I've Moved!

I've started a new blog. It's not all running related, but it's worth checking out.

http://pesachsheini.blogspot.com/

San Diego Rock-n-Roll Race Report- Team Just One Life

I am still coming down from an incredible high after this weekend. This was only the second race of Team Just One Life and I was a tiny bit nervous. In fact, my own race was the last thing on my mind. I can't believe how well everything went. There aren't too many times when getting a PR is not my main cause of happiness, but this was definitely one of them.

Pre-race- After 3 hours of sleeping the sleep of the just, I wake up. I am excited, nervous and not going back to bed. After getting dressed, I head downstairs. The whole team is there, looking awesome in their Team Just One Life shirts. I am wearing two bibs; the race one, signed by Meb, and underneath, a “coach” bib for after my race. We head out the doors and join the parade of runners, heading to the race start. There is an incredible energy in the air.

After some pre-race pictures we split up, to go to check bags and wait on the port-a-potty lines. I feel like a parent sending children off for a big test. I have done everything I can do. Now, it's their turn. I walk around trying to find a few runners from the team, with limited success. Annoyingly and perhaps not so surprisingly, we are not the only runners with red shirts with white writing. Note to self: next year we wear HOT pink shirts.

I line up in the second corral feeling pretty fast. Just an illusion, but one of the advantages in running in a race with many beginners.

Then, we are off.

Mile 1- Nice and easy, at over 8 minutes a mile. Today is not for racing. I'm tired and haven't been seriously training. That's what I keep telling myself. Truth is, I know my friend Yitzi is going to give me a hard time if I don't beat his wife's time, so by not racing, I am giving myself an excuse.

Mile 2- You might have noticed in the past, I'm an emotional kind of guy. The question is not if I will cry during a race, but only when. I see the first band stand for the first group playing music, as part of this Rock N' Roll race, and it's sponsored by Guitar Center, my oldest sons most favorite place in the world. Tears.

I look at my watch and I'm under 8 minutes per mile. I remind myself that I am not racing and that I better slow down. Although the sun is not yet out, it's getting warmer, and I can't possibly keep this pace.

Mile 3- I pass a used-clothing store. It's called Frock You. I sure hope they succeed and open a second store because I've got a great name for them to use.

I'm at 7:40 a mile. Maybe, just maybe I might get into the low 1:40s.

Mile 4- I'm not really sure why, but I think of my dad who passed away seven years ago this week. He always encouraged me to lose weight so I wouldn't end up like him. I did, just too late for him to see. I think he would have been proud of me and really liked Team Just One Life. Tears.

What the heck, let's give this a shot.. Not slowing down. I'm going to try for 1:40.

Mile 5- The course is not too exciting. I don't mind so much. I'm running well and other than some banter with people in the race, I am focused on running.

I am running the tangents almost perfectly and my Garmin and the race clocks are practically in sink.

Mile 6- Half way there. 50 minutes. I've run halves of full marathons in under 1:38, but never ran a half-marathon in under 1:40. I won't PR, but a 1:39 will be nice.

Mile 8- A few tough hills, but not too bad. The drum beats of the band help as well.

Mile 9- I see some of the wheel chair racers from the marathon go past. I tell the guy next to me that I want one of those.

I pass the team videographer and let out my best war cry and scream “Go Team Just One Life”.

Mile 10- Another hill. A volunteer says it's the last one. Ignorance is bliss. I tare up the hill.

Can I PR?

Mile 11- If I'm going to PR, I'm going to have to put up with a little pain. I'm now in the low 7s per mile. I can't really understand how I'm doing this. Then it hits me. When Meb signed my bib, he must have transferred some of his speed over to me. That's the only thing that makes logical sense.

It's literally, all downhill from here.

Mile 12- Run Sommer, run! I can see the downtown area and the stadium where the finish-line is located. I am close.

Mile 13- I'm giving it all that I've got. I cover the last 1/6th of a mile in 5:38.

PR! 1:36. I covered the last 5K in what would have been a 5K PR.

Never has a chocolate milk tasted better.

I switch my bibs and as a coach head back onto the course. This is perhaps my favorite part of the race. I cheer for every runner at the top of my lungs. I tell them there is cold beer at the finish line. I tell them they look great, even, and especially, when they don't. I cheer for them by name, whenever possible. Those with Red Sox hats get a special shout out. Then, I find one of our runners and run him/her back towards the finish line, and repeat.

I get to run with old and new friends. To give encouragement to those who need it, and distraction to those who prefer that. I watch one old friend go sub 2 in his first race. I run with another who has lost over 50 pounds, towards his wife and adorable son who are waiting up ahead.

All told, I cover more than 3 more miles, and have a blast doing so.

I am tired, sore and oh, so happy. There will be other days where I will PR. I can't imagine another race being better than this one.

My First (and Last?) Ultra

I am sore, bruised, and have pain in areas that I never knew could hurt. I don't mind any of that. I wear it as a sign of pride. There is much to be proud of from yesterday and I'd like to share that before explaining, making excuses and whining a bit. I was excited to try an Ultra. Having run a whole bunch of marathons, I was curious if I could handle something longer. Besides, I love trails and challenges, at least the ones that I select and control for myself.

Before the race- There are a lot of trim dudes and dudettes hanging around. I try and make the usual deep small talk that permeates these situations. “Have you run this before?” I ask. “Not this race, although I've been on the AT.” He replies. “The A-Team? I wonder. This old white guy was clearly not the BA Barracus character”. Too afraid to probe further, I move on. Later I discover that we will be running on the Appalachian Trail, known by its friends as the AT.

The race director explains that we will be going through a section of boulders, where it will take us a half hour to go less than a half mile. I am less than excited to hear this.

Mile 1- There are, indeed boulders. Picture huge boulders with rabid mountain lions on them. Take away the lions, and that is what we go through and over and over and around...

Miles 2-4 Even once we are off the boulders there is less running than I've hoped. The climbs up the mountains go straight up. Apparently, switch backs are for wimps. Some older dude blows past me as we walk up the mountain. For the first time of five, I trip. A mere flesh wound.

Miles 5-7 When the downhills are rock free, I try and really open up. My fragile pride having been wounded by the faster hikers, I greatly enjoy running past them. For the first of a dozen times, we cross over and through water.

Mile 8 I wipe out but good. I am covered in dirt and chocolate gel. It is like I have been sacked by Lawrence Taylor. I don't think I blew any snot bubbles, but I think he'd have felt pretty good at watching me go down.

Miles 9-11 I meet a nice couple, who are also road runners. I get them a bit lost on the trail, but not too bad. They say they are doing the 20 miler and ask me what I am doing. When I say the 50K they react in a way similar to what a person in the hospital for an ingrown toenail would react, upon meeting someone who is getting their gall bladder removed, and a brain transplant. Something along the lines of pure pity.

I look down and see blood running down my leg.

Miles 12-14 The scenery is great. At the moments where I am running, I am really enjoying this.

Mile 15 Bathroom break. Based on the color of my urine, I think I'm a niddah. (Sorry, I know I shouldn't have gone there). No wonder all these folks have those backpacks with the five-course meals.

Mile 18- . They really are quite lovely. Running through them is kind of like being attacked by adorable porcupines; better than the alternative, pleasant even, but a bit painful.

Mile 20- The moment of truth. We are right near the parking lot. I can end it here. I get a drink, refill my water bottle and head out for part two.

Miles 21-22 Another hike up a mountain. I am being attacked by skeeters as if I am smelly, sweaty and dirty. Wonder why.

A fellow sufferer (who I later learn is named Jeremy) informs us that he's read the map and this is the last climb. I am very relieved.

At the top! This is Pole Steeple, the gorgeous, scenic top of the mountain with a great panoramic view. Only thing is, I trip, as I get to the top. I fall. Hard. Bone on rock. As I start to feel sorrier for myself and contemplate quitting, a woman reacts towards me with pity. This is exactly what I need. I will not quit. I will show myself and my kids that when I commit to do something, I finish it. I limp off down the mountain, forgetting to even look at the view.

Mile 23- I almost miss a turn. Luckily, Jeremy tells me before I get lost. With today being Lag BaOmer, I wonder if before the day is over, there will be a new yahrtzeit.

Mile 24- I am trying to channel Daniel Day-Lewis in “The Last of the Mohicans” but the soundtrack keeps getting interrupted by a different song in my head. Note to self. Never listen to the Maccabeats before running an Ultra, especially the song with the dancing jelly beans. Damn you Maccabeats!

Mile 25- There's a narrow bridge over the water (The water's not troubled, but I am). No railing. Wobbly bridge. Fear of heights. Not happy.

Miles 26-28- More hills, more rocks, more hiking. Jeremy gives and Jeremy taketh away. Damn you Jeremy!

The End- I finished. Or maybe, it finished me. SIX AND A HALF HOURS (the winner was in the low to mid fives).I am tired sore, proud, humbled, happy and annoyed. The non-Kosher barbeque sure smells great. Instead, I skarf down 32 bags of Utz potato chips, starting a one day love affair with hydrogenated oils and trans fats.

I really didn't mind the challenge. I kind of like the blood and bruises, so why am I so annoyed? It's not the slow time. I've run slow races before. I am frustarted by the amount I have walked, and climbed. I thought I was signing up to run, and too often, due to hills and rocks I was unable to do so. I trained a lot for this race. I ran a lot of hills and put in a lot of time and sweat. This is not what I expected. In earlier emails, we had been told that the section with the boulders would not be part of this year's race, yet there it was. According to my Garmin, the course was less than 30 miles. Finally, if I'm going to suffer like that, I'd at least like a shirt that says that I did a 50K instead of a generic one without any mention of the ddistance. So is there another Ultra in my future? Perhaps, but if so, it would have to be one where I can run. I love running on trails and can imagine trying to take on a50K again some day, but not like this.

Thoughts on Boston

I need to write now. I haven't felt that in a while. It's not that I had nothing to say. There were topics that cam to mind. Lacking the push to put them on paper, I left them there. Today it is different. I feel as if I will explode if I don't write. So here I am. I've been told my best writing is done when it's not planned; when I just let things flow. Perhaps. Today I have such a jumble of thoughts and I am not sure whether I can connect them.

A number of weeks ago, I sat going through race pictures from a race I'd run. I saw fast runners, and less-fast runners. Slow runners, and walkers. Smiles and scowls. Most of all, I saw heart, effort, passion and drive. Looking through race pictures reminds about what I most love about running. The personal stories, the collective effort and struggle, and will to improve. The desire to move, to be challenged, to get out there and feel alive.

Yesterday, an effort was made to change that. To take one of the most life-affirming activities I know, and bring death and hurt into the equation. I'd like to say that it failed, or that we will overcome, or win, or something like that, but I can't. I don't know what will happen. I'm scared. I'm sad. I'm numb. It is way to early to know what will happen.

The Boston Marathon course feels holy to me. I know that's an odd word to use, particularly as a rabbi. I typed it, deleted it, thinking it wrong, but re-typed it, as I could think of no truer word. Running there was a victory lap, after having struggled mightily to qualify. After showing myself, that I had more drive and desire then I had previously known. After coming back from a deflating injury. I fulfilled a dream there, and it felt as good as I'd hoped it would feel. Better, actually.

I had friends and acquaintances who ran Boston yesterday. People who worked hard to qualify for the first time. Veterans for whom it was old hat. One friend paced a double amputee, while another paced a young autistic man. I followed them, virtually through the race, hoping they'd love it as much as I had. What should have been a celebration, was turned into a day of tears.

When I went out last evening to run, having put on my Boston hat in a sort of desperate, but pathetic attempt to connect, I couldn't slow down. The combination of some bad personal news I'd received earlier and the bombing prevented me from running easily. I needed to move, to struggle, to hurt, and to hope things would be better. I desperately wanted to figure out how any of this made sense, to believe that, somehow, things would be ok. It didn't happen. I don't know if and when it will. I am scared sad and numb.

How I Became an Ambassador

When it comes to contests, lotteries, raffles and the like, I don't have the best attitude. I think of myself as never winning at these things, even though, at times, I have. Even worse, when I do enter, apply or buy a ticket, I'm always convinced I am going to win, and feel let down that I don't. Never mind that the odds might be 100 million to one that I become a millionaire through Powerball. I still feel horribly wronged when some other person's numbers are called. That being the case, it was amazing that I bothered to apply to be a Brand Ambassador for an upstart running apparel company, Reckless Running.

As with all important things in my life, I heard about it through Facebook. Two time Olympian Anthony Famiglietti, the co-founder of the company, announced that they were looking for people to help promote the brand. Immediately, the words which have been uttered by all those who accomplish great things in the world, came to mind. “I don't have a chance” I thought. Still, I was intrigued. I had always assumed that running companies were searching for runners who were over 40, with receding hairlines, large families and middle of the pack running times. I sat by my phone waiting for Nike, Adidas or Asics to call. At first, I figured they couldn't find my number. Then, I started to give up hope. Here was my chance.

Before I applied, I went to the Reckless Running website to learn what they were all about. “Runners of all ages, race times and distances, male and female can apply.” “Woohoo!” I thought. It was as if it was perfectly tailored for me. Sure there was some other stuff about inspiring, spirit and unique, but I figured they'd be blown away by the fact that I was a male runner with an age, race times and distances. After much deliberation, I decided to not spray Axe cologne on my application, especially since I was applying online.

After hitting “send”, I anxiously waited by my computer for the next 15 minutes. “What is taking them so long?” I wondered. I waited another five minutes, remembered that I don't win anything, and gave up.

A few nights ago, as I was about to go to bed, having finished responding to all my fan mail, I received an email telling me I had been chosen. “Yes” I thought. I had known, when I applied, that I would be the perfect new character for “Cheers”. Then I recalled that they had chosen that annoying Norm guy, for that role and looked at the email address. It was from Reckless Running! I was a little taken aback that they had forgotten to mention anything about my signing bonus, but I was pretty psyched about the free gear. I wondered why they had picked me. “Was I the only applicant?” I wondered as I excitedly read the email. Nope. There were over 200 applicants. Then it hit me. They must have been really impressed with my sub 2 hour marathon and the picture I submitted of my doppelganger, Tom Cruise. After calling my agent, publicist and barber, I wrote back to tell them I'd think about it.

For at least the next year, I'll be the guy running through the neighborhood in cool running gear with winged feet and skulls. I should fit right in, in Passaic.

So there you have it. That's more or less the true story of how it went down.

Write nice things about this, and I might even give you the code for 15% off at www.recklessrunning.com.

On the Road to Somewhere?

Sometimes I start writing with a destination in mind. I've mapped out in my thoughts what I'd like to say. All that remains is to put pen to ink (how quaint). So too in running. Much of the time, I head out knowing how far I'm running and which route I will follow. Other times, I let things go where they may. Today is one of those days. At least with my writing. I hope it ends up making sense.

The other night, I posted on Facebook that I was considering running my first ultra (50K) at the end of April. The response was quick, and though, I suspect, not intended so, quite sharp. “Isn't your wife due at the beginning of March?”. I felt the sting implicit in the question. It was magnified, when a virtual friend whom I've never met, “liked” the question. I quickly responded with an explanation that I would only run with my wife’s blessing, but it begs the question, what am I thinking?

I remember when I first watched Spirit of the Marathon, a documentary that follows six runners of various levels as they train for the marathon. Dick Beardsley, who would later become a hero of mine, said towards the beginning, “when you first cross that line, your life will never be the same”. I was three days away from my first half-marathon, still working to shed the last of my excess weight. I wondered whether he was correct. He was, but only to a degree.

Running in some ways, is a great analogy for life. Life is not a sprint. It truly is a marathon. Or a really long ultra. There are times when you feel great and others where you have to fight to keep moving forward. The analogy only goes so far. In running, hard work almost always pays off. Life is another matter.

I've long struggled to master being what the rabbis called “sameiach b'chelko” happy with my lot. I'm always convinced something better lays elsewhere. The perfect job, the right shul, the ideal community. Something that is going to make me happy for good. It's an illusion, and I know it. But it's one that captivates me. Here's the thing. Unlike with running, there is no training I can do, no hill sprints I can practice, that will bring what I want my way. So I keep on trying, convinced that this time will be better.

There is so much going on in our lives. I feel like my wife and I are both juggling chainsaws, hand grenades and piranhas, all while trying to recite the Gettysburg Address... in French. There's little I can do change the challenges. So running becomes my refuge. The place I go to feel good. To strive. To pretend I can make things better. At least in one area.

I never thought I'd run a full marathon. Once I did, I never thought I'd try something longer. I'm sure 50K is the limit, but how much is that certainty worth, when I've been wrong in the past? Here's the truth. No matter how far I go, no matter which path I take, even when I try to just let things go where they may, I always end up where I started.

Stages, Pages and Sages

Among the biggest mistakes that a parent can make, at least in their child's eyes, is to suggest to your son a daughter that they play with someone who is of a different age. I know, because I've tried. The response is always the same. “I can't. He/she is in a different grade”. It's said with a look of disbelief as if I've just suggested that they go play on Mars.

The good news is that they grow out of it. Or do they? Many adults I know seem to live in a world where they socialize with those who are most like themselves. Rare is the shul or social gathering where the ages vary by too many years. How can we break free from this limiting perspective? I've found the answer in two pretty different places. Running and daf yomi.

As much as I love running, there are days that it gets pretty hard to drag myself out the door. One of the best ways to overcome that obstacle is to find someone to run with someone else. The conversation that develops is a great way to distract myself from the challenge of running. It's hard to be picky in a situation where most people I know would rather walk than run. Over time, I've found many with whom I can run. While some are within my age range, I've run with people who, if not old enough to be my parents, are certainly old enough to be my older uncle. I've also run with friends who discuss dating and looking for their first job, while I am at a very different stage of my life. Despite our difference in age, I've never failed to have a good time.

As an occasional Daf Yomi maggid shiur, I've benefited in this way as well. As I say over the daf to a small group of older gentleman, I get the additional benefit of moving out of my little world. It might be a stretch to say that we've become friends, but at the very least, I've grown through these interactions. I've gone outside my comfort zone and gained a different perspective. As I learn from Rebbe Akiva and Rav Ashi, I also hear the voices of those still living who have seen more than I have.

There's a comfort in staying within one's little world. There's also a price we pay when we limit ourselves. Let's look for ways to discover the world that's out there.

To Hill and Back

As I ran yesterday on a short trail near my house, I came upon a fork in the road. To the right was an easy downhill, to the left, a short but steep hill. With a barely a thought, I turned to the left. As I ran on, I wondered to myself, why do I embrace hills while running, yet wish to avoid them in my personal life.

As a teacher, I could recite chapter and verse about why God challenges us. I often spoke of the idea that challenges make us stronger, and that the easy way is not the better way. If I am to be honest, I must admit ,that as I pray these days, at least on the days when I do so mindfully, I ask that God remove obstacles from my life. I admit it. I want things to be easy. No hidden blessings, no gain that comes through challenge. Easy. Obvious blessing. I understand that life does not work that way, but still, it is what I want.

So why the discrepancy. The answer is fairly simple, but somewhat frightening. As I run the hills, I know I am gaining speed. Not immediately, of course, but in a fairly linear sense. Within reason, more hills equals more speed. I should add, I suppose, that I like the idea of being tough, or rather another term, which I'd better not use. In life on the other hand, it's not so simple. Sure there are points in my life that I can look back on, where tough challenges brought great achievement. There are, however, many, where, at least as far as I can tell, I gained nothing discernible, or at least nothing that was worth the trade-off.

The best I can offer, is to paraphrase what I used to tell myself before I started loving running hills. If I can going to have to climb life's hills, I may as well embrace them. It's not much of a start, but for now, it will have to do.

A Race WELL Run

If you had asked me last week to name my favorite race, I am not sure that I could have answered you. I might have mentioned my first half-marathon in Miami, my first marathon, or perhaps running Boston this past April. After this past Sunday, I have THE answer.

As races go, it was pretty nondescript. It was a local 5K with a small crowd and a cotton t-shirt as the only schwag. It was far from my fastest 5K and only about two minutes faster than my slowest. So what made it so great? The company.

Our daughter Maayan is the 4th of our seven children, and thus, the dreaded middle child. I think we treat her pretty well, but I think she sometimes feels that she doesn't get enough attention. Sunday was her chance to shine. Despite the fact that she never ran more than a mile before, she said she wanted to run the 5K. I was impressed by her spunk and I already know about her tough spirit, so, despite my concerns about an 8 year-old running that far, I agreed. I knew she'd have to walk part of it, and maybe even most of it, and I figured we'd be out there for about 45 minutes, with a pretty good chance to finish last. I expected there to be other kids there, but I assumed they'd be better trained. I was a bit concerned when Maayan said she didn't want to be last.

We got to the race and signed up. Maayan looked both adorable and beautiful with her long hair pulled back in a ponytail, her skirt, winter jacket and gloves. It didn't hurt that she has a smile that can melt my heart. As we waited on the starting line, it occurred to me that she was the youngest by six or seven years. Then, as the Mayor blew the air horn, we were off.

She started out at a pretty good pace, running the first half mile at less than 10 minutes per mile pace. We both knew she couldn't hold that pace the whole time, but I let her choose when to run and how fast. We were towards the back, but a funny thing happened. Every time we took a walking break and the people behind us got closer, Maayan took off. She was, as usual, very determined. As we ran the course, which went through a section of town where most people are Hispanic immigrants, Maayan quickly became a favorite. People on the side smiled and called out “La Niña” and “La Primera”, which even I understood, despite my anemic Spanish skills. Despite becoming increasingly tired, particularly when we hit a couple of hills towards the end, Maayan refused to quit.

As we neared the finish line, I looked at my Garmin and realized that she was going to beat the time that I ran at my first 5K, nearly five years before, by a couple of minutes. She sprinted across the line with a giant smile on her face, finishing in 33:39. A number of people many times her age finished afterward.

As we waited for the awards ceremony, I hoped against hope that they would give her an award. I didn't dare say anything to her about it, as I didn't want her to be disappointed. As the Mayor got up to speak, people came over to congratulate her, giving her high-fives and even took her picture. Suddenly the mayor said “Before I give out the trophies to the winners, I'd like to call up someone who inspired all of us today”. As it dawned on Maayan who he was referring to, she perfectly combined 8 year-old shyness, with pride. Needless to say, the whole crowd broke out in applause.

I suspect she has many faster days ahead of her, and I expect that she and I will run more races together. I doubt any of them will be more special to me than this one.

Re-Mark-able?

I'm truly amazed by what my friend Mark accomplished on Sunday. It's not that he completed his first Ironman (2.4 mile swim, 112 on the bike and 26.2 mile run for those who are wondering), although that's certainly impressive enough. It's how he did it. It all leaves me wondering, what does this mean for me?

I have to admit that when I first heard that Mark signed up 12 months ago, I thought he had made a huge mistake. Sure, he was a great cyclist and a pretty fair runner, but he couldn't swim. I don't mean he couldn't swim well. I mean he couldn't swim at all. We're talking about floaties and a kickboard in the kiddy pool. He was giving himself only about one year to learn to swim 2.4 miles in open water. Even knowing how determined he is, and even with the fact that he doesn't know how to quit, I thought he was nuts. I didn't tell him, because the $700 or so he paid to sign up was non-refundable, but I certainly thought it.

Then a funny thing happened. He refused to fail. He shook off the naysayers and his own fears and he started to learn. Along the way, he considered quitting, but he never gave in to the little voice that told him that he had bit off more than he could chew. Like a little kid, with an atomic jawbreaker, he kept on going, sure he would get there. And of course, he did.

As I watched him cross the finish line on my computer the other night, I found myself considering what this means for me. I have to admit that somewhere, not so far in the back of my mind, I'd like to do an Ironman one day, although I too can't swim a lick. He's tried the old “if I can do it, you can do it” approach with me, but I'm not so sure he's right. After all, he's younger and single and can afford to pay for lessons and the race fee and, and, and. How much of this is sound logic and how much is the pessimist in me, I'm not so sure. I often see the glass as completely empty and am amazed at the optimism of the guy who sees it as half empty. Yet, there is this little voice in the back of my head that says “maybe”.

For now, I've “liked” Ironman on Facebook and will be getting their little reminders from time to time. At the very least, in this time when there is a new James Bond in the theater, I'm reminded by Mark to never say never.

Harrisburg Race Report

I guess sometimes you get what you ask for. After waxing poetically about the joys of small town marathons in my last blog, events occurred that caused me to have to change from the Philadelphia Marathon this coming Sunday, to yesterday's Harrisburg Marathon. Maybe I should have written about the joys of having lots of money, or hair on my head, but I digress. What follows is my recap from yesterday.

Pre-race I wake up in Harrisburg where the temperature is in the mid 40s. The forecasters have it going up to the 60s by mid day. I have two shirts with me; a singlet and a short sleeve shirt. Now, one thing you have to know about me. I am THE master of over-dressing for a run. My approach is to avoid shorts and a t-shirt when a parka and snow pants are available. I wear balaclavas in the summer. Naturally, I put the singlet back in my bag. I eat a couple of skinless potatoes (breakfast of champions) and head to the starting area.

After waiting on the most important line several dozen times, and meeting a few people,, including one guy who is running his 100th marathon, I line up towards the front waiting for the gun to go off. Then without any Sinatra, or any other music or even warning, the gun goes off. So much for having time to worry. My goal is to run 7:30 per mile for the entire race.

Mile 1- We ahead across the bridge over the scenic Susquehanna River for a little tour around Harrisburg. Basically, it's a short circle around the downtown area, of what is the capital of Pennsylvania, despite being its 9th largest city.

Mile 2 Back to the path along the river. I try and fall into a rhythm as I imagine myself running on a treadmill next to my friend Shelly. I am starting to get warm and going a bit too fast.

Mile 3 Boy, I bet that singlet would feel really good right now. We turn onto a gravel path which is scenic and makes my knees smile. Ok, not really. Still, I start thinking about my next race being a trail race instead of one on pavement. Then back onto the path by the river back towards the bridge. The cheering is good and I'm feeling pretty good.

Mile 4 I almost offer encouragement to a runner before realizing that she is doing the marathon as part of a relay team. Ech. I can't stand those guys. They are always so perky. I'd be smiling too, if I knew I only had to run 6 miles and change.

Mile 5 Back across the bridge. Right back towards the baseball stadium where we started. Well that was a lot of effort to go nowhere. We go a little further and then... you guessed it, back across a bridge. It is this bridge which the website describes as offering “a break from typical solid ground, the closely spaced iron grid work of the Walnut Street Bridge is a welcome running experience (runners may also choose to run on the concrete sidewalk on the south side of the bridge)”. A break from solid ground? Iron grid bridge? Perhaps I should consider toilet water as a welcome break from sports drink.

Mile 7 Speaking of sports drink, the drink they are using is not certified as kosher, so I am stuck with water with sports beans. Have I mentioned that it's hot? Being a small town race, the water stops are not that frequent. This is going to be a challenge.

Mile 8 We pass the governors mansion as we run along the river. There are all sorts of signs with historical markers, but now is not the time to read. I see signs for the Civil War Museum and think of my friend, Rabbi Karp, a fellow civil war buff. There are some interesting statues include one of a soldier with a bayonet. I am reminded that today is Veteran's Day and that running a race is not what makes someone heroic. I pass a little girl doing cartwheels and think of my daughter, Maayan, who loves to do them as well. My family is not with me today, but they are still with me, if you know what I mean.

Mile 9 As with every race, there are spectators with signs. One guy has a sign that says “my father can run faster than yours”. I wonder how awkward it would be if I told him that my father is dead. I decide not to find out.

Mile 10 Than I meet Dennis. I've been looking for someone who is running the same pace so that I have some company. He is shooting for 3:18 while I am shooting for 3:17, which is good enough for me. I don't know it at the time, but we will stick together for the next 15+ miles.

Half way- I am not measuring my overall time and there are no clocks but I am right on pace with what be a PR in the half of around 1:38. I am relieved. Ed Whitlock, recently set the record for 80 year-olds in the half. I might not be fast, but at least my time would be a PR for some age group. Hmm, I wonder what the 5K record is for 90 year-olds.

Miles 14-17 Dennis and I continue to chat and run. I remind him to run the tangents, and to slow down, partially to stay on pace, partially because I am struggling. We are at the part of the course they don't talk about on the website. It is an industrial part of town with traffic open in both directions, with a requirement to get across the road. It's kind of like Frogger without the background music.

Miles 18- 20 Hills. Really tough hills. There are three of them in a park that is quite picturesque. We attack them, but they fight back. The ¼ mile with rocks underfoot that are big enough that I can feel through my shoes, doesn't help. We struggle a bit up a somewhat steep overpass. I am not feeling good at all.

Mile 22 I am ready to give up. There's no way I can keep this pace. I tell Dennis to go on without me. It feels like a scene in the movies where the soldier tells his friend to tell his family he loves them. Dennis plays his role perfectly and tells me to hang on until the next mile marker. This is the turning point in my race. If he's not there I give up on the spot and run easy for the rest of the race. Instead I make it to mile 23.

Miles 23-25 Somehow I get a second wind. We are really pushing and passing people. Dennis, who has to be the nicest guy I've ever met, offers encouragement to every person we pass. I can barely talk. Somehow, we are running between 7:10-7:20 a mile. Dennis asks me my PR and when I tell him, he tells me to get ready to break it. I want to ask him our time, but I am too tired to speak. Up ahead is the finish line. Only problem is it's up on the bridge. To get there I have to run underneath the bridge, practically make a U-turn and go UP a sharp hill. That is just cruel.

Mile 26 People are cheering for me using my race number. I am trying to figure out how I am at mile 26 with the finish line still being 100 miles away. It's also moving away from me. Somehow I catch it. 3:16:25. PR by 2:15. 7:30 per mile. I literally feel like I am going to pass out. I have visible dried salt all over my face. 364 days a year I live by the mantra that “food is fuel, not fun”. Not today though. Over the next 10 hours, I eat two bags of chips, two power bars, a banana, two chocolate bars, a bottle of chocolate milk and about 12 servings of chinese food.

My three fastest marathons have all been run at small races in Pennsylvania. Some people try to run in all the famous races. Others try for a marathon in every state. Me? I think I am the king of smalltown, Pennsylvania races, with solid color, long sleeve running shirts. Allentown, I'm coming. Bethlehem Running Festival, piece of cake. Reading Marathon, you are mine!

Thoughts from a Repentant NY(C Marathon)er

Growing up in New York, I thought it was the only place to be. It had lots of people, it was loud, it was fast, it was happening. I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Then something funny happened. I moved away and stayed away for over ten years. During this time, I discovered something interesting. There were many things I didn't miss about New York. The large crowds, the noise, the energy. Suddenly, I wasn't so sure I wanted to go back.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about running in general the past week, and the New York City Marathon, in particular. I was shocked when it was not canceled right away and then flabbergasted in the way that it was, so close to race day. I thought of my friends who were supposed to be running, as well as what I would do if I had to choose whether to run, but mostly I thought about the victims of the storm and how small and petty we runners must have looked to them.

At one point, I too wanted to run NYC. It was one of the biggest and most famous marathons in the world and it was so close to home. After running it (twice, in fact), I understood why it was so famous. The crowd support, 1st Ave., running through the five boroughs and so much more. Still, I also finished with a feeling of not wanting to do the race again. It was too crowded, it was overpriced, it was run by an organization, NYRR, that I believe in many ways has lost its way. Since then, I have discovered the joys of small town races, with their charm and scenery, cheaper prices and room to breathe out on the course.

I was heartened by the way so many runners responded with kindness in the days following the storm and the cancellation. I'd like to think there is an additional silver lining. Many of my friends who were supposed to run have chosen to run in other races that are relatively close to New York. Some will be small town road races, others involve people trying the trails for the first time. It is my hope that they will discover that there are many great opportunities out there and ways to run. NYRR might not change, but perhaps some runners will.

Finally, given the choice of running or deferring, what would I have done? Would I have let my training go to waste or would I have refused to take part, realizing that it was not all about me? Perhaps the best way to answer the question is with a story.

A rabbi once asked his student what he would do if he found a wallet with ten thousand dollars inside. “Return it” said the student right away. “What are you, a fool?”, said the rabbi. The next day, the rabbi again asked the student what he would do if he found the wallet. This time the student answered “I'd keep it”. “What are you, a thief?” replied the rabbi. Unable to think of any other possibility, the student asked the rabbi what he should have said. “I will not know until I am in that situation”.

The Daily Show

Why would a guy with a large family, a new job, and a running obsession take on a new daily commitment? Although I would love to tell you the answer, I can't. I'm trying to figure it out for myself.

You don't have to be in my world, or even Jewish to have heard about the event that took place this past August at Met Life Stadium. Intrigued by a gathering involving tens of thousands of Orthodox Jews, the media covered this past summer's Daf Yomi Siyum. The event involved the completing of the entire Talmud at a rate of two pages per day over a seven and a half year period. For the uninitiated, this might not sound so challenging, but imagine studying a text in a foreign language, with no punctuation and vowelization, while reading legal arguments about abstract and occasionally arcane topics, and you begin to get a clue of what is involved. Now imagine doing this every single day for more than seven years. On vacation? Doesn't matter? In the hospital? Keep on studying. Not in the mood? Too bad. Amazingly, there are tens of thousands of people who did this and continue to do so as the new cycle is underway.

I was there at the stadium that day. Not as one of those completing the talmud, or, even as a celebrant. I felt that, as a father, I should bring my older sons with me. I was in the middle of a prolonged crisis of faith, where serious talmudic study and even prayer, felt like a burden. Unlike many who were in the crowd that night, I left the stadium with no plan of joining the new cycle which would begin the following day.

It hadn't always been that way. After finally figuring how to study talmud in my 20s, I dove in pretty seriously. I openly spoke of my plan to finish before I reached the age of 40. I made progress, both through the Daf Yomi system, as well as more in depth study with friends. Then life happened and I fell off the wagon a bit. I comforted myself by telling myself that my teaching to my students counted as a form of study. Before I knew it, the goal of finishing the talmud faded from my mind. In fact, I started a new form of daily communion; running.

Where I had once felt the need to master Jewish law, lore and philosophy, I now felt a need to do speed work and hill repeats. While Jewish law kept me from developing one of those obsessive streaks of running every day, I soon was running each day when it was permissible. While I occasionally felt guilty, I had a plethora of answers that kept my guilt from growing strong enough to move me to change.

I felt like a hypocrite as I encouraged my children and students to study, while I did not. My feeling of unease grew as I started to struggle with religious doubts. I didn't exactly embrace them, but I can't say that I worked hard for answers.

Amazingly, my oldest son, who already spends many hours a day studying talmud, started to do the Daf. Although I occasionally studied with him, I didn't think much about it. It was more of a way to connect with my son, than a religious act.

Recently, I decided to stop being passive and started poking at my doubts. I had some good conversations, read some good books and essays, and did a little soul searching. On Yom Kippur I made a somewhat modest decision. I decided I would join with Daf Yomi for the next volume of the talmud. For the next six months, I will be trying an experiment. As I travel for work, I will continue my study. As the due date of our 8th child approaches, I will do the daf. As I feed my addictive personality with daily doses of mileage, I will give it a second helping as I study each day.

Where will this lead me? I have no idea. As I occasionally do when I put on my running shoes, I am going to just get started and see where I end up.

Desks, Running and Learning

12 years is a long time to sit at a desk. Although I know my son Ashi won't actually be sitting in one for that long, I felt a sense of trepidation as I watched him go off to school to begin first grade this morning.

As many of you know, one of my biggest challenges, and hence, one of the things I write about the most, is my relationship with my sons. I often struggle with letting my boys become who they want to be, instead of forcing them into the place where I want them to reside. This manifests itself in all sorts of ways; from sports to religion to religion (did I mention religion?). Of course, as I became obsessed with running, and even moderately successful, I had to fight the urge to try and get my sons to become runners. Of course, my oldest sons being teenagers, helped me, by reminding me that anytime I pushed too hard, they would respond with a pull the other way.

All of that made running my first race on Thursday night, with not one, but both of my oldest sons, so special. I didn't push them, threaten them or even try and bribe them, I just invited and they accepted. I can't deny that I was particularly pleased afterward to hear them talking about bringing down their times at their next race.

Which brings me back to Ashi, who today began the transition from play-time, nap-time and story time, to desks, homework and blackboards. I fear that he will have a hard time sitting still, as some male Sommers, perhaps even myself, experienced in the past. As a (former?) teacher, I know that not every student is cut out for classroom learning, and that much of what we make them do, has no real connection to what they will need to do later on in life.

Of course, there are all sorts of things that I hope he will learn and love. I hope his teachers and I remember that learning happens in a ll sorts of places from classes to parks. While sitting still and running fast.

Breathe

I can't breathe, but I push on. This is why I've never really liked 5Ks. The pain, the struggle to bring oxygen into my heaving lungs. I keep looking at my watch to see how much farther I have to go. Almost there.

The past few weeks have brought a number of races and a few concerts, two things that seem unconnected, even if one did involve the singing of “Born to Run”. Still, there was a common element. As I watched Bruce with my brother at Fenway, and Moshav Band with my wife, I felt like I feel after crossing the line in a short race; the amazing feeling as air fills my body and my breathing goes back to normal.

I never realized how much I need music until my father passed away. That year, as I followed the Jewish custom of not listening to music as a sign of mourning, I felt an extra level of pain. I don't know whether I might have been able to receive rabbinical permission to listen, but I didn't ask. The very night that the year of mourning was over, I went to a concert and I felt it. As I listened to the music I had that feeling. I was breathing again.

It varies from time to time, what I want to hear, or more correctly what I need to hear. I have my ideas as to why it changes, but I'll save that for another time and place. Either way, I've found it interesting that as I've been to these concerts, I've reconnected with the pain of shorter races; not only accepting it, but embracing it. I don't think it's by chance that as I've done so, I've been able to set a few PRs and even win a trophy for winning my age group.

I am pretty sure that the pain and discomfort are what make the breathing feel so good. I can't even claim it's a tradeoff that I would willingly make. Still, there is something about pushing and fighting through the pain, accepting that it's there, and the wonderful feeling that comes as, just for the moment, I take in the oxygen and just breathe.

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The Evangelical Rabbi Learns a Lesson

A friend once called me, only semi-jokingly, an evangelical runner. Having gained so much from running, I try to share it with others (Want to lose weight? Try running. Want to be happier? Try running. Want to get rid of bad breath? Try running). When asked about how to make time for running, I generally said something deep and sophisticated like “Do you have time to be in the hospital?”.

Well call it divine providence, karma, luck, comeuppance or my preferred term, God's sense of humor, but this summer, I've learned to be a little less preachy.

It has often been said, with only the tiniest amount of exaggeration, that the two best parts of teaching are July and August. Having left teaching after 16 years, to start Team Just One Life, I am no longer off from work in the summer. In fact, I am not only working but find myself on the road, recruiting for the team. From the pork capitol of America (Washington D.C.) to the dairy capitol of America (upstate New York. OK I know it's not, but even the dog I saw there, was white with black spots) I am seeing the world, or at least the Northeast corridor of the US, which to a former New Yorker, might as well be the world.

Well, between the long hours, and the time on the road, I have had a harder time getting out on the road in the best sense of the term, RUNNING. It seems that it's a little easier to train when you are working from 8-2:30 with a break in the summer. Fear not, I am still getting in 50+miles a week, but it does mean waking up at ungodly hours and being a bit more flexible.

I still think running might be the answer to practically all that ails the world (get Abbas and Netanyahu to run together and there would be peace within 5 miles), as well as what ails man (I can practically swear that I feel my hair follicles starting to sprout again). Still, I'm a little less smug than I used to be and will understand if you can only mange 45 miles a week.

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Take the Leap

I received a friend request from my father-in-law the other day. At first, I have to admit, I thought it was a little strange. He's not exactly in the age demographic of most Facebook users. Still, upon giving it some thought, I thought it was pretty cool that he signed up for an account.

After I made the decision to end my career as a teacher, I received a call from a good friend. After he wished me luck, he added how much he admires my willingness to break away from what I was doing to try something new. He admitted that he is not thrilled with his job and wishes he he could change.

I spent 16 years teaching teenagers, or at least, trying to. I was frequently struck by the lack of willingness on the part of students who were making poor decisions to try and change. The thinking seemed to be based on the idea, that their current way of operating might not be working, but at least it was familiar.

It takes guts for a non-runner to try and take up running. At the beginning it's awkward, uncomfortable and frustrating. It's much easier to give up, or better yet, to not even try. Still, I know that it is not only my life that has been transformed by having fought through the uncomfortable initial effort.

We spend so much time talking about how life is too short and trying to live longer and yet, paradoxically, at the same time, staying in situations that just don't work. Often, we are alive, but not fully, trudging through life half asleep.

Of course, I had a little push getting to where I am. I can't deny that my new job comes with a steep learning curve. Still, I feel alive, productive and challenged. If I am successful, and I think I will be, I will also get to change lives. I suspect that there will be days when I will miss teaching. What I know that I will not miss is the feeling of being stuck, of being in a rut, in a situation that no longer felt ideal.

To my friend, my students and all of you I would say, take the leap. I suspect you'll be glad you did.

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Being My Sammy-est

The news came, as such much of my news does these days, on my Facebook wall. “You will be missed Sammy- RIP”. Never having met him, I would probably not have thought about the post, had another friend not soon-after mentioned Sammy in his status. Then a third friend posted and mentioned Sammy's ever-present smile. Intrigued, I decided I had to know more about this man who had touched so many lives.

This is some of what I heard:

“He was one of the most selfless men I knew.”

“When I was raising money for a trip for kids, while many hesitated to share their connections, he was first to make the calls for me, hooking me up with donors and freebies for these kids.”

“He was one of those behind the scenes guys. “

I could go on, but I think you can see the theme that emerged. I found myself regretting that I had never known Sammy, and that, now, due to his untimely passing, I would never get that chance. More than that, I realized how much all of us can use a guy like Sammy in our lives.

As I shared the information that I would be changing careers and starting a charity running program for Just One Life, there were many well wishers. Of those, some made offers to help. I was touched by the outpouring of kindness that I received from friends, family and acquaintances alike. Still, I was, at times, unsure who I could approach and for what. A precious few sensed this hesitancy and made very specific offers to help. Personally, I suspect that I would not have been the Sammy, offering not just an encouraging smile, but also giving of my myself personally in any way possible.

Then it hit me. Although I will never get to actually know Sammy, I can learn from his all too short life, and try, in some small way to be like Sammy. To try and be the kind of friend to others, that I am looking for in my own life. To give of myself, without worrying about what's in it for me. To do for others in a quiet, but real way.

May his memory be a blessing.

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Donning My Hardhat

On my drive home from work, I pass by the construction site for The Freedom Tower, the massive skyscraper that is being built on the site of The World Trade Center. I have watched it grow from a small non-descript building into a massive 1776 foot tall tower, standing high above New York’s skyline. I have always had a fascination with construction sites and this one has gotten me thinking as well.

I have no doubt that the finished tower will be a site to behold. No doubt, there will be a ceremony as people gather to celebrate the finished product. I wonder how many of the dignitaries who gather for the occasion, will recognize all of the work put in by the architects, construction workers and others, to get the building standing.

In the past, I have attended many race weekends with every detail carefully choreographed. I must admit that I never gave much thought to all the hard work that went into making it happen. I simply took for granted that I would get there and that everything would just happen.

As I build Team Just One Life into what I hope will be an amazing experience, I am learning all that it takes to make it happen. Now that I am past the dream stage into the building stage, I have many things that I need to do so that each of our runners will get the experience they deserve. I look forward to the end of our first race weekend, when I will be able to pause a bit to reflect on all that we have accomplished. For now, I’ll be donning my hardhat as I build Team Just One Life one flight at a time.

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New Job!

16 years in Jewish education. 16 years of teaching and learning, of connecting and caring, of trying and trying again. On the flip side, if I am to be honest, there’s also been 16 years of mistakes; of trying too hard, of taking things personally, of being tough when I needed to be nice, of being a sap when I need to show some backbone. In a few weeks it all comes to an end. I am changing careers. I am done with teaching, at least in the classroom sense of the term. Is it forever? That’s a very long time, so I’ll just say for the foreseeable future.

If you know me however, you know that I am hardwired to need to do something I find meaningful. I am not rushing off to head a Fortune 500 company. (What you just heard was the collective sigh of Wall Street. I always say, only somewhat facetiously, that I could run a Fortune 500 company into the ground in two weeks). I will be doing something I love. Something that I am passionate about. Something into which I can sink my everything.

When I first started running, I thought that it would be good for me as it would help me lose weight. Of course it did help in that regard, but it has given me so much more. A way to help the children of Chai Lifeline, to do a little bit for a young father with ALS, to help young teens who feel alienated from their religion and community. It has also given me friends. It might be somewhat of an exaggeration but sometimes I feel like half my friends on Facebook are rabbis and the other half are runners (of course, unlike myself, few combine the two). It has given me a way to help others and in so many ways, myself. Still, for a long time I was sure that there was one thing missing.

There are many organizations out there that do so much good in so many ways. Of course, like most of us, they have been hit hard by the recession. Sadly, I am not yet able to write out huge checks to solve these problems. What I can do, what I have wanted to do so badly, what I will be doing, is using running to help. Just One Life is an organization that helps expectant women in crisis, who live in Israel. The name of the organization comes from a Talmudic statement that equates saving one life with saving the world. Just One Life helps these women and their families financially and emotionally so that they can comfortably bring a child into this world. It is an amazing organization run by very special people. For more on Just One Life see here http://www.justonelife.org.

I have been given the opportunity to start “Team Just One Life”; a charity team that will use running (and in the future other sports) to help raise money for this vital cause. Of course, from experience, I know that it will do this and so much more. It will introduce people to a healthier lifestyle, it will create friendships, it will help people develop a side of themselves they never knew they had. In short, it will change lives. I hope you will open your hearts, minds, rolodexes and wallets to help. I know that during the last several months as I thought about where I would be going next, so many of you helped in so many ways. Often, I have been moved beyond words. I know that I have so many people who I count as friends and who have been there for me in so many ways. Amazingly, some have been people who I only know virtually. I look forward to your being part of this next stage of my life. I look forward to hearing your thoughts.