Marathon #8: Finally, Boston

Hey All,

Following is the tale of how I ran the Boston Marathon on April 18^th, 2005.  However, I need to take a moment and acknowledge my grandmother’s passing on October 8^th 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.