on running afowl

To qualify for Boston I had to run a marathon in under 3:10. I managed to do it without even really meaning to last year in Madison. And to be honest, that race was pretty easy.

Today I ran Boston, and I couldn’t do better than 3:41. And it was much harder (but not as hard as Grandma’s.)

But that wasn’t a result of anything but my piriformis injury. The weather was great–cool but not cold. The wind never became the issue the forecast seemed to suggest. The organization was top notch, the volunteers generous, and both fans and runners made for an awesome experience.

An experience is exactly what I was looking for. I knew I’d never run a particularly fast race, but I wanted to soak up the atmosphere of this historic race and earn the right to say “I ran Boston.” (But given the protracted recovery I’m very happy with my pace.)

What an experience it was. From the massive crowds of runners that somehow made it from Boston Common to Hopkinton for the start to the mob beyond the finish line. In between were great conversations with first-timers and veterans, including Faith from Ohio, running her first Boston 10 months after the birth of her first child. Along the way I encountered fellow Marathon Maniacs and a few runners from my neck of the woods.

The first few miles were pretty easy downhill stretches that I, despite warnings, ran pretty quickly all things considered. After that I eased off and found my groove. The crowds were amazing–so enthusiastic and so omnipresent: after a few early gaps they became a growing, nearly unbroken line of kids with oranges, friends and family with signs, and race fans with impressive noise-generating abilities.

At one point I was tempted by a giant “shortcut” sign, and the sight of the Green Line passing us reminded me both how slowly we were going and how far away Boston still was.

But really, I wouldn’t want to have missed a single mile. Finally so much I’d heard or read about became real. The students lining the course at Wellesly all-girls’ college, for instance, making a ruckus and waving signs inviting runners to give them a kiss because they were graduating, or were from Georgia, or were drunk, or just because.

And the Newton Hills. It’s not their size, but their location that make them so tough, and I’m glad to say I powered up them all, Heartbreak included. In fact, the climbs were some of the few times I was consistently passing people. (And towards the end we runners had our revenge, passing a Green Line train reduced by the crowds to little better than a crawl.)

Despite my recent injury, I was able to get by only walking twice, both times at water stops (near miles 22 and 24). And I finished strong, almost sprinting the last quarter mile or so. I didn’t start with my corral, since I knew I wouldn’t keep up, and even starting farther back there were people passing me most of the first half of the race, but I didn’t let it get me down (at least not too much.)

Part of my (relative) success, I think, was my pre-race massage. Originally I stepped inside the gym to get of the cold, but I got in line, told the guy I ended up with about my piriformis, and he went to work, stretching my legs up and across my body farther than I’d ever imagined possible.

The massage helped me loosen up, but so did the hours of waiting. But these hours weren’t without their downside. At home I’m usually on the road within an hour of getting out of bed. At other races, it’s more like 3 hours after waking up. Boston was five hours. Suddenly my usual routine wouldn’t work. I couldn’t wait until afterwards to eat, for instance.

Those hours before the race would have been a whole lot more stressful were it not for a little help from my friends. An old friend from way back in the day not only let me spend the night as his place and then woke up early on a day off from work to take me to the commuter rail station–he also came into the city and looked after my bag so I could make it to the airport without having to stash my luggage halfway across town. And my cousin put me up my first night in town, organizing a great get-together to visit relatives I haven’t seen in a while. And both of them made sure I was well-fed.

I couldn’t have done it without my wife, either. She couldn’t make the trip out, but she held down the fort back home and coordinated from her computer, helping me find phone numbers, addresses, and other information, and brainstorming with me when I ran into problems. It was stressful for her, but I hope by the time she was following the race online she was able to enjoy it.

I’m not sure I’ll run Boston again anytime soon. But not for lack of desire. Between scheduling issues and the cost, it’s hard to justify. And who knows if I’ll qualify this year–I still have some recovering to do, and I’m going to have a pretty light schedule… then again, I’m probably doing Berlin in the fall, a notoriously fast race.

Tomorrow’s probably a rest day. Ok, ok, definitely a rest day. But then I’ll be back at it, trying to figure out as soon as possible if I’ll be ready for the Kettle Morraine 100 this summer.