_training
Training for Boston went as scripted until injury got out of control after racing the icy Cowtown half. I reduced mileage and missed the final 3 long training runs. I followed Phil Maffetone’s advice instead of sticking to Runner’s World program. I scaled back ambition accordingly.
Reliable sources informed I needed to train downhill. I valued the advice but decided not to further complicate my life by piling on requirements.
Weight control continued to be the one aspect I did well. I was lucky that way.
_goal
My body had become less responsive to training in my mid 40’s. I decided this would be the last marathon as my “A” race. I initially wanted 3:23. It’d be cool to BQ at BM.
Injuries mostly healed by race day. Body didn’t peak. Calves felt under-rested. I adjusted the goal to 3:30 for insufficient preparation. I just needed good weather.
By race day, I further scaled back expectation with headwind forecast. I made up my mind I’d be happy with any result under 4 hours. Boston was my retirement party, not a breakthrough race. I’d set GPS for 3:25 finish and expected to lose 10 minutes during 2nd half.
_travel
I took Stacey’s advice on hotel and travel dates. Too bad she retired from this race. I was blessed to have great athletes and friends to egg me on.
I boarded a popular flight for runners. Many in official jackets from past years. Nike Frees were abundant. Half the runners probably read _Born to Run_.
Park Plaza was the perfect hotel location, but official events still involved a lot of walking and standing: packet pick up, expo, pasta dinner, bag drop off, bus boarding, starting line march, bag pickup, Fenway Park party. Hours and hours of waiting in line to go through metal detectors and bag checks.
CVS, Starbucks, and Donkin Donuts were everywhere. Parking spaces were not. The locals were welcoming; the manager at Saturday restaurant bought me a smoothie.
Past participants were generous with advice:
“Stay warm at Hopkinton.”
“Start slow. Play safe for 10 miles.”
“Make sure you stop for a kiss.”
“If you only train on flats in Texas, it’s OK to walk.” (Really?!)
_weather
The rain started during the bus ride from Boston Common to Hopkinton but paused for my start.
_Hopkinton
Wave 2 had 9000 runners. We sat on the ground with collapsed cardboard boxes between our cheeks and muddy grass under 2 huge tents surrounded by Porta Potties. We shared jokes, stories, sunscreens, Vaseline, and body heat. No one wanted to be in the toilet queues in the cold.
Cloth donation bags started to appear at staging area. Underdressed runners pick freshly abandoned cloth out of the bags for warmth. The walk to corrals was long. The lines for the final Porta Johns were longer. I missed my corral because of bathroom line. No problem. I wanted to start slow anyway.
_race
Dozen guys stopped to pee on roadside couple minutes into the race. The first peer was a catalyst that gave everyone else permission to hug the tree line. A few females looked envious.
We were in no rush—there’s no way to gain ground without zigzagging. The pace was near constant despite of hills. All I could see were endless runners. I turned my brain off to be part of the collective. No time passed as first 3 mile markers flew by. The first turn was 14 miles ahead.
Average pace at 5k: 7:51 minute/mile
Average pace at 10k: 7:52 minute/mile
Average pace at 15k: 7:53 minute/mile
I was warm and comfy. Rain resumed. No one was surprised.
More guys stopped to pee on the roadside. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder like migrating birds. Modesty was not a Boston tradition. My admiration for Paula continued to grow.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6I2-YP42rs
_scream tunnel
Wellesley girls did not disappoint. Their enthusiasm could be felt a mile away. I managed to get a kiss between runners high-fiving through the tunnel. Many female runners stayed on the other side of the road.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pK057Sl2fSk
Average pace at 20k: 7:55 minute/mile
Average pace at half marathon: 7:56 minute/mile
_broken bodies
Some runners started to lose their bounce after Wellesley. The mob left them behind at the climbs. The road opened up. I overtook a struggling runner with impressive torso and titanium ankles in military uniform.
We passed more runners with missing limbs. One guy didn’t bother with high tech parts: just 1 leg + 2 crutches. Blinds were well represented. They ran with human guides. I wondered what they sensed besides the headwind.
They inspired me to celebrate my gifts instead of spending energy on what I lost. I might never run a faster marathon, but I promise not wasting the remaining health.
Average pace at 25k: 7:56 minute/mile
_fading
Mile 17. My quads started to fatigue but the aerobic system felt underworked. I controlled my enthusiasm on the hills.
“This isn’t even half way. Go nuts after mile 20.”
Average pace at 30k: 8:36 minute/mile (likely a computer glitch)
I passed more runners. The only runner I didn’t keep up with was Garmin electronic pacer—everyone around me bled speed. I wasn’t concerned. I fantasized going sub-6 pace on Boylston Street. I couldn’t wait to see what the body would do at the 2nd half.
I resisted the urge to shed cloth. The soaked T shirt and gloves were annoying. The headwind was getting old.
More runners slowed. The group spitted them out.
_Heart Break Hill
The famed climb was neither steep nor long. Runners took the hill at various pace. I couldn’t wait to crest. I celebrated getting away with non-course-specific training.
“Half way home!”
I visualized next 50 minutes: 3 miles at 8:00 pace then go nuts. I shifted gear; the gear wasn’t there. My heart sank. I felt someone handed me a piano. My quads stiffened. My paced down spiraled.
Average pace at 35k: 8:11 minute/mile
_weakening
Runners start to pass me in waves. No one made eye contact. I was surrounded by running machines. I was unable to keep up with other in-trouble runners I overtook earlier. Spectators urged me to continue. I felt cold. I knew what was coming.
I couldn't bear to look at the GPS. No one was moving at my speed. I managed to pass a few walkers in silver blanket.
_final miles
5k to go. The soaked clothing and headwind were really getting old. Instead of picking up a thermal blanket, I tossed the wet T shirt and gloves and ran as fast as I could. I visualized the upcoming hot shower 40 minutes away.
Mile 24 marker came agonizingly slowly. I had no sense of pace but knew I couldn't stop running. I needed the body heat.
My brain developed difficulties processing visual information immediately after eye blinks. It was scarily cool. The possibility of DNF entered my decision tree replacing the previous low bar of The Oprah Line. I thought about Chih-Yang at Ironman Taiwan 2015 8 days before.
I increased the cadence as stride length dwindled—Ironman shuffle at Boston. I had plenty of fuel but quads refused to fire, reminiscent of the time I sank Timo's jet ski. I was grateful for life's little surprises and for friends. I was no longer concerned about the result. I high-fived spectators. The crowd roared every time I raised my arms. I couldn’t feel the headwind. It was so freaking cold.
I never walked but took 17 minutes to cover final 2k. I didn't remember crossing the finish line.
Average pace at 40k: 8:25 minute/mile
Average pace at finish: 8:38 minute/mile
Chip time: 3:46:35
_race against shutdown
The hotel was half mile away. I visualized each step as I accepted the finisher's medal: skip post-race food; avoid curbs; hitch a golf cart ride; ask for a key at front desk; ask people to let me cut the elevator line; run hot water in the tub.
"Body parts will resume function in 15 minutes. Don't get burn by water. You just need to go another half mile. Should’ve asked for a 2nd floor room."
Shivering intensified, but I was confident in reaching shower unassisted as core temperature plummeted.
“Are you OK?” Asked a volunteer.
“Yeah. Just a little cold.”
The next volunteer asked the same question but didn't believe my answer. He wrap his arms around my torso and walked with me.
“Good job, buddy. The warming bus is right around the corner.”
I vaguely recalled having the bus in sight but next clear memory was lying under layers of blanket with legs elevated.
_medical tent
The attending doctor and her workers were so attractive, I reconsidered my decision about med school decades ago. I asked a nurse to take my photo with her phone but failed to confirm the cell number--now I don't have a medical tent photo for blog....
Core temperature restored after a shower.
_late finishers
Late finishers trickled in as other got ready for post-race party. The spectators thinned but cheers continued 6 hours after the Kenyans crossed the line. Some finishers looked steady and slow; others suffered for hours. Some limped; some shuffled; a few cried; more laughed. I wanted to hug every racer at the final mile. I didn’t care if I got cold again.
_Fenway Park
The post-race party was poorly-attended. I gave the beer vouchers away before leaving for a mediocre Thai dinner while the last runner barely got through the half way mark.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kPOfZPQspmA
“Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that's the essence of running, and a metaphor for life.”
-Haruki Murakami
Raluca was a bit traumatized by runners’ discomfort. The bouncy athletes from the morning were now limping wet dogs. I didn't know how to respond when she said my time was "not fair." I didn’t know how to explain why the result didn’t matter after investing so much into raising performance. Marathon was an isolated and selfish pursuit—we made our social circles pay for our desire, yet we didn’t have the words to articulate the cause and the appeal of suffering.
I felt blessed having resources to participate as the deadlines flew toward me at accelerated pace.
_the morning after
Gorgeous blue sky. Boston streets were littered with stiff pedestrians playing tourists.
My body didn’t agree with the sugar rush from Dunkin Donuts. My Tour de Donut days were over.
I revisited Boston Common when Systemware email arrived. I bought another day of hotel wifi and tested CS security ID via VPN. Before the race Andrea asked me to write an article on work-sports life balance. I was blocked--I got my ass kicked on both fronts. My life was a sequence of un-optimized opportunities.
I went back to Capital Grill for lobster roll 2 years after running with Mike. That was a good day filled with mundane fun.
The seating, service, and price remained great, food quality went down—businesses did what they needed to thrive. There's no balance--just compromises.
_there is no spoon
A runner ties his shoes to tell a story, “a story not knowing where it is going, not knowing itself to be magic. Closure is an illusion, the winking of the eye of a storm. Nothing is completely resolved in life, nothing is perfect. The important thing is to keep living because only by living can you see what happens next.”
--Patti Smith
