Marathon #14 - A Shout Out to My Big Sis

Dreamy Carlsbad, CA or as my friend Molly used to call it, “Carlsgood”, either way it is a wonderful place to be, let alone run around for most of your morning, but that is exactly what I did on January 25^th, 2009. I arrived in Carlsbad the night before the race and stayed with my sister Mary, her wonderful husband, Jim, and their adorable dogs Sawyer and Tyler.  I am always a sucker for quality time with large four-legged doggies, and these two are hilarious. 

 

 

Mary is two years older than me, and a remarkable human being, but we could not possibly be more different.  For example, she is a beautiful 5’6 brunette with olive skin, and a fashion sense rivaled only by Anna Wintour, while I am a freckly red head just shy of 5’11 who applies make up and dresses maybe five times a year.  Maybe.  We had some serious battles growing up, one of which resulted in me laying a strip of masking tape down the center of our bedroom, my mom really loved that, another involved a bruised cheek, and there have been way too many bruised feelings to count.  However, we always set aside our differences for sixty minutes every Thursday night at 8PM to watch Beverly Hills, 90210. My brothers thought that show was miraculous to bring peace between us, and it was.  Nothing beats quality togetherness like some quality time with the Walshes.

Nevertheless, after twenty or so years of not liking each other very much, I can easily say that Mary is one of my best friends, and the person on the other end of my crisis hotline.  All that said, Mary is not a runner, which may not come as a shock, but she is literally my greatest cheerleader, and understands my goals, so it meant a lot to have her play a vital role in my fourteenth marathon

Race morning was cold, dark, and early. For some reason this race felt special, I was not as excited for it during the weeks of training leading up to it, but standing below the starting line in the pitch darkness of a way-too-early start time, with thousands of fellow marathoners, I was brimming with adrenaline, and thrilled to start running, “Bang!”

The first ten miles or so of the course travel along the ocean, and since the race started early, we were witness to a beautiful sunrise that gave me both a jolt of energy, and clarity; I was simply happy to just have the ability to run a marathon, and felt blessed and thankful to be in my shoes at that beautiful moment.

I saw Mary and Jim around mile eleven, a great place to watch for you future spectators because it is far enough into the race to give the runners the pep we need to feel good about how far we have come, and enough zing to keep us trudging through the tough mid-race miles in our near future.  Mary was wearing a big sweatshirt, clanging a bell, and screaming her head off, it was awesome. I was both laughing and crying because it was amazing to hear her scream my name in such a positive tone.  She did look a little tired, but it was about 8:00AM, so I appreciated her efforts to rise, shine and run with me.  Yes, Mary Kelly Heim was actually running next to me for a good minute or so, it was epic!  I have always wanted to make her proud of me, even when she thought I was a disgusting troll of a little sister always getting in her way throughout our formative years, and literally making her sick to her stomach because I smelled like baby oil and coconut, apparently, her sudden desperate display of running to keep up with me that morning granted my wish of over thirty years, my big sister was proud of me.

The next few miles were warm as the sun was truly making an entrance to the day, but I felt good up until mile nineteen.  There is a turn-a-round point right at the crest of a short, but seemingly steep hill, and it was rough.  Luckily, there is a solid crowd at this difficult spot on the course, so I heard many chants of my name as I rounded the top, and thundered on down to run the final seven miles into the finish.  My pace had a slowed a bit, which is natural so deep into a marathon, but I was still cranking out some quick miles, so I held on as long as I could, and cruised into the finish shoot stunned that I had once again qualified for Boston in 3:38…  NiceJ

 

Marathon #13 - The Battle with LA traffic

 I ran my 13^th marathon in October of 2008 in lovely Long Beach California, again.  I decided this would be a great race to keep me tuned up after Louisville, but also intrigued to see how a marathon would feel without the swim and bike ahead of it.  I think it is fair to admit that I was a wee bit overconfident leading up to this race, which may explain the large dose of Karma that dumped on me early race morning.  I have made it my creed to leave my house no later than two hours before any start time, and since I lived about fifty minutes North of Long Beach, I was safely on the road by 5AM.  Unfortunately, the traffic gods wagged their finger at me and my cavalier attitude, and I cemented me in traffic.

 

This sort of scenario is only second to the ultimate nightmare of sleeping through my alarm clock and missing the race altogether, but I was pretty miffed.   Let me just say that I have the utmost respect and understanding of the freeway and overall traffic situation/way of life for us Angelenos.  I spent most of my early twenties in my Honda Civic driving all over Los Angeles while working as a Production Assistant, and I can tell you that nothing was more valuable to me than my Thomas Guide and upbeat adventurous attitude.  I got lost more times than I can count; however, I view getting lost as just a new way of figuring out to find some place.  That said, I guarantee that I could give you seven different options of getting from Point “A” to Point “B” in the greater Los Angeles area, the most coveted secret of all, Fountain Ave. in West Hollywood, better known as the freeway of Hollywood, you’re welcome.

Needless to say I make it a habit to give myself PLENTY of buffer time when traveling anywhere in LA, but that amount of time bloats tremendously on race morning.  The drive itself from our apartment in North Hollywood to Long Beach was smooth, and curse word free, but it took me nearly an hour just to exit the freeway, grrr.  After I finally surrendered to my predicament, I said out loud to myself,”Oh well, this is a chipped race,” meaning my official time would start when I crossed the starting line, not when the gun went off, and the plastic chip weaved through my laces would ping the sensor and let the universe know I was finally on my way.

Once I parked successfully and trotted on down to the start area I hit up the Port-o-Potty’s, (the most important part of the day), then sprinted across the starting line, carefully weaving my through the “Back of the packers” who were either jogging s-l-o-w-l-y, or walking. Suddenly, my killer instinct switched on and I started to juke in and out the snail like crowd like an NFL running back; my usual cool demeanor was still stuck on the 710, and my evil twin “Terry” had taken me over completely.

The course was slightly annoying because it narrowed down from the width of a normal street to the slender concrete bike path around mile seven, which meant if I wasn’t throwing elbows before, I certainly was now.  I think I was running at a respectable pace up until the halfway mark, then my way-too-speedy alter-ego caught up with me, and I started to lose steam. 

The most memorable part of this race is marker for mile twenty three because it is so close to the end, and it sits at the crest of a punchy, sharp hill, so once I saw that sign, I knew I just needed to smile, hit cruise control and enjoy the rest of the ride on in to the finish.  My time was fine, not amazing, but decent, 3:45.  No matter what happens during the Odyssey of a marathon, there is nothing quite as special as crossing the finish line, no matter how many hours and minutes it takes to get there.  Indeed, I started the race with a chip on my shoulder from being nailed by LA traffic, but I recovered, and discovered a higher gear I had yet to hit in previous races, so that was a plus.  I don‘t think I battered or bloodied anyone in the process, but if I did, my apologies, and I hope you had a great raceJ  Next time, I will leave the house even earlier.

Marathon #12 = Ironman #1

Hmm, let’s see, where was I?  Oh yes, marathon #12, ooh, this is a good one…. I ran marathon #12 at the end of an already long day outside as it served as the final leg of my first Ironman triathlon on August 31^st, 2008.  My apologies for the run on sentence, but I think it represents what a very long day it was.  Let me take you back to about eleven months prior to race day, I had my heart set on racing my first Ironman in Wisconsin during September of 2008, however, when I went to go sign up for that race it was already sold out… I am talking minutes here… To say my heart was broken would be an extreme understatement, but I just rolled up my sleeves and searched a little deeper until I struck gold, or Bourbon maybe, Ironman Louisville was slated for late August, and was open, perfect.  So, I paid the daunting entrance fee and sat back to realize I had a little over a year to prep to be an Ironman, good times.   

I mentioned in a previous post that I was inspired by my brother Peter to become an ironman, so naturally I went straight to him for advice on training, his advice was, and I am paraphrasing here, “You need to be in the saddle all the time.” Got it, I need to ride my bike a lot. I launched into my true training schedule about twelve weeks out from the race, which was basically the beginning of June, and one may wonder how I could have gotten all of that “saddle time” in while working twelve plus hours a day? The simple answer is that I quit my job. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what?” Yep, it’s true. I have been trying to think of a way to put in writing why and  how we made that decision, Marion and I, because honestly it was almost more him than me, he really wanted me to have the proper time to train for the race, or just not do it at all, which was not an option.  However, the real answer is that A LOT went into my decision to quit my career, let’s be honest, that is what happened, but I will leave the nitty-gritty for my book, and leave you all with the idea that I left to devote all of my time to training and becoming a triathlete superstar and go pro within a year or so, which is kind of true, but not all true.

The training for the race was amazing.  I was doing at least two work outs per day for three months and followed a crude training plan that is comical in retrospect, but sufficient, and I made it to Louisville confident I would be able to finish the race with a smile on my face.  The swim was hysterical, but awesome.  I am not a great swimmer, so when I saw that I met my goal time I was stoked, and ready to crush myself on the bike. 

Oh, the bike… I know that I go on and on about my love for running, and yes I do believe that I am a respectable runner, but riding a bike is really my strong suit.  It could have something to do with the fact that my legs make up nearly 80% of my body, and never give me any Smart-alecky back talk, so I made up a lot of ground on the bike leg from my less than stellar swim performance, and was in a great spot to start the marathon.  **In case any of you don’t know the distances of an ironman triathlon, they break down like this: 2.4mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, 26.2 mile run, which means that when I started my twelfth marathon I had already been “working out” hard for eight hours in the hot, and humid late Summer Kentucky sunshine.

When I ran out of the transition area Marion yelled at me, “Now just go run your usual four hour marathon!” I can’t remember if I laughed out loud at him, or just to myself, either way I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever heard, bless his heart.  There was no way in the world I was going to run the marathon anywhere near four hours, or was I?

The first couple of miles they sent us over the bridge across the Ohio River, and you know what, I was feeling pretty good.  The course consisted of two loops, and was flanked with a great crowd most of the way, and top notch support with aid stations at every mile stocked up with water, wet sponges, hoses, food, and flat coke.  I chatted with a few fellow runners along the route, and even though I was not moving very quickly at all, I felt like I was flying.  I had never felt so in my element; and alive, months of hard work and sacrifice had come down to these moments, and they felt priceless.  The sun had set at around mile twenty two, and it was nearly, not quite, but nearly dark when I rounded the final turn toward the final shoot into the finish line set up at 4^th Street Live, the epicenter of Louisville nightlife.  I crossed the line hearing Marion, my Dad, and Hannah cheering for me, even now I am tearing up, so I probably was then, too, because it the greatest experience of my life, so far.  The crazy part was that I felt good, great even, and was smiling from ear to ear, I was an Ironman. 

My finish time was 12:52 and change, about an hour faster than my goal time, and my marathon split was 4:28, not a PR marathon time of course, but I knew I could do better next time…

Off Roading, Part two: #30, The Northface Challenge

 

 

I ran my 30^th marathon last Saturday, December 7^th, 2013.  I ran the 26.2 miles through the rightfully famed and epically gorgeous Marin Headlands in San Francisco, Ca.  The race is called the Northface Challenge because it is sponsored by Northface, and there are many different distances offered to “challenge” one self.  I chose my old standby marathon distance, but there were a 50K and 50 mile races offered that day as well. Honestly, I kind of felt a little wussy choosing half the distance,26.2 miles, but I just can’t quit my sweet 26.2.  The morning was cold, but sunny, as I met many amazing people as we hovered together around a heat lamp before we headed off to the start line where Marathon Man himself, Dean Karnazes, lead is in a quick pep talk, and then waved us all good luck and off we ran into nature.  Oh yeah, in case you were wondering, this was a trail runJ

 

I registered for this race in early February 2013, I was intrigued because it was going to be a real challenge for me. I knew the course was tough from talking with friends who had run it before, and I felt for the first time in a while a twinge of butterflies in my stomach when I clicked “Register” on the website.  I was nervous, scared actually, but still excited to learn more about running and myself through training and competing in this race.

The specific trail training I ran before this race could be described as minimal at best.   I ran the Santa Clarita marathon on 11/3, so I had only five weeks to properly prep for this race with putting in long runs in the hills, and even though I cranked out some great runs, I should have done much, much more in months prior. **PLEASE give yourself many miles on the trails if you choose to race a marathon in the dirt.  I had a ball discovering new trails above my YMCA where I swim, and galloping across familiar trails from my years on the Claremont Cross Country team, Go Wolfpack! However, this running life is its own journey, so now I know running on trails is valuable throughout the year, not just five weeks before a trail marathon…

The course can be described in three words: hilly, beautiful, and hilly… I was not surprised by the hills, but they were steep, and went up for miles. Therefore, I chose my strategy quickly; keep running for as long as humanly possible.  That may seem obvious, but most of my cohorts succumbed to walking up the hills during the first couple of miles, and I was not going to go along with the crowd this time around. I knew I had enough strength to run most of the way, not necessarily speed, this was not a PR course, but I kept chipping away at my own heart-rate controlled pace, and picked off “walkers” from mile five on.

There was a section of the race between mile 15 – 19 where we descended down and climbed up from Muir Beach and shared the course with the 50 milers, and 50K runners, studs that they were, what I noticed was that most, if not all of them were walking, and just looked dreadful.  On the other hand, I felt good.  Well, let me re-phrase that, my masochistic twin, “Terry”, was in full effect from mile 17 on, and I started to enjoy the grind, so I felt good, but I may have looked pretty terrible, too.

The finish line snuck up on me because one of the girls I met before the race said the race was slightly over 26.2  miles, so I was tracking my Garmin meticulously, and was shocked when the finish line coincided with just over 25 miles on  my watch, nevertheless I thundered on down the hill through the finish shoot with a broad smile, and cheerful quads to finally end the constant beating they endured for the last 4:41 hours.   

 

 

The real bonus to this endurance infused weekend in San Francisco was visiting with my sister, Sarah Fox, and cheering her on for her first marathon in Sacramento at the California International Marathon, the following Sunday.  Sarah has always been very special to me and it was a real honor to play a role in helping her train for, and ultimately crush the race.  Plus, I was able to meet her Super-Cyclist boyfriend and geek out in bike talk for a minute with him, which I rarely get to do, and then spend some quality time with my older brother Chris as we were “Spectator in Arms” along the charming streets of Sacramento rooting Speedy Sarah on to her first  marathon finish. 

 

This weekend was a challenge and success in time management, and luckily I was able to squeeze in a couple of hours between Sarah's marathon and my flight home visiting with Peter, Alexa, and my amazing niece and nephew, Kaia and Reed; the running force is strong in them, too.   

 

Off Roading - Part One: #11, Catalina

I am jumping ahead here a bit to Marathon #11, because even though I have written about #10, it is not the type of material I would like to release to world wide web just yet, so once again you’ll have wait for the book for that juice...

I do have a theme for this post, in fact it is going to be a 2 part mini-series of sorts having to do with my two dalliances with trail marathons.  The first trail marathon I ran was on St. Patrick’s Day 2007, my half birthday, and Patron Saint’s Day, which is what I will share right now, however, my next marathon is a trail marathon that I am racing in San Francisco this upcoming weekend…gulp,  so stay tuned for that adventurous round up next week.

On to marathon #11, the Catalina island marathon.  Catalina is a small island about twenty six miles off of the California coast, I grew up seeing every day from my backyard, but I never thought I would run around it one day,  I did, and that day was March 17^th, 2007.  I was newly married and living in Marion’s tiny, “Shanty Town” apartment in North Hollywood at the time, a few months away from moving into our first house, and a few months into a fantastic new job.  I somehow maintained my training while working twelve plus hour days and an hour plus commute, and thankfully felt ready to run when my alarm went off at 3AM on race morning.  Yes, you read that right, I was up at 3AM…. The reason is because I had to drive about an hour south to Marina Del Rey in order to catch a ferry to the start of the race at Twin Harbors on Catalina.  The boat was full, but I did not talk to anyone, instead I caught a few zzz’s over the water, and then stood in the pre-dawn darkness with the rest of the runners waiting to be ushered over a wide field to our make-shift starting line.  I saw many stereotypical, grizzly runners on every side of me; older bandana wearing men and a few women passionately embracing cotton, and high fiving each other like eight years olds, I felt like a true rookie, it was amazing.  When I looked up all I saw were hills in front of me, and a lone buffalo off to the edge of the field enjoying his breakfast and unique view this Saturday morning.  I was smiling from ear to ear because I knew this was going to be a true running experience that would to shred me to the bone.

When the gun went off runners starting cheering and yelling through the flat field, and all the way up our first of many, many hills.  I had no delusions of starting off speedy, I was a novice with this trail business, so I wanted to be smart and just tuck into a good rhythm with the many seasoned crazies around me.  We were all moving in a line for the most part, up and over various trails and rocks, each respecting the careful footing needed to stay upright, and move along safely through the course.  I looked at my watch around mile 4, and quickly decided not to do that again. I was moving at a painfully slow pace, but someone told me for trail races to add on an hour to my usual finish time, so considering that concession I guess I was on pace, but the numbers were far too large for my liking, so I kept my head up the rest of the day.

The course was breath taking, and just plain surreal.  I had always viewed Catalina as this far off Neverland across the ocean, and suddenly here I was running all over and around it like I was within my own sweat infused fairytale, which was pretty cool.  Nevertheless, the hills were relentless, so I followed my cohorts and walked up most of them, a sin in marathons, but in this case it seemed like part of the unspoken code, so I went along with it. 

 

The course started in Two Harbors, and wound its way through to the other side of the island to Avalon, the hip, hub of activity in Catalina.  It felt like we were truly running into civilization because after miles and miles of pure nature, we ran up a long winding fire road, crested the top, then dipped over the other side into the bustle of Avalon.  Thrilled at the sight before me, I screamed down the last hill at a scorching pace, when a seasoned gent came up behind and cheered at my performance, clearly aware of my naiveté, he was kind with his support, then he blew by me down the final turn into the finish shoot along main street.  My finish time was right on the money for the trail course prediction, 4:52, not bad, but still a longer than usual day of running for me. I enjoyed the raw connection I discovered with myself and the island that day, my body had never worked that hard just to work through a course, I was very proud of my efforts, and left Catalina that afternoon with a renewed faith of what I knew I was capable of.

To Be Continued….

Santa Clarita - Marathon #9, #24, and #29

I have a special place in my heart for the Santa Clarita marathon.  For starters, it is close to my house, and anything that is geographically desirable in LA, meaning less than a thirty minute drive, is worth its weight in gold.  Most is my marathons require months of planning, hotels, flights, car rentals, food choices, etc., but Santa Clarita is essentially in my backyard, which gives it a Gold Star in my book.  However, the first time I ran the Santa Clarita marathon, my 9^th marathon, I was on the brink of break with marathons, it was ugly.  Then the second time I ran it, my 24^th marathon, I was reborn as a fast runner, and the third time I ran it, my 29^th marathon, I started the race with the best below the knee ensemble ever…. The common thread of all three races is that I finished each one with the thrill of knowing I had a short drive homeJ  

The first time I ran the race was November 6^th, 2005, a little over six months after Boston.  I signed up for the race because of its location, and it was far enough out of Boston for me to sort of forget my abysmal race in Bean Town and hopefully regain my pre-pneumonia fitness.  Unfortunately, I was still not ready to climb out of my “Why am I such a #$*&&% runner?” state of mind quite yet, so I trained enough to run it, but once again I was not in proper marathon shape on the starting line.

 I think psychologically there was a wall I put up between my pre-Boston qualifying self, and post-Boston qualifying self, in essence I was in a funk.  On the life front, Marion and I were engaged, living together, and in the early stages of planning our wedding, which was exciting, kind of, but more nauseating and stressful than I ever thought it would be.  Nevertheless, training for the marathon was my escape and lifeline like usual, but it also felt like a distraction, and should be lower on my priority list, so I let it slip.  I showed up on race day nervous for the pain that I would feel all day, and instead of embracing the pain and pushing through it, I let it swallow me up, and when I crossed that finish line I knew that I would not see another one for a very long time.

 Wow, Boo-hoo, sheesh, let’s move on from that “Debbie Downer” part of the story and get to the good stuff, my rebirth as a speedy runner!  Cut to, November 4^th, 2012, our 6^th wedding anniversary, my 24th marathon, and the first time I would run a “stand alone” marathon for three years, (I was running them within ironman triathlons from 2010-2012), but I had not run a marathon with fresh legs in a while, and it felt like I was running one for the first time, which was more exciting than I expected because I put no expectations on myself, I just wanted to run as fast as I could.  Well, I picked a spiffy looking blonde girl at the starting line wearing neon pink shorts and knew if I could stay close to her, I would be in a good shape.  I started off moving quick, but a sensible pace, 7:30ish.. “what?” that is NOT normal for me, but I was just rolling with it, because if I blew up, I blew up, I would crawl across the finish line if I had to, no worries.  I clocked my fastest half marathon that day, 1:37, my previous PR was 1:40 at a stand-alone half-mary, so I knew my day was going well at that half-way point.  I did encounter a very uncomfortable burning sensation on the balls of my feet around mile 15ish which I thought at the time was a pitfall of wearing my swift New Balance 630 light weight shoes, but I have learned in months since that it was nerves flaring up do to Martin’s Neroma in my feet, (I won’t bore you with the details, but it is painful.)  In any case, I slowed my pace a bit between miles 17-20 because of the pain, also that it the lonely part of the course where we are out on the bike paths with no half marathoners to distract us, and barely any supporters to cheer for us, but it also clicked in my head that the faster I ran through this icky spot, the sooner I would be back in the fold, so I picked it up, and proceeded to pick off a few female runners on my way through the last few miles toward the finish. 

When I saw that my watch barely reading 3:00hrs. at the 23 mile marker, I laughed out loud, it was insane, I had never run that fast, I almost wanted to ask a volunteer if I was on the right part of the course, did I cut it somehow? No, I was just finally a fast runner.  I finished the race in 3 hours, 28 minutes, nine minutes faster than my Boston Marathon qualifying time, 1^st in my age group, and 4^th overall female.. What? I know!!   I was flying on air I could not believe it, and it was my wedding anniversary to boot!!  Sadly, I celebrated with Marion on Skype because he was working on a movie set in Montreal, but it was still a very special day, and the turning point of me being the runner I always dreamed I would be, cheers to my mid-thirties!!

 

 

Okay, here we are just 10 days after my 29^th marathon, and the 3rd time I raced in Santa Clarita.  It was  a beautiful day, I gained an hour of sleep because of the switch to “Regular Time”, which was helpful, but I honestly had no idea how I would feel when I trotted down to the starting line in my blaring neon compression socks and neon running shoes; I was excited to run fast, but for how long?  That would be the grand mystery of the day. 

The gun went off after a glorious rendition of the national anthem sung by a 7^th grader, amazing talent indeed. I started off rather quickly; my goal was to maintain a 7:30min. per mile avg. throughout the day, that would have me finishing at around 3:15 hours, a solid 6 min. personal best for me, and a big ask, but I figured why not just run hard and see how long I could hang on?  Well, I was cruising fairly comfortable at a 7:10ish pace for the first 11 miles, then around mile 13 I unknowingly slowed my pace a bit, “hmm, this feels different.” I was in 3^rd place, but then a quick young runner, I could tell because she was wearing a cotton t-shirt and her calves were yet to be chiseled in the marvelous way long hours on the road tend to do, but I was honestly impressed by her effort, and cheered her on as she passed me by, knocking me off the podium.

I looked at my watch more than I should have between miles 15 and 19, but I could not resist because I felt like I was movin’ quickly, but my watch did not lie, I was not.  I knew my chips were cashed in between mile 21 and 22 at a turn-around spot where I watched three girls thundering up seconds behind me looking  strong, one of which is in FULL make up, no joke, but again I cheered them on as they passed me one by one, they deserved it.  At this point in the race I was feeling the mental and physical fatigue of running six marathons in one year, two of which were within ironmans, and knowing I had one more left in just five weeks, a trail marathon no less, gulp, so I just gathered myself and decided to finish feeling solid, and not torn apart. 

 

Unfortunately, I came upon a fretful sight just after the mile 24 marker, it was the cotton t-shirt girl, “uh-oh, she should be way farther ahead than where she is right now”.  When I came upon her she stopped running altogether and had that creamy colored crust of dehydration slathered all over her face, she was flanked by two friends on their bikes, but they only had water, and she needed electrolytes stat!  I stopped to offer all the nutrition I had on me, but she said she said her stomach hurt, and waved me on, so I ran off with a quickened pace praying that there would be some medics at the mile 25 aid station, yep there they were, “Hey, there is a girl about a half mile back who needs electrolytes!” I was a little fuzzy, but I think they heard me, because I saw them pedal off in her direction, but I was still on the clock, so I kept running toward the finish line.  I was less than a mile out, and started to feel good.  I knew my PR wishes were blown, but I would still finish with a decent time, especially considering the year I had put into my legs, so I was just smiling, cheering fellow runners on, and enjoying myself as I rounded the final few turns toward the finish line.  I finished in 3 hours 30min, just two minutes slower than my previous race there a year ago, my turning point marathon, so I was pretty happy with #29, not my best day, but I pushed hard early, hung on to the end, and moved one race closer to my goalJ

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.