Monday April 18, 2016 was the 120th running of the Boston Marathon, my favorite race. This Boston celebrated 50 years of women running in the race. I hope I’m still running in 50 years. I like to write these to hold onto my own memory bank so I can read them in 50 years but am happy to share.
This Boston was unique because I was running with my sister. We trained together. We enjoyed pre-marathon Boston together. We became finishers together. This was my 4th Boston and while it’s always a special experience, it was so much more special to watch Kristen train and prepare and experience it through her fresh and enthusiastic eyes.
This year, we chose the neighborhood of Southie as our homebase and it was a gem. Lee, Kristen and I did our Sunday shake out run along Carson Beach with the impressive Boston skyline looming behind Southie’s urban charm. I went to this beach often 14 years ago when I lived in Boston. The nostalgia was good for my Boston-loving heart. I continued to hold onto a lot of the love for the rest of the weekend.
Kristen and I had been joking earlier about how much fun we could have leading up to the race with our coach, Lee McCarron, staying with us. Ultimately, the answer was that we had more fun because of this. Lee set a relaxed and easy tone, the weekend was all about relaxing and enjoying our trip and doing fun things with the firm message that we had to get up Monday (race day) morning and “take care of business.” So that’s what I did.
Getting to the race was relaxed and fun. Seven of us met in the Public Gardens so we could ride the bus out together. I appreciated the calm and easy camaraderie on the bus and in the Athletes’ Village with the people who I shared the blood and sweat (no tears) of this training cycle with. And the guy who had ordered the blood and sweat. Mike’s business throw-away clothes were noteworthy, he was ready to “take care of business” too but more literally.
My plan from Lee for this race was to really keep the reins on for the first 20+ miles, until I reached the top of Heartbreak Hill. Then the plan was to run hard to the finish line. This is how I ran my best Boston in 2010. I was wanted to go out, feel awesome, stay positive and enjoy the course. As we walked the 800m to the starting corrals, it was warm. The sun was high and bright in the sky. I had a brief though that, “I don’t want to do this today, maybe another day.” I told that thought to get lost. It would be gone for good.
I later read that it was 71degrees F in Hopkinton at 10:00am (22.5 degrees Celsius). I felt like I could take care of business in the heat but knew I’d have to hydrate extra diligently and really let the pace be relaxed to begin.
The starter talked to us in wave two about the history of women in Boston and how we now made up almost 50% of the field. The cheering for women was awesome and then we were off.
I chose my spot in the exact middle of the left lane and here I stayed, running relaxed and tall. Head up, sunshine warm on my face, I took in the sights while the pace felt very easy. My favorite early landmark was TJ Food and Spirits in Ashland, the second town after Hopkinton and the fine folks at TJ’s were amazing. I loved them and they loved us and I ran on with lots of love.
The centre of the town of Ashland was totally packed and wild and loud and this was an amazing trend that continued through all eight towns. The warm weather would challenge the field today but it brought out spectators in the best way I’ve ever seen in Boston.
My first 10km were smooth and easy and happy. I relished a live honkey-tonk band. The train station in town of Framingham was packed like a zoo and a dj was blasting Dropkick Murhpys. Mindful to keep my head up, I was seeing and enjoying more sights that I ever have in this race and I was feeling happy knowing that I was taking care of business this way.
I was diligently hydrating and grabbing both Gatorade and water at each water station. True, the temperature was hot, however once past 10km, I began to realize that there was going to be a price to pay for hydrating so aggressively. Too much liquid weight on a weak pelvic floor for this mother-runner who had two kids 22 months apart, both born in less than 6 hours of labour. TMI? There’s not much shame in running and a mother-runner’s body should bring pride and not shame. But it still can’t hold that much Gatorade and water. I knew that I was going to be have to a hit a porta-a-pottie for the first time ever in a race if I was going to survive to hammer after Heartbreak. I wanted to make it to half though to check in on my split first.
Bathroom decision made, I returned to being mindful to enjoy my morning. I noticed the marathon flags announcing each new town for the first time this year. Natick was big and loud and beautiful. There’s a line of kids here jumping on a few dozen trampolines in a row. The glee on these kids’ faces always makes my feet feel light.
I entered Natick’s town centre just as a double amputee did and the cheering that erupting for this fierce runner filled me with deep emotion. He was a hero. Tears. I continued to think about this runner a lot. When I wasn’t thinking, I just had a few positive words floating through my consciousness: keep the reins on; relax;“be a horse: be dumb, just run;” love; easy.
For me, the course is broken up into 3 parts: the first 20km ending in Wellesley. 20-34km through to the top of Heartbreak and then the final 8km home. The girls at Wellesley making up the Scream Tunnel are always one of my highlights, ending the first third of my race. The girls line one side of the road as the other is forest. For the first time, I noticed that they had the guardrails against the forest completely lined with sassy, clever posters. They totally win at spectating. I smiled broadly while I watched runners grabbing their kisses.
I said hello to my parents, Shauna, Gina and others at home when I hit the half mat in 1:34:+seconds that I couldn’t read. This was maybe 60 seconds slower than planned but with the temperatures warm, this is what felt like smart “keeping the reins on” running. I felt like I was being consistent. I felt like, “I’ve totally got this.”
Now that I’d hit the half mark, I started to look for a porta-pottie. I chose one at 24km but it meant crossing to the right side of the road and abandoning my run-the-tangent-spot without weaving. My pit stop was basically a gongshow. I leapt onto the sidewalk to dart to the porta-pottie as two kids did the same from the other side and I had to brake to avoid mowing down kids. I chose my stall and I couldn’t get the door open: panicky, I was grasping what appeared to be a booby-trapped handle. I finally figured it out and got inside while my inner runner voice screaming, “What are you doing!?!? This isn’t taking care of business!!!” I got out and my legs were all Bambi-like as I tried to get back into stride. I have no idea how much time I lost here: 60secs? 90 secs? It was necessary though and I probably should have stopped earlier. I felt so much better after.
Coach said to relax between 13 and 16 miles when it’s relatively flat and prepare for the work of the hills. I continue to enjoy, feeling like I was keeping the reins on. My road was smooth and easy. The downhill at mile 15 in Wellesley was incredibly steep. Did it get steeper over the last 5 years? A tightness began to spread through my left quad. No worries, I told myself, I can do this with one quad.
It was fun to see Tim Chesnutt at mile 16.5 and it passed some time looking for him. As the course clock started to approach 2:45, I thought about Lee, Mike and Erin and imagined them pulling me along from the road up ahead. I hoped that their road was smooth too.
I had a spiritual moment for Cliff as I passed Newton Wellesley Hospital. This is where Cliff was standing the last time I ran Boston in 2011. I called “I love you Cliff” out to the universe.
I continued to feel positive leading into the Newton Hills and I was using the crowd to stay that way. I saw the people lining the course through the marathon’s eight towns in the best way possible this year. I saw their faces. I saw their signs. I saw their kindness and goodness as they encouraged strangers. I grabbed a lot of water from their children and thanked them silently for reminding me of my own children- thoughts that fill my gas tank.
I noticed the right hand turn at the Newton Firestation for the first time in 4 races. Now it’s on. I say that the first hill, lasting almost 800m, is the most challenging. I knocked it down and continued to feel good. I was getting excited about this. At 30km, I said to myself, “I love this still” and I felt giddy about how good I was feeling. I was almost ready to take the reins off.
I got over the next 2 hills and was ready for Heartbreak. “Where are you, Heartbreak Hill, I’m going to kick your ass.”
I love Heartbreak. I love the crowds. I love the African drumming band. I love the group of guys who are always on the left chanting, “RUN! RUN! RUN!” I love catching the first glimpse of the banner reading, “the Heartbreak is over.” I love running under it.
I got off Heartbreak and flipped the page in my race plan. It was 34.5 km in and time to open up the hurt box, get inside and hammer until Boylston. I took off down the other side of Heartbreak and was both pleased with how I felt and wondering why my quads felt 65% shredded. The course plummeted us into Cleveland Circle and I had a glorious high five, my only of the day, for Greg, Rich and Vira.
I’m satisfied with how the last 8km of the course went. I acknowledged Washington Square, the neighborhood that I ran in as a 22 year old nurse; running that laid the foundation for where I am today. I didn’t think about much other than “hurt box” and “I want this.”
I was aware by 36km that I had trashed my quads. Again. I was hoping to drop a few sec/km in a push to the end off the hills but the mix of heat and quads-turned-to-meat were what the marathon Gods offered up and as my preschooler says: you get what you get and you don’t get upset.
My 35-40km split was (marginally) my fastest. The Citgo sign came to me much more quickly that I thought it would. I was hanging on. I wanted this. You never know how off your race length is going to be: how many extra metres you’ve run on account of weaving on the course. I thought that I had done a decent job of running tangents and 3:09-3:10 might still be within reach. I really wanted it.
I closed my eyes and prayed holy hell that my quads would carry me under the Mass Ave overpass. In a blur, I turned right onto Herreford. My right foot struck the ground with no warming, Gatorade and water jumped from my belly, out of my mouth. OMG, who saw that! Goddamn this hurt box. I swallowed back most of it without breaking a stride, thank you Beer Mile. No penalty lap for this girl, today.
I ran my heart out down Boylston. 3:11:08. 284th out of 12,610 women.
It was a tough day for so many out there. Marathoning is flimsy. It can all come down to things that are out of our control: a beautiful spring sun, shining high in the sky. So many runners fought right until the very end. But we are in control when we keep coming back for more. More is better than none.
Onward we shall run.
| 5k | 10k | 15k | 20k | Half | 25k | 30k | 35k | 40k | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 0:22:21 | 0:44:39 | 1:07:03 | 1:29:34 | 1:34:26 | 1:52:42 | 2:15:43 | 2:38:55 | 3:01:12 | |
| Finish: | Pace | Proj. Time | Offl. Time | Overall | Gender | Division | |||
| 0:07:18 | 3:11:08 | 3:11:08 | 3056 | 284 | 243 | ||||
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