Race Report: The Boston Marathon, Round 3

In 2011, I ran my first Boston Marathon and swore off the race forever.

In 2012, I ran my second Boston Marathon. I had an even more unpleasant experience, and vowed I wouldn't be back.

But like so many from the running community, it was important to me to return to Boston this year. So on Monday, I crossed the finish line on Boylston Street for the third time in my life, 3 hours and 26 minutes after I started (for those of you who don't want to read this whole damn race report; I'm not mad, I definitely skim for results), and while I'm no less convinced that Boston is a difficult and unforgiving course, I think the third time might actually have been the charm for me.



Pre-race: After a fortuitous shake out run in Connecticut on Easter Sunday morning, TG and I piled into the car with more Easter candy than two people should have at any time, least of all when one of them is about to run a marathon, and made the three hour drive to Boston. Our first stop was the expo, which was back at the Hynes Convention Center on Boylston Street this year. I picked up my bib, strongly encouraged TG to make me a sign, and took a quick loop through the expo before walking along Boylston Street to the finish line. The sun was shining, and rather than being somber and contemplative ahead of the race, I was in a great mood. We grabbed a quick lunch at Copley Plaza and headed to Cambridge, where we were spending the night.




For my first two Bostons, I stayed out in Milford, right by the start at Hopkinton, which allows for a few extra hours of sleep, but is a logistical hassle post-race. This year, I booked a room at the Irving House, a B&B near Inman Square in Cambridge, which was about 15 minutes across the Charles River from Boston Common. When we checked in, I noted a sign welcoming runners and indicating that breakfast on Monday would begin at 5:00am, enabling those of us headed to the buses to get coffee and bagels before our run. The B&B was small but well-appointed, and my only concern was the small sign in the bathroom indicating that they had low flow toilets, and users should consider flushing at intervals to prevent clogging and overflow. That's not what you want from a toilet on marathon morning...

TG and I checked in and had a few hours of downtime, during which I laid out my bib person and set about writing my race day goals. About 6:00pm, we headed back into Boston for a relaxed, homemade pasta dinner with two of my best friends from college and their significant others. My abs got quite a workout from laughing so hard catching up with Cathy and Caroline, which was exactly what I needed to stay relaxed ahead of the big day. I hit the hay around 10:00pm and slept like a baby (a baby who sleeps well, I mean. Caroline would like me to point out that she knows a certain baby who doesn't sleep, but he's cute enough that it's hard to be mad).




Race morning: When the alarm went off at 5:15am, I was pretty groggy, but that resolved itself as soon as TG fetched me the strongest cup of coffee I've ever had from the breakfast room at the Irving House (luckily the potency did not have any negative implications on the low-flow toilet...). I got dressed, listened to some tunes to get psyched, and scarfed down a bagel while TG worked on his spectating game plan. Ultimately, he decided he wanted to be at Boston College, just after Heartbreak Hill, so I planned to look for him on the right side of the road around mile 21. Cathy indicated she and her parents would be in Wellesley at mile 13, and I knew I had a family friend, Andy, at mile 9 in Natick. Even if I had a horrible day, I'd have some familiar faces to look forward to.

At 6:45am, TG and I got into the car and headed to Boston Common, where he dropped me off as close as he could get with the car. I hopped out and made my 10 minute walk to the buses. I walked right onto a bus without waiting at all, snagged the last seat, and almost immediately, we headed to Hopkinton.

I sat next to a friendly man from Toronto running his first Boston. He quizzed me a bit on the day, and I pressed him for details on his training and favorite races. He asked if I'd seen the 60 Minutes piece featuring Shalane, and I confessed that I always hold out hope for Meb, despite his age. Our conversation made the hour long trip pass quickly, and by 8:30am I was walking under the arches welcoming me to the Athlete Village.

As a result of heightened security this year, there was no gear check in Hopkinton, so anything we brought with us was either left behind, or making the 26.2 mile journey on our bodies. I wore a throw away hoodie and sweatpants and carried a large trash bag to sit on, as well as a couple magazines and a printed out copy of my Uncle John's email of course wisdom. I found myself a sunny spot on the grass to lay out my trash bag, ate a granola bar, and leafed through Vanity Fair.

Throughout the morning, all kinds of announcements are called out over the loudspeaker at the Athlete Village. Running groups lose one another and try to reunite, medical advice is offered, and hydration reminders are conveyed. Most of this is white noise, and runners spend their time in the Athlete Village talking over the announcements, which makes the whole village sound kind of like a 35,000-strong beehive. At 8:45am, however, the voice over the loudspeaker called everyone to attention and then read the names of the 4 killed in last year's bombings, along with the names of Boston-area police and firemen recently killed in action, and asked for a moment of silence. It was the first time in my life I've ever been part of a moment of silence in which every single person was absolutely silent. It was incredible.

By 9:15am, I was done with Vanity Fair and figured I should get on the ever-growing porta potty line before I was called to my corral at 9:50am. Slowly but surely, I inched my way forward, reading and rereading my Uncle John's advice. "Early speed kills," he wrote. "Don't do anything stupid." After 40 minutes, I was next. The girl ahead of me exited the porta potty and held the door open for me.

"There's no toilet paper."

"Oh."

TP is one of those things on every single list of supplies for a first time marathoner, and one of those things I never bother to bring. What I did bring, however, was the printed copy of my Uncle John's email. If anyone would forgive me for using his words to wipe my butt before a race, it was a seasoned marathoner like my Uncle John. That email proved to be more of a race day asset than he ever could have anticipated.

A few minutes after 10:00am, I joined hordes of other Wave 2 runners and made my way down the hill from the Athletes Village to the start. I passed lots of friendly spectators, cheering and waving signs despite the fact that we were more than a half mile from the race course and were all walking. Residents along the route were handing out safety pins, water, bananas, and some particularly animated gentlemen were offering donuts, beer, and cigarettes to any runners who were interested. I was tempted, but ultimately decided to hold out another 4-ish hours.

On the walk, I tied my black trash bag around my neck like a cape, and noticed it had gotten hot to the touch by the time I got to the corrals. I ditched it and hiked up my arm sleeves, but even those seemed unnecessary. While it was no 2012 race, the weather was already a touch warmer than I would have liked. But on measure, it was a beautiful day, and I'd managed to get this far without working myself into a frenzy, so I decided to put the heat and sun out of my mind and have a nice day on the course. I crossed the mat and hit start on the Garmin, and with that, my third Boston Marathon was underway.

The Race: I was wearing a 3:20 pace bracelet I'd made myself, which necessitated a lot of math on my part, and the effort it required to create it alone made me inclined to use it, but I also thought hard about Uncle John's advice for the first four miles. The course drops a tremendous amount - more than 200 feet - in those opening four miles, and I had to fight not to go out too fast. My pace bracelet had me running 7:45s for those miles, and I was even more cautious than that.
Mile 1 : 8:06
Mile 2: 7:53
Mile 3: 7:51
Mile 4: 7:50




From here, and for the next 12 miles, my pace bracelet had me running Goal Marathon Pace, or 7:30s. I was feeling good, but was only 4 miles in, so I decided to remain cautious for another 2 miles. Mile 6 was where I thought I remember first realizing the wheels were coming off in the Hamptons Marathon last fall, so it was really important to me to get to mile 6 feeling good.
Mile 5: 7:56
Mile 6: 7:50

I did indeed feel good 6 miles in, so I decided to try to drop the pace a little bit, while being really careful not to force it. I cannot overstate how much I was listening to my body for the first half of this marathon, continually telling myself "you feel good; stay right here." While this meant the 3:20 on my pace bracelet was out the window almost immediately, I also knew that I had 4 additional minutes between that and a PR.
Mile 7: 7:42
Mile 8: 7:44
Mile 9: 7:42
Mile 10: 7:46

By mile 9, I was hot enough to roll down my arm sleeves, and knew that I'd never get a break from the sun, which was a little discouraging. In addition, while I was physically comfortable with my pace, I did feel a little guilty that it wasn't what was written on my pace bracelet. I thought about ripping it off, since I was going by feel anyway, but it was nice to be able to check my total time at each mile again the bracelet and gauge a finish time frame. I also knew I was approaching my first friend on the course, Andy, between miles 9 and 10. Seeing him gave me such a boost, especially because it reminded me that the last time I'd seen him during the Boston Marathon, it was a sweltering day and I still finished. I recommitted myself mentally to running a smart, strong race. With 6 miles until Newton, I thought to myself "don't do anything stupid."

The screaming girls of Wellseley were, as always, a highlight of the next stretch, and spying Cathy and her parents also gave me some energy. Miles 14 through 16 felt really warm, and I was starting to get thirsty in between aid stations.
Mile 11: 7:55
Mile 12: 7:48
Mile 13: 7:52
Mile 14: 7:54
Mile 15: 7:53

Just before I entered Newton, a runner nearby asked the spectators who won.

"An American!" They told him.

"Which one?!"

"Meb!"

The runners around me all looked at each other, equal parts astounded and thrilled. We checked with another fan a little further ahead to be sure. "Who won?"

"Meb!"

It sounds cheesy, but this news honestly gave me so much energy. The brutal downhill to the Newton fire station was punishing on my quads - more so than I had remembered - but if a guy about to be 39 years old could win, surely I could run hard up 4 hills. I tried to take them one at a time, not looking at my Garmin and instead thinking about running up Harlem hill, which I've done one billion times. I was so focused on staying strong, it took me a minute to process what was happening when I heard someone say "Hi Claire." It was Josh, cheering on his teammates at a spot where they no doubt needed his support. He snagged a shot of me, in which my trance is evident:




I remember distinctly my first Boston, being on the first hill after the fire station, and wondering "Is this Heartbreak Hill?" and then being so very sad to discover it wasn't even close. It seems I'm not the only person to make this mistake. Shortly after the turn at the fire station, I heard a man running near me answer a phone call on his headphones (I mean...) and tell the caller "I'm just running up Heartbreak Hill!" No sir, you're just 4 miles away from running up Heartbreak Hill...

Though I told myself I wouldn't look at my Garmin, I did glance at it after the first hill, at mile 16. It said 7:52. I thought for sure something was wrong with it. My first two attempts at the Newton hills had been a death march, and this one didn't feel easy by any means - no way I was keeping pace. I kept my head down and kept plugging away, relaxing on the downhills and counting down on the uphills.
Mile 16: 7:52
Mile 17: 7:54
Mile 18: 7:49
Mile 19: 7:33
Mile 20: 7:46

This seemed impossible. But with Heartbreak Hill ahead, I told myself to get through one last hill, and then it was just 5 easy miles home. I have a vague recollection of the crowds getting louder on Heartbreak, knowing how badly the runners needed them, but felt like I was having an out of body experience. This is possibly because I was extremely dehydrated at this point, but I chose to go with it until the top of the hill.
Mile 21: 8:09

Holy shit, I ran the Newton Hills well. Holy shit. I was handsomely rewarded for my efforts with TG's smiling face, exactly where he said he'd be. There was enough room on the sidewalk for him to run along the course and talk to me. I told him to stop running so fast. He asked how I was doing, I explained that it was really hot and I was getting tired, but I felt pretty good, and that I thought I'd finish in around 3:30. I knew by this point that the make-or-break miles were behind me, and a 3:30 would allow for really easy miles (easy being relative, 21 miles into a marathon). Then I had to stop talking because I had also stopped breathing. I focused my attention on Commonwealth Avenue ahead.

The last 5 miles of the Boston Marathon are indeed almost entirely downhill. Some quick calculations told me if I really hauled ass, dropping my pace below 7:30s for the rest of course, I could snag a PR, but a quick check in of my bodily systems told me that wasn't in the cards. I was extremely thirsty, and reaching up to touch my forehead, confirmed I was salty and dry. My quads were also so trashed, I was a little concerned about falling on the downhills. I thought back to my goals, among them another BQ and a course PR. "Don't do anything stupid." I told myself.

I kept my head down for most of the last 5 miles, so when I happened to glance up, I was so pleasantly surprised to see the Citgo sign beckoning me home. We went under the overpass on Commonwealth and I started thinking about picking up the pace for the homestretch. "Don't do anything stupid."
Mile 22: 7:45
Mile 23: 7:53
Mile 24: 8:00
Mile 25: 7:59
Mile 26: 7:58
Mile 26.2: 2:35

The right on Hereford snuck up on me quicker than I expected, which has never happened in the history of the marathon, and I didn't dare attempt a surge until I saw the street sign. I checked my Garmin as I turned onto Boylston and knew my second fastest marathon time was within reach if I hauled ass. So haul ass I did. I crossed the line in 3:26:55, exactly twice the time it took me to run the first 13.1 miles. For the first time in 3 tries, I executed a successful Boston Marathon strategy. I have never been so happy about achieving my B goal in my life.



In conclusion: I ran this race more conservatively than I had planned, but in the end, I think it absolutely paid off. While 65 degrees doesn't seem sweltering, I assure you that after 26.2 miles in unrelenting sun, it sure feels that way. Newton can eat you up even when conditions are good, and I've heard from many, many people who ran Monday that the second half of the race broke them. It was not easy for me by any means, but I feel so incredibly proud of myself that I got to Newton with enough gas in the tank to tackle the hills.

More over, I feel like I'm "back." I wondered, after the Hamptons, if maybe I'd lost the touch, and I'd never have a successful race again, and I can't tell you how good it feels to have proved myself wrong. I'm definitely not an imposter - I am a Boston qualifier again.





And now, I'm a beer drinker again too.