from
Hopkinton to Boston, April 16, 2001.
The
prelude: This is a journey that began, for me in April 1977, when I, a
nonrunner,
watched and cheered at my first marathon and became intrigued,
then
obsessed with wanting to run the Boston marathon.
This
obsession owned me through fifteen years and ten marathons, through
years
of frustration and broken dreams, before I qualified in 1991. I ran
my
first Boston, my "never to be broken" PR, in 1992. This obsession owned
me,
but it also made me into a marathoner, and a dedicated runner.
After
I ran my first Boston, I needed a new challenge, so I set a goal for
myself:
to qualify for and finish ten Bostons in a row. The early years
were
easy enough, qualifying for Boston at Boston, but the later years were
tougher,
and I sometimes had to run fall marathons to get that qualifying
time. But every April I was there, hoping to
keep the streak alive.
That
goal made in 1992, brought me to Hopkinton yesterday (that, and my club
bus,
along with Mike Sheldon and Sally).
Nine Bostons before this one, and
only
one to go. But getting to the
starting line of this one did not come
easily.
This
past summer was probably the most difficult summer of my running
career. After a period of struggling with being
out of breath on easy runs
and
not knowing why, I was finally diagnosed with Graves' disease (a
hyperactive
thyroid condition) which explained my running woes. After I was
put
on medication, it took another several months for my condition to
gradually
improve. It was probably not until
this past November that I
started
feeling normal again on my runs.
During this period, I had thought
about
what would have happened if I had had to run Boston while recovering
from
Graves'. My guess is that I would
have run, but it would have been
very
very slow and difficult. For the
first time, this past summer and
fall,
I wondered if I would be able to make it to my goal.
In
December, I began with a limited running base of about 20-25 miles per
week. As many of you know, I based my
training on Hal Higdon's 18 week
marathon
training program and updated DRS weekly on my progress. Week by
week,
I built on my limited base and felt stronger and stronger over time.
My
running, rejuvenated by my Boston training, generally went well through a
cold
and icy New England winter.
So
there I was, this past weekend, enjoying all the excitement of the
marathon
festivities, having a blast hosting CalgalSal, and looking forward
to
my tenth run. I had long ago
decided that I would be grateful for the
good
fortune of running my tenth and planned to have pure fun at the race.
But
I was feeling too good to just have fun.
So I decided to run hard, to
see
what I had that day, to give it a shot at a qualifying time. Given my
conditioning,
I estimated my chances of running 3:55 were a long shot, but a
shot
nevertheless. Somehow this
decision made me look forward to the run
more
and gave me energy all weekend.
The
race: From way back in Corral 11,
it was slow walking to the starting
line
(7:46 to reach the start), but once we crossed the line, we were able
to
run quite smoothly. I would say it
was the best start, chip-time-wise,
in
over five years, as I was able to settle into my pace right from the
first
mile. After the long wait in
Hopkinton, it was such a relief to
actually
*run*. My plan was to stick right
on 9:00 miles, go through the
half
at about 1:57-1:58, and hold on for as long as I could. And the plan
worked
perfectly -- for 13.1 miles, that is.
My legs were handling the pace
just
fine, but I was having some unexpected trouble with my breathing early
on. Every now and then I have trouble with
exercise-induced asthma and have
difficulty
breathing on the run, with wheezing and shortness of breath. I
sometimes
carry my inhaler with me for just these occasions, but damned if I
didn't
leave my inhaler in my baggage bag this time! Usually my breathing
improves
after a few miles and I am back to normal, so I waited for this to
happen
and it did, maybe around mile 7, but I felt I had to work harder than
I
wanted to in the first few miles to hold a 9:00 pace. Patience, though,
is
the key to the Boston marathon, and I told myself to remain calm and to
relax,
hoping I would regain my ease and strength over time.
On
the race went, and I along with it, pulled as much by the runners around
me
as the crowds who yelled and cheered, and my inner resolve. As we ran
through
Natick around mile 10, I knew the 9:00 miles weren't feeling as easy
as
they should this early, but my legs still felt strong and my mile times
were
right on target at each marker, varying only seconds between 8:54 -
9:02. Sometimes I felt like a robot, almost
like a machine, as my body just
ran
and I observed.
Then
it was time for Wellesley and the screaming crowds. I love this part
of
the race - the energy and the excitement always give me a boost. Mile 12
felt
great, although I didn't feel the crowds there were as thick or as loud
as
usual at Wellesley. I went through
the half at my estimated chip time of
1:57:XX,
right on target, and at exactly the same time as in 1998, when I
went
on to run the second half in a negative split of 1:53. But this year I
did
not cruise on the downhills and surge confidently on the Newton hills as
I
had done three years before.
Instead, my legs started to feel heavy, and
I
knew the effort to keep up this pace would not be possible. For a couple
of
miles, from the long downhill at Newton Upper Falls through the Route 128
overpass
and down the incline to the Newton Fire station, I tried to hold
the
pace, but I had started to lose seconds per mile. I knew this was the
end
of that time goal. For a few minutes, I had to talk myself out of my
disappointment
that there would be no qualifying time today -- that I gave
it
my best effort, but while I had a strong endurance base, I just did not
have
the speed and pace training necessary to hold this pace for 26 miles. I
wanted
not only to run strong and to have a strong finish, but I also wanted
to
run without feeling embarrassed or ashamed of my effort today. So, as I
made
the turn onto Commonwealth Avenue and was struck by the wave of music
and
energy of the crowd, I began my journey through my nine previous Bostons
and
tried to keep a steady pace.
Here,
I remembered, is where I surged in 1992 and in 1998, and where I saw
my
friend Craig a couple of years ago, cheering me on. Here is where I do
my
long runs, where I run with my Dead running partners. The hills seemed
shorter
and easier with all the crowds. I
moved steadily through my run
down
memory lane, to mile 19. Here is
where my running club, CSU, waits for
our
runners, and where my daughter Malia has waited for me since she was
five
years old. (Today, at 13, with my
permission, she is "hanging out"
with
her friends at Harvard Square instead, having moved on for now to other
pursuits) Here is where I asked for and received
my club mate's (a
spectator)
jacket as I shivered at that cold 100th Boston, and felt warmed
by
the memory. The Newton hills felt
friendly yesterday and it was
especially
neat to hear Penguin Dead Lisa Port White whom I had just met at
Val's
bagel brunch the previous day surprise me by calling my name loudly.
Thanks,
Lisa, you really gave me a boost.
The
Newton hills are not that steep, but they come at a bad time in the
race,
slowing you down as you are trying to keep moving. Cresting
Heartbreak
Hill is always a relief, and in my mind, I heard the strains of
"I
get my thrill -- on Blueberry Hill", as I remembered seeing a t-shirt of
a
runner one year at Boston reading, "I get my thrill at Heartbreak
Hill".
After
the hills, I was running easy now, as if I were on a long run, and I
felt
smooth and stronger. I waved at
the crowds as we neared Boston College
and
mile 22, the site of our Crude Run finish. I thought of Bill Cohen and
Dick
Duggan, Tim Smith and Mike Sheldon, Pinar and the Riches, my DRS long
run
and Crude Run companions and our supporters over the years, finishing
here
at the corner of the Cleveland Circle reservoir. I love the short
downhill
on the railroad tracks as we turn the corner onto Beacon St.,
heading
towards Brookline and my home turf.
The breeze picks up a bit and
the
shade feels cool here, so I put my long sleeved shirt back on, and it
feels
good. I thought it was generally a
good day, weather-wise, warm at
the
start, cool and breezy towards the end.
BTW, Sally, the high was about
55
in Hopkinton at the start, and ONLY 48 and less in Boston all day, with a
light
headwind, stronger in the last three miles or so.
Around
Washington Sq. at mile 23, I start to get little twinges of cramping
in
my calves and my right hamstring, so I have to reduce my stride and land
on
my heels to avoid seizing up. Just
when I was starting to relax and
savor
my last three miles, my legs reminded me that finishing was not a sure
thing
if I cramped up, so I had to really work to keep relaxed and maintain
my
CFM (constant forward motion, as Tracey and the ultrafolks would say).
Arrgh!
I hate cramping at the end of a marathon.
I plod on cautiously. I
am
excited as we pass Coolidge Corner and I see Kate, my good friend who has
stood
on that very corner and waited for me for all but one of my Bostons,
and
she runs about a block with me downhill.
We chat about the weather and
how
I am feeling today ("OK, not great, but OK"). I speed up as I run with
her,
and my right calf moves from twinging to downright cramping. There is
a
water stop and I use that as an excuse to walk a bit, massaging my calf
with
my hand. Damn these cramps. I probably haven't been drinking as
much
today
as I normally do. Somehow the
Gatorade tastes nasty to me today (I
usually
like Gatorade), and I have to force myself to swallow some water or
Gatorade
at stops. OK, only two miles to go
after the steep downhill past
the
post office at Coolidge Corner...
Continuing
down Beacon Street, I just keep up my steady progress, trying not
to
get too far ahead of myself. I am
already thinking about what I want for
dinner
tonight and I have not yet completed my work. Up ahead is the little
steep
incline that goes over the Mass Pike, near Fenway Park. Doug Dodds
should
be there, and I look for him. Yep,
there he is on the left, but he
doesn't
see me. I yell, "Doug,
Doug", and he STILL doesn't see me.
I am
almost
out of breath. Finally, I yell,
"Doug", just as I am passing him,
and
he sees me. "Connie" he yells.
I smile, happy to see him, and turn onto
Comm
Ave and pass the sign that reads "ONE MILE TO GO". One mile. I am
tired
and my calves are twinging but I want to savor this some more. Maybe
this
will be my last Boston (maybe for a while, anyway). I want to
experience
this last mile, not just run through it.
I run to the far right,
to
high-five spectators, to pump my fist and to clap for the crowd.
Sometimes
I get a lot of cheers, other times, it is just silent. I don't
really
care what they do. I am having fun. It is my tenth Boston and I am
going
to finish my decade-long goal soon.
I
run up the little incline on Hereford Street and smile as I make the turn
onto
Boylston. The crowds are thick and
loud and I love them. This last
quarter
mile on Boylston seems to go on forever.
You can see the huge
yellow
and blue banner across the finish line but it recedes and you have to
keep
working, keep turning over the legs as you work to reach the line where
you
can stop. I feel satisfaction and
pain, contentment and disappointment,
joy
and relief as I run under the banner and hear the high-pitched
whine/chirp
of our chips. Almost as an
afterthought, I look at the clock
for
my time. It says 4:11:XX. I estimate my chip time to be
4:03-4:04. It
is
not my slowest Boston (that was last year), but it is not a good clock
time. However, if not a good clock time, at
least I had generally a good
time
running today. It is probably an
honest time given my level of
conditioning. I am satisfied that I gave it my best
effort.
As
I walk around the finishing area and get my blanket, medal, and bag from
the
bus, I feel fine. I talk to
runners around me and try to take in the
whole
scene, reviewing my experience today.
I conclude that my endurance
base
is sound but I need to run more faster stuff in training - I could have
run
longer but no faster today.
Well,
it's now over... the fat lady finally sang. It was my tenth Boston
and
she sang her siren song for me over the years. And what pains and joys
I
have experienced over this long journey from Hopkinton to Boston. If you
are
still reading this far, you are probably responsible for helping me to
achieve
this goal... for you are my friends and my supporters, my
inspiration
and my angels, the ones who helped me get out there and run this
year
after year.
My
deepest thanks to all of you,
Connie
Chan, still wired, on a late night the day after the marathon, in a
chilly
Belmont, Massachusetts