Bad night sleep could be a bad sign, but I was to excited to think about it for long. I had a short period of time to get ready to go – despite the restless night. Quick shower then it is time to “get ready.” Anyone who has done some long distance running knows you have to lather up the right way or suffer some unpleasant chaffing. I’ll spare the details, but Vaseline, comfortable socks, and the right shorts for a 54 degree day, no wind, and sun. I’m not sure if I mentioned the weather forecast, but I don’t think you could beat the running conditions for this day. The year before a noreaster’ blew through Boston on Marathon Monday. This year was every runners dream running conditions. After dressing it was a quick cup of coffee, a bowl of cereal, and start a modest fluid intake regiment. This is the exact same routine I have had prior to long runs for the entire training period. I cannot stress enough the need to have a routine before doing a marathon. The last thing you want to do is try something new and find out it doesn’t agree with your stomach. I grab the bag I packed, put on the warm up clothes, and head out the door.
The second I step out into the morning it is like a blast of energy. It is cool – low 40’s, but not frigid. Absolutely no wind, and the sun is already peaking through the sky. Christina and Joan set the pace for our walk to the T, and I just want to stop time. There are many times through out the day this occurs to me, but if I could I would simply stop time and just take it all in. As it were, time marches on and so do we. Joan tells some stories of her trips to Hopkinton in the mid 80s, Christina looks at both of us like we are borderline crazy for talking about the rigors of a marathon like it is something to be revered – perhaps she is right. We wait for what seems like two hours at the train stop (I no longer want to stop time, I just want to get to the buses for the ride to Hopkinton) and hop on when it makes its way through the silent morning. This is the last silence until later that night sitting in our New Hampshire living room. I think I’ll take more time to appreciate the silence of the early morning if I ever run Boston again.
Once on the T, the Red Bags start to appear once again. There are a few people making their way to work, but this is a day off for just about everyone in Massachusetts. Those going to work look at those going to run in the marathon like they would rather work today then run 26 miles – two years ago I would have agreed. This morning I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. We make it off the T without any rap sessions or other side shows to an absolute sea of Red Bags, excited talks about pacing, and final plans of where to look for family and friends along the way. In what seems like an instant we are at the bus loading and it is time for one last hug from Joanie who looks like she would love to go back and get her running shoes, but somehow is just as thrilled for me (I think). I give Christina a hug and a kiss and, after being married for 10+ years, there is an unspoken communication with a smile. Off to the bus line. There is a camraderie with all the runners in the line – some have partners they will run with, but many are just like me. I talked with a lady who is running her first Boston and we share stories of training, the North End, and goals for the day. Everyone seems to nervous to put a time goal on the line – most people just say they want to finish healthy and running across the finish line. My one recommendation for the buses – don’t worry about getting to Hopkinton on time. The race organizers are like a machine loading people on bus after bus and off you go. As long as you show up in the 45-minute window they give you, everything will be fine.
The ride out I talk with a software engineer from Microsoft running in his first Boston. His story is similar to mine, other then working for a multi-billion dollar company and all. What is amazing about today is that we are all just runners. We all have the same goal, so our conversation quickly turns to training patterns, good books. I have to admit that the only Jack Daniels I ever knew had little to do with running, but apparently there is an excellent runners guide by someone with this name. I’m already trying to think of interesting ways to tell my mom that I hit the Jack Daniels plan with a new found passion just to see the reaction. Given my avoidance of all drugs and alcohol, I’m sure she would roll her eyes and know I’m kidding, but it would be fun to do just the same (I’m weird). Another thing I thought of on the ride out is how nice it would have been to have a pen and paper so I could write my new fellow runners names down and check how they did later that night. I hope things went well for them, but it would be nice to see and send a congratulatory note to them.
The bus ride from Boston to Hopkinton takes about 35 minutes and somewhere along the way you start to realize how far 26.2 miles is. We are cruising at 55 mph and it takes a 30 minutes + ride to get to the start of a run back to the same location we left. This can be a little intmidating if you focus on it for to long. Good thing the last 5 minutes I had to pee so bad that the woods start look enticing. There is no time to take in Athlete’s village when I first arrived – I need a port a potty stat. There are a few port a potties when you get off the bus, but the lines are daunting so I make my way into Athletes village where there are no lines and port a potties as far as the eye can see. If you think I glorified the visual of port a potties a little to much there, then you have never had to pee “really, really bad” in your life. Any first time runner should know this and not waste time waiting in line by the bus drop – there are plenty of restrooms a couple hundred yards away. Once that is taken care of I take in the scene. Tents, music, coffee, water, bagels, and cold wet grass are everywhere. The experienced runners have wisely brought a mat or something to sit on while waiting for 10am to roll around. Me, I have a red bag and newspaper (fortunately). Both of these suffice, but next time I will have a mat, blanket (it gets cold once you stop moving), cell phone, and camera to take some photos. The next hour and half crawls by. I am afraid to try anything new so I pass on the food, but splurge on one more cup of coffee and a bottle of water while trying to time the last bathroom visit with 25,000 other people plotting the same course. It is weird how the competition among runners is lost in the camraderie of the common cause to finish the race (except for the hundred or so elite individuals) except when it comes to being in line for that last visit to the port a potty. About 9:15 I make my way to a line figuring a 20 minute wait for the restroom. Bad call, the line barely moves and I suddenly think I am waiting for my wife to “get ready” in a hurry. There is a call for people to make their way to the start and I am more afraid of being late then having to make a pit stop in the woods along the way. I strip out of my warm clothes to my running gear and suddenly think that maybe it could be a little warmer. The bag goes into the buses heading back to Boston. This is when I realize that I forgot my extra packet of energy gel – the first major concern since arriving. I can’t believe I forgot these, that means more Gatorade and less water then what I have trained with and I’m a little nervous. Not much I can do now, so I start the walk to the starting line with about 13,000 other people.
I have two concerns as I make my way to the starting line – no gel and I really should hit the port a potty once more. It is a cold walk and I wonder if that is why some people are running by me, or they think 26 miles just isn’t enough running. Either way, I’ll walk thank you. Just before I get to the starting line I see why they ran – there are more port a potties by the starting line – genius, pure genius race directors. I find a short line and relieve one of my two concerns. Everything is as it should be (minus the gel) as I make my way to my corral.
There is really no way to describe walking past corral after corral of runners at the start of the Boston Marathon. There are just so many people, all of them excited, and all of them eager to get this underway. This might be hypebole, but I’m guessing you could power the town of Hopkinton with the energy in the air. This is another time where I wish I could stop time and just take it all in – I can’t believe I am here.
I walk into the second corral and look around at the 1,000 other people who had qualifying times similar to mine. I must have heard at least four different languages, 1,000 different promises to God, family, and self as time ticked away to the start. It is times like these where you appreciate being alive and share in the triumph of dedication. I can’t see the starting line with some 1500 people in front of me, but I hear Senator Kerry fire the starting gun for the elite women as I do a few final stretches.
Shortly after, the elite men walk out and I see some of the best trained athletes in the world. I have heard that hitting a baseball is the hardest thing to do in sports, or try getting tackled by a 300 pound lineman, and etc. I have no experience with either, but I have run consistently for two years and can knock out 6:38 second miles for a Marathon (not bad.) These guy will run at a near dead sprint for 26 miles (4:45 second miles.) That has got to be every bit as challenging as anything else in sports, just remarkable.
They get in line, and everyone is packed in ready to go. The National Anthem is played and I feel a swell of pride. I recall the post about my brother-in-law and all the troops around the world defending the freedom to pursue dreams like this. If you don’t think it is a blessing just read about what the elite Kenyan team has to go through to train for these events and then think about trying to run a marathon like this in those conditions. We are blessed and I am thankful. By the time the F-18 hornets fly over with the last verse of our National Anthem I am ready to run all the way to Boston yelling “The British are Coming” only they are our friends and that would be weird – but you get the idea. It is time to go. This would be a great time to stop time again, but honestly you just want to go. That is why you have to remind yourself not to start to fast.
The gun goes off and nothing. You have to wait for the people in front before you even start moving – a bit anti-climactic, but the rest of the race easily lives up to the billing. After about 20 seconds we start walking, then a slow jog and suddenly a beep as you cross the first timing mat. I am running in the Boston Marathon, I am running in the Boston Marathon, I say this about eight times while taking in the sounds of the crowd at the start. I’m not writing this just for the moment, but literally the sun came out 2-3 minutes before the start and was in full force within the first 1/4 mile of the race. I keep saying God was with me on this run and this was his way of joining me – that is my story and I’m sticking to it anyway! It is really something to be running down the narrow roads of Hopkinton with thousand of other runners and people screaming – I think my first mile was at a 5:50 pace. Fortunately, I had my Garmin on and was able to back off that pace and save something for later despite the energy of the crowd.
One thing that you have to see to believe is coming down some of the first Hopkinton hills where it is visible a 1/4 mile ahead and behind – you just have to see the street packed with runners and supporters. I don’t know how to describe it because the motion of the runners seems to bring the road to life, like it is in constant motion, but never changing. Quite breathtaking and humbling.
By mile 2 I have settled into my 6:35-6:45 pace and have to constantly back off to avoid getting caught up in the moment. Clearly some have taken this same strategy while others have decide to go with the “I’m going to leave it on the road strategy.” While this whole experience is mostly positive, a few things irked me. One was the guy who passed me in full spandex, and nothing else. Dude, put some shorts on – no one (I’m 99.9999999% sure no one) wants to see that. I make a promise to myself to pass spandex man going up heartbreak hill, but for the moment he is off in all his swinging glory. The other thing I don’t understand is the runner who decides he must urinate right then and there. This guy cuts through a few spectators and their kids and lets it fly. I suppose when you have to go you have to go and there wasn’t a lot of privacy, but hell I would have found a Diner or something along the way to run into rather then stand next to some lady with her three kids and whip it out on some guys lawn. Those are the last negative things I’ll say about the race, but I decided I was going to also tear past Mr. indescent exposure as well.
I can’t remember all the towns we went through, but there seemed to be non-stop people and cheering the whole way. In fact, it was the couple of moments that no one was around that stand out as well. Somewhere about 6-7 miles in is a pond that you run across. Almost abruptly the sound of people yelling disappears and all you hear is the sound of thousands of feet on the pavement. It is like a rhythm of a heart beat and absolutely should be captured while on the run. I also had the privilege of looking out onto the pond and seeing Canadian Geese who had returned for their Spring/Summer residence. Somehow the rhythmic sound of feet combined with the rhythmic return of Geese put everything in a sense of harmony for a brief moment before the pond ends and the sound picks up. I’m sure that this area is a brutual exposure point on less pleasant days, but today it was heavenly.
I mentioned the little girl who handed me the orange slice in my first post when I got home. Before heading out on this day I read an article that described how cool supporters thought it was to slap a high five to a runner (particularly kids). For a very brief moment I realized how weird it must be to be a celebrity – what could be even remotely special about slapping my sweaty hand? However, I decided that I would have a good time doing this and slap hands and have as much fun slapping hands with all the little kids getting into this event that I could. It turned out to be one of the most fun things of the day (until I was so freaking tired that I would have asked for a piggy-back ride if I slowed down). During one of these hand slapping events there was a little girl handing out orange slices to runners. So as I went by I made a grab at an orange slice and muffed the exchange. I planned on pressing on, but heard the most earnest “Mr., Mr. – you dropped your orange slice!” I looked back and there was no one immediately behind me – something that was really strange given the number of people. This little girl (maybe 4-years-old, 5?) is in the midst of getting another orange slice from her mom and running along her lawn. There was no way I could take off, finishing time be damned. So I turned back and got the orange she was certain would carry me across the finish line – I said thank you that I would now be able to finish, and she smiled with an umistakable sense of accomplishment. That orange may not have made much difference at the end, but the next few miles I floated. How cool is that? I definetly recommend taking time (to any runner) to slap hands and grab a few orange slices along the way – say thank you as well. Think of all the positive role modeling (exercise, manners, and etc.) that is done in an instant. You will get more out of it then the kids do, I promise.
As the miles start to click by it would seem that the crowds would relinquish, or at least become just part of the background with everything else. This is not the case if you try to stay in the moment. I’m not sure exactly where, but in the 7 to 9 mile range I went by a biker bar with the clientel sitting outside cheering on the runners. The only time I would have traded the running experience is when I saw this one dudes Harley. Man what a bike!
It is also around this time that I started to notice people pointing and looking. I’m not really sure why, but it was clear that there was a person of interest in the group. I wonder if it is Lance Armstrong. My suspicion is confirmed when I hear a group of women yell “There goes Lance” while jumping up and down. I can’t make him out in the crowd, and don’t really know what he looks like anyway. I mean I have a descent idea, but I don’t have my glasses on, and there are ~ 500 middle age men with short hair cuts in the vicinity. Whatever, I decide and presss on.
I always find that about 9-10 miles into a race I feel my absolute best, I’m not in pain, my pace is good, and everything feels easy. I love that part of the race. I take a moment around this point (also where the road has widened out with fewer runners per square foot) to look into the sky and say thank you for every step, every heartbeat, and every breath. What a strangely serene moment. Then I hear “come on Lance” and the chaos of screaming people interrupts this moment. It was what it was supposed to be – short, sweet, and powerful.
I noticed the Lance crowd for the first time. About 10-12 people running in a group – it is still impossible to make out Lance, but he is in there somewhere. I spend the next couple miles trying to see if I can pick him out. I crossed one of the timing belts during this time and it is the first time I think about the fact that it is sending out a little message to anyone who has decided to check out the run online. I start to make a little note to mentally say to everyone – “Still going.” Not to long after this I start to hear the shrill sound of “the scream tunnel.”
The girls of Wellsley are not a let down. I’m not talking about looks, I’m sure there are some good looking girls in there, but you really don’t even notice. But, they are freaking loud, screaming, and totally into the race. If this is a tradition, then this year’s group held serve. You hear them long before and after the scream tunnel. This is also the first time I noticed Lance Armstrong – during all the screams I said to the guy next to me that I was surprised how loud the girls were screaming for me in jest. It didn’t take long to figure out what they were yelling about “Lance” “Lance – Kiss Me.” Then I was running next to Lance.
For a couple miles I would spend a stretch running either just behind, with, or in front of a group with Lance. When I would run right next to him it was interesting because he was just another runner heading to Boston. I know not really, but when you are out there you get pretty focused on watching the pace, checking in with the internal and external experiences of running, and wondering “where is my family?” It was certainly cool, but I kept thinking that I heard Lance was going to try and finish in the 2:46 range so I wasn’t going to try and hang with him if he took off. I didn’t want to crash at 24 miles. So when we reached the Newton hills and I heard his group, or someone in his group, say “all right, time to go” I held back. If I knew he would finish 3 minutes in front I might have tried to hang, but perhaps it was as it should have been.
The hills. By the time I got to the bottom of the hills my quads were on fire. Everyone jokes that running down hill is the way to go – unless you do it for 16 miles, then not so much. I was so glad to hit the uphills for no other reason then to change muscle groups. Plus, I felt like I had been holding back for so long I really wanted to push it for a bit. I held my pace, but going uphill it felt like pushing it. This was the first time I started feeling like I was passing a lot of people. I know there were supposed to be four hills, but you start to lose track of which hill you are on. Somewhere along the way I just relied on the fact that for most of the next 5 miles I was going up. A lot of the people that took off to fast are starting to really feel the misery of that mistake. I can’t stress enough that you should arrive at the bottom of the hills feeling like you have been holding back. Trust me – you have 10 miles to burn off whatever you have saved and make up any time you are convinced you lost.
Around mile 17 I hear my name for the first time since saying good bye to Christina and Joan. I knew my family was going to be somewhere in the area, but I had no idea if I may have passed them and just didn’t hear them, or if they were having a hard time finding a place so they were closer to the finish. However, clear as day I heard my name. It was Mom. I had the startle like I was caught doing something wrong, only this time I wasn’t, and I just smiled. It was the most uplifting thing, I can’t tell you what it meant. Then I saw my Dad come running out, I had no idea why, but he caught up with me to hand me gummy bears and pat me on the back. I know how bad his knees hurt, and he just wanted to get out there for a second with me. He yelled that Christina, Joan, and the Kids are about a half mile ahead. I will never forget this moment. I will remember this long after I can no longer run.
I looked at my Garmin as I headed away from Mom & Dad to start the watch for the family. I make my way to the middle of the road and start scanning. This was the perfect place for family to spread out – Joan obviously knows this course. I made it from mile 17 to 19 without even noticing a hill. About 8/10 of a mile in I’m thinking I passed them again and then clear as Mom’s voice is “Daddy!” “Daddy” and I know it is my daughter. I turn around again and jumping up and down is Christina, the kids, and Joanie. I want to turn back an go jump with them, but I can’t. There are to many runners. In the most emphatic voice I hear Christina say “go baby” when I can’t get to there. I see in my kids eyes that I am a hero for the moment. Joanie is there, on the course again. I literally floated up the rest of the hills. I even charged Heartbreak Hill at a pace better then my down hill paces in mile 4 to 10. I’m going to make this run to the finish, but honestly I could have stopped right there and had memories to last a lifetime. This is an experience of a lifetime, no doubt. Now it is 4 miles to the finish, and I feel on top of the world once reaching the pinnacle of Heartbreak Hill. Time to leave it on the course.
For the final lesson of Boston I am humbled. I felt like I had made Heartbreak Hill and the rest would be cake. I even dropped from a 6:38 pace to about 6:15/miles for about the first mile thinking I had plenty to spare. However, the slightest return to downhill and my quads started to scream. Even when the road evened out they were absolutely Jello to run on. It took so much work to keep them going that the last bit of energy I had left was gone about mile 24. I remember being a bit surprised by how fast I hit the wall. For anyone who has hit the wall you know the feeling, if you haven’t hit the wall it is like the life being sucked out of you. It just is profound exhaustion. I begin to think about walking and every step hurts more then the last. For the first time I become annoyed by a spectator – some guy who just left the Red Sox game and was completely tanked yelling at this guy who was walking and pounding on his quad trying to work a cramp out. He kept yelling “Come on, your almost there – I’ll run with you.” If it was me I might have thought about laying him out. I know it was good intentions, but sheesh man back off (you can tell nothing is good at this point).
I literally am carried to the 40K mat with one thought – I know there are people out there watching my times, and each time I cross that mat I am sending them a message. One more to go, don’t slow down now. Somehow this thought carries me at a 6:39 pace (the whole drop the hammer thing is gone), and now I am by the Citgo sign. I cross the final mat and realize the finish is just a mile ahead. I envision this mile as walking out my doorstep and going to the stop sign at th end of the road. That is only successful for a brief moment before the pain is back. I hope I don’t sound like I’m whining, but it is killer down the stretch – if it wasn’t for that chip message and some genetic drive, a sane person would have walked (maybe, or I’m a whimp and had half the pain of other people).
I find the image that will carry me now that it is just a road to the finish. I remember the first time I went running two years before and not being able to go an entire mile at 10 minute per mile clip. That works for a 100-yards and then I think about how a year before I went outside running for the first time and had to walk on my 8 mile loop a few times. That works for a 100 yards, then I think about nearly killing myself (figuratively) with deamons and doubts. That works for a 100 yards, then I think about God and the Footsteps poem. That works for a 100 yards, then I am at the corner. Yes the final corner! Once I make it around this I’ll see the blue arches! I hear someone off my right shoulder closing fast and I’m not going to let him pass me.
No more watch glancing, no more imagery, no more crowds, no more water – just this corner and the finish. I hit it in full stride holding the guy off my shoulder, climb the slightest grade and start to wonder where the finish line is. After a quick Left hand turn I suddenly realize that it is about 4/10 of a mile down the road. Oh God, I blew it! That was my final kick, I have nothing left!!! What did I do? Then the crowds came back, the sun was warm again, the images of family, friends, and loved ones come flooding back, and I don’t worry about the guy on my right shoulder. In a steady pace that feels effortless (don’t ask me how). There are people raising their arms, and suddenly I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the whole experience, everyone who made it possible, everyone who supported the goal, and I have to rais me arms in thanks as well. Then the dude off my right shoulder gives in one more go - can’t let that happen. In a sprint to the finish I cross the final mat and put my hands up in a prayer for a moment. 2:53:55, or 1:05 less then my goal.
In an instant the moment overtakes me and I cry for the first time in two-years. As quickly as the tears came they left, and all I can feel is pain. Every possible thing hurts. I am in a very slow walk when someone puts a warming blanket on me – God Bless You. I am handed food and water – God Bless You. Someone takes my timing chip and I am handed the most beautiful medal I have ever received. I am not in the top anything, just another finisher – but this was one heck of an event to take part in. What a blessing.
I’ll finish up with a post-race blog at some point. I knew this would be long…
