Patriot's Day: Reflections on My First Boston April 15, 2013



     It's taken me a while to get here. So much so, that I had to my option of viewing the movie "Patriot's Day" either 30 minutes South or 30 minutes Northeast of home. I decided I should finally see it. I've been reluctant. I've been unsure of what memories it might stir up for me, of how I might emotionally manage the spike. There are events and circumstances that change who you are. For my generation, you recall where you were when the Challenger exploded, when the World Trade Center towers imploded and fell, when the Boston Marathon was bombed. I was in the 8th grade in class at Redwood Middle School, I was at my last house overlooking the lake watching the Today show getting ready for work, I was a quarter mile away in Boston. I was fortunate: those I knew and loved in Boston that day were safe. Those who came to spectate for me on the occasion of my first Boston Marathon were safe. My family was with me, we were safe. Others were not physically safe that day. Most of us, at a minimum, were emotionally changed that day.  Running, racing, something I viewed as therapeutic, calming, life invigorating, had changed. Something that provided me with immense joy had changed. The races I would attend in the subsequent weeks (Big Sur, Bay to Breakers), the races I would attend in the subsequent year, my next Boston, all my subsequent larger marathons, had changed. I continued to run, I continued to race, but I was different. Of course, I ran on. I'm defiant and obstinate. But, things changed after April 15th. There was a conscious choice to run on, a conscious choice to choose to not live in fear, a conscious choice to opt for love instead.

     In spite of that conscious choice, your emotions are what your emotions are. The worry, the sadness, the emptiness stay with you. I know I worked hard to fill in better emotions: gratitude, joy, love. But memories pull you back. Pictures, photos, videos, they draw you in. You keep the conscious choice of hope. But your brain, your heart sometimes still gets rattled. And so, yes, there are things about that day I don't opt to go back to. Because it's still hard. So avoiding the movie was logical. It was logical. But I don't want to live in fear of those emotions, so I finally saw the movie. The beginnings were hard. I just watched and I cried. The movie then drifted into the aftermath, as the focus on the manhunt allowed me to disconnect from the emotion and the story of being there. I was just a movie goer watching some entertainment. It's not that simple, is it? The snippets from Boston officials and survivors at the end pulled me right back to those days, back to the emotions. The fear, the anger, the sadness, the dread. But I was already crying as the lead character talked about Love; that Love is what you fight back with.
 
     So love, it's what I return to Boston with each year. It's what I feel when I'm there - from my family, from my friends, from my fellow marathoners, from the fine people of the eight cities along the course of the Boston Marathon. The circumstances of my first Boston are what drew me back in 2014. I thought I needed closure. I thought I needed some emotional healing. I needed to repair.  But I think, it's something more that draws me back now. It's something about that love, that joy, that celebration of all the small and wondrous things that make us feel alive. It's sometimes so hard to define, to express. This year, I return for my 5th Boston Marathon in April. There is no other place I want to be each Patriot's Day. 

What follows is my race report from my first Boston:     



 

 

Boston 2013: The Experience of a Lifetime (Until It Wasn't)

 

The Before

Starting this is the hardest part, because I keep getting stuck on The After. I qualified for Boston last June 2012 at Ojai 2 Ocean, having a great running day and a 14 minute PR (BQ-3:45). I thought my time would be closer or that I might need a few more tries to get the BQ, but lucky marathon #7 did the trick. Registration for Boston went swimmingly thanks to the tightened time requirements, making me a happy camper in September when I was able to officially register for my first Boston. Part of the desire was achieving the Holy Grail for common runners, but also coming home, in a sense (I was born not far away in Rhode Island).

I was emotional about running Boston in the weeks before the race – with a strong mixture of excitement and nervousness. I was just hoping it would live up to all the hype. I knew I had done the training (Pfitz 12/55+, averaging 50 miles/week in the past 12 weeks, hitting the tempo and speedwork paces, staying healthy), and it was just time to celebrate it at Boston. I had some lofty goals (and now realize there’s a reason you might not want to try to PR at Boston), but was mentally ready and confident in my abilities. My husband and daughters (10, 12) and I flew out of Sacramento on Friday 4/12/13 midday, arriving in Boston and at our hotel near 1 am Saturday 4/13/13.

There was a Runner’s World shake out run to leave the New Balance store on Boylston on Saturday at 7:30 am; I figured I’d consider it if I was awake. I didn’t sleep much after the flight and was awake in plenty of time to make the run. It was freezing though (well, nearly at 36 degrees); thankfully I had packed arm sleeves and calf sleeves and throw away gloves just in case Marathon Monday was chilly – I used them a couple days early. I arrived on Boylston even early for the run, so made my way to the Finish Line, walking on it and snapping a couple of pictures (they didn’t paint it until a few hours later). The shake-out run was fun, getting to socialize with fellow Boston marathoners (everyone’s journey to Boston is different) and some RW staff. I particularly enjoyed hearing about Glenn’s prior Boston marathons (he is in the same running group as a RW online friend in San Jose; I presume he was safe, based on his time). I finished the shake out run with a brief detour to run a half a mile along the Charles… since that’s what a runner should do in Beantown.

The unfinished Finish Line.

 

After my run, my family and I attended the expo, which was crazy crowded even before 10 am! I picked up my jacket, as well as Saucony Kinvara 4 limited edition green and yellow Boston shoes (yes, I wear stability shoes – but I couldn’t resist – figuring they could be casual shoes or work for 5Ks or under). Our hotel (The Revere) was about 0.4 miles from the Finish line, so we pretty much walked everywhere in town, just getting on the T later. The afternoon on Saturday was spent at Fenway, taking in the first Red Sox game for all of us with my cousin who lives in Framingham. It was freezing and I’m not a baseball fan, but the crowd and energy was amazing and now I know what “Sweet Caroline” means to Red Sox fans. We managed to sneak into a cute Italian restaurant on Newbury St on our way home for my carb loading dinner. I slept wonderfully that night.

My daughters and husband after the BAA 5K.

Sunday was the B.A.A. 5K run first thing. I was the cheerleader and spectator for my daughters and my husband. I watched the elites start off, then waited for my family to come through a few blocks up from the start. By the time I reached the finish line, the lead wheelchair racer was nearly there. From my vantage point across from the grandstands, I was able to enjoy spectating the elites sailing through, followed by my husband, my 12 year old, then finally my 10 year old. I captured pictures of each of them near the finish line, though my pictures are obscured by the poles of the national flags I was standing beneath. My 12 yo was closest to her PR by a few seconds, but running with 6500 people was a challenge, especially without any formal corrals. While they cleaned up, I returned to the Finish area to spectate the 1K for middle schoolers (male and female, 2 from each of the 8 towns on the course), as well as the mile for the high schoolers, then the elites for the mile. I managed to procure a front row spot in the grandstands (no tickets for this event) and few feet past the Finish line. There were some exciting and inspiring races! We spent the rest of the day walking the Freedom Trail. This was perfect for my 10 yo who is studying this history in school right now. I’ve been to Boston innumerable times, but have never followed the Freedom Trail, so it was a treat for all of us. The evening ended with dinner at my cousin’s home with my aunt, uncle, and another cousin… she kindly fulfilled my prerace dinner of chicken and vegetables. Then off to sleep for me!

My youngest daughter (in pink) steps from the Finish Line as I spectate the 5K in front of Marathon Sports.

 

 

The Race

            Race day started early after some sleep (not much, but actually better than my usual pre-marathon sleep). Headed out the door  of my hotel at 5:45 am for the couple block walk to Boston Common. Able to get on the second set of buses. Met Vicki in line, who would be my seat mate on the bus and my companion at the Athlete’s Village for the morning. She’s an inspiring mom of 7 from Spokane aiming for 3:30 (which she made). The drive to Hopkinton didn’t seem that long. I was amazed by the scale of the Athlete’s Village, getting emotional as I walked around (even though the area would fill up with 10-20 times as many people in the next hour and change). I did find the Hopkinton start sign and managed to get my picture there before the lines went wild. Ate my breakfast, relaxed a bit, visited the sea of porta-potties. Checked in with Jen (a friend from RW online that I had not yet met in person) via text, though reception was a bit spotty. I did eventually find her in the Shot Put area and we chatted for a bit – wonderful to finally meet her and get to hang out!

(for my father)

 

            After a while, I headed towards the starting corrals, parting with Vicki at the bag drop. I started to get emotional again walking down the road, just in awe of all the people and this very special morning. I waited near the final sea of porta-potties around the corner from the start line, listening to the introductions before the first wave’s start. When it was my turn, I walked straight ahead into corral 9 and went to the front of it, continuing to get antsy and excited. Because of the slope of the road and the mass of life, I couldn’t see much ahead and had no idea how far away the Start line was. At 10:20, wave #2 started to move ahead and the corral ropes were all dropped. I moved with the mass, finally crossing the start line just after 10:25 am. There were so many people everywhere – from the runners themselves, to all the spectators lining both sides of the road. The energy was electric! This was everything people had said Boston was and I hadn’t even started yet!

            My goals for the day were ambitious – in hindsight, too much so. I thought I could come close to 3:30, or at least break 3:35, with a PR (sub 3:41:15) as the back up B goal.  (They are probably still reasonable goals for a different course). I had heeded the advice, I was not going to go out too fast and drain all my energy in the first many miles. I had printed out and attached to my wrist a pace band from mymarathonpace.com for 3:30 (8:01 pace). I followed it fairly faithfully until about mile 16.

1-    8:23

2-    8:04

3-    7:50

I was not going to rush out the gate. I’m not sure it would have even been a possibility. The road was congested, very, very congested. You had to pay attention over the first several miles to be sure you weren’t tripping over people. I was focused on my footing, keeping my pace in check, and soaking in the crowds of spectators and their energy. I was already weaving and bobbing quite a bit to maintain my pace. I was told to be sure people are passing you in the beginning; yet I was the one passing (my starting corral was for a 3:40-3:43 finish, so I knew my pace would be quicker than those around me based on my goal). First 5K in 25:12 (8:10 pace); right where I wanted to be.

4-    7:46

5-    7:52

6-    7:48

Keeping it steady and comfortable, looking at the sights. I made sure to get water or Gatorade at every aid station to stay hydrated, and started taking in 2 power gel blasts every 5 miles. I grabbed items from the more congested right side of the course because that hand seems to be more effective. I did run most of the course along the right edge of the road, as it allowed me to pass easier at times and kept me most in touch with the crowds. The course is all rollers. I don’t like rollers. I passed Jen just before the 10K mark. She looked to be keeping a steady pace. I wished her well and went on. 10K in 49:56 (2^nd 5K in 24:35 7:55 pace); still on target with where I needed to be.

7-    7:43

8-    7:57

9-    7:54

10-  8:02

My pace was maintaining, though the sun was bright and I was starting to overheat a bit. I was wearing a tank and shorts, so there was no option to remove anything. At some point, I had to take my sunglasses off as I was sweating too much to make them practical.  15K in 1:14:46 (3^rd 5K in 24:50 8:00 pace), with the 10 miles in 1:20. I was steadily picking up a bit of pace to make up for the purposely slower start.

11- 8:04

12- 7:52

13- 8:01

14- 7:47

All along the course, the crowds were phenomenal. People were cheering and yelling. They had signs of encouragement. (Note to self for the next Boston: ink your name on your body somewhere – they will rally for you the whole course).Little kids offered up added fluid, twizzlers, oranges, jelly beans. People were having huge parties in their front yards. I wanted to join them! Sure I was having fun and having the time of my life, but I was also working my ass off! I finally approached the infamous Wellesley College scream tunnel. The girls were energetic, loud, and full of fun signs (the most in any single section of the course). I started to get even more excited, with this putting a spring in my step. All the “kiss me, I’m…” signs were fantastic! I grabbed 3 kisses – 2 blondes, one brunette. I needed the classic Boston Marathon experience and I had it! As I headed out of the college towards the half way marker, I felt like the energizer bunny – it was surreal how enjoyable such a physically draining activity could be. I didn’t even lose any time on that mile! Through the 20K mark in 1:40:05 (4^th 5K in 25:19 at 8:09 pace). Through the half in 1:45:26; only a few seconds off the goal.

15- 8:14

16- 7:54

17- 8:29

 

I knew the hills would be approaching soon after I left Wellesley and headed into Newton. I rather dislike hills and am a poor hill runner (though not as bad in this regard as I might have been a year ago). I was getting a  bit anxious between the impending hills and the fact that it was still too warm for me, warmer than the forecast had predicted (I thrive at 40 degrees, not 60). Sometime in the 16^th mile, I passed by the freeway sign for Providence – snapping a picture. I figured I would get emotional here (where I was born, where my family is from, including my father who passed away a year and a half ago). However, my emotions on course were mainly excitement and a bit of nervousness, not so much the tears that I have come across in other races (which I had before and after the race mainly). At mile 17, my family was out cheering. Saw my husband, cousin, and daughters; patted my youngest on the head and kept plowing down the road. My aunt and uncle were there as well, though I failed to see them (thinking they would only be at mile 25) and they were apparently being blockaded by a couple of rude spectators. This provided a nice boost, though from my time, the hills had started to set in. Through the 25K mark in 2:05:18 (5^th 5K in 25:13 for 8:06 pace).

 

18- 8:44

19- 8:15

20-  8:38

21- 9:31

The Newton Hills were manageable in the grand scheme of things. I was just focused on getting up each hill and not walking, though I knew I would slow my pace some. I am still not a hill runner, but did my best to power through them. Ice offered by spectators at mile 18 helped me get through them, helping to cool my overheated body down enough to propel myself forward without dropping too much time. And now I know why they call it Heartbreak Hill – it’s a tough one, going on for as long as the eye can see. I wanted more signs to signal it’s onslaught, but there were few. Though I knew approximately where it should be on course and was convinced I was on it (if there had been a tougher one, I didn’t want to know). I continued to run, passing some who had dropped off to a walk. 9:31 for the mile wasn’t anything to write home about, but I had conquered it and was down to the final stretch. Through the 30K mark in 2:31:37 (6^th 5K in 26:19 for an 8:28 pace). Through mile 20 in 2:43, a couple of minutes off where I wanted to be.

22- 8:05

23-  8:45

24- 8:46

I heard if you save energy at the start, you can take advantage after Heartbreak Hill. I made a valiant effort, but it only lasted one mile… I think I fed off the energy at Boston College – they were unbelievably loud. No offense to Wellesley, but BC took the prize home for the loudest college cheering section, with it going on and on. There were some pretty drunk college kids, but even they were doing their best to cheer through their stupor. Then the downfall began. I was exhausted. I had little energy left in the tank as I approached the 23^rd mile. I tried to tell myself there was just a 5K left, but to little avail. My bladder had been ready to burst since the start, though every porta-potty I had passed on course had been occupied. I pride myself on my bladder of steel and on never having to stop for the restroom during a race, but the late race start and warm day for me meant I had a lot of fluids on board. Since I was starting to falter physically and suddenly saw 2 portapotties with green markers, I took the break to ease the bladder, making the rest of the race much more comfortable. Managing that mile at an 8:45 with a potty stop and walking through the aid station was impressive in retrospect. Many more people were walking by this stage of the race. My Garmin had started to act funny as I entered Brookline, losing satellite reception every mile for a brief juncture before getting back on course. I stopped looking at the watch much – I knew my pace was off, and when the watch showed 11-12 minute miles due to the lost reception, it wasn’t helping me much psychologically. I just had to keep digging deeper to finish the race. Through 35 K in 2:59:08 (7^th 5K in 27:31 for 8:52 pace). Through 40 K in 3:27:19 (8^th 5K in 28:11 for 9:04 pace).

My favorite corner in all of racing: Hereford and Bolyston.

 

25- 8:31

26- 9:00

Final 0.8- 6:51 pace

      I knew my family would be at mile 25. I think this kept me trudging along. I didn’t want to be walking when I passed them. I could see the Citgo sign in the distance when I hit mile 24, but had no energy to get out my phone to take a picture (I was afraid I would drop my phone, as that’s how my coordination felt at the time). I would walk through the aid stations then resume what felt like a slow shuffle. I was spent physically. I had given the course all I had, but it had beaten me up. My due respect to the course itself had set in; this is not the race for PRs. Fortunately, it had cooled off some, becoming more overcast when I hit Brookline with some wind in my face. I did not see my family until my husband called out my name. I gave a brief wave. My husband knew I was struggling; it’s obvious in the picture he took near the Kenmore station. I don’t think the course should have that underpass under Mass Ave at mile 25+; it’s a rather cruel joke; enough with the rollers, already. I had no idea how far I was out; the Garmin and I had long since parted ways and glancing at it proved to require too much energy. But then there were runners making a right turn ahead… what was the slogan I had seen so many times in the prior days? Right on Hereford, Left on Boylston! The Finish Line is on Boylston!! I took the right turn; yes, it was Hereford! Another quick left and I was on the magical road. The Finish line is so very, very far away when you get on Boylston. It’s there, but felt nearly out of my grasp as I was exhausted, I was drained. But this is Boston! This is the finish people talk about! The crowds were packed on both sides of the road 10-12 deep. They were loud, cheering for me and their family members, their friends, strangers, fellow marathoners, and runners. It was enough to propel me down the road. Thank you Boston for the experience of a lifetime!

 

Final time 3:39:27 (8:23 pace). Crossed the Finish Line at  2:05 pm. I had  a PR by 1:48; I’d take it. It was hard and I earned every second of that. Worst split I’ve recorded (since maybe my first marathon), running the back half 10:23 slower than the front half. My Garmin went long 26.8 miles (so at least a 8:11 there).

After the Finish line, you keep walking, up what seems like several blocks to get water first. I grabbed a water, but could barely stand up. I was dizzy and about to topple over. I grabbed a side barricade, but even that was not enough to steady me, plopping myself down on the sidewalk curb. My head was spinning. The volunteers were gracious, encouraging me to drink the water, offering to get me Gatorade. The Gatorade helped some. I still wasn’t feeling fantastic. But they said I needed to keep moving or they would have to take me to the medical tent. I wobbled up and staggered along to grab some more fluid and food; I really did not want to have to go the medical tent. Not the way I wanted to complete my first Boston! As I shuffled with the mass of runners, volunteers provided a heat sheet, which was much appreciated as my temp was dropping and a wind tunnel was being created down Boylston. This is where I started to feel emotional again, tears streaming down my face that I had run my first Boston and that it had been everything I could have hoped for as a runner. My thoughts drifted to my father, wishing he could have been in Boston with me for the special occasion. I squeezed through the throngs of people to make it to the buses to pick up my gear check bag, pulling on some warm clothing, then walking the few blocks back to the hotel. Once at the hotel, I took a picture of myself for Facebook, wearing my medal, and posted the image. Time stamp on the picture: 2:50 pm 4/15/2013.

 

The After

            Everyone knows The After, or what they saw on TV, when the experience of a lifetime exploded at 2:50 pm. My husband and kids were a couple of blocks away, walking back to meet me at the hotel. My 10 year old thought she heard thunder; my husband advised her it was likely just a truck. They joined me in the hotel room, not knowing what was going on. We found out what happened when my cousin called to make sure we were okay (he had been spectating and was hanging out near Boston Common, finding things to do until a planned dinner in a few hours). We turned on the TV. It’s been hard to turn everything off since. We spent the rest of the evening in our hotel room a short distance from the Finish Line, with the rest of the family in town joining us as all public transportation nearby was halted. We would hear  “thunder” what seemed like every 20-30 minutes for hours (controlled detonations by the police), along with repeated cacophonies of sirens. I am thankful we were together and we were all safe. The outpouring of concern from family and friends was overwhelming.

Hotel room celebration with the family while on lockdown.

 

            So many “what ifs” went through my mind then and still do. What if I had been slower? What if I had told my family to spectate at the Finish Line instead of at mile 25 (I figured a mile out would be less hectic)? What if my husband and kids had taken a different detour on their way back from mile 25? What if the bombs had occurred the day before during the 5K? I was spectating there. We were in that store on Friday. And then I feel the grief for all of us, for the runners, the spectators, those who never finished their dream race, those who will never walk or breathe again. I am angry. I am sad. I am overwhelmed with emotions. These were not the emotions I was supposed to be having. I want some joy back.

            I know this is terribly long, but I need it. I need to write and get out everything I’ve held in for the past week. Maybe it will help me to start healing. Maybe it will help me to stop randomly crying. I didn’t consider revisiting Boston in 2014, but I might have to… that too might be part of this journey.

all in for boston

The next morning, putting on my 2013 jacket for the first time: I felt nothing but ambivalence about it
 (which is why that's not my usual smile).

 

 

Hope 4 Love: Reflections on my Aunt and the 2014 Boston Marathon

        Driving yesterday, this is the license plate I see in the lane next to me. Hope 4 Love. My Aunt is Hope; she passed away two years ago today after a long battle with multiple myeloma. Spotting this surely can't be incidental. It's like her saying hi, checking in, reminding me of her large heart. Not that I really need a reminder of all the love and support she provided me. In college, I would take trips to her house in East Providence, Rhode Island during my breaks. My cousins were all young then and it would be a rare day that I would rise before they returned from school. They tease me mercilessly about it to this day. It was a home filled with love, a love that Hope created and nurtured. I have so many wonderful memories from those days and some all the subsequent visits over the years. My aunt, my Rhode Island family, have been so supportive of me over the years. It was not limited to my youth or my college days, but remains as I've grown up, as I've raised my own family, as I've become a runner. Running Boston is that family reunion each year. Hope will always be one of my most enthusiastic spectators on course. She was last out there physically at mile 22 in 2014, which remains my favorite Boston and my favorite race ever. She will be there every year as I pass by the mile 16 Providence sign and every year as I pass through Cleveland Circle, every year as I have my pre-race meal with family, and every year as we enjoy our post race celebration in the North End. Thinking about Hope and all her love, I've included my race report from Boston 2014. It's a celebration of all that she was, of her love, of her resiliency. Hope 4 Love.

A 4 Hour Celebration: Boston Marathon 4/21/2014

 

      Boston 2014 was never a goal race. I was returning for what is therapeutically known as a corrective emotional experience. Basically you redo something, seeking a different, more positive, outcome. Boston 2013 was my first Boston Marathon; it lived up to everything I had heard about. It was a hard fought PR surrounded by the energy that is Boston and its spectators. It was everything I had wanted from the experience until it wasn't. Something was lost that day, something I was returning to reclaim. My goal was simple: finish the race.

 

        From the start, my Boston marathon experience was about time with family, friends, and kind strangers. My husband and I arrived in Boston midday Friday after a red eye flight. We checked into our hotel, grabbed some lunch, then headed to the expo. We joined up with Boylston St just past the finish line, at the Old South Church. As we crossed the street, a stranger asked me if I was running the race this year. When I said I was, he offered my choice of several blue and yellow scarves he had around his neck. I chose one, thanking him, asking if a donation would be appreciated… he declined. It was one of many gifts I would receive over my trip and one that I will cherish. Knitters from around the country came together as a project for the Old South Church, making thousands of blue and yellow scarves for the 2014 marathoners to commemorate the events of last year. Mine was made by Linda from Ohio. I wore it with pride my whole trip and was moved walking around town seeing hundreds of other marathoners each with their unique scarves. It makes me emotional thinking about it still; there was so much more love that came out of that day than the hatred of a few could steal.

 

     The expo was crowded and bustling; I grabbed my bib and gear then briefly explored the unique Boston items before picking up a few. We enjoyed dinner that night with Jen, her husband, and son and another two of her friends – protein loading Brazilian Steakhouse style! Saturday was equally busy with my husband running the 5K and spectating the 5K (13:26 course record!!), followed by the middle school, high school, and elite milers. The morning was completed by listening to five prior Boston Marathon champions, after viewing the “Dear Boston” exhibit at the Boston Public Library. The Library is located at the finish line with the exhibit showcasing just a small fraction of the items collected at the memorial following last year’s marathon. This evoked the emotions I felt for weeks and months after the race last year, but also offered hope. One section entitled, “We Choose Love” echoed what I had thought about the prior week 4/15/14 when I posted on FB, “I choose love, I choose joy, I choose happiness. I choose to return to celebrate with gratitude.”

 

 

     Saturday continued with a Red Sox game with my cousin (including a HR by Big Papi and a Sox win), then a stroll to the North End. We met up with my friend Glenn and his cousins and had a fantastic meal with the largest amount of lobsta you have ever seen in a risotto. Glenn and I had met in Boston at a RW shake-out run last year and have maintained text and email contact fairly regularly over the past year; it has helped in the healing process. Sunday I enjoyed a run along the Charles with Glenn before Easter brunch with my stepmom and her friend and family, including her granddaughter running her first Boston. After some shopping Sunday afternoon, we headed out to Framingham. Just like last year, my cousin was gracious enough to host us (along with aunts, uncles, and other cousins) and prepare a pre-race meal I could manage; always much appreciated!

 

     I had no agenda for the race and no rules for the race ahead. I am easily the most competitive person I know, so that is an odd statement for me to make. Who doesn't plan to race Boston? I figured long ago that whatever I needed from race day emotionally would not be conducive with any ambitious time goals. This was coupled with a tight racing schedule (50 miler 2 weeks prior, 100K 2 weeks later), with the 100K trail race being my goal race of the spring. Boston necessarily became my final training run for Miwok.

 

      Pre race, I solidified plans to run with Glenn; he had had a less than ideal training cycle and was aiming for around 4 hours. I had given my family time frames when I would pass by their viewing spots, advising them I'd be running around a 8:45-9 minute pace per mile. The morning of the race, I donned my stylish zebra print Walmart sweatsuit over my blue 2013 Boston tank and neon yellow shorts and was off to meet Jen across from the Boston Common. Right before she arrived, I randomly ran into my friend Leonel (who I had met at a WS training run earlier in the year) and wished him well (he missed his goal time, but still rocked a sub 3 and the negative split!). The bus loading was incredibly organized and soon Jen and I were on our way to Hopkinton.

 

     The Athletes' Village was active with runners in all manner of bad thrift store garb. We staked out a spot in the shot put area of the high school field. A quick porta potty stop was followed by having my picture at the "It all starts in Hopkinton" sign. The AV started to get significantly more crowded, but Glenn was able to find me and joined us. I noticed more security from the start, every manner of police and military being present, with folks on top of the school buildings and a tank tucked behind a section of porta potties. The new normal? I was upset about this, yet also understanding… a no win situation for the BAA, really. I became a bit emotional with a moment of silence for last year’s victims. It was becoming clear that we would not be able to stroll down to the start line on our own time line (as had been the case last year). We hit the porta potties again, this time taking just under an hour. Wave 1 was already gone from the village, and the early corrals of wave 2 were being staged when the race officially started. Wave 2 would start at 10:25. Eventually they called for corrals 7-9 and I sadly donated my zebra print ensemble before being directed towards Grove St. Jen and I walked down to the start (Glenn had gone ahead as he was corral 6). The time was getting pretty tight… I started to doubt we would make it to the start on time! I ended up running into the corral and squeezed my way towards the front (the plan was Glenn would be at the back of corral 6 and I would be at the start of 7 and we would meet up on the right side of the road after a bit). I managed a couple of pics and my corral selfie before the official race started for us… it was way more hectic than I would have cared for!

 

     I crossed the start line right around 10:30 am… My Garmin was still locating satellites and didn’t kick in right away, even though I had the time running. The first mile was crowded on the course, similar to last year, but at least I wasn’t weaving and bobbing. Instead my attention was on the spectators and the crowds – yep, already, way more visible than last year. I ran that first mile a tad (okay, much) faster than I had anticipated – I was excited, full of energy, and had to catch Glenn! 8:04 – whoops! I did meet up with Glenn just after the first mile, then Jen caught up to us (she had detoured for a pit stop just before the corral loading). She forged ahead with a 3:40 goal time. Those first few miles were faster than planned, but I did reign it in more by the 10K mark. From mile 1 on, I noticed it was warm (I didn’t feel that way until 6 miles in last year)… not a good sign. But my focus was on things other than time, thankfully. Throughout the race, I took a lot of pictures and selfies, wanting to capture the experience, being sure to catch all the town signs as we ran by.

 

Miles 1-5: 8:34 (actual 8:04), 8:20, 8:30, 8:37, 8:42  (5K 26:03)

Miles 6-10: 8:41, 8:41, 8:50, 8:42, 8:52 (10K 53:14, 15K 1:20:38)

 

      The crowds were spectacular! I was overwhelmed by the number of people on course last year and this was surpassing that by thousands upon thousands. I loved seeing all the parties in front lawns and along the main streets of the towns. Families were out, college kids were everywhere. Kids offered all manner of refreshments, as well as their hands for slaps and high fives. I’m sure my hand would have been a petri dish disaster if swabbed post race, but who cared? It was a celebration and time to slap away while running down the street! I took in a Twizzler at mile 7; not bad, though not my usual marathon fare. I danced on the course: YMCA and then shaking my tail feathers to Move It Move It – Boston is a dance party, right? Everyone was so gracious – they were thanking us, the runners, for running, for returning. No – thank you for having us! Just after mile 12, we ran by the Hoyts… amazing was everywhere!

 

     Then it was time to get ready! The Wellesley Scream Tunnel was ahead! They had made me a sign (“Kiss and Run, Special K!”), so I had to keep my eyes out for it, while trying to grab more kisses than last year (3), and getting a selfie with a kiss (requested by DH)… a lot of work to do! I warned Glenn I would catch up after the mile, if needed, as I might slow down. I still charged full speed ahead and did manage a 9 minute mile – quite impressive given at least 7 kisses (I lost count, so it might have been 8), with one selfie with a kiss (that is really hard to do!). I had to kiss the girl from Rhode Island (my birthplace)! Life is good. The half marathon point was just after the Scream Tunnel: 1:54:40 – not bad, about where I should be given the harder back half. Mile 14 did see a porta potty stop and a quick medical grab for Vaseline (yeah, it was too hot!). Then the hills started.

 

Miles 11-15: 8:56, 8:48, 9:01, 9:07, 9:14  (20K 1:48:25, 25k 2:16:54)

 

     I didn’t care much for the hills last year; I just didn’t care this year. They were just part of the journey, no longer an obstacle to the journey. I captured the sign to Providence just after 16. Shortly thereafter, I started to scan the right side of the road – my spectators would be near 17! I spotted my husband (that 5K bright yellow BAA shirt is easy to spot!!) and crew. I went up to them, gave hugs to my husband, 3 of my cousins, and my stepmom. Those few extra seconds in the race might well be worth it – I might just have to try that again even when I am vying for time! (I have since been teased that that might have cost me 9 seconds – see my finishing time!) I am so appreciative of their support – coming out and traveling and fighting the crowds to cheer me on. Moving down the road, an ice stop at mile 18 was much appreciated – yes, it was really, really getting warm and I was parched despite fluids at every mile, salt and electrolyte tabs, and power gel blasts. Then I had a half a strawberry Otter pop, with a lime one a mile or two later; pretty tasty! Glenn had warned me he would be taking his time on the hills, so we slowed down a tad. Just before Heartbreak Hill, I hit the porta potty again. Then I saw a beer sign! Okay, so I don’t drink beer… in fact, I rather loath beer. I am the epitome of a wine snob, so even crap wine won’t suffice. But, I did think, this might just be the race to try it out… Someone had offered beer (along with cigarettes) at mile 6, which I thought was a bit too early to test the waters of new marathon fuel. But mile 20? The timing is just about right! I grabbed and downed my beer (likely just a few ounces); it was surprisingly refreshing and helped me up the hill!

 

Miles 16-20: 8:48, 9:34, 9:48, 9:34, 10:00 (30K 2:46:46, 20 miles 3:00:03)

 

     Cresting the hill, we hit Boston College. I don’t think the kids there were quite as intoxicated as they had been last year (even though I had given them an extra half hour of drinking time this year), but they were still partying. I turned into a bit of an energizer bunny during this mile as I started to slap the outstretched hands of the BC kids. Once you slapped a couple of their hands, the kids on the barricades just past them would stretch out their hands too… and on, and on, and on…. So, it was nearly a full mile of hand slapping, weaving and bobbing along with the contours of the road, in between the police and the crowds. My hand was pretty sore after that – but what a joyous mile! Last year, I faded horribly after BC, struggling from miles 22-25 of the course, feeling like I was in the midst of a death march. This was quite the opposite; I still had bounds of energy and could just enjoy the miles. Glenn was fading, so I would periodically slow down or walk, wanting to finish the race that we started together. I did my best to get the crowds going: raising my hands in the air and raising the ceiling – which would lead to roaring on both sides of the street. It was fantastic! This is celebration! And quite the arm workout! I spotted my aunt and uncle right around mile 22.5 after Cleveland Circle, giving them both hugs before continuing on down the road. Just after mile 23, I spotted Jen ahead of me. I caught up to her a bit later, not wanting to get too far ahead of Glenn. She was suffering from the heat; I did my best to try to encourage her and tried to get her to run in with us.

 

Miles 21-26.41: 10:15, 9:10, 9:43, 9:47, 9:33, 8:54, 9:07 (35K 3:17:31, 40K 3:47:46)

 

     We were approaching the Citco sign and moved from Brookline into the final of the 8 cities on our journey: Boston. As we approached Kenmore Square, I started the hunt to find my family. I had trouble spotting them at this spot last year as it was so crowded. The crowds were wicked thick this year – okay, this might be a challenge!! I passed the turn off to Fenway, passed the Kenmore station, but couldn’t find them. I realize they might not have made it back from mile 17 due to the crowds. Finally! I spotted them near 25.4 miles. I gave a wave this time; yes, I should have given more hugs – but I was a horribly sweaty mess by then and had a destination less than a mile ahead in my mind. Thanks to my husband, stepmom, uncle, and cousins for popping up!

 

     I realized in searching for my family, I had lost Glenn. I ran down under Mass Ave and stopped in the shade, looking back to see if I could spot him. I waited there briefly, before forging on when I couldn’t pick him out. It was time to finish the race. You have to run down the street from here – right on Hereford, left on Boylston! I was giddy heading up Hereford. Then as I turned on to Boylston, I flashed the smile I had been showing all day (there were cameras here!), but my heart sank for a moment. Last year, the crowds on the right side of the road on Boylston were 10-12 deep in front of Hynes Convention Center – that was one of the things that propelled me to my fastest mile in 2013. But the people were only 2-3 deep… what had happened? Were people scared? Did we let the terrorists win? I wouldn’t know until later that Boylston was being heavily regulated in terms of traffic, that the crowd limitations were externally imposed, not driven by the spectators themselves. On the left side of the road though, the crowds were thick and loud, including the sites of the bombings. I took in that magical stretch of road, where the Finish Line is visible what seems like forever away, and I ran it home. What an experience! The experience of a lifetime from last year was taken away, but it was replaced with this new one. It was replaced with the best race I could ever dream of. Some days you run for time, but on 4/21/14, I just ran for love.

 

Final time: 4:00:09 (9:10 pace)

#1246 F 40-44, #6942 F, #18128 OA.

 

     Post race, I did finally see Glenn after the finish line. He wasn’t faring well and I stayed with him while medical personnel talked to him. After a bit, and getting dizzy myself, Glenn urged me to go on to get warmed up. I felt better when I knew he made it back to his hotel without a medical tent detour. I celebrated with my family that night – the party of 12 in the North End replaced the room service for 9 from last year. I stayed in Boston for a couple more days after the race, enjoying more time with family, friends, as well as shopping, museum/ sight seeing, runs along the Charles, and way too many cannolis.

 

     I had anticipated a 4 hour cry fest over the course of those 26.2 miles. Instead, I had a 4 hour celebration: a celebration of joy, of happiness, of love, of running, of community. I was grateful to have the opportunity to return and run Boston. I am filled with gratitude for the experience, filled with love for the city and its spectators, filled with joy for what was reclaimed on April 21, 2014. It was an amazing race, the experience of a lifetime. I will return to celebrate again in 2015 and in subsequent years as long as my legs can run fast enough and as long as my gracious host Boston will have me.

Stepping Stone: Redding Marathon 1/15/2017

                I was a bit lost. There was no goal in sight. No goal race on the horizon. The 2017 schedule just loomed before me, taunting me with the emptiness of the calendar. There is always the lag that is created by the Western States wait each year and then the domino effect of race planning when that lottery rejection comes through the first Saturday of December. But having Boston awaiting me each April at least made that wait more tolerable. It wasn’t there to greet me as it sat in limbo too (I had the BQ, but missed the cutoff, and was seeking a charity spot). It’s hard to actually train without the carrot. I had had my recovery time post Chicago and wanted to go, but had nothing to move on to. You either wait or you take matters into your own hands. I was done waiting by November 17, 2016 and registered for Redding Marathon. I had been eyeing the race for a couple of years: small town race, pretty looking course, might be fast. I pulled out my marathon training plan and felt back in the game.

                Sometimes when you register for a race, circumstances intervene between the start and the finish line of training. The major shift was Boston greeting me again, as I secured a charity bib to run for Project Purple and raise funds to fight pancreatic cancer in honor of my father. (To read more about that journey.)  Redding could be whatever I now wanted it to be as Boston was again the goal race. I maintained consistent mileage, generally in the mid 40s each week. I dropped in hints of speedwork when I could. But, I spent a lot of time running on the trails – basically having fun mud and rain runs, even one with snow!  I managed a strong 20 miler on Christmas Eve, feeling like my road racing skills might be coming back. However, I was sick for over 3 weeks at the end and start of the year, my asthma wrecking havoc on the speedwork and eventually limiting some of my longer planned road runs. Redding would be a fun race in the end. It was hard for me to gage my true fitness. I figured I could finish anywhere between 3:45-4:00.

                We drove to Redding the day before the race, three hours north. After excess rain and storms, we were graced with clear skies. I picked up my bib, checked out the finish line at the Sundial Bridge (which is stunning), had a burger and beer lunch, and then took a tour of Shasta Dam at the start line (which is even more stunning). For dinner, we went to a restaurant recommended by a friend (Moonstone Bistro) that would delight any cosmopolitan diner and that was a decided gem in small town Redding. We were seated at the bar (last minute decision, booked) and able to watch the show that was the kitchen. It lent itself to a conversation on my right side with Niloy, who would also be running Redding the next day and was also an ultramarathoner – as well as on our left, with a couple who were local runners and who would be volunteering at the race.

 

 

                Race morning came after a fitful night of sleep. I wasn’t particularly nervous; the hotel was just too loud. I got ready and my husband Jim drove me to the finish line. I boarded the bus to the start line at 6:30 am. My seatmate Christine, mainly a long distance triathlete, would be running her 5^th marathon, aiming for a sub 4 (prior PR 4:03), but going without her Garmin or data, per her coach’s instructions. Prior to the start, we were able to shelter in the Shasta Dam Visitor’s Center, which was comfortable compared with the outside world where the temps were in the mid 30s. There I spent some time with Niloy again, discussing our preferred (trail) runs. My Chicago tank top later started a conversation with John, who had just relocated from Chicago to South Lake Tahoe and would be running his first marathon. I popped outside to take some photos of the faint sunrise coming over Shasta Dam, with Mt. Shasta decked in white on the pink horizon. It was even more striking than the views garnered by the clear blue skies the day before.

 

 

                The race starting line is underwhelming: a tiny archway at the edge of the parking lot. I garnered a few stares in my shorts and tank top.  I did have throwaway gloves, but I suppose most people prefer added layers when it’s in the 30s outside. There was no service to confirm the temps, which had been projected to be upper 30s on my weather app. My Garmin file would claim 30 degrees at the start; I don’t think it was quite that cold! I would be warm within a couple of miles, in either case. I lined up a few people back from the start line; this was a gun start and I wasn’t willing to leave seconds behind that line. At 8 am sharp, we had a few second countdown and were off! This would be my smallest marathon (181 finishers and another 64 teams running a 3 person relay), so it felt much closer to what I experience in trail races in terms of atmosphere and company.

                The race starts running across Shasta Dam – the views of the sunrise and Mt Shasta to your right, the crash of the water flowing out of the dam to the river below on your left. It’s easily the most scenic start to a marathon I have ever had. I was focused on enjoying the views, keeping the pace easy, and warming up. 0.8 miles into the race, the descent to the river starts. The drop in the subsequent 2 miles is roughly 450 feet with long wide curving switchbacks on the paved park road. My goal was simple: moderate the pace and don’t blow up your quads. So, I take my time. I take my time and people fly past me like they are running a timed mile. I think in some instances this might be nerve-wracking and might propel me to keep up and push the pace. But this is lifetime marathon #25, it is mile 2; I have nothing but patience, and nothing but respect for the descent. Mile 2 will clock in at 8:16 (with 305 ft of descent). My 2017 goal of restraint is holding steady. People continue to fly down to the river. I maintain my plan and am still at an 8:20 pace when the course finally flattens out. It may take me another 20 miles to catch those that flew past me on the descent; most are caught much sooner.

 

My shins have been burning; the descent was downright painful for me. Once the course flattens out just before mile 3 and we join the paved path that will follow the Sacramento River downstream, my feet are feeling very awkward. They aren’t picking up correctly. I nearly have myself diagnosed with a neurological condition as my foot drop is incredibly disconcerting. I start to worry I can’t run. My pace doesn’t shift much as I settle in to GMP, but my motions feel unnatural. My feet take a few miles to feel themselves again. A pebble is also stuck on my left shoe, picked up on the descent. The sound of this clicking overcomes my music and is like the telltale heart. It would seem logical to stop to knock it out, but that would disrupt the 8:30 pace. Instead, I occasionally stomp to try to dislodge it to no avail.

As I’ve been running and trying to get my body back in gear to cooperate, the scenery provides distraction. We are feet from the river on the left, with forestation on our right. The river is a wide expanse, blue, flowing, with mountains opposite. This is trail beauty and this might just be the reason to take on this experience. I pass Christine after a brief period of running on the trail. The first aid station is past the 5K point; I grab water. I am carrying a handheld bottle with Gatorade; there are only 10-11 aid stations on course, I need more fluids. My bottle has a fantastic duct tape handle fashioned on it, as I intended to only keep it for the first sections of the course. I am not quite overheated yet, so maintain my gloves, which I will throw away at the second aid station, past the 10K point.

 

Miles 1-6: 8:22, 8:16, 8:41, 8:36, 8:25, 8:33.

                The trail becomes more slick seven miles in. It might be colder or there might just be more shading through this section. In either case, the trail is frosty and I am starting to lose my footing. I, along with several others, opt to run on the side of the trail in the gravel/vegetation section as a slide out is not on my menu for the day. This requires a bit more focus and concentration. But somewhere in these two miles, I finally get my groove back. The rock dislodges from my shoe. The trailside is harder, but my pace doesn’t falter. This is actually something like home and matches the views better than the asphalt. And apparently, my muscles take 7-8 miles to warm up and be race ready! I am passing people and I feel good and solid again.  The 3^rd aid station just before mile 10 is also the first relay exchange, so some runners drop off, while others join in.

 

 

                Heading into the 11^th mile, the course veers to a trail on the left. There is a steep, way too uncomfortable again descent, but it is brief. Then the climbing starts. We are climbing and following the switchbacks up the mountain towards Keswick Dam. To my left, I can see where I was running at mile 9 and catch the glimpse of brightly colored race gear across the water below me. I am still running, as the climb remains runnable, though the effort expended is increasing as my pace is decreasing. Because of the switchback nature of the trail, there is no summit in sight. The views though become more and more striking with each effort of my breath – the expanse of water far below the tree line makes the climb worthwhile. The final push requires a few feet of walking; I have climbed roughly 325 ft in the past 2.5 miles. I grab water at the aid station up top. The half marathon point occurs as I catch my breath: 1:54:40. Then the steep descent starts. Again, half the race is left, quads will be needed, so I exercise patience. I allow for some speed and will clock my fastest mile of the race (8:04), but remain in control.

                I run down to Keswick Dam, which has a spot of spectators in the growing sunlight, cross the road and continue the path along the Sacramento River. Just past the Ribbon bridge (which I will return to around mile 22), I notice my watch jumps at the end of mile 14 and the start of mile 15. I am not suddenly running a 5:30 pace. My watch had been about 0.1 miles off the mile markers from mile 3 on, adding another 0.1 miles at this juncture. I don’t think running the tangents has been an issue – I did on every conceivable bend in the road (and the trail is not very wide).  At this point, a runner is coming towards me – likely the race leader or one of the lead relay teams, crossing towards the finish side of the river. The course from mile 14-22 will consist of two out and backs (15-17, then 18-22), so greetings are in order. I cheer on the studs and the mid packers; it provides some distraction and I’m happy to have enough energy for the greetings.  This makes it feel more like a trail race, which aligns better with the views on the course.

Miles 7-14: 8:34, 8:34, 8:37, 8:47, 9:14, 9:26, 9:08, 8:04.

                I grab more water at the aid station near 15. I have been eating every few miles and drinking my Gatorade, but I know I should be consuming a bit more. It’s hard with aid stations every 2-3 miles. I am a bit parched.  These miles are an out and back with an ascent on the way out. This is more gradual and less steep than the middle miles climb, with the gain just over 100 feet. It requires just a wee bit more effort, but I am feeling the miles as my pace slows slightly. I am passing some others though, so my fade isn’t too bad. I see John on the out and we greet each other and wish each other well. I am also able to see the runners ahead of me, separating out the relay runners and marathoners (bibs in the 2 or 3 digit range vs 4 digit range). I don’t know where my overall placement is, but there are enough women ahead of me that I need not worry about pushing. Ages are hard to tell too, so I don’t worry about it much. I’m giving it an honest effort and that’s about all I can do. At the turn around cone, a volunteer marks our bib numbers on his clipboard. Yes, this is a small town race. Hmm, it’s still kind of like a trail race. After turning, I welcome the descent back to the aid station. I see Christine in a bit; she is looking steady and I encourage her as she is maintaining her required pace for the sub 4.

 

                Back through the aid station and out , going south down the river again, I pass the mile 18 marker. I see one that says mile 21 on my left facing the other way, so know I will have some time before my return. Greetings continue and I see a woman I spoke with briefly at the start – she is looking good and will be the eventual female winner.  It gets a wee bit cold; perhaps it is the added shade. The feeling doesn’t last long. The views remain spectacular along the river and I am feeling steady. My pace will pick up for a bit then fade briefly, but there is nothing drastic. At mile 19 and change, I pass through the next relay station, continuing on to a historic bridge, making it to the finish side of the race. But, this is just the turn around, so I rewind, go back over the bridge and head north again. I have had another greeting with John and then with Christine and wish them both well. On my return, I see many runners from the last out and back and give my cheers and smiles. I will periodically pass a marathoner. In the 21^st mile, I pass John and wish him a successful finish to his first marathon.

Miles 15-21: 9:01, 9:17, 8:36, 8:59, 8:57, 8:31, 8:52.

                In the 22^nd mile, I cross over the Ribbon Bridge. It is a long narrow pedestrian bridge over the Sacramento River. I am focused on smiling for the photographer at the other end when I start to feel out of sorts and a bit dizzy. I later conclude the bridge must have been swaying.  There are just 4 miles left. My Garmin dropped off again right before the bridge and is another 0.1 mile off, so I account for this extra 0.3 in my subsequent calculations. The 20 mile mark was around 2:54 on my watch (well it was my 20, but course 19.7?), so I have an hour for the final 10K to make the BQ (3:55). I had no set goal for the day, but a BQ would be sweet. I know the Chicago one (BQ-4:55) will stand up and be the ticket for 2018, but I wouldn’t sniff at another BQ. I kind of rather like this getting older thing; 45 is the new 20 when it gives you an extra 10 minutes!

                The final stretch of river path is less shaded and warming up quickly. It is well after 11 am and must be in the 60s by now, 30 degrees warmer than where I started. I will develop a nice coating of salt on my face and neck over the ensuing miles. The terrain feels manageable still. Manageable, that is, until mile 23. There are sharp short rollers, but steep. This is all rather unnecessary at this stage of the game. I am tired, I am overheated, I am dehydrated. I don’t need hills! I’ll grant you they are nothing spectacular, not a single one of them. Each might be a few hundredths of a mile, but why are they so steep? Did no one get the memo that this is the final stretch of the marathon and I have no interest in walking? But they force my hand as the effort of my breathing while running cannot deal with the micro hills. The elevation gain will be about 100 feet over mile 23-24. It forces short walks stints around corners that give way to more micro hills. Eventually there is a down and I use it as best possible to get back on track. The pace doesn’t dip too much given the walking breaks.

                I pass a gal through this stretch, along with a couple of relay runners, then another guy. I have slowed slightly, but am in no way doing a major fade away. I am doing the math. Accounting for my Garmin errors/difference, when I am 3.5 miles out, I have 35 minutes for the BQ. Just over 2.5 miles out I have 25 minutes left for the BQ. I know it’s in hand. I want to slow down because I’m tired, but I really want the BQ more than I want to walk. And, ultimately, it’s that simple. You push through because the end and the goal is in sight. The distance is eroding ever so slowly though. In the distance I see an aid station near mile 24 (suddenly we are on the street before reconnecting with the path); I chug the last of my Gatorade (yes, I still have it!), tossing it as I grab water. My throwaway bottle will decidedly not make an appearance in my final race photos!  I pass the bridge by the prior turnaround at 20 ish. I still have 1.5 miles or so to go. The time is slowing down. No- my pacing isn’t really, but it’s just that perception of time. Every time I check the watch, I have only traveling another tenth of a mile. I’m at mile 25. Getting there. Where is the arboretum? How did it seem so much closer yesterday? I can see the Sundial Bridge in the distance, but it’s just not close enough!

Miles 22-26.62: 8:43, 8:56, 9:24, 9:03, 9:03, 8:23.

                Finally, I come across the 26 mile cone. Hmm, I still have to loop around the corner and traverse the distance of the entire Sundial Bridge?!? Sorry, it seems quite a bit longer than the 0.2 miles advertised! Up to the bridge and across I go, running down the final stretch of green glass. I search out and find my husband Jim and youngest daughter Sophie. I do my best finishing smile as I chug on to the line. Cross it and done!

 

                I’m tired and overheated. I guzzle the water a volunteer gives me while another one graces me with my medal. I am happy to be done and tickled to have the BQ in hand. It wasn’t a spectacular race for me, but it was solid. It was an even effort. I know my endurance is intact and I know my speed is lacking. And it’s something I have 13 weeks to work on before Boston. But for now, I’ll enjoy the moment. I was told I’m supposed to find pie at the end and request a slice of apple pie. Incidentally, that’s a hard thing to digest right after a marathon! It’s a small race, so I check the awards. There’s nothing listed yet for F40-44 (apparently, I picked the right day to not be 45-49, as 3 finishers had already come through).  While waiting for further results, I catch Christine after her finish. She is in good spirits – her watch 3:59:59, but official time 4:00:44 as she didn’t cross the start right away (but there was no starting mat).  I see John a short while later; he had faded in the final miles, but was happy with having completed his first marathon.

                Results are eventually up- and I take the 1^st in AG for 40-44!  The award is a beautiful tile with the Sundial Bridge. Well, it’s actually two of them, as there was some duplication with the awards company. I won’t complain! We celebrate with a burger, fried pickles, and a hard orange soda in a dive bar before driving home. This is satisfaction and happiness. It’s not about the speed every race, but sometimes about the journey the races take you on. It’s a stepping stone in the training for Boston.

 

Official: 26.2 miles 3:53:39 (8:56).

1^st AG F 40-44/16; 10^th F; 30^th OA/181.

Garmin: 26.62 miles in 3:53:42 (8:47). + 702 ft, 1207 ft.

1^st half 1:54:40, 2^nd half 1:58:59. 4:19 positive split.

                In thinking about Redding and the prior 24 marathons, I realize this was my smallest. There is the allure, of course, of the Bostons and the Chicagos, but there is something to be said for small town races. It reminds me more of the trails, where there is better opportunity for connection. My only critiques of the race are minor: have a timing mat at the start (sometimes those 45 seconds matter) and add a couple more aid stations. As a runner, I’d be more than willing to pay for both (the race was a bargain at $80).  The race has scenery that is really hard to top. I would place it 2^nd only to Big Sur in views, just edging out Avenue of the Giants (another small town race worth the trip). But toughness wise, I’d put in just ahead of San Francisco. There is less elevation gain, but the climbs are longer in the middle, and for me, that descent was perhaps my greatest challenge on the course. On trail races, my theory has always been that you pay for the views you get. You have to work for those river and forest views at Redding, but they are well worth the journey taken.

               

Start the Day with Kenny Rogers and Finish it with a Fine Cab

                It’s January 4^th and another birthday. Just like Father’s Day and September 10^th each year, I play Kenny Rogers (sometimes Willie Nelson) while I drive in my car for the day. Most drives home, whether from work or from a long run, come with a few, or many tears. At night, I pick out a fine bottle of wine, usually a Cabernet Sauvignon. Sometimes I mix it up and will try a Bordeaux blend that I think he might enjoy.  I pour two glasses, one for me, one for my father.  We toast. I will drink each glass: one sip from mine, one from his, until they are gone.

I think in the early years, it was just sorrow, just this overwhelming sense of loss, of something I wanted to retrieve, but couldn’t. It shifted to gratitude along the way: a toast to my father, to his memory, to the times we had together, to the ways in which he enriched and molded my life.  I still cry on his birthday, on Father’s Day, on the day he died. I still cry on other random days when something sparks his memory. But I try to be more reflective and more grateful. I’m not sure there’s much else to do. I can’t bring him back. And ultimately, sitting in sorrow would not be enough.

Over the past year, aside from the usual days and the typical memories that flood me from time to time, my father has been more present with me. It’s not something you think should happen five years after he has passed away. The memories should fade, the grief should resolve, life should tick on. And it does move on, but he remains. I’ve grown to know some aspects of my father I never knew as I connected with a platoon member of his from Vietnam. New photos came in, new tales of his life before I was born, a glimpse into the everyday life in the most horrific of circumstances. It’s something my dad rarely talked about during his life, though I’m sure it defined much of his life.

And then, there’s this running thing. Yes, I am admittedly defined by myself as a runner. Boston has been a special race in my heart. Returning to New England, being with my family there, that is all part of the race for me, but it also evokes so many memories of my father. And it didn’t seem that I was going to return to Boston for 2017. Well, that’s where my father comes back. I was graciously offered the opportunity to run for Project Purple. I would not know about pancreatic cancer, save for the abysmal stats you learn as a medical student. I would not know about pancreatic cancer, save for my father. Five years ago, my father passed away after a short and painful battle with pancreatic cancer. It lived up to its reputation as the worst cancer to have, the one with the lowest survival odds. And I saw it firsthand.

So, my father will bring me back to Boston this April. In his honor, I will run. In his honor, I will continue to raise funds to fight pancreatic cancer through Project Purple.  In his honor, I hope someone else can have another birthday with her father when pancreatic cancer no longer spells a death sentence. But for now, I’ll listen to Lucille, have memories of riding in the silver Corvette as daddy’s girl, and drink a fine glass of cab with my father. Happy 71^st birthday!

 

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