Boston Marathon Race Report

After a carbolicious dinner with friends the night before I managed a sound, dreamless (as far as I recall) sleep until 5am. I ran various marathon scenarios in my head, then finally rolled out at 5:30 to start the first round of eating for the day.
Hardboiled egg, coffee, sports drink
At 6 I got down to the hotel’s breakfast and put down a bagel with peanut butter, banana and some more coffee. For reasons unknown, there was no water. And I had used all of mine in the room for my race lotions and potions.
To say I suffered from temporary, stress-induced ADHD would be an understatement. I proceeded to dress for the big event. But how? First I had on my race skirt and singlet. Then the capris. Skirt again with long sleeves. Skirt with sweats. Then capris and singlet. Name on shirt. Name falling off shirt. Name in marker on arms. Arms covered in sleeves. The level of chaos one person could create all by herself was astounding.
Finally, and only because it’s what I had on when hubby said we had to go, the capris and long sleeves won out.

We arrived at Boston Common near 7am. The lines of runners with their fluorescent Adidas gear bags snaked on forever. I took a deep breath, wiped away a tear and joined them as they waited to board the buses that would take us to the death camp—sorry I meant Athelete’s Village in Hopkinton.
After a very cute frat boy volunteer directed us to our bus I flopped down and began round 3 of my foodfest: banana and more PB bagel. I held off on the sports drink to hopefully avoid having to pee before we reached our final destination.

After an eternal bus ride exchanging war stories with a large contingent from Salt Lake City, Utah we were almost there but stuck in traffic. People were now hopping off the bus and ducking into the bushes to do some urgent business. Thank heavens I didn’t drink much. At last we enter the Athlete’s Village and I see it: Tent City. Thousands upon thousands of runners are flopped down everywhere like indigents. Some curled on air mattresses, some on newspaper-stuffed trash bags. And even more of them are in line for the potties. Although there are hundreds of potties, the line for each is over a block long. So I get inline figuring I’ll have to go by the time I get to the front and start eating yet again. Another banana and my sports drink. Before I even get to pee they are calling us to go to our start corrals. So much for sleeping in tent city.

As we make our way to the start we come upon an Adidas display with temporary Boston tattoos. Gotta have some of those. Plus I wrote the names of my girls, Things 1 and 2 on my hands so they could help power me up the Newton Hills later. A fighter plane flyover signals the start of the race. The announcer says the planes will make it to Boston in 2 minutes. Don’t I wish that were the case for me!
So I’m in my corral, game face on, calm and ready to go. We are off, like lemmings on a steep decline. I am ginger at first, hoping to find my pace where hamstring and IT will cooperate. People are bobbing and weaving all over the place. I mean really. It’s the first mile peeps. It’ll thin out. What’s the rush?

Miles 1-5 The crowds in the quaint towns of Hopkinton, Ashland and Framingham have turned out in force. Even Santa is out cheering us on with a large crew of elves. A leather clad crew is packed in front of a biker bar cheering wildly, beers already in hand. I am on pace. At mile 5 it clouds up and a nasty headwind whips out of the East. Hope this doesn’t last or it’s gonna be a long day. And what’s this? The Boston Athletic Association promotes these early miles as “downhill”. For this flatlander, they are rolling. Yes I’m going mostly down, but there are uphills too. I didn’t sign on for early uphills.

Miles 6-10 We continue through Framingham and head into Natick where the crowds are already thick and boisterous. The smell of lighter fluid hangs heavy in the air, not a great smell when you’re running—or ever for that matter. We come upon a group of Mexican Hat wearing musicians playing festive mariachi music. A lively beat I can really move to. Love it. Still on pace although it feels like I’m slow.

Mile 11 The wind is already wearing on me, although I’m perfectly on pace. But I feel tired. I decide to try to conserve for the upcoming hills.

Mile 12 I hear it. A high pitched drone. Like I’m nearing Wrigley Field when the Cubs are in town. It’s the Wellesley Scream Tunnel coming up ahead. All the runners are commenting on it. Amazing. Soon we’re in their midst. Girls, girls everywhere, screaming, kissing, waving. So cute and so motivating. I run this mile a little quicker and with a huge smile on my face. So glad they’re here!

Mile13 Halfway there. I’m at 1:58. Wow. Kinda fast I think. Hope I don’t pay for that later. I think of all the people following along via text alert and smile.

Miles 14-16 I’m on Washington St now, wind is hateful. I find myself constantly trying to hang onto my hat. Still trying to lay off the pace to store up for the Newton Hills. Crowds are heavy and loud. I start to look for my posse, which is sporting hot pink T-shirts and a Sponge Bob balloon. I see a large gorilla, a banana, even a princess crown, but no Sponge Bob as yet. I am tired. And I’ve had it with my GU flask. Nothing’s coming out even though I well know there’s more in there. And I’ve got 2 empty water bottles I want to hand off to hubby. And because I’m so utterly lazy, I can’t seem to even so much as put them back in my fuel belt. So I’m holding them in my hand. The fatigued mind is not a rational one.

Mile 17 I enter Gu-ville. They’re handing out GU so I snag a few and load them in my belt while trying hard not to step on and pop the million that litter the street. Now my belt feels too heavy. I swear can anything make me happy at this point? At last I spot 2 Sponge Bobs and the hot pink Tees. My posse! I am beyond elated to see them. My family, my friends, my girls! I restock my belt, kiss Things 1 and 2 bitch about the headwind a little and I’m off once again to take on the Newtons.

Miles 18-23 It’s not that these are so steep, they just seem to go on and on. And on. If I’m not trudging up, I’m running down. Although now even my downhill pace is leaden as well. I’m plodding. Many are walking, many have pulled off to the side to stretch. I resolve to walk thru the water stations to savor and sip the Gatorade as if it were fine wine. I’m supposed to enjoy this right? Soak in the experience. So I go just fast enough to keep my feet from sticking to the sugar-laden pavement. Ahh why do I do this again?
Heartbreak Schmartbreak, I can do anything if I take my sweet time. So I don’t press. Feels like I’m running a 9 minute pace, but it’s more in the neighborhood of 10 minutes and change. Am I dead last yet?

Final Miles. We’re on a steep decline and first my left quad then my right are saying things I can’t repeat. Seriously I’ve never felt anything quite like this before. Are they strained? On the verge of being pulled? Gonna tear and roll up like a couple of shades? But then the pain subsides and I press on. Marcia may lag but she does not give up. Ever.
I pass Team Hoyt and tear up again. They are walking. They are awesome.

Boston College kids are lined up thick and loud. They are just as awesome as their Wellesley counterparts. Bless them all. I need this so much right now. By some miracle I manage to regain a more respectable pace. We’re getting close now. Crowds are insane as we go thru one last underpass. It crosses my mind to walk up the steep incline when I hear someone in the crowd yell to a guy near me “This is a marathon not a walkathon” The guy swears back and I thank heavens it was not I who was walking!

Finally I make the turn onto Boylston. The home stretch. The finish looms like a mirage in the distance. This is IT. I should savor it. Oh but shouldn’t I hurry? Oh like I can even hurry now. My black toenail did its usual revolt a few miles back but I don’t think the blister popped yet. Been there done that. Don’t care. I am comin in. And how ego centric is this? I pace myself so there’s a nice big gap at the finish line so I can put on my big ole smile for a nice photo op! HA!

After crossing I swear we walked (if you could call it that) at least a block until someone finally came up with some water. Another block and I finally got a heat blanket. Officials perched up in high chairs Wimbledon style were telling us via microphone where to go/what to do. I heard them say “take your chip off and turn it in to get your medal” Seriously now how on earth am I gonna be able to bend over, unlace my shoe and remove my chip? Somehow, with foil flapping and water bottle in my armpit, sunglasses falling off my salt-encrusted face, I manage it and receive my medal. I swear I felt like it was graduation day from an Ivy League school. Beyond cool!

The trek wore on. Another mile and we got a bag o food, then we had to find our gear bus to get our sweats and stuff. A simple task unless you’ve just run the freaking Boston Marathon. So no lie at least an hour after my finish, I find myself in the freezing wind in some park with large swan boats. This is not the reunion area. I have yet to get my sweat pants on. How? I can’t sit down because I’ll never get up. So after careful consideration I manage to lean my carcass against a tree and work them up over my shoes.
After Im sure at least a full millennium has passed I finally managed to find my way to the reunion area where I found my peeps. God bless them for being here for me all day in the wind and the cold and the massively crowded trains.

Finish time: 4:12:26. I swear I thought I’d be out there for 6 hours.
Goal: To finish with a big ole smile on my face.
Mission accomplished.