Summary: My 6th home-town race weekend, which included great out-of-town runner-visitors, Winchester Highlanders parties, Dead Runners' Society encounters, walking tours around Boston, even an exciting come-from-behind Sox game. Oh, yeah, and a marathon. On a tough (hot and head-windy) running day I raced a strong first half, then buckled and cramped like may others (including the elite, whose times were also slow), finishing slower than planned but very satisfied.
The Details: After all the parties, baseball games, group runs, race expos and pasta dinners, it is time to get down to business (well, fun business) Monday morning. Lots of weather talk over the weekend, and it is warmer than anyone had hoped or anticipated. With a larger field than prior years (except the huge 100th), the village of Hopkinton is packed with 20,000 runners stretching and lounging, awaiting the noon start under a cloudless sky.
Ever the optimist, I hope the weather won't get too warm. I stick to my plan of 21 minutes for each 5k split. Within the first 2 miles (6:34 and 6:33), though, I am sweating heavily in the 70-plus degree temp. Entering Ashland, I hit the 5k (20:16) fast and settle into my pace. The air is filled with the smell of bark mulch and grilling burgers, and the crowds are full of enthusiastic support. It is always fun to see the "Entering Brookline" sign that someone holds here each year.
Onward into Framingham, where 10k comes at 40:56 (only 4 years ago this was my best time for a 10k race!). With trees still bare, there is no shelter from the fierce sunshine. The intensity of the race picks up, and while some runners pass me I hold back, concentrating on my pace. We are cheered on by a boisterous crowd that urges us all to run faster through this long flat stretch. Bandit runners have already joined us on the course, and I hear shouts for Bullwinkle and, later, Superman.
In Natick I hit 15k in 1:01:55, on schedule but knowing that the sweat streaming down my face and body signals energy loss. To run well at Boston, a runner must feel fresh here, the 10-mile mark. I test my legs, and they have spring. I wonder about my heart, though.
Wellesley College is the emotional high of the half-marathon. The passage narrows, the girls scream, and runners find an extra gear. Nobody runs a slow mile here! I am holding steady: 123:16 for 20k. After a steep descent and a pitched incline, the clock at the halfway point greets me with 1:27:57. This is my fastest midpoint time in a marathon. I am excited, but very wary of what's to come. At 13.1 miles, the Boston Marathon is just beginning.
Through Wellesley Center the course remains flat, the spectators loud. I develop a side stitch, a stomach cramp that is annoying but still allows me to run. I hope it will pass, and it comes and goes through the next several miles. Here in Wellesley Hills, after crossing Route 9, is the steepest descent of the race. A half-mile of quadracep-pounding-braking leads to Newton Lower Falls. At 25k (1:45:14), the clock tells me what my body already feels: the race is slipping away.
After that gravity-induced plunge comes a deceptively tough section of the Marathon, the three-quarter-mile climb that spans Route 128 and crests at Beacon Street in Newton. The combination of down-up is tough on the body and mind. It is easy to lose track of pace and push too hard on the incline. I am grateful to see Highlander Carl Ockerbloom at just this point. A slight downhill, past Newton-Wellesley Hospital, brings us to the firehouse turn at Commonwealth Avenue, usually my favorite part of the race. The crowds are enormous, music blasts from the Fire Station, and the hills of Newton - the Marathon's legendary demon - begin.
I dig in for the first hill, shortening my stride and reminding myself that this is what I've trained for. I pass runners, trying to glide without pushing too hard. The effort, though, makes the cramp worse. I use the flat approaching Newton City Hall to settle down. When I reach 30k at 2:10:24, I am thinking now about perseverance, not goal times.
Past the Johnny Kelley statue, the mile 19 ascent is short and steep, and it forces my stitch out into full bloom. I double over with pain. Then, looking up, I see a medical tent just ahead. The attendants are wonderful, laying me on a cot and helping me work the stitch out. Within 2 minutes I am back on the pavement heading for Center Street, using the flat section to gain some rhythm. I am actually more comfortable now, on the final hill, and celebrate inwardly as we pass Boston College. I see the Prudential and Hancock towers, still miles away, and head into "haunted" mile 22 which includes 2 punishing downhills, trolley tracks and a cemetery. And the 35k clock, which reads 2:34:50.
Winding through Cleveland Circle, we turn onto Beacon Street. Narrow, loud, disorienting. Each step is an effort. I find stronger-looking runners to pace behind, but I can only pick up my own speed so much. I am spent. We cross Washington Street (a sign encourages: "Washington Square - you're almost there!"), then up-down through Coolidge Corner where my family is among the cheering crowd. After Park Drive, climbing the bridge to Kenmore Square is pure reflex. My 40k time is 2:58:32, fully 10 minutes past my goal, but finishing is an obsession.
Passing the post-ballgame crowd in the square, I know that nothing can stop me. Nothing is left, but everything is summoned. I accelerate, running the final mile faster than any of the last nine. Past Massachusetts Ave. and the old Eliot Lounge, the familiar turns onto Hereford Street, then Boylston, the crowds dense and loud and everything a blur. At the finish there is a brief stillness. The satisfaction surfaces, overwhelming any disappointment. My 3:08:40 is not what I wanted, not even my best at Boston, but on this day it is fine, and I am pleased. I congratulate fellow runners and claim my medal. Exhausted, I am now chilled, standing in the windy, dark canyons of the city. I change into warmer clothes and stagger off, happily, to the family meeting area.
Congratulations to all Boston Marathon runners. You did a great job on a tough day. Thanks to all you great spectators.
Andy