Another Boston Marathon Report (Read 729 times)

Congratulations to everyone that finished the race! Following the tradition of long race reports, here's mine... This was my third year in a row running in the Boston Marathon. The temperature soared to 87 and 70 degrees during the last two years, and I flamed out long before the hills of Newton. As this year's Marathon Day approached, all eyes were on the weather predictions, and there was a collective sigh of relief when the three day forecast said it will be in the 50s and cloudy. Our club bus arrived at the Hopkinton High School parking lot at 9 AM. On the way there, the police had already closed off highway exits, and diverted local traffic away from the epicenter. There were numerous motor coaches heading in the same direction as us, some were escorted by state troopers on motorcycles. The police waved us through the blockades and into special lanes that brought us quickly to the high school. I mused to myself that today is the day when runners own the streets and don't have to worry about getting run over by motorists. It is definitely worth the other 354 days of running in the summer heat and the winter snow. With still hours to go before the race, there was nothing to do but to lounge around and kill time. It wasn't too bad, especially with the help of the odd assortment of characters in the marathon. We spotted the pink fairy from a far. Like a group of prairie dogs, we perked our heads up, some not sure what to make of him, while others approached gingerly. You too would be hesitant to approach a 6 feet tall man with a neatly trimmed goat-tee wearing a pink Red Sox cap, pink sunglasses, a pink singlet, a pink tutu, pink socks, and pink sneakers holding a pink wand with pink laces streaming off of it. I remember him from last year, when I passed him at around mile 7. I turned to him and asked if he was the cold weather fairy, to which he replied that he was the hot weather fairy. I walked over to him this time, and waited as other runners took turns taking pictures of him, and with him. He turned out to be a British gentleman that lives in Philadelphia now. I didn't ask why he chose this particular outfit, but I imagine his answer would be just as insane. I also took the opportunity to have my picture taken with him. The athlete village was on the other side of the school, and someone reported that they were handling out free gloves. Always looking for a good deal, and you can't beat free, we hurried over to the village to get our own pair. The grass field was packed with runners. There were people for as far as the eye can see. It was also there that we bumped into Elvis. This year, the BAA implemented a two wave start to alleviate congestion at the start and to reduce complaints from Hopkinton residents because the runners trampled their lawn and other not so considerate activities out of desperation as race time nears. The runners from the first wave left the bus half an hour before noon, while we second class runners continued to wait in limbo. To ensure that the lawns and bushes remain unadulterated, the entire length of Grove Street, which leads from the athlete village to Main Street, was fenced off. A river of runners moved slowly to the corrals in the middle of the road, while police and volunteers peppered the empty sidewalks on their potty patrol. Most of the residents were nowhere to be seen. Their doors and windows were shut, as if they fled from a riot. There were a few people that were brave enough to sit on their front steps to see the runners off, and we waved warmly to them. I left the procession for my last porta-pottie break. Afterwards, I rejoined the crowd at the intersection of Main Street and Grove Street. Volunteers on speakerphones instructed runners with bib numbers below 17,000 should stay to the right, while the rest on the left. Since I was already on the left side of the divide, I stood there not sure of what to do next. In the previous years, there were clear signs directing the runners to their corrals. There was none this year, and I wasn't the only one that was confused. There were several hundred people next to me, and we all waited for instructions. A line of runners started walking into the line up area, and the person next to me asked when she can go. The volunteer said "If you have a number, you can go whenever you want." I followed her example, showed them my number, and went into this super corral. As I entered, I asked the volunteer, "What about them", pointing to the hundreds of people that stood next to me. The volunteer said in a rather nonchalant matter, "Those are bandits." I didn't like the idea of a super corral. It worked out great for me because I had a 21,000 number, and managed to get in front of many people. Even with a two wave start, it still took me almost 11 minutes to get to the start, and there were still thousands of people behind me. The first couple of miles were quite congested, and it took over 9 minutes to get to the first mile marker. It probably worked out to my advantage because I was having shin and hip flexor problems the weeks leading up to the marathon. Had I gone out fast and didn't give my body time to warm up, I would get shin splints two miles into it and will have to spend the next 5 miles waiting for it to go away. I knew it was going to be a great run several miles into it. Unlike the last two years, I didn't count the number of miles remaining, nor did I look at my watch to see how many minutes until the next mile marker. As I pass certain parts of the course, I remember how I felt at that spot the years before. When I got to the halfway point last year, I looked up, and saw the half marathon banner. I said to myself I can't possibly run another half because the first half felt like a full marathon in the heat. This time around, I felt fresh and light on my feet when I went under the banner. There were fewer spectators along the way this year. Certain spots had no one at all. I was looking forward to the girls of Wellesley, but didn't get the same wall of screams as I approached. Still, they were still very loud, and just as enthusiastic as the years before. Like the last two years, I had to move all the way to the left side of the road because their shrieks were too ear piercing. Many of them made signs offering everything from encouragements to kisses. I have to admit that I was almost tempted to accept their offer. One guy stopped and kissed one of them before continuing on his way, leaving the young lady in complete shock as her friends keeled over in laughter. Once I worked past the hordes of runners in the first few miles, my pace hovered around 8:30, +/- 15 seconds. I didn't have a set goal due to the injuries leading up to the marathon. I just wanted to finish without breaking down along the way. One of my biggest problems during marathons is muscle cramps. I suspect that it's caused by lost of electrolytes through the sweat. I brought along several salt tablets, and took one after the first hour, then every 45 minutes after that. At around mile 16, my left hip flexor started to nag me. It wasn't so painful that I have to limp, but it was enough to make me think twice about maintaining my pace. In the previous years, my legs started locking up by mile 17 and the rest of the race was a death march. With the help of the extra salt, I continued to feel good at mile 20. I was strong enough to run up all four hills, including Heartbreak. These hills seemed a little flatter than what I remembered. Maybe all the runners ahead of me had flattened it a bit for me. I felt my legs tightening up after I got to the top, and knew I had to reduce my pace if I want to keep on running. After mile 23, I had to stop several times to rub out the knots in my quads and hamstrings. It was still infinitely better than standing in the middle of the road in complete stillness because every muscle in my leg locked up, and there was nothing I can do except to wait for the cramps to subside before continuing on. All along the way, I received encouragements from the spectators, as well as a handful of friends scattered along the entire length of the route. In a sea of people, it was nice to see a familiar face and to receive hugs as I made my way toward the finish line. When I turned onto Boylston Street from Hereford, I can see the blue and yellow finish banner from afar. Last year, this short stretch of road was the longest mile of my life. The banner hung in the distance and never got any close even though I was running as fast as my cramped up legs can go. This year, I stared at the road in front of me, and continued my march down the middle of the street. My running life started ten years ago, shortly after the 100th running of the Boston Marathon. I was still in college at the time. My life was in a rut and I wanted changes. I was so inspired by the runners that I promised I will run the 110th Boston Marathon, knowing nothing about running. 10 years later, I found myself running in a man-made canyon that was filled with cheers and applauses from the excited crowd. I raised my arms up as I proudly crossed the finish line. My finish time of 3:51 paled in comparison to Robert Cheruiyot's 2:07, but on that day, every runner is a winner.

Awesome job...3:51 ain't too shabby for such a big race. Reading throught the report, I lost focus when you mentioned offers from the "girls of Wellesy":O Great report, Lynn

Great Report! Loved reading it. You're right--time doesn't matter. What matters is that you can always say, "I finished Boston". 90% of marathon runners never even get to say they started Boston. Well done.