The 119th running of
the Boston Marathon took place this past weekend. The conditions were bleak;
there was rain, wind, and sub 50-degree weather. Nevertheless, your favorite
marathon enthusiast decided to throw her Southern California sun kissed face
into the fray and run her heart out alongside the world’s best runners, and
fans.
The trip began late Friday
night when I boarded a red eye Virgin America flight from LAX to Boston. While
I was sitting reading the latest esquire magazine, my first vacation treat, I
couldn’t help noticing all of the beautiful people walking in and out of every
Virgin gate. It felt like I was inside in a magazine shoot, men, women,
children, they were all effortlessly gorgeous. I hoped I would sleep on the
flight, and I think I did, because I kept waking up, so I must have fallen
asleep. Before I knew it, I was up for good when I saw the pink horizon of a
new day streaming in through my window.
I asked my cab driver to drop
me off at my hotel and I explored my way around Boston from there. The hotel
was lovely and geographically desirable sitting a few blocks away from Boston
Common, and a mile or so from the finish line on Boylston, but the view was a
slightly sad. Nevertheless, I learned from my last trip to Boston ten years ago
to simplify this time around and stay in a conveniently located hotel; a
decision that paid off BIG on race
day.
I began my walk-a-bout headed
east on Tremont street past Boston Common, then a right turn north onto
Boylston St. toward the Convention Center which hosted the Expo and packet pick
up. I walked on the north side of the street and soon came upon the finish
line, and realized I was standing close to the bombing site. I’ll never forget
watching the Boston Marathon on TV in 2013 when the bombs went off. Tim called
me from Basel right away to check in. I was stunned, confused, and heartbroken.
Marathons are by nature celebrations, not tragedies.
The packet pick-up area in the
convention center was vast but efficient. On the other hand, the Expo was a
crazed maze of overstuffed booths that felt more suffocating than inspiring. I
wanted to escape as soon as possible, but first I was on a mission to find Joan
Benoit Samuelson, the first female Olympic marathon gold medalist. I read on
Twitter that she would be there between 10:00AM and 12:00N, but I had no idea
where in the cacophony of merchandise she would be. Luckily, a determined
volunteer in the Information booth tracked down her whereabouts, and quickly I set
off to meet a legend.
The absolute highlight of
Sunday was spending a couple of hours catching up with my high school cross-country
friend, Le Banh Nelson for coffee at Au Bon Pan. We had not seen each other
since the late 90’s, but through the magic of Facebook we re-connected for a
wonderful afternoon in the cool, yet sunny streets of Boston. I was traveling
solo, so spending time with Le proved priceless for my heart and spirit going
into the marathon. She was one of my first friends on the team my freshman
year, she and a couple other Sophomores took me under their wing, and made me
feel at home as a runner. She is still as exceptional as ever, and I was
thrilled that she took the time and effort to drive into the city on a tourist crazed
Sunday to spend time with me. Thank you, Le.
I slept a few hours on Sunday
night, but was wide-awake and refreshed when the alarm went off, Marathon
Monday was finally here. The endless line of school buses was a sight to see. I
loaded onto bus #27, and soon the engine rumbled and we were off 26.2 miles west
to Hopkinton. I dosed off here and there, but mainly spent my time
eavesdropping on two women chatting a few rows behind me. I was seconds away
from chiming in, but when they started talking about the gross misjudgment of
running more than 2 marathons per year, I resisted the urge to be social. I had
a feeling they would frown upon my running 16 marathons in the last 3 years.
Boston would make it 17.
However, I did make some
friends from Albany in the holding tent at Hopkinton high school. One was an
Ironman triathlete and the other was a sub 2:40 marathon runner, both were
teachers. I also met a guy from Sweden, another from Seattle, a lady from Ohio,
another woman from Michigan, and finally a lad from Palm Beach. He and I were
both freezing. That is why Boston is so special, runners from all over the
world travel to run this marathon. Plus, it’s like Top Gun, the best of the
best.
After the gun went off, I
jostled around over the first few miles trying to find a good niche, but the
crowd was immense and uneven in pace, so I relaxed and stayed safe. My plan was
to push my pace, but not be burdened by my watch, so I vowed to only look at it
every few miles. The key was nutrition. I was slightly off my routine for the
LA marathon, and I paid the price, I did not want that to happen again. I would
eat one Cliff Block at the 5-mile mark and every third mile after that. I first
tried this plan at the Honkers marathon, #31, and it worked beautifully. I had
faith in my fitness, and muscle memory, it just came down to execution.
Thankfully, the rain did not
keep the spectators away; in fact a high light was running by a bar at around
10:35AM and being cheered on by a jolly beer chugging crowd, love. That said,
nothing compares to cresting a hill at mile 12 and hearing the deep hum of
roaring college girls just a half mile ahead at Wellesley College. Last time I needed these girls, this time I wanted them. I laughed and cheered them
on as I ran by yelling, “You girls are the best!” I was pumped and joyful, yet
stunned that I was already halfway through the race. I felt a twinge of sadness
because my happy place is running marathons, is it crazy that I didn’t want it
to end?
I slowed my pace and swerved a
bit around mile 15, I blamed the cold and lack of sleep, but I regained my
balance and flipped the switch at 16 and was back on track. There were about 3 decent
hills between miles 17 and 21; the finale is Heart Break Hill. I am not built to fly up hills, however, I treat
them like I do on a bike, I just gear down, quicken my cadence and crank on up.
On the flip side, the bonus of my long-legged bod is that I am built for running downhill’s. I
usually earn poetic justice on those tiny jackrabbits that blow by me going up,
because I leave them in my dust on the way down. Thank you, Coach Ede.
The remaining five miles were pure
fun. The course was virtually all down hill, and the
streets were lined on both sides with screaming Boston accents that kept my
heart and legs pumping with pride. I wrestled my emotions to maintain my composure,
but once I crossed 24-mile mark I started to lose it. I was crying and laughing
which is not a healthy combination when one is freezing, because I started to
lose my breath. I didn’t want to hyperventilate before the finish, so I breathed
deep, regained my focus, and picked up my pace to finish Boston Strong.
Just after mile 25 the course went
under a tunnel beneath a walkway, which was a helpful reprieve from the cold,
then we ran up the other side and made a quick right onto Hereford St, promising
the final left turn on Boylston was only yards ahead. I was running fast at
this point, I sneaked a peek at my watch and saw 7:30, a first at mile 26 of any
marathon I have run, but this was not a normal marathon. When I made the turn
onto Boylston I was flooded with emotion, the finish is the sweetest moment of
any marathon, but knowing that the people of Boston celebrated all of us
runners after the bombings rocked their city just two years ago was miraculous.
I was humbled, honored, and overjoyed to be a part Marathon Monday.
I was also thrilled to see the
clock read 3:27, which meant my time was around 3:25, an exceptional time
considering the weather and challenging course. The next half hour was the most
difficult part of the day. I had to filter through the finish area, teeth
chattering, and frozen to the bone, until I could walk the mile or so to my
hotel. I kept my key inside my shirt, but my hands were too stiff to unzip my
pocket, so I asked a very kind housekeeper to unzip it for me. Fortunately,
there is no drought in Massachusetts, which meant I took a guilt-free steaming
hot thirty-minute shower to thaw out. Once I could feel my extremities again I
called my #1 fan, my mom.
The rest of the night I relaxed and enjoyed the high
of finishing my 38th marathon, 2nd Boston marathon, and
knowing that my 35-year old self, 3:25, crushed my 25-year old self, 4:11. I hope to find
out what I can do at 45:)
