Hey All,
Following is the tale of how I ran the Boston Marathon on
April 18th, 2005. However, I need
to take a moment and acknowledge my grandmother’s passing on October 8th of
this year. I don’t know how to put into
words what it feels like to have her gone, but I want to try. I am not sad per se, because she lived an
amazing ninety four years, and I have faith that she died peacefully, I just still
want her to be here. I feel like even
though she lived a long life, it still ended, and that fact makes me catch my
breath and try hard to hold back tears. Over
the past few years nearly every time I saw her she would say to me, “You need
to write, you are such a good writer.” I
was taken aback each time because I knew she meant it. I always wanted to make
her proud, so I will keep writing, hopefully you’ll keep reading.
The six months in between the Sacramento marathon, #7, my
Boston marathon qualifier, and THEE Boston marathon were split between spending
time with Marion and working. I did maintain
my marathon fitness, but my “Boston Marathon Qualifying” fitness disappeared
somewhere around Thanksgiving. I came down with a chest scorching case of pneumonia
just before Christmas which was painful, and humbling. I could not run at all for about ten days
because my lungs were filled with liquid goodness that felt like piercing
daggers every time I tried to do more than walk. In fact, one of the sweetest gestures Marion
ever showed me was when he offered to walk around town for as long as I wanted,
all day even if that is what it took for me to feel something of a work out, a
true sign of my version of a Knight in
Shining Armor.
Somewhere around late
January I started to get my act together, but when Marathon weekend rolled
around in mid-April I was not in the prime shape I had expected to be. Nevertheless, I was thrilled to be running in
Boston, and to share the experience with some of my best friends, my parents,
Peter, Alexa, and Marion. It was a huge
weekend for Marion because he would have to spend a good eight hours with my
family on his own, gulp, but I couldn’t worry about that, he would be fine…
right?
The race started at Hopkinton High School, 26.2 miles
outside of Boston. We were seeded in our
corrals that corresponded with our qualifying times so I was with a whole bunch
of speedy 3:40ish finishers, and when the gun went off, these ladies blew out
of there like they were being chased by the bulls Pamplona! I joined in the
swift dalliance for a mile or so, but I thought it was foolish, and wanted to
savor the moment, so I slowed down, way down.
The race dragged on FOREVER. I
was thrilled and inspired beyond measure when we ran by the thunderous crowds
of coeds of Wellesley College, but then my heart sank and pace slowed when I
overheard a member of the crowd saying
the top female has just crossed the finish line, and I was barely past mile 14,
ugh. I trudged on, and on, and on, until
I was at the base of Heartbreak Hill, which starts at mile 17, and does not end
until mile 21, no joke, it is a four mile stretch of unrelenting uphill, anyone
who tells you something different is trying to sell you something. The absolute high light was that Marion, Dad,
Sally, Peter and Alexa were standing together, cheering for me at the top, their voices
were heavenly, and I was so relieved that Marion was still alive and they
looked they were genuinely enjoying each other’s company.
I only had five miles left, and they were not pleasant. I was ready for it to be over, but at my
current pace, I had a good forty five minutes before I could call it a day, or
huge lifetime accomplishment, but at that moment, I wanted it to be over. So, I ran as hard as I could, smiled
half-heartedly at the crowd with every ounce of excitement and passion I had left, and I rounded the corner onto Boylston St. and
charged into the finish shoot with a time four hours eleven minutes, 4:11, thirty
four minutes slower than my qualifying time in Sacramento. I was disappointed with my performance, yes, but
I was happy that I accomplished my goal to race the Boston Marathon by the age
of twenty five, blissfully ignorant that I would want to run twenty seven more marathons over
the next ten years.
