Boston Marathon – The Race

“Seriously?” I asked her as I ran by.

“Seriously,” she smiled back. I shook my head in wonder; that’s nearly a miracle, I mused. But the more I tracked towards Copley Square, the more I realised that it must have been a group effort. The whole city of Boston, the hundreds of thousands lining the streets, the nation-wide tribe of runners who were angered and energized by the bombings last year, they all contributed to his speed and persistence. For them, Meb must have felt, there was no way he was NOT going to win.

That’s how I felt the whole day, racing in Boston in 2014. Busing to Hopkinton in the morning, I snagged an open aisle seat near the front. My seat-mate was quiet for the first few minutes, but, inevitably, we started a conversation as the bus rolled onto I-90. Over the next hour, I learned all about George, a stout Cuban American from Miami, who had been stopped short of finishing last year and was back for closure. More importantly for our conversation, he was on an Ironman quest; IM # 4 at Texas was coming up next month.

Great! For the rest of the trip, we talked all things Ironman. The guy has a power meter, but had never heard of FTP, or how to use it to fine tune his training and racing. Hmmm, sounds familiar? After a few bouts of “70%” and “mile 18”, I hope I left him a little better prepared to achieve his goal of sub 12 hours at the Woodlands.

32,000 or so of us were toeing the start line. Just getting there was half the battle, but the Boston Athletic Association nailed the logistics. The facilities – buses, school grounds, two lane roads into Boston, water stations every mile – were strained to the max, but they/we pulled it off. No slowdowns, no bottlenecks, just runners as far as I could see in front of and behind me, lined with cheering crowds the whole way. “It felt like a finish line for 26 miles,” was the way one runner described it.

My plan was to JRA – just run along. I’d done the hard work to qualify in 3:46, and even that was at an easy pace. I suspect with proper training (50+) miles a week and blinders on while racing, I could have gone 3:38 in Missoula last year, and 3:48 in Boston. But following my 2006 effort in Boston, I’d sworn off marathons, or at least training for one. And besides, I’ve got IM Coeur d’Alene coming up in 10 weeks.

So Just Run Along it was. I started out at an 8:40-8:50 pace, and for some reason started to pick that up after mile 8. But I quickly realised that while I *could* keep going at the effort level, I really *shouldn’t*. For one thing, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the day the way I wanted. So I backed off, and trotted in the midst of the herd, comforted by the crowds who shouted out the words on our jerseys (“Wesleyan” for me), or distinctive costumes (“Easter Bunny” seemed to be running just behind me the whole way).

Mile 12.5, and we entered Wellesley College. OMG, I almost forgot about them! Some guy in orange kept stopping to hug them, and I remembered, these girls give out free kisses. While high-fiving (actually, more of a running side-five) them all, I tried to read their signs. Finally I picked out one that read, “Kiss me, I’m Performance Enhancing.” Honestly, in my oxygen deprived state, I thought that meant she was doing some performance art project, and a hug would somehow give her extra credit. Also, she was the cutest one of the bunch, so I stopped to give her a hug. About 30 seconds down the road, I finally figured it out – I was the one who got the performance enhancement!

Another mile or two, and we hit the hills. Usually, I go a little slower than those around me up a hill, and flash past them on the way down. But my JRA strategy meant I had a lot more energy than my fellow travelers, so for the next 7-8 miles, I was a mean machine. No Wall, no Heartbreak in the hills for me.

Once I hit Cleveland Circle, and turned onto Beacon, I started looking for my sister and brother-in-law. They were staying in a small hotel right on the route, and my wife had trekked from downtown Boston to join them, so she could hand me a de-fizzed Coke at mile 22.5. Just past the Dean Rd T stop, I saw them.

Cheryl was holding a cup of Coke. While I hugged Leigh and Craig, I whined, “Aw, I wanted that in the bottle, so I could carry it with me.” Cheryl quickly poured it back in, screwing the cap on tight. I gave her a kiss, and said, “I gotta keep going.” I thought at that point I might be able to finish in under 4 hours, and wanted to give it the old college try.

That lasted until the next college – BU. A few guys were standing on the side with red plastic cups. I ran towards one, shouting, pointing, “Is that beer?” and before he could answer, I grabbed the cup and took a big swig, spilling on my red Wesleyan shirt. This excited them no end; they cheered and shouted, “He took the beer – hey man, way to go!” Who knows, maybe I made their day.

From that point on, I slowed down my pace a bit. I wanted to soak it in, not tunnel into my brain to go as fast as I could. I even stopped to walk a bit under Mass Ave, just to listen to all the footfalls around me, to embed some aural memories of the day. Just before the finish, I stopped at the site of the first blast, to give a silent prayer of thanks and remembrance.