Race Report: The Boston Marathon, aka, Screw You, Newton

Marathon number ten is in the books, and it was a doozy. I ran 26.2 miles in 3:33:40, and walked (stumbled... I was twice asked if I'd like a wheelchair by the diligent finish line medical staff) away with a new PR and another Boston qualifying time. I couldn't be happier or prouder of my efforts out there on Monday. And I couldn't be more convinced that the old New York adage is true: Boston sucks.

I know, I know: that's a statement that is going to get me in plenty of trouble. Boston is hallowed marathoning ground, and believe me when I tell you I'm honored to have run and finished. But do they have to make it so difficult to enjoy?

In part, it was my fault; I went into Boston looking for a PR, which meant I had to spend my race working for it and not just taking it all in. Part of what I liked about the New York City Marathon was that I went out there to have a good time. In Boston, I went out there to hurt.

That said, anyone who tells you the beginning of Boston is "all downhill" is a rotten liar. I honest to God wondered as I ran if perhaps I were on the wrong Boston Marathon course, given all he pre-race advice I'd gotten to run conservatively downhill. Oh yes, there were plenty of downhill stretches. But also plenty of uphill ones. I was pretty sure Heartbreak Hill wasn't at mile 3, but then what was I running up?

Lets start at the beginning: The Expo
So everyone knows that this year's Boston Marathon sold out in a record 8 hours, which is why I actually spent the start of the Boston weekend in Narragansett, Rhode Island, watching IMan run the Gansett Marathon (in his second fastest, 3:07. NBD). After a morning spent trying not to get blown into the Atlantic in Rhode Island and praying the weather would be warmer for my race 2 days later, IMan and I headed from Rhode Island to Massachusetts for the second marathon in 3 days. 52.4 miles between us in 72 hours, with just 6 hours and 40 minutes of them spent running. What did you do this weekend? (That brings my average down to 3:20 - can I get guaranteed entry to NYCM with that?)

After getting situated in scenic Milford, MA - out by the start - we headed to the expo. Back to that record sell out I mentioned above: while this race sold out faster than ever, I don't think it had any more participants than usual. Which is why it was sort of shitty that on Sunday morning, the expo was so picked over. The official race merchandise section was a disaster, with t-shirts every where, and they were sold out of both the official race poster and the Boston Marathon pint glasses by the time we arrived. Not to be nit-picky, but for a race touted to be The Best, they didn't do a whole lot to make you feel special.

Thank God, I found a wayward poster left behind in some random exhibit booth I was able to swipe (not that IMan didn't threaten to rough some people up to get me one) and by chance, as we took a final loop through the merchandise section, spied one lonely pint glass which IMan snagged for me immediately. I took both of these to be extremely good omens. And I'm also extremely glad I pre-ordered my Boston jacket online.

My parents rolled into town on Sunday afternoon and we spent a few hours snapping photos and eating things in downtown Boston. Despite a crappy start to the day, weather-wise (I gladly took a Did Not Start for the 5k on Sunday when I heard how hard the rain was pounding and the wind was blowing), Sunday afternoon was gorgeous, and a sign of things to come. We gladly walked much of Boylston Street before heading out to Cambridge for a pre race feast.

Sunday night was spent engaging in traditional pre-race rituals: laying out gear, setting up the coffee maker, and foraging for food. For this race, I also added "rereading inspiring emails from Kara Goucher and my Uncle John," the latter of whom provided me with a detailed race plan for Monday. It rocked.



Race Day:
The beauty of staying out by the start meant that while some schmucks were boarding buses at 6:30am in Boston, I was sleeping peacefully (fine, I was fitfully tossing and turning) until almost 7am. I made a pot of coffee in the room and watched some pre-race coverage on the local news before heading to the hotel lobby around 8am for the complimentary shuttle to the start.

Sitting on the shuttle was this first time I realized "whoa, this isn't JV anymore. This is the Boston Marathon." Listening to those around me talk about their (impossibly fast) anticipated finish times, I felt a bit like an outsider. You're going to run a 3:10 and you're how old, buddy? But I tried to talk myself off that ledge; I qualified to be here, and not just by the skin of my teeth either. I channeled my inner Kara Goucher (who was channeling her inner Joan of Arc when she said recently, of Boston) "I am not afraid. I was born to do this."

The shuttle was pretty quiet as people contemplated their own race strategies. At one point, the woman sitting next to me took a phone call. We could only hear her half of the conversation, of course, but it went like this:
"Hi"
"Sure"
"Okay, yes that's right"
"Yes ma'am"
"Yes well I'm actually not going to be there because I'm in Boston today."

The whole bus erupted in laughs, thinking of this woman's boss calling her into an important meeting or something. We were delighted when she ended the conversations with "okay, gotta run!"

Athlete Village:
The Athlete Village at Hopkinton was much like that at the NYCM, in that it was full of food, port a potties, people dressed in trash bags, and took place on a windswept patch of grass. Because I had the luxury of a later arrival, I didn't have too much time to kill, so after I used the port a potties, I grabbed a bagel (Boston cannot make a proper bagel), took out another bag to sit on, and waited until they called the corral to check our bags. They had plenty of music playing to fire us up, though "Too Little, Too Late" was an odd song choice for the moment...







One advantage Boston has over New York is that bag check doesn't close until after your wave has been called to the start. I was able to keep my warm gear on right up until I headed to the corrals, and the race started promptly as we got settled into each corral. But the Red Sox still suck.

The Race
My Wave (2) took off right on time at 10:20, and I was across the start just 4 minutes later. Holy shit, I'm running the Boston Marathon right now! My goal was to go out at an even 8:00/mile pace and just try to hold it there. My Uncle John had cautioned me against trying to bank time on the course, and instead save something for the Newton hills late in the race, and I was going to try my best to do just that. Unfortunately, because it was still pretty crowded at mile one, my first split was 8:11. I had expected people would really charge out of the gate, so I was thrown off right from the get go. One mile in and already 11 seconds behind? I hate this race already.

Luckily the crowd and pace evened out over the next few miles and I was back on track by mile 3. What did not even out was the terrain. While everyone had told me "the first 6 (or 10, or 13, or 16) miles are downhill," they neglected to mention that net downhill is not the same thing. As least not to me. The first five miles were filled with little rollers. Sure, the downhill stretches were longer and steeper than the uphills, but the terrain definitely threw me off. I really did wonder if maybe I was experiencing some Boston rite of passage, whereby all previous finishers must tell newbies it's all downhill. Was I being hazed?

Splits 1-5:
8:11, 7:52, 7:47, 7:51, 8:01

The next 5 miles were much of the same; net downhill, but definitely some rollers in the mix. I was feeling good about my pace, though by mile 7, the soles of my feet were burning with hot spots. The same thing happened in the NYCM, and it never happens on my long training runs. Painful, distracting, and disheartening. 19 more miles on sore feet sounded like a shitty prospect. But I anticipated seeing my parents at mile 10 in Natick, which gave me something to look forward to.

Splits 6-10:
7:53, 7:56, 7:59, 7:55, 7:56

Like in the Wineglass Marathon when I BQed, I was surprised to find myself a touch ahead of pace with 10 miles already under my belt. I felt good, but like I was working for it, and was starting to get nervous for the Newton Hills ahead. Seeing my Dad at 10 was a good boost, and the Wellesley girls at 12 were everything I'd hoped for. Literally every girl had a sign that said "Kiss me, I'm (fill in the blank)." I made sure to run on the right along the line of spectators. I slapped many hands, but exchanged no kisses. I looked for a girl with a "Kiss me, it's my first Boston!" sign, but apparently I was the lone virgin at mile 12.

The half marathon split was in downtown Wellesley and I had a few seconds to my name. But with Newton up next, I decided to try to keep on pace for 3:30 until I got there and then just run the hills without looking at my Garmin and stressing about my splits over the hills. Racing is stressful enough, and I needed to conserve my mental energy as much as my physical.

Splits 11-15:
7:58, 7:56, 7:52, 7:57, 7:59 (enjoy those now; shit's about to get real on these hills)

Newton, I seriously hate you. You are, in fact, as bad as they say. Worse, maybe. Especially the second of the four hills. Perhaps running Newton is like running in Central Park; those west side hills aren't nearly as bad when you know exactly how many there are and what they look like. But in Newton, I knew only that I'd be hit with 4 hills in 5 miles, and so I tried to start counting and just hang on.

Hill one was okay. "If they're all like this, I won't die. Probably." Unfortunately, what I hoped was hill two was really just the continuation of hill one, and so by the time I got to the Newton Fire Station at mile 17, I'd already run more than four hills by my count. This was going to be a slug fest.

Seeing Josh and Laura around mile 17 was awesome, and they did excellent spectating work by rallying those around them to cheer for me. Sorry I looked like I was going to the slaughterhouse when I saw you, guys. I sort of was. I missed IMan at mile 17, which was a bummer because I would have advocating we make this race a relay, and he take it on home from there. But without that option, I pressed on.

Just about mile 17, I felt my left foot go from hot and painful to wet and painful. With a strong suspicion that I'd ruptured a blister, I kept glancing down to see if I was bleeding through my sneaker. I couldn't see anything from my vantage point, but I'd like to think my feet were moving so fast I couldn't tell at the time, because I did indeed bleed through. Gives the shoes character, I guess.

Josh and Laura were just at the start of hill 2 (the real one; it was hill 27 by my count), and it was a beast. As we crested, I heard someone ask "That was it, right?" A woman nearby said, "No, Heartbreak is at 20. But that was the worst one." Well it could only get better from there then, right? Indeed, by comparison, hill 3 was manageable.

Splits 16-20:
8:09, 8:16, 8:23, 8:09, 8:21

Okay Heartbreak, it's your turn. I'm bloody. I'm tired. I'm sunburned. I've been running for 2 and a half hours, and I have to pee. Lay it on me.

"Oh, if you've been training on hills, you'll hardly notice it." STOP LYING, PREVIOUS BOSTON FINISHERS! Thats not true at all. The only way you'd hardly notice it is if you were already in the ambulance being taking to Boston on a stretcher. I did plenty of hill work in the lead up to Boston, and that was still ugly. And while it was downhill from there, the downhills really did eat you up too. My quads didn't lock up or anything, but I had nothing in me to just open up on the downhills like I would like to late in a race, and I just tried to run short steps right underneath me body to keep myself upright.

The crowds all around me - runners and spectators - were fired up coming down the backside of Heartbreak, which brought a smile to my face. Special thanks to the fellow runner who offered me a congratulatory fist bump. And to the BC boys, who loved my short shorts!

At this point, I knew making up for time I lost on the hills was going to make going for 3:30 a miserable experience, but I was feeling pretty confident I'd lined up a PR and sub-3:35 time as long as I didn't make any mistakes. In spite of the roaring crowds, I just tried to run smooth and relaxed. Though I did get pretty excited when Holly jumped in with me around mile 22!

The downhill between 23 and 24 was really hard on both my legs and the soles of my feet, and there was not nearly enough water available through this stretch. It was after 1:30 in the afternoon, the sun was strong, and the NEWTON HILLS HAD TAKEN MY LIFE FORCE. For at least one water station, there was no liquid relief on the left side of the road, so I missed a drink when I most needed one. Thank you, friendly spectator who gave me ice water!

At 24, I first spied Cate, then Caroline and Lydia, and tried my best to look like I was not wanting to die (I was). I nearly choked to death on an ice pop I had gotten when I saw my Colby girls, and really had to will myself not to gag and puke as I ran by them.

Splits 21-25:
8:44 (seriously, Heartbreak Hill is worse than you think), 8:11, 8:21, 8:23, 8:19 (I know these look like I bonked, but seriously I was feeling so happy and proud I didn't drop off even more).

As I ran down Beacon St I couldn't hear anything over the roaring crowd. Plenty of folks around me were walking now, and I couldn't imagine being so close to the finish and not being able to close the deal. Newton ruins lives.

We made the right turn on Hereford and the one block hill, and then turned left of Boylston. Christ, the finish seemed so far away. I really wanted to conserve my energy even here, because I didn't have enough left to sprint the whole way home, so I kept chipping away until the last .2 miles (.4 by my Garmin, because I suck at running tangents) Then, I laid it all out.

Splits 26-26.4
8:15, 2:54 (7:09 pace)

Gah. Boston. You little bitch. You almost had me. But I beat you. Hell, I even PRed on your nasty hills. I qualified to come back to you, but to be honest I'm not sure I want to. As they say, fool me once...




Ironically, we had post-race beers in the hellhole that is Newton. I drank 2 Blue Hills' Red Imperial IPA (9% ABV) and was drunk. Which then inspired me to order an Irish coffee. My parents were so proud...

That was really long (that's what she said), so thanks for those who read the whole thing. I'll do a pictorial version when I get my race shots and upload my digicam. Get excited.

Until then, thank you a million times over to everyone who's been in my corner for this one. My parents and sister, Uncle John, and my whole family were super supportive, my amazing friends back in NYC tolerated 5 weeks of Sober Claire (she's not very fun), everyone who came out to watch and cheer in person or track me online, the Twitter and Dailymile community has been incredible to me... I hope I can have a beer with each of you. Thank you.

Here's to the next great adventure!