The long version:
The weather forecast in the week before the race basically just got worse and worse, and if you read my last post you know that I was essentially prepared for doomsday. Of course, there's a little spark in all of us that holds out hope that the meteorologists were TOTALLY wrong, that the cold front is going to show up a day early, or whatever, but alas. When you're able to walk the dog at 9 pm the night before a marathon in shorts and a t-shirt, well, lets just say it's not exactly going to be ideal. I think I did a pretty good job of keeping my chill the day before the race; I went for a quick shakeout in the morning followed by an incredible brunch with my dad and his wife and Menotomy Grill. Brunch also featured a terrifying Easter bunny, so that was at least amusing. The rest of the day was mostly spent aimlessly surfing the internet, periodically reading coach Tom's history of the Boston Marathon book, and just resting the legs. Andrew came over and after making dinner we spent the majority of our time attempting to french braid my hair...for the first time ever hahaha. After about half an hour of work we were pretty successful!
Hi, my name is Audrey, I'm almost 30, and this is the first time I've ever done a french braid. And I needed help from my boyfriend to do it. Wasn't quite what I was hoping for (I wanted the braid to kind of come down and across the front) but I actually ended up really liking this - most importantly, it stayed in place when I dumped 1000 cups of water on my head!
I then settled in to have my traditional pre-race beer (Prairie Hop, when I can only have one beer I make it good) and watch Miracle with Andrew. Every year for the past 3 years one of the Hunger Games movies has come out somewhere near the marathon and that's what I've ended up watching the night before...alas, that series is now complete, so I had to find something new and an inspirational sports movie where the underdog wins did the trick. It was nice having Andrew's calming influence and to be honest as the night unfolded, I never really felt super nervous.
Raceday dawned as it always does, early, and with the sounds of Thunderstruck blasting out of my phone. It's been awhile since Andrew actually partook in a race morning with me and while I'm not sure he enjoyed it nearly as much as I did, it was really nice having him there. I had said the night before that I wasn't nervous and truth be told I never really got nervous - I could tell that I was nervous/excited just because of the giddy way I was feeling and acting, but I never got that "holy shit, you're doing a MARATHON" nerves. I suppose it makes sense that giving up on going for a PR would change your mental status at the start of the race, but I have to say it didn't suck not feeling like I was going to jump out of my own skin for being so nervous. We hit Starbucks and headed to the T, where there was a guy playing a snazzy little song on the banjo and I amused myself by bouncing up and down and dancing awkwardly to the music. See? Nervous/excited.
I bid Andrew farewell and headed the rest of the way to bag drop, where I met up with my teammates and had the opportunity to show off my ridiculous throwaway outfit. I think this shirt may take the cake for absurd things I've been able to find at Goodwill - I thought it would be really hard to top my golfer sweater from last year, but this shirt was just incredible. Ridiculous throwaway gear is one of my favorite Boston traditions that I've developed over the past few years; I think it really takes the edge off in the morning to do something silly when you know what's underneath is totally serious.
We quickly found the rest of our teammates and headed to the buses - as always, this process was like a well oiled machine and we quickly found the end of the porta potties with no lines (hilarious announcement: "Runners, the porta potties at the other end of the common have NO LINES. You're about to run 26.2 miles, isn't it worth it to walk 200 extra feet for a gently used porta potty?") and then just as quickly got onto a bus. I spent the ride to Hopkinton jabbering aimlessly with Joy, mostly about strategy for the day (going out SLOW, not even trying to PR, etc) and the delights of past Boston experiences. I had really left no stone unturned in this attempt to stay ahead of the heat, and so I had brought a couple of frozen water bottles with me to try to cool off my hands and neck before starting - not sure how well that actually worked, but I had cold water to sip on the bus so I wasn't complaining. The bus ride was generally uneventful. Apparently one of the guys on our team was on a bus that got LOST on the way to Hopkinton and they somehow managed to get dropped off right next to the start and didn't even make it to the village. I've never heard of that happening before but thankfully that was not the case with our bus. As we pulled into Hopkinton we passed some beautiful homes and at one point this guy sitting on the porch of his gorgeous house drinking coffee looked at the bus and just gave a big thumbs up. Thumbs up to YOU, sir, with your nice house and your coffee and your not having to run a marathon on this 75 degree day, is what I was thinking hahaha. The athlete's village was pretty much the usual - get in the porta potty line, deal with that, and then find a shady spot to sit. We all wrote our names on our bibs and like last year, Dana and I chose to write a word for the race on our arms. Last year I chose grateful, this year it was brave - that's my theme for the year, and I knew that to hold on when the weather was against me, I was going to have to be at least a little bit brave.
Time seems to both slow down and speed up when you're sitting in the athlete's village waiting to be called; I felt like I was sitting there for hours and for 30 seconds simultaneously. But soon enough they were calling for wave 2, and it was time. The walk to the starting line is always one of my favorite parts of this race, although for whatever reason it seemed like there were fewer random people in their yards wishing the runners good luck. There were, however, a couple of decently drunk groups of people as you got closer to the start, which always makes me giggle. We cut over to the porta potties before the start and as I was wandering to the back of the block (the shortest lines are there), Robin, who I've "known" through DailyMile and Strava for a few years now but have never actually met, popped out of a porta potty right in front of me! It was one of those hilarious serendipity moments and we quickly said hi before moving on. But really, what are the odds? Business attended to, we headed up and into the corrals. Again, here, time seems to move at both the fastest and slowest pace possible at the same time as you make your way into the corrals and wait to begin. I fixed my sock and did a quick quad stretch and the next thing I knew I was hearing "30 seconds to the start, this will be the last announcement". I didn't have time to think or get nervous or process anything besides oh, how I love being here and then the gun sounded.
My goal for the opening stages of the race was to a) go out SLOW, and b) have a lot of fun. With my weather-adjusted goal of 3:25 honestly I probably could have stood to go out even a little slower than I did, but you know how it goes with that drop off the cliff out of Hopkinton combined with the intoxicating combination of nerves and excitement. As I think has been the case almost every time I've run this race, I grinned through the entire first mile. I always hang out on the left side of the road because it's less congested and if I don't pick a side I'll just go weaving all over, and that puts me in prime position to high five EVERYONE who's offering a hand at the beginning of the race. Those first miles are just utterly electric. I did my best to keep my chill and in looking at my splits I did an acceptable job - 7:39, 7:44, 7:40 for the first 3 miles. I remember thinking that I knew I had said 7:45s and just kind of shrugging internally, like, all I can do here is dial it back and relax, I'm not actively TRYING to gun it here. One of my teammates passed me in this stretch, as did Robin, and I watched them go. Be smart, Zaferos. Be smart. I think I made it about 2 miles before I started to feel warm - not uncomfortably warm yet, but unfortunately the "partly cloudy" forecast didn't seem to make its way into the picture until later in the afternoon, and for me the majority of the race was run in the blazing sun which was really the killer. I actually started dumping water over my head as early as the first water stop. I knew if there was any hope of me surviving this race in reasonable fashion, I had to do EVERYTHING that I possibly could to stay cool and hydrated and electrolyte balanced - not the easiest task when it's 75 and you're about to run for over 3 hours. But I had my plan. I was thinking on the bus about what a cognitive race the marathon is, and I think that might be one reason why I love it so much. You imagine the 27,000 people out there who are running this race, and each and every one of them is having to make a thousand little choices along the way. Drink, speed up, slow down, walk, take a gu, don't take a gu, change pace, high five that kid, surge, go out fast, go out slow...you could take 10 people who are theoretically physically capable of running the same times, and they might make different choices based on their own perceptions or goals or thoughts, and come out completely differently. I kind of loved this little image of this sea of runners, each with their own thoughts and plans and responses to what was happening. I also wanted, if nothing else, for it NOT to be my brain that was what did me in. And so, I stuck to the plan.
Ashland passes so quickly and so early in the race that it's easy to forget about. I missed my 4 mile split, which turned out to be my fastest of the race, but I did keep forcing myself to dial it down a bit - I've never done this before and it is MUCH easier said than done, particularly in a race that really turns on the excitement like Boston. In Ashland someone was blasting Sweet Caroline, and I was excited because I remember in some previous year that when someone was blasting it everyone sang along with the "bah bah bah's" and whatnot and it was really fun and cool. This year? NADA! Oh well.
We hit Framingham, and man, I went through a phase in the past where I was really anti-Framingham, but you know what, this year? I LOVED FRAMINGHAM. Framingham was the section of the race where I felt like my plan was working and that maybe everything was going to be OK. I remember coming up a hill in the first section of the city and sort of being like "hmm, I don't feel AMAZING", but then right after that getting some water and dumping some on my head and instantly feeling better. I actually sped up a little bit here which I think was mainly due to a combination of surprise and excitement that I didn't feel like total shit yet. I mean, yes, I was running slower than I knew I was capable of, and yes, I had some concerns about the fact that the heat sure wasn't going to get any BETTER, but hey, right at this moment I was here, and I was feeling OK, and that was just enough for now. And so I had a grand old time in Framingham. I high fived and waved at drunk people, smiled my face off, grinned at myself in the window of the lamp store at mile 7.4, and generally enjoyed my life. I think I knew there was no way this feeling was gonna last, and damn it, I was going to enjoy it while it was here. Also of note, I had a random line from a Beyonce song in my head for about 4 miles in this area. 'Yonce all on this mouth like liquor...like like liquor...like like liquor. Over and over and over. OOOOK, thank you brain.
When I got to mile 8 and wasn't dead, I pretty much internally did a fist pump because that was the point last year where I fell off the wagon at an absurdly high speed. Mile 8! It was like an achievement badge: "You made it past the place where you died last year! GREAT WORK!" Unfortunately, while not yet dead, I was starting to feel decidedly less stellar as I made my way into Natick. It wasn't a specific feeling of badness, more of just a generalized unease and a sort of "something's not right here". I began to have the suspicion that my pipe dream of holding 7:45s and running a 3:23 (which even at the time I knew probably wouldn't happen in that weather, but c'mon, your brain just kind of goes off on it's own adventures while you're running a marathon) was probably not going to happen. "But that's fine!" I told myself, "you can run 8 minute miles the rest of the way and STILL go under 3:30! Bam!". (possible foreshadowing....) During miles 8-9, which I always think of as "between" Framingham and Natick but I actually think they're all in Natick, I was able to get a cup of ice from some kid which I proceeded to shove fully into my bra. It was GLORIOUS. I think as I'm writing this now, a week later, my brain has blocked out how hot I actually was for the duration of this race, but I was, and having ice come in contact with my body for as long as possible seemed like an incredible idea. There was also a guy along here somewhere with a sign with the score of the Superbowl in the 3rd quarter (Falcons 28, Pats 3 - and we all know the ending to that story). I don't even like the Patriots but I thought it was hilarious, and also sort of a perfect inspirational sign - like "hey, you might be down for the count now, but anything's possible!"
Natick, for whatever reason, seems to be a place where I have trouble. The 10 mile mark of a marathon is sort of an odd place - it's yay you've run 10 miles! But also you have to run 16 more...so if you're not feeling great here, well....good luck. I prefer to hit the 10 mile mark feeling delightful and like a prancing pony, but alas that was not the case today. Again, I really wouldn't say I felt BAD yet....I just didn't really feel good either. I certainly didn't feel the way you want to feel at mile 10 if you know you're having a good day. It was somewhere around this point that I came up upon a teammate who is definitely faster than me. My first thought was mainly confusion - I knew she had started behind me because she got a bib through the club, but, uh, what was she doing anywhere near me? She started walking for a bit and I pulled up next to her - she started running again and we ran together for a little bit - she wasn't feeling great, and said she kind of felt lightheaded. Aha - that was the weirdness I couldn't quite figure out - it was some kind of lightheadedness! Well, that's not good. I don't get lightheaded from effort; if that's happening it's either heat, hydration, sugar, salt, or some combination of the 4. As I said to my teammate at the time - "I just wish I could figure out what I needed to make myself feel BETTER". I decided to kill several birds with one stone and take my salted watermelon Gu (which I had planned for this mile anyway) along with 2 cups of water to my usual one, and one on my head. The strategy of throwing everything at myself and hoping something would stick was actually surprisingly helpful for the next couple of miles. The lightheadedness diminished and while I still didn't feel good, I felt somewhat better. I did go down a little bit of a negativity rabbit hole in Natick; the fact that I was running a pace so much slower than my goal pace and STILL not feeling great was quite frustrating, and I wasn't so nice to myself in my assessment of my performance so far. I had slowed down a bit but was still hanging out in the 7:50s, which at that point was completely acceptable to me. I was getting hot, and it was only getting hotter, and as I said before I was totally OK with running 8:00s and riding it home. Problem was, based on the paces I had trained at I STILL expected that pace to feel relatively easy, even with the weather, and I have to say, that just wasn't the case. I was pulled out of my own head by, of all things, Don't Stop Believin' coming blasting out of a speaker in front of someone's house. I love that song unashamedly. I always say that if I hear it in a race it has to be good luck. So when I heard it, I was like alright, you need to get your head back in the game because we still have plenty of miles to deal with out here.
We headed up out of Natick and into Wellesley. Again, there wasn't any one specific thing that was the problem. My legs felt like they had no pep to them, but I was getting up the hills just fine. I was definitely hot, but my face didn't feel like it was on fire just yet. I did the only thing available to me in the moment and just kept moving forward. I'm going to say something kind of blasphemous here - while I think the Wellesley scream tunnel is awesome, it never seems to give me the boost that I think it's going to. Maybe it's because I always hang out on the left side of the road and I'm removed from the screaming, I don't know. My main memory from that stretch this year is that at some point a wild cross breeze came out from the right hand side of the course, and somebody's sign flew out in front of me. It said "Kiss me I'm Irish", and all I could think was that if I somehow managed to trip over somebody's sign blowing in the road I wasn't going to be able to handle it. Thankfully the wind died, the sign remained flat, and I was able to run over it without issue, up and over the hill and into Wellesley.
I hit the half at 1:42, which I think might be almost the slowest I've ever gone through the half at Boston with the exception of 2012, which doesn't really count. As the race would turn out to be the second fastest I've run on the course this was CLEARLY a smart move, however, in the moment all I could do was laugh ruefully at the fact that I was having to run so much more slowly than planned. I definitely went into the Bad Place for awhile during Wellesley. My pace had slowed into the 7:55s with the occasional 8:0x popping up while my effort level didn't seem to be getting any lower, and the heat was only getting worse. I vividly remember thinking to myself a very mean thought, which was: "God, why do I even do marathons? I'm not even good at them! How could I ever think I could run a 3:15?" Clearly, the heat was beginning to fry my brain. Around this time, my friend Dana came rolling by me looking great. She pulled up alongside and asked how I was doing. "I'm dying", I replied. This, I think, was a bit of an exaggeration. I was certainly not feeling OUTSTANDING by any means, certainly not in a place to go running off with her, although I did try for a couple of minutes. But I was still moving forward at a reasonable pace, nothing was particularly hurting, and I was nowhere near the cave of darkness I found myself in in Wellesley last year. I'll make the nerdiest comparison ever - in Final Fantasy 12 there's a part of the game where these robot spiders are sucking the power out of this mine, and you have to go and kill them before they can do it. If too many of them start draining at once and you can't kill them all, the overall level of power will go down because they're draining faster than you're killing them. That's basically a perfect analogy for how I felt during this race. At the beginning of the race, I could kill off the beasts with more water, dumping water on my head, grabbing ice from a spectator, taking electrolytes, etc at a pace that put me ahead of the constant suck of heat and dehydration. But as time went on, the power drain came faster and faster and there was nothing I could do to keep myself fully ahead of the curve - I knew at some point I was going to be overpowered, it was just a matter of when.
I basically put my head down and attempted to get through it. I leapfrogged back and forth with my teammate who I had seen earlier a few times; we'd run together, she'd walk and I'd move ahead, she'd come back up and pass me when she started running again, etc. At one point as we were running together I told her that I of course wasn't happy that she was having a bad race, but it made me feel just a little bit better to not be alone in my misery. When I think about Wellesley all I can envision is bright, bright sunshine. We had gotten a few moments of shade around the half but as soon as we got into the meat of Wellesley it was once again full on blazing, soul sucking sun. I no longer had the energy to even try to high five people or smile at the spectators, which is never a good sign. Somewhere right before the big downhill I did hear someone playing Sweet Caroline again and this time I was like, well, fuck it. I sang along with those bah bah bahs and those so good so good so goods giving zero cares about whether anyone else around joined me (they didn't which was disappointing). BUT WHATEVER WE'RE HAVING FUN RIGHT?! Oh, the lies I tell myself. Soon we were cruising down the large Wellesley downhill, which I really did my best to enjoy. I just sort of let myself fall down the hill and enjoyed the feeling of not really having to try for a couple of minutes. Time for the real fun to begin.
We headed up the first big hill over the highway, and my teammate popped up behind me one more time. She was holding a water bottle and offered some to me; I initially declined but then she told me it was cold, so I grabbed a couple of sips and it was like the nectar of the gods. I can't explain how good water tastes when you're running a hot marathon. You wouldn't believe that it's possible to crave water with every ounce of your being every 8-10 minutes but that was absolutely how I felt. She dropped back again, meanwhile I was forcing myself to attempt to run somewhat strongly over the hill. That strategy was OK. I thought back to last year when I literally almost started crying because I cramped up so badly right around this point, and said a little thank you to my body for continuing to hold it together at this time. Then I kind of zoned out for awhile. I feel like I was thinking really hard about something as we ran past the hospital and down towards the firehouse, but for the life of me I can't remember what it was. It was probably something like "the sun is hot" or "stop weaving all over the road" or something completely meaningless. I do remember running through the gel alley or energy station or whatever you want to call it, and grumpily thinking "I don't WANT gel, I want more WATER!" I'm really my best self at mile 16 of a marathon hahaha. My wish was granted shortly after, when I saw an open fire hydrant on the right side of the road and immediately dashed over there. It was cold, powerful, soaking, and absolutely AMAZING. I couldn't have cared less that my shoes were now soaked along with the rest of me (the sun was so intense and the air was so dry that I'd be dry shortly thereafter anyway), in the moment it was absolutely the most wonderful thing I could imagine.
Now it was time for the real work to begin. Newton awaited, under a blazing sun, and a quick systems check told me that my body was not in any condition to run aggressively through the hills. So it was off to plan B - just get through it. I had been continuing with my aggressive hydration plan and sticking to my nutrition/salt plan, salt every 4-5 miles, and Gu every 5-6 miles, which meant I was taking some sort of electrolytes in every couple of miles. I had also been supplementing Gatorade whenever it felt like a good idea, and had been drinking and dumping water on my head at every single stop. This had all been enough to get me this far. But as I turned into Newton I could feel the balance starting to tip in favor of Mother Nature, and I was not looking forward to it. On the way up the first hill, I got overwhelmed with everything - so hot, so thirsty, my legs are so not into this, etc - so I allowed myself to walk for 10 seconds. Literally, I counted 10 steps, and I forced myself to start running again. This actually turned out to be a great strategy - in the past my heat induced walk breaks have turned into aimless meanderings until my brain finally turns back on enough higher functions to remind me that I'm supposed to be running. 10 seconds was long enough to give me what I needed in terms of Not Running For A Second, but not long enough to get me completely out of rhythm. It gave me a focus. I actually walked much less this year than I have almost every year I've run Boston (in only 5 of my 11 marathons thus far have I made it through without walking at all) and I think giving myself a strict timeline helped a lot with that.
An interlude for photos: In photo 1, you see me looking rather unhappy, but suddenly noticing that there's someone with a camera. In photo 2, you suddenly see me attempt to look like a human being and sort of kind of smile because I saw the camera. The sequence kind of cracks me up...this also is a great representation of how oppressive the damn sun was.
There's always a nuun station somewhere on the first hill, so I took some of that, and then shortly after that there was someone with FREEZE POPS! YESSSSSS. I was on the right side to grab one, but was thwarted again and again by another runner in front of me grabbing the next pop. I finally got one from the last person who was holding them, and guys, a disgusting blue tube of frozen sugar water has never tasted so good. This also makes my 4th Boston where it's been hot enough to want to obtain a freeze pop on the course so...that's just really great. Once I got up the first hill, I was pleasantly surprised to actually start feeling, dare I say it, a little bit better. Again, I was by no means feeling great, and I wasn't about to start throwing down 7:20s all of a sudden, but I think my hydration caught up and there was a lot of downhill, and I had seen that 8:24 split from the previous mile and not liked it so much, so I forced myself to get in some semblance of a groove and cruise as best I could. The thought that popped into my head as I was running was this: "I've felt better...but I've also felt worse". It turned into almost a little country song...imagine a guy with a southern twang singing I've felt betterrrr....but I've also felt worrrrrse and that's basically what was running through my head in Newton. Somewhere along here I also saw my friend Brenda, who burst into the most AMAZING dance which included a high kick when she saw me, and I couldn't help but throw up some jazz hands and laugh a little bit. Things were OK! I was doing OK! This was certainly not the race I'd been envisioning since January, but having a shot at a sub 3:30 at this point in time seemed like a pretty good deal. All I had to do was hold on.
Another amusing photo series. On the left, my sort of "oh, well, I know there's a camera here. There's always a damn camera here" smirk. On the right, my "oh why the hell not, let's try to look like we don't hate our lives here" photo. These photos are about 1000 times better than any photo from 2012, 2014, or 2016, so hey, at least I'm learning to LOOK good in hot weather marathons!
The crowds in the first part of Newton were fantastic, and Newton always seems to be the pace where the cheers for the GREATER BOSTON emblazoned on my chest seem to start to escalate. I actually did write my name on my bib this year and I definitely got a few "Go Audreys", but the funny thing is that I love hearing "GO GREATER BOSTON!" even more than I love hearing my own name. That's what Boston is for me. I'm not just myself - I'm representing my team and my home, and for the spectators on the sidelines I'm part of the home team. It's a pretty amazing feeling, and one of my personal favorite things about Boston. For awhile in Newton I was running near a Greater Lowell woman, and so you would get "YEAH GREATER LOWELL! YEAH GREATER BOSTON!" in quick succession. I loved it! I may not have had the energy to high five anyone anymore, but I definitely tried to give a smile or a wave to anyone who was rooting for me and my team. In addition there must have been some people running near me through this whole stretch who were from Sweden and/or Canada because I heard SO many cheers for "GO SWEDEN", or "CANADA" and at one point a group in the crowd even burst into singing "Oh Canada"...Andrew mentioned to me after that the Bruins were playing Ottawa in the playoffs in Boston that weekend, so it's possible that there were more Canadians than usual spectating the race...no clue, but it did kind of give me a laugh in the moment.
We headed up Heartache, and another hilarious thing happened - suddently this girl next to me, under her breath but loud enough for me to hear, says "Oh, FUCK this FUCKING HILL". It captured my sentiments perfectly. I said something to the effect of "Agreed!" but I think she had headphones in and didn't hear me. Still hilarious. I took another one of my 10 second walk breaks somewhere in the middle of this hill, and then carried on. Now, unfortunately, I started to feel the heat really take its toll. The thought of having to run up and over Heartbreak seemed like an impossible quest. I kept running because I knew that a group of patients and therapists from my work had come out to spectate somewhere around mile 20, and I wanted to try to look as strong as I could when I passed them. As it turned out, I was distracted by another glorious open fire hydrant, and made a beeline over to it. OF COURSE, the group happened to be standing just before or after the hydrant, and so in my ecstasy over being not hot for the first time in an hour, I missed seeing them. They saw me though, which is all that really matters (one of the patients commented after: "you know, I held that sign up for her for like 10 MINUTES, and she didn't even look at me!" What can you do hahaha). It was almost hard to believe that I had made it past mile 20 without having a total meltdown. Only 1 really slow mile, and only a few miles in the 8:0x range! That seemed pretty good, under the circumstances. I continued to try to do math to figure out what could get me under 3:30. It was going to be close, I could tell, but the good news was I felt like I had a comfortable qualifier for next year pretty well wrapped up. That was definitely a good feeling to have at this particular moment, because things were about to get a bit ugly.
Heartbreak, typically, kind of had it's way with me. I had to take 2 of my 10 second walk breaks on the hill and I'll admit that at least one of them stretched out to 15 seconds. At this point there was really no question about what the problem was - my legs didn't even feel that bad, but I was SO hot and thirsty, and could tell my heart rate was through the roof and my effort level along with it. As I crested Heartbreak, I thought to myself with excitement no more hills! Yes! Unfortunately, hills would be the least of my worries over the next few miles. I was about to take a trip to trainwreck-town. The first signs of a problem were that on the big BC downhill, my quads just felt fried. I know, this is what they warn everyone about on this course! But honest to God I've NEVER had this experience before, and I've gone out fast, slow, and everywhere in between. I pretty much assumed that it was related to the heat, or even potentially some combination of the heat and my efforts to hold back on the downhills (trying to brake = more eccentric control = maybe even more quad fatigue? Based on a sample size of 1, seems like a possibility). I took my last gel at whatever the next water stop after BC was, and that was where shit really hit the fan. My body rejected that gel with all of it's power and the fact that I managed to not projectile vomit on a passerby is still a mystery to me. The last time I felt as nauseous as I did during the graveyard mile of this race was probably in the throes of some ridiculous hangover, certainly never while running. I had to cash in a couple more 10 second walk breaks to attempt to settle my stomach enough to keep running along. It's not like everything else was magical - my legs were toast and I was hot as hell, but the addition of nausea on top of the party really took things to a whole new level. Suffice it to say I did not enjoy my life in any way, shape, or form during the miles from BC to the turn at the reservoir.
Looking pretty much exactly how I felt. Just. Get. Me. To Boston.
Just before the turn, like a beacon of light, appeared a water station. For whatever reason I feel like the water stops between heartbreak and this point are the furthest apart of any point in the race, and of course when it's hot that's the point where I feel like I need an IV, so waiting any longer for water is not particularly helpful. I fell upon that water station like it was the last water I would ever see; I think I took 3 cups with one going over my head and the other two going straight down my throat. This didn't completely resolve the nausea but it seemed to tamp it down slightly. I made the turn towards Cleveland Circle running again, hot and exhausted and nauseous and somehow STILL thirsty, but at least running. Which was more than I could say for many people around me - I hadn't really noticed it up until this point, but the heat carnage was definitely piling up. As we ran down the hill I did my best to avoid the railway tracks that I almost tripped over last year. I thought a guy next to me was talking to me, but he was actually trying to get the attention of his friend, who had dropped behind me. The friend said something like "my quads can't take the pounding!" and wouldn't you know it, MY left quad chose that exact moment to go into an absolute seize of a cramp. My calves cramp almost every time I run a marathon, and I've had both hamstring and quad cramps that have certainly slowed me down. But this? This was not runnable. I tried to keep going and I thought I was going to fall. I refused to come to a dead stop on the side of the road so I basically started hop/walking, trying to pound my leg with my hands while still moving forward. I'm sure I looked pretty incredible. I have a patient who has left sided weakness, who sometimes cues his left leg to do things, calling it "lefty". I decided this was a good thing to channel in this moment. "COME ON LEFTY, GET IT TOGETHER", I said aloud as I attempted to rub my quad, move forward and not fall over at the same time. And I'll be damned, after what seemed like an eternity but in reality according to my Garmin was around 2 minutes (it does not escape me that slowing down so dramatically for 2 minutes cost me a sub-3:30, but there was nothing to be done for it) I started running again, tentatively at first, and then normally, at as fast of a pace as was currently feasible. And my quad didn't seize up! I mean I felt like shit in about 14 other ways, but at least I wasn't being brought to a dead halt any longer. I made my way down Beacon Street, keeping an eye out for my dad along the way. He almost missed me - thankfully I knew exactly where he would be so I literally just yelled "DAD" to get him to look at me, followed by "I'm so fucking nauseous!". Oh, delightful. Once I was past them I knew all I had to do was haul myself down Beacon, get over the hill, get under the bridge, and be done. Despite all of the generally bad feelings going on, I managed to never walk again after the great quad cramp of 2017. I stopped paying attention to much of anything besides continuing to move forward as I ran down Beacon. I think a guy was playing a saxophone and I remember hearing one of my teammates cheer for me, but it was all just noise - I was into the point where it was taking every ounce of my mental and physical power to continue.
FINALLY we reached the base of the hill that goes up and over the bridge, and for whatever reason this was where I realized I did it. I was alive, not walking, not in a med tent, I was going to qualify for next year, and soon enough it was going to be over. I remember looking at the mile 25 clock and thinking "huh. I have 9 minutes to run 1.2 miles to go under 3:30". I did some quick math and then actually laughed to myself. Ummm. Yeah. THAT'S not gonna happen! Oh well, so be it, sub 3:31 it was. Somewhere in this area I believe someone was blasting "Invisible Touch" out of a water stop, yet another song on my list of 'ridiculous songs that I love for some reason', and I smiled. And then it was 1 mile to go. The best mile, the best of the best of the best. I say it every year but I'll say it again, I would run a thousand shitty marathons to feel the way I feel turning right on Hereford, left on Boylston. There just is nothing like it. While I didn't exactly light the world on fire with my home stretch I definitely summoned some degree of a finishing kick and I could feel it, feel myself accelerating as the finish line came closer and closer, feel myself passing people as I ran by to the roar of the crowd. I try to explain to people why I do Boston year after year when 80% of the time (so far) the weather is terrible, it's a hard course, there are plenty of other spring marathons, why? It's because of this. Running down Boylston Street with a full heart, having given all that you had, knowing you had taken what the day brought and done everything you could with it. It's why I run marathons, and it's why I run Boston, and I hope I never stop appreciating how special it is to do it. I crossed the line in 3:30:21. I wasn't overjoyed, but I had done all I could with what the day had given me, and for now, that was enough.
Right on Hereford
This is the first time I've ever been captured actually crossing the finish line! Love the guy screaming into his phone next to me hahaha.
I always try to remind myself after a training cycle that the time you finish in never tells the whole story. Again, that's part of why I love the marathon - cheesy to say, but the journey that you go on during training makes the finished product only one small piece of the whole. I'm disappointed, obviously, but I'm not disappointed in myself. I'm disappointed in the fact that it had to be 75 degrees and as a result myself and many others had to survive instead of fly as we had trained for and intended to do. Even considering that, truth be told, I think I'd feel better if I'd been able to sneak just a bit closer to 3:25. But you know what? I'm also really, really proud of myself. Because I looked at the weather and I KNEW what I was in for and instead of being foolish and bullheaded and insisting upon running the race I had trained for, even though I knew it would end in disaster, I adapted. I followed my hydration, nutrition, and electrolyte plans to a T and I think I did a reasonably good job of pacing as well - had I not rode the struggle bus of nausea and quad cramps from 21-24, I would have been damn near my adjusted goal of 3:25. To be only 5 minutes off the race that I planned to run as I stood on the start line in Hopkinton feels close to a victory, especially for someone like me who has been time tested to die in the heat each and every time. My top 4 marathons were all run in conditions 50 degrees or below, with the top 2 in the 40s. In 75 degree heat, I ran my 5th best. It wasn't perfect. Most marathons aren't. I'd be a liar if I said that it wasn't a little hard to stomach both knowing I was aiming for a slower time than I was capable of and then missing that mark too. But I also know I put in the work, I know where my fitness is now, and you know, I'm starting to think that this training cycle was really just a precursor to the next one. I'm more confident in my ability to run a 3:15 than I've ever been, and I think having such a strong base to build off of, along with that confidence, is going to serve me well in the months to come. And at the end of the day, I did the one thing that was do or die for me on that day, which was to qualify for next year with enough of a cushion to feel confident that I'll get into the race (I feel like BQ -4:39 is a pretty solid in, as it's been 1-3 minutes the last few years). To do that on a hellish day where almost no one I know ran well is definitely an accomplishment, and I credit myself for being a big enough person to know when it wasn't the right day to go for a PR. I ran into Robin again in the finishers chute and she said something to the effect of "You were SO right! It wasn't a PR day" No, it wasn't a PR day. But it was a marathon day, a day when I high fived kids in Ashland and sang Sweet Caroline in Wellesley and took ice and freeze pops from kind strangers and was lifted up by my teammates and fought through the tough places to come out the other side. It was a day when I got to turn right on Hereford, left on Boylston, and cross my favorite finish line. And because of that, it was an absolutely freaking wonderful day.
Boston Marathon 2017
7129/26411 OA, 1501/11973 F, 1197/5846 open women