Hi Dead friends,
Well, it's come and gone already...my 13th running of the Boston marathon
and the long-awaited Boston marathon weekend of fun, frolic, and frenzy.
The weekend started with a bang -- on a beautiful, sunny cool day, Saturday,
after several days of rain and clouds. You've already heard about how our
latest DRS couple, Julia and Joe turned their wedding into a media event at
the start line in Hopkinton -- complete with print and TV stories!
But what a neat story. Marathon woman and man have a wedding ceremony on a
sparkling spring day at the starting line of the Boston marathon...bride and
groom met through the Dead Runners society...and ran the Reach the Beach
relay together as one of their first dates...run and race together and both
run faster and faster times...another DRS success.
Here's my report of the wedding: Julia and Joe looked radiant and very
happy at the wedding ceremony...and the reception was a BBQ feast to
remember, complete with music, beer, and good company, all wishing the
fabulous couple a wonderful marathon of life together. And the wedding
goodie bags even included race numbers, race applications, t-shirts, body
lotion and tootsie rolls! This couple knows how to live life and to party.
A big toast and hugs to you, Julia and Joe, on your life together. Have a
wonderful honeymoon in Iceland and I look forward to running many races in
the future with you.
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Saturday afternoon, Mike Sheldon and I went to pick up our numbers at the
expo. To our surprise, the t-shirt was white this year, with a blue BAA
logo and red Boston marathon 2004 lettering on the arm -- they broke with
tradition to have a patriotic theme, I guess. The expo was crowded and had
the usual stuff, with perhaps a few more food samples. Every year I send an
Adidas postcard (their Boston trademark) to my daughter and this year it was
a customized one. You had to wait in line to get your picture taken with a
screen with a Boston background, then type in your name (which is projected
on the screen) and the number Boston this is for you. Then you stand in
front of the screen, they take your picture, and it is printed onto a
postcard for you to send. Mine said something like, "Pain and perspiration
are temporary. Boston is forever. Good luck, Connie Chan, on your 13th
Boston." It was very cool. I did cause a little fight for the next woman
and her husband. When she saw it was my 13th, she told him, 'HA, she's done
more than me. I want to do 13."
"No way," he says, "this is your last one. I'm sick of coming to Boston
every year."
It was *only* her 9th. I told her to keep coming to Boston and to ditch the
husband, after all, what's more important? (just kidding)
-----------------------
Saturday night was the DRS encounter dinner at Big City brewery and although
we had a smaller crowd than usual, we still had about 30-something dead
runners and friends. I brought my friend Mollie, 71, from Hawaii, who had
qualified at the Honolulu marathon in December with a 4:54. She had a great
time trying out a Sam Adams summer lager and talking to many dead runners.
She kept telling me afterwards, "What a nice and friendly group those deads
are." Mollie herself was quite a hit -- everyone was so impressed by her
youthfulness and energy. I sure would love to be running marathons when I
am 71, but few are. The food at Big City was terrific and there was plenty
of it -- Thank you, Robin Cain for organizing a fabulous dinner once again.
It was good to see folks from out of town as well as our local group. AND
Julia and Joe were on the news while we were watching the TV. I think the
announcer called Julia a "runaway bride".
---------------------------
Sunday morning was cool, in the 50s, and sunny again. Another beautiful
spring day. We had our annual DRS fun run along the Charles river and were
lucky to have the company of dead runner Lorrin from Edmonton, Canada join
us (Andy Katz, Tom Ryde, Doug Dodds, Mike Sheldon) on our little jaunt
around the river, complete with stories about the Head of the Charles
regatta, all kinds of Cambridge trivia from Doug, and good spirits all
around.
Running again felt great and we were all wistful about how cool and
refreshing the air felt, how sparkling the water was, and how we dreaded the
heat coming the next day. There was an unreal quality about that --
despite the dire forecasts, it was hard to imagine a hot day coming when it
was very cool all day Sunday.
Our annual Sunday bagel brunch was hosted by Tim and Wendy Smith this year
and it was really fun. Harriet Kang brought her famous smoked salmon lox
from Zabar's in NYC for our Brookline bagels and bialys, and the Smiths put
out a delicious spread of fruit, quiches, juices, coffee, and even all kinds
of nutritional supplements. When I asked if Tim had any glycerol (helps you
to superhydrate), as my bottle at home was empty, some Dead runners
(Harriet, her brother Shelton, Gaye--this means you :-) seemed to think it
was pretty funny as I became obsessed with calling around trying to locate
glycerol on Sunday afternoon. I personally didn't see all the humor myself,
as temperatures were forecast for the high 80s and I figured if there ever
was a time and place for ingesting glycerol before a marathon, this would
be it. Never did find any glycerol that day, though, and had to make do
with the little bit I had at home. Thanks to Tim and Wendy for keeping the
great bagel brunch tradition alive, and welcome back to DRS to Robert Nagle,
the original host of the Nagle bagel brunch.
----------------------------
The rest of Sunday was spent checking the weather reports in hopes that the
forecast had changed (it hadn't) and worrying about the heat the next day.
This year we have endured a long and cold winter and I have worn shorts
running only twice since October. I have not run in weather above 55
degrees since January. Try as I might to do some mental imagery of
persevering during a heat wave, I cannot imagine running the Boston marathon
in 85 degree weather. I just don't know what that would look like, never
having experienced it. All night I sleep fretfully, worrying about holding
myself together enough to get to the finish line.
------------------------------
Monday, April 19, the "race":
In today's Boston Globe, race director Dave McGillivray is quoted as saying,
"In 1976 [when temps were above 90 at the start] that marathon was called
the Run for the Hoses; 2004 has become the Run for the Finish", and I can
state it no better than that. It had come to this. After training all
winter, getting in good shape, and planning to run my 2005 Boston qualifying
time at Boston, it became clear to me that if temperatures were in the 80s
during this marathon, it was over for qualifying for me. The goal was now
to finish, to do as little damage as possible, and to minimize the
discomfort. Oh, and to stay out of the medical tents and to keep from
vomiting. On TV, race personnel asked runners to "lower their
expectations". They were not talking to me, as my expectations could not go
any lower.
Hopkinton was sunny but still cool when we arrived at 9:00 but we still had
three hours to go before gun time. I wandered around the "Athlete's
Village" a little bit -- it was really just runners parked out on the grassy
fields passing the time with constant chatter from the loudspeakers, and
about ten minutes of that was more than enough. On my way out, we talked to
Julia and Joe who were calm and as Joolya would say, "happy happy", and Mike
and I wished them a great race and honeymoon. I can only imagine how
welcome arrival in Iceland will be after today's "marathon inferno".
I walk a few blocks over closer to the starting line and enter the "Hawaii
house" -- an office steps from the starting line. The owner loves Hawaii
and travels there a lot. Since 1996, he has opened his office to runners
form Hawaii and I always go and meet my old teammates from my running club
in Hawaii, bask in their aloha and both lust after and envy their tanned,
good-looking Hawaiian bodies. No matter what runners come each year, they
are always buff and hot, and this year is no let-down. (If you want visual
proof, email me off-line, and I will be glad to email you a .jpg file with
our group picture --cute stuff!). All this aloha is a fun time but all too
soon, we have to drop our bags at the buses and head to the corrals. The
sun is out in a blue sky and it is now very warm, as in bordering on hot.
It is always a bad sign when you are comfortable just standing around in
singlet and shorts waiting to run because you know what is coming next. In
the 16th corral, I am surrounded by middle-aged women and a few older men,
and this year is unlike any other of my Bostons. Instead of sharing our
time goals and being nervous about achieving them, we are praying for our
safe passage, warning each other to be careful, and saying things like, "I
promised my husband I would stop if start to feel dizzy". Expectations are,
indeed, low. I think to myself, this is because we, in this corral, are
older and wiser, and we know better.
The stealth jets fly over, the national anthem is sung, the helicopters
buzz, and the loudspeaker tells us the 108th running of the Boston marathon
has begun. We in corral 16 stand and swelter amid the body heat, the
asphalt, and the blazing sun. But we don't move. We are told it is 83
degrees and we don't doubt it. The speaker, a woman, perhaps Joan Benoit?
is cheerful and positive in her attitude. But we are not lulled or fooled.
We are hot and we want to get it over with, we begin to shout! It is not
until eight minutes have passed that the runners in my corral begins to inch
our way to the starting line -- the very same starting line where two days
ago Julia and Joe were resplendent in their wedding garb. Today there is no
cool breeze nor happy wedding expectations -- today there is only the soft
pounding of running shoes and a collective sigh of relief that we are at
last, at long last, running. It is 12:16, 83 degrees and sunny, and the
13th running of my Boston marathon has begun.
The crowds today are loud and thick. They have been released from the long
cold purgatory of a New England winter and they are basking in the sun. I
warn myself to be careful and to run easily. It has to feel easy or it will
be too fast too soon. We run (I use that term loosely) past hillbilly bands
and large family units eating potato salad and guzzling Bud in the rural
parts of Ashland and into Framingham. It is only 5 miles into the race and
I am not yet hot. Good, good, I think. I am running an easy pace and it is
just slightly slower than my qualifying time pace. Damn this heat -- I feel
trained and fit, and I am running smoothly. If it were any decent weather
for a long run, I am confident I would qualify today. But I know better. I
hear "Disco Inferno" from a loudspeaker and I think, "burn, baby, burn", I
hope it is not me today.
The miles pass quickly as I focus my concentration on running within myself
and not going as fast as I would like. I remember the Crude Run just a
month ago and how I passed these same spots on a 40 degree day and how good
I felt that day. Runners are jockeying for position at every aid station we
reach, trying to grab those 2 glasses of water to drink and pour over
oneself, and I wonder when/if the heat will get to me. At twelve miles, I
am warm, but not yet too hot. I am only slightly off my BQ time. But then
we hit the sunny asphalt of Wellesley and it really starts to heat up along
with the screaming in the distance. "Eric" has been calling my name the
last few minutes and I manage to veer off into the Wellesley woods behind
some kind of tent and my good friend "Eric" pays me a visit. After that
little stop I feel a little better, enough to revel in the glory of the
support of the women of Wellesley, and I thank them for their attention.
This is my favorite part of the Boston marathon and this year is no
different...I long for Wellesley to stretch for miles and miles and take me
down to Boylston Street in one fell swoop.
But that is only my fantasy. Reality comes in the form of the hills, first
the ugly one over Rte 128 and then the Newton fire station turn up the
hills. This year the crowds are the champions, hands down. They are the
friendliest, the largest, the most supportive, and the nicest I have ever
experienced. Boston spectators are famous for being knowledgeable about the
marathon and in this 85 degree debacle, they know that we the runners, need
them, and they don't disappoint. They are cheering, cajoling, pleading,
willing us to keep going, and although I am feeling the heat in my head and
the systemic effects of the heat on my body, I feel compelled to keep
running, to do my best. Because they ask that of me, I am forced to ask
that of myself. Although my time goals are long gone, I give myself the
goal of finishing strong and giving it my best under the conditions.
Besides, I try walking a bit to see if it helps, and walking feels no better
than running, so I may as well give it my all and get it over with.
The Newton hills are a bit of a blur but I keep running slowly and steadily.
Lots of runners are now walking and looking terrible and for the first time
ever in my experience, an ambulance actually drives out ONTO THE COURSE next
to me with its siren blaring and a man yelling for runners to "move to the
right, move to the right", as it passes next to me and stops a little bit up
the road. I can only be grateful that I am feeling OK, hot with heavy legs,
but basically OK, so I continue up up over Heartbreak Hill and past the 21
mile marker. I feel way worse than four weeks ago when I ran the Crude Run
to this point but I can't worry about that now. I try to cruise down the
downhills, and the loud supportive crowds at Boston College cheer me on as
one of the few people in my vicinity who is running. It is about 3 1/2
hours into the race and only about 20% of the competitors around me are
still running. Everyone else is walking or shuffling along in a daze of
heat and exhaustion. Mercifully, the worry and the feeling of another
impending visit from "Eric" finally leaves me at Cleveland Circle and I pick
up the pace heading into mile 23. This is not only the homestretch of the
marathon, but *my* home where I lived and trained for ten years. Aptly
named Beacon Street, I feel renewed and relieved as I make my way to Kenmore
Square and see Dead Runner Doug Dodds on the left where he always stands and
where I greet him in all my Bostons. I give him a big smile and thumbs up
because I know it is only a matter of time before I reach the end and can
chalk it up. But it is not yet done. Somehow, some way, someone has played
a cruel trick and has lengthened the final 1.2 miles. I know, because this
stretch was not this long a week ago when I ran it. So close and yet so
far, as the expanse of Comm Ave looms ahead until I can make the final turn
up Hereford and the left onto Boylston Street where I can see the yellow and
blue finish banner in the distance. The crowds are still loud, thick, and
fabulous -- this late into the marathon. I fall in love with them once
again and savor the .2 miles to the finish and to my reward of stopping. My
head is hot, my legs are leaden, and I am sore all over my shoulders and
back as I look at the clock. My chip (net time) is around 4:18, I think, my
slowest Boston, but only 13 minutes over my qualifying time. It was an
honest effort, worthy of the crowds who elicited it, and worthy of my
friends and the dead runners who supported me along the way. I am not
pleased with the day -- it was brutal, painful, and in its own way,
heartbreaking -- but it was also a finish, and a relatively strong one, at
that. My Boston streak is still alive and I also live to run another day.
Life is good; it was a weekend to remember.
The highlights of this day were the wonderful volunteers, the enthusiastic
crowds, and my fellow runners, all of whom worked together to help 93% of us
finish a tough run in very difficult conditions after a long cold winter.
I salute and thank you and them all.
--Connie Chan in Belmont, Massachusetts, on Wednesday, April 21, where it
would have been a perfect day for running a marathon, with a high of 57,
partly sunny, with light winds