After a very busy year of racing in 2015, I made the decision early in 2016 to cut down on my mileage this spring and focus my efforts on running a solid Boston Marathon. I passed on a number of trail races and other events with the intention of recharging my batteries (physically and mentally) and changing up my training routine. The break from long, intense workouts was certainly a welcome one. While the last few weeks leading up to Boston would provide a number of challenging workouts, not to mention a couple of aggressive outings in the Fort Worth Cowtown and Dallas Rock & Roll Half Marathons, overall this change of pace was the breath of fresh air that I felt I needed.
My experience in Boston this year was overwhelmingly positive. The city, the atmosphere, the millions of spectators - they all come together to provide a race day experience that is simply the pinnacle of road racing. The race is supremely well organized and staffed by eager volunteers who number in the thousands. The community supports this race from the starting line in Hopkinton, through all the rural towns whose names have become legendary (Ashland, Framingham, Natick, Wellesley, Newton, Brookline), and finally into downtown Boston. "Right on Hereford, Left on Boylston" is still one of the best moments that I have experienced in all of my running misadventures. While I wish my race itself this year could have been perfect, I will certainly attest that this was certainly the best event I have been fortunate enough to have been a part of.
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| Our home-away-from-home this year. It was a beautiful hotel a couple blocks from the Common. |
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| The line of buses along Tremont Street early in the morning |
This year, my wife and I opted to stay in a hotel just a block from the Boston Common, the staging area where runners would gather in the early hours of Patriot's Day to sip coffee, drop off their gear, and board one of a seemingly endless line of school buses bound for Hopkinton. The early morning air was crisp and chilly as I walked between buildings and into the 50 acre expanse that is the Common. Runners had begun to file in from all corners of the park as the sun was peeking over the horizon. I opted not to check anything at the gear tent on Boylston Street this year, so after taking a few moments to enjoy the morning atmosphere I moved toward the designated runner loading area and boarded my bus for Hopkinton.
The ride out was quiet, as most of the runners on my bus chose to keep their thoughts to themselves. About an hour after departing the Boston Common, we pulled into the Hopkinton school complex, home of the Athlete's Village and the gateway to the Boston Marathon.
Arriving about 2 1/2 hours prior to the start of the race allowed for plenty of time to make sure I was ready to go. I had an opportunity to spend time before the race with some friends from Fort Worth, with whom I shared race plans and light conversation as we all nervously awaited the announcement to begin the long walk to the starting line to load our corrals. As the morning progressed, the chill in the air I felt back in Boston quickly dissipated. I could feel the temperature rise as the sun moved higher in the sky. When it was finally time to head to the starting line, the temperature had reached a balmy 60 degrees. A cloudless sky would provide unrelenting sunshine all day. There wasn't much I could do at this point besides rely on my training, stick to my race plan, try to relax, and hope that I would be able to handle the warm day. As I walked the half mile stretch from the Athlete's Village to Main Street among a sea of other runners I went over the plan again in my head. I thought that perhaps in these conditions a little extra care should be taken to stay on my goal pace as I hoped to minimize the effects of the heat as much as possible. Upon reaching the corrals, I surveyed the scene and made some last minute preparations. I had a few moments to top off my water bottle, loosen up, and sing the national anthem. Then, at 10am sharp, we were off.
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| With Lidia, Amy and Gwen from Ft Worth Running/Team Texas before the race |
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| No worries! |
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| On my way to Main Street |
My race plan was relatively simple. I would take it easy for the first half of the race and resist the urge to push hard on the downhill stretch of the course that begins the marathon. The first 5 miles are almost straight downhill through Ashland and into Framingham. It's easy to get swept up into the exuberance of the crowds and the adrenaline rush of running this race, so maintaining an even pace through the first several miles would be critical. My thinking was that, with enough in the tank after a conservative start, I would have the legs to push hard through the hilly second half of the race and hopefully have a shot at breaking the 3 hour mark. Early on, I often found myself stuck in packs of runners around whom I could not navigate. I didn't worry about this however, choosing instead to find joy in the eager crowds lining the streets along the course. I slapped hands with children, enjoyed the sunshine, and soaked in the celebration that was this hometown event. I was maintaining the even pace I needed, and even though I could feel myself warming up significantly, I still felt confident that I was in a good place. The downhill opening miles lead to a gently rolling stretch from Framingham, through Natick and into Wellesley. Approaching the halfway mark, I could not be more pleased with my race. I felt good, I was hitting my splits, and I was right where I wanted to be. Life, up to this point, was good.
The Bad
I cruised through the halfway mark and toward the famous "scream tunnel" at Wellesley College. Even though I could begin to feel the early signs of fatigue setting in, I knew I would pick up a jolt of energy running through the crowds of co-eds who turn out every year in trademark fashion. This year was no different. The noise was deafening. Charging down Washington Street past Wellesley College through miles 14 and 15, my optimism was only slightly dimmed as I tried to maintain my focus on my pace and keep my thoughts positive. "With crowd support like this, surely I'll be able to keep this up," I thought to myself. "Mind over matter! Only 11 miles to go."
Unfortunately, with each passing mile I felt my energy draining and each successive step becoming more and more labored. My paces fell from 6:50 to 7:05 to 7:20 to 8 minutes per mile. I was able to keep moving, and though my dreams of a sub-3 hour time slipped away, I maintained the hope that I could possibly still PR or at least requalify for next year's race. There was only one problem - the Newton Hills.
The Ugly
By the time I reached Newton, the fatigue in my legs had become a dull throb that made each step feel like I was being hit in the legs with a hammer. My stomach was a mixed bag of cramping pain and nauseated discomfort, rejecting my attempts to sip water or electrolyte drinks, much less refuel with fruit or a gel. I was reduced to a walk/shuffle/jog/shuffle/walk routine that got me from street corner to street corner and from mile to mile. I was certainly not alone in my predicament, as several other runners had succumbed to the heat and the challenges this course presents. Many were in worse shape than I was in - some even being taken off the course on stretchers. I was grateful I could at least keep moving. My thinking was that if I had to walk, I would walk with a purpose, and at the very least make the best I could out of this situation. I reverted to my ultrarunning mindset: walk the uphills, jog the downhills, and shuffle along when the road was flat.
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| Yep. |
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| The finish line on Boylston Street. (www.runnersworld.com, photo by Robert James Reece) |
As I made my right on to Hereford Street, I was a jumbled mess of emotions and sensations. Sore legs, wounded pride, upset stomach...but I would nonetheless run it in from here. I picked up my pace as I turned left onto Boylston. Looking down the street and seeing the finish line was nothing short of magical. I heard my wife's voice encouraging me on as the crowds lining the street several people deep cheered with an exuberance usually only reserved for the front runners. "Just keep moving," I thought. "Breathe!" And as I crossed the finish line, 3 hours and 40 minutes after leaving rural Hopkinton, I had to stop, look around, and take it all in. Tough as the day was, I considered myself truly blessed to be a part of the Boston family.
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| Coming home! |
Epilogue
Almost a week has passed since the race, allowing me some time to stand back reflect on the day. I've second-guessed everything from my nutrition plan to my choice of shoe, but in the end I've had to simply acknowledge that in 2016, the course got me. In preparing for this year's race, I looked at it as an opportunity to have second shot at Boston, when in fact it was very much the other way around! My time did not qualify me for a return in 2017, and whether I will attempt another BQ race this year is uncertain. This day, I was certainly humbled, but I learned quite a bit about myself. Regardless of how many of these crazy races I have finished, I continually learn new things about myself and about this sport that means so much to me. The last few miles of the 2016 Boston Marathon have not dampened my spirit or my enthusiasm to get back in the saddle. I'll take some time off before plotting my next move, but there will be a next move......
