This was the race I trained for months for and would soon be running.
The number of amazing experiences and thoughts that I had over the 6 day adventure will never be replaced, and to go into detail would take even more thousands of words than I have already put. Mostly, this will be about the race itself, but highlights of the rest of our trip are necessary, of course, in the form of pictures. Not to demean the importance of everything on the trip, but there was just so much, there is no way for it to all be put to words.
The trip:
We met up with Dennis (one of my coaches from high school) and his wife Lisa (one of the XC moms from high school) at the airport Thursday, and from there, the monumental details of trip began to settle in. Soon we were at Legal Seafood (it's a restaurant that, well, should be illegal it was so good...) and then back at the hotel sharing stories about my high school days and talking about how amazing this race would be. Being with Mel, Dennis, and Lisa was incredible in and of itself - she finally got to meet the people I talked about so much and can see why I look at running in such a tactical way haha (when you are trained by a Seal, it happens...).
Sleep came easy that night, and after after an early morning run around the beautiful Biglots parking lot, we were soon on our way to drive THE course. As we neared the start line, sheer excitement began to overwhelm. This was THE BOSTON MARATHON COURSE. The same one for the past 115 years... the same one the the world's most elite athletes sweat, cried, and bled on. It began to settle in that this was actually happening and I was going to be a part of history.
As we neared the famous sign that has flags for every country that was to participate (93 in total this year), a police officer offered to take our picture. It only got better from there as workers went out of their way to stop traffic for us at the starting line. The enormity of this race settled in more that this event is truly for the runners, and people go out of their way to make it special for everyone participating.
As we drove the course, I plotted race strategy in between snapping photos of the beautifully historic architecture that lined the course. It truly is amazing how different the east coast is from Colorado. The oldest building here may be from the 1800s, but in Boston, many date back to the 1600s. That in and of itself is amazing to think about and really makes me want to explore the area more carefully...next time :)
After picking up race bibs and free swag at the expo, it was off to a seafood shack right on the coast. Unfortunately, the day was soon over, but the best was yet to come.
Saturday would prove to be even more amazing. Runner's World magazine features a Rave Run every month, and a couple months ago, they featured one in which you run on wooden platforms around swampy treed areas. Once we found it, it was almost impossible to turn around. It was the sort of place that just beckons to be explored by foot for more than just 30 minutes, and it is definitely a place I plan to return to.
After we cleaned up back at the hotel, we embarked on our next trip up the Atlantic coast and into Maine to meet Mel's aunt.
Wow... as we drove along the coast, I was awestruck by how simple yet complicated the houses and atmosphere of the area looked. Though it was windy, cool, and cloudy, the coast was more beautiful than I had ever seen.
Soon, we were in Maine... a pleasant surprise I did not anticipate at the beginning of this trip. Excitedly, we explored an old historic military fort from the Revolutionary War times and set our sites on an old, abandoned naval prison that just dared to be explored. Next time.
We met up with Aunt Peg for lunch (along with her 5 dogs...), and soon we were heading back to the hotel, and a relaxing evening ensued.
Sunday morning, everything was coming into focus. As we drove up to Walden Pond for our final training run (as I have touted for months now ;), things began to settle in. This was it... this was the last of months and months of training, pain, and time. We saw the cabin site of Thoreau, and ran 2 laps around what many consider to be the most famous pond in American literature. What a way to cap it off, and now it was time to conserve as much energy as possible. This big day was almost here.
After a sleepless night filled with anticipation, excitement, and fear, the alarm charmed at 4:30 and it was time for the race morning ritual. Drink, eat, pack, and go. Soon, the car was parked, and Dennis and I said goodbye to our ladies and were marching to the bus caravan, which was loading on the side of the famous Boston Commons. Everyone has a story to tell, and we ended up talking to a guy from Finland while waiting in line. Photographers take pictures of anything they can, helicopters soared overhead, and news vans lined the streets. This was really happening.
The bus ride to the start took forever.. and that can really psych you out. They take you almost 30 miles away and drop you off, and all you know is you have to run back into town. Totally absurd.
Once we finally arrived in Athlete's Village, it became real how huge this event was. Tens of thousands of people packed into Hopkinton High School's fields, anxiously awaiting the calling of their wave and corral number. Dennis and I picked a spot to lay for an hour before the obnoxious voice called out to start lining up. After a frantic pep talk and goodbye, I was marching with thousands of other top-notch runners of the world. I had been assigned to corral 6 in wave 1... the same wave as Ryan Hall and the elite Kenyans. That in and of itself still amazes me. Granted, a few thousand others separated us, it is still amazing.
Running Great Bill Rodgers right in front of Mel
Mutai setting the world record before they said it didn't count...2:03:02!!!
Kara Goucher and her jacked legs
Ryan Hall setting the American Record
Finally, we were lined up near the starting line, and nerves turned to excitement. I just wanted to go for a run... THE run.
NOTE: I am waiting for the race pics to all be loaded online and will update the blog later. For the pics of me suffering through the miles of agony that have been loaded already, click here.
The faint sound of the gun sounded up ahead, but it was muffled by the nervous cheers of tens of thousands of runners, and a few moments later the herd of athletes began walking... then jogging forward until suddenly we crossed the official starting line. News crews, airplanes, and helicopters all accompanied the announcer in seeing us all off. Now it began.
The most difficult thing at first was finding my own way within the sea of runners. I am used to running free along single track or deserted bike paths, and I have never had so many people bidding for the same spot in front of me. Nervously, I lost a few spots here and there but gained them back later. After all, it was the sort of thing that, when you think about it, what difference is 3,568 place from 3,569? It was about the experience.
Glancing down at my watch every couple minutes, I questioned my pace. I had been hammering my quads down the steep hills outside of Hopkinton at a 6:30/mile pace... far too fast for my legs to sustain.
Prior to the race, I had a general goal of 1) remembering the course well enough to say I actually paid attention to the experience while studying it for a future race, 2) never walk and finish strong, and 3) finish the second half faster than the first. I had calculated that a 7 minute pace over the first half coupled with a 6:45 for the second would get it done and get it done well.
All that goes out the window when adrenaline starts pumping and you feed off of the excitement of others. Cruising along, I decided to see how long I could sustain that pace and ended up averaging 7 minute miles for the entire first 13 miles. Not bad, and I began to realize two things. 1) this is crazy... I could get a personal best if I keep this up! 2) wow... I am getting really tired!
As we blew past the Ashland clock tower, the Framingham train depot, and the historic Natick Commons, everything was just so amazing – so unforgettable, words cannot describe the sheer sense of awe and inspiration I experienced. So much history! So much beauty to the course and the perfect running conditions! Could it get any better?!
Of course it could. The course runs right through Wellesley college where there are college girls lining the course with ear-piercing screams. No walking at this point. They offer kisses to the exhausted, sweaty, disoriented runners (they must be doing community service!), and a guy in front of me actually went down the line and kissed at least 10 of them before jumping back into race mode. Garnering laughter, it took my mind off the blistering pace and made me realize for a moment that anything was amusing so long as feet and strides weren't involved.
At the half way mark, I realized that I had almost run a personal record (1:32:12), but my mind was too diluted with excitement to crunch numbers.
Soon my pace slowed to 7:20... and then 7:40 and the next 4 miles are mostly a blur of pain. Luckily, the crowd that had steadily grown throughout the miles screamed and would not let anyone stop. The aid stations and gels I was carrying helped me through, and I had basically decided that as long as I finished and finished strong, there was no reason to get angry. I mean, I am running the freaking Boston Marathon! There is no reason to be angry. People try for years to get in, and I got in on my first shot. Enough said.
As mile 17 came and went, I found a base in myself that I knew would never leave – my frugality. In tremendous oxygen debt and fearing excruciating leg cramps, I ran through the Powergel station and thought “wow! These all cost a dollar each... I should grab as many as possible!” The mind does strange things, for sure.
From there, I very vividly remember turning onto Commonwealth Ave and passing the Newton Fire Station, one of the landmarks I had studied just days prior.
Realizing that the infamous Heartbreak Hill was nearing, I grew concerned. My quads were growing sorer and my stride had shortened significantly. True to their name, the hills hurt more than my heart, but I crept up them with a strong pace and even stronger mind.
People around me dropped off, fell down, cramped, and threw up. Watching all of these people suffering far worse than me made me think “wow... I am tired, but not THAT tired...” That encouraged me. I was not going to do that, and that made me feel a sense of accomplishment and pride.
My endless nights and mornings of training miles and conditioning had paid off big time. The Heartbreak was over, much faster than I had imagined. and only 5 miles separated me from glory. Granted, the hills did hurt, and it did take a lot out of me physically, I knew what was next.
Coming down the hills and over the dangerous ankle-breaking railroad tracks, I began to realize “Holy crap... I am going to finish the freaking Boston Marathon!” and that was enough to push me on through the crowds of spectators hoping to catch a view of a loved one or just hoping to help someone get through the miles of hurt.
My pace opened up bit by bit, and as mile marker 24 passed, I began to settle into the sought after runner's high – the often elusive, almost out-of-body feeling of invincibility where running comes easy regardless of the pace.
2 miles ahead, rest and help would be waiting. I decided here that no amount of tiredness, torment, or torturous leg pounding and movement would stop me, and slowly began to kick, increasing my pace bit by bit.
Runners dropped out left and right at this point, and as I passed one in particular, I recognized his shirt. He had run a Fort Collins race that I had last year, and as he hobbled up the hill, I grabbed him and encouraged him on. He looked at me with a look of defeat, and said finish strong. From there, it is almost a blur. Turning right onto one of the last roads of the course, everything came back into focus, though. I realized that I was nearly sprinting at this point, and worried I started too soon. Everything was burning but to stop or even simply slow seemed so far out of the question.
Slowing to try to get another runner to finish strong around the corner onto Boylston street, I was back into it. As I made that turn and saw the thousands of people cheering everyone on, it set it. 600 yards... 500...400... I was sprinting all out at this point and simply looked straight ahead at the finish... the very site I had been dreaming of for the whole race... for the whole training plan... and for the entire time I had been thinking about Boston since I started my first Marathon plan.
200 yards away, I was giving it everything I had. I felt like vomiting and felt dry heaves daring, but I was determined to not let that happen... at least not yet. 100... everything left in the tank was being utilized now as I weaved between people. 50, 30, 10, and it was then that I was so overcome with emotion and pain that I threw my hands into the air for both a great finishing photo and to cap an end to an amazing experience. Just as I had trained and visualized, the final stretch was fast and utilized every remaining piece of will and fortitude. This was THE moment I had dreamed of for so long and had visualized on the best and worst of training runs. It had all paid off in the greatest way imaginable.
...And then the blood quickly began rushing around my body and I almost fell until a volunteer helped me to the water line. I began pumping my body full of fluids as they marched us around the block for heat sheets, medals, food, and our bags. As we walked, a man on a speaker told us all that the world record had been shattered. 2 hours, 3 minutes and 2 seconds. Wow... Also the American Record was set by Ryan Hall.
All of that in the same race that I had just suffered though mile after mile. I vaguely remember seeing TV cameras interviewing people off to the side, but was more concerned with keeping balance and getting to Mel for some much needed help.
The hardest part came as the athletes made their way to the family meeting areas where thousands of family members crowded to find their loved ones. I get that they were excited, but I was minutes away from collapsing and people refused to move. Luckily, they were understanding as I bumped into them and dropped my water.
I remember getting very angry to the point of cursing everyone in my way, but the rest of the walk to Mel on the other side of the block is a blur. I finally found her, hugged her, and sat on the curb while trying to stretch out, hydrate, and keep warm.
The physically demanding and torturous event of the past 3 hours was over, and now it was time for the body to protest and seemingly say “don't even consider doing that again.” I began to cool very quickly – one of the first signs of a problem. Quickly I tried to put on warm pants and a jacket – the jacket that now I had earned and had the right to wear.
My legs had enough. As I tried to put on warm-down clothes, my left calf cramped up worse than I had ever felt before. It felt as if someone had chiseled out a stone in my leg, and the pain made me scream in agony as Mel tried to massage it out. At least 2 minutes of torturous pain made me question my sanity but mainly just hope that it would subside soon. The cold, cramping, and confusion (apparently I was pretty far gone, at least compared to normal) soon gave way to a desire to get to the hotel and sleep.
Still dizzy but becoming more alert, I began to tell her about the race when Lisa came over. Shortly after that, Dennis met us, and he was feeling much better than I was. We congratulated each and soon I was hobbling to the car and before I knew it, it was over.
Final time... 3 hours, 13 minutes, 14 seconds. 3568 out of 23879 runners. Final number of hours thinking, planning, training, and hurting.... who cares? It was worth it.
Reflection on the race
I think that I summed up most of the emotions experienced during the race, but in hindsight, there are some other things worth mentioning. Without a doubt, traveling to Boston, traveling around the coast, and traveling in general that week was one of the best experiences of my life. The memories are beyond anything I can really explain, and I am happy that I had not only Mel but Dennis and Lisa there for support.
-Why Run? People ask me this more than I can count, but I never have a concise answer. It feels right. It is time to think. It just makes sense? I don't know, but I think it says a lot about personality traits (something to go into in a later post). Beyond that, I think it is a time to get away from everything else, even if you are still in the city. It is a time to be in your own head and think, and it is a time to be totally blank and give your over-used conscious a break.
-Inspiration? I think I run to see just what I am really made of. It sounds cliché, but I think it is true. 2 year ago, 26.2 miles sounded totally absurd (it still kinda does...). But having something to work towards and a goal in mind has always been the way I work.
-What is next? I plan on doing a half marathon in September in preparation for the Rock and Roll Marathon in Denver this October. Beyond that, I want to do the Colorado Marathon (where I qualified for Boston) next May and HOPEFULLY go back to Boston in 2013 to run it for time. I would love to get under 3 hours (about a 6:45 average mile pace for the whole race).
Having a goal really puts things in perspective. Call them lofty, but I said I would qualify on my first race. Check. I said I would enter, which was a race in itself. Check. And I said I would run it and run it well. Check.
Final Thoughts:
-You can discover so many things in textbooks and with others, but when you run, you discover the most important things about yourself.
-I don't do it for anyone else, and I don't do it for glory. I do it for myself.
“You have to forget your last marathon before you try another. Your mind can't know what's coming.” Frank Shorter.
