Short version:  I hit my goal of sub 3 while flirting with a blowup for many miles.

None of that really matters.  What was important was returning, being a small part of a resounding answer to a failed attempt at terror.  Being able to savor the day as it was meant to be.  Being Boston strong for the volunteers and spectators that make this race legendary.

Training was neither easy nor enjoyable, and I'm sure the B+B had its fill of my bitching about the worst winter in memory.  My LRs mostly sucked and/or failed to hit target paces, the treadmill was nearly a constant, and everything else was not half-assed, but maybe 3/4s assed.  After finally being satisfied with one important workout, I kind of just hoped to requalify somehow.

Travel logistics were much less stressful this year, with a direct flight and a room booked in the same hotel as last.  While other runners tentatively made their way out of the airport, I breezed to the shuttle, got my weekly T pass, and was safely holed up in the beachside town of Revere lickety split.

Sunday involved a trip the convention center for packet pickup, where I was spotted by one of my running club friends from the YMCA.  Small world.  After walking around hating crowds for about 10 minutes, I got out of there and went for a very slow, easy jog along Revere beach.  Carb load, lounging in bed, an episode of Bourdain in India, and an unusually fitful night of sleep.

The early morning alarm went off at 4:20 -- had I really slept well the night before a big race?  Not sure if that was a good thing.  This is happening, stop being so nonchalant.  I put on my meticulously laid-out gear, and remembered seeing a post the night before by Shalane Flanagan of her stuff organized exactly the same way.  Even world-class runners are not so different.  Thrift store warmups over the top, and a jog to catch the first T as dawn just started to break over the ocean, crisp and cool and clear.

Bag check at the Common was easy and well-organized even with all the additional security measures.  The BAA is sort of good at the whole marathon organization thing.  I had planned on meeting up with a buddy for the bus ride, this being his first year, but he was running late so I grabbed a spot on the cheese at 6:30.  A guy from NYC sat next to me and didn't talk much, but asked about the Newton hills and their reputation as killers.  "Do you train on hills?"  "Yes."  "Then they aren't bad."  The duration of the bus ride really makes you think about just how far 26 miles is.

Hopkinton and the athletes' village were just starting to bustle as I got there and immediately got in line for coffee.  A guy behind me spoke a couple words to his friend, and I turned around and called them out as Canadian.  They laughed, admitted to being from Edmonton, and asked how I knew.  "I'm from Buffalo, lots of practice."  We agreed that Timmy Ho's would have better than Dunkin', wished each other well, and I moved on to find a spot to sit in the sun on my trash bag.  A moment of silence was called for last years' victims, and never were thousands more silent.

After lots of people-watching, it was finally time to move to the corrals.  I put my shoes back on, offered my tarp to a guy in the next wave, and started that walk.  A mixture of confidence, nerves, pride, and happiness.  Desperately hoping that bombs had not ruled out porta-potties on the way.  Luckily, they had not.  On to drop the warmups at a donation station, revealing this year's red, white and blue outfit with a matching bib.  Up the hill onto the narrow street where the race would start.  I stopped by corral 4 and spotted Andy, my friend who had not made the bus meetup.  We chatted briefly, exchanged well wishes, and I checked into 3.  These guys and ladies look fast, hopefully it wasn't a mistake to submit my Fall race for a faster seeding.

The elites were introduced, a smattering of "USA!" chants broke out, helicopters flew over in formation.  And then we were shuffling forward, and then running, and Boston 2014 was under way.

The early miles were easy, so easy.  One down in 6:38, I said "25 more of those will make for a good race" to no one in particular.  As we left the woods dotted with peeing guys behind, I found a couple of Bruins-jerseyed fans to surrender my Sabres knit hat to, and tossed my gloves under an unmanned mailbox.

It was immediately evident that the crowd support would surpass last year.  Right from the start, I tried to make this race about them and not me, slapping lots of hands, clapping for the spectators, offering up "go Sox" for those in baseball caps.  Head up, looking around at the crowd, I've seen plenty of asphalt and it's fairly boring.  Smiling at people, being the extrovert that I can choose to be on certain occasions.  The tempo was good, and the runners around me did not feel like a crowd.  I didn't chat or run for long with anyone in particular, but saw many of the same people for miles at a time and even cracked a few jokes on occasion.

I noticed that I was stupidly banking time and did nothing to slow down, just like last year.  Get to halfway and evaluate.  I moved to the right side of the road at about mile 8 in preparation for Wellesley.    Once we finally approached the scream tunnel, I noticed that most runners around me were either passing by or slapping a few hands and moving on.  So serious, we want our sub 3 or better!  I almost gave in to the peer pressure to just race on by.  Almost.    After high-fiving my way down the stretch and seeing no "kiss me" sign of particular significance, I just randomly stopped, gave a girl a peck on the cheek, and got back on pace.  There are thousands of other miles to run that are not Wellesley, it couldn't be passed up again.

It would have been nice to mentally check out for a long stretch and snap out of it to find myself storming up Heartbreak hill with a confidence bordering on cockiness, as happened in 2013.  That was not to be the case.  By about 14.5, my legs started complaining, loudly at times, less so at others.  Doubt crept in.  "You trained like a bum."  "Exactly why did you jog that ultra last week, again?"  "It's getting warm, you're going to cramp up like in Cleveland and look like a jackass in front of thousands of people who didn't come here to cheer for walkers".

I tried to keep focus on taking in the day, on running carefully but strongly.  Cheer for the vision and mobility impaired.  Keep clapping for the crowd, keep slapping the hands extended to encourage you.  Even give a fist pump or two when the crowd was especially large or had music playing.  Then, almost missed in a water station throng, Team Hoyt.  "YEAH HOYT!" I screamed as loudly as possible, knowing it would be the last time to do so.

Newton.  Hills.  I live surrounded by hills, this is my place to shine.  After tackling the first one aggressively, I felt real warning signs to back off or cramp up.  Get careful, drink the entire cup of gatorade, use any lick of breeze to cool down.  I was wearing a tech tee under a singlet, and was really tempted to lose the tee now.  Heartbreak, mile 20, things were touch and go.  I really shortened my stride, and although I passed a lot of people regardless, it was not the thumb-my-nose at elevation I wanted.

Survival to 24, plain and simple.  I didn't have a split-second hallucination of cats running onto the course this time, so that was a positive.  And then things turned around, knowing that anything less than a spectacular blowup would still allow a BQ at the very least.  The streets were lined with absolute mayhem, people 4-5 deep or more.  The Citgo sign appeared in the not-so-distant distance.  Be the crowd, be the race, not one single guy coming in on gassed legs.

Between those last few corners, all the emotion hit, and I wasn't running anymore, but floating in towards the finish line on a cloud where fatigue did not exist.  Down the home stretch, I pulled alongside a guy doing the make-some-noise gesture, and although it wasn't needed at all, I joined him, caring not a bit if it would have been douchey at any other juncture.  Applauding the crowd on the way in, pounding my bib and my heart while pointing towards the flags on the left side of the course.  "We own this finish line!"

This is the Boston marathon.  Dreams turned to reality, not reality turned to tragedy.

So happy for you. It sounds like an amazing experience.

Outstanding report, and race!  Great job Jay!  I can't wait to run Boston.

Memories for a life time.

Excellent report as always Jay, well worth the wait.  Almost makes me feel like I was there. (If only!!)

Congrats on at outstanding race.

 

 

Point of clarification, please.  If you are wearing a singlet over a tech tee, how do you lose the tech tee?  Strip both shirts and pull the singlet back on?  Seems like a lot of work.  I'd trip and fall.

Yeah, I decided against it because of the chance of dropping the singlet.  But I would have taken it off first and then tossed the tee.

 

Sounds like something you need to work on during your next training cycle.

Removing bras?  I can't argue with that.

Outstanding, Jay. To have "trained like a bum" you ran well. Your RRs are always entertaining, inspiring, and help me keep going.  That is cool that you saw Team Hoyt, one of my idols! You probably would have mentioned it, but did you see Fuzzy anywhere? He was just a few minutes in front of you.  As always, thanks for a great RR.