The 2009 Boston Marathon is officially in the books and a memorable event it was. The goal time that I most frequently cited when people asked me how fast I was hoping to go was 3:05 - truthfully I was just hoping to beat my 3:08:59 qualifying time from the '08 Victoria Marathon. Although Boston has a reputation as one of the tougher marathon courses, I did run a 1:26 half-marathon in March '09 which gave me confidence that my training had me well poised for a good run at Boston. So when I crossed the finish line on Boylston Street just a few seconds over that 3:05 mark (7 seconds to be exact), I was satisfied that I gave this famous (or infamous as some would say) course my best effort. Overall I placed 1936 of 22849 and 1307 of 4981 in my age group. That's the race results in a nutshell, read on if you are interested in the full story.
The Arrival
I flew out of Sea-Tac on a red eye on the Friday before the race arriving in Boston around 7:30 AM EST. At least a 3rd of the passengers on the plane appeared to be either marathon participants or their family and friends. Only a small percentage of the participants actually live in the greater Boston area, so there are literally thousands and thousands of athletes that descend upon the city every year for this mecca of distance running. Based on my limited conversations with others, there appears to be a fairly even balance of first-timers like myself, and those for whom this is an annual pilgrimage.
Even though I paid the extra $30 to Jet Blu for a seat with extra leg room, I still flopped around seeking that elusive body position that would offer the minimal comfort level required to fall asleep. At one point I mentally conceded defeat and braced for a night with no sleep at all, but the next thing I recall after that was the bright glare of the rising sun through my window - I still don't have any clue how long I actually slept, but suffice it to say I felt less than refreshed upon landing at Logan. Fortunately there were other runners heading to the neighborhood where the Hynes Center is located, so in my dazed condition I just followed them on the subway into town. Once I arrived, there was still some time to kill before the convention center opened up, so I looked for someplace to get caffeinated. As a Seattlite I'm accustomed to seeing the same coffee chain everywhere you look, however in Boston Dunkin Donuts stores appear to easily outnumber Starbucks.
After perking up a bit I stood in line at the convention center waiting for the package pickup room to open. When the doors opened a long line of tables manned by applauding yellow jacketed volunteers was revealed. Several of the runners were getting their photos taken as their bib number was handed over, illustrating what a meaningful experience this race is for so many. The sense of excitement, even giddiness, in the air was definitely palpable. The payoff for all the hard work of qualifying and training really sinks in at this moment. Once I picked up my number and athlete package, I ventured into the expo center. I'm sure the collective desire to soak up the atmosphere does wonders for the merchandise sales in the official Adidas gear section. Recession or no recession, I was already committed to forking over $90 for the 2009 edition warm-up jacket even though the same jacket, sans BAA logo, probably retails for 40. Of course I also had to buy the obligatory "My Dad Ran the 2009 Boston Marathon" T-shirt for Miles.
Mostly the expo consisted of a bunch of vendors hawking their gear, but one valuable stop I would recommend to any prospective runners that may stumble across this post from a Google search is the narrated video of the course. Since I had never seen the course in person before, it was nice to get a feel for the lay of the land, and the narrators had some good advice on when to push the pace and when to conserve energy.
At this point I was feeling pretty weary from lack of sleep so I headed back to the subway to get to North Station where I was to catch a train to Lowell where my relatives live. And here my Boston Marathon experience nearly took a disastrous turn before ever lacing up my running shoes. When I traveled the first time on the subway from the airport I had two bags, one in my hand and a duffel bag over my shoulder, but now I had a third plastic bag with my race stuff. Upon switching subway trains at Government Center it suddenly dawned on me as I sat down that I only had two bags with me!! I immediately knew that I had left my black duffel bag with all my running gear, including my GPS watch, under the seat on the last train. In a panic I jumped off the train just before it was to depart and frantically looked around for somebody to help me. There was no one in the underground so I raced up the stairs to the street entrance where there was a transit security guard. As calmly as I could manage I explained what had just happened. At first he didn't seem to have much empathy and claimed he could only help me if I knew the car number, which of course I had no idea. But I did know that all the passengers had to get off at Government Center and that it was heading back to Copley Square empty to pick up another load. In fact I recall looking back at the train after I disembarked (but before I realized I left my bag) and seeing a worker walk through the cars ushering some remaining passengers off. Surely he would have to have seen my bag. Anyway, after 20 agonizing minutes during which I went through all the mental calculations of what new gear I would have to acquire in order to be prepared to run on Monday, the security guard, who I'll call Jimmy, announced to me that he thought that they may have located my bag, although he seemed rather dubious. We went up to the front of the train when it arrived back at Government Center and he crossed the tracks around to the other side. I'll forever remember the site of Jimmy coming back around the front of the train holding my black Adidas duffel bag. I was so elated I wasn't sure what the appropriate expression of appreciation was. I tried to offer him some cash for his persistence in tracking it down but he wouldn't accept. At any rate, Jimmy, if you can somehow hear me through the electronic ether, I owe you big time, you saved the day, and possibly the whole trip, for me.
Feeling like the luckiest SOB on the planet, I finally made it up to Lowell with all my possessions intact. While on the topic of appreciation, I also owe a great deal of gratitude to my Aunt Mary Anne and Uncle Jim who provided me with great hospitality during my stay as well as ensured that I made it to Hopkington on time. I took gluttonous advantage of Mary Anne's terrific cooking, so I was well fueled by the time Patriot's Day rolled around.
Race Day
The weather forecast late the prior week called for temperatures in the lower forties with a good chance of rain. Fortunately the temperature rose to the upper forties and no rain was expected to fall until later that night. Still it was mighty chilly in the athlete's village at 8AM. I basically just milled around sipping water and chomping on energy bars. Other runners that know the routine came equipped with blow up mats and blankets to stay comfortable for the couple of hours you have to kill before the start. Another lesson I learned is that you almost need a dedicated strategy for the porta-poddy. You obviously want to stay hydrated, but the lines for the john are looong. I gave up waiting up at the high school, but fortunately was able to get into one down near the start area. Many were not so fortunate evidenced by runners darting off to the side of the road to pee in the grass during the first few miles. HP, one of the principal sponsors, was giving away free gloves in the village which I used to vigorously rub my arms to keep warm on the walk down to the start corrals. Finally at 10AM the starting gun went off and a couple minutes later I crossed the start line and the race was on.
I've read other personal accounts of marathons where the runner provides a mile by mile break down. My recollection is not that strong, but in my mind I feel like there were 3 fairly discrete stages.
Stage 1 - Hopkington to start of Newton Hills
I felt pretty solid all the way through this stage. My pace rarely went over the 7 min mile threshold and my half was a solid 1:29 and change. I could have gone faster but I heeded the warnings to not go all out or you won't have anything left for the more difficult later stages. I quickly settled into a pattern of alternating between water and Gatorade and skipping every third hydration station. The crowds along the entire course were just awesome, particularly in the towns. The famous scream tunnel at Wellesley College provided a huge momentum boost - all the runners seemed to gravitate to the right side of the road to feed off their energy. In spite of the physical exertion it's almost impossible not to have a big grin plastered across your face as you pass all those screaming ladies.
Stage 2 - Newton Hills
Hills are an unavoidable fact when training in Seattle, and the Newton Hills in terms of sheer altitude, don't appear particularly daunting compared to the ones in my neighborhood. However they proved deceptively challenging. Obviously the big reason is that they come late in the race and the course up until that point is flat to gently rolling, so the legs have not really gotten a taste of climbing for the first 16 miles. After clipping along at a sub 7 minute mile pace up until this point, I progressively slowed down on each successive hill climb bottoming out at over a 9 minute mile charging, or slogging would be more accurate, up Heartbreak Hill (pictured below). After cresting Heartbreak it's basically all downhill, but it became immediately apparent that my legs were now in a much different state than at the half way point.
Stage 3 - The Home Stretch
The descent down the backside of Heartbreak Hill is long and reasonably steep and would probably have felt really good about 10 miles ago. But now the pounding on weary quads feels like it's taking nearly as much a toll as did the climb. There's a lot of boisterous Boston College student spectators along this stretch though and their beer fueled shouts of encouragement were much appreciated. As the course flattened back out I thought I could accelerate, but despite the adrenalin boost from making it through the toughest stretch, my legs just weren't responding. If I started the day with a V-6 engine, I was now decidedly firing on no more than 4 of those cylinders. My pace heading into the city on Beacon St. averaged around 7:30 and I was content just to try and maintain that. I was weaving past some other runners that had completely run out of gas and were now walking. The crowds were thick all along Commonwealth Ave. and cheering loudly. The idea of bonking at this point in front of so many people inspired me to dig deep and push for home. Finally I made the final left turn onto Bolyston St., and based on the distance reported by my Garmin, expected to basically be upon the finish line, but inevitably over a course that long you end up running a little bit longer. I looked up and those 3 1/2 remaining blocks seemed like an impossible distance to cover - the photographer stationed at that corner caught my facial expression pretty well (below right).
During training runs I envisioned myself thrusting my fists into the air when I crossed the finish line of the Boston Marathon, but in the end all I managed was a meager wave of my right hand. Stopping after running hard without pause for 3+ hours is a sensation that is hard to describe to anybody that hasn't experienced it first hand. The legs feel completely foreign, like brand new prosthetics that you are trying out for the first time. At some level I knew I should be feeling euphoric but the exhaustion was so complete that I just ambled down Boylston St. ushered by more yellow jacketed volunteers. There's also red jacketed medical volunteers, one of which offered me help thinking my dazed look was an indicator of something more serious. After I collected my medal and claimed my belongings out of the school bus I headed to the family meeting area where my aunt and uncle were waiting. By this point I had snapped out of my stupor and was able to crack a smile.
Back on Saturday at the convention center I spoke to an older gentleman from Minnesota who was running his 26th Boston and he told me that you'll always remember your first one. Who knows if I'll run another Boston, but I'm pretty sure the memories of 2009 will last a lifetime. And if I grow senile and can't remember very well, then I'll refer back to this blog.
Your my hero! I'll let you know when I hit 2 miles. :-)
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