Stay With Me: Boston Marathon 2017

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.

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.

 

 

My 5K family.

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.

 


Easter brunch with family.

 

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 26^th 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 3^rd 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 2^nd “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 3^rd 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 2^nd or 3^rd 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 8^th 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 4^th 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!

 

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.

 


My spectators on the T!

 

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 2^nd 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 3^rd Newton Hill to be the hardest as it comes in the 20^th 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.

           


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!

 

There is nothing like the magic of this corner in all of racing!
 

 

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 26^th marathon is complete, along with my 5^th 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!
 

 

'Till I Collapse: Modesto Half Marathon 3/19/17

                My Boston Marathon training has been a bit derailed over the past five weeks. Looking at my training log, I felt like crud on my early morning run 2/14/17. Hours later I came down with chills and a fever, feeling sick, sleeping excessively for a few days. Briefly feeling better by that Friday, I jumped back on the trails with friends before a weekend out of town. My hypothermia run in the mud, rain, and wind in Cool turned into an asthma attack and three mile walk back to the car. I pulled out one of the more sluggish 20 milers in some time in Orange County two days later. The next week, my log is plagued by comments about asthma and challenges with breathing. My paces were sluggish and I was struggling, fumbling to catch my breath on any hills and with speedwork. The coughing was getting worse, keeping me from finding solace in sleep, and, thus, being unable to rest. I finally figured it might be more than my asthma and a cold and went to the doctor’s office 2/28/17. The chest x-ray came back as right upper lobe pneumonia. I rested, slept, didn’t run for nearly a week.

                I did take a start at Way Too Cool 50K 3/4/17, had a conservative race, being careful not to push, with an unbelievably successful outcome. I figured I was back. But, running conservatively on trails is not the same as trying to push the pace in a road race. In the past 2 weeks, post Way Too Cool, I was optimistic. The lungs would run out of fuel only after repeated sets of speedwork and more so when I tried to replicate 10K- half marathon pace. Yes, I was still having a mildly productive cough, but I could finally sleep at night. And yes, my voice was doing a perfect Kathleen Turner impersonation, but even that was improving.  After my speedwork session last week, I recognized the Modesto Half could go any number of ways. I might be able to maintain an 8 flat pace or something faster if the lungs could clear out further in 4 days. I was partly running Modesto to have a better sense of what Boston might hold and what might be realistic.

Lorena and I pre-race.

                In the pre-dawn hours of Sunday, I woke, dressed, and picked up my friend Lorena to drive down to Modesto. Lorena was running her 7^th marathon, but more or less as a training run with Canyons 100K remaining her target spring race (I’ll join her there 12 days after Boston! Yes, I know… scheduling, Rhino – try it!). The drive passed quickly – too much chatter about liver and onions and odd foods (it seems Lorena might revert to meat for the right liver…. Ewwww!).  We parked a few blocks from the race start, grabbed our bibs, settled in the car for a brief respite before going to the Start. I warmed up for a mile, wished Lorena well, and went to find the 3:22 pacer. On the way, I spot Karyn (pacing the 1:45 group) and Scott who will run with her; always fun to catch up with some stud tri friends! Anne, who I met with my Boston training group last year, eventually arrived – she was going for marathon #3, had worked her tail feathers off this training cycle, and was going for some pretty big goals (which she had every reason to aim for). I would see how long I could hang with her and Mr. 3:22, as that would be a 7:45 pace to start. I was pretty excited for Annie – 26.2 miles just days after turning 26! The half and full courses split after mile 7. I was dubious about my ability to maintain that pace through then, but figured I had little to lose.

                And when you’re not running at peak form, reminding yourself of what you used to be able to do may not be the best idea. I had pulled out my log and stats from when I ran Modesto (the full) in 2014: a sea of 7:40s until a heat fall apart in the final miles, though still a solid 3:32 finish (and 1:41:30 first half). This had come just 3 weeks after my (still) PR at Napa, with a 31 mile and 22 mile long runs in the intervening weekends. I was decidedly in Beast mode that spring! For the Modesto Half, I was just hoping to be in mode enough to finish respectably. I can’t quite trust my body yet; she is hit or miss and  my lungs fight me with speed attempts.

                The race is off on time at 7 am and I’m ready to give it what I have. My body may have her own thoughts, but my heart and my mind remain all in. The first mile, I stick behind the 3:22 pacer and Annie. I am working, but that speed (7:42) feels okay. It’s actually a rather fun pace! I have delusions that the excitement I feel about the pace might maintain. In the 2^nd mile, Mr. 3:22 gets a bit peppier. I hang on for most of the mile, but eventually let him and Annie go. It feels too rich for my blood, so I pull back. I still drop a 7:37, but it’s more effort than my body wants. Over the next few miles, I will settle back into a pace right around 8. That feels tangible and briefly sustainable. In the 4^th mile, we climb Mount Modesto – the hill is the only reprieve from the flattest of flat courses that is Modesto. I actually like the climb, push it, enjoy the downhill that follows. I eat, ready for the water at the next aid station.

                In the 4^th mile, as we stretch out on the country roads, a voice behind me yells, “Runner on your left!” I move to the right as I think what an asshole statement that is. What is this – a triathlon?!? I’m not on a bike! It’s Scott – just teasing me! I promptly advise him of my internal dialogue. We both comment about how long it might take Karyn to catch us (she has to stay with her pace group!). I briefly run with Scott, then let his Folsom Bike shirt drift down the road of farmland in front of me. I’m feeling okay – not fantastic, but maintaining. I clock out the next couple of miles without much worry or fanfare. The pace is drifting ever so slightly slower, though I am near an 8 flat pace at the 10K point.  There are clusters of spectators along the roads, something I did appreciate with the race a few years back. It nearly helps make up for the flatness that I don’t really care for. The day is humid and I am drenched in sweat. My Project Purple tank is soaked and has been since mile 3. At least the skies are overcast and there is a slight breeze through these miles to provide a mild cooling effect.

Mile 1-7: 7:42, 7:37, 8:03, 8:07, 8:06, 8:13, 8:20.   Mile 7 mat 56:14 (8:02 pace).

The sunrise on the horizon.

 

                The course takes a left after mile 7. This is where Karyn catches me with her 1:45 group. She is always the encourager, but also wanting to be sure I don’t take it too hard. She warns me she’ll have to let Charlie (my Boston training group coach) know if I push too much. I know Karyn! Save it for Boston- save it for Boston. I run with her for a brief bit to where the half and marathon fork off from each other and then keep her in my sights for another 2 miles. I eat again. I work to stay in the center of the road, noting there is slightly less camber to the road there. Again, my pace is fading slightly. The course is heading East and there is the faintest of pink on the horizon. It’s small, but beautiful. I want to capture it with something other my memory. I take out my phone for a photo at mile 9. I also grab a few selfies; I think my skills at taking selfies while running is improving! A friend will later comment on one of these photos about the joy I have. And yes, even on the rough days when any non-goal I have has slipped away, I remain grateful for the process, for the ability to race, for the blessing of being able to run. You can’t buy that. You can’t manufacture that.

The joy of running and racing.

 

                The running is getting harder for me, I am fading. I have not gone full agonal breathing or anything, but I am struggling. My heart is in this, my body stubbornly has no interest in following. It is what it is. I continue on. At mile 10, my pace starts to dip further, threatening a 9 minute mile. ‘Till I Collapse by Eminem comes on my playlist. It’s a new song for me, added by my friend Dani, as part of a fundraiser for Project Purple for Boston ($10 donation for a song choice). Yes, added by my friend Dani, who is kind of spirit and generous of heart, and who should have been running her 2^nd marathon at LA today, had her training not been derailed by health issues. The timing of the song is just what I need as I attend to the lyrics. “ You gotta search within you,  And gotta find that inner strength….”  Basically, I will run “Till my legs give out…. till my bone collapse.” The song has also been preceded by text from my husband “Finish Strong” and is followed by “Stronger” from Kanye.  Needless to say, I am back on track and I feel the love and support. I am not necessarily very much faster, but I am maintaining. Emotionally, I am coming to grips with the implications for Boston as I push on.

Miles 8-13.17: 8:17, 8:27, 8:44, 8:38, 8:34, 8:47, 7:50.

                I eat one final time and push back up Mount Modesto, passing someone on the uphill, though I won’t quite catch the stroller that just breezed past me.  I descend and am counting down the remains of the course. A sub 1:50 should be safe. That puts me at my fitness pre-Chicago, when my foot was fighting me. 3:50 perhaps, but heart might get me to an optimistic 3:45. And I do still have 4 weeks, not one left. It may be still too early to make that decision. I give what I have remaining in the final couple of miles. I turn the final corner of the course. The clock still reads 1:48:xx. I’ll take what I can get.

Official time: 1:48:52 (8:19); 7^th AG F 40-44/156, #34 F/903, #128 OA/1446.

Garmin: 13.17 miles in 1:48:56 (8:16), +59 ft.

                I collect my medal, finisher’s jacket, and some food. I catch up with Karyn and Scott. She had a perfect pacing gig (and is 3^rd in her AG!) and just barely passed Scott at the end. We walk back to our cars; they grab warmer clothes, I grab a jacket and water bottle, dump my medal, so I can add miles. I feel better as Karyn debates dropping Canyons: too much with pacing gigs and Oceanside. Balancing is hard and I struggle to accept that. I struggle to accept my limitations. And yet, they’re knocking at my door. I say my goodbyes to Karyn and Scott so I can run some miles; need to get in the 20 for the day.

With Scott and Karyn post race.

 

                It’s getting warmer and it remains humid. I run the course backwards, find a cute canal running path, circle back to the finish. Annie is showing strong on the online tracker- metronome for the available checkpoints. I anticipate her around 10:20 am. Lorena is also solid through mile 14. I wait at mile 26. There is a man who is staggering, but tries to get going as he sees marathoners behind him. This distracts me. So, I nearly miss Annie coming through on the other side of a volunteer on bike with boombox (he did entertain me around mile 8 with Lady Gaga). The flash of orange catches my eye though and I call out, cheer, grab some photos. Then I sprint across the course and dart around the sidewalk at the corner to catch the glimpse as Annie finishes in an amazing 3:18! (This is beyond her A++ goal!) I meet her parents as we walk through/around the finishers’ chute. Soon we are able to confirm she is the 2^nd overall female in the marathon! I am filled with joy for her – and pride at how all her hard work in training has paid off on a beautifully executed (negative split) race! Can’t wait to see her again in Boston in 2018!

Mile 26 joy for Annie!

 

                I take my leave after a bit to run my final miles and find Lorena. I run out to around mile 24.8 and wait. I finally spot my girl in her bright corral shirt. I have the pleasure of running her in to the finish of her 7^th marathon. We enjoy lunch in town then drive home. Our conversation centers around motivators for running and reasons for racing, personality types, and discomfort. We have come to running from opposite motivators, but we come together in friendship. I find myself fortunate to call her my dear friend. I also see the racing potential she doesn’t quite yet glimpse in herself. It’s a balance thing: running trails, running on the road- finding yourself, pushing yourself.

Lorena approaching mile 25.

                Once home, I get cleaned up. I struggle with that balance. I struggle with a mixed bag of emotions. I did pretty good, considering. But, it’s so far off of my potential. I was diagnosed with pneumonia 2.5 weeks ago; to complete a 1:49 half isn’t too bad. It’s just hard when your body fails you. I pulled back to have a safe race. And I feel I should be racing fine; there is no “injury” present in my mind. I look okay; I’m not visibly injured. So, I feel as though I should be in my usual form. My lungs obviously tell me otherwise. I have 4 weeks until Boston. It’s Boston! You want to show up at Boston and be able to race to your potential. You want to be in peak form after a solid training cycle. You want to go out there and give it your absolute best. Each of the past four years, I have arrived at Boston fit and fast. Even the 2014 celebration year for me, I opted to take my time and savor the race, but was in BQ shape, should I have made an alternate choice. I shed a few tears as I come to terms that I won’t have my best to give this year. My body is not there yet and it is unrealistic to expect it to get there in four short weeks. I will give Boston all I have in me on April 17^th. It may be more in terms of heart this year than speed. But, I still have a lot of heart to give.

33 Seconds and a Heart Filled With Gratitude

 
       A month from today, I will run my 5th Boston Marathon and my 26th lifetime marathon. On April 18, 2016, I was not sure this would even be an opportunity. The 2016 Boston Marathon was a hot one and tested me physically, though more so emotionally, coming two months after the worst marathon I have run in my racing career. I fought every step of the race for 96 seconds, what is better known as a "squeaker BQ". Based on prior year statistics, I left Boston the next day heartbroken, sensing the likelihood of a return to the 2017 Boston Marathon was slim. I tried to grab another BQ, but it was not to be. I would have to sit with my 96 seconds. In late September, my hopes were dashed when the cutoff for the 2017 race was announced as 2:09 under the BQ. I was 33 seconds short.

       33 seconds. 33 seconds. It's nothing: a few blinks of a eye, a diversion to grab water, a kiss, a hug. It's more than I could give last April, because I still know gave it all I had that day. And I sat there for a few days, debating what to do. Do I let it go for 33 seconds? Interrupt the dream that is Boston, interrupt the yearly celebration with family, with friends, with a community of runners, with my favorite city? I think those who have run Boston understand, as I know others who are avid runners also understand. Those of us who were there in 2013 understand. It's become such a part of who I am and I am grateful for everything I feel it has given me. I could just let it go. I was confident in my ability to get back in 2018. But, could I just let it go?

     The choices were limited to return. I would have to apply for and be accepted by a charity. It sounds simple enough. But, that decision can't come lightly. It's a commitment. I would have to raise between $5,000 and $10,000. I, who has absolutely no fundraising experience, would have to raise a massive amount of money. I, who struggles to ask people for help, would have to ask people to help me - again, and again, and again. I've spent too many years priding myself on the ability to do things by myself, to never have to rely on others. Certainly, I am only too happy to help when others request it, but it's different if I have to suddenly ask. I brainstormed, trying to figure out if the goal was feasible. I brainstormed, thinking about different strategies. Ultimately, I decided, I might as well face my fears, overcome some more of my hang ups, give it my best shot, and apply for a charity bib for Boston. This would be a new challenge, so much different than my comfort in training and racing.

     I was fortunate to be offered a spot on the 2017 Project Purple Boston Marathon team, significantly enough, on the day before Thanksgiving. 33 seconds brought me to Project Purple as my father brought me back to the Boston Marathon. I undertook the daunting task of raising my goal of $10,000 to help fight pancreatic cancer, which had taken my dad's life in 2011. And so, over the past many months, I've worked on putting myself out there, asking for what I need. I've worked on my social media presence, my marketing skills, my writing skills, my asking skills. And all the things that seemed so scary back in the Fall have filled my heart in other ways instead. The stories that I've heard in the process of asking and in the process of expressing my gratitude, have filled me more than I could have imagined. Oh, I've shed many a tear and, some days, I've cried a small river. I have been touched by the ways in which we have been able to connect through the challenges we have been through, through our grief, through our sorrow, through the love we have had from those we have lost. So much of what I feel about this journey remains hard to express. The words seem inadequate in light of the gratitude I feel. The generosity, both of heart and in terms of donations, has been overwhelming.

     So a month from now, I will toe the line at the Boston Marathon. It will no doubt be an emotional day. My dad will be running with me as I don my Project Purple singlet and as I run through the eight towns on course to the finish line on Bolyston. Each year at Boston is special and each is unique. But, I nearly can't fathom 2017. This won't be a traditional racing year for me. It's not because my body has struggled in recent weeks, thanks to pneumonia. But maybe partly because of that, I return to what this journey is about. It's a thank you to my father, for all that he provided for me, for the love he gave me, for the parts of me that are him. And, so when I run next month, I run for him, for my loss, for my love, but mostly for my gratitude. I am a better person because of him. And, so I thank him for the 33 seconds and for all it has afforded me this year. While the money that we have raised is just a small piece in the greater fight against pancreatic cancer, it is filled with hope.


I have included my race report from the 2016 Boston Marathon: the hardest marathon I have run and the one that brings me back next month.

Rising Boston Strong: 120^th Boston Marathon 4/18/2016

 

 

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. – Teddy Roosevelt, 1910

 

            Since January, I’ve been taking an online course by Brene Brown about vulnerability – about the risks we take and the falls that may come in the process. She often references the above Roosevelt quote about the Man in the Arena: if you dare greatly, sometimes you will face plant, need to wipe off the dust and sweat and blood, and find a way to rise above and to rise strong. The process has been challenging at times as I’m forced to examine who I am, why, and where I want to be. I never thought it would apply to my running. Running was always the outlet, the means by which I could process life and work through life’s challenges. Running was my peace, my comfort, my provider of confidence, my solitude. And then, the LA marathon happened. I was ambitious in my goals and my plans and I just floundered and fell apart. What ensued was a crisis in my confidence as relates to my running ability. I found myself face down in the arena and just had no interest in even thinking about getting up. I would suddenly find myself stopping runs early, not having much interest in pushing myself, often just plain not wanting to run. I revamped what I thought was necessary: I cut back on running, dropping mileage (I was too aggressive for LAM and I think I had worn my body out), giving myself rest day permissions, and no longer followed a set schedule. I just wanted my mojo back. I think it returned in fits and starts, but by mid March, I think I was back on track. And I say “think”, because, I just didn’t know. I have always been fairly spot on in knowing what I am capable of athletically. But I just didn’t know when I might give up or give in; maybe I just didn’t care anymore? The truth is, I cared too much, and I just wanted that love for running back. I was gradually getting my paces back, gradually getting back in shape. Two weeks before Boston, I ran a local half marathon. It was the purest of joys – I pushed hard and I was back in love. My heart was all in! And I was precisely where I needed to be heading in to Boston. The 3:30 goal was realistic.

 

Cheers to arriving in Boston and being in a dive bar!

 

Seeing Nuria at the Expo!

 

            My husband and I flew out on the red-eye, arriving in Boston on April 15^th in the early morning. We were fortunate a room was available and we were able to settle in before the expo. The expo was uncrowded, so it was a quick pick up and merchandise selection. I had the pleasure of seeing my friend Nuria; we have trained with the local Boston 365 training group the past two years. She is a source of boundless and positive energy that I have come to appreciate during training runs. The support of the training group and coach Charlie have been invaluable in pushing me to the limits of my fitness, while providing encouragement over my rough post- LAM patch. Later in the afternoon, I headed to the Finish Line where I sat in the stands for roughly an hour. It was the first year post 2013 that I have been in Boston on April 15^th. I marked it with quiet reflection and emotions across the way from Marathon Sports. So much of the meaning of Boston to me came from that day, from my first Boston. In essence, it’s the inspiration of a city and running community rising strong. The solemnity of the afternoon was followed by celebration, meeting up with Jen (who I met at Boston 2013) and Laurie for our protein loading meal at Fogo de Chao.

 

 

The first time being there on the anniversary.

 

            I was the official bag holder and spectator for the BAA 5K the next day, managing to catch photos of Jen, Laurie, my cousins Andrew and Erin, and my uncle Cap. I only missed my husband who was focused on a bet he had with Andrew; he ended up on the right side of 4 seconds. While waiting for the race, I was chatting with a couple of folks. We had an amusing conversation about shoes and psychiatry, with the guy referencing Billy Rodgers when it came up that I had attended Wesleyan. I had grabbed a photo with Bill Rodgers (4 time Boston champion) the day prior, spotting him outside the Nike store. The guy looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him and nothing in my conversation suggested I knew him. In any case, the 5K was a success: solid times and my uncle did the race while carrying an American flag (he’s 70!). I met up with my family and we watched the invitational and high school miles; twin brothers crossing in joint victory with a 4:33 mile was the highlight. My husband Jim and my cousin Julie and I then headed to lunch and then Fenway. The first pitches were thrown out by the Rio Olympic marathon qualifiers: Meb, Shalane, Amy, and Desi. Just before that they announced the John Hancock (race sponsor) team for the marathon, all being coached by Greg Meyer (1983 Boston champ). It finally clicked! I had been chatting that morning with Greg Meyer! I didn’t know him, but had recognized him from Boston Legends talks I have attended at prior Boston expos. I sent him a message on Facebook and we chatted for a bit- he has a great sense of humor. I did go see him the following day at his talk; he had mentioned my custom Boston Cons shoes to Amy Cragg. Cool. So the people you could randomly meet on a magical weekend in Boston? At the Red Sox game, I got to chatting with the gentlemen behind me – they were from where I was born in Rhode Island. Small, inspirational world.

 

Greg Meyer!

 

The Rhode Islanders!

 

 

            Sunday, I met up with a couple of my running group friends Azi and Vickie for a bit at the expo. I later had lunch with my friend Vicki, who I had met on my first bus ride to the Athlete’s Village in 2013. Dinner was at my cousin Julie’s home, who is kind enough to host the extended family pre-race each year and to provide me with my lean protein and veggie meal. I slept well that night and think I had managed any pre-race anxieties fairly well. I was calm. I knew the conditions would not be ideal for me, but I had no pretense that I was going to have a repeat of LAM. I would give it my best shot – because, no matter what I could execute, this was Boston! The race day temp forecasts were bad – highs in the 70s. The only saving grace might be that the temps would likely cool as the race progressed and as we ran closer to the ocean, though headwinds would also likely pick up. In most races with a 7 am start, 70s would be manageable as the high. But Boston starts at 10 am and my wave would not start until 10:50 am. I would have to be aggressive in my race management: aggressive with hydrating and cooling measures, conservative enough with pace, knowing a fade would be likely. The original 3:30 goal pre-forecast was put to the side. I was aiming for a 3:40, which would be my BQ-5, to gain entry to the 121^st Boston in 2017 (though a 3:38 would be ideal as that would also qualify me for NY). My race schedule over the next few months (which culminates at the same time as the qualifying window for Boston 2017) is hectic with a 100 miler and an Ironman. I needed to get the BQ here to maintain my streak.

 

With Vickie and Azi - my Animals!

 

 

Family pre-race.

 

            Race day, up, ready, dressed in a stylish pair of Oscar the Grouch PJ pants, I walked with Jen and Laurie to the Common. I later hopped on a bus to the Athlete’s Village, chatting with “The Legend” a 55 yo woman from Ontario and an Ironman stud. Once at the village, I felt that magic that is Boston on race morning! I grabbed my photo at the “It all starts in Hopkinton” sign, used the facilities, then met up with my girls in a spot of shade. My friend Vicki and her friends from Washington would later join us. It was warm. I was keeping my layers on so that I could give myself the illusion of being cool when I finally took them off (not sure that worked! But I was trying to limit my sunburn!). There was a woman in a unicorn outfit at the AV; she looked so hot! (Not the sexy hot, but just hot- 1980s unitard with full leggings.) Our friends had left before us for the wave 2 start. Finally, it was our turn! Jen and I walked down the road to the start. It is the only time we have done this walk when we could see the road – it wasn’t crowded in the least and we were thankfully not rushing to the start. We used the facilities one last time then proceeded to the starting corrals. We had finally ditched our throwaway clothing. It was a scorcher! The sun was shining brightly, there was no cloud cover. A few minutes before the start as we are taking pictures, I check my weather app: it’s 70 degrees and sunny. Well, that’s the typical starting weather you want for a marathon! Not! I didn’t need the app to tell me that; you could easily feel the heat. Control what you can. Stay calm, take in the race, enjoy the day, push yourself enough but don’t blow up.

 

 

Mom of 7 Vicki from my first Boston.

 

Jen and Laurie in the Athlete's Village- looks cold, right?

            We were off with wave 3 which started at 10:50 am. Jen and I crossed the start line at 10:51:26. I was off on my own as I had to go get that BQ! I know well enough to moderate that first mile; I don’t fight the crowds, I run with them to avoid the excess energy expenditure. I did have a water bottle with me to use for the first two miles until the aid stations started. I had had water and Gatorade prerace and had eaten more than I usually do to be sure I was fueled. It was easily the warmest start I have had at Boston. The only upside to the weather is that it was great for spectating. Boston is always teeming with on course fans, but the crowds were so amazingly thick throughout. We runners made them spectate in a storm last year – so they can have a lovely summer day this year! About a mile in I see Katie from my Boston 365 group and comment on the heat. We go back and forth every handful of miles until I lose sight of her sometime after Heartbreak. In prior years I have seen more runners I know on course, but 2016 was a solo venture.

 

Jen and I at the start line: 70 degrees!

 

Miles 1-5: 8:16, 8:09, 7:52, 7:47, 7:58.   

5K 25:14 (8:08)

 

            At mile 5, I enter Framingham. A large Boston Strong banner is on the left where it has been the past three years. They are playing my song: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun! I sing a few words as I pass by, but even that is an energy expenditure that is hard on this day. Downtown Framingham is teeming with even larger crowds. I see the commuter rail and a train there to my left- Rosie Ruiz comes to mind at such moments! Santa is back on the uphill at mile 7. I high five him and put in my official wish for snow. I continue to work, but am maintaining pace. I eat every 2-3 miles, taking in electrolyte tablets as well. Elvis is at the Welcome to Fabulous Natick sign at mile 10; unfortunately I catch him in between sets and don't have time to ingrain his song choice as I run away. From the start of mile 12, I start to hear the roar of the Scream Tunnel at Wellesley. The girls are out in full force half a mile down the road. The signs they made are on the barricades and the girls are leaning out for kisses. I have had a couple of signs made (Run Rhino Run and another for my fellow ACME animals). My brain is working hard to focus, so I skip scanning for the barricade posters. Instead, I focus on the Kiss Me, I'm ... Signs. I have to choose the right girls! I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm ever skipping through this section!  There are fewer Kiss Me signs- so I kiss a girl with corporate sponsorship, Kiss Me, Just Do it!. Then to balance my ode to Nike, I kiss a girl with Kiss Me, I'm a Virgin! Both seemed appreciative- trust me, I'm cuter than some of the males I saw leaning in for kisses!  And I am off! Towards the halfway mark!

 

Miles 6-12: 8:00, 7:56, 8:01, 8:12, 8:11, 8:18, 8:20  

10K 50:08 (8:04). 15K 1:15:24 (8:05)

 

            I pass the half way mark in 1:47. It is reasonable, conservative, good enough. I continue through the throngs in downtown Wellesley. I am keeping my eyes open and see the library. I spot Sarah ahead- give her a big smile, greeting, and wave as she takes some photos. Sarah is a Wellesley resident and non-runner who cheers for the marathon each year (we bonded during a cramped ride on the T last year). This boosts my spirit! I grab an otter pop shortly afterwards, having to gnaw at it with my teeth to open it. It does serve to help cool me over the following mile. Later I drop some ice in my sports bra. I am doing whatever I can to stay hydrated and to try to cool my core. I feel myself struggling by mile 15. This is hard. I am aggressively hydrating and fueling. I continue to dump water on my head and down my back.

Yes, I can smile through anything! It's still Boston!

 

            I hit the first of the Newton hills in mile 16, heading up towards the 95 over crossing. My pace is dropping. I am working harder than I should be this early. Usually I am buoyed by the Providence sign, getting emotional with thoughts of my father and aunt. I miss the big sign, barely catch the tiny sign for it as I focus all my energy on moving up the hill towards the Portsmouth sign. It is really warm, likely mid 70s but warmer feeling with the bright sunlight.  The past 16 miles of moving near an 8 minute pace in this heat are wearing me down physically. I have conserved my energy as best possible, limiting my interactions with the crowds. They are part of what fuels me at Boston; they fuel me in a way no other race does. But I can't repay that favor today. Instead of greeting and high fiving the spectators, all I can do is pay attention to the road ahead, to maintaining the pace, to safely make it in and out of aid stations. Gatorade in, water in, water over the head. Rinse and repeat a mile later. I do take added water in between aid stations- opting for kids as they seem to enjoy the successful pass off as much as I appreciate the quench of my thirst.  I refocus on the crowd as I near Newton Wellesley Hospital, scanning for my family. I spot them! I give hugs to my husband, my cousin Julie, my uncle Cap, my cousin Nichole (as I introduce myself to her fiancé in passing - hi Ben!), and my friend Vickie! Always well worth the hug by! I take the encouragement I get and run on. I think only my husband Jim picks up on how I am struggling; he knows how hard this heat is for me and he has picked up on the very slow fade in my pace.

My uncle Cap at mile 17.

 

Miles 13-17: 8:20, 8:14, 8:31, 8:17, 8:48.

20K 1:41:24 (8:09) 13.1 1:46:58 (8:09) 25K 2:07:36 (8:13)

 

            After 17, we make one of the few on course turns on to Commonwealth. I've run this race three prior times and on this forth time pick up the famous fire station at this corner. They have a misting tunnel that I happily run through - anything to cool myself off. Throughout the rest of the course, I gravitate to any sprinklers, hoses, sprayers on course, anything that might cool me and stave off my demise in the heat. The winds have picked up since the half way point and they are a headwind, maybe 10-15 mph. They have the slightest cooling effect- I'll withstand the wind resistance for anything at this juncture. I know I need to just get through these hills, then maybe I’ll be okay. Maybe it will be cooler and I'll have some legs left. The second Newton Hill is conquered without fanfare. I move to the left side of the road before mile 19, looking for the John Kelley statue for my next rendezvous. The crowds are thick through here, but I am scanning, scanning, scanning. I never do see the John Kelley statue, but do spot and yell out to my cousins Erin and Andrew, wave, smile, and run on! The third Newton Hill- I grab another Popsicle. The gal had all colors in her hand- but leans out with a purple one- darn it, I wanted the green! It's really not the time to be picky- but these are about the level of deep thoughts running through my mind by this juncture. Purple is still slightly cooling. Mile 20 in 2:47. I am really off pace and fading and still have Heartbreak ahead.

 

            Heartbreak Hill won't take me down today, though it will be my slowest mile of the race, as it should be. It ends up being the only mile above a 9 minute pace, so respectable. I eat watermelon on the way up; anything to cool myself. I think of my friend Lorena, who doesn't like watermelon (but will one day run this race with me). I do not walk up Heartbreak. In fact, I do not walk for a millisecond of the race. Often I have been known to walk or stop briefly at the end of an aid station in races to ensure the fluid I am grabbing actually gets in my mouth. But I cannot take such chances today. I will take whatever mess the Gatorade slosh does to me and whatever misses from the water cups. I know I cannot stop. If I stop for one single solitary second, I am unsure if I could start up again. If I give in to an ounce of the walk, I will be right back at LAM. Walking would be so much easier than this level of discomfort. I just don't trust myself. So run it is, and run is all it will be until I cross that finish line.

Just focusing and working to survive the heat.

 

            I hit Boston College at the top of Heartbreak. They are loud and cheering. In the annual battle of BC vs Wellesley on course, I'm calling it a tie for 2016. Thank you! But I have to keep moving. Some kids are giving red roses; this is new. I think about grabbing one, but it is an energy expenditure I don't have and I can't fathom where I would put the rose for the next 5 miles. My brain cannot process simple equations at this juncture. Past BC, I notice the cemetery on the right; there was some story I read recently about Boston and making it to the cemetery. The littering of rose petals along the course seems an homage. I stay to my left, doing my best with the downhill and left turn to Cleveland Circle. The green line is there and calling for me! 

 

Miles 18-22: 8:55, 8:36, 8:53, 9:35. 8:45. 30K 2:35:02 (8:19). 35K 3:03:19 (8:25).

 

            I pushed so hard through this section last year vs my fade here in 2013. This year I am working hard. My legs are in such pain between the heat and the ups and downs of the prior 22 miles. My heart and lungs are struggling. I don't think it's my asthma, but my breathing has become agonal. I am suddenly that person I can't stand running next to during a race: panting heavily with each breath, with gasps of air with each inhalation. It sounds ghastly as though each were my last breath. I catch myself momentarily, trying to slow it down, stop the gasping, but then I'm back at it because it's all that keeps me moving. I think it has cooled somewhat, but I am so far past the point of being overheated that I feel no relief. I know I'm running the race of my life. This is the hardest marathon I have run. This is the most effort I have had to sustain. I am running a very very fine line- get that time to get back here or pass out trying. I have picked up my pace from the hills. I am doing the absolute best I can. I take in what I can of the crowds. Damn you Boston! Damn you! I love these fucking crowds! I just want to come back and be part of this again. You know I wouldn't run this redline for any other city or race on the world!

 

Coming down Hereford before the final turn.

            I hit the 40K mark and head over the Mass Turnpike. 1.25 miles to go. I honestly don't know if I can make it. My body is in such bad shape at this juncture. My legs are in pain. My breathing is beyond labored. My head is not right. I can't think clearly. Just 1.2 miles to go. I am not looking at my watch and haven't in a few miles. I know I am pushing as hard as I physically can. There is no more effort to give. I'm giving you all I have Boston! I reach Kenmore Square. I am scanning the crowd and stay to my right, but know I won't divert for hugs this time. Every second counts at this juncture and every ounce of energy counts. I have nothing to spare on either count. I spot Jim and wave to him and my cousins and uncle, flash the best approximation of smile I can. I so appreciate their presence, but feel I have nothing to give.

 

            We head down under Mass Ave. I catch a fellow runner as he starts to puke his guts out. I have not mentioned the carnage on course, but it is the worst I have seen with runners down and with the walking dead. I feel one step above death warmed over, but I have been passing people left and right for miles and miles and miles. I turn on Hereford and stay to my right. There are no runners on the right. I easily spot my uncle Walter and my cousins Mary Ellen, Emma, and Stephen. I throw my hands up in greeting and give a big smile! Woo hoo! I am almost there!  My uncle grabs a great picture. He will later be surprised when he hears about how I was struggling- "you looked so good!"  Marathonfoto has the evidence of my whole race. I am energized though by catching my final cheerleaders! Let's get this done!

 

The finish is in sight and I have reached my favorite corner in all of racing.

 

            I turn the final corner on to Boylston. This is my favorite spot for race photos- the firehouse at Hereford and Boylston is just behind me- I stretch out my arms and flash the grandest smile I can! This is THE best turn in any race. The crowds on Boylston are deep - as thick as they were in 2013. The energy is electric. I glance at my watch, flipping the screen to check my overall time. This is a mistake as the clock bears 3:41:xx. I have not yet reached the 26 mile marker. I am cutting this BQ way too close. Shit. But negativity is not a thought you want to entertain on this stretch of road. I redirect myself. I have the ache that comes from not knowing if I will be blessed with running down this stretch of road next April. I need to savor it, to absorb it, to ingrain it into my pores. And I continue on, giving it all I have. I take in the crowds. I reach out to the fine people of Boston. I pump my fists. I smile. While the past 26 miles are like nowhere else I have ever run, this final 0.2 miles is Boston magnified: joy, celebration, love, strength, perseverance. I stay to the right and give it all I have as I cross the finish line, beaming!

 

 

 

Miles 23-26.54: 8:55, 8:32, 8:35, 8:43, 8:36.  40K 3:31:01 (8:29).

Garmin: 26.54 miles in 3:43:27 (8:25 pace), + 892 ft, - 1309 ft

Official 3:43:24 (8:32 pace): 612 AG F 40-44/ 1939, 3728 F/ 12168, 11875 OA/ 26639.

 

            I cross the line. My heart is full. That was easily the hardest effort I have ever given during a marathon. My time will not reflect what a challenge it was. I have run 17 minutes faster, but I have never redlined so much. Physically, the pain that left momentarily as I headed down Boylston, hits me. My legs are achy, my lungs are out of breath, I am dizzy, I am unsteady.   The weakness that returns to my body compounds the emotions I am fighting. The tears start to swell and overflow. A volunteer asks if I am okay, I say, "No, but I will be." She asks because I am wobbling a modest amount. I use her to steady myself momentarily. I've done this before. I sat right after the finish in 2013, but just as then, I will not end this race in medical. I regroup, grab some water, start rehydrating, and keep moving forward. I will walk this out. I have spent the race overheated and now I start to shiver; the wind tunnel on Boylston is a constant. The tears are trickling. I am given my medal; several volunteers congratulate Rhino. Finally I waddle to the heat sheets (ummm.... I could use the cape from last year!). The post finish line walk continues. As my body physically tries to start recovering from what I have just pushed it through, my emotions just become more and more raw.

 

            I am crying fairly heavily by now. I know I did all I could and I will never fault myself for the effort of the day. I exorcised whatever demons I had at LA and the struggles I found in the weeks after LA. While I know heat and I will never be chummy, I know it does not have to define me. I can race through it and post a decent and respectable time and a BQ in spite of the challenges it poses for me. Those monkeys are off my back. I rose to the occasion and I conquered it. This is a victory. It is also heartbreak. BQ-1:36 is not likely fast enough to secure my return for 2017, for Boston #5. That's a deep ache. In the weeks after LA, I reevaluated all my goals and ambitions as an athlete. There was ultimately only one that was salient- that was the opportunity to run Boston each year. 2016 Boston was my race of resiliency and triumph. I dug deeper and stretched myself further than I had confidence in. And yet it may not be enough. It's a painful, aching juxtaposition. So much satisfaction. So much disappointment.

 

            But I will take this. I will take this feeling. I will own these emotions. This is so much better than how I felt at LA. Looking back, now I can say I just gave up at LA. It wasn't representative of who I am or of who I want to be. I counted myself out at LA long before I should have. So the tears I had after LA were about acquiescing to failure. The tears now are about rising above it. I fell flat on my face at LA. I just changed that story, I wrote a better ending. I will be back Boston. I will return.

 

 

Riding the T with my family.