My time sucked, but it was certainly hard to feel that I "failed" in any way. The people of Boston treat the runners as if we're conquering heroes. Monday evening my friends and I trooped through the skywalk that connected our hotel with shops, malls and other nearby hotels wearing our medals. Passersby would applaud for us as we passed. The rest of the week, as we rode the sightseeing bus, hiked the Freedom Trail, had dinner or shopped, we were asked, "Did you run the marathon? Did you finish? Congratulations!" I've never seen anything like it.
Sunday I visited the trade show and picked up my race packet. Do not even get me started on the "supersized" race shirt. (It was supposed to be a medium!) Fortunately I was able to buy several other Boston Marathon shirts that I will actually be able to *wear*. Sunday evening I had dinner with the Dead runners. I sat with Marc Frommer and Jerome, and Theresa Brobeck. I told Theresa the time I hoped for and had trained for was 3:42:39. (Snort of derisive laughter.) And yes, Jim Adams, I also confused Dennis H. with Mike Sheldon until I was officially introduced.
Monday morning my fellow travelers and I met up with Jerome F. and Marc and headed to a nearby hotel to pick up Kate Schneider and her Chicago friends who hiked with us to catch the "T". The "T"/bus transportation to the start was brilliantly organized. At the Athlete's Village we stood in line for bagels and water, then staked out our 12 square inches of "butt space" in one of the tents. Did anyone mention how cold it was, even for us westerners? (For our vacation I was worried about not bringing walking shorts when in fact I should have packed a parka.)
We sat down and waited, not having had the presence of mind to bring a magazine, newspaper or book. I wasn't sure what or how to eat before a noon marathon so finished my bagels, two powerbars and water by 10 a.m. When things got dull in the tent we'd break up the monotony by getting up to stand in a porta-potty line. I saw Dennis Halpin again while waiting in one such line.
At last it was time to head for the start! My friend Wendy and I finished up at the porta-potties and made our way to the corrals. When the race started, my group was moving so slowly I had time to jump the fence for a last-minute nervous pit stop before catching up again. Suddenly, we could run. As we neared the start, we were greeted with a wall of sound from the spectators. I got such a lump in my throat that I was afraid I wouldn't be able to continue. I got a similar lump in my throat at the finish, and by the time I negotiated the family meeting area I was weeping openly with frustration (but that's another story).
Maybe I went out too fast, though it was the pace I trained for. I had tummy troubles almost from the start. I held my 8:30 mpm pace for 10 miles, then knew I HAD to stop at a porta-potty. A volunteer shooed all the spectators away and held the door open for me. "You're next," she said. WOW!
After the stop I continued to struggle. I felt depleted and knew I needed to get some sugar into my system, but every time I took a sip of that industrial strength gatorade my stomach would rebel. I knew there was no way I was going back to Spokane without a finisher's medal so I did what had to be done and slowed down so I could finish. At the second pit stop at around 15 miles another volunteer asked if she could get me some water. I remember thinking, "Answer her in a normal voice and in complete sentences," in case she had the power to pull me off the course. "No thank you," I replied carefully. "My stomach is a little upset." Whew, dodged that bullet!
Back on the roads I went. The crowds! They were everything everyone said they would be, but must be experienced to be truly appreciated. The girls at Wellesley have to be heard to be believed. Later in the race, when I struggled on the hills, spectators would step right in front of me and say, "You can do it." I'd just give them a rueful grin and say, "I know I can," and start running again.
I spotted Connie Chan right at the start and we visited for a minute. Later two Deads passed me, one who only said he was from New England and may have started too fast, and the other, bless his heart -- I made him say his name twice and still didn't commit it to longterm memory. Jeff, was it? I also heard "Go Dead Runner!" from the sidelines more than once, though I also heard, "Dead Runners Society -- that's cute." :-) Thanks to everyone who spoke or cheered, and sorry if I didn't acknowledge you at the time.
After 20 miles I was taking it one mile at a time. When we turned onto Boylston Ave. I nearly burst into tears! What an emotional moment finishing the Boston Marathon is. That stretch to the finish line is priceless. I took Jerome's advice and stopped my watch AFTER the finish line so the photo will turn out well. Chip time: 4:10, gun time: 4:17, blecch, almost a personal worst.
Then we had to walk for a long way and I got very chilled. I shivered, wrapped in my space blanket, through chip removal, collection of goomie bags, and negotiating the family reunion area. By then I could no longer remember how to get back to my hotel, but a nice chef from the Westin taking a cigarette break steered me in the right direction.
What an experience, and as I said, it doesn't end with the finish line. For three more days people continued to acknowledge us.
Monday night I wasn't so sure, but by Tuesday morning I knew I'd be back. What went wrong? I trained hard, I tapered well because of the head cold I caught two weeks before. I recovered quickly which made me mad -- as bad as I felt I should have hurt more afterward! I don't know what I'll do differently next time but I have a whole year to think about it.
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