Saturday morning, it's up at 4:30 (no big deal for Dan, big deal for Debbie)
into the car and onto the plane. We arrive in Providence around mid-day. Our
hosts in New Bedford, Mass are our old friends Brian and Eileen Peacock.
They have lunch ready and waiting. Brian and I go back to the airport to
pick up three of his friends (Veronica, Michelle and Allison) from Houston.
These three are lots of fun and are keen to run the race for the second
time. When we all get back, we go for a run along the cool New Bedford
waterfront. That sunny, cool weather was something that we hope for for
Monday. When evening rolls around, Eileen and Brian play dinner host/hostess
for all of us, along with a few local New Bedford runners. It seems that
*everyone* is hoping for a cool Monday. All the others (except me) will be
on a special New Bedford Track Club bus to the start and finish.
I had studied Julia's Boston parking information and decided to drive to the
Quincy Adams parking garage and take the T red line the rest of the way in
to Boston. This works out very well, since we get to avoid high parking
prices, the hassle of finding a place, and of course the Boston traffic.
Because of our successful dry run on Sunday, I decide that this will work
well for us on race day Monday as well.
We stop at the expo for an hour or so. I wanted to get in early before it
got too crowded. But it's crowded already. I pick up my number. I see lots
of old friends from all over, talk with Hal Higdon and Rich Benyo in the M&B
booth, and buy the MyMarathon DVD after recording a message that will go
onto my recording. I do this with some trepidation - what if I have a really
bad day, and I've spent $55 to watch myself falling flat on my face? On the
other hand, maybe this will help me to focus in order to not let such a
thing happen. I want to stay longer and see more at the expo, but we need to
head over to Joe and Julia's.
The walk to their place doesn't seem as long as it did a couple years ago.
And last time the entrance looked different. We find out that all this is
because they moved. It's really good to see everyone there. And it's really
really good to eat that wonderful food! I almost don't want to bother with
the bagels (even though this is billed as a "bagel brunch"). Julia makes her
wonderful buns, unbelievable french toast, delectable crepes, and gobs of
good other stuff. Even though we talk with these great new and old dead
friends, we don't find our Ohio buddies Rita and George. Just as we're
leaving, Rita calls Julia - they are slightly lost. As Julia talks them in,
Debbie and I walk towards their location so that we can also guide them. At
least we all get to talk a bit as we meet on the street corner.
As our busy day continues, Debbie and I walk back downtown to meet our
friends Dave and Jill, who're staying at the Westin. We all take the T to
the North End, walk around a bit, stop for a tour at Paul Revere's house,
and then eat dinner at Artu's, one of the many Italian restaurants in the
area. After dinner, it's a bit more walking - this time along the Harbor.
Boston is a wonderful city. Saturday night yet another runner shows up to
stay at Brian and Eilleen's - Martha from Michigan. They have a big old
house, but, fortunately or unfortunately, it's now filled to the brim with
runners.
Monday, it's up at 4:15 (no big deal for Dan; big deal for Debbie), into the
car, over to Quincy Market garage, onto the red line, transfer to the orange
line, up to Dave and Jill's room, over to buy some breakfast, over to and
across Boston Common, and onto the runners bus to Hopkinton. Lots o
Logistics. Debbie and Jill will spend the day together and watch the race.
Dave and I will spend the morning together, but at some point, he'll
probably be running faster than I am. To save time we had brought our
breakfast onto the bus. Bad idea. Challenge to any takers: try having two
guys sitting next to each other in the very narrow seats of a *very* rocky
riding school bus, eating oatmeal with separate containers of milk, raisins
and brown sugar. For us there are only a few laughable spills this day.
Luckily we finished by the time the guy in back of us started drinking an
entire jar of strong-smelling pickle juice. "I do this before all my
marathons. It really works!" he says, while Dave is about to lose his
oatmeal.
At the Athletes Village Dave and I break out the folding chairs he had
bought for $5.99 at Walgreens, and sit in the sun. Probably a bad idea (we
should be keeping cool in the shade), but it feels nice. We take turns
waiting in the 45-minute porta-john lines. I thought they were going to get
more this year - sure don't seem like it. We listen to the entertainment.
At 11AM it's time to head down to the start area. We decide to take our
chairs to use them in the corral. Should be pretty unique. Instead, we
decide to drop them in the town of Hopkinton for anyone who needs them. We
did this next to some guys with similar chairs who may have been doing the
same thing.
During the national anthem there's a military flyover. Cool.
Too bad the race wasn't.
Dave and I start together, but after about 4 miles of 7 minute miles, I find
I'm laboring harder than I should be. Is it the heat? I tell Dave good luck
- I'm going to ease up a bit. My pace does ease up, but my perception of the
effort does not. I pass half-way in 1:34:30 or so. Not bad at all, and if I
could do the second half just as fast, the day would be a great success. But
with almost every mile almost invariably slower than the previous one,
things don't look quite so rosy.
Although my pitiful little brain is doing a pretty good job at the math
(let's see - if I do 7:30's the rest of the way, I can still do 3:12,
followed 2 miles later by, let's see - if I do 8 minute miles the rest of
the way, I can still do 3:17, and so on), the rest of my body is having
nothing of it. Yes, the heat bothers me - the 71 or so degrees feels like
about 85 with that relentless sun beating down. But something else is wrong
too. Each and every footfall seems to reverberate pain throughout my body.
No single place, just everywhere. Everything hurts.
Many, if not most of my Boston Marathons have gone this way, at least to
some extent. I have usually been able say to myself, "ok, it's not going to
be a fast time, but just enjoy the experience of running Boston". And it
usually works. I don't run fast at Boston, but I thoroughly enjoy the
experience. I try to do it for this race. It *does not* work this time. Not
only am I suffering with every step, I am not finding any enjoyment in the
crowds, the scenery, or the experience in general.
Debbie and Jill spectate at the 26-mile mark, and watch all the drama that
occurs at that point in the Boston Marathon. Unfortunately this includes a
guy losing his lunch all without breaking his stride. Probably the guy with
the pickle juice. As planned, they go up the the room at 3:30 whether or not
they saw Dave and I. They had seen Dave, but figured they had missed me
going by. I cross the finish line in 3:34 gun time, 3:32 chip time, cursing
myself for buying that stupid DVD for such a lousy performance and wondering
how I could've missed Debbie. I had passed the 26-mile mark at 3:31 PM -
they had probably just turned to head back.
At least the pain of running is over. Wish I knew what went wrong, other
than the heat. Or maybe it was *only* the heat.
It is so very nice to be able to take a shower in Dave and Jill's room after
the run. Otherwise the trip back to New Bedford would've been miserable. As
we all arrive back at Brian and Eilleen's, it's party time again. It turns
out that just about everyone ran slower than expected. Misery loves company.
Martha had even wound up in the medical tent and had an IV (almost as good
as drugs - an instant cure for her hydration).
Today it was up at 3:15 (big deal for Dan, bigger deal for Debbie) for the
trip home. It's good to relax.
But Boston is tough. As wonderful as the weekend was, I'll think twice about
running here again.