Lessons Learned: 2016 Racing Year in Review

The Stats:

Miles: Running 2222 (42.7 miles/week), Bike 1720, Swim 61.

Races (18): (1) beer mile, (3) 10Ks, (2) half marathons, (6) marathons, (2) 50Ks, (1) 100K, (1) 90.5 miler, (1) tri relay 13.1 run, (1) 117.6 mile 2/3 IM tri. (2 virtual races: 5K and 20 miler if you want to make it 20.)

 

 

Lowlight: LA Marathon.

Highlight: Chicago Marathon.

Hardest racing moment: running down Bolyston in the finals tenths of the Boston Marathon, knowing I had given it my all, but unsure if I could replicate the opportunity in 2017.

Proudest racing moment: getting through the bike at IM Coeur d’Alene, managing the heat, the hills, the wind, and my foot.

Best salvage: Finishing Canyons 100K despite bad electrolyte issues between miles 31-48 that nearly had me passing out.

Best racing decision: calling the Kettle 90.5 miles and 26 hours in (pretty sure it averted an ER visit in rural Wisconsin).

Best trip for racing: Wisconsin.

 

                There may have been too many lessons learned in 2016. It was the hardest racing year I’ve had since I started running in 2007. But as with challenging times in life, there is purpose in the stumbles if you can gain from the experiences. I aimed too high in 2017. I was aggressive with racing, with my schedule, with my training plans. And I stumbled as a consequence. And I stumbled some more, and then, I stumbled even more. But, as the year closes, I feel I’ve regrouped and that I’m back on track. I’m ready to put the lessons of 2016 to good use as I run into 2017!

                I started off 2016 with an aggressive plan with an ambitious PR goal for the LA Marathon, averaging 100K of running in the 12 weeks leading up to the race. I came to race day overtrained, undertapered, and when the forecast for the race called for heat, I melted. I melted physically and emotionally, having no compass by mile 5 when I knew my PR dream was gone. I finished slower than my first marathon. Two salvages came out of the race though: helping a friend to finish her first marathon and allowing myself to be vulnerable. Recounting the emotional abyss that came from the race has probably connected me with more running friends than any other race ever has.  Openness, honesty, raw emotion- well, they spilled out of me after LA. And they kept on coming.

                I lost my running mojo after LA, but did manage to regroup by late March. A successful half gave me the confidence I needed for Boston. I was back in shape, I was judicious with my training and aggressive with my taper this time. I was primed heading back to my favorite race for the 4^th time. And then the heat came again. I wasn’t about to repeat LA and I needed the BQ. I ran harder than I have ever run during a marathon. It was a fine line between getting the BQ and passing out. Of the 24 marathons I have run, this was my best effort. The time will never reflect it, but I fought the heat and grabbed my squeaker BQ. And I knew it was a squeaker at 96 seconds. I would try to get the BQ 13 days later at Avenue of the Giants, then again at San Francisco 3 months later. Ultimately, my best effort and my fastest time for 2016 would remain Boston.

 

 

                Three weeks post Boston (and for those of you paying attention, 6 days after Avenue of the Giants), I ran Canyons 100K, easily the toughest course I have run with 15000 ft of climbing over 64 miles. It was a mudfest, which I survived, only to be taken over by electrolyte issues, as I was unable to tolerate the on-course beverage. I fought back after an extended death march, revived myself at mile 48, and safely made it to the finish. It wasn’t pretty, it nearly didn’t happen, but I earned another Western States qualifier. I had also had a “great” training run for Kettle Moraine 100 miler 4 weeks later.  The Kettle proved to be beautiful beyond belief as I enjoyed nearly every second of our Wisconsin trip. The beauty though was brought forth no doubt by the humidity, which I survived the first day. I stumbled into the 100K point and somehow made it back on course despite feet that were so badly battered that I could only walk through the pain. I have never reached lower lows than during that race, but I found the emotional way out to a better head space that allowed me to venture on. Ultimately, my body gave up after 26 hours, but my will, my heart, they persevered. It would be my 2^nd DNF, but there was no defeat for me that day.

 

                11 weeks after the Kettle, I was on to Ironman Coeur d’Alene. I finally learned how to climb on my tri bike and became a stronger cyclist with help from my coach and training and life partner Jim. My running was strong, even with a respectable SF Marathon 3 weeks prior and higher running mileage than I had managed for IMAZ. I was consistent with open water swim classes and long swims on my own; but let’s face it, I still suck as a swimmer! Race day came and with it another heat forecast; thank you 2016.  I grabbed the swim PR. The first bike loop was manageable. The second tried to break me in every way possible as temps reached the 90s and 25 mph winds were pushing against me with every long hill climb.  I was happy I didn’t get heat stroke and that I pushed through the conditions and the pain growing in my foot. For all the moments when I wanted to just quit, I didn’t. I knew then and I know now I am never repeating the LA syndrome.  With the toughest bike ride of my life finished,I hobbled out to the marathon course. I couldn’t manage more than a couple of miles before I could no longer bear weight on my foot. My day would end at 117.6 miles.

 

                I could not walk and would not exercise for a bit, but managed to regroup for my tri relay 3 weeks later. That was the best of both worlds: spectating and racing. Four weeks later I was off to Chicago. I didn’t know what I had in me, but aimed for the BQ-5 (3:50) for 2018. I somehow pulled it out and would return from the trip able to walk through the airport and having reached my goal for the first time in the last three trips.  The year ended with fun: pacing my friend in her first 100 miler in November, pacing my husband for his 2^nd marathon at CIM, and getting back on the trails, with a fun (if slow and mishap-ridden) 50K.

 

                So, less is more. It’s too hard to run BQ-pace marathons, run WS-qualifier worthy ultramarathons, and compete in Ironmans. I mean, I know it’s feasible and I came pretty close to doing it in 2016 (and I did do it in 2015). But, ultimately, it’s not necessary. And it’s certainly not recommended to try to get all three of those goals done (with a bonus 100 miler in the middle) in a four month timeframe. It’s too much. And the lesson from 2016 is that it’s enough. It’s enough to have any of those three accomplishments. It’s enough to actually not have any of them. It’s enough to wake up each day and go out on your run and enjoy it. It’s enough to run through the forest, run through the mud, run the trails with friends, run and take photos of all the beauty that resides there. It’s enough to feel gratitude for what you can do. It’s enough to have people who will cheer you through your races. It’s enough to have people who will hold your hand and comfort you when you fall. So, there were no PRs or grand accomplishments in my racing life in 2016. But, there was a lot of joy despite the struggles. There were a lot of adventures. There were more friends made. There was the rush of pushing myself and bettering myself. There was ultimately a better understanding of myself, an understanding of my limits, an acceptance of my vulnerabilities. And I know I’ll uncover more as the races and running days go on. And that’s okay. It’s enough.

 

 

The 2015 Boston Marathon: Ode to the Purple Shirt

     I am running the Woodside Ramble 50K today. And in support of Project Purple, I'll be running in perhaps the only purple shirt I have. It seems apt that it's from the 2015 Boston Marathon. So while I run, I'll be thinking about that shirt and that day. It was my 3rd Boston Marathon and my best to date (in terms of execution). It appears I race well in rain and wind; I'll let you know how today's mud fest goes! Below, I've shared my race report from that day.  My father passed away from pancreatic cancer before I was ever able to run Boston, but he is present with me each year I run the race. In 2015, his sister and my aunt joined him in spirit on course, having passed away less than three months earlier of multiple myeloma. Boston, for me, will always be that family reunion each year.
I hope you enjoy the read.

Donate to Project Purple for Keather's 2017 Boston Marathon!

RAW Headwinds and Rain, But It’s Still the Boston Marathon!

 

Boston was my target race for the spring of 2015. My training was solid: steady mileage, staying healthy, oodles of speedwork at paces I hadn't touched in some time. I had not done a formal marathon training plan since Boston 2013, with the interim two years focused mainly on ultras. In January, I joined a 14 week training program specific to Boston (Boston 365 out of the Fleet Feet in Sacramento, coached by SRA Elite and stud runner Charlie Brenneman). The group workouts pushed me and pushed me good. I walked into Boston more fit than I've ever been. I had dropped weight since January and was at racing weight; I felt light and strong. Mentally, there was no taper madness. I was calm; I knew my skills. My anxieties were long gone. I was eager, I was excited, I was ready. My word for 2015 is Courage, a mantra I decided to live by for the year. I chose Courage, feeling there were too many things I was afraid of, fears that I needed to conquer, anxieties to squelch. A few weeks before heading to Boston, I realized I no longer needed the Courage I had sought. My fears, my anxieties - they were gone. I was trying new things, I was facing my fears, and they no longer bothered me (yes, I even held and kissed an alligator in this process....). I let go. So I was relaxed heading to Boston. After years of facing races with an overwhelming sense of anxiety, there was none to be had. I was excited and grateful to have the opportunity to return for my third Boston!

 

            The week before the race was a bit more hectic than planned. On Saturday 4/11/15, after wrapping up my last long run (13.1 with 8 at MP- solid, solid, solid), my husband called. He had crashed his bike and figured he had broken his right clavicle. He was with other cyclists (but an hour away), though found someone to take his bike to the car and then take him to the hospital. I met him there later, x-ray confirmed the diagnosis (though the film looked more like a shrapnel injury than a bike crash; 36 mph to 0 is not recommended...) Meds and sling until Monday. He was fortunate to have his head intact; another helmet cracked. Being a physician, he was able to pull some strings, saw the Ortho shoulder specialist Monday, with surgery scheduled for Tuesday afternoon. Our flight to Boston was set for Thursday night. Everything went smoothly (save for post anesthesia sickness) and a plate and 11 screws later, at least he felt his arm and shoulder were more stable. By late Wednesday, my husband felt better and we were back on schedule, with him even managing to attend a Boston send off event for my training group. There were a few nursing duties, but calm remained. You take what the world gives you, throw in a dash of optimism, and move forward. We departed for Boston as planned Thursday night with our girls.

 

            Pre race involved get togethers with various friends and family: dinner with Jen and another runner Laurie that I met last year, lunch with Vicki (who I had meet at Boston 2013), lunch with my cousin Julie and friend Glenn (who I ran Boston 2014 with), the Sox game with Julie, a pre race dinner with the extended family on Sunday night, and spectating the BAA 5K. Many of my friends running Boston were also running the 5K, along with my family. I was the official bag holder- not a bad job when you are joined by the likes of Shalane Flanagan (yes, she was hanging out by herself on a corner of the Boston Common - a good luck greeting and photo was perfect!). My 14 yo daughter set her 5K PR (and beat her dad's 5K PR in the process!). The race was originally going to be their show down. Instead, my husband and his sling walked/ran with my uncle to grab a PR for my uncle. My aunt had passed away in January; I had last seen her at Boston last year, so she will always be part of Boston for me, just as my father is.

 

            My goal for Boston was 3:30; I suppose that's really 3:29:59 or faster. My PR is 3:26, but at Napa. So while I think I could drop a PR at many other courses right now, I have a certain amount of respect for Boston. I ran a PR there in 2013 (3:39), while opting for a celebratory race in 2014 (the best race I've ever had; there's no better atmosphere to just savor the day). The strategy was a 1:43 opening half and a 1:47 back half; I figured I needed a couple of extra minutes for the Newton Hills (miles 16-21). As the days passed, the weather forecast for Marathon Monday was steadily deteriorating. Originally rain after 2 pm was predicted earlier and earlier in the day. The temps looked manageable (low to mid 40s to the low 50s); I don't do well in heat, but also don't care for humidity (rain is about 100%, right?). I had run Napa in high humidity, warm temps, and eventual rain and fared well. Might be okay. But then, the wind? 16-21 mph E. Hmm, is that a tailwind if I'm traveling East? No, that means winds coming FROM the East to the West - i.e, headwind along the whole course. The rain would not be the issue. New England weather forecasters have a term for this, "RAW".  Yes, this was actually on the news. RAW. WTF?!? (My cousins were later amused that I didn't know what RAW meant in the forecast!)

 

 

            I met up with Jen, Laurie, Michele, and Glenn at 6 am on Monday and we boarded the buses at Boston Common to head out to the Athlete's Village. We had planned to hang out in the shot put cage, but thankfully, Jen opted for one of the large tents, as the skies did not look good, it was cold (42 degrees, feels like 37), and already windy. We were fortunate to have arrived at the village early to secure a spot to lay down our mats and garbage bags. Within a half hour, the skies opened up in Hopkinton; it was pouring and windy. We discussed race strategy; we were pretty much planning to stick to our goals and go for it. Hey, if we fell short, it was already expected because of the weather. There was nothing to lose. It's the Boston Marathon! You only get so many of them. I have a little stone with the word Courage on it that I picked up in Japantown in January; I've put it in my back pocket for a few big races this year. While I love the symbolism of the courage in my back pocket, I purposely left it in the hotel room. I didn't need it anymore as an external entity. On my arm, I had two bracelets: hope.  and endurance. (Hope is my aunt's name; Endurance is self explanatory in a marathon, but also about resiliency which is Boston.)

 

            The rain broke and we eventually made our way to the starting corrals. Our throw away clothing was kept on until the last possible moment as it was quite cold and windy. A gal in my corral took the jacket I discarded to run with for the first few miles. Some people never discarded their throw away clothing or garbage bags; it wasn't quite the CIM monsoon year, but it was far from ideal running conditions. I took a few pictures in my corral, put my phone away, and that would be it for the race. The photos in my mind would have to suffice.  I was overwhelmed with gratitude. Shitty weather be damned! I was about to run the Boston Marathon and I was going to enjoy it! I was ready to push myself and take it all in! I was running this year solo, no music, just the crowds of my fellow runners and the crowds of spectators to carry me along.

 

            I crossed the start line a bit after 10:28 am from wave 2, corral 6. I had a Boston specific pace band to follow, giving me a sense of which miles should be faster and which would have some hills, looking at this each mile to keep me in check. The first mile is always fairly congested; I don't think you can run it very fast even if you tried. I just went with the crowd, careful to not expend energy weaving and bobbing. I focused instead on the spectators, who were thick in Hopkinton, despite the crap weather. I was happy to be moving as I was quite cold. My plan was to keep my throwaway gloves for a couple of miles until I warmed up. The first mile was done in 8:11. That's what I wanted to start. As I warmed up and the running crowd became slightly less so, I picked up my pace (plan was 7:45-8 for the first half and 8-8:15 for the second half, save Heartbreak). Three miles in when it was time to start eating, I took off my throwaway gloves. I tucked them into the side of my Spibelt. I figured if they stayed there, it wouldn't hurt. (I had a flashback to Jen during the freeze CIM 2013, regretting dumping her gloves early in the race. This was coupled with recalling how cool Boston could get as you hit Brookline and then Boston proper with the winds, as well as a forecast that was supposed to deteriorate further.)

 

            There was a light rain and light winds; it was cool. The rains would progress as the race did, as would the winds, making the race colder as we traversed the eight cities to Bolyston. I ate every three miles like clockwork- 3 power gel blasts, taking in water at the next two aid stations, then a gatorade at the third before starting the process again. It was more than I've consumed in any other marathon; I followed the plan I was given to try to ensure I did not bonk from nutrition. There were fewer spectators due to the weather conditions, but it was really only noticeable in the outer towns. The town centers were thick with crowds, cheering adults and children offering oranges, Popsicles, twizzlers, high fives, and encouragement by the boatload! The areas in between were a bit quieter. There were fewer parties on front lawns. But still, there were more spectators than in any other race. During my third running of Boston, I was able to pick up on set signs and set spectating parties at set locations. I loved the familiarity. The crowds did not disappoint. My name for the day was "USA" as that's what was on my tank top in bright neon yellow to match my shorts. As I'd run by, people would call out "Go USA!" or start chants of "U S A, U S A, U S A!!!" I'd chosen the perfect shirt for Patriot's Day! When I had the energy, I'd raise my right fist and pump it to the chants with them! There is no better race to be able to engage the crowds and to help propel you along.

 

Miles 1-6: 8:11, 7:56, 7:47, 7:33, 7:52, 7:38

5K 24:47 (7:58); 10K 48:55 (7:52)

 

            While I was running Boston for time this year, I was also cognizant of the lessons of 2014. The ability to celebrate that race was immeasurable. So I would expend the extra energy to celebrate as well - an occasional high five, extra thanks to the volunteers at the aid stations, responding to the crowds when they called out to me, and lots and lots of smiles along the way. I can't help but feel chills as I run Boston- the excited, happy kind, the kid on Xmas morning, the first kiss. My heart is full; it's overflowing. I am working hard to be sure, pushing my physical limits, staying in tune with my race plan and my pacing. But I run this race with nothing but utter joy. Sure it's raining and I'm soaking wet, the wind is brewing and periodically giving me a swift kick in the face, I'm colder than I should be. But I would endure worse, much worse, physically, to have the pleasure only Boston can provide. I figure if the spectators can show up and stay out in this shit, well so can I! The miles keep ticking along and the cities keep passing by- I pass Santa around mile 7, Elvis hanging out and singing in Natick at mile 10 (was that Vegas-like Welcome to Fabulous Natick sign always there?). I pass inspirational runners or they pass me: several blind athletes, wheelchair athletes, runners on prosthetic legs. The Scream Tunnel at Wellesley can be heard from the start of mile 12. As I approach the college, I'm looking for my sign; they made me one, "Run, Rhino, Run!" The signs were a bit wet, so that may be why I missed mine, or maybe just the sheer volume of signs to scan? I'd hate to run Boston and skip the kisses at Wellesley altogether; no regrets, you know. I have to find just the right, "Kiss Me, I'm Blank"  sign; so many choices!!! I settle on a gal from Los Angeles (no luck in finding a Northern Califormia girl, and I did once live there!) and one from Little Rhody (that's Rhode Island - where I was born) for my two kisses of the day. Greetings, celebrations, and continuing on! (That was still with running a 7:50 mile, mind you!)

 

Miles 7-13: 7:35, 7:51, 7:52, 7:54, 7:49, 7:50

15K 1:13:09 (7:50), 20K 1:37:45 (7:51), 13.1 1:43:04 (7:51)

 

            I'm right on pace through the first half. Nutrition and fueling are good. I'm feeling strong. I'm managing the weather. I'm taking in the experience. As I hit downtown Wellesley, I'm on the lookout for some locals I met on the T the day before; 30 + minutes crammed in on a T can make fast friends. It was a gal with her daughter and her daughter's friend (who were my younger daughter's age). They aren't runners, but come out and spectate the race each year, cheering on random strangers. They are the heart of New England on Patriot's Day!  I spot them through the crowds outside the town library- give my shout out to Sarah and the girls, which they return with excitement! Raining, but my heart is soaring! Next up, it's time to find my friend Brad who said he would be between miles 14-15. He is in my running group at home and his wife is running Boston. I spot him cheering and clicking away with his camera just before mile 15. I get a quick bear hug from him and get a bonus greeting from Dave (Brad's friend that I've  hung out with a few times). I think the random strangers and volunteers on the Boston course can provide all the support one might need, but it's a power surge to have your own support crew on hand! The heart of mine was coming up just before mile 17, right after I conquered the first of the Newton Hills. Just after mile 16, I pass the sign to Providence, getting a bit teary with thoughts of my aunt and my father. A short bit later, I am scanning the crowds past the hospital for my crew. They are in the usual spot, soaking wet. I hug my cousins Julie (a veteran spectator and Framingham resident) and Nichole (on my mother's side, spectating her first Boston, coming up from Rhode Island for the day), my uncle Cap, my daughters, and my husband. My 14 yo is emotional as I hug and kiss her, telling me she loves me. I guess it must be raining quite a fair amount as I get wet hugging them; the pictures I saw later confirm that thought. I am bolstered by their energy and their pride in me; I'm so grateful they are tolerating pretty bad spectating conditions for my sake. I look forward to seeing them again at mile 25, but first the rest of the Newton Hills await!

 

            The second Newton Hill hits during the 18th mile. Last year and in 2013, ice and a Popsicle save me through this hill, as the warmth of each day and the energy expended hit. There was still a guy half way up the hill offering ice and random kids offering Popsicles; I passed - I was chilled enough! Though not my slowest mile of the day, I do feel in retrospect, that I worked harder that mile to stay focused and to maintain my pace than Heartbreak. Mile 19 offers a breather in between the Newton Hills. Unfortunately, this becomes where the weather worsens. Already, it has steadily been raining, I am soaked to the core. Much of the race has been about avoiding the puddles that are increasing in size on the road, trying to not have completely sloshed in shoes (an unsuccessful feat given the copious amount of potholes from New England winters). The wind has been present, but only with periodic stronger gusts, so manageable. The temps are probably in the mid 40s, but “feels like” is dropping steadily. The rain kicks up and the winds slam me in the face. I think I might finally be experiencing the 20 mph headwinds. Wait! I got it! This is RAW!!! I start to get gradually colder and colder. At least this section through Newton is teeming with spectators to cheer us through the hills; they are not deterred by the weather. We will all persevere!  The third Newton hill is gone and I hit the 20 mile mark (2:39) – just barely holding on to the pace I need for my 3:30. At last, Heartbreak Hill stretches out before me. It will not take me this day – not the hill, not the wind, not the rain, nothing! I’m working hard but make it up Heartbreak, dropping my slowest mile for the race – but still a fantastic 8:45 (beating this mile by 0:45 over 2013). The end of Heartbreak is never quite as glamorous as you want it to be. I know by my watch that I have crested the summit, but there are only a few murmurs by the spectators and a small sign on the left side of the road to signal its end.

 

Mile 14-21: 7:58, 8:07, 7:44, 8:23, 8:24, 8:00, 8:27, 8:44

25K 2:02:42 (7:53), 30K 2:28:32 (7:58), 35K 2:54:50 (8:02)

 

            A quarter mile after the summit of Heartbreak Hill, I reach Boston College. This is the time to pick up the pace and leave anything I have left out on the course. I have been shivering for a couple of miles since RAW hit at mile 19. I finish up some more food at mile 21. I have decided I am done eating because an attempt at warmth is more vital at this juncture. I know my manual dexterity to get food out of my belt will be gone the minute I revisit the gloves. The white wool throwaway gloves are soaked; I wring them out as best I can and thread them through my fingers on to my hands. Yes! That is so very much better and warmer. The goal has become to push the pace and avert hypothermia. Full race mode is on! The BC kids are quieter this year, but the ones who are braving the elements are still their usual drunk selves. (The win goes to Wellesley this year for volume; BC won for me in 2013 and 2014). They provide a few “USA” chants. I push to take advantage of the slight descent, while returning what cheers I can. Somewhere in the past few miles, I have discovered the road and am working on actually running the tangents (in the past I have always found Boston so congested, making it nearly impossible to see anything that would allow for running of the tangents).

 

I am flying for a bit. Man, it hurts; my quads, my hips, I can feel it! But finally, I have hit this part of the race and I have something left to give (this is where I fell apart in 2013). I make it to Cleveland Circle, thinking of my aunt who had been spectating there last year. I am just giving whatever I have left. The winds are fighting me, the rains are continuing, but the love remains on course and that still holds more sway. Brookline was a wasteland in 2014 as runners started to fall off and struggle due to the heat. Brookline again is a wasteland in 2015 as runners struggle with the weather and impending hypothermia. I am passing red bibs (1^st corral; they started 25 minutes before me), garbage bag clad runners, the walking wounded. Each mile has a medical station – they are dispensing heat sheets like candy. I am freezing, but it’s too early to make that fashion statement. In this stretch, I spot and pass Michele, trying to encourage her. I continue forward, towards Boston.

 

Mile 22-25: 7:58, 8:05, 8:11, 8:19

40 K 3:20:41 (8:04)

 

            Just before mile 25, you cross over the Mass Turnpike with a glimpse of Fenway on your right and the famous Citgo sign up on the left. The crowds have been thick through Brookline, but they cannot match the energy and mass of Boston proper! My family will be somewhere in this next mile, so I am heavily scanning the crowd. I am well aware of where I am in terms of the clock. I know the sub 3:30 will not be mine today; I will finish a minute or two over that goal. There might have been times when this would signal some disappointment for me. It is not during the 119^th running of the Boston Marathon though; it is not April 20^th, 2015. I’m not even sure that that sense of disappointment still exists within me. Perhaps it was replaced with gratitude long ago. I know my effort was spot on and I know I ran a solid race from start to finish. I pushed in challenging conditions and still managed to absorb all that Boston signifies for me over those hours. I finally spot my family near the Kenmore station, going up to them, hugging each one briefly before running on. In the video captured by my sling man husband, he’s telling me to not stop and go on; I explained later I knew where I was and the hugs were well worth the added time. I head on down the final underpass as a text comes across my watch: “Bolyston look left.” I had warned my cousin Andrew that texts would appear on my watch, but only three words. I take the right on Hereford for the final hill, staying to my left (whoops – missed my uncle Walter, cousin Mary-Ellen, and her daughter Emma Hope in the process as they were on the right; I was looking for them with the mile 25 crew).  I take a tight final left turn on to Bolyston. My cousin Andrew and his wife Erin are cheering outside a bar on my left, helping with a final push on my journey!

 

            Bolyston is wide and open ahead of me for the final stretch. I return to my preferred right side of the road to engage the crowd. This time I initiate the “U S A” chants and they come along with me for the ride! I shout, “I love you Boston!” This is joy. This is love. This is gratitude. This is the only place I ever want to be on the 3^rd Monday in April. I am moving with the energy of the crowd. I cross the finish line at the F, arms raised, large smile on my face. Thank you!

 

Mile 26: 8:34, 0.47 – 7:46

 

Official: 26.2  3:32:05 (8:06)

#352/1985 AG F40-44, #2767/12022 F, #10830/26610 OA

 

            As in prior years, Bolyston quickly becomes a wind tunnel the minute you cross the finish line. I was already shivering in the final miles, so this worsens. I exercise patience and thank the volunteers giving out water, thank Sandy who puts my medal over my neck, and smile for my post race photos. But, I find my angel who wraps a warm race cape around me. I am fortunate to be a couple of blocks from my hotel and warm up within minutes of stepping indoors (though my shoes stay wet for days). The day concludes in perfect fashion with a dinner for 13 with my family in the North End and a final mint chip cannoli from Mike’s Pastry with champagne. I can’t wait to continue the tradition in 2016. While missing my ideal goal of 3:30, I did set my PR at Boston (previously 3:39 from 2013), clocked my 3^rd fastest marathon of 16, and obtained another Boston qualifying time (BQ-12:55), which gives me the ticket back for next year. More importantly, I had a wonderful celebration for 26.2 miles with the fine people of Boston and my family and friends!

 

Love and Running in SacTown: Pacing CIM 2016

                CIM for the past few years has been my pacing gig. My racing season is done for the year, but I still love running the race, being out on course, and hopefully being of use to someone I care about. The past two years, I have paced my friend Lorena. In the spring of 2016, I committed to pacing my husband Jim. I repaid his immense help during my bike training for Ironman Coeur d’Alene by training him through the fall months in preparation for his 2^nd marathon. It would be his second “one and done” marathon, the last having been San Francisco in 2010, which had been a success with the 4:56 finish (sub 5 was the goal). To this day, SF 2010 serves as one of my favorite races of all time. It was an experience I treasured- how often can you be part of helping someone to finish their first marathon? It’s an emotional experience and one that bonds you. I think Jim and I are fairly welded together, but all the hours of training solidify us even more and serve to strengthen our relationship.

                I had a goal in mind for the race, thinking Jim could run around a 4:15. Jim had no stated goal, save for wanting to not have a death march in the final miles. I was not confident in that goal; running volume had had to be sacrificed in the course of training due to what his body could handle. We still had to rely on his skills as a cyclist to supplement his cardio, along with a few dashes of stubbornness (which I think we must cultivate in our garden at home). In the months before CIM, Jim had made me exceedingly proud, dropping PRs at every distance he raced: half marathon, 20 miler, 10K. During some of those races, I had to get my butt in gear so he didn’t beat me (I knew I’d never hear the end of it if he did!). We were both calm going into the race; I am confident in my pacing skills, and I think Jim figured he’d either be able to execute it or he wouldn’t. Worrying wouldn’t change that.

                Race morning, we picked up Lorena and drove to the shuttle pick-up downtown. Lorena’s BQ attempt was shelved weeks ago, though she also has a decent coach J , after struggling with a hip injury/IT band issues that were impairing both speed training and distance/volume. While waiting at the Sheraton, we saw many friends: Azi and Karen (who nabbed a WS spot the day before!)  from my ACME running group, Ted from my Boston group (supporting his nieces and wife), and Carla (who Lorena and I run with at ungodly hours of the morning). We boarded the bus to the start quickly, avoiding the sheeple lines by getting on at 13^th, and I sit down next to Gary (last seat on the bus). Gary and I met on a bus to Big Sur in 2013 (both doing Boston to Big Sur and both from Elk Grove); it was good to catch up. We arrive at the start around 5:30 am. It is cold out. We use the facilities in porta potty heaven, then join Lorena and Carla with their running group friends (which have an interior space). While there, I meet Yateesh – a Strava friend from the Bay Area who is running CIM as his first marathon; this was not planned! Pre race, we also meet up with some running group friends: Nattu, Jenni, India, then chat with Jen and Laurie (my Boston girls).

 

                Jim and I line up by the 4:08 pacer. The options were 4:08 or 4:23. My plan is an opening half of 9:30-9:45 miles, with a planned fade on the back half to still allow for a potential 4:15 finish without too much pain. Jim is cold, I am sure I will be overheated quickly – it’s 37 degrees (warm, right?). Announcements are made and we are off just after 7 am, waving and smiling to the camera right after we cross the start line. Jim has kept his music a touch lower volume than usual, which facilitates more conversation than I had anticipated. The first mile is downhill at CIM, but we are controlled with at a  9:36 pace. The goal is that the miles should feel easy, or at least manageable for some time. The course is crowded, but we just stay to the right, in line with where the first turn will be on to Oak Ave.

Just before the turn, Jim spots our friend Pahla, her cute curly blond ponytails and running skirt being easy to see. We turn up the hill. I speed up for a second to greet Pahla and wish her well with her race, then resume my pacing gig. The course remains thick and crowded, with rollers being the name of the game. Jim is faster on the uphills, but moderates the down hills; this is the opposite of my usual running effort. On one hill, I spot my friend Stephanie to the right. I slide over to her to wish her well; I am fairly sure it is her first marathon.  And on we roll, holding back a bit to not overdo the pace.

 

We reconnect with Pahla in the 4th mile and run together for a bit. She is unsure of her race strategy for the day,  so is starting out patiently. The chatter over the next mile serves as a distractor. She starts eventually picking up the pace a bit, we hold back to maintain the plan and wish her well. Pahla will go on to drop a PR, her first BQ, and a jumbo negative split- so happy for her! (And her husband and son also have stellar races!)  At mile 5, I have Jim take nutrition and this will continue every 5 miles, with water at aid stations along the way and the rare Nuun (because, I mean, have you tasted that crap?). Stay on top of fueling and pacing. Patience, patience.

Miles 1-6: 9:36, 9:30, 9:26, 9:36, 9:27, 9:35.

We turn the corner on to Fair Oaks and the usual relay trade off spot is nowhere to be seen, which actually helps to declutter the course. We cross the 10K mat in 59:09 (9:32); right on target! It all feels comfortable and Jim has no complaints. As we near the town of Fair Oaks, I am keeping my eyes open for a friend. I end up seeing another friend Deanna spectating at mile 8.5 with her daughter. I give her a big hug and congratulate her on the WS100 entry she received the day before! I reconnect with Jim and we are off to the hills of Fair Oaks Village. Time to fuel again. Out of the village on the downhill, crossing Sunrise, then up again. We talk about the rollers and how people fail to note this is a modestly hilly course- it's not fast because it's flat! Around here, I spot my friend Jon who is spectating for his wife (she will finish just behind us and grab a monster PR).

The 12th mile seems more challenging, maybe the climbing is a bit steeper or longer or it is because it comes after a quick descent? We maintain the pace, but are working slightly harder. As we near the half way point, I spot an archway ahead. The placement doesn't seem right to me as we are a half a mile out from the halfway point and the arch seems closer. My instinct is correct; it's placed closer to mile 12.8, proclaiming the "Middle Miles"! WTF?!? We do then cross the timing mat a bit up the road for the 13.1 mile point: 2:05:35 (9:36 pace). This is where I want us to be; I estimated between 2:05-2:07 for the half. Jim is satisfied with the time. I spot a friend of Lorena's spectating and we greet each other (I will see him and a handle of her other friends at their group aid stations throughout the day). Running group friends Rich and Susan are just past them; I give them quick hugs before Jim and I turn left to continue on Fair Oaks.

Miles 7-13: 9:37, 9:38, 9:38, 9:33, 9:28, 9:41, 9:30.

We agreed he could pick up the pace if he wanted to anytime after the halfway mark. Jim is feeling fair and we dropped a speedier mile 14. Then he requests to maintain the pace range at our 9:30-9:45 until at least mile 20. I resume metronome mode. Jim has no discreet complaints and he continues to move along. There is another unwarranted and poorly placed inflatable arch somewhere in the 15th mile. We pass a high school band. We pass aid stations that are really close together. Jim is familiar with the area- reporting he's waited here a lot in the past. Ha! I'm only used to running through! There will be no spectating for Jim today and no stopping, so on we go!

 

We are in the no-man's land, those dreaded miles of the marathon: 15-20. There's is not yet enough to look forward to, you are not yet far enough along, it is too early to count down. You're just working with no end in sight. And your body fights you. Doubt creeps in. Frustration builds. You notice aches and pains. Your ankle is acting up. Well, these are not my thoughts in the moment, but I've been there enough times in my 23 prior marathons . So I imagine the thoughts starting to cascade through Jim's mind. I can see he is starting to struggle. He periodically expresses some doubts, just a few words here and there. I remain encouraging. And for whatever he may be thinking and feeling, for whatever spike in effort he may be expending, the pace stays steady. He'll slow for part of the mile, but then regroups and it levels off, and we have reached the goal by the end of the mile. Another running friend Mitch comes by in this wasteland, running the 3rd leg of the relay. I wish him well. Then I spot Jon again.

The marathon is unwinding slowly. I remind Jim he is doing great, we remain on target. I have built in a buffer and the time goal is my theoretical one, not his. I know he wants to avoid that final slog, but it is a near inevitability. We work to postpone it, though I know it is getting harder for his body to cooperate. I try to get him to eat, but it is getting harder. The aches are building up, his heart rate is creeping up. He is struggling by mile 19. The time fade is slight with a 10:01 mile. The push to mile 20 is getting harder. We cross the timing mat in 3:13:23 (9:41 pace). We are still on pace, but I know this is unraveling. Now my work begins.

Miles 14-20: 9:22, 9:41, 9:36, 9:39, 9:44, 10:01, 10:24.

I spot my friends Wendy and Angie just past the fake "wall" at mile 20.5 (yes, that’s where I would choose to put it!), grab hugs from them both, before resuming work. We will see and greet them again a mile later as they ride their bikes down the course. Jim wants to take more walk breaks. His ankle is hurting, he is dizzy, he is tired. He feels his heart rate going too fast. He will eventually start wheezing (I am the only one in the family with asthma). We traverse the bridge on J St, eking out the final climb on the course. We just need to keep moving! “You’re doing great! You’ve got this! I’m proud of you!” I just want him to keep going. He is fighting me more. He is becoming more pessimistic. We are passing through the start of the Run to Feed the Hungry course that I ran last week. There is a slight descent; I might be the only one who notices. I start to see the numbered streets, but we are in the upper 50s. It is too early to start counting down to anything (the final turn will be on 8^th).

 

There is so very little left- 5 miles, then 4 miles, then 3 miles. Any other day, it would be nothing. But today, it is daunting. It seems insurmountable. I am just trying to count down the streets, count down the miles, get Jim to our next promised spectators at 36^th . There is music playing – it’s a song about Dancing that desperately needs to be added to my next running playlist. So I oblige! I start singing and dancing. Somewhere earlier on course in the middle miles, I had a little dance interlude, dancing to someone blasting “Shout” – “You make me want to shout!” I had fun, there were no objections. But, my 2^nd dancing moment is so not appreciated. I am told to stop it, accused of taunting. I was solely trying to provide some entertainment and distraction (and it served those purposes in my prior pacing gigs). I try not to take the barking personally. Jim is having his mile 62 Kettle moment. You don’t want to be where you’re at, the idea of going on seems too much, you’ve come so far, but the finish seems an unbearable distance away still. It is the final miles that test us.

Jim is just struggling. I stop dancing and continue running, run, walking. I drop the cheerleader mode as it’s not wanted. Thankfully we are approaching 36^th St. I spot our spectators! I go run to get a hug from Julie and from Marta. Jim follows to take the only hugs he will on course. He needs something other than me to bolster him. It is enough to keep moving forward. We head to the 24^th mile, take a couple of turns, and go by Sutter Hospital, under the freeway. He is walking again, his heart rate is spiking, he is wheezing. I tell Jim there are just 1.75 miles left. He tells me I’m lying, that he has a watch. Apparently, he heard 1.25 miles. And here I thought I was being clever – because 1.75 miles sounds so much better than 22 blocks before the final turns. I try to get Jim to take some fluid at the next aid station, but he is done. He worries he won’t be able to keep anything down. He will walk, then run for a bit. I stay next to him, follow his pace.

 

There are 1.5 miles left, then 2 K left, then 1.2 miles. We are progressing, but progress is slow. Jim goes from angry and barking to apologetic, as though this would disappoint me. I say we can still manage a 4:22 as he laments the passing of the 4:15 goal. I am back to encouraging. Less than a mile out and I see my friend Katy pacing the 4:23 group; she is doing a spot on pacing gig and I wish her well to the finish. Jim tries to stay with them, runs for a bit, then falters. We are back to the alternating run, walk. I know he feels as though this is the death march, but it remains respectable, even as he feels it becoming slower than the actual numbers indicate.

The streets continue to descend. We are at 15^th, the edge of Capitol Park. This is the home stretch. We move for a bit, then he has to catch his breath and slow his heart rate. Up ahead I can see an inflatable arch- I know damn well that’s not the finish line, but it’s typical for the placement of these monsters that eat at hope for those who don’t know the course better. I spot my running friends Vickie, Dave, and Rich – quickly hug Vickie and Dave (as Rich already got his hug at 13.1), and go through the arch at mile 25.9. Jim is picking up the pace. The road has narrowed as spectators close us in. Ted shouts out to us before we finally turn on to 8^th. We have passed the 26 mile marker.  Jim is sailing down 8^th. I am working to keep up with him and stay next to him as the spectators continue to narrow the path. Erica calls out and cheers us in!  The CIM finish has two chutes: females the first left, males the second left. A volunteer tries to direct me to the female chute. My reply is simple, ”I’ve run 26 miles with my husband, I’m finishing with him!” We take the final (male) left turn together and the Finish Line is in sight. Jim is moving and running towards it and we cross together!

Miles 21-26.29: 10:53, 11:17, 11:06, 11:03, 11:41, 11:37, 9:34.

Final official time: 4:23:07 (10:03) for 26.2 miles (Garmin 26.29 miles 10:01 pace. +669 ft, -984 ft).

 

                We are awarded our medals by an older gentleman with a Boston 2016 jacket; yes, sometimes we choose our volunteers. We continue through the finishing chute. Jim is struggling; he is dizzy and light headed. I get him some water, but he doesn’t want food. He does want our picture taken together and manages big smiles for that. He just wants to sit. We struggle through the crowds and I manage to find him a bench, get our gear bags, and return to him. Jim is wondering if he should have headed to medical, as he is that dizzy. After a bit of sitting, he is doing slightly better, so we move out of the area and walk slowly back to the car. He is eventually rescued by an Horchata. After regrouping, we connect with Lorena (who pops out of a restaurant); she had a tough race with pain the back half and hip issues. We then join the speedy girls Jen, Laurie, and Sabrina for lunch and drinks, taking a little bit of time to catch up and celebrate before they had to fly out of town.

 

                The race is over and Jim is happy to have finished it, despite the tough patches, despite the unusual physical symptoms in those final miles. And I am immensely proud of what he did; I certainly would have never run that time on his training volume. He dropped an impressive 33 minute PR. We talked after the race about how we are each built for different things, for different strengths, for different capabilities. Some may thrive on speed and short distance, while others are endurance queens (like the speedy girls). And maybe, we should seek to excel at what our bodies excel at best rather than at certain distances, like the glorified marathon. And at the end of the day, Jim is satisfied. By the next day, he’s not feeling too bad. Physically, he is recovering without sequelae. Mentally, he is in good spirits. There is something decidedly wonderful about finishing a marathon and besting your prior time (by a lot!). And Jim thinks about what he might have been able to do differently in the months pre-race. It is not a thought of regret, but one of possibility. And when I register myself for CIM 2017, he holds back, but the wheels are turning.

Donate to Project Purple!

I will be running the 2017 Boston Marathon in honor of my father John Kehoe as I raise funds for Project Purple to combat pancreatic cancer. My father passed away in September of 2011, four months after his diagnosis of pancreatic cancer, suffering from a quick decline. Pancreatic cancer is now the 3rd leading cause of cancer deaths in the country and is sadly notable for having an exceedingly low survival rate. It is not just a statistic for me or for my family. I appreciate any support you can provide in my fundraising campaign. Most of you who know me know what my father meant to me and what this race means to me.  Follow the link to read more.