A month from today, I will run my 5th Boston Marathon and my 26th lifetime marathon. On April 18, 2016, I was not sure this would even be an opportunity. The 2016 Boston Marathon was a hot one and tested me physically, though more so emotionally, coming two months after the worst marathon I have run in my racing career. I fought every step of the race for 96 seconds, what is better known as a "squeaker BQ". Based on prior year statistics, I left Boston the next day heartbroken, sensing the likelihood of a return to the 2017 Boston Marathon was slim. I tried to grab another BQ, but it was not to be. I would have to sit with my 96 seconds. In late September, my hopes were dashed when the cutoff for the 2017 race was announced as 2:09 under the BQ. I was 33 seconds short.
33 seconds. 33 seconds. It's nothing: a few blinks of a eye, a diversion to grab water, a kiss, a hug. It's more than I could give last April, because I still know gave it all I had that day. And I sat there for a few days, debating what to do. Do I let it go for 33 seconds? Interrupt the dream that is Boston, interrupt the yearly celebration with family, with friends, with a community of runners, with my favorite city? I think those who have run Boston understand, as I know others who are avid runners also understand. Those of us who were there in 2013 understand. It's become such a part of who I am and I am grateful for everything I feel it has given me. I could just let it go. I was confident in my ability to get back in 2018. But, could I just let it go?
The choices were limited to return. I would have to apply for and be accepted by a charity. It sounds simple enough. But, that decision can't come lightly. It's a commitment. I would have to raise between $5,000 and $10,000. I, who has absolutely no fundraising experience, would have to raise a massive amount of money. I, who struggles to ask people for help, would have to ask people to help me - again, and again, and again. I've spent too many years priding myself on the ability to do things by myself, to never have to rely on others. Certainly, I am only too happy to help when others request it, but it's different if I have to suddenly ask. I brainstormed, trying to figure out if the goal was feasible. I brainstormed, thinking about different strategies. Ultimately, I decided, I might as well face my fears, overcome some more of my hang ups, give it my best shot, and apply for a charity bib for Boston. This would be a new challenge, so much different than my comfort in training and racing.
I was fortunate to be offered a spot on the 2017 Project Purple Boston Marathon team, significantly enough, on the day before Thanksgiving. 33 seconds brought me to Project Purple as my father brought me back to the Boston Marathon. I undertook the daunting task of raising my goal of $10,000 to help fight pancreatic cancer, which had taken my dad's life in 2011. And so, over the past many months, I've worked on putting myself out there, asking for what I need. I've worked on my social media presence, my marketing skills, my writing skills, my asking skills. And all the things that seemed so scary back in the Fall have filled my heart in other ways instead. The stories that I've heard in the process of asking and in the process of expressing my gratitude, have filled me more than I could have imagined. Oh, I've shed many a tear and, some days, I've cried a small river. I have been touched by the ways in which we have been able to connect through the challenges we have been through, through our grief, through our sorrow, through the love we have had from those we have lost. So much of what I feel about this journey remains hard to express. The words seem inadequate in light of the gratitude I feel. The generosity, both of heart and in terms of donations, has been overwhelming.
So a month from now, I will toe the line at the Boston Marathon. It will no doubt be an emotional day. My dad will be running with me as I don my Project Purple singlet and as I run through the eight towns on course to the finish line on Bolyston. Each year at Boston is special and each is unique. But, I nearly can't fathom 2017. This won't be a traditional racing year for me. It's not because my body has struggled in recent weeks, thanks to pneumonia. But maybe partly because of that, I return to what this journey is about. It's a thank you to my father, for all that he provided for me, for the love he gave me, for the parts of me that are him. And, so when I run next month, I run for him, for my loss, for my love, but mostly for my gratitude. I am a better person because of him. And, so I thank him for the 33 seconds and for all it has afforded me this year. While the money that we have raised is just a small piece in the greater fight against pancreatic cancer, it is filled with hope.
I have included my race report from the 2016 Boston Marathon: the hardest marathon I have run and the one that brings me back next month.
Rising Boston Strong: 120th Boston Marathon 4/18/2016
It is not the critic who counts; not the
man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds
could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in
the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives
valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no
effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the
deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in
a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high
achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring
greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who
neither know victory nor defeat. – Teddy Roosevelt, 1910
Since January,
I’ve been taking an online course by Brene Brown about vulnerability – about
the risks we take and the falls that may come in the process. She often
references the above Roosevelt quote about the Man in the Arena: if you dare
greatly, sometimes you will face plant, need to wipe off the dust and sweat and
blood, and find a way to rise above and to rise strong. The process has been
challenging at times as I’m forced to examine who I am, why, and where I want
to be. I never thought it would apply to my running. Running was always the
outlet, the means by which I could process life and work through life’s
challenges. Running was my peace, my comfort, my provider of confidence, my
solitude. And then, the LA marathon happened. I was ambitious in my goals and
my plans and I just floundered and fell apart. What ensued was a crisis in my
confidence as relates to my running ability. I found myself face down in the
arena and just had no interest in even thinking about getting up. I would
suddenly find myself stopping runs early, not having much interest in pushing
myself, often just plain not wanting to run. I revamped what I thought was
necessary: I cut back on running, dropping mileage (I was too aggressive for
LAM and I think I had worn my body out), giving myself rest day permissions,
and no longer followed a set schedule. I just wanted my mojo back. I think it
returned in fits and starts, but by mid March, I think I was back on track. And
I say “think”, because, I just didn’t know. I have always been fairly spot on
in knowing what I am capable of athletically. But I just didn’t know when I
might give up or give in; maybe I just didn’t care anymore? The truth is, I
cared too much, and I just wanted that love for running back. I was gradually
getting my paces back, gradually getting back in shape. Two weeks before
Boston, I ran a local half marathon. It was the purest of joys – I pushed hard
and I was back in love. My heart was all in! And I was precisely where I needed
to be heading in to Boston. The 3:30 goal was realistic.
 |
| Cheers to arriving in Boston and being in a dive bar! |
 |
| Seeing Nuria at the Expo! |
My husband and I
flew out on the red-eye, arriving in Boston on April 15th in the
early morning. We were fortunate a room was available and we were able to
settle in before the expo. The expo was uncrowded, so it was a quick pick up
and merchandise selection. I had the pleasure of seeing my friend Nuria; we
have trained with the local Boston 365 training group the past two years. She
is a source of boundless and positive energy that I have come to appreciate
during training runs. The support of the training group and coach Charlie have
been invaluable in pushing me to the limits of my fitness, while providing
encouragement over my rough post- LAM patch. Later in the afternoon, I headed
to the Finish Line where I sat in the stands for roughly an hour. It was the
first year post 2013 that I have been in Boston on April 15th. I
marked it with quiet reflection and emotions across the way from Marathon
Sports. So much of the meaning of Boston to me came from that day, from my
first Boston. In essence, it’s the inspiration of a city and running community
rising strong. The solemnity of the afternoon was followed by celebration,
meeting up with Jen (who I met at Boston 2013) and Laurie for our protein
loading meal at Fogo de Chao.
 |
| The first time being there on the anniversary. |
I was the
official bag holder and spectator for the BAA 5K the next day, managing to
catch photos of Jen, Laurie, my cousins Andrew and Erin, and my uncle Cap. I
only missed my husband who was focused on a bet he had with Andrew; he ended up
on the right side of 4 seconds. While waiting for the race, I was chatting with
a couple of folks. We had an amusing conversation about shoes and psychiatry,
with the guy referencing Billy Rodgers when it came up that I had attended
Wesleyan. I had grabbed a photo with Bill Rodgers (4 time Boston champion) the
day prior, spotting him outside the Nike store. The guy looked vaguely
familiar, but I couldn’t place him and nothing in my conversation suggested I
knew him. In any case, the 5K was a success: solid times and my uncle did the
race while carrying an American flag (he’s 70!). I met up with my family and we
watched the invitational and high school miles; twin brothers crossing in joint
victory with a 4:33 mile was the highlight. My husband Jim and my cousin Julie
and I then headed to lunch and then Fenway. The first pitches were thrown out
by the Rio Olympic marathon qualifiers: Meb, Shalane, Amy, and Desi. Just
before that they announced the John Hancock (race sponsor) team for the
marathon, all being coached by Greg Meyer (1983 Boston champ). It finally
clicked! I had been chatting that morning with Greg Meyer! I didn’t know him,
but had recognized him from Boston Legends talks I have attended at prior
Boston expos. I sent him a message on Facebook and we chatted for a bit- he has
a great sense of humor. I did go see him the following day at his talk; he had
mentioned my custom Boston Cons shoes to Amy Cragg. Cool. So the people you
could randomly meet on a magical weekend in Boston? At the Red Sox game, I got
to chatting with the gentlemen behind me – they were from where I was born in
Rhode Island. Small, inspirational world.
 |
| Greg Meyer! |
 |
| The Rhode Islanders! |
Sunday, I met up
with a couple of my running group friends Azi and Vickie for a bit at the expo.
I later had lunch with my friend Vicki, who I had met on my first bus ride to
the Athlete’s Village in 2013. Dinner was at my cousin Julie’s home, who is
kind enough to host the extended family pre-race each year and to provide me
with my lean protein and veggie meal. I slept well that night and think I had
managed any pre-race anxieties fairly well. I was calm. I knew the conditions
would not be ideal for me, but I had no pretense that I was going to have a
repeat of LAM. I would give it my best shot – because, no matter what I could
execute, this was Boston! The race day temp forecasts were bad – highs in the
70s. The only saving grace might be that the temps would likely cool as the
race progressed and as we ran closer to the ocean, though headwinds would also
likely pick up. In most races with a 7 am start, 70s would be manageable as the
high. But Boston starts at 10 am and my wave would not start until 10:50 am. I
would have to be aggressive in my race management: aggressive with hydrating
and cooling measures, conservative enough with pace, knowing a fade would be
likely. The original 3:30 goal pre-forecast was put to the side. I was aiming
for a 3:40, which would be my BQ-5, to gain entry to the 121st
Boston in 2017 (though a 3:38 would be ideal as that would also qualify me for
NY). My race schedule over the next few months (which culminates at the same
time as the qualifying window for Boston 2017) is hectic with a 100 miler and
an Ironman. I needed to get the BQ here to maintain my streak.
 |
| With Vickie and Azi - my Animals! |
 |
| Family pre-race. |
Race day, up,
ready, dressed in a stylish pair of Oscar the Grouch PJ pants, I walked with Jen
and Laurie to the Common. I later hopped on a bus to the Athlete’s Village,
chatting with “The Legend” a 55 yo woman from Ontario and an Ironman stud. Once
at the village, I felt that magic that is Boston on race morning! I grabbed my
photo at the “It all starts in Hopkinton” sign, used the facilities, then met
up with my girls in a spot of shade. My friend Vicki and her friends from
Washington would later join us. It was warm. I was keeping my layers on so that
I could give myself the illusion of being cool when I finally took them off
(not sure that worked! But I was trying to limit my sunburn!). There was a
woman in a unicorn outfit at the AV; she looked so hot! (Not the sexy hot, but
just hot- 1980s unitard with full leggings.) Our friends had left before us for
the wave 2 start. Finally, it was our turn! Jen and I walked down the road to
the start. It is the only time we have done this walk when we could see the
road – it wasn’t crowded in the least and we were thankfully not rushing to the
start. We used the facilities one last time then proceeded to the starting corrals.
We had finally ditched our throwaway clothing. It was a scorcher! The sun was
shining brightly, there was no cloud cover. A few minutes before the start as
we are taking pictures, I check my weather app: it’s 70 degrees and sunny.
Well, that’s the typical starting weather you want for a marathon! Not! I
didn’t need the app to tell me that; you could easily feel the heat. Control
what you can. Stay calm, take in the race, enjoy the day, push yourself enough
but don’t blow up.
 |
| Mom of 7 Vicki from my first Boston. |
 |
| Jen and Laurie in the Athlete's Village- looks cold, right? |
We were off with
wave 3 which started at 10:50 am. Jen and I crossed the start line at 10:51:26.
I was off on my own as I had to go get that BQ! I know well enough to moderate
that first mile; I don’t fight the crowds, I run with them to avoid the excess
energy expenditure. I did have a water bottle with me to use for the first two
miles until the aid stations started. I had had water and Gatorade prerace and
had eaten more than I usually do to be sure I was fueled. It was easily the
warmest start I have had at Boston. The only upside to the weather is that it
was great for spectating. Boston is always teeming with on course fans, but the
crowds were so amazingly thick throughout. We runners made them spectate in a
storm last year – so they can have a lovely summer day this year! About a mile
in I see Katie from my Boston 365 group and comment on the heat. We go back and
forth every handful of miles until I lose sight of her sometime after
Heartbreak. In prior years I have seen more runners I know on course, but 2016
was a solo venture.
 |
| Jen and I at the start line: 70 degrees! |
Miles 1-5: 8:16, 8:09, 7:52, 7:47, 7:58.
5K 25:14 (8:08)
At mile 5, I
enter Framingham. A large Boston Strong banner is on the left where it has been
the past three years. They are playing my song: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun! I
sing a few words as I pass by, but even that is an energy expenditure that is
hard on this day. Downtown Framingham is teeming with even larger crowds. I see
the commuter rail and a train there to my left- Rosie Ruiz comes to mind at
such moments! Santa is back on the uphill at mile 7. I high five him and put in
my official wish for snow. I continue to work, but am maintaining pace. I eat
every 2-3 miles, taking in electrolyte tablets as well. Elvis is at the Welcome
to Fabulous Natick sign at mile 10; unfortunately I catch him in between sets
and don't have time to ingrain his song choice as I run away. From the start of
mile 12, I start to hear the roar of the Scream Tunnel at Wellesley. The girls
are out in full force half a mile down the road. The signs they made are on the
barricades and the girls are leaning out for kisses. I have had a couple of
signs made (Run Rhino Run and another for my fellow ACME animals). My brain is
working hard to focus, so I skip scanning for the barricade posters. Instead, I
focus on the Kiss Me, I'm ... Signs. I have to choose the right girls! I'm
sorry, but I don't think I'm ever skipping through this section! There are fewer Kiss Me signs- so I kiss a
girl with corporate sponsorship, Kiss Me, Just Do it!. Then to balance my ode
to Nike, I kiss a girl with Kiss Me, I'm a Virgin! Both seemed appreciative-
trust me, I'm cuter than some of the males I saw leaning in for kisses! And I am off! Towards the halfway mark!
Miles 6-12: 8:00, 7:56, 8:01, 8:12, 8:11, 8:18, 8:20
10K 50:08 (8:04). 15K 1:15:24 (8:05)
I pass the half
way mark in 1:47. It is reasonable, conservative, good enough. I continue
through the throngs in downtown Wellesley. I am keeping my eyes open and see
the library. I spot Sarah ahead- give her a big smile, greeting, and wave as
she takes some photos. Sarah is a Wellesley resident and non-runner who cheers
for the marathon each year (we bonded during a cramped ride on the T last
year). This boosts my spirit! I grab an otter pop shortly afterwards, having to
gnaw at it with my teeth to open it. It does serve to help cool me over the
following mile. Later I drop some ice in my sports bra. I am doing whatever I
can to stay hydrated and to try to cool my core. I feel myself struggling by
mile 15. This is hard. I am aggressively hydrating and fueling. I continue to
dump water on my head and down my back.
 |
| Yes, I can smile through anything! It's still Boston! |
I hit the first
of the Newton hills in mile 16, heading up towards the 95 over crossing. My
pace is dropping. I am working harder than I should be this early. Usually I am
buoyed by the Providence sign, getting emotional with thoughts of my father and
aunt. I miss the big sign, barely catch the tiny sign for it as I focus all my
energy on moving up the hill towards the Portsmouth sign. It is really warm,
likely mid 70s but warmer feeling with the bright sunlight. The past 16 miles of moving near an 8 minute
pace in this heat are wearing me down physically. I have conserved my energy as
best possible, limiting my interactions with the crowds. They are part of what
fuels me at Boston; they fuel me in a way no other race does. But I can't repay
that favor today. Instead of greeting and high fiving the spectators, all I can
do is pay attention to the road ahead, to maintaining the pace, to safely make
it in and out of aid stations. Gatorade in, water in, water over the head.
Rinse and repeat a mile later. I do take added water in between aid stations-
opting for kids as they seem to enjoy the successful pass off as much as I
appreciate the quench of my thirst. I
refocus on the crowd as I near Newton Wellesley Hospital, scanning for my
family. I spot them! I give hugs to my husband, my cousin Julie, my uncle Cap,
my cousin Nichole (as I introduce myself to her fiancé in passing - hi Ben!),
and my friend Vickie! Always well worth the hug by! I take the encouragement I
get and run on. I think only my husband Jim picks up on how I am struggling; he
knows how hard this heat is for me and he has picked up on the very slow fade
in my pace.
 |
| My uncle Cap at mile 17. |
Miles 13-17: 8:20, 8:14, 8:31, 8:17, 8:48.
20K 1:41:24 (8:09) 13.1 1:46:58 (8:09) 25K 2:07:36 (8:13)
After 17, we
make one of the few on course turns on to Commonwealth. I've run this race
three prior times and on this forth time pick up the famous fire station at
this corner. They have a misting tunnel that I happily run through - anything
to cool myself off. Throughout the rest of the course, I gravitate to any
sprinklers, hoses, sprayers on course, anything that might cool me and stave
off my demise in the heat. The winds have picked up since the half way point
and they are a headwind, maybe 10-15 mph. They have the slightest cooling
effect- I'll withstand the wind resistance for anything at this juncture. I
know I need to just get through these hills, then maybe I’ll be okay. Maybe it
will be cooler and I'll have some legs left. The second Newton Hill is
conquered without fanfare. I move to the left side of the road before mile 19,
looking for the John Kelley statue for my next rendezvous. The crowds are thick
through here, but I am scanning, scanning, scanning. I never do see the John
Kelley statue, but do spot and yell out to my cousins Erin and Andrew, wave,
smile, and run on! The third Newton Hill- I grab another Popsicle. The gal had
all colors in her hand- but leans out with a purple one- darn it, I wanted the
green! It's really not the time to be picky- but these are about the level of
deep thoughts running through my mind by this juncture. Purple is still
slightly cooling. Mile 20 in 2:47. I am really off pace and fading and still
have Heartbreak ahead.
Heartbreak Hill won't
take me down today, though it will be my slowest mile of the race, as it should
be. It ends up being the only mile above a 9 minute pace, so respectable. I eat
watermelon on the way up; anything to cool myself. I think of my friend Lorena,
who doesn't like watermelon (but will one day run this race with me). I do not
walk up Heartbreak. In fact, I do not walk for a millisecond of the race. Often
I have been known to walk or stop briefly at the end of an aid station in races
to ensure the fluid I am grabbing actually gets in my mouth. But I cannot take
such chances today. I will take whatever mess the Gatorade slosh does to me and
whatever misses from the water cups. I know I cannot stop. If I stop for one
single solitary second, I am unsure if I could start up again. If I give in to
an ounce of the walk, I will be right back at LAM. Walking would be so much
easier than this level of discomfort. I just don't trust myself. So run it is,
and run is all it will be until I cross that finish line.
 |
| Just focusing and working to survive the heat. |
I hit Boston
College at the top of Heartbreak. They are loud and cheering. In the annual
battle of BC vs Wellesley on course, I'm calling it a tie for 2016. Thank you!
But I have to keep moving. Some kids are giving red roses; this is new. I think
about grabbing one, but it is an energy expenditure I don't have and I can't
fathom where I would put the rose for the next 5 miles. My brain cannot process
simple equations at this juncture. Past BC, I notice the cemetery on the right;
there was some story I read recently about Boston and making it to the
cemetery. The littering of rose petals along the course seems an homage. I stay
to my left, doing my best with the downhill and left turn to Cleveland Circle.
The green line is there and calling for me!
Miles 18-22: 8:55, 8:36, 8:53, 9:35. 8:45. 30K 2:35:02 (8:19).
35K 3:03:19 (8:25).
I pushed so hard
through this section last year vs my fade here in 2013. This year I am working
hard. My legs are in such pain between the heat and the ups and downs of the
prior 22 miles. My heart and lungs are struggling. I don't think it's my
asthma, but my breathing has become agonal. I am suddenly that person I can't
stand running next to during a race: panting heavily with each breath, with
gasps of air with each inhalation. It sounds ghastly as though each were my
last breath. I catch myself momentarily, trying to slow it down, stop the
gasping, but then I'm back at it because it's all that keeps me moving. I think
it has cooled somewhat, but I am so far past the point of being overheated that
I feel no relief. I know I'm running the race of my life. This is the hardest
marathon I have run. This is the most effort I have had to sustain. I am
running a very very fine line- get that time to get back here or pass out
trying. I have picked up my pace from the hills. I am doing the absolute best I
can. I take in what I can of the crowds. Damn you Boston! Damn you! I love
these fucking crowds! I just want to come back and be part of this again. You
know I wouldn't run this redline for any other city or race on the world!
 |
| Coming down Hereford before the final turn. |
I hit the 40K
mark and head over the Mass Turnpike. 1.25 miles to go. I honestly don't know
if I can make it. My body is in such bad shape at this juncture. My legs are in
pain. My breathing is beyond labored. My head is not right. I can't think
clearly. Just 1.2 miles to go. I am not looking at my watch and haven't in a
few miles. I know I am pushing as hard as I physically can. There is no more
effort to give. I'm giving you all I have Boston! I reach Kenmore Square. I am
scanning the crowd and stay to my right, but know I won't divert for hugs this
time. Every second counts at this juncture and every ounce of energy counts. I
have nothing to spare on either count. I spot Jim and wave to him and my
cousins and uncle, flash the best approximation of smile I can. I so appreciate
their presence, but feel I have nothing to give.
We head down
under Mass Ave. I catch a fellow runner as he starts to puke his guts out. I
have not mentioned the carnage on course, but it is the worst I have seen with
runners down and with the walking dead. I feel one step above death warmed
over, but I have been passing people left and right for miles and miles and
miles. I turn on Hereford and stay to my right. There are no runners on the
right. I easily spot my uncle Walter and my cousins Mary Ellen, Emma, and
Stephen. I throw my hands up in greeting and give a big smile! Woo hoo! I am
almost there! My uncle grabs a great
picture. He will later be surprised when he hears about how I was struggling-
"you looked so good!" Marathonfoto
has the evidence of my whole race. I am energized though by catching my final
cheerleaders! Let's get this done!
 |
| The finish is in sight and I have reached my favorite corner in all of racing. |
I turn the final
corner on to Boylston. This is my favorite spot for race photos- the firehouse
at Hereford and Boylston is just behind me- I stretch out my arms and flash the
grandest smile I can! This is THE best turn in any race. The crowds on Boylston
are deep - as thick as they were in 2013. The energy is electric. I glance at
my watch, flipping the screen to check my overall time. This is a mistake as
the clock bears 3:41:xx. I have not yet reached the 26 mile marker. I am
cutting this BQ way too close. Shit. But negativity is not a thought you want
to entertain on this stretch of road. I redirect myself. I have the ache that
comes from not knowing if I will be blessed with running down this stretch of
road next April. I need to savor it, to absorb it, to ingrain it into my pores.
And I continue on, giving it all I have. I take in the crowds. I reach out to
the fine people of Boston. I pump my fists. I smile. While the past 26 miles
are like nowhere else I have ever run, this final 0.2 miles is Boston
magnified: joy, celebration, love, strength, perseverance. I stay to the right
and give it all I have as I cross the finish line, beaming!
Miles 23-26.54: 8:55, 8:32, 8:35, 8:43, 8:36. 40K 3:31:01 (8:29).
Garmin: 26.54 miles in 3:43:27 (8:25 pace), + 892 ft, - 1309 ft
Official 3:43:24 (8:32 pace): 612 AG F 40-44/ 1939, 3728 F/
12168, 11875 OA/ 26639.
I cross the
line. My heart is full. That was easily the hardest effort I have ever given
during a marathon. My time will not reflect what a challenge it was. I have run
17 minutes faster, but I have never redlined so much. Physically, the pain that
left momentarily as I headed down Boylston, hits me. My legs are achy, my lungs
are out of breath, I am dizzy, I am unsteady.
The weakness that returns to my body compounds the emotions I am fighting.
The tears start to swell and overflow. A volunteer asks if I am okay, I say,
"No, but I will be." She asks because I am wobbling a modest amount.
I use her to steady myself momentarily. I've done this before. I sat right
after the finish in 2013, but just as then, I will not end this race in
medical. I regroup, grab some water, start rehydrating, and keep moving
forward. I will walk this out. I have spent the race overheated and now I start
to shiver; the wind tunnel on Boylston is a constant. The tears are trickling.
I am given my medal; several volunteers congratulate Rhino. Finally I waddle to
the heat sheets (ummm.... I could use the cape from last year!). The post
finish line walk continues. As my body physically tries to start recovering
from what I have just pushed it through, my emotions just become more and more
raw.
I am crying
fairly heavily by now. I know I did all I could and I will never fault myself
for the effort of the day. I exorcised whatever demons I had at LA and the
struggles I found in the weeks after LA. While I know heat and I will never be
chummy, I know it does not have to define me. I can race through it and post a
decent and respectable time and a BQ in spite of the challenges it poses for
me. Those monkeys are off my back. I rose to the occasion and I conquered it.
This is a victory. It is also heartbreak. BQ-1:36 is not likely fast enough to
secure my return for 2017, for Boston #5. That's a deep ache. In the weeks
after LA, I reevaluated all my goals and ambitions as an athlete. There was
ultimately only one that was salient- that was the opportunity to run Boston
each year. 2016 Boston was my race of resiliency and triumph. I dug deeper and
stretched myself further than I had confidence in. And yet it may not be
enough. It's a painful, aching juxtaposition. So much satisfaction. So much
disappointment.
But I will take
this. I will take this feeling. I will own these emotions. This is so much
better than how I felt at LA. Looking back, now I can say I just gave up at LA.
It wasn't representative of who I am or of who I want to be. I counted myself
out at LA long before I should have. So the tears I had after LA were about
acquiescing to failure. The tears now are about rising above it. I fell flat on
my face at LA. I just changed that story, I wrote a better ending. I will be
back Boston. I will return.
 |
| Riding the T with my family. |
No comments:
Post a Comment