Celebrity Runners: They're Just Like Us!

Running isn't the best way to star gaze, but if you run a lot in and around New York City, you'll see your share of celebrities.  And over the years, I've seen a few who are actually running.

When I lived in New York, photos of John Kennedy Jr. out exercising -- often shirtless with every hair in place -- filled the tabloids.  I never saw him exercising, but on one jog I turned a corner on an Upper East Side sidewalk and nearly ran him over.   He flinched, then shook his head and went around me.  "Sorry!" I said.  (No response from John-John.)

I had a friendlier encounter with Dick Cavett.  On one run back in the 1980s, I approached Park Avenue and noticed the "Don't Walk" sign was blinking, meaning I had just a few seconds to cross the widest NYC avenue.  I started to sprint and looked up to see that coming the other way, in his own mad dash against the light, was the affable talk show host.  Mr. Cavett smiled and waved as we passed each other on the median.  Of course, with that smile, he became My Favorite Celebrity.  (Whenever anyone mentions him, I say, "Oh, he's a nice person, just a regular guy!" -- as if I hung out with him for years.)

Famous folks run in New Jersey too.  I've seen local resident and stage actor Norbert Leo Butz (two-time Tony winner) out several times.  I know him slightly; his daughters, their mother, and my family are all members of the same Episcopal parish in Millburn.  

Sadly, my favorite local famous runner is no longer with us.  Actor James Rebhorn, once a common site taking his big lanky strides on Wyoming Avenue in South Orange, lost his battle with melanoma on March 21.  His face was more famous than his name, but anyone who's watched TV or gone to movies in the last 20 years will recognize him.  He typically played heavies (amping this comically in Meet the Parents and How to Eat Fried Worms), but in real life he was as nice as they come.  He participated in community events, ran in local 5Ks, and shopped at Pathmark.  (He and my wife once had a nice chat while comparing produce.)  And his own smile/wave to me as we passed running on Wyoming made him My New Favorite Celebrity.

Rebhorn (left), memorably in Ben Stiller's face in Meet the Parents

Long Branch Half Marathon - April 28, 2014

I ran my third half marathon in Long Branch, NJ, three weeks ago.

The bare-bones details: I finished in 1:44:04, a Personal Record (PR).  That time put me in the top 10 percent of the whole field as well as my age group (55-59), in which I finished 8th of 79.  Among men overall, I was in the top 20 percent.  I'm happy with all of those numbers.  I ran my first half just last June and can still count on two hands the total number of times, including in training, that I've run the distance.

The race itself wasn't terribly eventful, and I was somewhat distracted by other things.  My wife -- who's more of a natural distance runner -- had trained rigorously to run the full marathon at the same venue, but her status was iffy.  A few days before the race, she experienced severe pain in her left foot; trips to various health pros yielded no definitive diagnosis, only suspicion of a metatarsal stress fracture.  After much deliberating, she decided to try the race despite some pain.  After this decision, I originally opted to cancel my own run, thinking I'd want to keep an eye on her progress, but after hearing that some supportive South Mountain (SOM) runners (the collective we train with) were going to come down to lend support for her and others, so I opted to go ahead and race.

Early on race day, it was chilly with a gorgeous sunrise as I waited in Corral B.  Compared to Philly, which I ran in November, the corrals were small.  One of the more competitive SOM runners was positioned in Corral A, close to the start line.  I was bundled in layers of tear-away clothes to stay loose and comfortable during the wait.  Shortly before the gun, I stripped to shorts and the sleeveless SOM jersey -- not too comfortable at 48 degrees, but I opted to underdress, hoping the emerging sun would keep me warm enough.  

I'd had chronic bronchitis for much of the winter and was only 8 weeks back on the roads, so I had no firm goal for the race other than "see where I'm at."  That said, I had a rough plan: Run the first 5 miles in 8:10s, the second 5 in 8:00s, then finish more aggressively and see if I could achieve a 1:45:00.  And I didn't have a strong feeling one way or another if I could do this.

After the gun, although I felt fine running the initial circuits near the racetrack, I had no sense of pace.  I don't wear a Garmin, only a no-frills Timex, so I monitor only the overall time and track mile splits in my head.  Normally, I pace myself pretty well by feel, but in the bigger races I get distracted by the other runners and unfamiliar terrain, so I'm less certain.  I'm also prone to missing mile markers (my peripheral vision isn't great), and I managed to pass Mile 1 without noting my time, although I heard someone say, "That's a seven-[something]."  That made me a little concerned that I went out too fast.

I did see the Mile 2 marker, and although I don't remember the time, it indicated a slightly sub-8 pace.  I made a mental note to slow slightly.  But I was noticing about this time that I was alongside the 1:45 pace group, and its leader was chatty and charming.  "I just ran Boston!" he said, referring to the marathon just six days earlier (!).  "And my quads are killing me, but don't worry, I'll finish this!"  He chuckled, adding, "I better finish -- I promised I would!"  He ran bolt upright while carrying the 1:45 flag.  I decided to forget about my 8:10s plan and stay close to this group -- his banter was fun and diverting.

At Mile 4, one of the pace group runners asked the leader what the mile pace was, and he said, "Gosh, I don't know.  Maybe 7:57?"  I looked at my watch, and it's the only split mark I remember.  "That's 31:48 at Mile 4," I said.  "Exactly 7:57."  He smiled back.  "Well, there you go!" he said, pleased at nailing the pace without a Garmin.  He was awesome.

Around then I realized my decision to dress light was good, because in the rising sun I was comfortable and had even begun to sweat.  The forehead sweat was a bit of a problem -- I typically wipe off perspiration with a flick of my shirt front or sleeve, but with the bib stiffening the front and no sleeves on the jersey, a continuous trickle of salty sweat combined with sunblock (I have to protect my bald pate) was stinging my eyes.  I ran most of the race squinting like Popeye.  (Note to self: get a sweatband.)

At Mile 5 I was fading back of the pace group, and I decided not to struggle to keep up -- it was too early in the race to get tired.  But just as I eased back, the leader said to his throng that they'd run the last mile a bit fast and he was going to ease a bit.  So as they eased I gradually passed them.  I was glad, actually, to get a bit ahead of that dense cluster.  I believe I stayed in front of them for the rest of the race.

The only mid-race tape was at the 10K, and I noted a 49-something, which is actually a PR for that distance for me.  But I've run only one other 10K race, and I don't choose to designate PRs for other than the actual race distance, so that's just trivia.  Besides, I don't even remember the precise time.

During Mile 7, I was feeling strong.  Aware of my better-than-planned pace, I started thinking about a finish in the 1:42s.  That thought was short-lived.  At Mile 8 I took a Gu with some water, and that's when the race started to get a little harder.

I need to improve my technique for taking Gus.  I tried to rip it open with my teeth, like John Wayne biting his hand grenade pin, but couldn't get the thing open more than a tiny notch, so after trying to squeeze the Gu out through that notch (and failing), I spent way too much time and energy trying to rip the Gu fully open with my sweaty and slippery hands.  So forget John Wayne -- think Spongebob.  I finally ingested the Gu, then grabbed a water and splashed most of it around the general vicinity of my mouth, but not actually in it.

Almost immediately, I got a stomach cramp.  I got one at Philly too, but at that race it didn't start until between Mile 11 and 12, so I wasn't terribly worried about running another 10 or 12 minutes.  But at Long Branch I'd just passed Mile 8, so I was a bit concerned.  Soon, though, I found that I was able to roughly maintain pace, albeit with some discomfort.

The stomach cramp persisted, but I cruised steadily to Mile 10 or so.  I was losing my ability to remember and calculate splits on the fly but knew I was still at a sub-8 pace.  The 1:45 group was far enough back that I could no longer hear the leader, but could tell they were there by the crowds: "Hey, here comes 1:45!  Go, 1:45s!!"  Wonderful crowds throughout.  

With 5K remaining, I was tired.  This was the reverse of Philly, where I started conservatively and had gas in the tank for the last stretch.  Now, time was slowing down.  Earlier in the race, I'd look at my watch and be pleasantly surprised that six or seven minutes had passed since the last marker.  Now, I'd look down and be dismayed that only three or four minutes had passed.  No Einstein brain required to understand relativity.  

Dreams of the 1:42 were long gone; now I just hoped I could stay with the pace and finish below 1:45.  I wondered: Possible to break 1:44?  I didn't think so, and part of the reason was that I was also losing my desire, which is critical for making goals.  My mind was messing with me: "You don't need to prove anything here.  Weren't you just going to see 'where you're at'?"  That's what my mind does, and I was buying it.  

A great crowd of encouraging spectators at Mile 11, but I was struggling to keep pace.  I still a cramp; now add fatigue.

Hit the boardwalk before Mile 12, with a mile and change to go.  So beautiful along the shore -- bright sun, ocean redolence, cool breeze.  (Thank you, whoever's out there.)  I don't remember the Mile 12 time, but whatever it was, I surmised that a sub-1:45 was likely and a sub-1:44 was going to be really tough.  I leaned in and tried for a steady, relaxed finish.  Very little energy left.  Then, a few wind gusts.  Ever the amateur meteorologist (yes), I'd been checking my Accuweather droid app for days, interested especially in the winds on the shore.  The forecast was for firm winds out of the northwest, increasing during the race.  (This would affect the full-marathoners much more than those running the half; for the latter, the boardwalk leg was just a mile and a half, while the marathoners had miles and miles against the headwind.)  Once there, I didn't think it was all that bad, although a few gusts kept me on a virtually treadmill for a few seconds.

With the finish line in view, I had a 1:43:30 on my watch.  With a little energy, I could have burst that distance and crossed before 1:44, but when I hit the accelerator, I got only vapor lock.  (Plus, that annoying voice of mediocrity: "Don't hurt yourself!  Remember, you have nothing to prove!")  Jabbed my watch at 1:44:04, which was confirmed later by the official time.

So that's were I'm at.  All good.

I walked the two miles or so to our hotel, enjoying the sun and glad I wasn't in the traffic jam going the other way.  "Where's the finish line?" motorists kept asking, looking stressed in the stalled traffic.  "Where's parking?"  I was in a good mood and tried to help them best I could.  I quickly consumed the banana and bar from the post-race bag, so stopped at a 7-Eleven for a monster coffee and more carbs.

My wife's race and injured foot were on my mind now, and I wondered how she was doing.  By this time, the full marathon was well under way.  At the hotel room, there were no messages on my cell phone.  Good!  She should be nearing the halfway mark... But then the phone rang and the caller ID was her own cell.  Crap.  She ran for 8 miles but had to drop.  Excruciating pain.

Quick drive on less-trafficked roads, then parked as close as I could to the finish line.  Found my wife at the family pickup area and got her situated on a warm bench while I retrieved the car to pick her up.  When I came back, she was there with the SOM coach, who somehow ran into her.  He was one of the angels who came down to be supportive, and he'd had to scratch the marathon for himself -- another injury.  "Let's just forget this day ever happened," he said to my wife.  "It was a lousy day for everyone."  He glanced my way.  "Except you!"  (I was already feeling some survivor's guilt.)

Postscript #1: An MRI has confirmed that my wife has a stress fracture in the third metatarsal of her left foot.  She's been wearing a boot since the day after the race and has a few more weeks in it before she can start testing it.  She'll be back.  It's hard not to look at the what-ifs: She was leading her age group and on pace to win among all Master's women when she dropped -- all this while running with a fracture!

Postscript #2: Prior to this race, I'd had a notion that I might attempt a marathon myself later this year, maybe at friendly Philly in November.  I'd still like to do that someday, but I've postponed it for this year.  I've been paying close attention to the collective experiences of the SOM runners who attempted Boston and New Jersey at Long Branch, and I'm more convinced than ever that the marathon is not something to take lightly, and that's putting in mildly.  It's been stated in various ways that a marathon is more than twice a half marathon -- it's a whole other thing.  As our coach puts it: The halfway mark of the marathon is 20 miles.  (I've been thinking of more frivolous analogies -- and since I've never run a full, these are all conjectural, e.g., "A Half Marathon is like having gas pains.  A Marathon is like having kidney stones.")  

Next: I'm going to stick to my usual running routines of slow explorations, easy mid-distance runs, and a little speed work.  Practice taking Gus, experiment with sweat management.  I'd like to do a few shorter-distance races (5Ks and 10Ks) and maybe add another half marathon or two before year-end.  The mind and spirit love this idea; I'm hoping the body is aligned.

Run in the Country

I do get outside my radius from time to time.  This past weekend, my wife and I enjoyed a getaway in Rosendale, NY, a small Hudson Valley town about 90 minutes north.

For my Sunday run I ventured south of town on a shoulderless blacktop, not knowing precisely where I was going but assuming I could find a loop back or at least retrace my steps.  After a substantial climb in the first mile, I settled in on a ridge with east views of the valley (toward the Hudson) and west views of Catskill bluffs.  It was pleasantly cool and quiet and continuously beautiful.

Old houses in various repair, some clustered, some spread far apart, flanked the road; many were mere feet from the occasional car or pickup that sped by.  Such road proximity was common and practical back when all that sped by were horses.  Indeed, some had old hitching posts.  Most were encased in modern siding that at first glance disguised their age.  One stone house was blatantly old, and a historic marker verified its colonial origins.  The local history was further explained by another marker designating the corner of the original 1677 grant to Huguenot settlers.

As much as I love beauty and history, it's the off-beat that really grabs me.  While it's common anywhere for the concrete steps of a house to survive the house itself, it's rare -- unique? -- for the front door to be preserved.  I posted the picture below on Facebook, seeking captions, and got a slew of good ones, many making clever references to C. S. Lewis or Alice in Wonderland or The Doors.  My favorite, though, may be: "Dali Residence."

The outside?  Over there.

A Diverse Stomping Ground

I love to travel.  Logistics and budget get in the way of "real" travel, though, so in the last 10 years I haven't ventured beyond the east coast of the United States.  Hawaii, Prague, China, Kenya, Chile, Budapest, Canadian Rockies... I'd love to see you some day.

But that doesn't inhibit my spirit of exploration.  Thoreau noted that to travel he didn't need venture any further than his local Concord, Massachusetts.  (I think he said something like that.  I've been searching the 'net for a quote, but can't find one.)

Long ago I realized that my love of running and love of exploration were made for each other.   When I lived in New York City in the 1980s and 1990s, I made a point of running every which way from my apartment on the Upper East Side, observing Gotham's people (every type of person that exists lives in NYC), buildings (ratty tenements to luxury sky rises), parks, bridges, causeways...  If it had a fairly firm surface, I ran on it and took in the sights.

When I moved to New Jersey, the diversity got even greater.  Almost all of my running is within a 5-mile radius of my house in Maplewood.  That radius touches two counties -- Essex and Union -- and many towns, boroughs and cities: Maplewood, the Oranges (Orange, West Orange, East Orange, South Orange), Newark, Hillside, Elizabeth, Roselle & Roselle Park, Union, Kenilworth, Cranford, Springfield, Summit, Millburn and Livingston.  Within those towns are also non-municiple mailing addresses, such as Short Hills and Vauxhall.

How diverse is this area?  Let's take a look:

• Socio-economic: A few miles east in Newark, entire blocks remain in rubble, having never been rebuilt after the devastating riots in the 1960s.  (That is no reason to fear or avoid Newark, and in fact Newark is on the rebound.  But in parts of the city, its struggles are painfully apparent in the landscapes as well as the expressions of its people.)  To the west, the wealth of the one-percent-of-the-one-percent is conspicuous in the legacy estates and modern McMansions.  (Until I first visited the Short Hills Mall, I didn't know anyone actually went shopping in a Maserati or Ferrari.)  Most world nationalities are represented in our population.  My daughter's elementary school, which takes great pride in its global richness, has dozens among its students and faculty.
• Geology: Elevations within a mile or two of my home vary by almost 600 feet, making most runs hilly.  (There's little need for conscious "hill training" around here -- most local running is hill training.)  Eastward, toward the Hudson River, is the dank (and polluted) repository of the Passaic River and its tributaries; to the west is South Mountain, most of which is a wooded reservation.  Rock formations include "turtlebacks" -- a tortoise-like design that occurs naturally, and after which our local zoo is named.
• Parks: Of many parks, the South Mountain Reservation is the largest, with over 2,000 acres of woods, trails, picnic grounds, lakes, a natural waterfall that is particularly dramatic after a heavy rain, and, at its northern edge, recreational facilities such as a zoo, skating rink, boat dock and miniature golf course.  This land had been stripped bare by local paper companies in the 1800s, but some highly forward-looking folks around the turn of the century had it designated as a public space, with artful landscaping and strategic re-planting, creating a local treasure.
• History: There are few historic districts per se where I live.  Nonetheless, there's tons of history, and it's often sprinkled in with little fanfare among everything else.  You have to look for it: A modern bridge may well have a plaque designating the site of an important Revolutionary War flank.  A pedestrian and bicycle path in the reservation loops by where George Washington observed, from the southern tip of South Mountain, the Battle of Springfield.  A barely-noticeable milestone (a replacement; the original is inside the adjacent library) designates the 5-mile mark of the Newark-Springfiled Turnpike, completed in the early 1800s (now Springfield Avenue).  Famous residents, past and present, are too numerous to mention, but I'll drop a few names in future posts.  As for buildings --
• Architecture: You name it -- in my radius is everything from modern hi-rises (residential and office) to modest borough homes to mansions to historic farm houses.  Most residential buildings are on the old side, because most of the region was developed to capacity by the 1920s (we may have the most concentrated population of Tudor-style homes in the U.S.), with the remaining land filled in soon after the World War II.  Some buildings are really old; that small, nondescript abode next to your mansard-roofed Victorian may well be, beneath its vinyl siding, a colonial-era saltbox.
• Commerce: The aforementioned Short Hills Mall offers valet parking, parking garages that are eerily devoid of oil drippings (cleaned daily?), and shops like Saks Fifth Avenue and Tiffany & Co.   A little more humble is Maplewood village, a miracle of throwback independent shops; in the span of three blocks we have a bakery, an art gallery, a bookseller, a furniture store, a movie theatre, a fresh fish market, an acting studio, a crafts studio, a toy store, a coffee bistro, plus the usual fare of groceries, nail salons, restaurants and health services.  Go further east and find the vibrant, often funky stores of Irvington and Newark.  And -- full disclosure -- there's the sad and unsanctioned part of the economy, too: street corner entrepreneurs and hucksters deal in illegal products and services, and not just in the more impoverished areas.  Yes, I've heard gunshots in some areas.  Yes, I still run there.  (More on this difficult topic later, although I have nothing to add but the runner's perspective.)
• Wildlife: When European settlers first drifted into the region in the mid-1600s, the natural ecosystem included the likes of bears and mountain lions.  While they are no longer here (and I doubt too many people miss them), critters ranging from the pleasant to pesky still abound: deer, turkey, pheasants, turtles, raccoons, woodchucks, ground hogs, possums, rabbits, squirrels... While they are scarce in the most concrete-laden parts, they thrive any place that has as much as a postage stamp of a lawn.  Add to that list an aviary population that consumes, from my deck feeder alone, a 10-pound bag of birdseed every few days.

That's my world.  That's where I run.

The Radius

Running and Technology

I make my living, in part, as a usability specialist.  Usability specialists attempt to make technologies, such as computers and devices, as easy to use as possible.  

Because of this, people sometimes mistake me for a techo-geek.  In fact, the opposite is true.  More often than not, I'm uncomfortable with technologies, find them hard to use, and have to endure a hurdle of fear every time I learn something new.  I found a niche in usability largely because I need it.  And professionally, I make this an advantage: I can relate to the poor souls who suffer through programs and applications the way I do.

As a runner, I'm also very lo-tech and lo-frills.  As Faulkner said about writing: All you need is a pencil, some paper, and a little food.  (Well, actually, he also included a little tobacco and whiskey.  Good ol' Bill.  You get the idea.)  In the same spirit, a runner doesn't need much besides a pair of sneakers and minimal clothing.  I do wear a running watch, but it's a Timex cheapy, not a spiffy Garmin.

But despite my phobias and taste for simplicity, I do try to keep an open mind about gizmos and gadgets.  Show me a technology that enhances my life in some way and I will embrace it.  I have little interest in apps for apps' sake, but I do love the killer app.

This morning I tried the app Map My Run.  It's available on IOS and Android; I used the droid version with my Samsung S4.  That's as technical as I'm going to get.  

I loved this app.

• It's free.  (A feature-rich version does have a price tag, but I doubt I'll need it.)
• It's easy to download and install.
• The essential feature -- take a run and get a report when you're done -- requires nothing other than tapping a few buttons.  (I had some hesitation using it at first because I had trouble believing it was that simple.)
• After my run, I reviewed the report and got everything I wanted, and more: my mileage, my average pace, my splits (1 mile), a Googlemaps-like map of the run.  Plus two great features I wasn't expecting: an elevation map for the entire run, and a continuous chart of my pace over the run.
• Before I saved the report I used a minor but highly useful feature: I made note of some observations I had on the run.  Perfect for the cross-urban blogger.
• Since I also set up a MMR account, I was also able to view the same report on my laptop at the MMR site.  No fee for the account either.

To carry the device, I used an armband specifically designed for the Samsung S4.  While I usually avoid having a lot of gear with me while running, the 5 or 6 ounces strapped to my arm were not at all encumbering.

MMR has many other features (which I may or may not use), but just those described above make this a killer app for me.  Note, though, that this should not be mistaken for a Garmin.  If, for example, you are interested in viewing your pace at any moment from a display on your wrist, MMR is less than optimal.  It's probably best to think of it more for post-run reports than while-you-run monitoring.

I can't wait to take more cross-urban runs with this app.

Introduction: Travels in and around Maplewood, NJ

I'm an avid runner.  I live in Maplewood, New Jersey.

On this blog I'll be posting various musings that come as I go out on what I call cross-urban and cross-suburban runs.  Much of the running I do is exploratory and unstructured, generally within a 5-mile radius of my home.  What I've discovered is that in this circle I can take a unique run virtually every time I go out, observing a seemingly endless diversity of people, architecture, geology, socio-economics, history -- you name it.

All comments and musings welcome.  Happy trails.