Prerace, things were pretty uneventful. I was even more jittery and on edge than usual, probably because I had been forced to taper SUPER aggressively in an attempt to salvage my hip - I will never do such an aggressive taper again, by the way. I think I actually did manage to lose fitness the last 2 weeks when I basically couldn't run, and that's a major bummer. So between standard taper jitters and legitimate concern about my body's cooperation, I wasn't in much of a good mood. My dad and his wife came into town on Thursday, which provided a welcome distraction. We had a great time at the Sox game on Friday night which the Sox one, and where I got to witness Big Papi stealing a base! Hilarious.
I always go to the expo on Saturday, and it is always one of my favorite parts of the marathon experience. On Saturday, the race still isn't the NEXT day, so the excitement hasn't yet crossed over into the treacherous territory of "holy shit, I actually have to RUN A MARATHON". The atmosphere around the finish line and the expo is absolutely electric and I feel like I can't stop grinning from the moment I get off the train. This year, the experience was made even better by the fact that ALL of my running besties/teammates were racing, so we got to go through it all together! Two of my friends were running their first Boston, and it was pretty cool to get to be a part of that. We cheered for the 5K and then headed off for brunch before heading to the expo.
Fasties in the 5K
I see you way down there finish line....
As always, the expo was fairly intense but exciting, and as always I just pretended that money was no object and bought a bunch of stuff. Saucony made a great shirt that was a play on the green line, which runs along part of the course and is also notoriously slow. We also went to Tracksmith after the expo, because they had made shirts that actually said "GBTC" on them in homage to Bill Rodgers. Seeing as we all actually run for that club, it felt like we had to get them!
Obligatory bib photo...not sure how I would have gotten through training or the race without these girls
I was planning on heading to the DailyMile meet up, but by the time 2 pm rolled around I was starting to feel pretty grumpy and tired (getting up at 6:30 to be downtown by 8 was fun, but exhausting) so I ended up nixing it (sorry DM friends! I still heart you!)
Sunday I'm not even sure what I did with my life. I did a 2 mile shakeout which felt OK, though I still wasn't convinced about my hip holding up for 26 miles and it also felt really effing hot. I went to lunch and was kind of a giant crab ass (sorry dad). I think I aimlessly surfed my phone a lot while trying to decided whether to wear a sports bra or my singlet? By the end of the night I had decided that I was going to wear the sports bra, but then dumbly changed my mind the morning of the race because I felt too naked and wore my singlet. Note to self: if the weather forecast makes it so you even have to think about wearing a sports bra, WEAR A SPORTS BRA. Or maybe just don't even bother racing, because it's going to be awful...
Finally, it was time to eat some pasta, watch Mockingjay Part II, stretch, and go to bed. I don't think I've ever been so nervous the night before a marathon - it was literally the first time in my running life going into a race and genuinely being unsure if I would be able to finish. I would find out soon enough.
OK, I'm so proud of this sports bra - I cut the logo off a crappy size large t-shirt I bought at our track meet and then sewed it (ME! I SEWED SOMETHING!) onto the sports bra. It's pretty badass, I did actually end up wearing it under my singlet, and I definitely will get some use out of it this summer!
Raceday
I was up before my alarm, and immediately rolling around in bed trying to assess the status of my hip. I eventually realized that I had only given myself half an hour to get up and out the door...not a lot of time, and so tried to get my butt in gear and get ready to do. The sports bra/singlet decision finally came to a head, and I just felt SO NAKED in just the sports bra that I ended up wearing it under my singlet. The weather forecast was still saying high of 61 or something, and I just thought it was unnecessary. (Hint: the weather forecast was a steaming pile of dog turds). Of course, taking awkward mirror selfies on marathon morning has now become my tradition, and so that's what I did.
Please note the greatest sweater in all the land. I miss it already.
I headed down to meet the crew at bag check. Last year I felt like I rode the train just with a bunch of random commuters, but this year it was pretty much ALL runners. Which was awesome. My mood, however, was not that awesome. My hip was already bothering me on the walk to the train, and I'm going to be completely honest: I was having a freakout. I immediately popped 2 ibuprofen, which I knew would help, but I was just angry that I was having to rely on painkillers to get myself to baseline. That was really a shadow hanging over the whole morning of whether or not my leg would cooperate. My mood improved significantly, though, upon arriving at bag check. There's nothing like popping out from underground to just a sea of marathoners, hilarious throwaway clothes, and the nervous energy of 30,000 people who are about to go run a marathon. I met up with the crew and this picture pretty much says it all:
Nerves. Excitement. ZEBRA PANTS.
As we were walking to the train, a woman was like "OMG! Are you sure you want to throw those clothes away? That is amazing." This made me SO happy - I always like to think that people get a kick out of my ridiculous throwaways, because I sure do. We dropped our bags and got on the buses without incident, and it was once again time for the neverending bus ride out to Hopkinton. I swear, it gets longer every year! We were literally on the bus for an hour...finally arrived at the athletes village (after passing a house with the most adorable little kids dancing around and waving "Good Luck Runners" signs in their yard) and it was time to #portapottyandchill . Heh. Unlike last year, we managed to hit the porta potty jackpot and only waited for about 5 minutes - first time that's EVER happened to me! Then we found a grassy spot to eat our various breakfasts (my bagel this year was much less disgusting than last year) and relax. I always like to write some mantra on my hand for the race, and we all ended up picking a mantra word to write on our arm. I wrote "hold on tight" on my hand - which I like because of it's double meaning. I wrote it as a reminder of the song lyric "hold on tight to what you've been handed", but it was also a good reminder that when the going gets tough, you've got to hold on tight and get through it. One by one, my friends picked their words - grit, pride, run bold. It took me a few minutes to think of what I wanted to say to myself, but then I came up with the perfect word. In big bold letters, I wrote GRATEFUL. Whatever the day would bring, I wanted to be grateful for it. To be here, with these people, having this experience, and being in a situation where I could even dream of being in shape to run a fast marathon.
As we sat, the sun continued to creep up, and it continued to get unnervingly warm. By the time we were called to the corrals at 9:40 I was already ready to ditch my sweater...NOT a good sign. "Invisible Touch" was playing as we walked towards the exit and I decided to scream that I loved that song. Sometimes I just get overwhelmed by life hahaha. We walked towards the exit to the village and I realized that since 2/4 of us were in the 8th corral, our group was going to have to split up sooner than I had thought. So then I decided that I was going to make everyone cry by having a little team huddle before we all headed off to our own destiny. Getting to have that moment with my friends and teammates was probably one of my favorite parts of the race, and doing a GBTC chant before setting off towards the line got us all pumped. I ditched the rest of my throwaway clothes - farewell zebra pants, I hardly knew ye! - and Dana and I headed out towards the line.
As we walked, I tried to hide my nerves by talking, but secretly I was scared shitless. It was HOT, and my hip was bothering me just walking - how the hell was I going to run 26 miles? Like actually, how? It's not like it was horrible pain, but having already taken ibuprofen and not having it done the trick? I was not happy. And so, I did something that I'm sure was ill advised (but I'm still alive today so I guess I got through it alright...) and that is that I took another 2 ibuprofen. I've never taken that large of a dose of anti-inflammatories (not even after thyroid surgery...whoops) but if literally nothing else went right in this race, I could NOT have it end because of my hip. I figured it had already been 4 hours since I took it earlier, so it might have actually been wearing off already...right? Right. Dana and I hit up the porta potties on the way to the start (the ones in the back never have long lines!) - I actually felt like I cut it a little close this year, by the time we got back onto the path to the corrals, it was about 10 minutes to the start. Dana was 2 corrals back from me so we shared a hug and a good luck, and then I was on my own, off to corral 3. I really can't emphasize this enough: I already felt like I was BAKING standing in the corrals. I had pinned my number to my shorts so that I could pull my singlet off if needed, but figured I would save that as an ace in the hole later on in the race. However my main concern was: when I start running, is my hip going to work?
2 minutes to the start, 1 minute to the start, it all happened, SO FAST. A guy next to me shook hands with all of us and wished us all good luck, and it was beginning, slowly and first and then building, the shuffle forward to the start, and suddenly you're over the line and on your way, with 26.2 miles ahead of you, and who knows what the hell will happen next.
I'm just going to take a moment here to put my splits from the race, which pretty much summarizes the experience. This is the short story:
Part 1 - 7:31, 7:29, 7:36, 7:33 (MY HIP DOESN'T HURT! ANGELS ARE SINGING! WHO EVEN CARES ABOUT THE WEATHER I CAN ACTUALLY RUN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN WEEKS!!! Subtitle: oh my god literally could you be any dumber)
Part 2 - 7:56, 7:48, 7:54, 8:08 (slowing down, first by choice and then not by choice anymore. Why do my legs feel SO terrible? Why does it feel like I've already run 20 miles? What the hell? Where's the next water stop)
Part 3 - 7:54, 8:10, 8:18, 8:03, 8:05, 8:04 (well...this is not at all what I was hoping for, but it's really freaking hot and my legs feel like lead so..I guess I'll take it?)
Part 4 - 8:21, 8:12, 8:51, 9:06, 8:25, 8:53, 9:11 (HOLY EFFING LEG CRAMPS can I drop out? I don't know if I can finish this? Oh my God. This is so bad. SO BAD. I'm going to run like a 3:50. All of my training was meaningless. This sucks.)
Part 5 -8:26, 8:39, 8:12, 8:49, 7:57 (AWW YEAH FINISHING KICK WHAT WHAT)
The long story:
I started running, and my hip didn't hurt, and as mentioned above I decided to breathe a sigh of relief in the form of running first 4 miles at goal pace, aka EXACTLY WHAT I SAID I ABSOLUTELY WOULD NOT DO. This is the one thing I did in this race that really and truly was my fault. I think I had talked myself into thinking that the weather wasn't really going to be THAT bad, and if my hip would just cooperate that I could totally defy the odds and my own expectations and PR. I honestly didn't feel like I was trying one little bit to click off those 7:30s, which gave me the false sense of security that comes back to bite millions on this course. So the first 4 miles were awesome. I smiled, I high fived like a million kids, I yelled On Wisconsin to the house with the Badger flag only to find that the guy next to me was not only from Wisconsin, but from the town next to my hometown. I'm glad I had the opportunity to enjoy myself for those 4 miles, because the 22 miles that followed would be the absolute opposite of enjoyable.
I started to notice I was feeling a little thirsty around mile 3, which is never good. I considered taking off my singlet but figured I would save it "for later, when I get really hot". (Later, when I got really hot, the sheer idea of trying to move my arms in a pattern that would allow me to take off my singlet sounded like the equivalent of long jumping my way to Mars. So I did not take my singlet off). I also stepped on a Gu packet and nearly rolled my ankle very early on, which made me irrationally angry - probably another sign that things were going to go south. The alarm bells were going off in the back of my head that I was probably doing something stupid, so I tried REALLY hard to stop being stupid and just relax and slow it down a little bit. As the splits above show, a little bit quickly turned into "a lot". Worst of all, slowing down didn't seem to do a thing for the fatigue that was already creeping into my legs....AT MILE 5. I couldn't even figure out how this could possibly be happening. I ran 22 miles at 7:37 pace 3 weeks ago? I'm fit? Don't tell me I can't even run 5 MILES at my goal pace?
It's fairly obvious that the heat played a huge role in my body's meltdown (literally) - clearly, after pretty much having run in nothing over 50 degrees for months and then suddenly SURPRISE, IT'S 70, there was no way I was going to be successful, but I also just felt like my legs didn't show up for the day. If I'd run the first half in goal pace and then blown up big, well that would have been a different story. But this was a totally different animal - aside from the first 4 miles, I NEVER had it. It was weird and stressful and it kind of made me want to cry. It also made me extremely concerned about how I was going to make it through the rest of this race. That was sort of the panic stage, which took me through Ashland. Once I slowed down a bit and just accepted that this was going to be a "thanks for playing, try again" sort of day, I was actually able to hold it together in the high 7's for a bit. That's still completely miserable, but at least I was still moving forward. The sun was absolutely relentless - the aid stations at Boston are so close together, and yet I still wanted to fall on each one like someone who's been out in the desert for a week. Being the type of thirsty where drinking a cup of water tastes like the nectar of the gods is definitely not a good place to be in the early miles of a marathon - especially given the fact that I had actually hydrated MORE than usual (2 full 16 oz water bottles plus a 16 oz nuun) before the race. And I just couldn't get over how horrible 7:55's felt! It was like Groundhog Day - I felt like I had to relive mile 24 of a marathon over and over and over again for the entire race.
I amused myself through Framingham by attempting to high five/smile at drunk people (once again Framingham smelled like running through a beer keg, and everyone was hammered. I kind of love it). I figured I could try to use the long, slight downhill through Framingham center to try to pull things together a little bit and see if I could make a push into Natick. But with every step, I simply felt worse and worse and worse. I couldn't put my finger on what specifically the problem was - I think mainly it was dehydration, because nothing gives me cement legs like dehydration does - but how could I seriously be dehydrated only an hour into the race? My brain just couldn't process it. I took a Gu at 10K which helped a little bit but not nearly as much as it should have. But I was feeling a little better, so maybe things were going to be OK, right?
And then mile 8 happened, and I saw that I had just fought for an 8:07 mile, and I seriously wanted to sit down on the side of the road, cry, and drop out of the race. I don't think the thought of not finishing has ever seriously crossed my mind in a marathon before. Like, as a concept of "oh, it would be so nice to drop out and not run anymore right now", yes. But never like this, where I literally thought to myself, I don't know if I can actually do this. I do not know how my body is going to continue to run for 18 more miles. It wasn't just that I was running slowly, it was that I was feeling so horrible doing it. I'm not kidding when I say that my legs felt better after every 20 mile long run of this cycle than they did at mile 8 of the actual race. It sounds cheesy, but one of the ONLY things that kept me forward was knowing that my teammates were out there too. Thinking to myself that I couldn't be the only one not to finish kept me moving forward long after any will to do so had completely stopped existing. I kept looking over to the other side of the course, assuming that they would all pass me at some point. Little did I know that with few exceptions, they were all having just as bad of a time as me.
I realized that I had to do something, so I started thinking about taking one of my "salt tabs" (aka, a nuun tablet that I cut up into little pieces). I'm not kidding, it probably took me about 5 minutes between thought and action, because the idea of having to put my arm back to my pocket, get out the baggie of nuun, take one, and put it back was too much energy expenditure for me to even bear. I do believe wholeheartedly that if I hadn't thought to bring those tabs (I ended up eating them all) that things would have been much worse. I'm a very salty sweater and literally had a crust of salt on me already by this point, so there's no way of knowing what might have happened to me without some extra salt in my life. We headed through the little section that leads to Natick, and the 15K mark which is pretty much the most accurate gauge of how my race is going. If I have to fake looking happy at the 15K photo op? It's all over. I was actually thrilled at the fact that there WAS no 15K photo op this year! However, around this time I did get past by two Cambridge Running Club girls, one of whom said hi to me and was like "I ran with you at New Bedford!". I didn't even have the energy to respond; I think I kind of gave her like a "yeah! Nice job.." And then she and her friend passed me, and I kind of wanted to punch her. I beat her at New Bedford! And now, she was running away from me. Sigh. Around this time, I also got really excited to see some people handing out bags of ice...only to have both people right in front of me take a bag, and miss out on getting one. Sigh. I wasn't in a place where I could stop and wait for it. Whatever I did, I HAD to keep moving forward - if I stopped, it was going to be all over.
I made it to Natick, another town down. I was totally bummed to already be counting down the towns and the miles to the finish, and I was trying really hard to appreciate the crowds. I LOVE this race - it was such a bummer to feel so terrible that I really wasn't able to enjoy it much. The only perk to date was that my hip wasn't complaining at all (thank you, ibuprofen), it was just everything else that was shutting down. I was taking water or Gatorade (sometimes both!) at every water stop, and it just didn't seem to be doing anything. The sun was completely relentless, my legs felt like I'd already run a marathon, and I was just in a battle for survival. I decided to try really hard to stop thinking about how many miles there were to go and just get through each landmark, one at a time. Then get to the next one. Just get there, somehow.
I had been looking over to my right almost constantly because I kept expecting Dana/Taylor/Joy/Ali/Brianna to come streaming by me at any moment. I was genuinely shocked to not have seen them yet. However, at mile 11 finally one of the people in red jerseys actually turned out to be someone I knew - Dana came rolling by looking AWESOME. I tried to yell to her but I think my voice came out sounding like Rose in Titanic ("come back! come back!") and it was so loud anyway, she definitely couldn't hear me from across the course. Given how my race was going there was no chance she was ever coming back to me, but I was excited that at least one of us was having a good day out there.
The mile 11 or 12 water stop was the first time, but certainly not the last, that I basically ran right into someone who came to a dead stop after getting their water. WHYYY. I did not have the energy to make quick dodging movements and so I definitely ended up basically pushing several guys (they were all guys) because I couldn't avoid them. Very annoying. Last year, maybe because it was cold, I never had any trouble getting in and out of the water stops but this year it was just a mess. We headed into Wellesley, and for a couple of minutes I felt just the slightest reprieve from my misery. Not that I was able to speed up at all, but I felt slightly less like I was dying for maybe 10 minutes. The Wellesley girls were out in force this year and I tried to just take myself out of the pain of my body and just mentally soak in some energy from them. I think my favorite sign was a couple of girls who were wearing little shorts and tube tops, holding large signs that said "If you run fast enough, we'll drop the signs!" - a creative twist on the typical "kiss me, I'm ______". Wellesely, in general, was an OK place for me. I took a cup of blue gatorade from a spectator which was AMAZING - there is something about getting some flavor besides the taste of lemon lime gatorade that just was stunningly glorious at that moment. I kind of zoned out for awhile, at some point I took another Gu and another nuun chunk. I remember some older guy running next to me and obviously sensing my struggle telling me to "relax your hands! Stop making fists! That's just wasted energy!" I remember seeing people walking and being vaguely glad that at least I hadn't gotten to that point...yet. I knew it was coming though. And quite honestly, I already knew that my time was going to be terrible, and I was hurting so much that I was finding it hard to even care.
Wellesley continued. I guess the fact that my pace stayed relatively consistent in the low 8's means that it was pretty uneventful. I think what was most frustrating was that I FELT like this pace should feel easy. Like, it would have been one thing if I had just slowed down and enjoyed the course and stopped and hugged people or whatever - it would have been intentional, and I'm sure I wouldn't have been so wrecked at the end. But this? No. It was literally taking every ounce of energy I possessed to just continue to run. I obviously was extremely dehydrated, but my brain was also so fried by the heat that I was blaming it all on me - that made for a rather unpleasant mental state.
Right before the big downhill, someone was blasting that "Who run the world? Girls!" song, which got in my head and that was cool. I didn't power down the hill by any means, in fact I pretty much did the opposite and try to put in as little effort as possible and just let the hill pull me down. That felt nice, and I actually passed some people on the downhill who looked worse than me, which was a little bit encouraging. Hold on tight though, because this is where things REALLY fell apart.
We headed up the hill through Newton Lower Falls, and as we started up I was like, "hey! Maybe running up these hills at this slower pace, I'll feel alright!" I'm not sure if this is a memory I'm making up because I want to imagine that I didn't feel like utter trash for the WHOLE race, but whatever, we'll pretend I felt OK for a second. That was immediately followed by possibly the most not OK thing that has ever happened to me at mile 16 of a marathon, which was the most searing quadriceps cramps I have ever experienced in my entire life. I tried to keep running and my legs physically would not. I'm actually surprised I didn't just straight up fall down, it was that bad, and that painful. I've felt flickers of this at like, mile 24 of a marathon, but NEVER this early, and never this bad. I had to walk. It was the only way to keep moving. I pulled off to the side to walk, literally said something like "this is not OK", and then proceeded to repeat the word fuck several times as I tore another nuun chunk out of my pocket and ate it. This HAD to be electrolyte imbalance - there was no question about it. I probably walked for less than a minute, but it felt like eternity. I knew that with this happening now, that the chances of this being a one time event were low indeed. By this point, even the thought of requalifying (not that it mattered, since I already have a qualifier from the fall) was completely gone. I was like, am I even going to finish under 4 hours? It was bad.
Funny enough, after taking a walk break I actually felt better than I usually do running up the rest of the hill over the highway. Through the Newton Wellesley area I felt marginally less horrendous - as in, I wasn't actively cramping and I was slowly moving forward. However, I knew the hills were coming and I knew that surviving them was going to be one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in a race.
We made the turn at the firehouse, where possibly one of the best things all race happened: they had a spray tunnel set up, and you had better believe I cut all the way to the other side of the course to run through that damn thing. I thought perhaps the cooling spray mist would propel me up ass panther hill...but alas. For the 4th time in 5 tries, ass panther hill bit me and it bit me HARD. Once again, I found myself reduced to a walk. Everything just seemed utterly pointless. What was the point of running up this hill, when I was running such a pathetic race? Might as well walk for a second, and feel just a little bit better. As soon as I started to feel a little normalized, I started running again. I pretty much resigned myself at that point that I'd be doing some walking on the other 2 big Newton hills, but vowed that in between them I HAD to keep running.
The crowds in this area were insane, and I was getting so many great Greater Boston cheers, that it was so frustrating to feel like I was representing my club so poorly. I think the spectators definitely had the idea that the runners were having a rough day and I felt like the genuine encouragement was really out in full force. There was also some kind of really awesome drum group that I don't think was there in the past - like 30 people banging drums in unison like a heartbeat will give you chills, even if you don't already have them from heatstroke...hah. Once again, I tried to just zone out and run through the section between ass panther and heartache hill. I was running, but man I was running slowly. The mile where I walked on the hill was a 9:06, and the next mile (with no walking) was an 8:25 - I couldn't even tell you the last time I ran an 8:25 mile. But I was trying SO hard. I wanted to much to be able to try! And my body just would not cooperate in the slightest.
I had been looking over to my right almost constantly because I kept expecting Dana/Taylor/Joy/Ali/Brianna to come streaming by me at any moment. I was genuinely shocked to not have seen them yet. However, at mile 11 finally one of the people in red jerseys actually turned out to be someone I knew - Dana came rolling by looking AWESOME. I tried to yell to her but I think my voice came out sounding like Rose in Titanic ("come back! come back!") and it was so loud anyway, she definitely couldn't hear me from across the course. Given how my race was going there was no chance she was ever coming back to me, but I was excited that at least one of us was having a good day out there.
The mile 11 or 12 water stop was the first time, but certainly not the last, that I basically ran right into someone who came to a dead stop after getting their water. WHYYY. I did not have the energy to make quick dodging movements and so I definitely ended up basically pushing several guys (they were all guys) because I couldn't avoid them. Very annoying. Last year, maybe because it was cold, I never had any trouble getting in and out of the water stops but this year it was just a mess. We headed into Wellesley, and for a couple of minutes I felt just the slightest reprieve from my misery. Not that I was able to speed up at all, but I felt slightly less like I was dying for maybe 10 minutes. The Wellesley girls were out in force this year and I tried to just take myself out of the pain of my body and just mentally soak in some energy from them. I think my favorite sign was a couple of girls who were wearing little shorts and tube tops, holding large signs that said "If you run fast enough, we'll drop the signs!" - a creative twist on the typical "kiss me, I'm ______". Wellesely, in general, was an OK place for me. I took a cup of blue gatorade from a spectator which was AMAZING - there is something about getting some flavor besides the taste of lemon lime gatorade that just was stunningly glorious at that moment. I kind of zoned out for awhile, at some point I took another Gu and another nuun chunk. I remember some older guy running next to me and obviously sensing my struggle telling me to "relax your hands! Stop making fists! That's just wasted energy!" I remember seeing people walking and being vaguely glad that at least I hadn't gotten to that point...yet. I knew it was coming though. And quite honestly, I already knew that my time was going to be terrible, and I was hurting so much that I was finding it hard to even care.
Wellesley continued. I guess the fact that my pace stayed relatively consistent in the low 8's means that it was pretty uneventful. I think what was most frustrating was that I FELT like this pace should feel easy. Like, it would have been one thing if I had just slowed down and enjoyed the course and stopped and hugged people or whatever - it would have been intentional, and I'm sure I wouldn't have been so wrecked at the end. But this? No. It was literally taking every ounce of energy I possessed to just continue to run. I obviously was extremely dehydrated, but my brain was also so fried by the heat that I was blaming it all on me - that made for a rather unpleasant mental state.
Right before the big downhill, someone was blasting that "Who run the world? Girls!" song, which got in my head and that was cool. I didn't power down the hill by any means, in fact I pretty much did the opposite and try to put in as little effort as possible and just let the hill pull me down. That felt nice, and I actually passed some people on the downhill who looked worse than me, which was a little bit encouraging. Hold on tight though, because this is where things REALLY fell apart.
We headed up the hill through Newton Lower Falls, and as we started up I was like, "hey! Maybe running up these hills at this slower pace, I'll feel alright!" I'm not sure if this is a memory I'm making up because I want to imagine that I didn't feel like utter trash for the WHOLE race, but whatever, we'll pretend I felt OK for a second. That was immediately followed by possibly the most not OK thing that has ever happened to me at mile 16 of a marathon, which was the most searing quadriceps cramps I have ever experienced in my entire life. I tried to keep running and my legs physically would not. I'm actually surprised I didn't just straight up fall down, it was that bad, and that painful. I've felt flickers of this at like, mile 24 of a marathon, but NEVER this early, and never this bad. I had to walk. It was the only way to keep moving. I pulled off to the side to walk, literally said something like "this is not OK", and then proceeded to repeat the word fuck several times as I tore another nuun chunk out of my pocket and ate it. This HAD to be electrolyte imbalance - there was no question about it. I probably walked for less than a minute, but it felt like eternity. I knew that with this happening now, that the chances of this being a one time event were low indeed. By this point, even the thought of requalifying (not that it mattered, since I already have a qualifier from the fall) was completely gone. I was like, am I even going to finish under 4 hours? It was bad.
Funny enough, after taking a walk break I actually felt better than I usually do running up the rest of the hill over the highway. Through the Newton Wellesley area I felt marginally less horrendous - as in, I wasn't actively cramping and I was slowly moving forward. However, I knew the hills were coming and I knew that surviving them was going to be one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in a race.
We made the turn at the firehouse, where possibly one of the best things all race happened: they had a spray tunnel set up, and you had better believe I cut all the way to the other side of the course to run through that damn thing. I thought perhaps the cooling spray mist would propel me up ass panther hill...but alas. For the 4th time in 5 tries, ass panther hill bit me and it bit me HARD. Once again, I found myself reduced to a walk. Everything just seemed utterly pointless. What was the point of running up this hill, when I was running such a pathetic race? Might as well walk for a second, and feel just a little bit better. As soon as I started to feel a little normalized, I started running again. I pretty much resigned myself at that point that I'd be doing some walking on the other 2 big Newton hills, but vowed that in between them I HAD to keep running.
The crowds in this area were insane, and I was getting so many great Greater Boston cheers, that it was so frustrating to feel like I was representing my club so poorly. I think the spectators definitely had the idea that the runners were having a rough day and I felt like the genuine encouragement was really out in full force. There was also some kind of really awesome drum group that I don't think was there in the past - like 30 people banging drums in unison like a heartbeat will give you chills, even if you don't already have them from heatstroke...hah. Once again, I tried to just zone out and run through the section between ass panther and heartache hill. I was running, but man I was running slowly. The mile where I walked on the hill was a 9:06, and the next mile (with no walking) was an 8:25 - I couldn't even tell you the last time I ran an 8:25 mile. But I was trying SO hard. I wanted to much to be able to try! And my body just would not cooperate in the slightest.
Just trying to put my head down and get through it in Newton. Notice how my feet are barely even leaving the ground...
We hit the mile 19 mark, and I knew that Brenda would be cheering somewhere in this area. I missed her last year so made a point to look for her...and there she was going crazy! I think I made a sad face but I was so happy to see her there. Shortly after, I saw Coach Rod (who I didn't realize was going to be there)...I think I made an even SADDER face at him, which I'm sure he understood since he knows exactly how hard I've trained, and he knew that this was not the race I was shooting for. He yelled something like "You're fine! You're OK! Just finish it out!" and I almost burst into tears. I don't think I've ever needed someone to tell me I was OK more than I did at that moment. It reminded me that I wasn't the only one having a tough day, and that the most important thing at the moment was to get to the finish line.
I continued on through the gauntlet of Newton. One extremely random thing I noticed this year was that there were several clusters of spectators throughout the course wearing Wisconsin gear, and seeing one of them was literally the ONLY thing that could get me out of myself for a second to smile, wave, and yell "On Wisconsin". There was a guy somewhere in here decked out in Packers gear and I just wanted to go over and have a beer with him, haha. I also ate a freeze pop which absolutely tasted like the nectar of the gods, but any marathon where people feel the need to hand out freeze pops and I feel the desire to eat them (3/5 Bostons for me now) is way too effing hot to be running a marathon. Heartache came and went, I walked for about 30 seconds but then pulled it back together. I think writing this now, almost a week later, a lot of the true nature of just how bad I was feeling has faded in the background. My brain has purposely forgotten it. But let me be clear: I have NEVER felt as bad as I did on Monday for as long as I did Monday in any race I've ever done. Once in awhile I would just realize that I had somehow covered 2 more miles and I would just be shocked that such a thing was even possible. I kept thinking of that quote "The marathon will humble you". I was being humbled. So, SO humbled.
At long last, I made it to Heartbreak, and actually managed to stumble up it for a little while before my legs just straight up gave up. I had started picking a place to restart every time I had to walk, because otherwise I figured I might just never start up again. So once again, it was only maybe a minute of walking, but it felt like an eternity. As I'm walking people are still cheering "Go Greater Boston", and that was just the worst. I forced myself to throw my body into at least some semblance of a run, which I was able to maintain for the rest of the way up the hill. 9:11....ouch. But FINALLY, the hills were done, we were 5 miles from home, and finally the distance that was left was sounding like a distance that I could maybe successfully cover. I wouldn't be able to cover it fast, but I finally believed that I wasn't going to have to drop out of the race. I took a deep breath, shoved my last Gu into my face, and set to work on the 5 miles that stood between me and being able to STOP.
The downhill through BC was definitely one of my favorite part of the race, as once again I could sort of just stop trying to run and just let my body roll down the hill. The BC kids were at the height of their drunkenness and having a group of college kids start chanting "SI SE PUEDE!" over and over was pretty awesome. By this point, I had broken the rest of the race up into landmarks. Get to the reservoir. Then get to Cleveland Circle. Then get to Washington Square and your dad. Then get to Coolidge Corner. Then get to Kenmore. Then get to the finish. These are all places I've run through hundreds of times and that familiarity made things just a little bit easier to swallow. I actually started passing some people around this point which made me want to laugh at how absurd it was - how was I passing anyone? Just after the graveyard, the leg cramps reappeared with an absolute vengeance. Once again I attempted to run through it but it was so painful that I literally could not. Even at a walk, I was limping, and this time walking didn't even seem to be helping. I shoved down another nuun chunk, prayed that this would be the answer, and attempted to start running again. It was awful. I was limping so badly I was almost hopping, leaning side to side and practically whimpering from the pain. Since walking hadn't made a difference, I decided to try to run through it. After a couple of minutes that felt like hours, either the salt kicked in or my muscle fibers decided to just fatigue out and give up, because the pain, while still present, became much less excruciating.
We made the turn toward Cleveland Circle, and for some reason I was really feeling like the crowd was not cheering hard enough. I WANT NOISE DAMN IT! Some guy next to me started doing the arm wave thing and the cheers increased, and I was so happy! I also saw a cluster of Wisconsin people wearing hats with Badger ears, and I think I tried to say On Wisconsin but I'm not even sure I formed actual words. We turned onto Beacon, and OK. I can do this. I can. Just one step in front of the other, all the way down Beacon, just get there however you have to.
Now the crowds really became fantastic - I never cease to be amazed and absolutely love the intensity with which people show up to cheer for Boston. Some people wearing WMDP gear on the right side of the road yelled my name; I have no clue who they were or how they knew my name, but thanks guys! Finally, I made it to my dad, with his cute little sign that said "Go Audrey! 3 miles to beer!" and I tried to smile, waved, and I think said something along the lines of "I HATE RUNNING!" OK. Now get to Kenmore. The cramps continued to hit me on and off through this section, and all I wanted to do was get to the end. The crowds continued to escalate. I saw men with red bib numbers walking near me. Pretty much everyone looked like they'd been through their own nightmares. Somehow, through it all, I was still moving forward. Then - again, the damn cramps that had been plaguing me for the last 10 miles. I threw the last of my nuun in my mouth, walked for about 10 seconds, and then swore: no more. Whatever happened, whether I fell down or not, I was running the rest of the way in.
The last couple of miles, on top of the cramps, the fatigue, the pain, the heat, and every other damn thing that had been happening to me for the last 3 hours, I also started to get nauseous. It was just such a nice little cherry on top of what had already been just a ridiculous day. I really wanted to walk to try to calm down my stomach but it was just too damn late for that. Up and over the highway bridge, and into the roar. Kenmore. The closest to being a professional athlete so many of us will ever be, with the crowds of the massive screaming, waving, cheering...and it's ALL for you. For the second time all race, I found myself passing people. People were walking, and I wanted to SO badly, but I just wouldn't do it. Not here, not in this moment, not when this thing is finally going to be over. Into the tunnel and it's time: right on Hereford. As we turned right I found myself running behind a woman who apparently had lost bowel control at some point. I saw it, and more unfortunately for my already jacked up stomach, I smelled it. Maybe this was motivation to speed up, because I did, just a little bit. My last mile was a majestic 7:57, and I actually giggled when I realized I had finally cracked an 8 minute mile for the first time since mile 8. Left on Boylston. Running down Boylston in the Boston Marathon will never not be amazing. Never. Not even if you've had the absolute worst damn day of your life, not even if you've been cramping and wanting to throw up and overheating and dying a thousand horrible deaths in the Newton Hills all day, no matter what, when you make that turn onto Boylston, everything changes. Nothing matters anymore except the roar of the crowd, the pounding of your legs, and that blue and gold arch that will guide you home. The song burst into my head again: DON'T TAKE YOUR LIFE FOR GRANTED...YOU'VE GOT TO HOLD ON TIGHT TO WHAT YOU'VE BEEN HANDED. The day handed me a pretty crappy hand, but I tried so damn hard to hold on tight to it.
Eyes fixed on the finish
I put every last ounce of everything I had into that finishing straight. I was legitimately shocked when, upon approaching the finish, I saw the clock just ticking over to 3:35. 3:35? Why, that was SO much better than the 3:50 I was expecting to see! That's bad, but not utterly embarassing! I have never been so relieved to see and cross a finish line. There's a quote from somewhere "I am too tired even to be happy". That's how I felt. I was so exhausted, so completely spent, and so, so relieved that it was finally over.
I headed through the chute and ended up chatting with a guy who finished next to me with a 9000s bib. He was disappointed, as was I, and we exchanged horror stories. Then I, most pessimistic, frustrated, and most likely to beat myself up, did something totally out of character - I said something to the effect of "well, any day we finish 26.2 miles is a good day!" And it is. It WAS. GRATEFUL - that word I hadn't thought of for a second as I suffered - here it was. I was grateful. The last 3 hours and 35 minutes had totally sucked, but it beat spending that time doing anything else. I continued through the chute, thanking volunteers, and chatting with another girl who apparently had spent most of the race looking at the back of my singlet - hah! She too had had an extremely rough day - something that would become a running theme the more people I talked to. I wandered along through the gauntlet of people handing me things I had no desire to eat or drink (a protein shake? A protein bar? Only if you want me to throw up all over you) with the goal of getting to bag check so I could find out how my friends had done! It was a slow process. Every muscle that had been cramping now just really freaking hurt, both armpits had ended up chafing something awful and I felt like I was being branded every time I moved my arm. Plus, I had a sinking suspicion that when I took off my shoes I was going to find an extremely unpleasant situation going on on my feet. Once I got to my bag, I literally spent 5 minutes puzzling out how to undo the knot holding the bag together, spent another 10 minutes trying to decide whether or not to change clothes, and finally decided that the best choice would just be to start trying to find my way to the bar where GBTC was meeting. On my way, I ran into Brianna! She had also had an equally terrible day and we were able to commiserate before going our separate ways.
Basically smiling because I am JUST SO HAPPY TO BE DONE
Probably the weirdest thing was once I got back to Boston and stopped running, I was COLD! Because apparently, despite the 73 degree start temp in Hopkinton and temps in the 70s most of the way, there was a damn sea breeze in Boston that cooled things down later in the afternoon...so helpful. Apparently throughout the whole race there was actually a 10 mph headwind as well, which I didn't even notice except in the fact that I never felt like I really got sweaty, just dry and covered with salt. Basically, it was one shit weather day for running a marathon.
I made the long and treacherous walk to Clery's where I was finally able to join my teammates, obtain a beer, and relive the day. The first person I saw was Joy, and the first thing I said was "THAT WAS THE WORST". Tom actually gave me a hug (hah!), and that's how you know it must have been a bad day for everyone. Food still sounded appalling but beer sounded OK, so I hung out for a couple of hours, had a couple beers, and celebrated being finished with everyone else. I found out that a bunch of our top people had ended up dropping. I immediately felt SO much better knowing that I was not the only one who had a disaster of a race - commiserating with people who get it and who were right there with you makes things so much better!
We finally headed back to the T, where hilariously Aly and I almost missed a train and had to kind of run down the stairs. They were making an announcement in the station: "Marathoners, please be careful on the stairs! We do have an elevator!" Hahahaha, I love you, Boston. We ended up having to stand on the train (c'mon, man!), and it was a long, slow journey, but eventually I made it back home. The rest of the day was taken up with celebrating, both with the team and with my dad. It's amazing what a 12% Kentucky Bourbon Stout on draft will do for post marathon soreness! ;)
All in all, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed about the end result of this training cycle. It would have been bad enough having to basically hide an injury to get through the race, but add heat on top of it and it was just game over. I keep thinking of the 22 miler I ran 3 weeks out and how utterly strong and amazing I felt, and I KNOW I was fit. Maybe if I think of that run as the race, and the actual race as a celebration...that will help a little haha. Knowing that basically everyone was somewhere between 5-25 minutes off their goal time definitely helps to ease the pain a little bit, but to have such a great training cycle and to then run a time that not only isn't my best time, but isn't even in the top 5/10? That's a hard pill to swallow. As time has gone on, my excitement about just finishing has been taken down a notch by a little bit of sadness, and some wishing that things could have gone differently. It also isn't helping that shockingly, running 26.2 miles under the fog of ibuprofen did not, in fact, magically heal my hip, so I'm having to take some time off to deal with that as well when what I really want is to just jump right in and get some redemption. But still - the fact remains: I am so grateful to be a runner. I'm so grateful to have THE Boston Marathon be my home course. I'm so grateful to already have a qualifer for next year. I'm so grateful to have an amazing group of teammates and friends. And I'm so grateful that, despite all of my body's protests and feeling sick and awful and beaten down, I was still able to pull myself through 26.2 miles in a time that many people would be thrilled with. At the end of the day, a day you finish the Boston Marathon is a great freaking day. I'm already looking forward to that day in 2017...preferably without Mother Nature deciding to have a hot flash on race day. More on my redemption plan (oh yeah, I think I have to run a fall marathon now...) later.
Boston Marathon 2016
3:35:21
9327/26639 OA
2411/12168 F
1827/5948 F18-39
1 comment:
What a race. My only Boston memory was in the 90's - 2012. I kind of want a do-over: 2017, perhaps? Anyway, you hung on tight and and finished, and your hip didn't fall off, and you didn't go into renal failure from dehydration + ibuprofen, so - SUCCESS!
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