I have yet to see any of the other race reports, so I don't know how much I'm already repeating. I'll fill folks in another time on what it is like to room with Marc and Mika and the other adventures of Boston. For now, just the race...

Short Version: Personal Worst of all my raced Marathons. You already have seen the results so you know how poorly I did. Let's just say that the disgusting sound you heard from the east coast on Monday was the Boston Marathon chewing me up, gagging on me, then spitting me out in the gutter like a nasty piece of gristle from a cheap steak.

Longer Version:

Collectively, we all had been really fretting the weather forecasts on Saturday and Sunday. All the "experts" agreed, race day was going to be warm (62 at the start, 74 at the finish), sunny, humid, and with a slight tail wind. The tail wind was good, but that simply meant that we were going to be stewing in our own juices since it wasn't going to be fast enough to cool us down. Fortunately, the weather Gods were kind and Monday was cool and misty. The weather actually was just about ideal for racing.

Maybe it was this sudden reprieve from a weather induced death that allowed my own hubris to condemn me. Or as it says in Proverbs 16:18-19, "Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall. Better to be lowly in spirit and among the charity runners than to share Gatorade and GU with the proud." ....or something like that. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I decided to stick with my original aggressive plan of trying for a 4 minute marathon PR of 3:10. I was going to go out for the first 16 miles at a 7:15 pace (even splits for a 3:10). Since the first 16 miles is a serious net downhill, this would actually represent a negative split effort. I was then going to run 7:30s for the 4 uphill miles between 16 and 21.5 and then try to run 7:00s going down from Heartbreak. Sure it was aggressive. Sure it was a race plan fraught with peril, but I am the guy that has run two big consecutive marathon PRs feeling great at the finish! (note the pride thing again) Besides, I had a backup plan to keep me from running beyond my ability, my heart rate monitor. I was going to keep the HR down to under 80% at the beginning and then let it gradually work up higher as I got to the hills. If this meant a slower pace, so be it.

The start was fine, I crossed the line a little under 3 minutes after the gun went off. It was fun running with the crowd and I purposely took it easy.
Start - 5 miles
7:26
7:13
7:00 ("oh shit", both I and the guy next to me said at once.)
7:10
7:28 (uphill)
36:18 or just 3 seconds off target (damn I'm good!)

This is where things started to go wrong. I had been drinking water and Gatorade and had one shot of Hammer Gel from my flask. Unfortunately, I was getting really nauseated.

Oh, I guess I forgot to mention something. I had been having some problems with diarrhea on Saturday but figured it was just nerves and traveling. Saturday evening however, it became obvious I had the flu. I didn't eat anything Saturday evening and spend most of the night just trying not to throw up. Sunday I just picked at a breakfast, drank one of Mika's Gatorade energy drinks for lunch, then had some potato pasta for dinner. All in all, my stomach and GI track were not happy campers going into Monday and I was carbo-depleated, rather than carbo-loaded as I sat with the NoWDeads on the grass in Hopinkton before the race.

Miles 6 -10
14:44 (missed the mile 6 split in a water stop)
7:14
7:16 (slight uphill)
7:20
1:20:15, 15 seconds behind pace.

I was feeling steadily worse in my stomach, really having a tough time drinking any Gatorade or taking any Hammer Gel. I was doing OK for my plan, my HR was right where it should be, but I was beginning to be a bit worried....

Despite the beginnings of misgivings, I was enjoying myself. I was high-fiveing all the kids, enjoying the crowds, actually looking around at the scenery (something I never do in a race), and generally taking in the sights and experiences of the event. I would try to figure out where I was and relate them to the many race accounts I read in Derderian's book (without a lot of success however).

The next 5 miles started to reinforce my worries. My heart rate was still in the 80-81% range, I wasn't working hard at all, but my pace seemed to be dropping.

Miles 11 - 15
7:23 slight uphill
7:11 slight uphill, but near Wellesley so the testosterone effect boosted my pace.
7:15
Half 1:35:30 Even I could do the math. 30 seconds behind even splits. Just about perfect for a great race, but why was I feeling a Very Bad Thing was lurking over my shoulder?
7:23 this shouldn't have been so slow
7:23 slight uphill
1:49:28, about 45 seconds behind pace.

The next 5 miles was where I felt my race would be decided. My plan needed for me to hold pace on the downhill and level portions, and only give up 15 seconds/mile on the uphills. At this point I wasn't high-fiveing kids anymore. I swore that I would join Marc and Mika and become vegetarians if I just didn't have to smell another Patriot's Day Barbecue. I was quickly loosing my sense of humor and wanted to slap the next bystander who called out "Go Buckey" to Buckey who had his name written on both arms.

Miles 16 - 20
7:04 steep downhill
7:44
7:36
7:43 This should have been a 7:15 mile. I knew I was in big trouble at this point. Ken Cotton caught me and passed me during this mile and asked how I was doing. My response: "I can feel a bonk coming on". 8:04 Rats! I let myself go over the 8 minute barrier. Average HR was 84%. 2:27:40, 2 minutes slower than where I wanted to be at this point.

Facing the last and steepest hill of the course, I knew that my hopes for a 3:10 were lost. I still held on to a glimmer of hope for a PR. It all depended on how I felt after I crested Heartbreak. If the downhills refreshed me, I might be able to pull out something under my 3:14 PR.

Miles 21 - Finish (Parental Guidance suggested)
21 8:44 Big trouble. Losing another minute on that puny little hill was not good
22 7:58 steep downhill. When I saw this split I knew it was going to be over soon. In my pre-race fantasies, this was going to be a 7:00 minute mile. My quads were screaming in pain with every step but I could live with that. I was really hot, but that was OK. My stomach was really protesting, but a little nausea won't slow me that much. The real problem was that my tank was starting to run dry.
23 9:11 This would be perfect if I had been running a 4:00 marathon. My HR was down to 73%. I had Bonked.
24 9:17 During this mile I decided I could do this one of two ways. I could do what I did in the crash and burn year of 2000 and push as hard as I could through marathon hell and come out with a crappy time IF I didn't pass out before I got to the finish, ...or I could simply resign myself to the fact that my race was over, I'm in the Boston Marathon, and I'm damn well going to enjoy it. I chose the latter option. I walked. I smiled. I jogged. I high-fived kids. I took orange slices from children. I looked around at the scenery.

25 14:11 Just before the 25 mile mark, just before the Citco Sign, I saw I runner down on the ground near the side of the course. The bystanders couldn't get to him because of the barracades. As I ran up to him (well, ok I jogged up to him painfully) he was flailing around trying to get on his feet. I caught him under his shoulders just as he was going down again. He was a big guy for a runner with a 23xx bib number. He kept saying over and over "I can make it". I helped him to his feet again, only to have to catch him once again as he went down. This time I told him that his race was over, he wasn't going anywhere, and that he might as well just relax. I don't think he heard anything. I held him as he sat on the pavement to keep him from rolling onto the pavement. After a short time a volunteer came running up saying he had called the EMTs. I gently passed my fellow casualty to the volunteer, gave the runner a pat on the shoulder and then started to jog away. As I did, I got the warmest cheers from the crowd that I received that day. I didn't bother to explain to them that it was more relief than sacrifice to stop for a few minutes at that point.

26.2 13:15 I continued to walk and jog the rest of the way in. I made sure that as I turned off Commonwealth onto Hereford, I was jogging. I continued to jog all the way into the finish for a final chip time of 3:30:17.

I stumbled through the finish area hurting more than I ever have after a Marathon. I found my equipment bus, pulled on some warm clothes, and started to try and find my way out of the finish area. The walk back to the Marriot seemed endless. I was terribly nauseated and like most other runners I imagine, my quads hurt terribly with every step. When I made it back to the room I found Mika showered, dress, looking comfortable. When I found that his race had gone poorly as well, I laid on the bed and chuckled over the collective folly of devoting so much of ourselves to such a fleeting and fickle pursuit.

I may be finally cured of the marathon disease. I think I could easily quit attempting PRs at that distance. I reached for a goal, and fell short. I may be content to let it stay that way. I had a great time. Running the Boston Marathon was a wonderful experience, despite my poor performance. Being able to share it with such agreeable roommates and great friends as Marc and Mika made it all the more memorable.

I happily owe Joe Bator the $10 from our wager. His impressive 3:04 time was not only much more than the required 7 minutes ahead of my time, it was almost that much ahead of my own goal time. I do wish I had felt well enough to meet and spend time with more of the Deads there in Boston. Maybe someday when I'm in another age group I'll return, this time to run it easy, and catch what I missed this trip.

Back