Runners and friends,

A friend, describing yesterday's 108^th Boston Marathon, remarked that we must have done something to anger the marathon gods this year. It sure looked that way, as the temperature rocketed upward to the mid-80s, morning clouds giving way to a harsh, unrelenting sun. This sandwiched between two days of moderate temps in the 60s: go figure. Race officials and coaches warned of dangerous conditions, and reminded participants to hydrate fully. By 11am, the aroma of sun block wafted over Hopkinton. The delightful memory of my friends Joe and Julia's wedding at the starting line Saturday was, for a while, obscured by the job at hand.

Meanwhile, a marathon of trials was already beginning. For the first time in memory, busses to the start failed to shuttle all the runners to Hopkinton. After a tragicomedy of errors, MBTA busses finally got them to their corrals with minutes to spare. On the other end, some runners planning quick getaways based on their usual finishing times would miss flights at Logan Airport. In between, medical tents and ambulances would have a busy day. Thankfully, Belmont Springs and Gatorade provided plenty of fluids for the race.

While the weather did not stop most of the 20,344 runners, it surely slowed all of them. From the very start, the watchwords were go out slow, and take it easy. I've had trouble doing this at Boston every year regardless of weather so I was keen to finally run a consistent pace. I relied on my heart rate as much as my watch. Downhill through the first 6 miles (6:52, 7:00, 7:01, 7:05, 7:14, 7:07), I kept telling myself good job; slow down after each mile, maintaining my ticker at about 84% of maximum rate. But all of us were already laboring heavily. In Ashland, the Entering Brookline sign drew fewer chuckles than usual, and there was less chatter among runners. A sign showed that the Yankees were up, 3-1 over the Sox, and this sparked a brief conversation with two friendly New Yorkers nearby. At each water stop I grabbed two cups, drinking a gulp and pouring the rest over my head and neck.

Through Framingham (7:09, 7:16, 7:25) and Natick (7:11, 7:12), wise runners measure the spring in their legs as an indicator of strength remaining, and mine were feeling pretty good. Hoards of spectators urged us on, sometimes by truth (you can do it!) and sometimes by lies (you look great!), but they were terrific. Approaching Wellesley (7:09, 7:18, 7:18), we could already hear the incredible siren sound. Closer, the girls seemed even louder than past years, and I soaked up some of their energy for the coming miles. In Wellesley Center, where my half marathon split was just under 1:34:00; I felt I was still fresh enough to begin the real work of this race. More good news: we were told that the Sox had tied the game.

Newton brings the famous hills. First the ugly, difficult hill over Route 128 in Lower Falls, followed by two miles of flats (7:29, 7:27, 7:39) approaching my favorite spot on this legendary route: the fire station, and the turn onto Commonwealth Avenue. The station blasts energetic music, the encouragement of huge crowds carries weary competitors up and over this famous battlefield. By now my patience was paying off. I felt tired (heart rate climbing to 88-90%) but steady, and passed runners throughout the inclines (7:42, 7:29, 7:42, 7:29, 7:58, 7:49) culminating at Boston College, 21 miles. Here was our first view of Boston: the glittering Hancock tower, the familiar Citgo sign, all appearing so close and yet still miles off. There is the haunted mile (mile 22, 7:21), where more hopes are dashed then on any other section of the course. There's a lonely feeling to Beacon Street in Brookline, where exhausted runners struggle to stay focused through Brookline's villages of Washington Square and Coolidge Corner (where friends, and my family, were waiting and loud!) (7:22, 7:19), then Saint Mary's Square and the final hill into Kenmore Square (7:26). The Sox game was over and the fans had good news: a 9^th inning rally gave us the win.

On through the final mile (7:15), and the penultimate challenge, the turns onto Hereford Street and Boylston Street, then the final steps (1:46) to the finish. 3:12:24 was not the time I had hoped as I trained and raced through our long, bitter cold winter. But on this brutal day, I was grateful to have finished as I did and was very pleased. As we took our medals and post-race fluids, runners congratulated one another on surviving a tough battle.

Congratulations to all finishers. They will be easier after this one!

Best regards,

Andy

A humorous and grateful postscript: I walked from the finsh to North Station and the commuter train home. Unfortunately, my official BAA gear bag, just as weary as I, exploded. The folks at Hiltons Tent City bailed me out of this small disaster, giving me a stuffsack along with kudos for my marathon finish. Thanks, guys!

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