The weekend started with the Expo, which was crowded but had a good selection of running merchandise. I usually resist buying anything with the year's BAA marathon logo because I have enough already, but I kept being drawn to the cute little black Addidas vest with the Boston 2000 logo on it. So the third time I picked it up, I gave in and bought one. Does anyone else keep from buying marathon stuff until they find out how the race goes? I always wonder if this is a marathon I will want to remember or would rather forget, so I am always in a quandry as to whether I should be buying something before I know the outcome.
The best part of marathon weekend is having your Dead friends and running friends come into town for a weekend of ALL running talk ALL the time, and I enjoyed chatting with Donna Eriksen and Mike Sheldon at our Vinny Testa's pasta and salad lunch across the street from the Expo.
On Sunday morning, I was tired and head-achy after a long evening of speakers (writers Dorothy Allison, Gloria Naylor and Julia Alvarez) at the Boston Women's Fund annual event. I was grouchy because it had forced me to miss the Deads saturday night encounter. It wasn't until Mike Sheldon and I made it to a drizzly and humid Cambridge Common, and I was joyously reunited with Dead pals and teammates Teresa Brobeck, Kate Spencer, along with Jim Adams, that I perked up. I met Kevin Holley and his wife Pam, and Carl Jess for the first time, which was a treat. Local deads Tim Smith and Doug Dodds led us in an easy 3 mile run and around the river, and although it was warm I would have preferred this warmth to the cold day we got on Monday. The dead brunch at Val's afterwards was another chance to eat and talk about running, and that was a good time, too. It was especially fun to meet new Dead friends and to catch up with THE Annie Wynn, formerly of the NE Deads, and now a California girl. Why, her hair even looks California golden now. Many thanks to Val Burgos and her roommate for hosting us.
Later that afternoon, I was napping as a way to avoid doing my taxes, when the phone rang, and a voice said, "Is this the queen of the Boston marathon?" I knew immediately that it could only be one person who would be yelling that at me, and it was! It was the Queen of PG herself, AKA, Ms. tuff enuf, calling to send some good vibes. Try as I might, I could not seem to convince sally and kevin that I was really running Boston for fun this year, and that I wasn't going to run for time. Why was I so concerned about the headwind then? Why, because that damn wind was going to make it uncomfortable, and cold, and I wanted fun, not discomfort! Anyway, sally wrote that she "was in PG in reality but her heart was in boston". And I am glad for it, ms. tuff, because i needed that little bit of extra heart the next day.
Had trouble falling asleep even though I was dead tired Sunday night, but soon enough, it was time to gather my considerable amount of gear and head for the bus on Monday morning. Mike Sheldon and I watched the wind blow the tree branches outside the kitchen window. I recounted my little story of how I have been watching the flags outside my window every day for the past month, looking at the wind direction, and thinking about the Boston marathon tailwind that would be pushing us. Almost every day it has been blowing strong from the west. Today it is coming straight from the east. I don't like running in cold conditions--have never been a good cold weather runner--and today it feels COLD. It's a good thing I'm planning to have fun today, I tell myself.
Hopkinton is packed with runners everywhere trying to keep warm during the long wait to run. Luckily for me, I know that the runners from Hawaii are meeting at an office near the starting area, and flashing my Hawaii credentials (my singlet with the HAWAII lettering and the bright orange pineapple), I enter the nice, warm office with swivel chairs and the marathon coverage on TV. Now this is strange. I am in Hopkinton, 100 yards from the starting line, watching live TV coverage of the activities in Hopkinton outside my window, sipping water and forcing down a powerbar. It is great fun to meet up with my old running club and coach from Hawaii, and to share Hawaii gossip. But that time, as relaxing and fun as it is, passes as well, and it is time to hustle over to the starting corral. We are way back, in corral 14, almost all women, full of energy and good wishes for each other. There is a wide array of clothing on the women in corral 14, from long sleeve jersey, singlet, tights, shorts and gloves (me), women with wind jackets and mittens, to just singlets or even jog bras and shorts (not me for sure). I take a few minutes to gather myself and think about my goals for the race: Have fun, finish Boston #9, enjoy the experience, run strong and relaxed. Since I can use my TCM qualifying time for Boston 2001, I promised myself that this marathon would be a gift to myself. No need to qualify, no need to fret over every minute, every second. I would run Boston without a time goal for the first time; what a relief and luxury this is.
We start walking really really slowly, and I realize the race must have begun. We were so far back we didn't even hear the national anthem or the gun. When we get to the starting line mats, it is over 7 minutes into the race. We don't start running for another 2 minutes, just a slow walk. Our first mile takes about 11 minutes. I am glad I am not trying to qualify today. That would be two minutes lost on the chip time.
It is comfortable running initially, neither warm nor cold, and I enjoy my tour through Ashland and Natick. Soon, Dead runner Barb Bumann is running right next to me, and I say, "hi, Barb". She looks shocked to see me--"What are the chances of our meeting like this?" she says. "I don't know, Barb, but this IS Boston, so anything can happen", I tell her. I focus on looking around and seeing the sights. I run to the right to look at a sign, and some woman moons me as she pulls down her tights to pee on the side of the road. It makes me giggle. I feel like I am on a long run with lots of company. I can't get myself excited to run faster or to focus on my pace. My mind is taking a prolonged break, so I just let go. Run easy, run relaxed, girl, I say. I am running at about a 9:00 pace and it feels fine.
At 12 miles, I know that Annie Wynn is going to be giving out water so I start searching through the grey volunteer jackets for her. Seems like every woman has golden California hair and an Annie Wynn smile in this bunch, but then I see her, THE Annie Wynn. I holler at her until she hollers back, and I am happy. I have found my Annie at 12 miles, and Wellesley is coming up. Usually the cheers of the crowd make me run my fastest mile at Wellesley but this year I actually slow up to savor the experience. I run on the right to high-five everyone and it is glorious. All those smiles, all that energy, all that enthusiasm during the Wellesley mile. I could stop here and die happy as a runner.
But there are still 14 miles, and my legs are starting to feel a little tight. Not heavy, but stiff. It's the wind and the cold, taking its toll on my joints, making my knees just a little stiff. My mind goes on vacation again, and I zone out into "long run land", wondering how uncomfortable this is going to be. It is a good thing most of this part is downhill, which makes it easier to run on auto pilot. Then we cross the concrete bridge over Route 128 into Newton, and after another downhill, it's the turn at the Newton Fire Station. I like this part--it is the last nine miles of the course that I train on and know well. The corner is hopping--loud, loud music and tons of people. I get charged up by the energy and take it up the hill.
It's amazing how different a place can look when it is full of people compared to its normal state, and I am amused by the carnival atmosphere on these usually staid Newton hills. There is a big booth selling FRIED DOUGH at the top of Heartbreak Hill, of all places; I smell lots of sausages and onions cooking. I have this image of myself as roadkill at the top of mile 21, getting fattened up for the grill. I envision myself tucking my head into my legs and rolling down the last five miles to Boylston Street. I wish it were that easy, but other than feeling cold and having tight leg muscles, it is not bad. The downhill past Boston College is loud and boistrous, almost as fun as Wellesley, and I start to smile, trying to enjoy myself. There is less than four miles to go. My pace is consistent; my form is holding.
Around mile 23, near Washington Street, Rich Lerman calls my name, and I yell, "Rich". I think about how great it is to be part of a running community. I have three miles to go, and I don't want to miss anything. I slap the hands of little kids, and I look for a little girl to high-five for my VRP, Paula Vaughan in the majestic Rocky mountains. I see one hidden under a parka, huddled against her mother's legs, and I give her a smile and high-five. She smiles back.
24 miles and I'm at the Coolidge Corner downhill. I love this spot. I used to do hill repeats up past the post office in the early mornings on this hill, 8 times up and down. My legs are stiff, but I am running fine. Release the warrior within, I tell myself. I look forward to finishing and collecting my ninth medal. I can almost feel the warm water of the bath I yearn for. I cross Park Drive and remember to look at the marathon banners on the lampposts. Up the small hill I go. Doug Dodds should be here somewhere, but I can't find him. I look about, and make that turn onto Comm. Ave, heading through Kenmore Square. One mile to go. Try to enjoy, try to remember, I think. The crowds are thick, and I clap for them, smiling and waving. I remember that Mike Sheldon said, "When I finish, I always feel happy. It's over, I finished. I don't focus on what I did or didn't do. I'm just happy." There is the turn up Hereford, up the little hill and the left onto Boylston. The huge finish line is in the distance, the crowds are yelling, I am running strong, and I am happy. The clock reads 4:13:XX; my chip time is 4:06:07. It is my slowest Boston time, but as I once told my daughter after a heartbreaking loss at a soccer game, the numbers always tell you only part of the story. They can tell you how fast you ran, but not how you ran.
These 26.2 miles were dedicated to my mom and dad, my friend Catherine, and to Ruth, Joep, and Stephanie. These miles were not always free of discomfort or doubt, and they were not fast, but they were steady, and they were run with a heart filled with joy from the support of my friends. Thanks to all.
--Connie Chan, already looking ahead to Boston#10, on April 16, 2001. Come and run with me.