Each Boston Marathon tells its own
story. Sometimes it's about the race itself, the day of, the atmosphere, the
emotional state, the pushes and pulls within the day itself. Other years, it's
about the story that surrounds the race, the before, the after, less about the
in between. My 2017 race started years before April 17th. Its infancy was my
own infancy, my childhood, my becoming an adult, my becoming a doctor, my
becoming a wife, my becoming a mother, my becoming a runner, my becoming who I
am today. It starts with becoming a daughter. I was running the 2017 race for
my father.
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| The end of my first marathon: Nike Women's Marathon October 2009. |
In May of 2011,
my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. On September 10, 2011, he
passed away. The timeline and the intervening months, spent in and out of the
hospital with futile attempts at treatment, is typical for pancreatic cancer.
It offers little solace for those of us confronted with such an abrupt loss. My
dad was there when I ran and finished my first marathon in October of 2009. He
was on course to cheer when I ran my first sub-4 marathon in December of 2010.
During my first attempt at a BQ (Boston Qualifying) time, I felt his presence
as I ran towards Ventura, shedding tears as my nano played “Just Breathe” (by Pearl Jam), then again with a later song
by Willie Nelson. I made my goal that day. When I ran my first Boston in 2013,
I recall crying at mile 16 as I crossed over Interstate 95 and passed the sign
to Providence (my father had grown up in East Providence). I didn’t feel his
presence during the race, only coming to understand later that day, he would
protect the family after I had finished.
Much of my
drive to return to Boston came from that 2013 race, with the race eventually becoming
as much a family reunion as a celebration of Boston and running. I made it back
through my own racing times in 2014, in 2015, and in 2016. I qualified for the
2017 Boston Marathon, but a qualifying time does not guarantee entry. My time
was 96 seconds under my BQ. The race cutoff for 2017 stood at 2 minute and 9
seconds. 33 seconds meant that 2017 was not to be. When you hit a road block,
you have a choice: you stop or you redirect. I explored my alternatives and
despite the daunting task of raising thousands of dollars, I applied to be a
charity runner. The day before Thanksgiving of 2016, I was offered a bib to run
with the Project Purple team, raising money to fight pancreatic cancer through
money towards research, as well as money for a patient financial assistance
program.
No, running for
Project Purple would not bring my father back. But, I felt it was some small
way in which I could pay tribute to my dad. For everything he gave me, for
everything I learned from him, for all the qualities in me that are also his, I
never specifically thought there was a way to pay that back. And there isn’t.
But I could honor his life and his memory in running for Project Purple. And
perhaps, in some small way, I could help contribute to someone else’s future.
So that perhaps, someone else would not lose her father too soon. Perhaps
someone else’s mother could be there to watch her son compete in the Boston
Marathon. Perhaps a parent could watch his grandchildren grow up into young
women. Whether it’s the grief or the longing, or my stubborn Irish
determination, it matters little. What matters is my father brought me back to
Boston.
In the process,
it has brought me so much more than the mere experience of a race. Much of my
experience occurred in the days and months long before the race. It was forged
in connections with others through mutual loss and understanding as I heard of other
stories of lives taken too soon by pancreatic cancer. For others, the impact
was also the direct loss of my father. And for some, it was just a concern for
me and support and belief in me. I have been touched time and time again with
the small messages that came with the donations and with the conversations that
followed. I have been emotional through this process. I have been filled with
nothing by utter gratitude. The words escape me, as there is no way to truly
express what this journey has been about.
The week pre-race
my husband Jim and I flew out to Providence for a conference, with my daughters
Izzie and Sophie joining us with my stepmom Kathy a few days later. The week in
Providence allowed for ample opportunity to spend added time with my extended
family. We would have adventures during the day, including touring the Newport
Mansions, state Capitol tours of Rhode Island and Connecticut, as well as
touring Brown and Wesleyan (my alma mater). (The Massachusetts Capitol, MIT,
and Northeastern tours would occur later in the week in Boston.) Each night, we
connected with different family members: my uncle Walter and aunt Ann Marie, my
uncle Gary and his girlfriend Liz, my cousin Mary-Ellen and her daughter Emma,
my cousin Stephen and his girlfriend Jeannine, as well as a dinner for most
hosted by Walter and Ann Marie (including her mom, my other uncle Cap, and my
cousin Julie as well). I even had the opportunity to run with my cousin
Nichole. I went and had ice cream at Sunshine Creamery, where my grandmother
and I would often walk when I visited her while in college. The week was a
homecoming. Usually the visiting just happens in the hectic hours pre and post
marathon. I was happy for the added time and space to connect.
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| My 5K family. |
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| On top of the Green Monster at the Red Sox game with Wally. |
Once we arrived
in Boston, we were back to most of our usual routine. We met up with Jen and
Laurie at the opening of the Expo, which was fortunate as we all scored free
Lululemon gear for running in a box for 3 minutes! I also had the opportunity during
the expo to connect with another running friend Dave and his wife Lynn. After
our MIT tour (can I say if I were to go to college now, this liberal arts girl
would so love this school!), we kept tradition with a protein loading dinner at
Fogo de Chao (even if I missed my Boston girls). Saturday morning, I spectated
the BAA 5K with my cousin Erin and her newborn daughter Hayden while my cousin
Andrew ran, along with Jim, Izzie, Sophie, Jen, and another runner friend
Sabrina. I then watched the high school and elite milers with my cousin Julie
and Kathy. Julie then joined the family for our annual Red Sox game and we
enjoyed a windy adventure on the top of the Green Monster! Sunday morning
included a shake out run led by Runner’s World with Bart Yasso and Molly
Huddle, running along the Charles, connecting with other Sacramento runners
David and Peter. My cousins Erin and Andrew then hosted the extended family for
Easter at their home in Waltham. Sunday night wrapped up with a wonderful
dinner in the North End with the Project Purple team. It was a pleasure to
finally meet Dino, the founder of Project Purple, Chelsey, the team
coordinator, and fellow team members. I was honored to be recognized as the Top
Fundraiser for the team.
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| Easter brunch with family. |
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| My Project Purple family. |
After a modest
night sleep, I woke and prepped for the race. I walked down Bolyston,
traversing the final yards of the race, taking in the day ahead and envisioning
how the quite road would transform in a matter of hours. I grabbed the bus to
the Athlete’s Village at Boston Common. I started to chat with my seat mate,
who appeared about my age, from Pennsylvania. We talked about prior Bostons,
then somehow started to talk about ultras, as he pulled out his Western States
visor. It was his first 100 miler, which we agreed was a rough one to start
with! Our bus got lost, but eventually arrived in Hopkinton. We parted ways as
I went to the shot put cage and connected with Laurie. I then waited for my
picture in front of the “It All Starts Here” sign that I like to get each year,
before hanging out with Laurie until she left for her wave 2 start. I then see a gal in an orange Fleet Feet
singlet; I walk over and ask if she is Angie. We have mutual friends in common
and my guess is correct. She is running her first Boston and we chat as we
eventually line up for wave 3 and walk towards the starting corrals.
It was already warm out with little need
for warm-up clothing. At least the day’s forecast was in the mid 70s, as opposed
to the 89 degree high on Easter the prior day. I was grateful for a few things
this year: I didn’t need the time (I had my BQ from Chicago, as I will age up
and gain 10 minutes for 2018), I had done this before (so knew what to expect
from last year’s similar forecast), my health wasn’t optimal (my training had
derailed with pneumonia in late February, followed by issues as my asthmatic
lungs recovered, then horrible allergies including my left ear being clogged
for the prior 2 weeks), and the purpose of the race and my being here was
something much beyond myself. To be clear, I don’t do poor efforts in races and
certainly knew I would give Boston the best I had to give. Pre-race and
pre-weather forecast, my goal time sat at 3:45-3:50; I knew Boston would push
me a bit beyond my capacity. Once I saw the weather forecast and after running
on Sunday morning at 8 am, I knew I would be happy to finish under 4 hours.
Ultimately, I knew it was more important for me to enjoy the race and to take
in the experience, as conditions would not be conducive to racing hard.
The clock is
ticking down to the start. I’m in my starting corral: wave 3, wave 5. It’s
10:50 am. My phone reads 68 degrees. I post a final pre-race photo: 2 degrees
cooler than last year: Winning! I’ve been through this before. This year is
fortunately different. There is no need to chase the unicorn; I can instead
just go running with that unicorn. I will give it my best shot, but I’m ready
to savor every step and every mile. The pressure is not here. I’m so thankful
for pushing it at Chicago. I can just take in the experience. It’s time to
celebrate. The song to start off the race is “Happy” ; this is the anthem that
was my song of the day at my PR at Napa. My corral gradually creeps up to the
start line. Just past 10:53 am, I cross the line and head out of Hopkinton.
26.2 miles to go on my 26th marathon!
The beginning
of each Boston is always crowded. The road is narrow and 8,000 runners will
pass through this stretch in a five minute span. It always keeps my energy in
check even as my excitement is rising. There seem to be more spectators heading
down the hill. I could just be imagining it, but it feels like 2014. Actually, my initial impressions are spot on:
the crowds are on par with 2014. The heat may be hard to run in, but it is a
gift for the spectators and their energy is nothing but a gift for me.
Coming in to
mile 2, “Sweet Caroline” is playing. It’s time to sing and dance along! The soundtrack for the day is shaping up
nicely. And this is one of many reasons I leave the music and headphones behind
at Boston. I am transported back to all the fun Red Sox games with my cousin:
“good times never seemed so good.” So good! So Good!!
I am parched
well before I reach the first aid station miles in; it’s clearly a warm day and
I miss the throw away bottle I started the race with last year. I get going
though on doing what I need to do: Gatorade in, water in. I am moderating the
pace, glancing at my pace band. I am here for the experience, but dropping a decent
time is still on my radar. I will maintain near the goal paces while I feel it
is feasible.
In mile 3, a
gal passes me by and thanks me. The back of my singlet reads, “Running to Beat
Pancreatic Cancer.” Her mother passed away a couple of years ago; I advise my
father did as well. I keep her in my sights and we trade places back and forth
for the mile. I shed my first tears of the race. There are so many other things
that I want to connect me to other people. I want something positive to provide
the connection. I fight that it is our mutual loss and our mutual grief that
provides our bond. But at the end of the day, it is a mutual understanding. The
stories are achingly familiar: the diagnosis followed by the quick decline, and
the emptiness that lingers. I think about my dad. It is a mixture of sadness
and gratitude. I still miss him. You somehow think that feeling goes away, but
grief is never linear. It gets you in a moment at mile 3. But this race is all
about my dad anyway. My Project Purple singlet is how I will connect with
others today. Every shout out on course for “Go Purple!” and “Project Purple”
is a cheer for my dad. He’s solidly along for this ride and I am grateful for
his company.
I have passed
from Hopkinton in to town #2 of 8 Ashland in the 3rd mile. The mile
5 marker also serves as the entrance to Framingham. The crowd on the left in
front of the first building in town is wrapping up the 2nd “Sweet
Caroline” as I cross the town line. I get a few “So Good”s in before it fades
into the next song. Somewhere later in my day, there will be a 3rd
symphonic only “Sweet Caroline”’. Even without Neil Diamond, the song brings a
smile to my face and joy to my heart. I am calling out to the spectators over
the ensuing miles. “Let me hear you Framingham!” They respond with cheers and
claps. I think I’ve found something new to connect me to the crowds. You ask
for what you need and they give you all they have! These are the people on
course. I come back to Boston each year for my family, certainly. But the family
that carries me through the 26.2 miles are reason enough to return.
Miles 1-7: 8:42, 8:34, 8:38, 8:17, 8:35, 8:19, 8:20.
5K 26:58 (8:40); 10K 53:18 (8:34).
As I move
through the miles in Framingham, I traverse the outskirts with people having
parties on their lawns, then into the center of town. “Let me hear you
Framingham!” has the crowds engaged. We pass by the old train station on our
left, and Santa will eventually be on my right as I head up the hill towards
Natick. The day is warm already and is getting steadily warmer. I am doing my
fluid routine, while taking in added food every 3-4 miles. I started dumping
water on my head after the 2nd or 3rd aid station and
will maintain that routine until my terminus. There are some runners
struggling- not such much for the heat yet, but obviously some training that
had derailed or some plan that became unraveled, whether before or after the
starting line. I pick up on one such gal struggling, though there is a
gentleman running with her, trying to engage her and cheer her up. A sparkle
skirted gal near me picks up on this as well and comments about enjoying the
experience and the opportunity to be here, even if it’s not quite on the terms
you may have wanted. The sentiment of gratitude is one that I was already
feeling and that becomes enhanced in this moment as we chat briefly.
This thought is
a constant to my day. The weather is beyond warm and well beyond what I thrive
in for running. I have no interest in fighting it today or in suffering out
there. I know I won’t run a fast race; I know I may even end up with my slowest
Boston yet. But, it matters little. All that matters is this opportunity.
Whether we have the race of our lives (as I did in 2015) or we have the
toughest race of our lives (as I did in the heat here in 2016), it’s the
presence and the opportunity to be on this course that matters. It all comes
down to gratitude. You worked to get here and others also worked hard to get
you here. Whether it’s all the miles run or all the money raised, you have to
arrive with a full and open heart. If I am to ever have a tough day, I want it
to be here. No place else will make me struggle so hard or push so hard. No
place else will want to make me be better. So I run on with what the course and
its kind people give me. This is turning in to a 2014 celebration race. I can’t
control the heat; I can only moderate the effects of it. But I can keep my
heart open and be thankful to be where I am. And while my dad decidedly brought
me here, the love and support of so many during my fundraising campaign for
Project Purple paved the way. They have all provided that added meaning to this
race; a race I honestly never fathomed would need or could hold even more
meaning for me.
As I run
through Natick, I grab the spectators with me, “Let me hear you Natick!” I
think some might just be responding back because I can pronounce the town’s
name. I grab an offered popsicle on course in the 8th mile: purple
colored, of course! This adds in to my water dumping cooling measures. I also
have grabbed a small cup of ice from some kids: some in the mouth, some in my
bra. I somehow miss my usual Elvis sighting in Fabulous Natick: either he was
in between sets (because I would not have missed hearing him) or maybe Elvis
left the building at mile 10. I always enjoy the peacefulness of the views as I
pass by the lake on my right; it makes up for the temporary gap in spectators.
I leave Natick at mile 12 and run on to Wellesley.
There is a
distant roar that you can hear even before the first sign of the Wellesley
College campus greets me. Some runners prepare to purposely head to the left
side of the course, but I am all right. As the “Kiss Me” signs appear, I
realize the challenge of reading the bevy of signs and picking just the right
ones. My first kiss is a from a gal from Wisconsin – an ode to my favorite
racing destination of 2016. I grab another kiss, though my memory is a blur on
the sign. Then I see my rhino sign!!!! “Rhino Runs and Runs for Project Purple
for Boston #5!!” The fine ladies of Munger Hall make Scream Tunnel signs each
year for the race and I have requested signs for several years. I always see
them online, but have never seen one on course as it’s a bit like finding a
needle in a haystack. Well, I am tickled to see my sign – she is a bit
shredded, but the Rhino was found! I, of course, kiss the gal closest to my
sign! I grab my 4th and final kiss as the Scream Tunnel ends: “Kiss
Me if You’re Bad!” To the bone, to the bone… An 8:50 mile with 4 kisses –
pretty bad!
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| Thank you to the ladies of Munger Hall at Wellesley!! |
Miles 8-13: 8:35, 8:34, 8:38. 8:44, 8:39, 8:50.
15K 1:19:49 (8:33), 20K 1:47:06 (8:37), 13.1 1:53:03 (8:37).
There is slight
uphill as I run towards the town of Wellesley and cross the half way mark of
the course: 1:53:03 (8:37). My fair weather prediction was 1:50, so not bad for
a warm day. I’m quite sure I can’t maintain this pacing for much longer. My
engines are getting hotter and it is getting harder to cool off. But I’m ready
to just do what I can. I take in the energy of the town proper, which is thick
with spectators. “Let me hear you Wellesley!” You know they will happily
respond! By mile 15, the heat catches
me. I realize I cannot sustain this pace. I need to cool myself off as I am
getting more and more overheated. I grab some ice from a kind spectator and
walk for a few stretches to take in the ice and to avoid heat exhaustion. Part
of me wants to keep pushing it; I want to take advantage of the terrain before
I hit the first hill at mile 16. But I know I need to cool off. The rest of the
race will go like that: push for a while, cool off, push, cool off. I start to
walk through the water stations to ensure I can get enough fluid in me and
enough fluid on me. Each stop, I ensure a cup of water in me and one over my
head. I intermittently take in the Gatorade; it has been too sweet for me since
mile 3 and is getting harder to stomach. I eat every few miles when I can, but
the heat too is affecting my ability to tolerate and to chew my power gel
blasts.
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| My spectators on the T! |
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| Part of mile 17 hug gauntlet. |
Mile 16 sees
the first of the Newton hills as I take the overpass above 95. The Providence
sign always has my dad greeting me. I push up the hill, as I know he would want
me to do. I honestly don’t care what I do with any other hill on the course,
but I want to run this one. Up and over and on to my family at mile 17! I start
scanning the crowds as I pass by Newton-Wellesley Hospital. Many runners have
veered to the left of the course to catch a fire hydrant that has been opened
on that side. As such, I am one of the few runners on the right. And then I see
them!! I take my gauntlet of hugs. After 17 miles of running, this is easily
one of my most uplifting moments of the race each year. I am still healthy
enough that I can take them in (sometimes I am struggling by the time I see
them at 25) and I still have enough energy to greet and embrace. I hug my uncle
Cap, my cousin Julie, my cousin Nichole, my stepmom Kathy, my daughters Izzie
and Sophie, and finish with my husband Jim. I am all smiles. But starting at
mile 15, I have come to peace with the day and with how the rest of this race
will unfold. I know the heat will take this one as I cannot maintain my pacing.
Any set time is left behind in those miles. I don’t need to push it for any
particular reason, well other than it being Boston. But I don’t have to push it
to the point of being dangerous like I did last year, so I will rein it in. I
advise Jim I am going to slow down.
The next aid
station, I again take a walk and cooling measures. Taking the right turn on to
Commonwealth, I eagerly run through the sprinkler tunnel at the fire
station. As the course continues, there
will be periodic sprinklers set out to cool runners, as well as open fire
hydrants. I take every cooling opportunity. I will continue to grab ice and
chew on that. I grab another popsicle at some juncture. I am struggling and I
feel it’s more the heat this year than the Newton Hills. It will be the hottest
point on course over the 10K that traverses the Newton Hills. I do my best, but
will walk a bit more than I would care for during these miles. I am just so
overheated. The 2nd Newton hill goes by without much fanfare. As I
approach mile 19, I stay to the left, looking out for my next spectators. I
catch my cousins Andrew and Erin and give them hugs, waving to Alyson and Scott
(and Hayden is somewhere there too). I have run to them, but then promptly walk
to cool off as I hit the aid station just past them.
I have always
felt the 3rd Newton Hill to be the hardest as it comes in the 20th
mile and at a point when you know you’re
not quite close enough to being done. This mile will actually be a tad slower
for me than Heartbreak as I power walk up it, still fighting to stay cool. I
realize I am no longer taking in enough energy as eating has become a
challenge. This is starting to compound my struggle with the heat. I cross the
20 mile mark just before 3 hours in to my race. I realize my time is getting
tight on a sub-4 and that in my current state, it may not happen. Well, you
make do with what you have to give. I take in the spectators and ask for their
help. “Let me hear you Newton!!” They always respond in kind with the verbal
cheers I need to keep on moving on.
Mile 14-20: 8:53, 9:23, 9:33, 9:28, 9:44, 9:30, 10:30.
25K 2:16:08 (8:45), 30K 2:46:06 (8:54)
As I hit the
bottom of Heartbreak Hill, I am on the right side of the road. Whoops- I should
have stayed on the left to grab a beer from the Hash House Harriers…. I am too
far across the course when I realize the error of my ways as I see them
opposite me. I am walking at this juncture as my energy is waning badly.
Fortunately, there are days when angels will greet you on course. And Boston is
a course where there is an army of angels each year. They offer ice, popsicles,
twizzlers, bananas, orange slices, your choice! My angel offers me a can of
beer – not just a small cup, but a full can! And it is cold! Thank you! I even
manage to get a large can 16oz of Coors Light! Okay, I know it's complete crap
beer, but I'm surely not in a position to argue and I'm quite sure I wouldn't
tolerate something decent with a higher alcohol content anyway.
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| Cheers to you Heartbreak Hill! |
Opening a can
of beer 20 miles into a marathon is not the easiest feat in the world, but I
manage success after a few tries. I take a sip and raise my can! I am going to
have the Heartbreak Hill Beer Mile race right in the middle of the Boston
Marathon! This might just end up being my racing claim to fame! Clearly, I am
carb depleted to harbor such delusions of grandeur. And so I walk up
Heartbreak, drinking my beer, and I celebrate! Let me here you Newton! Cheers!
Once the spectators catch on to what I salute them with, they raise their hands
in cheer and those with beverages toast me. The laughs and the smiles from the
sidelines fill me up. The cold beer and the carbs, despite the limited
calories, will perk me up after miles of faltering nutrition. I am decidedly
enjoying this stroll up Heartbreak more than any other Boston! And just so that
it was not an imagined experience, I luck out by having official course
photographers a ways into my Beer Mile. I get my photos and a hearty thumbs up
from the photographer.
I am about
halfway up Heartbreak and half way through my beer when Caolan comes along. She
tells me to join her. Okay- beer - it was a fun ride, but yeah, I have this
marathon to finish! I set my beer down by the side barricade and finally start
running again. Caolan is looking strong and I am happy for her company up the
rest of the hill. Her presence pulls me back to the Kettle when she helped get
me moving 67 miles into that race. We are far from rural Wisconsin, but this is
part of the magic of running and of all the friendships made during such
journeys. At the top of the hill, I excuse myself to veer to the left so I can
greet my Project Purple family. I call out, wave, and smile to Dino, Chelsey,
and the other Project Purple spectators.
All these
little boosts, the beer, Caolan, Project Purple, they all have me ready to go
and give the remaining 5 miles all I have left. I resume my position on the
right side of the road as I have some Boston College kids to entertain! I keep
Caolan just ahead of me and in my sights as I push down the hill. The start of
BC seems light, but eventually the fervor picks up. Put your arms up and raise
the ceiling and they cheer! Put your hand out and they will high five you all
the way down the line! The BC kids take me into Brookline and the left turn on
to Cleveland Circle.
Brookline is
the most narrow section of the course as we occupy one side of the road in
between the Green Line and the stores and brownstones. This always provides a
bit more closeness with the spectators. I love the intimacy during this final
stretch before the finale. It invites more direct eye contact, more engagement.
My voice is hoarse, but I can’t resist. Let me hear your Brookline!! They are
loud and boisterous, they were made for race cheering and spectating. They
never disappoint. And if you have energy
through this section, they will triple it for you. The shouts for Project
Purple and Go Purple are growing with each mile. The smile in my heart is growing. My gratitude abounds. I shout my
Thank Yous! I raise my arms and call out
and they respond and respond and respond. If you ever want to feel like a
superstar, just go run down this stretch!
The energy of the
course continues to nourish me. I spot a Project Purple singlet to my left,
scoot over and introduce myself to Paul, who identifies me as “The Girl from
California”. I wish him well on his remaining miles and run on. I am still
dropping water on me and taking in water, but can’t stomach food or Gatorade
anymore. Thankfully, the worst of the heat of the day has waned. There is a
slight cloud cover over the final miles and the rare breeze. I do walk through
the water stops to ensure I get some fluid in me, but have enough energy to run
the final miles. With the Citgo sign in view, I crest past the 40K sign. I feel
so much better than I did a year ago coming through here when I was redlining,
focused only on my breathing, not having the physical strength to take in the
atmosphere.
Miles 21- 26.47: 10:20, 8:49, 9:19, 9:18, 8:56. 9:22, 8:54.
35K 3:17:06 (9:03), 40K 3:46:03 (9:05).
Towards Kenmore
and I pass the marking on the ground that proclaims, “One Mile To Go”. I check
the watch. I have just under 10 minutes to break the 4 hour barrier. I just
need to maintain and it will be mine. Yes, this race is not about time, but
given the opportunity, I’ll take a sub-4. A text has advised me my family will
be after the Right on Hereford. This saves the energy of scanning the thick
crowds through Kenmore Square. I take them in and continue on! Right on
Hereford and as I come out of the underpass, I glance my husband and stepmom
and daughters out of the corner of my eye. I wave back and continue up
Hereford. My Uncle Walter, cousin Mary-Ellen, and cousin Emma have joined the
rest of the spectating crew! I smile and wave. Time is tight and I have a bell
to beat!
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| There is nothing like the magic of this corner in all of racing! |
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| The final stretch of Bolyston! Let me hear you Boston! |
I continue on
and take my favorite turn in all of racing – that Left on Bolyston. I get my
photo with the fire station behind me.
Then I focus on the spot straight ahead, though still a third of a mile away.
The crowds are dense and they are eager; they are perhaps the most numerous I
have seen on this stretch. I run past them and ask for one last favor. Let me
hear you Boston!! You know they won’t disappoint – they never do! I see the
clock of the finish line; I know the sub 4 is safe as it reads 4:01 (I started
3 minutes after the wave 3 clock). I cross at the F of Finish, arms high, smile
broad. Thank you so much for the magic Boston! Thank you!
26.2 miles in 3:58:38 (9:07).
Garmin 26.47 miles 3:58:41 (9:01), +909 ft, -1306 ft.
984 F 40-44/1854, 5665 F/11973, 15251 OA/26411.
My 26th
marathon is complete, along with my 5th Boston. I see Caolan just
after crossing the line; we congratulate each other. I need to walk this out to
avoid collapsing, so we part as she is waiting for another friend. I grab some
water and continue walking down the finisher’s chute on Bolytson. I happily accept
my medal from the volunteer, then another helps me with a heat sheet. I
continue until I can veer to the right towards an exit. The emotions start collecting
for me as they always do post race. Your body is tired from the journey and
your heart grabs hold of your sleeve. The tears gather and trickle down. I’m
thinking of my father who brought me to this place today. I have run with no
music as I need nothing other than the crowds at Boston to carry me along. But,
a song has played quietly in my head in the background of the day. I get my
phone out, pull up Willie Nelson, and start playing “Just Breathe”. I look like
anyone else on her phone, as I hold it up to my ear. The words sink in, and I
let the tears go. “Stay with me; let’s just breathe.” And so I breathe as I
cry. Yes, sometimes grief is complicated and unresolved. But, sometimes those
qualities bring you to moments like this. I am filled with love and gratitude
and loss all at the same time.
My race day
with conclude with the annual family dinner in the North End. I am ever so
grateful for their support of my race each year and this dinner is a small way
to express my gratitude. I like to think my father would have enjoyed this. Our
final stop is Mike’s Pastry to get some cannolis before the family disperses
until next year. Back at the hotel, I will enjoy my mint chip cannoli with a
glass of fine champagne. Cheers to you daddy! Thank you so much for bringing me
along on this journey. With love and gratitude, I think you’ll stay with me.
 |
| Cheers to another Boston, to Project Purple, and to my dad! |
Your father would be proud. You are a chip off the old block.
ReplyDeleteThank you!
ReplyDeleteWhat a read and inspiration, thanks.
ReplyDelete