Welcome to my Boston Marathon Race Report.
There is so much that I could say in this report, and 6 days after the race I am still not sure what to include and what to leave out. If you want the shortest possible read, skip to the end where I've included the bare essentials. If you get bored along the way, do the same.
If you have chosen to read on, settle in, and pack a snack, because this might take a while.
Qualifying and running Boston had been a goal of mine since my second marathon (Houston, 2008). I ran what historically would have been an official qualifying time of 3:30 at the White Rock Marathon in Dallas in December 2010. By the time I qualified, the Boston Athletic Association was considering new qualifying standards, but those were not announced until a few months later.
Because I had qualified by less than one minute, I was at the back of the line for the new registration process, and I did not get into the 2012 race as an official qualified runner. Still, I felt determined to run because I had run to the standard as it existed on the day of the White Rock Marathon.
Becoming a fund raiser for one of the official Boston Marathon charities is another way that runners get the opportunity to run Boston. I decided to get in that way. As almost all of you know, finding the right charity to raise money and run for became a sadly easy decision when Mike Troy, a teacher at my school, was diagnosed with liver cancer last spring. Because of the amazing generosity of friends and family, I have raised over $4,700 for the American Liver Foundation. If you were a donor, I say again, "Thank you." It was scary to commit to raising at least $4,000. But I was thrilled and humbled to see the donations roll in over the last few months. If you are reading this and haven't yet donated, I'm giving it one last shot! Go to this site, and click on the Sponsor Me button.
http://go.liverfoundation.org/site/TR/RunforResearch/RunforResearch?px=1733079&pg=personal&fr_id=2820
One circumstance, above all else, dictated the terms under which I would run the Boston Marathon: Almost exactly one year before the race, I had surgery to repair a torn labrum in my left hip.
After the surgery, at my first appointment with the physical therapist, I told the PT of my plan.She paused for a moment, then said, "You can do that." Okay then.
So this was not so much a marathon training cycle as it was a long term rehab assignment / middle-aged science fair experiment. I did not run again until August, and even then, it was one minute of running, then a minute of walking. Progress was slow, but I knew I had time.
I dug out my Hal Higdon Novice Marathon Plan, which I had followed nearly religiously for my first marathon in 2006. This would be my guide. One of the biggest challenges was getting strong enough to run the 4 days a week that the plan calls for. Every time I ran a little further, or more frequently, my hip would remind me through stiffness or fatigue, that this was still rehab, and that I had not run these distances in a year or more.
I joined Gilbet's Gazelles, a local training group, but never attempted a single speed workout with the Boston prep group. I did join in for many of the long runs at gawd-aweful early hours on Saturdays, usually running with the slowest runners, or bringing up the rear in my own group of one. I became a regular at the Wednesday evening boot camps, which focused on core strength, which I lacked after (and probably before) the surgery.
Running for more than two hours was a threshold that I struggled to get past. There were a couple of long runs that had me questioning if I was going to be able to get through the training and be ready. Eventually, my body adjusted, and I had several weeks of mileage above 35 miles, and three 20 mile training runs. The bulk of my runs were done at a pace of 9:30 per mile, + or - 20 seconds. I just ran easy, with a greater concern for overall fitness and endurance over anything resembling speed.
Carrie and I flew up to Boston on Saturday, arriving less than an hour before the Expo closed at 7:00. Fortunately, my dad had arrived in town the day before, scouted all important driving routes, and whisked us from the airport to the convention center with time to spare. I picked up my race packet (no lines to wait in), we looked at, but didn't buy any merchandise, and were on our way to the hotel.
We stayed at the Hotel 140, within a few blocks of the finish line. The hotel thinks of itself (I know, a hotel is incapable of thought.) as a boutique hotel, but in reality it is a converted YWCA. Small, yet comfortable rooms, and not at all cheap on marathon weekend. Still, I was glad to get it when Dave had two reservations and was willing to part with this one. Dave met us for dinner, and we discussed the weather forecast, which called for record highs on Monday. Really, the weather was going to be beautiful for just about any activity, except for running a marathon.
The Sunday morning schedule included a very nice brunch for the Liver Foundation at the Westin Hotel. 185 runners raised over $1,000,000 for the foundation, and it was nice to meet the other runners and hear some inspring stories. There were still more warnings about the weather, as many of the charity runners are first time marathoners, and usually not nearly as well trained as the time-qualified runners.
Next on the agenda was a Red Sox game at Fenway Park. When Carrie and I discussed the trip and Dave had secured the game tickets, she asked what else I might want to do while we were in Boston. I told her, "Let's see... I'm going to a Red Sox game and running the Boston Marathon. That's really a full and perfect weekend for me." We got to the stadium in time to buy some "100 Years of Fenway Park" t-shirts, take a few pictures and head inside. Here's Dad and me just outside the entrance. With little room inside Fenway, and no parking lots, it is a pre-game street festival.
We had seats in the shade in the third base grandstand. Perfect. I had a Fenway Frank, which is a questionable way to carbo load before a marathon, but a concession I felt was necessary. Dave spent part of the time between innings setting up our ancient cell phone to receive texts during the marathon that would alert Carrie as I passed along the course. The Sox beat the Devil Rays (In our house we still call them the Devil Rays.) 6 - 4, for their third straight win. They haven't won since.
Side story: Years before we ran marathons, Dave and I ran a 10K in East Austin, then went to breakfast at the Magnolia Cafe with Carrie and Dave's wife Melanie. I was wearing my Red Sox cap and Dave wore his Yankees cap. Dave cheers for all the wrong teams, but he has great taste in music and other good qualites, so the Yankees, UT, Duke thing doesn't get in the way. Anyway, a man leaving the restaurant saw us laughing and talking and wearing rival baseball caps, and he stopped at our table and says something like, "You two must be pretty good friends to be wearing those hats and sitting down to have a meal together." I don't remember what we said in response, but that guy had it spot on.
After the game we walked to dinner, but we had to wait for our 6:00 reservation. While we waited, Dave told me the the Boston Athletic Association had sent out an email saying that because of the dangerously hot conditions, runners could defer their entry to next year. I think this was an unprecedented offer, and it was really sobering, though I'd had no beer at the ballgame. We talked about what deferring would mean, and Dad and Carrie gave us space to weigh the risks and logistics of running versus not. I thought about it for a few minutes, had an emotional moment or two, and tentatively settled on running.
Dave and I had ravioli, and shared a kid's pasta plate because the ravioli was too small (good though), and we needed the extra carbs. We walked back to the hotel by way of the finish line to take some pictures. The kids at my school made a sign for me, so I wanted to get a picture with it at the finish line. Our neighbor across the street is an author and artist who makes cards; hers is the "Go Jay Go" picture.
Back at the hotel, I laid out my clothes, packed my bag, and had Carrie pin my bib on my singlet. I've never raced in a singlet before, and never wore this shirt before, but I violated the "Never do anything new on race day" rule more than once this time around. And that doesn't even count the Fenway Frank at the game.
I told Carrie that I had considered not running, and took her through my thought process as to why I was going to run. In my mind, I was still keeping the door open to not running. Well, the door was closed, but it wasn't locked. I thought about what it would be like to call Carrie from the start in Hopkinton, to tell her that I had bailed out at the last minute. What I did tell her was that every marathon has a part of it that is really hard, or that sucks to run through, and that part of what I love is making it through that hard, sucky stretch to the other side, where the real payoff for a marathon is powerful and undeniable for those that run them. For Boston, the really hard part was going to be the heat, from beginning to end. Then I talked about what made me want to run Boston in the first place. The history, the course, the crowds, just the overall experience.
I don't think I said it, but I think she understood that I also felt obligated to run for Mike, and for all of the people who had donated so that I could run. In my head I knew that those people would not want want me to risk my safety and health for this marathon, and that nobody would question my decision if I chose not to run. Actually, I think my friend Brad would question it, not because he wants me to take stupid risks, but beause he is honest, and knows a thing or three about human nature. If people were to feel 99% one way (understanding, and glad I decided not to run) and 1% another way (just a little let down that I trained, traveled, raised money, but didn't run), I would expect Brad to say something when no one else would, even if everyone was thinking it, just a little bit. I know I can count on Brad to speak for the 1%.
So all of the reasons to run were still there, and the heat was not going to take them away. What I didn't know was how the heat would make all of the great things about the Boston Marathon even better.
I had not set a time goal to speak of, but had the weather been good, I would have shot for something between 4:05 and 4:25, a pretty wide range. Since surgery had forced me to let go of a pace that would satisfy my competitive ego, I was going to have to be okay with putting up a pretty big number, and the goal became to finish and stay out of the medical tent.
I slept well for a few hours, but woke up around 4:00 with my mind racing. I thought about the many times that I've said "I don't like running in the heat," or, "I'm no good in the sun or hot weather." I thought about the BAA telling people not to race, but to run safely. Then I thought about how there was still $800,000 worth of prize money for the elites to race for. People would be risking a lot because running is their ticket to a better life. I decided then that I would run, and that I would start at a 10:00 per mile pace, which is slower than my long run pace, a pace that would have me finish in about 4:22. I thought, "The longer I'm out there, the longer I'll have to enjoy the good parts."
I felt at peace about the decision to run, finally settling on the thought, "This is the day that we have been given." Yes, "This is the day that we have been given. So go out and enjoy as much as it has to offer." I smiled and thought about an earlier time in my life, and the scripture, "This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." I got up and got ready. It was still nearly six hours before I would start.
Breakfast was at the Westin with the Liver Foundation. A bagel (Never had that before a race.) with peanut butter. I kissed Carrie, and got on the bus to Hopkinton. When we got to the athlete's village on the grounds of the high school, people were already staking out the shade. I went to what seemed like the overflow section, where there were fewer people, and spread out my blanket on the grass in the shade of the building. More people arrived, crowding around me, as I ate another bagel.
One major difference between Boston and other marathons is the start times. Most marathons start around dawn, the coolest time of day. Boston starts with the first wave at 10:00, and my group would not go out until 10:40. That means we would be running into the hottest part of the day.
When the sun rose so high that it took away my shade, I moved to where the buses had unloaded, and then into the shade of a church adjacent to the high school. I talked to a woman from Portland, Oregon, who used to be fast but was running her first marathon in 15 years. She said it would be her last. She was starting in my group so we decided to walk to the start together. She said she had never started a marathon from the back before, and we both admitted that we had taken pride in being fast enough to start closer to the front in our earlier racing lives. Starting in the second group (out of 20 groups) at Dallas seemed like a lifetime ago for me. We talked about how it was liberating to not worry about time goals, and it was true. I was just going to enjoy all that the day had to offer. We wished each other luck, and we were off.
Early on, the course is really small town and even rural. Plenty of people turn out to cheer, just like they've done for 115 years. I'll post my mile splits, like they matter. Not much shade. Spring has come early, but the trees were still bare enough that the sun beats down. I was already sweating at the start.
1. 9:57
2. 9:50
3. 9:53
4: 9:55
5. 10:08
6. 9:58
So this is going well. All I'm telling myself is, "Keep it slow." We run into the town of Framingham, and the ealy downhills turn into flat. Carrie and my Dad are supposed to be at about mile 6.6, where the Boston commuter rail stops along the route. I told Carrie that I'd be running on the left side, which is the side that the rail is on. But any possible shade is on the right side of the road, so I wait as long as I can to move over. They are there to cheer me on. I tell them that I'm okay, that I'm running a 10:00 pace, and that I'll see them at mile 15.5. They have timed the train route perfectly, and I have reached Framingham so that they have a just a few minutes to catch the train back toward Boston.
I realize two things around this time in the race. First, wonderful people along the route were handing out ice cubes and chunks, which felt great in my hands as I run. I also put the ice under my hat, and let it melt cool water onto my head. Second, I decide that the best way to gauge my pace is to go slow enough that I can say thanks to the incredible number of people who have turned out to cheer for the runners. I had written my name on a piece of duct tape, and stuck it to the front of my shirt. That way, people, total strangers, could cheer for me specifically. I can't begin to tell you how much this helped.
Anytime I find myself focusing so much on running that I couldn't manage a "Thank you," or a wave or a fist pump when someone shouts, "Go Jay!" I slowed down. This becomes the practical application of the strategy "Finish, stay out of the medical tent, enjoy everything possible about the day." It worked beautifully, slowing me down so I would not overheat, and allowing me the chance to really enjoy the crowds and the sights along the way.
7. 10:22
8. 10:26
9. 10:27
10. 10:24
The volunteers were incredible, keeping water and Gatorade cups filled so that each runner could take what they needed. At each stop I usually took a one of each, then poured a cup of water over my head. Early on, I think that might have been a little too much fluid, as I felt some sloshing in my stomach, but after I skipped one water station, things settled down well. I think I stayed pretty hydrated throughout the race. After the first few miles, I walked through the water stations, which accounts for some of, but not all of the slower pace. I also stopped, crossed the street, circled back, or anything necessary to get the ice that people were handing out. Anytime I was down to half a handful of ice, I would search the crowds so I could re-stock.
The high temperature in Boston on Monday was 87, measured in the shade. Not much shade on the course, but I ran in shade whenever I could. Many runners were already walking, trying to survive to the finish.
Mile 11. 10:57
12. 10:18
13. 10:47
14. 10:40
15. 10:57
16. 10:49
Somewhere just before the halfway mark is where the girls from Wellesley College gather to cheer very loudly, and offer kisses to runners who will stop. I'm out to make the most of this marathon, so I take to heart the advice many have given to be sure and stop. Many of the girls are holding signs which say, "Kiss Me, I'm ..."
"a Microbiologist"
"From Indiana"
"Naked" (She wasn't)
Or something like that. It seemed like a competition to see how many runners they could get to stop for a kiss. I hated to disappoint them, so I stopped many, many times.
I reached the halfway point in 2:14, did the math for a 4:30, and thought, "Not likely." I met up with Carrie and Dad again between miles 15 and 16. I let them know that I was slowing, but that I felt fine. Hills were coming.
Heartbreak Hill is famous, but it is just the last and longest of a series of hills known as the Newton Hills. The first one really got my attention, and served notice the there was still a lot of work to be done. Miles 17-21 were killers for many people. Walking, stumbling, crowding into medical tents. Fortunately, no one died during this race. The preparations of the BAA, the added support of the people along the route, and the fact that a significant percentage of the runners are very well trained, all helped minimize the damage. I just told myself, "The next hour is going to be tough," and went to work.
17. 11:13
18. 11:21
19. 11:03
20. 12:07
21. 12:15
Brutal, slogging miles. But what came next was probably the coolest thing I've ever experienced in a marathon.
Soon after topping the final hill, we came to the cheering section for Boston College. By all reports, the students start drinking early, and keep it up throughout the day. And they line the streets for the better part of a mile. They're loud, they're drunk (happy drunk), and they love the marathon. Groups of guys and girls, just searching for the next runner to motivate. They read my name on my shirt, and before I even reached them, they started chanting, "Jay! Jay!! Jay!!!" When I moved over to high five them, the next group started the chant, and on it went. At times I had to move away from the curb, just to get a break. But not for very long. This was better than the kisses from a few miles back. After hours of brutal heat, it was the best runner's high imaginable. This part was downhill, and it was easy to speed up, though not the smartest move.
22. 10:59
Yes, on this day, an 11:00 minute mile 22 felt fast.
The only real challenge left was surviving the post-euphoria let down in the next couple of miles, after the BC drug wore off. The crowds were still huge, but not as enthusiastic. And the ice supply was low. I just pushed on toward the finish, as the buildings got taller, and I just wanted to soak in the last few miles. The heat had been a constant companion, but it was the only negative in the whole day.
23. 11:09
24. 11:28
25. 11:25
26. 11:20
For the first time all day, runners are passing me. No one is walking now. I think about speeding up, but why would I do that? I'm not racing these people, even if they are racing me. Instead of running along the curb, I run right down the center of Boylston Street, once again overwhelmed by the crowd, still out supporting, cheering for the slower runners, hours after the elites, the near elites, and the fast guys like Dave have finished.
.2. 2:29
Total time: 4 hours 42 minutes 39 seconds.
It was awesome, but I was ready to stop. The brain lets you go as long as you need to, but then the brain is ready to stop, too. I collected my medal, some water, a food bag, and my drop bag from the school bus that collected my stuff before the start. I walked back to the hotel, eager to see Carrie and Dad in the lobby. I am so very happy that they made the trip with me.
Back at the hotel after a long, glorious day of running.
We said good-bye to Dad, and I got cleaned up. I wore my medal to dinner, a big burger and fries at the place across from the hotel. Such a great day. When I started rehab/PT after my surgery, I considered that this might be my last marathon, and I was okay with that possibility. Now I hope to run more of them, just not for a while. But if this was my only Boston Marathon, and it likely was, I couldn't be happier about how it went.
My legs were sore the next day, and walking down stairs was painful, but we had time to walk the city before our afternoon flight home. The Public Garden, Boston Common, Beacon Hill, The North End. The weather was beautiful.
Thank you for reading. Really.
Boston Bare Essentials:
I finished.
Lots of wonderful people helped me raise thousands of dollars for the American Liver Foundation, in honor and memory of my friend and fellow teacher, Mike Troy.
The following was written by Carlin Troy, Mike's wife:
Mike was very proud that you planned to run in the marathon. Everyone who donated to this cause is to be thanked by everyone that has and will be affected by this disease. Mike's life ended way too early and at the point he was diagnosed it was too late, as is often the case, for any effective treatment. My heart goes out in thanks to everyone who sponsored you and did so in honor of Mike. We all miss him so terribly but hope others can be spared through ongoing research into finding a cure.
-Carlin
Peace,
Jay
