Notes
(Note -- this report was written in response to "Don't let them take anything more than they already have. Not one damn thing. You ran the Boston Marathon, and I, for one, would like to hear about that.". I am not ignoring what happened afterwards, but I choose to write up just my race experience here.)
Well OK. Truth be told I did feel that appropriate celebration, bragging rights, etc. were stolen from me -- after the goal was already achieved, in the bag -- but I felt guilty about that, because it is so trivial in comparison to what happened. But OK, here you go, you asked for it.
I don't think anyone will believe me anymore when I say I'm worried about X going into a race, but really, I had no business running Boston fast. Take a look at my log -- sum total of speed work in the last two months, I believe, is 5 @ MP, and that split over two runs. Nothing faster. Damn hamstring just would not fully heal, and eventually I said screw it, I'm done with following a training program, Boston is out as a goal race, I am just going to run whatever I feel like every day. As soon as I did, I had a blast. Lots of hilly trails, day after day, I wouldn't have done. A 12-hour race three weeks ago I definitely wouldn't have done. And I guess all that added up to some kind of substitute for speed work.
But really my best guess was I was in 3:10 shape, not the 2:55 I had wanted, not my 2:58:38 PR. Still, I had decent miles, great endurance, and my weight was down... and the forecast was good. I'm not normally one to pace for faster than I can justify, but this looked maybe worth the long shot. Last year I was trained for Boston, and of course we know how that went. Gotta take your shots when you can get them. So at the last minute, before leaving for the airport, I went back to my special magic Boston pacing spreadsheet, tweaked it up for 2:58:30 with a 0:20 negative split, and printed out a pace band. Still wasn't sure I'd use it, but just in case.
Race morning I still had not decided. I was willing to risk a blowup, but the last thing I wanted was to set back my hamstring recovery further. But I always plug in a slow start at Boston, and my pace band had 7:15 for the first mile, 3:10 pace anyway. So... OK, maybe I'll just follow the pace band as long as it feels as easy as I think it should. When it stops being that easy -- a few miles in, I figured, based on my last attempted MP run -- I'll dial it back to 3:10 pace. Of course, the problem is everyone runs the first half at what they *think* is easy, then they find out too late it wasn't easy enough. I was trusting my Boston experience to avoid falling into that trap.
But it felt about right, and kept feeling about right. After failing to manage more than 3 @ MP two weeks ago, this was a bit surprising, but hey. I still figured I would get shut down sometime, just not sure when. I kept to within a few seconds of target splits every mile. This year, for the first time, I forewent the Gatorade, carried a gel flask w/ 6 gels in it, and just grabbed water at about 2/3 of the aid stations. I wanted more carbs and less salt.
Through Wellesley, still OK. Through the half, a few seconds slow, I think, but close. The next test would be the big hill up the overpass at mile 16. I thought I might well pay there, with the hamstring yelling about the hill. Nope. I hardly noticed the hill at all, like it wasn't even there. That's when I first began to believe I might make it, that anyway I could well break 3 again.
Into the rest of the hills. Now, I was falling a little more behind, a second here, a second there, I just didn't seem to quite want to work hard enough to make up the deficit. But I wasn't that worried, because if I didn't fall apart, I could make it up with my kick in the last mile. The next test was the downhill after cresting Heartbreak. My pacing plan backloads all the speed into the last 5 miles, so now, finally, it was showtime. Did I have the speed?
Marginally. I did pay a price here for no speed work. I was in the right place aerobically to crank it up, but I had no real turnover. I was still hanging on, but by 24, I think, I was 12-13 seconds behind. Into no PR range. How much did I really care about a small PR, given that I now pretty definitely had the sub-3?
I guess I wanted it just enough. I managed to pick it up a little over the last couple of miles. Not a huge kick at the end, still no real speed, but enough. Heading down Boylston, I was savoring the pain, not just enduring it. That's a pretty rare space for me. I crossed the line at 2:58:14, overjoyed.
And I think I will stop there.
Oh. Except, what the fuck. I don't know how to train any more. I picked a number out of a hat, a lot faster than was rational, worked hard, and just made it. What if it had been a different number? Normally I assume that when I work hard and just make it, I paced correctly based on tune-up races etc. But no, I just worked as hard as I had to. Normally I assume that the regular training philosophies make sense, every workout has a purpose, I do them all, I have the right to pace for what they say I should pace for. Nope. Now, I have to rethink everything. It's exciting.