Boston: Race Report « The Long and Winding Road

I’m chastising myself, as I type, for not posting this earlier. Because even yesterday at this time, I was still on a high from this weekend’s experience. Now, I’m flat-out exhausted.

And, adding to that, I’m not sure where to start. Running Boston exceeded every expectation I could have had, and then some. It truly was the experience of a lifetime, and one I hope to repeat someday — either as a charity runner, or by qualifying outright.

But even then, I’m not sure it could top this experience. There’s something about doing things for the first time. There’s something about running those hallowed streests shoulder-to-shoulder with my sister, taking it all in as it came at us. And there was something more moving than words can describe about rounding the corner onto Boylston Street, and seeing the finish line, lights, and crowd in the distance. It will likely remain, for me, a very close second to the finish of Ironman. Very close. Although I still can’t put my finger on exactly why.

It definitely wasnt because we PR’d…far from it. Rather, it was because of a myriad of other tiny reasons that all came together to make Boston this amazing event that nearly brought me to tears running the last .2 miles…partially because I just didn’t want it to end.

Here’s a smattering:

We are assigned to the very last corral — #27 — of the race. It is lonely there, way at the back with only bare street behind us, and it makes me anxious. I’m afraid we will have the distinction of coming in dead last…at Boston. My sister tells me I am crazy to worry. She is right, as usual. But it takes me several miles of looking back over my shoulder to relax about this.

I look over at my sister at the end of mile one. Her mouth is in a hard, tight line. She has been to the doctor twice in the last month for a running-related injury. The doctors did not offer much of a cure — simply told her she couldn’t do any more damage running on it. So here she is, gritting it out like a trooper. I hope she is able to finish. I worry that she will not.

In the first mile, men leap into the woods like lemmings to relieve themselves. There’s a crowd of them, barely a foot distance between each. I make a mental note never to hike alongside the marathon route if I ever find myself back in Hopkington, MA again and marvel that anything is able to grow in those woods after the race.

I lose my Garmin somewhere in the second mile. Someone knocks my wrist, I look down, and it’s gone. I turn and start running back the other way through a thicket of runners, all anxious to charge down the 150 feet of downhill at the start of the race. Someone yells, “You’re going the wrong way!” good-naturedly. I retrieve the Garmin — my safety net for the day; the only way for us to ensure that we’re not taking too much advantage of the downward slopes throughout the 26 miles and shredding our legs in the process. All is right with the world.

Some guy is wearing a shirt with writing in marker on the back that says, “Single? Call me.” followed by his phone number. This strikes me as hysterical. As does a spectator sign that reads, “Start strong. Finish strong. Smell Strong.” In retrospect? Not quite as funny as in the moment, but still pretty good.

The number of charities represented are seemingly countless. Dana Farber. Homes for Troops. Miles for Miracles. TNT. MS. Run for Research. I loose track. But I feel at once inspired and guilty. I’ve been running for myself this whole time, when I could’ve been doing something for the greater good. I think I’ve found my answer to “Why?” in future races. This feels great.

There is so much to look at and take in that the miles tick by almost seemlessly. 5k already? 10k already? No, really? Not until mile 17 do I begin to look and wish for the next aid station. I’ve never had this happen in a marathon before, where that many miles in a row just tick by so easily. Unreal.

Starting with mile 2, the balls of my feet — especially the right — are on fire with a dull ache that shoots painfully through to my toes with every step. This has been an issue I’ve struggled with all winter/spring, and it clearly isn’t going away. If this were a training run, I’d stop and stretch, which tends to help. But this is Boston (Boston!), and so I resolve to keep running. I grimace with every step, but the high of the crowds lining the streets, and the thought that I might only be here once, keeps me moving. The foot finally goes numb around mile 21 (sweet relief!). The middle toe is still numb today. Time to get that checked out.

A college house is handing out free beer, with two of the distributors dressed in sneakers, ipods, speedos, and nothing else. Looking at them, you’d never know it was 50 degrees out. Waves of runners point and laugh at them, which I’m guessing is exactly what they wanted.

Combined, we stop three times to address GI issues, with a line at the porta potties every time, once to allow Lindsey to re-apply her foot brace. They were necessary — essential, even — stops, but we will curse ourselves later for the time wasted at each. Even now, I’m not sure we would have been able to do anything differently, and even now, the time each stop took is still frustrating.

BC gets the award for the greatest spectators in the world. Wellesley is a close second. Those girls are cra-zy. Favorite moment passing Wellesley, with block-after-block of girls offering “free kisses” (with signs stating, “Kiss me, I’m from Texas,” “Kiss me, I’m Asian,” “Kiss me, I’m an English major” and on, and on) was one lone guy with a sign that said, “Kiss me…I’m a guy.”

Heartbreak Hill isn’t as bad as it’s made out to be. I think the best-kept secret is that its the hill right before it is the one that breaks you. My sister looks over at me as we’re slogging upwards and says, “Is this ever going to end?” We slowed to a walk briefly to regroup. I would admit this in embarassment to Chief of Stuff later, who would tell me, “It’s ok. Even Wonder Woman walked on that hill.”

After Heartbreak, I know it’s almost all downhill. Even though we have miles to go yet, I feel like sprinting. My sister, wise counsel again, notices and says, “We have a long ways yet.” And a couple miles later, when we can see another riotous crowd of BC students lining both sides of the street she tells me to keep it in check and keep my pace. “No speeding up up there.” But it’s so hard not to.

In the streets of Back Bay, I see cheer on two separate men as we pass them: one is a kidney cancer survivor whose shirt reads: “Diagnosed with kidney cancer in ‘05, Chemo again in ‘07, Boston in ‘09.” The other is wearing a Fox Cities Triathlon Club jersey. I yell to him, “Go Fox Cities!” and we exchange thumbs up as I pass him.

We round the corner onto Boylston Street. I pulled my earbuds out blocks and blocks before, unable to hear the music of my Ipod over the cheering crowd. I look over at my sister, face pulled tight with grit and pain, and motion for her to take her headphones off: “Enjoy this!” I tell her. “Soak this in!” I look ahead toward the finish, and hot tears spring to my eyes.

We finish in 4:50:something, although we won’t find that out until far later in the evening. This is what we do know: since 10:30 that morning, and far before, we have run through nagging injury, spurred on by the energy of this great running celebration. We have traced the same asphalt as Kara Goucher and Ryan Hall and 25,000 other runners, all paying homage to this incredible sport, to the ability — the great opportunity — to be out here at all, putting one foot in front of the other. We have done all this together, side-by-side, and that is something we’ll remember far after our finish time has faded. As we step across the finish, my sister gasps and hiccups a brief cry — Elation. Relief. — that brings tears back to my own eyes. I hug her. “It’s over,” I tell her. “You did it. We did it.”

What a day. Pictures below.

studioyvr Says:

April 24, 2009 at 1:58 am

I agree. Heartbreak Hill was a big disappointment, easy peasy. Hey, did you see the 3 guys running in the short bathrobes who were carrying bath toys? They were hilarious.