the shape of the open space of Pac Man’s mouth. My right middle toe slammed into the divot, and I was airborne and tumbling all over the expanse. I mashed that toe, stripping skin off the top of it, twisted my left ankle, abraded and bloodied both knees, and bashed my right forearm into the ground – hard.

I was an instant mess.

One second I was sailing towards PR glory, the next second I didn’t know if I was going to finish the race.

I got to my knees, and the pain washed over me immediately. It didn’t even wait, it just set right in. I wouldn’t have minded shock for a few seconds. That may have been better. Instead, I felt pain, all over, as soon as I wobbled myself upright.

Five or six runners immediately surrounded me, a biker came over too. They all asked me if I was okay. I said, “I don’t know, I don’t know.” Then the biker asked me if I was going to finish the race. Instinctively, I said “Yes.” I was so happy to hear that tumbling out of my mouth.

I decided to run ten feet, see how I’m doing. If I make it that far, we’ll go for one hundred more. If I’m in too much pain, however, I’m going to have to call this. I so did not want to do that. This was the 169th race of my career, and I have never quit, and I never, ever, ever want to ever quit. Ever.

I also decided not to look down at my knees. I knew they were badly skinned. I didn’t want to see the extent of it. I was scared to. I thought that if it looked quite bad, it would demoralize me and I’d be finished for the day.

There was no sensation of running blood, none of that gooey, icky feeling. So I took that as a good sign. I ran ten feet, then a hundred, and I was running again.

Mile 5: My ankle and toe and knees were throbbing something fierce. Somehow though, I wasn’t running terribly slowly. I had a healthy and strong cadence going. However, I did not think it could last. I was in too much agony. I decided to have a look at my knees at the end of the next mile, just before the six assaults on The Hill would begin. Six assaults?, I thought to myself. If I don’t make it over one, I might be done for. That first hill would be my crucible.

Mile 6: At the end of the mile, I pulled over to the side of the road for some knee inspection. Hmm, it didn’t look so bad. I brushed off some of the gravel and found that yes, I was bloodied, but my knees weren’t gushing or oozing or anything like that. The abrasions were mostly surface. Good. Very good.  They kept stinging and pulsing horribly though, and my ankle and toe were still a complete mess. I could feel the missing skin on top of my toe. I did not want to know what that looked like, and I wasn’t taking off my shoes today to find out. I’d need every boost I could get to finish the race. But my gosh, I still had 20 miles to go.

Mile 7: As I approached The Hill, I was bolstered by the most energetic cheerleader I had ever heard or seen. This woman was screaming herself silly for the runners, clanging her cowbell and probably swigging the fifth of her thirty-four Red Bulls for the day. I wondered if she’d be hoarse the next time I’d see her. The Hill arrived, and up I went, and it hurt, very bad. My knees and ankle couldn’t take it. I started daydreaming about beer. I missed the beer stop last year at the top of The Hill. If it was available again, I wouldn’t want to miss it. I finished The Hill and assessed the damage. My knees and ankle were pulsing furiously, and I started thinking about whether or not I had sustained some damage that was serious. I banished those demonic thoughts to the side, but one thing was certain: I could not finish the race without painkillers. Another thing was certain: I was still moving along rather quickly, heading towards a sub-1:50 half marathon time. I was in pain, but, to my pleasant surprise, moving.

Mile 8: Painkillers. That’s all I could think about. Dull the pain. Must stop hurting. Can’t carry on like this. Mmm, ibuprofen. Caveat though: I knew that research showed problems – kidney problems specifically – with ibuprofen ingestion during distance running or other long-term athletic activity. I was hydrating properly, and I couldn’t compromise that. The painkillers would have to wait. I’d just have to deal with it until I decided it was wise to ingest some.

Mile 9: Ow.

Mile 10: Ow ow.

Mile 11: Ow ow ow.

Mile 12: Ow ow ow ow.

Mile 13. At least I can laugh about all this now, but it wasn’t funny at the time.

Mile 13.1: The truth is, I spent this 5.1-mile slot of time teetering from the pain, grumbling and mumbling to myself, getting passed by my JRunners friends and telling them my tale of woe, thinking about painkillers and beer, wondering how much more I could take of this, thinking I was going to quit, wishing the pain away, running The Hill twice, and devolving into misery. However, all the way through, I did not abandon my training. I hydrated properly, took my salt packet and gels at the assigned times, never stopped moving forward. At the halfway point, things began to change. I hit the mark at 1:49, the fastest I had ever run the first half of a marathon. I was in miserable, gritting agony, but I was faster than ever before. I did know, though, that I couldn’t keep this up. This was just mentally and physically fatiguing, and I felt I was asking too much of myself to ignore the pain for this long. I needed an external and internal boost to get me going. I wanted to hit mile 14 in under two hours. Let’s see if I could do that. Let’s see what change I can bring about in my attitude. Let’s go for it.

Mile 14: Two great things happened here. First, I hit the mark at two hours and a few seconds. I could now “run” twelve more miles at a ten-minute clip, and I could break four hours. It was possible, but not possible, feasible, but not feasible. There was a lot of push and pull within me. I was fighting hard, but I was drained. Hitting my time uplifted me just a bit. Now the real uplift came when I saw my family cheering me on from the sidelines. My Mom, Aba, sister, niece, daughter and youngest son came out to greet me (my middle son was at a birthday party, taken there by my wife; he has his priorities) fully three miles/35 minutes earlier than I thought I’d see them. I relayed to them my story, got words of encouragement, pinched my children’s cheeks (that’s my thing), took great pictures, and I headed back to the course, buoyed. At that moment, my attitude changed, I stopped feeling sorry for myself, I took the pain as a matter of fact, and I kept on keeping on. Now when my friends passed me, I’d respond with more upbeat proclamations, like “I took a spill! But I’m on my feet! I’m doing this! I’m finishing!” Hoo-ha!

Mile 15: In The Dark Knight Rises, just before Bane breaks Batman in two, the villain taunts the caped crusader by saying, “I was wondering what would break first! Your spirit…or your body?” My spirit wouldn’t break today. I had established that with all I’d run through so far, but as a certain young bearded Hebrew once said, “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” My body broke. I’d go into all sorts of metaphors about how my very being unraveled, but I’ll allow a certain wisest-of-all-men to speak for me: the silver cord was loosed, the golden bowl was broken, the pitcher was shattered at the fountain, the wheel broken at the cistern. Okay, I’ll try one: I felt like a flat tire, at the point where the driver slows the car down and the tire does that flitflitflit sound. I pulled off to the side and started walking. I was miserable. After about a quarter-mile of shoulder-stooped shuffling, I looked for anything positive to get me going. I found a silver lining: yes, I had several body parts that were bashed up, but my muscles, my supporting structure, my actual source of strength, was in perfect, pinging, lit-up order. It was working. There were no pulls or strains or tears that I could feel. That system was working well. Many other things weren’t, but my muscles were. I went with that. Like the backup power for the T-800 model, I blinked, then fritzed, then roared back to life, and I was running again. Hisna’ari mei’afar kumi. I shook off the dust, and I arose.

Mile 16: More positivity was to come my way. That crazy cheering woman was just around the bend and the medical table was at the end of the mile. I began making plans for the painkillers. Since ibuprofen compromises kidney function and causes tummyaches, I grabbed a double-dose of water at the table just past the medical table and decided I’d get my dose when I come back around. I’d also have a few more gels. Okay, I had a plan. I was feeling better.

Mile 17: More up-and-at-‘em circumstances: I ran with fellow JRunner Michael Wilhelm for just a bit, came around to my family again (and endured some gentle ribbing from fellow passing JRunners for doing so), got to a large downhill portion at just the right time…

Mile 18: …grabbed more double-doses of water, began picking up steam, went from 11 minute shuffle miles, to 10 minute one-foot-in-front-of-the-other miles, to spirited 9-minute miles…

Mile 19: …to a steady, strong gait, and finally…

Mile 20: …back to the medical tent at mile 19.5. My conversation with the attendant was very fast, and went something like this:

Me:        “Hi!”
EMT:      “Hi! How are you?”
Me:        “Been better, took a spill at mile 4, injured knees, ankle, toe, wrist. Do you have any anti-inflammatories?”
EMT:      “Yes, how’s your stomach?”
Me:        “Good, been drinking and eating.”
EMT:      “Good, it’s probably safe to have 500 milligrams.”
Me:        “Okay, know what? I’ll have 250 now. If I’m threatening my PR by the next time around, I’ll have 250 more and take that to the finish.”
EMT:      “Sounds perfect, okay, here you go. Keep drinking water.”
Me:        “Doing it, see you soon, thank you.”
EMT:      “You bet, good luck.

And I was off. I looked at my watch. Indeed, despite everything, I was still threatening my PR. I couldn’t believe it. I also couldn’t believe how instantly good I felt after taking the ibuprofen. I also knew that I started feeling better shortly before grabbing the dosage. The mind is a funny place.

Mile 21: I met my family again, took more pictures, got more ribbing and was off, beelining towards the portapotty, where I went like I was going for some kind of Guinness record. I bolted out of there lighter than air. After being stung like a bee, I was floating like a butterfly.  I was now cranking out 8-minute miles. Ridiculous.

Mile 22: I kept staring at my watch, utterly disbelieving that if I kept this up, I’d secure a PR. After a while I stopped sneaking glances and just kept up the pace.

Mile 23: Midway through the mile, I came across my good man, Joe Herman, who was recovering from some alarming surgery. He was testing out his sea legs a bit. It was a joy to run with him, both of us thrilled with our current state of affairs, considering very recent circumstances. I told him about my spill, but how amazing it was to be staring a PR in the face despite it all. We took leave of each other and I ran for the medical table. The conversation was even faster:

Me:        “Hi!”
EMT:      “Hi! Back for more?”
Me:        “Yes! PR coming up!”
EMT:      “Great! Here you go, good luck.”
Me:        “Thank you!”

One last loop to go. I spent it barreling through the park, finally in control of my pain instead of the other way around, and saying thank you to everyone who had been around here all this time and cheerled to exhaustion. First up was crazy Red-Bulled screaming woman just after the medical stop, next was two girls who wore signs that made them look like Thing1 and Thing2, next…

Mile 24: …was my family. As I approached them, while espying that I was motoring at a 7:45 clip, I yelled, “Can’t stop! Can’t stop! PR! PR!” I got a collective and unanimous, “Okay! See you at the finish!”

Mile 25: I was zipping along now, faster and faster, as if I hadn’t been in morbid agony for 15 miles. This PR was happening.

Mile 26: Another thank you administered to another sign-wielding lady with slightly less energy than Ms. Red Bull, and a final thank you to my favorite EMT.

Our conversation this time went like this:

Me:        “Hey, thank you! I’m PRing!”
EMT:      “Awright!”

Mile 26.1: I must have cleared this one-tenth of a mile at hyperspeed, but the distance between 26.1 and 26.2 seemed eternal. The world was a blur, the cheers a fuzzy muffled noise somewhat Doppler-effected by my forward motion, the finish line coming up in the distance calling my name (literally: everyone was screaming for Superman – the shirt I usually wear for marathons). Okay, arms up, here we go.

Mile 26.2: 4:08:36. 1:47 faster than my previous best. I went from the lowest of my lows to the highest of my highs.

Later that day: I removed my running sleeves. My right forearm was immediately ensconced in pain. It seems the compression the sleeves provided kept much of this pain at bay. Once removed, I felt the full force of it. I couldn’t grip or twist anything with my right hand.

A few days later: My forearm hurt me to such a degree that I went in for x-rays. Pshew, it wasn’t broken, it was a severe contusion of the right forearm. Anti-inflammatories, elevation, ice and rest should do the trick.

Two weeks later: I revisited Prospect Park to run the JRunners Race to Recover, a fundraiser for Sea Gate, overturned by Hurricane Sandy. I Hulk-smashed my Prospect Park loop PR, and waved my fist angrily, but triumphantly, at the pothole when I passed it.

There are three reasons I PRed at the Brooklyn Marathon:

1) My health and commitment: I have maintained a healthy, active, vigorous lifestyle and a disciplined diet since I was a teenager, which feels like 200 years ago. The details are boring, but suffice it to say that the invisible metrics that matter (blood pressure, heart rate, joint health, bone density) are mostly the same as when Vanilla Ice was king, and the visible metrics that don’t matter (receding hairline, missing neck) are some things I live with happily.

After failing to PR last year despite two attempts at the marathon, I decided to take this running thing very seriously. I set a goal to run 600 miles for the year. I blasted past that, so I reset the goal for 750. I zoomed past that. I’m at 800 now, fully 300 more than in any year ever before. I ran home from work. I ran to Brooklyn from work. I ran everywhere from work. I ran my first ultra. I ran my first 50 mile week. I ran my first four-run week. I ran my first everything and the mileage - and thereby my strength and health - piled up. I woke up at 4:00 AM often to make this happen. I overslept only once – missing 7 miles of training – and I’m still upset at myself for it. Now before you think I have OCD, I’ll have you know my health takes precedence over running. I took a 10-day break when my body was obviously fatigued. I was the better for it, and stronger and healthier. I made the right decision. I took care of my body and my body took care of me.

2) My wife: My down-home Minnesota girl has created an enormous space for me in which to enjoy this running lifestyle of mine. Annually we mutually agree upon a running calendar that’s agreeable to the family. This year she even came up with great suggestions for destination runs, where I’d run somewhere and she’d meet me with the kids. The best of them all was when I ran a circuitous route to our favorite gelato store. She drove in after I arrived, and we enjoyed our ices before heading home together.

3) My JRunners brothers: My beloved running club is not just comprised of individuals who enjoy running leisurely. We’re competitive, we drive each other, we make each other better. At the Brooklyn Marathon, there were fourteen of us in the field, and all but two PRed. We are all swept up on a wave of self-improvement, and I ride along with them.

And that is the point of my running lifestyle and the point of everything else that I am engaged in: to always be better than myself. The difference between my running and everything else is that I can PR only for another decade or so before I submit to my human frailty. But with everything else, I can always improve, from the trivial to the paramount. I want to be a better Scrabble player, chess player, Rubik’s Cube solver. I want to be a better writer. I want to be a better son. I want to be a better husband. I want to be a better father. Forever. Amen.

My Own Private Marathon

My Own Private Marathon

by

Martin Bodek

I wasn't going to let the mere cancellation of the 2012 NYC Marathon (for my opinion on the subject, see here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/quora/what-were-the-arguments-a_b_2101149.html) keep me from completing the run I had signed up to do. Not only that, I would wear the exact gear I would have worn to the race, bib, nutrition and all. The only exception would be my headgear. I wear a kipah at the NYC Marathon (and will do so until I go completely bald), but I needed a cap this time so I could wear a headlamp and rear light for illumination in the darkness.

To allay end-of-race safety concerns, the course I plotted would take me ten miles out to West Orange, NJ, ten miles back, and 6 1.02 mile loops around our local park, just .2 miles from home.

I set out at 6:11 AM, into a world enveloped in darkness and cold. Those turned out to be the most accommodating conditions. Also thrown into the mix were wind, storm debris, hills and a very unfamiliar feeling of terrible loneliness.

The first in the list of these conditions were expected. I knew the weather conditions before heading out, knew the hills that were laid out before me, and expected debris everywhere in the aftermath of what Hurrican Sandy had wrought. What I did not expect was the utter isolation I felt almost immediately, during mile 1. The streets were barren of humans. It seemed everyone had squirreled away and tended to everything that was theirs. Home was safe at this time, at least for those who hadn't been turned out so horribly by the storm. There was no one to be seen. It was just me.

Just halfway through the first mile, I noticed a pile of logs at least one story high. The park I was running through was being used as temporary storage for all the fallen trees in my neighborhood. It reminded me of another run I had set out on following a storm where I witnessed much devastation (http://the-martin-chronicles.blogspot.com/2010/03/95-miles-through-apocalypse.html). What was beginning to unfold before me was much worse.

I saw no one for the first two miles. The only cars were just a few passing over me on Route 3 as I ran through the tunnel underneath. Finally in the distance, I saw lights. Ooh, human contact. Somebody I could say good morning to. It was a police car, manning a cordoned-off area surrounding a downed telephone pole that had squashed a car. Police tape everywhere, and right on my marathon route. Time to improvise. I took the first turn I could find, and uh oh, it was straight uphill.

Just after mile 3, the same exact thing happened again. Police tape over an expansive area in my path, detour, uphill. I did not like how this was going. There wasn't even a cop this time. I'd even buy one of them a doughnut and coffee just so I could say hello to somebody.

My route was as planned for the next few miles, but the cold and wind were relentless. The darkness would lift shortly, of course, but the other elements would remain to batter me. I was genuinely surprised at my emotions concerning my isolation. I wanted people. At mile 5, a runner darted past me, glanced at my bib, and carried on. He ran so fast, I didn't even have a chance to say good morning. Oh well.

At mile 5.5 I took my first planned water-fountain break (I had Powerade on my waist) in Edgemont Memorial park, admired the fog rising on the ballfield before me, and welcomed the first rays of the rising sun. It lifted my mood.

Just past mile 6 I encountered another human being, to whom I said good morning. He was drunk, so he responded by belching.

For the next few miles I kept a steady pace as the sun kept rising, but the cold, wind, tree debris, and police-taped zones would not relent. These conditions were dismal, but finally, as I reached West Orange, a man happening by said good morning to me. Ah, a human connection and a simple spark. I was buoyed. I hollered a very enthusiastic good morning in return, and continued on into the harsh elements.

It's the little things that can lift your spirits sometimes. My good morning exchange was followed a half mile later by discovery of another water fountain on my usual route. I was buoyed some more, but constantly teetering in the wind.

At this point, I began my usual marathon nutrition routine, beginning with a gel at mile 9, a salt packet at mile 10 (yes, I take down the whole thing, and yes it tastes horrible), and finally, at mile 11, some runners I could say hello to. The people had finally awoken to the day. Not so fast, though. It was just runners, really, for miles and miles and miles. The rest were still hunkered down.

To bolster my mood and my exploratory appetite, I ran along the route extension I have been planning for my 2013 ultramarathon (For my first, see here:
http://the-martin-chronicles.blogspot.com/2012/10/my-first-ultramarathon-run.html) and found it to be a lovely new stretch (with wide shoulders that my runningmates prefer) that hopefully will not have as much storm debris as I was encountering now. I hit the 13.1 mile mark at 1:52 and was surprised at my relatively good speed. My goal for the NYC Marathon was 1:50 at this point. I wasn't far off at all.

After mile 14, I was faced with a fateful decision: I was now entering Yantacaw Brook Park, a Y-shaped park. The entrance was at the bottom of the Y. At the forking junction was a water fountain. To the left was a downhill portion that led out of the park, which would lead to a slight uphill to enter the next park in the chain. To the right of the fountain was an uphill portion that led directly to that next park. I took a drink at the fountain and decided to go right.

Bad decision.

After so many uphill reroutes, my body had finally had enough of it and didn't want anymore. It objected to my actions and impaired me almost immediately. It may as well have been the cruelly-located Queensboro Bridge. I had a fine first half of a race, but I had taken too much pounding. From here on in it would be maintenance and the going would be even tougher.

I did refresh myself at several water fountains in Brookdale Park, but encountered further uphill reroutes over the next few miles after exiting. Enough already.

At mile 18, exhausted, wind-battered, chilled to the bone and down in the dumps, I pulled in to Nichols Park for a mental and physical break. I found a text from my wife asking me how I was doing. Her question uplifted my spirits. She couldn't have asked at a better time. She's like that. I responded with the following:

"Good, 18 down, phone 32%, 3rd ward loops start in 20 mins, taking 5 min break in Nichols Park."

I refilled my water bottle, breathed deeply, said hello to a fellow walking his dog, and was on my way. By "way" I mean stopping and starting, trying to get going, suffering unbelievable mental fatigue, attempting to re-energize by chomping on my nutrition and just giving it my best despite the conditions.

I hit the park after mile 20 and began my loops. Just before mile 21 I fired off another text to my wife:

"Battery 17%, 5.5 to go."

Round and round I went, walking, running, walking, running, despondent, tired and very, very lonely.

At mile 22.5, after the foot-shuffling began, I sent this text to my wife:

"Walking now, bit beat up, conditions tough, cold, windy, debris everywhere, 3.7 left, phone 7%."

I put my phone on my waist and left it to die. My arms didn't even feel strong enough to lift it up again in case I needed it. There was so little left to go, but it felt like an uncrossable distance because of my fatigue. I put my head down and plowed ahead.

Suddenly in the distance, I heard a familiar noise. Thundersticks? Was that the sound of Thundersticks? Who's doing that at this time? Wait, are those my children? Is that my wife? Oh my gosh, it's them! It's them! They'd come out to cheer me on! Ahaha! I immediately began running again. I was so delirious at their appearance that I yelled to my wife asking if I should stop and say hi to everyone or keep going. She said keep going. Okay, I'll keep going.

Once I was past my family and they were out of view, I resorted to walking again. Once they appeared on the horizon, I began running again. I couldn't not run when they saw me. I would let them down. I couldn't run when I parted with them. It was just impossible. So I did a bit of both when appropriate.

At the second family pass, I gave everyone cheek-pinches.

At the third family pass, my girl and eldest son (my younger son is still stroller-eligibile) ran a short distance with me.

At the fourth and final family pass, my kids joined me to my pretend finish line.

What a thrill to finish with them. The race went from my most brutal marathon ever to absolutely my most thrilling finish. What a joy to be surrounded by my loving family.

My wife then revealed to me that before I spotted them for the first time, I was commencing with my original lonely loops when they approached the park and saw me with my head down. They wanted to be in a better position to surprise me, so they hid behind a large tree as I passed, then hurried into their positions once I was out of view. Too cute.

Incidentally, I was one of thousands of would-be NYC Marathoners who went ahead with their own Run Anyway Marathon, Alternative Marathon and others. I didn't know what to call mine until my wife coined it perfectly: The Makeshift Marathon.

The day after, I lobbied NYRR politely for my marathon medal. Looks like I asked nicely enough, because I now have it in my possession. I earned it.

JRunners Saturates Brooklyn, Philadelphia, Arizona, and New York City

JRunners was once again all over the place on 11/18/12, most notably taking up 3.2% of the field at the Sophomore Brooklyn Marathon. Practically everyone PRed on the tough course, as home field advantage was a major, comforting factor. Also consistent was at least a half dozen JRunners reported leg cramping at mile 19. That's approximately near the wall and on a flat portion at the Southern end of the park. But another consistency is that everyone had a blast, pulled and rooted for each other and motivated one another to sterling finishes.

Some highlights from members of our club:

Moishie Gamss destroyed the course, flying tzitzis and all, and his own PR by an astonishing 36:45. That's the reward for picking up bibs for his fellow runners. Mordechai Ovits and Martin Bodek heckled him in the first mile. You need to join the JRunners Yahoo group to know why exactly they did that.

Mordechai Ovits reported to no one, but this reporter knows, that he lambasted his own PR by 31:20. He will now go into race hibernation for the winter.

Matt Katz, in his 15th(?) marathon, set a new standard for himself and might continue to do so for years to come.

Aaron Rosenfeld, Abe Piekarski, Michael Weber, Yisroel Pupko (whose sister joined him for a spell), and Michael Wilhelm all bested their best by various margins. Michael did so by the slimmest of margins (53 seconds!) of all those that PRed.

Martin bodek PRed despite a nasty, painful spill at mile 4.

Chaim Backman enjoyed running with his son Sruli (his first marathon! Go Sruli!) and partaking of free beer that Martin Bodek missed for the second year in a row.

Shia Itzkowitz and Avi Blisko were also marathon virgins and performed capably.

Finally, closing in on AARP status were Mark Sanders and Jerry Gross, the latter of which - and the most senior JRunner on the course - clobbered his PR by an admirable 11:36.

The final times and standings, including PR statistics:

Moishie Gamss 3:10:32 PR by 36:47
Mordechai Ovits 3:16:02 PR by 31:20
Matt Katz 3:27:25 PR by 01:30
Aaron Rosenfeld 3:29:16 PR by 13:32
Abe Piekarski 3:42:25 PR by 04:53
Michael Weber 3:46:23 PR by 05:04
Yisroel Pupko 3:49:46 PR by 02:05
Michael Wilhelm 3:58:16 PR by 00:53
Martin Bodek 4:08:36 PR by 01:47
Chaim Backman 4:33:25 Son PRed instead in 1st marathon
Shia Itzkowitz 4:34:16 1st marathon
Mark Sanders 4:37:53 Missed it by this much
Avi Blisko ~4:38 1st marathon ("~" because of malfunctioning bib)
Jerry Gross 4:50:46 PR by 11:36

It is noteworthy to mention Yossi Pancer, who was back for a long distance run following a slow recovery from a debilitating injury. He had planned to do nine miles of the course, but he did 13.1 in 2:03. Way to tough it out, brother.

Over at The Philadelphia Marathon, the PR train kept right on rolling. If anyone didn't PR, it was missed merely by a hair. Yitzy Mittel just keeps getting better and better, Rachel Mittel kept pace with her husband, Joel Mandel ran his 5th marathon of the year, Eva Rothberg represented nicely, Moshe Lewis took the PR crown for the day (by nearly an hour!!! Wow!!!), Glenn Pfeiffer got in sub-4 for the first time, while David Colman and Moshe Kaufman were exceptional in their first ever marathons.

The final times and standings, including PR statistics:

Yitzy Mittel 2:53:28 PR by 02:22
Rachel Mittel 3:39:55 Missed by 04:17
Joel Mandel 3:39:59 Missed by 04:14
Eva Rothberg 3:46:25 PR by 23:19
Moshe Lewis 3:50:32 PR by 58:14
Glenn Pfeiffer 3:54:15 PR by 21:05
Moshe Kaufman 3:59:25 1st marathon
David Colman 4:03:24 1st marathon

Over at Ironman Arizona, Mark Izhak joined the vaunted hall of JRunners greats who can claim Ironman status. To the club started by Chaim Backman and expanded with Yaakov Bressler, we now add another. Congratulations Mark, your accolade is well earned:

Mark Izhak 13:29:28 1st Ironman, bravo!

Finally, in Central Park at the Race to Deliver 4-miler, rounding out the day and putting four more JRunners into a total of 27 known JRunners in competition were the following faithful:

Jacob Vorchheimer 30:46
Chanan Feldman 35:06
David Balassiano 35:33
Jacob Granek 41:06

JRunners, representing everywhere. Let's all be in the same place in Prospect Park on 12/2/12, as we gather to assist Sea Gate with their devastation.[*]

Martin Bodek,
Beat Reporter, JRunners.org

[*] Please help me do my part: http://tinyurl.com/BodeksPageforSeaGate

I'm in The Huffington Post!

That marathon cancellation op-ed I wrote that I sent around to the top circulating newspapers in the country, only to get rejected by an awful lot of them (more than usual, I'm making progress!)? Well guess what? It got picked up by The Huffington Post! The Huffington flipping Post! Check this out!:

 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/quora/what-were-the-arguments-a_b_2101149.html

 

I'm so happy, I don't know what to do with myself (well I do: this blogpost, at least).

 

You can imagine how thrilled I am with the publicity for my books which I've generated with my blurb at bottom.

 

Please enjoy the piece, and please like it, share it, tweet it, e-mail it, or +1 it. I have an opportunity here to reach as wide an audience as possible. Please help me out.

 

Thank you everyone for believing in me. I'm making progress here.

 

The Huffington Post!!!

My Opinion on the Cancellation of the 2012 NYC Marathon

My inbox, cell phone and land line have absolutely blown up with e-mails, texts and calls, respectively, concerning the cancellation of the NYC Marathon. I suppose it's because my friends know I'm an NYCM lifer. This would have been my 15th NYC and 18th overall. Friends no longer ask me if I'm going to run New York, rather, they wish me luck in the days leading up to race day. Indeed, for every year of this millenium this annual autumn pasttime has simply been what I've done the first Sunday of November.

The questions, though, have not been put to me in a way that I could answer "yes" or "no." Rather, they've begged for essay-length diatribes. They were sneaky questions as well, such as "Don't you think it would have been wrong to divert resources away from those that need it..." and "Was it ever a consideration on your part to not run in solidarity..." It was as if a trap was being set up, to see where I would stand on the Callous-Disregard-to-Human-Suffering meter. Clever, but I didn't take the bait. "Yes" or "no" won't do, so here's the answer everyone's been clamoring for, the opinion that everyone wants of me:

I believe the 2012 NYC Marathon should have been scheduled as usual.

Wait a minute, you might say, what about those suffering in Staten Island? What about those begging for Water in Queens? What about the disrespect for those still without power in Brooklyn, Manhattan and the Bronx?

I didn't finish, I would respond. Yes, I believe the marathon should have been staged, but it should have been staged in a manner that diverts no resources whatsoever from the hurricane victims.

How could that be accomplished? Simple: It should have taken place on the original marathon course of 1970, four loops around Central Park. The only police necessary would be those who work in the Central Park precinct anyway on a daily basis.

But how can 47,000 people fit into the park?

Easy: NYC already instituted staggered start times at the marathon and has done it this way at smaller races for years. All that would need to be done was to make that stagger over several hours.

But what about the $37,000-per-permit generators you'd be using that others in more dire need wouldn't have for our selfish endeavor?

Easy: We would do without them. Runners are not a spoiled bunch. We brave the cold every year at Fort Wadsworth; we can do so in Central Park.

But, an overzealous protestor might say, how dare you accept free water when people are boiling the tap water in Breezy Point?

Easy: we'd carry the water on our backs, and expect handouts from no one.

But, one might continue, what about the hotel rooms taken up by international runners that could instead be used to shelter storm victims?

Easy: in a show of respect and solidarity, runners who have used NYC hotels should obtain hotel rooms one hour's drive west of the city, donate their hotel rooms to victims, and organize busing for themselves from their hotels to the start line in Central Park.

The bottom line here is: Clearly there were solutions to this public-enraging problem, and for every grievance, there could have been another compromise. The problem is that the NYRRC is a gloriously dysfunctional club and has been since the departure of Allan Steinfeld. Fred Lebow and his friends were PR masters. Mary Wittenberg and her cronies are PR disasters. One need only to look at the no-baggage fiasco earlier this year that bears witness to this truth.

The real truth, however, is that the fate of 47,000 runners on a planet housing 7,000,000,000 people matters very little. What does matter to most of the world's inhabitants is power. Power itself powers the world, and I'd rather, at this point, offer opinions on the matter, because they matter more.

Why does power travel over land in suburbia when it works perfectly well underground in metro areas? If you're worried about erosion and corrosion, well, would you rather have the situation we have now in Northern Jersey?

Why are utility poles made of inflexible wood? Why aren't more pliant materials sought that might allow for some sway in the wind? Why aren't wires themselves constructed of flexible material? Why are power companies, as we speak, replacing everything that's broken with a functional version? Why isn't anything new being tried? Why is ConEdison not embarrassed by a lack of redundancy in the largest city in the United States? Why can't our homes be powered by giant "batteries"? Why have we not yet found a method for delivering power wirelessly? The Powermat is a start, and I celebrate its ingenuity, but we need to do better, now.

Unfortunately, I'm not a scientist, nor do I serve on the board of any power company or for that matter, NYRR.

I am, and have, been asked for my opinion, however.

So there you have it.

My First Ultramarathon Run

My First Ultramarathon Run

by

Martin Bodek

My path to my first ultramarathon began three years ago, when I was in a library in The Bronx, browsing the shelving cart for something new, different or interesting. A book named "Ultramarathon Man" by Dean Karnazes beckoned my probing fingers. It was definitely something new, different and interesting. I read it with relish and when I was done, I had already decided that I would earn myself the same moniker as the book title.

First I polled my running friends asking what minimum distance would be required for one to complete and consider himself an ultramarathoner. The answer came back: 50 kilometeres, or 31.25 miles. A "mere" 30 miles simply wouldn't do.

Next I attempted to find a reginal/local, early-starting, late-season, non-trail, relatively-flat, minimal-impact-to-family-time 50k. The exact number of these was zero.

I had to stage my own.

But first, my wife made clear her safety concerns. I could not do this without my friends, was the chief request. I would honor it along with her other wise notes of caution.

I had it all set up last year for a date that was two weeks after the NYC Marathon. I was all set, but was suddenly deluged with requests from my friends to join them for the inaugural Brooklyn Marathon, taking place on the same day as my ultra. They beseeched me with such fervor that I accepted their invite, and forwent my ultramarathon dreams, to be revisited a year later.

I did not forget my passion for the race, and took care to schedule it for a most-convenient date, which, because of subsequent Jewish holidays, would also offer the participants the maximum post-race rest that was possible. I snaked it through four of New Jersey's twenty-one counties, and strategically had it run through parks every 4-5 miles for their water fountains and porta-potties. I called it the Unsanctioned JRunners Quad-Counties 50k Ultramarathon.

I trained hard for the run. At the moment of this writing, I have put in 290 more miles in training for the year than I did at the same point last year. I've been blessed with health and strength.

Two friends signed up to run the distance with me: Matt Katz and Adam Orlow. Two others would escort us towards the halfway point before bidding us good luck and farewell.

On the morning of October 5th, 2012, the game was afoot.

3:30 AM: Wakey wakey!

3:31-4:57 AM: Preparation, which was mostly comprised of four visits to the potty, as I did not wish to burden my fellow runners with such while on the course.

I also had a light breakfast, chalked the start line on my sidewalk, got supplies ready for the me and my fellow runners, hydrated, charged up my phone and paced around a lot.

4:58: Adam arrives.

5:01: Pesach arrives.

5:02: Matt arrives.

5:03: Jonathan arrives after an early AM run to wish us well.

5:10: I say tefilas haderech.

5:17: I sing the national anthem and muck up the lyrics because I'm insecure about a) my singing voice, and b) my fear of mucking up the lyrics like I learned them yesterday. Not only do the fellas not laugh at me, but they also doff their caps in respect. We begin with class.

5:18: And we're off!

Mile 1: I led the pack through lovely, and flat, Third Ward Park, famous for being part of the first mile of the JRunners Unsanctioned Quad-Counties 50k Ultramarathon. We finished it at a 9:14 pace. A nice, slow, steady, flat (12 feet of elevation) start. Only 30.25 miles to go.

Mile 2: We picked up the pace just a wee bit. We were all relaxed and conversing easily. A very JRunners relay race-esque directional sign pointed us in the right direction. 'Twas a funny sight. I did notice it was a bit more humid than I would have favored, but I didn't think we'd have too much trouble from the heat today. We were done with the mile at an 8:58 pace. 42 feet of elevation.

Mile 3: A bit uphill with a 58 foot elevation, but a nice long straightaway that was easy to pick up the pace on. We went a little faster and completed it in 8:52. The pace we were setting was absolutely perfect.

Mile 4: At mile 3.4, Glenn Pfeiffer was waiting for us, responsibly wearing reflective gear. What a wonderful way to make his acquaintance! With the renewed vigor of his pleasant company, and the 20 foot drop, we went even faster at an 8:38 clip. This, we realized collectively, was a bit too fast. So we reeled it in, especially because we were about to embark on our biggest climb of the race.

Mile 5: 134 feet uphill, but gradual. We took it nice and slow, just as we'd done with everything so far. At this point Matt began regaling me with his 2012 JRunners Relay Race story (I'm putting a book together comprised of each runner's personal experience).We got to the top of the hill with ease and I promised no more elevations like the one we just had. It would be largely flat and downhill from here. We were now in Montclair, the prettiest, most well-kept and manicured stretch of our run, and where I spend most of my long runs. 9:04 for the mile, nice pacing. At precisely mile 5, we passed through Midland Park, which the runners seemed to really enjoy for some reason - even though we spent about 11 seconds running clear through it on a stone path - and about which Glenn opined that it was the world's smallest park. Actually, this is: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mill_Ends_Park.

Mile 6: At mile 5.4, I scheduled our first mandatory water break in lovely Edgemont Memorial Park, a haven for runners, bicyclists, bladers, ballplayers, ultra mandatory water drinkers and prehistoric birds. Seriously, you've got to see some of these creatures. They're like nothing you've ever seen. I marvel every time I run through. Despite our stop, we still came in at 8:59 due to the entirely flat mile, 15 feet elevated.

Mile 7: Every elevation drop (wouldn't a better word be "descension?") was coupled with a pace drop. We descended (there we go) 21 feet and paced it at 8:41, bordering on too fast, but nevertheless still running a 9:00 minute per mile race. Mile 6.9 is the horse stable, in the backyard of one of Montclair's denizens. It's the weirdest thing.

Mile 8: Our fastest mile of the race, which prompted Adam to holler that this was the fastest mile of the race, and that we should slow down. That was hard to do with a nice drop coming up, but we resolved to rein it in going forward. We finished the mile in 8:31 - yes, too fast - because once again, we dropped  - 23 feet this time. Also at this time: I had the first of the gels in my "utility belt." Earlier in the mile, Matt finished telling me his relay story. Too bad he'll have to dictate it to me again, as Siri didn't pick up everything.

Mile 9: Onward we marched. The pack moved slightly ahead of me, and I shouted instructions for which streets to turn on. Glenn asked if I had the course tattooed to the inside of my eyelids. Why yes, yes I did, and I was very proud of the fact that I could direct the group from behind, giving the runners confidence in my knowledge of the course. I earned their trust. What I didn't trust was the pitbull leashed to a pole in a front yard. Man, that thing was ugly. We finished a super-flat mile (8 foot drop) in a super-even time (9:01).

Mile 10: Nishuane Park was at mile 9.3, where I staged another mandatory water stop and voluntary potty stop (can't really make that mandatory, can I?). While we were refreshing ourselves, talk turned to my breakthrough 18 mile Tune Up run just a few weeks ago, where I clobbered my PR by a minute per mile. My spirits didn't need buoying - I was having the time of my life - but they were buoyed nonethless. Onward. Despite the stop, we kept the pace under 10:00 and encountered another useful JRunners directional sign. Interestingly, each of these we encountered indeed pointed us in the proper direction along the course. I'll have in mind to keep that consistent for the redesign for next year.

Mile 11: The first of two miles that were so straight, you'd think they were part of the Eisenhower Interstate System. They also had very wide shoulders, with a runner-protecting large white line. The runners really enjoyed this part of the course. Sub-9 again.

Mile 12: see mile 11.

Mile 13: After mile 12.5 we finally made a right turn towards Brookdale Park, saying good morning to a group of people waiting for the bus to get them to work. I had noticed earlier that I was seeing a lot more people than I usually do when out this early. Duh, it was a Friday, not a Sunday. It was actually a matter of pride that our pack was so friendly to the passersby. At mile 12.8 we entered Brookdale Park, home of porta-potties, water fountains galore, plus a beautiful track, plentiful playgrounds and an archery range. What am I? An advertisement? It's a nice park, is all. This would be our last sub-9 for the race. No regrets, though.

Mile 14: At precisely mile 13.1 we stopped at a non-mandatory water fountain (because the park was filled with them). We all stopped anyway. I started snapping some pictures. We then asked a fellow walking his dog to photograph all of us. My photo sequence shows the progression of the man and his dog strolling, Matt asking him to take the pic, and finally the pic of all of us, with the rising sun in the background. It's an interesting progression of pictures. Once out of the dark room and refreshed, I needed another few seconds to get going, as I noticed that my wife had texted me, inquiring how I was doing. My response?: "Half marathon down! Tuneup to go!" I got a smiley face in return. Our half-marathon time was 1:57:40, excellent considering our intentionally slow pace. At mile 13.5, Pesach, Glenn and Adam moved a bit ahead while Matt and I took shelter in a pair of his n' his porta-potties. We exited to find a mesmerizing fog blanketing the field in front of us. We got running again, water fountained, and joined up with the rest of the pack as we exited the park and made our way to Glenn's parked car at mile 13.8. We refilled our stomachs and water bottles with Gatorade and bid farewell to Glenn and Pesach, our rocket boosters who fell proudly away as the main shuttle crew hurtled forward in exploration with their refueled tank. Enough stops over the last mile. It was time to get going and get down to business. We thanked our pacers, I popped another gel, and we were on our way.

Mile 15: We struggled through a weird construction site, were careful past the ramps into and out of the Garden State Parkway, and we made our way into Nutley, home of the kosher Rita's italian ices store that keeps beckoning my wife and I for visits. Nothing else is here. If there was, it wouldn't matter. There I go with the ads again.

Mile 16: The biggest drop of the race, 131 feet downhill. We ran with brakes on the whole way. I was a little ahead of the pack, doing some calculations about our pace and how we were generally doing when suddenly Matt hollered, "halfway!" Oh my, it caught me by surprise! 15.6 down and 15.6 to go! We were feeling good, all of us. More of the world was out and about. Crossing guards were greeting us with cheerfulness. How nice!

Mile 17: We made a right turn just 100 feet from Rita's (boy, if they were open at the time, I think I would have made a pit-stop) and traveled straight for a mile and into the town of Belleville, home of half the filming locations in The Sopranos (http://www.sopranos-locations.com/locationlist/). Strangely, I noticed a misspelling on the "Welcome" sign that I had not noticed before. Can you see it?: http://tinyurl.com/BelleMisspell.

Mile 18: We ran past Hendricks Field Golf Course, where I would love to run, and into Branch Brook Park, where I love to run. Adam and Matt didn't like it at first, because the entrance rises 20 feet in 20 feet, which is kind of painful, but drops and levels out thereafter. As tour guide, it was my responsibility to announce that this park was the first state park in the nation. I texted my wife and told the guys that we had tuneup down, half-marathon to go.

Mile 19: At mile 18.6 I had another mandatory water stop and I used another porta-potty. It was here that I made a mapping error that subsequently would make itself apparent when we returned to Passaic with two less miles than we should have at that point. Turns out I had mapped the run to go further into the park, but I suddenly realized this was trail, which was a no go for me in my Vibrams. I'd have to make up for it with park loops back home. No biggie, but lesson learned. I popped a salt packet into my mouth, very satisfied that to this point, I had endured no cramping whatsoever. Neither had my mates. We were all in tip-top shape, banging out steady 9:10-9:15s. We made an about face and headed back out of the park, back up and over that 20 foot rise in 20 feet. Whew. We all felt it.

Mile 20: An absolutely flat straightaway (just a 5 foot rise) at a strategic point. 20 miles. None of us were hitting any wall. We were properly hydrated, nourished, and conserving energy properly.  11.25 miles to go.

Mile 21: I routed the mid-point of the mile through Belleville Park, which had another two pit-bulls on questionably-strong leashes tied to pegs in the ground. The owner stepped out of the porta-potty as we passed through. To my dismay, the water fountain had been capped. Out of order. That didn't make me happy, but the downhill for the next mile did. Matt pulled a bit ahead at this point, striding with authority. I was a little behind with Adam following. I heard Adam say to a crossing guard: "30 miles!" I hung back to ask him if she actually asked how far we were going today, as nobody has ever asked me that. He said "No, just offered." Funny.

Mile 22: Over the bridge spanning the Passaic River (Adam voiced his displeasure with the ambience) and into Kearny, home of the other half of The Sopranos' filming locations (http://www.sopranos-locations.com/locationlist/). When we hit the corner before the left we were about to make, we first darted ten feet to the right into Hudson County. Hey, if the original five-city NYC Marathon covered Queens by running over a bridge, touching a signpost across the street and running back, then this counts. Don't even get me started on how much of today's course actually spends in Staten Island.

Mile 23: We were slowing down now. Matt stayed ahead, strong as ever, with me and Adam following. We turned into Riverside County Park where, once again, a water fountain was out of order, which made me very grumbly. Matt and I munched on some jelly beans, but We needed water, now.

Mile 24: We found it when we exited the park. Across the street was a gas station. We popped in, bought some water, Gatorade, chocolate bars and ate them while slowly walking along the course until our bellies were satisfied. The walking led to our slowest mile, 14:16, but we were still in good health and renewed spirits. Only 7.25 miles to go.

Mile 25: Back in the game and running strong. We were running slower, but not in any pain. Just soldiering along, we band of brothers. We ran into another section of Riverside County Park, where, yet once again, my designated water fountain wasn't even in existence! Earthmovers were redoing the entire baseball field! Arrrgh! Three straight out of order water fountains, each for an entirely different reason. Frustrating.

Mile 26: At mile 25.35 my iPhone died. The Runkeeper app had sucked the power dry. Good thing I had my cro-magnon version of a running GPS watch as backup (my momma didn't raise no fool), which saved the day. Rutherford has little paved parks along the Passaic River. We took advantage of all of them, as we needed the added mileage anyway.

Mile 27: Mile 26.2 was the most anticlimactic ever. No finish line, no crowds, no hootin' n' hollerin', no photos. Nothing except my announcement that we hit the milestone (at 4:20:41), and that we had only five miles to go. Mile 26.5 was a 7/11 pitstop to load ourselves up, have another gel or two and take inventory of how we were feeling. Matt was filled with energy, but Adam and I were a bit fatigued. We all walked it out for a bit until another bridge over the river welcomed us back towards home. Pesach Sommer pulled up in his car. I borrowed his phone and called my wife to inform her where I was on the course. We then all began running again as we hit Passaic proper.

Mile 28: At mile 27.6, Matt took leave of us so he could finish up the race a bit quicker, jump in the mikvah, daven and meet us at the end. He had that much juice left in him. I gave him instructions for the rest of the course, and asked him to inform whoever was on my front porch that I had just three miles left and I'd be home soon. Adam and I continued together, walking a bit, running a bit, taking it easy. We had a lot of miles on our legs and we didn't want to hurt ourselves. 5k to go. Popped another salt packet.

Mile 29: I picked the pace up a bit and began running, Adam joined along and suddenly complimented my calves, which he offered with an unblemished record of staunch heterosexuality. Hey, I'll take compliments anytime. Midway through the mile, we entered Third Ward Park and suddenly found it crowded with more people than I've ever seen. Perhaps they were celebrating Columbus Day a bit early. To this day, I don't know, but the added porta-potties were reassuring. We entered the park, filled with pickup games of all sorts and accidentally partook in a bit of football. Still on our feet. 2.25 to go.

Mile 30: Matt suddenly bounded up towards us, floating on air. He was starting to look freakish, especially in comparison to my and Adam's slow stroll. He was almost done! I asked him to report at my home that I had just two miles left. Two miles left! Wow. Adam and I started running again. Finish line in sight.

Mile 31: We walked at the beginning of the mile. A random soccer player started running alongside me, in half-mockery. I said, "Dude, do you know how far you'd have to go to run as much as I have today?" My awesome manliness silenced him forthright. With three-quarters of a mile to go, Adam and I were collectively upset at ourselves for all this walking. We decided to run all the way to the finish, come what may.

Mile 31.25: Glory be. We did it. I ran a little ahead of Adam, hit the watch at the 50k mark and turned around, holding a faux finishing tape in my hand, which Adam pretend-broke. We had completed the ultramarathon. I would offer the cliche, "I can't believe we did it," but that would be false. I knew we would. The camaraderie, plus our hard training, would ensure we'd make it. We did it. We did it. Hot diggity. 50k. We did it.

Post-race: Home was just 200 feet from the finish line. Adam and I ambled up my 21 steps to my front porch, where we parked on one of the swings I have (metal for post-ultramarathon runs, cloth for dry people) and ate a forty-course meal provided by my wonderful wife, who was proud of me despite my zaniness, and clearly relieved to see me in one piece. Her crazy-yummy brownies were a huge hit. Matt returned from the mikvah and joined us. I handed out the medals and we took pictures for posterity.

I'm grateful to all the runners who partook in all or part of the journey. I'm specifically thankful for two things: that we did not litter and we did not answer the call of nature outside of a portapotty. We were good to the earth that was good to us.

Thank you, gentlemen.

And thank you, Sweetie, for your wise concerns pre-race and unreal TLC post-race. Your hubby's an ultramrathoner! Okay fine, an ultramarathon finisher, for now.

Thoughts on My First "Successful" Hadran

Two months ago I merited completing Shas. My wife threw me a grand banquet, invited family and friends, and spoke wonderfully before I delivered a speech that I had written over the course of years. We rejoiced together and were positively jubilant. The experience was joyful and uplifting to a degree I did not even anticipate.

A few days ago I completed maseches Brachos for the second time. In a poignantly significant way concerning a facet of the accomplishment, the personal joy I experienced may even have surpassed the joy I felt upon my completion of Shas: it was the first time I merited returning to a completion of a masechte. It was my first successful Hadran. This is perhaps an even fuller, and more satisfying, circle than the completion of Shas.

Whenever I have said "Hadran" at the end of a masechte, I meant it earnestly. I wanted to return. I also meant it hopefully. I did not just read the words and think to myself what the translation actually meant. "I will return to you" is nice, and good lip-service, but in my mind I gave it more credence. I also spoke it as a prayer. When I spoke the words, I mentally inserted "yehi ratzon" before each phrasing, because I also offered supplications to God to allow me to indeed return. I wanted my desire to not be just mine, but also His. 7.5 years is a long time, and as we know, "A mentsch tracht in Gut lacht." Man proposes and God disposes. I wanted my "tracht" and my proposal to be in consonance with His as well.

I have applied this sincere hopefulness in other areas as well. My wife and I merited to go to Eretz Yisroel 7 years ago, when I was 30 years old. At that time, it had been 22 years since I had last been there when I was 8 years old.

In a similar way that I treated the Hadran, I also treated every time I said "l'shona habo biyerushalayim." This comes up on Pesach and at the end of Neilah on Yom Kippur. Every time I've said it, my entire life, I took it to heart, I said it sincerely and I said it as a prayer. I remember saying to my wife when we landed in Ben Gurion 7 years ago, "Look at that, last year I said 'loshono habo,' and now we're here. Boruch Hashem."

Ironically, but perhaps not coincidentally, in the closing pages of Brachos, on daf nun hey amed beis, the gemorah says, "Amar R. Levi, 'l'olam yetzapeh adam l'chalom tov al yud beis shono. Minalan? MiYosef." R. Levi says, a person should remain hopeful for a maximum of 22 years. From where do we know this? From the story of Joseph." His father Jacob mourned for him, sincerely and hopefully, for 22 years, and he was rewarded. I too, was sincere and hopeful for 22 years, and I was rewarded.

And here now, I have said "Hadran" for 7.5 years, and I have finally been rewarded.

This completion is dedicated to my son, Yonah Avraham, who we all know as Freddy. His bar mitzvah will occur 3 months after the next completion of Shas. I intend to complete it in his honor at his bar mitzvah (since my wife is now used to throwing huge parties for my siyumim), therefore I find it appropriate to start it in his honor as well (this is only fair, as my first completion of Brochas was in honor of our daughter Naava).

This is my hope and my prayer: that I complete it again at the time of his bar mitzvah, that I will continue hadraning and hadraning, returning and returning, shteiging and shteiging. That my hopes and dreams will be rewarded because of their sincerity. That way past the time that I become physically frail in my own old age, I should please have the mental faculties to continue learning, that every Hadran I ever say should be a realistic goal, and that I should merit the blessing that also occurs in the final pages of maseches Brachos on daf nun hey, amud alef, which quotes Yeshayahu, which ironically, but not perhaps coincidentally, I'm in middle of learning as I try to complete Nach Yomi for the first time: "visachlimeinu vihachayeynu." "May you make me dream and give me life."

My Shiny New (Year) 18-Mile PR

I didn't just destroy my 18-mile PR, or annihilate it, or decimate it*, or obliterate it. No, what I did was viciously gang up on it and beat it to death - by 18 and a half minutes!

I was in disbelief when I was laying it down, and I'm still in disbelief as I write this. I stomped on my PR to the tune(up) of a full minute per mile faster than my old PR. That figure is completely ridiculous!

How the heck did I pull this off? Immediately after the race, some buddies joked about PED testing. But of course, that's not how I did it. The reasons I floored myself with my time are, percentage-wise, as follows:

70% - The mileage I've put down this year, more than double I've ever put down. I've run 250 more miles at this point in the year than at the same time last year. I've finally gotten serious and I'm seeing the rewards.

15% - I ate very lightly this Shabbos. My wife prepared some nicely balanaced, but not overly-dense meals and I didn't overdo it. I was left feeling not just light on my feet, but on my knees and ankles and everything else.

10% - The weather. Oh my gosh, it was perfection. It didn't melt me like it did last year. My fellow athletes in the first corral were noticably shivering just a wee bit at the start. That's how a long race should be started.

5% - The Force is strong with me. I may not be a Youngling anymore, but it is not to late to be trained in Its ways.

In order, These are the PRs I broke en route to my 2:21:29, 7:52 per mile performance:

Fastest time to get to the start line once the race starts: 4 seconds.

Fastest loop of Central Park: 7:18 per mile (old record: 7:23, I ran a 7:02 6th mile because I was headhunting this record with determination).

Most miles in the first hour of a race: 8.1 (old record: 7.9 on 2 half-marathon occasions).

Fastest half-marathon: 1:39:35 (old record: 1:42:11. Of course, this isn't official, which means that I need to run a half-marathon somewhere, soon, because I am going to destroy it).

Fastest 18M race: 2:21:29 (old record: 2:40:05, which left me thinking what the hell I've been doing all this time, but no regrets, just moving forward).

Best end-zone celebration: I usually pump my fists and yell "woohoo!"when I cross the finish line after a solid race, but this time I did my best "Gangnam Style" shuffle. It probably didn't look pretty, considering I wobbled slightly due to the sudden switch in footwork on my legs, but we'll see what the cameras show.

It should be noted that the course is quite grueling, with 1,700 total feet of elevation. Central Park is a roller-coaster with some serious, punishing hills. I paid them no mind, however, I was in some kind of groove all day. I placed 5th of my 22 beloved fellow JRunners.

What this race was about for me is what it's always about with everything in my life: setting a goal, roaring past it, and reaching for the next one. I find this to be one of the most enriching parts of my existence. I wish for you, dear reader, exultations of various sorts through our current run of high holidays.

G'mar chasimah tovah!

*Nerd alert: to decimate something is to destroy one-tenth of it, as "deci-" equals "tenth" in Latin. Hence, mathematically, I octimated my PR.

My Second Official Book Review is In!

My reviewer clearly understood what I was trying to convey and liked how I did it. Being compared to DovBear is an honor:

http://shiltonhasechel.blogspot.com/2012/09/a-conversation-on-way.html#

It's Been 11 Years

I had friends as high up as the 51st floor, good friends who were beneath the towers when the first plane hit, dear friends who were driving by when the assault occurred. All of them found ways out of their predicaments to safety. I had Hatzolah friends who were trapped for hours in debris before rescue and more who fought through oxygen-starving smoke as they battled their way out of the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel and into a new nightmare. So many people lost so many loved ones, but every person I know survived 9/11. I am grateful for that today.

The 2012 JRunners Relay Race Awards

The 2012 JRunners Relay Race Awards

by

Martin Bodek

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the 2012 JRunners Relay Race Awards. I am your host, Martin Bodek. Ryan Seacrest tried to land the hosting gig, but I beat him away and immediately signed a four-year contract with JRunners to continue my hosting duties. With that secured, I’ve got “Runnies” to hand out to some deserving recipients.

The We've Got The Runs Award for the Best Team Name - The team names were, in order of their arrival at the finish line: Team 4 AKA Sons of Mitches, Team 2 AKA Team 6-Pack, Team 6 AKA The Lean Mean Relay Machine, Team 5 AKA Smells Like Team Spirit, Team 3 AKA Death Zone, Team 1 The Kohanim/King’s Solomon. This vote was put to the runners, organizers and volunteers, and by an overwhelming margin (of 1-0-0-0-0-0), Sons of Mitches hoists the trophy.

The Abba The Winner Takes It All Award – Yaakov Bressler, Team 3. This awards ceremony will be quite short, because our very own Ironman has hogged up most of the available Runnies. To start with, he receives The Steve Prefontaine Guts Award for signing up in the first place to run six legs (5, 8, 10, 26, 28, 30) totaling 32.17 miles. To continue with, he receives The Pam Reed Extra Mile Award for actually finishing what he signed up to do! He also gets The Winston Churchill Never Ever Ever Ever Ever Ever Ever Give Up Award for putting an unbelievable amount of pressure on the next team on the course, despite his team going a little off course. He also gets the Princess Fergie Weight Watchers Award for dropping 5 pounds off his frame over the course of the day (Dehydration alert! Careful!). Due to this haul, Yaakov inherits MVP honors from last year’s recipient, Yitzy Mittel.

The Luke Skywalker The Force is Strong with this One Award AKA The Zeh Hakaton Gadol Yehiyeh Award AKA The Rookie of the Year Award – Yonatan Meiri. All of 13 years old, Yonatan was given 4 legs, and he did them. One of those legs was 17. He did that. Aw heck, let’s also give him the Children of Israel Na’aseh V’nishmah Award.

The Gunnery Sergeant Hartman Troop Rallier Award – Moishie Gamss, Team 2. Many of Captain Moishie’s teammates credited him with providing the proper motivation with a rousing speech during the closing legs, as they made gains on first while pushing third further down the pile. The substance of what he said is a closed-door secret, because what happens in the car, stays in the car.

The Scooby Doo Mystery Machine Best Decorated Van Award - Team 3. They deserve this award simply for trying so hard, especially for my attention so they could grab the award. Every inch of their car was covered with slogans and messages and streamers and…pirate stuff? Team 1 tried as well, but were disqualified due to a typo that I demanded be corrected. I absolutely will not tolerate such things.

The Crank Yankers Best Pranker Award – Team 3. And I quote a Death Zone team member: “As Levi Chitrik was flying across his leg, making up a lot of time on Bodie's team, we were driving Yaakov Bressler to the start of the next leg when we came across Jonathan Pittinsky. He hadn't noticed us yet, so that's when the evil thought came to me to have Bressler jump out and sprint right past him. The panicked look was priceless. Sorry, Jonathan.”

The Bear Grylls Man vs. Wild Award - Eli Friedman, Team 2. I came across deer, as did Joel Mandel on the same leg 10. Moshe Lewis happened across deer and a bear, Steven Gelbtuch swears he actually made eye-contact with a bear, YItz Ovits ran into skunks and an unleashed barking dog. Rats were also reported on the course. In the hierarchy of things, however, almost nothing beats actually being chased by an animal (being bitten, like Adam Orlow last year, is the upper echelon of achievement), which happened to poor Eli on his second leg. Hey, at least one can get an award out of it.

The Edmund Hilary Alpine Award – Chesky Rand, Team 1: Yossi Cohn, Team 2; Yonatan Meiri, Team 3; Shia Itzkowitz, Team 4; Yossi Pancer, Team 5; Yossi Sharf, Team 6. The names above were the runners of leg 17, designed for the few, the brave, the abnormally masochistic (or sadistic on part of their captains). They RAND hard, charging like PANCERs, but this is not a MEIRI leg.The route is hard as COHN be and difficult to withstand. The pain was SHARF for some, causing yelps of ITZK! OW! ITZ not for the faint of heart, or legs. Pancer could not continue on after injuring himself already on leg 7. Sharf aggravated a pre-existing condition and could not go on. Rand had that frightening thousand-yard stare. Cohn was left looking vacant. Meiri was thrown into it, not knowing what he was in for, but the young padawan (the youngest in the race) learned quickly. However, Shia Itzkowitz beamed like a cheshire cat, seemingly the only one entirely unruined by the difficult experience. He powered through it at an awesome 9:31 clip. He needed a taxi after 7.7 miles into the latest Lawrence Run, but he didn’t need a taxi this time!

The David Zinczenko Eat This, Not That Award – Zevi Jaffa, Team 5. Zevi Jaffa refused all offers of water, Gatorade, gels, and any other form of sustenance from his teammates. Instead, he demanded photographic and video footage of his runs. His reasoning, according to Aaron Panzok: “Water you can get after you finish running; pictures and video you have to capture the moment.”

The Faster Than a Speeding Bullet Award – Mordechai Ovits, Team 5. 20 miles in an aggregate 6:48 clip. Wow.

The More Powerful Than a Locomotive Award - Moishie Gamss, Team 2. 25 total miles at sub-7:00, and ran legs 6 and 7 back to back totaling 14.1 miles. Wowsers.

The Able to Leap Tall Buildings in a Single Bound Award – Joel Mandel, Team 4.  Leg 10 at 7:08, a time that’s physically impossible. I know; I ran that leg; I ran my brains out and did it in 7:44. Joel’s time is astonishing. Wowserino.

The It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, It’s Superman! Award! – Yitzchok Mittel, Team 4. On leg 7, Moishie Gamss was doing a greased-lightning 6:10 down one of the hills when Yitzchok passed him at the speed of light. Gamss called out, "Yitz, what are you doing? A 5:20?” The response: "Just about." Wowsenheimer.

The Speedy Gonzalez Yepa Yepa Handaleh Handaleh Yeeha! Award – Yitzchok Mittel, Team 4. Then Yitzchok finished the entire 7.7 mile leg 7 at a 6:10 pace. Wawaweewa!

Bodek out! (Take that, Seacrest!)

Martin Bodek is the beat reporter for JRunners.org. Buy his books though (http://tinyurl.com/ccopnsd) as this gig pays him squat. Ironically, you can get the Kindle versions for squat (http://tinyurl.com/bpsr5fq).