By far, the worst thing about Boston is the waiting required. I arrived in Hopkinton by 9am and had intentions to search the Texas house where they let Texas runners come hang out. But the bus for my clothes was by the village and I didn't want to wander around looking for the house then have to come all the way back to drop off my clothes. So I found a sheltered place by a gas station and actually got comfortable and slept a bit on a wooden pallet.
About 11:30 I went into my corral where a handfull of guys were sitting around. Joined them and stretched. After the wheelchair athletes took off they led the elites into the starting area. The non-invited elites had to get into a smaller corral just in front of us with the rest on the starting line. With 5 minutes to go, they removed the barriers but formed a human chain to prevent us from pushing forward into the invited elites. 30 seconds to go the chain ran aside and a guy started yelling at us to stand still. Bam. Off. People flying. People cheering.
I got into a relaxed pace but overestimated my speed and went through mile 1 more slowly than expected. In the first few miles the leaders didn't seem to be going that fast and I watched them gradually pull away. In the dynamics of the race, a big lead pack formed, then a gap, then a huge pack around the womens leaders, a few in between, then a pack with me a part of it. I went to the head of this pack starting to pick up speed, and had a decision to make. Catch up to the womens pack meant crossing a gap solo taking on the wind. Or hang with this pack and draft a little. I started to draft but found myself at the front of it. Well I didn't want to do any work for those guys. Little groups of stragglers fell off the womens pack so I would pick up the effort, catch up to them, tuck in behind, then move on. At one point I thought I was running solo. But I glanced over my shoulder and I was at the point of a pack in a V behind me. What a surprise, I couldn't hear any sound from them due to the wind noise and the crowd. Ultimately a small pack of us formed, running at about a 2:30 pace and we more or less shared turns in the lead. Going through Natick, I kept thinking how fast this group seemed to be running and if I could keep this up for another 20 or so miles.
Wellesley was a kick, especially the two healthy girls scantily dressed, and I remarked to a guy afterwards, "Well atleast I forgot about the wind for a little while." The half was reached in 1:14:3x, and I was on pace, but at the same time I felt my legs were pretty beat up. I think I lost my sub 2:30 bid here. One of the guys in the now strung out little pack was #529 - a master sub-elite number. He and another fellow started to pull away and I wasn't willing to spend the effort it would take to reel them in. Now I think this was a mistake, but with the hills ahead I was cautious. We dropped off the cliff at mile 15, crossed the Charles river, and began to climb. This was the nadir of my race. My legs were pounded and I had trouble feeling good. But the climbing began to make me feel better and better and my focus started to improve. Somewhere in here a pacer and a woman (they were dressed identically and it was pretty obvious) passed me along with a couple of other women in tow. They slowed on the hill and I passed them back. One of the women tucked in behind me so tight that she kept kicking my shoes, which became modestly irritating. But thats the kind of day it was- you drafted anyway you could.
Somewhere on the hills a course official (?) was counting off people "67" he yelled at me. That was a shock; I didn't expect to be so high up. Then I started thinking about passing people and more importantly not being passed. Now I was starting to feel good. I passed a woman, who either said to me: "Help me" or "get away from me." I think it was the former. She tucked in behind and we began to gain on a woman ahead. But she soon fell off the pace. Finally Heartbreak. "Focus focus," I kept up the mantra, "you run on way worse than this all the time." Although I was feeling good, I knew that a sub 2:30 was slipping away. The last few miles were blurry, except that I almost threw water on my head because I was getting hot.
Finally I saw Hereford street and I began to enjoy it. As I turned onto it I saw just ahead was Elana Meyer, who once the race was lost, was just cruising it home. I passed her on the turn to Boylston making sure to give her a wide berth. Her sunglasses were up and our eyes met. And thats it - I'm in love. That moment is indelibly stamped in my memory. Cruised on in for the finish, and then I became wobbly.