It's been nearly a year since my last blog, and suffice it to say that much has happened. A number of changes, a course in developing ads for an advertiser's copywriting book, and many other things too numerous to mention. After running a marathon in May of 2011, I slacked off quite a bit on my training. Still managed to run a few races though, and by January of the new year, I decided to look for marathons to run. Unfortunately, there were several scheduling conflicts, but I was still able to find what I thought was a suitable challenge, a 50K trail run. There's a reason the words "I thought" were written in italics, but I'll get to that later. 

So, in January, I started training in earnest again. Acting on the sage advice of a true outdoors enthusiast, I adapted my training to include more mountain hikes, reasoning that this was closer to the experience of trail running. After several hikes, I pretty much determined that it was virtually impossible for a man in his late 40s, with a couple of nagging injuries, to actually run up and down this rough sort of terrain. Still, I was confident that between several long runs in the neighborhood of 24-27 miles, and several long hikes between seven and 10 miles apiece, I would be ready to tackle the Greenbelt Trail 50K. I took heart in the fact that the race was on Long Island, and as any New Yorker knows, the Island is flat, so therefore, it wouldn't be as challenging as the hiking I'd done in Harriman State Park in New York State. 

The first clue that I'd bitten off more than I could chew came in the parking lot of the Greater Long Island Running Club, where the race started, which was conveniently right around the corner from my hotel. By this time, I've grown used to seeing bumper stickers proclaiming "26.2" (a full marathon), and "13.1" (a half marathon). This time, the majority of bumper stickers signified Ironman events such as 140.6 and 70.3, mileage distance in extreme run-bike-swim races, and the JKF50, a 50-mile run through the Appalachian Trail in Maryland. A cursory glance at most of the competitors revealed that very few of the usual assortment of plodding runners -- a group I proudly claim membership in -- were participating in this race. To my surprise, many of the runners who were present weren't just lean, but remarkably muscular, almost what bodybuilders would call "cut." Later, I found out just how in shape they were. Many runners were aggressive, frequently charging up and down hills, hurdling tree trunks, jumping from one spot to the next. They even fell aggressively. More impressive, they almost always bounced right back up. 

Still, I was undaunted. I'd prepared, and I knew that to complete the race, I'd probably take about 9 1/2 to 10 hours to cover the 31.07 mile course. And I actually covered the first six miles in 1 hour and 15 minutes, not a bad time by my standards. I'd done pretty well through the woods, and I felt pretty good as I crossed Route 108.

Then I encountered the trails at Cold Spring Harbor. (PROCEED WEEPING AND WAILING.)

I'd seen plenty of photos on the Internet of the trails at Cold Spring Harbor, but none of them seemed to do the trail justice. Simply put, to the novice trail runner, Cold Spring Harbor seemed like a series of vertical, treacherous mini-mountains. There were times that runners had to climb over tree trunks and sizable rocks, run over unbalanced logs, climb rickety wooden stairs, all while running on a trail that was so narrow that runners were forced to move in single file, which meant that the faster runners and slower runners frequently collided with each other. After finishing the first six miles in reasonable time, the next 1.75 miles alone took me 1 hour and 45 minutes to complete, which set me on a pace to complete the course in 12 hours, if all went well, and I knew by this time that wouldn't be the case.

Still, the folks at the aid station at Cold Spring Harbor were very encouraging, and it has to be said that race organizer Nick Palazzo and his staff of volunteers ran a first-class operation, and to their credit, they were ready for virtually any situation. So, after a few encouraging words, and several cups of Gatorade, I started back up the hill, heading back to the start under my own power. I didn't finish the 50K, and frankly, I was fortunate to finish 25K, because the Greenbelt was by far the most difficult running course I've ever encountered. Even more humbling, I took 6 hours, 30 minutes to go 25k, 10 minutes longer than it took me to complete a full marathon last May. But in the spirit of optimism, I'm going to catogorize this effort by a term I first heard in the movie "Apollo 13," a "successful failure." Sure, I didn't finish the whole race, but I felt like giving up much sooner than I actually did, and every step I was painful, due to a heel spur on my right foot. 

And there are positive things to take from this experience. I learned several important lessons, the first being that I'm certain I could finish a 50K road race, but the steep hills and uneven terrain of this race were simply too much for me. The second is that from here on in, I'm going to join the North Jersey Masters, a running club which offers high-quality coaching and instruction. I've gone it alone for years, and I'm certain that I'd fare much better with the benefits of teamwork, better preparation, and better instruction. 

Last year at this time I wrote about the "humbling lessons" of the marathon I completed. In truth, I had learned some lessons, but the experience produced significantly more pride than humility. If anything, i was so impressed by my own accomplishment that I stopped training for several months, a mistake I won't repeat this time around. 

I'd planned to celebrate my race by performing a Memorial Day "grill-ectomy," stripping my barbecue grill down to the bare essentials and cleaning every bit of it. Well, I didn't finish my race, but I'm going to perform the annual "grill-ectomy" anyway. A little grilled Teriyaki chicken never hurt a soul!