Finish:
4:14:55.
Pre-Start:
I thought he was a bit overboard in his assessment of the temperature.
"Don't you think today is a lot like two years ago," I asked, when the weather was in the 60s at the start, reached the low 70s mid-race and then dropped back into the 50s when we encountered the sea breeze coming off the water in Boston. I ran 3:48 that year.
"We won't get into the 50s; the wind won't be as strong and it's not in the same direction. Today will be a lot warmer and that won't be good for racing." And this from a guy from Florida, who certainly trained in enough warm weather.
Hmm. I filed his observation away for further processing, but thought his reaction of abandoning his goals for the race to be a bit extreme.
Beginning:
The day had started wonderfully. I had left the Boston Park Plaza with my gear bag packed at 6:15, stopped at Starbucks for coffee, stood briefly in line at the edge of Boston Common to catch a school bus bound for Hopkington and had a good conversation with my seatmate on the bus, a woman who had run the same Bostons that I had run. At the school in Hopkinton our anxiety went up a notch as were greeted by smiling volunteers and exciting music and walked on to the grounds stuffed with runners and under one of the two huge tents erected to shelter runners sitting underneath. I invited the woman I rode the bus with to sit with me--she did not expect to have anyone to connect with. Earlier I had explained that I was hoping to connect with some of my Ironman buddies but that finding them under the tent would be dicey. Of course, as we found a patch of grass and sat down, Shelley McKee, a Canadian who had done Ironman Canada as part of our group four years ago, popped up next to and said, "Hi Lee!"
We all talked, stood in port-a-potty lines, found other friends including Ironman buddies Bob Mina, David Jones and Lisa Peerless, exchanged running tales and generally had a great time, even with rising anxiety.
After about 3.5 hours we put on sun tan lotion, made sure we had our numbers on, greased up, grabbed our PowerGel, sunglasses and gear bags, and began to walk toward downtown Hopkinton. Unlike last year, I easily found my gear bus and handed over my gear bag. Then I continued to walk along the street, passing the higher numbered pens until I reached 13,000-13,999.
After the conversation with the doc, the loudspeakers on the lightposts on our narrow residential road came alive with a tribute to "Old" Johnny Kelly, who had run the race something like 50 times and had won it in 1935 and 1945 (I think), whose statute showing him at the time of his first victory and in recent times resides on the course before Heartbreak Hill (where he was once beaten and called it a "heartbreak," hence the name).
Start:
Then in rapid order the F-15s boomed across the course overhead, a Massachusetts State Trooper sang the National Anthem and the race started at noon. Of course, we did not move for a while, being 13 pens back from the start. But then we were shuffling and eventually running and at 12:13 passed over the colorful start line painted on the road where a television camera on a big boom recorded our passage and the computer chips on our shoes made the timing equipment beep madly when we ran over the timing mats.
The course was downhill and crowded. But I did not press very hard to get through the bodies, hearing Coach Mike Plumb's words in my ears: "Go out easy, get on pace later and save something for the hills." Nonetheless, I slowly moved through the crowd and happily settled into 8:05 minute miles.
We runners were having a great time jabbering to one another and gathering energy from the huge cheering crowd thronging the roads on this beautiful spring afternoon. Families were offering pieces of oranges, ice and water. Many runners were running in tribute to people and others had their names on their jerseys, both of which harvested an ongoing commentary from the crowd. "Hi Laura!" repeated numerous times might motivate Laura to run faster, but the runner next to her (me) can actually find it a little annoying after a while. I guess you could say it motivated me to run faster!
The first five miles were light, airy, a springtime song of running. We were a happy band, a kaleidoscope of fit runners from around the world, in all colors, shapes, sizes and ages. This was the Boston Marathon of children's fairy tales.
We passed from Ashland to Framingham on a much flatter section of the course and continued through Natick, to continuous loud crowds. In this section more running room opened up and we got on pace. I maintained an 8:05 pace, which I was very happy with given the still up-and-down nature of the course.
Coming into mile 12 I could hear a din growing in the distance. We passed the Wellesley city limits and then Wellesley College was on our right. I hugged the right side of the street, to take full advantage of what was to come. Up over a small hill and then a phalanx of Wellesley coeds was hanging over the fence, high-fiving runners, waving signs, including "Kiss me, I'm from Wellesley." I must have high-fived 500 girls (skipping a kiss this year!) and yelled "Thank you, Wellesley" nearly as many times and emerged from the reception line with a deafened right ear!
I noticed with slight apprehension that getting on pace after the college took a bit more effort. I also noticed the weather was appreciably warmer than at the start.
I passed over the halfway point in 1:47, seemingly on target for a 3:45 or better finish, my goal, even given a somewhat slower second half.
I passed through mile 14 on pace, as well. But then the least noted of the long hills on the course kicked in. And I began to feel cramps building in my inner quads on the uphill.
Oh no. This was my marathon nemesis, especially in warmer weather on hilly courses when I have run hard. I slowed a bit to keep from cramping. It worked, but my mile time fell off some. In fact, no mile thereafter would be under 9 minutes and some would be considerably higher, as we ran through lower Newton, downhill at first and then up one of the Newton Hills.
I was much slowed. In fact, between mile 17 and mile 18 I suddenly cramped and quickly started walking slowly to fight it off. Spectators talked me on and expressed concern. My smile--hey, I was still doing the Boston Marathon, even with a cramp!--and my explanation that the cramp would soon pass removed the serious looks from their faces. I was able to beginning running at the top of the hill. But we soon were going up the last big hill, Heartbreak. While not excessively steep, this hill is very long and, yes, I cramped again and had to walk some before I could resume running again. This time the guys attending Boston College were there to boost me up with jokes, sympathy and encouragement, perhaps the best and most needed crowd interaction for me on the course! I was hurting and laughing at the same time!
The temperatures were not cooling and I was drinking more water and Gatorade and also enjoying orange slices. (I had also been consuming a packet of PowerGel every five miles.) And my cramps were making running fast impossible. Nonetheless, after Heartbreak I continued to run slowly, seeing people I had passed in the first five miles slide by me.
Soon enough we descended into Brookline, along Beacon Street. I knew that my goal was not possible, but I was determined to continue to run as long as my quads would allow. I strode awkwardly through miles 23 and 24 and then onto Commonwealth Avenue. No sea breeze here! I drank more and forged ahead, quibbling with my quads even on slight uphills. In fact, as the Citgo sign loomed ahead and I knew the two shorts turns that would get me onto Boylston Street and to the finish were not far ahead, I again was forced to walk briefly A knowing spectator yelled at me: "Come on, you can do it! Don't stop now! You turn at the light ahead to get to the finish!" I smiled and said I knew that and that I would be running again in a moment...and I was.
I picked up the pace back into 9 minute mile territory, risking serious cramping but determined to run it in as best I could. A group of six National Guardsman with full packs running in boots clogged past me, their charity connections visible on signs on their packs. The crowds, bigger than ever, went wild and I appreciated the distraction. The next thing I knew I was on Boylston and the finish line loomed about a quarter mile ahead. I was being passed by runners more than I passed walkers, but I didn't care. I knew I was going to get the race done in a respectable time even with my running impairment. I glanced from side to side of the very wide city street, looking for Sherry but not finding her. This was not new. We rarely have been able to connect on race courses.
Finally I lifted my hands in "victory" for the still photographers and ran over the bright painted finish line, under the large arch and over the timing mats. I had completed the 109th Boston Marathon, my third in a row!
After:
We all woozily walked a block where we were draped with silver space blankets, picked up water and Gatorade and each stood in line to have the chip removed from our shoe and get our finisher's medal. I suddenly was feeling hot and cold at the same time, crampy and nauseous. This was unprecedented for me at the end of a race. I found a chair and sat, hoping it would pass. Volunteers doing medical assessment checked on me. I initially said that I expected just sitting would make the difference, so they left me alone but monitored me. After a while a volunteer decided she would put me in one of the many wheelchairs and wheel me to the medical tent for observation. I did not fight this. My escort was going to school in physical therapy and quickly whisked me to the line outside the tent. A nurse asked me a question or two and it was decided that I could just sit in the chair outside the tent in similar circumstances. Over maybe 10 minutes I did indeed start feeling better and eventually collected myself and left, trooping the rest of the way through the finish area, picking up Fig Newtons and bananas, progressively feeling better. I collected my gear from my gear bus parked a couple of blocks away, connected with Cousins Penny and Ian on the street and went back to our hotel room for a little party that includedBoston friends Judy and Tee Swaim. Then we had a great fish dinner.
Oh yes, I was asked if I will do Boston next year. I do not want to remove the excuse for a great weekend party. My time at the Florence Marathon last November was good enough to get me in for 2006. I again plan to toe the line, hoping for cooler weather and to conquer the Newton Hills with more style.
I was sitting on the pavement in the starting pen on the street in Hopkinton, for the runners with numbers 13,000-13,999. The Canadian vet who had done a number of Bostons, the woman who like me had done three Bostons, the emergency room physician/sports doc who also was a veteran of the race and I were talking in the half-hour before the start.
It was 11:30 a.m. and it was sunny and in the low 60s.
"This is going to be a tough day," said the physician. '"I'm going to dial it back and abandon my goals for the race."
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