Hey Deads,

I am submitting this in two parts as I seem to have gone over the 250 line

limit with it. Never thought I'd do that. Now I feel something like Dave

Couper. :-)

Many things in life that we look forward to don't seem to end up meeting our

expectations -- everybody probably remembers a Christmas or two that didn't

quite cut the mustard. For one reason or another the experience is not as

good as the anticipation of the experience. The Boston Marathon experience

was not that way for me -- it is truly a fantastic race and a great run all

around. I can see why so many are attracted to it annually. All in all I

had a good day but did falter at the end.

My goal was 45 minute 10K's and a 3:10.00 finish. This would have been a

slight PR and a requalifier. I was on pace to do just that through 35K but

then the cramps came and I threw in a few ten minute miles and that was

that. Final time was 3:18.43.

I told my wife when I finished that the bad news was I didn't requalify and

wouldn't be tempted to come back next year and run. And the good news was

that I didn't requalify and wouldn't be tempted to come back next year and

run. :-)

We made a vacation of sorts of the trip. My wife, 5 year old son and 17

month old daughter and I all travelled up together. My in-laws also were in

Boston for three of the days we were there. Travelling with small children

is a hoot but it can't really be classified as relaxing, especially when

utilizing airplanes, busses and trains. But we made it, and we had a good

time sightseeing in the days leading up to the race. We made the Expo on

Saturday afternoon and while I enjoyed it it was just too packed to really

do or see much. We also tried the Ronzoni pasta feed on Sunday night but

the line that went out of sight convinced us that a quiet dinner at an

Italian restaurant on the north side would be more fun, so we did that.

But the festiveness of the whole pre-race weekend was wonderful and it is

definately a big deal up there. I was stopped numerous times by people who

I'd never seen before and asked, "Are you running?" To which I'd reply that

I was. "Good luck," they'd smile. Now I don't get that kind of treatment

very often. I also had some NY Yankee sightings in the hotel (Sheraton)

lobby as I went down on Saturday night to read (after the kiddos were

crashed in the room) as Roger Clemens and his posse strolled through the

lobby. And talking a walk down Boylston on race-eve and seeing the guys

putting up the scaffolding for the finish, seeing the finish line, etc. was

enough to get me good and stoked.

Race morning came and I had my customary bowl of grits and a bagel, a couple

of bananas and a quart of gatorade. I rode the train down to the Common to

get on the busses and had a nice chat with a fellow from England who

insisted that this was his last marathon. I sat with a nice fast guy from

South Carolina and we ate bagels together and visited (I looked him up later

and he ran 2:51.xx -- his goal had been 2:40). I enjoyed the ride out and

the atmosphere on the bus was amicable -- lots of lies being told. :-)

We reached the Athlete's Village and I wandered into the "holding pen". My

fellow Southerner and I found the portas and took care of business, then bid

each other farewell. I wandered off to find a place along the fence where I

could sit and read. After I found my spot and greeted the folks next to me

I noticed on their gear bag that they were from Pine Bluff, Arkansas. We

introduced ourselves and spent a good while visiting. It was fairly

incredible to me that of 15,000 runners up there I happened to sit down next

to two of the 50 from Arkansas. Oh well, at that point I was easily amused.

Around 11 I decided I'd better start thinking about racing. I joined the

cattle call and wandered toward the starting corrals. I also marvelled at

the numbers of people just peeing anywhere they could find a bush. A cop

would occasionally roust folks with a good, loud New England accent, "This

is a private nay-bah-hood, not a your-a-null."

I got to the corral about the time the wheelchairs were taking off. Bandits

were hopping in like crazy. Soon security people came and started pulling

them out. A few guys were getting pissed at the bandits, I decided I didn't

care what they did. Helicopters buzzed about, two Air Force F-16s streaked

overhead, the national anthem was sung. Finally, it was time to race. But

for the life of me I felt almost tired by then, like I was worn out already.

As stated above the plan was to run even 45 minute 10K's until Heartbreak,

get up it as best I could, then muster the reserves and try and pick it up

for the final 5 miles.

I did not hear the starting gun but I did hear the cheers. We stood and

waited. Then we started walking. I clicked my watch at the chip mat and my

race began.

(An aside: I did tape the ESPN2 coverage and watched the beginning of the

race on Wednesday afternoon after we returned home. And low and behold I

saw myself starting the race. So, I am permanently immortalized on tape now

for 1.5 seconds of national television coverage.)

I was astounded at the number of people cheering at the start. I was also

astounded at the steepness of the downhill at the start. I had heard about

the downhills, had tried to practice some downhill running, but this was

frankly more than I'd imagined. I simply kept telling myself to run

"softly" and not bang away on the downhills. I also found it crowded for

the first few miles and I wished I'd run a faster qualifying time so I could

get on out ahead of a few of these people. But I hadn't and by mile 2 or so

I was running freely.

I settled in. I also felt like I did not have much "zip". It was almost

like I was ready for the race to be over and it was just starting. But the

miles kept coming and going and my average time was in the 7:10 pace range.

I crossed the first 10K at 45:15 so I was right on schedule. The crowds

continued to be enthusiastic and great. These miles now seem jumbled but I

remember a band of old guys playing "When the Saints Come Marching In" from

a rooftoop; slapping the hands of youngsters on the roadside as we ran

along; marvelling at the wonderful old houses and downtowns of the towns we

passed through; and also the parties, the countless number of parties that

people were having all along the way. I also reminded myself how good a

beer was going to taste when this was all over.

I tried to drink water at each aid station and as such I continued to feel a

bit bloated through these first 10 miles. And with this slightly bloated

feeling I would also get side stitches occasionally. "I never get side

stitches," I thought to myself, "Why the hell am I getting them now?" On

and off they came.

We went through Natick and I got pumped again. The town square was teeming.

I slapped many hands and stopped for second and thanked a little kid for an

orange. He seemed pleased. On to Wellesley I told myself and the half

would come and go.

At this point I had broken the race into: get to 10 miles, then get to the

half, then get to the family -- who were going to be waiting at around 17

miles. Then, just get to the line.

At Wellesley I must admit I was a bit disappointed. I had heard the legend

of the Wellesley women and the noise. Really, I didn't find their cheering

much different from the other places. In fact, the cheering toward the end

of the race was much louder. Or at least that's what I remember. They were

fabulous, like all the other people who came out to cheer, but I didn't find

them any more or less enthusiastic than the others.

The half passed in 1:34.11. This was perfect, right on 3:09 or 3:10 pace.

At mile 15 I began looking for my family. Actually the strategy of having

them at that place was a benefit because it took my mind off of running for

two miles. I simply ran along the right side of the road and stared into

the crowd fervently searching for their faces. Why seeing them meant so

much to me at that point I don't know but it became and all consuming

mission for me. The 16 mile mark came and I was running down, down, down a

hill. Where were they? Was the T slow and they didn't make it? Did they

think they'd missed me and gone somewhere else? Was there some problem

getting the kids out there?

I think I was so interested in seeing them because they were such a big part

of me being at the race. Honestly they put up with a lot so I can do this

stuff and they are wonderful about it. My wife listens patiently about

workouts I describe to her (even though she can't have much interest in

split times, etc.), she always asks how things went when I get home, she was

genuinely as excited when I qualified for the race as I was. So I think

that in my mind I finally wanted to share this with them and for some reason

seeing them on the course, giving them a hug and telling them I loved them

became vitally important to my state of mind. So I kept looking, and

looking and looking.

Mile 17 passed. Dad Gummit, I must have missed them. Where were they? I

had just about put my head down when "BAM" there was my wife's face. I

stopped and my son hugged my leg. He was holding a "go dad" sign and he was

smiling. My daughter was on my father-in-law's shoulders and she was

smiling. I hugged everyone and said "I'll be home in 3:10, see you then"

and off I ran buoyed by the meeting.

The best crowd of day, in my estimation, was the the Newton Fire Station

where we took a big right hand turn. "HE'S GOING THE DISTANCE, HE'S GOING

FOR SPEED ..." was blaring from the sound system. The crowds were 10 deep

at least and there was a festival atmosphere. I smelled beer and outdoor

grills. Man, I wanted to be one of those people hanging out and watching,

not a guy who was starting to realize that he was losing it physically. But

I had work to do and my body was slowly grinding itself down. Up the first

hill I went. I was crawling it seemed but I was streaming past people.

Then the reprieve of a mile or so it seemed before the second one. Up I

went. My quads were shouting their objections to me, "Calm down boy or

we're shutting it down right here and now," they hollered. I obeyed.

Then Heartbreak. People were screaming at us, imploring us to get up that

hill. I was running in mud, quicksand, cement it seemed. God, when would

we get to the top of the hill. It's not steep, it's just so loooooooooong I

remember thinking.

Over I went and through the 21 mile mark I ran. A 7:56 split for 21 told me

I was not in as good stead physically as I was mentally. Mentally I was

ready to pound, ready to haul it to Boston, but physically I was shot and

unfortunately once gas is out of the tank it's tough to get it back in.

I must add that I'd popped my first GU at 1:45 and a subsequent GU at 2:15.

The plan was to take them every 30 minutes. But that type of fuel wasn't

making any difference, the cramps were coming. During mile 22 they came,

and with full fury despite the fact that I covered that mostly downhill mile

in 7:29.

Mile 23. I got there and had pretty much decided that I'd need to walk for

30 seconds to a minute to let the cramps subside. But the 23 mile marker

was on a downhill and I decided to shuffle to the bottom. I did and then

walked for the first time. It was disheartening but I told myself that

there was nothing I could do about it, the damage had been done and now I

had to pay the piper. I ran/walked through 23 in 7.52 but it was really bad

now.

At each water stop I would chug Gatorade and water in a vain attempt to get

some electrolytes or whatever I needed into my legs. It wasn't working.

The only thing working was alternating walking with running. So that's what

I went with. The crowds would holler when I'd stop, they'd cheer again when

I'd start running again. I had on a Hendrix College t-shirt and constantly

I would hear "GO Hendrix, c'mon." They literally kept me going. If it had

been a sparsely populated race I probably would have just walked it in, but

not this one, I was too ashamed to walk for long in front of these people.

Mile 24 split: 8:28. The Death March was officially in effect. Mile split

25: 10:10. "MAYDAY, MAYDAY, I'm going down," I thought to myself. I

glanced at my watch and saw that it read 3:07.46 and I thought, "Yeah, I

think I still can stumble in in 8 minutes, maybe, and requalify". I started

running faster. I looked ahead and saw the Citgo sign and then hit the one

mile to go mark. I glanced at my watch and thought, "You dumbass, you

forgot about the .2." My watch now read 3:09.xx and I knew I was beaten.

And it was a good thing too because my legs were done. Now there were

cramps in both calves, both quads and my right groin (go figure). My day

was done. All that was left now as just a shuffle to the finish and an

attempt to enjoy what remained of the race.

As we approached the turn onto Hereford I patted a guy on the back who'd

been playing "walk/run leapfrog" with me. He would pass me and start

walking, I'd pass him, etc. At this point he was walking and I was

shuffling. I tapped him on the back and said, "C'mon man, run this in with

me, we'll feel better once we hit Boylston." For a minute I thought he was

going to slug me. Then he smiled and started jogging and up Hereford we ran

(and I use that term liberally).

The left onto Boylston is what I had thought about many times on long runs

alone in Conway. What would this feeling be, turning that corner and seeing

all those people and the finish? I made the left, the crowds were teeming.

I was dragging my cramped right leg along but I was running. No one seemed

to be passing me nor were they particularly interested in passing me. I

sure didn't care. I almost started to walk but a little voice in my head

shouted "ONE DOES NOT WALK DOWN BOYLSTON STREET!" so I kept shuffling. I

hit the finish. I stopped running. I have never been so relieved in my

entire life. I turned and the guy I'd urged in on Hereford Street caught my

eye and thanked me and told me he was glad I'd come by when I did.

When I finished the Chicago Marathon in October of 1999 (my last one) I was

euphoric. I high-fived volunteers, I talked with people in the chute, I had

my photo taken. In short, I felt great. After this race I was exhausted.

All I wanted to do was go and lay down. So I wandered to the gear check bus

and got my stuff and slowly, ever so slowly, began to put warm clothes on.

Now it was time to head through the goomies and I grabbed everything I

could. While not as good as the home-baked items I usually get in small

town Arkansas races I didn't think they were that bad. At that point, fried

dirt would have been fine. I tried to keep drinking and kept eating bananas

and off I went to the "P" area to find my family. Luckily, before I got

there I found them and the reunion was just as good as at Mile 17. My son

put my finishers medal around his neck and off to the hotel we ambled.

The aftermath. After a nice, hot bath I dressed and we all went back down

the Boylston to cheer the 5:30 crowd. Most of the earlier crowds had gone

so we stayed and cheered these folks on until it was 6 o'clock and the

official clock stopped. But on they came. We walked down to the finish

area and took some pictures. Still marathoners straggled in. Each had run

the course, each had their own reason to be proud, it was inspiring. I am

always heartened by the late finishers -- they have such a wondrous look to

them, such a gleam of achievement. You seldom see them griping about their

times, or the course, or the water stations, or anything. They seem to

enjoy it more and relish finishing more. In short, I sometimes think they

get more out of it. I was glad we went down to see them.

My recovery has gone better than Chicago. I think it is because I did so

much walking on Monday night after the race and also all day on Tuesday when

we took the kids to the Aquarium. We flew home on Wednesday and I'll take

running through three miles of cramps over wrestling with a tired 17 month

old on an airplane any day. :-)

I'm not sure why I cramped. I really felt like I had adequately hydrated in

the days before the race and also the morning of the event. I'm not sure

what I could have done differently. I do know that I felt like I peaked

about 5 weeks ago rather than on race day. I never felt fully rested during

my taper. I don't know if all of the travel and the kids and the stuff

surrounding the race -- such as the laying around waiting to run, the

uncertainty of when to eat, etc. -- contributed to my problems. I felt like

I was in legitimate shape to run somewhere around 3:05, give or take a few

minutes, but I didn't. But that's okay, I finished my third marathon, I

didn't hemmorage time as badly as I thought during those disappointing last

few miles, and I really enjoyed the whole experience. I now think I know

why folks revere this race so much. I had a very, very good day and I felt

(and feel) very fortunate to have been a part of the whole deal.

Thanks for wading through all of this, it is Blong and is meant more for my

memories than anything else.

Best regards,

Danny Powell

Conway, Arkansas

Back