Thrilled to be running again, after a foot injury kept me out of sneakers and off the roads from September into January. Tough to come back. My running felt pretty ugly through the winter, and I was unsure of my readiness. But I could not say "no" to the opportunity to run another Boston, so I kept my training up and my expectations reasonable. I was shooting for a 3:20, hoping for cool weather and a comfortable run.
We lucked out with the weather. Sunday was hot, Tuesday would be hotter, but on Monday the legendary course from Hopkinton to Boston (better known than Paul Revere's route to Lexington and Concord) was shrouded in fog that kept the temp comfortably mild. The fog also cancelled the planned F15 flyover before and helicopter coverage during the race. Down on the ground I exchanged good wishes with some friends (though I missed meeting the Winchester Highlanders and others at the Athletes' Village) and joined nearly 17,000 other runners in our assigned corrals for the start of the 106th run to Boston, my fifth. The gun sounded and, nearly two minutes later, I crossed the start heading toward Copley Square.
I chatted with those around me, the usual banter about where we were each from, our qualifying races, and that we were going out too fast (so what else is new?). We backed off a bit and cruised through Ashland and Framingham. An Adidas sign was right on: "Adrenaline Goes Where Common Sense Fears to Tread." I felt okay, overcome with the thrill of being able to run another marathon and the knowledge that I love this sport. On through Natick, where I noticed that I had already seen more Koreans than in my whole life. It turns out that defending champ Lee Bong-Ju's hero status back home (he'll be married next week in a stadium with 20,000 fans watching) lured record numbers of countrymen to qualify, fly to Boston and run. Is this race cool or what?
In Wellesley (Adidas sign: "Never Underestimate the Power of Positive Screaming") the girls were incredible as usual, and at the half (1:36:00) I again thought that I would soon pay for my foolish pace. After all, the race doesn't even begin until 16 - or 18 - or 21 - miles. Down we ran into Wellesley Hills, then Newton Lower Falls, then up again over the Charles River and Route 128, the course flattening out for two miles approaching my favorite spot, the Fire Station (17 miles) at the base of the hills. Music blasts from the station and, turning from Washington Street onto Commonwealth Ave., the crowds swell from large and loud to massive and shrieking. And, of course, the hills begin.
Getting through the hills (miles 18-21, Adidas sign: "What Does Not Break You Makes You Stronger") was a huge lift. I was still running too fast (I averaged 7:25 there) but I reasoned (!) that it was now too late to slow down. I recalled the history of this "haunted" mile 22. Past Heartbreak Hill the course passes a cemetary, then plunges into Cleveland Circle through Boston College parties and across trolley tracks. Many a race leader has been broken and buried here, and the dreams of thousands of regulars like me dashed. The next couple of miles on Beacon Street are "ugly" ones: you're in between everything and the end still feels so far away. Spectators chant that you're almost done, but that is a foolish lie. Only the mile markers and my watch (7:05, 7:06) made me feel I was getting anywhere.
At mile 24 (7:09) in Coolidge Corner I gazed at the spot where my grandfather and I watched many Bostons. Farther along I saw my parents, who still get out to see the race themselves. Is that damn Citgo sign getting any closer? Mile 25 (7:08) into Kenmore Square was loud and festive, both for the race and a Red Sox win over the Yankees. Now I could taste the finish. I found some energy approaching the turn at Hereford Street to 26 (6:49), then on to the line in 3:09:04, with my first negative split (1:34:09 2nd half) at Boston.
Other highlights: All the Highlanders finished looking great. Super job, gang. Is there a larger gap anywhere than that between the stature of this race and the meager bag of food (potato chips and an apple!) at the end? By now it is just funny. It was great to have Dead Runner Ken Cotton and family visiting again for the weekend. And though I am a biased homer, I say there is nothing like this marathon, anywhere. As the saying goes: "Its Boston...or just another qualifier."
See you all on the roads. Coast-2-Coast runners, see you in June at Bighorn Trail (bighorntrail.com) in Wyoming!