...onto Boylston Street on Monday afternoon.

It was a great Boston weekend, full of sunny skies, smiles, and good food
and drink. Oh yes, and a marathon, too, a traditional footrace from
Hopkinton to Copley Square, their 109th running; my 14th running. Here is a
recap of my weekend:

Saturday, April 16: The expo was packed with running goods and people and
more people. Bought some socks, the Stick, and a year's supply of GU (Just
Plain and Vanilla). Helped Mike Sheldon celebrate his birthday with a beer
and lunch at Bukowski's Tavern across the street. The DRS annual Saturday
night dinner at Big City was lots of fun and games, including fusbol and
billiards. And good brews and food and excellent company, as Dead Runners
tend to be.

Sunday, April 17: Beautiful morning for an easy three mile run around the
Charles River with several NE Deads, Ohio visitors Rita and George, and
other out-of-towners. We also had a a visit from Joan Cook and the little
dogs before we ran. It was cool, clear, and sparkling along the river. The
three easy miles felt great. Too bad the marathon is so much longer.:-b
While performing motherly duties (chauffeur), I missed the J and J bagel
brunch but did get to the Red Sox game that afternoon. That evening, after
a delicious sushi dinner, I packed my running gear and threw myself in bed.
Slept fitfully, as I was concerned -- no, worried -- about the long run
ahead.

Monday, April 19: Woke up bright and early, with the sun shining and the
birds singing, "marathon monday, marathon monday". Decided that a hearty
breakfast was in order, as it was going to be a loooooong day for me.
Washed down some oatmeal, toast, a banana, and a hard boiled egg with
coffee. Enjoyed the ride out to Hopkinton with my running club, as I sat
next to a clubmate who was tallying her Bostons since 1978. She thought it
was #20. In this bus, I felt like a novice with my streak of 13, as we had
two people with 36 and 28 year live Boston streaks. Very cool and very
inspiring.

As the bus headed out on its long drive to the start, I went over my game
plan for the day in my head. I knew I shouldn't even be running a marathon,
as my hyperactive thyroid was still in full flourish. My resting heart
rate, usually about 50-55, was up to 78 this morning, due to the thyroid.
It would not take much to get the heart rate up as I ran, so I planned a 10
minute run/1 minute walk from the start, and to walk the uphills. I figured
I could average 10 -11 minutes a mile and finish under 5:00, and that would
be the best I could hope for. A comfortable finish was the only goal.

Well, I got one out of two -- the finish. Comfortable it was not. Even
before we started, we were already sweltering in the corral for 30 minutes
under a blazing sun at high noon with little breeze. I was in Corral #16
for the second year in a row and this year, we didn't move a foot until at
least eight minutes after the gun went off. It took us 17 minutes to get to
the starting line this year, but once we got there, we were able to run
pretty quickly.

The start of a marathon is always a relief -- to be finally running -- and
to get on our way. I felt good at the start and caught myself believing
that I could run the whole way without walking, but I did take a minute
break at two miles. In a just a little while, though, I began to feel quite
warm and my breathing rate began to quicken, so I was very careful to walk a
minute every ten minutes. It was a new experience for me to be going so
slowly in the Boston marathon. I spent a good amount of time looking around
at the runners and at the crowds. In the back of the pack, runners going at
a 10+ pace are generally not taking it easy, but working hard, and the
crowds are every bit as encouraging to slower runners and walkers as they
are to the faster runners ahead of us. It was gratifying to see that, and
to receive so much encouragement as I slogged along. And runners in the
back are also very friendly and helpful to each other. I enjoyed the
camaraderie.

At about 4 miles, I spotted a "carpe viam" singlet and ran up to a DRS man
with brown hair. "Hi Dead Runner", I said, "who are you?" But he was
moving quickly and I couldn't hear his reply. Who were you, mystery Dead
Runner, if you are reading this?

By the time we entered Framingham and the train station area around mile 7,
I was hot, hot, hot and having trouble breathing easily. I could not
believe how overheated I felt already, even running at a 10:00 pace and
taking walking breaks. My head felt like it was steaming. But there was
nothing to do except to keep moving forward at a dogged pace. I knew my
goal was to finish and I did not let myself even consider for a moment
stopping and dropping out.

I am not fond of this part of the course (up the hill at the Wendy's on the
left), around 8 miles, and I longed to reach Wellesley and the tunnel of
sound. I tried to amuse myself by looking at the crowd and talking to
runners around me, but it was difficult to enjoy this section. Why am I
doing this? I start wondering if this streak is worth my trouble today.
The little demons who can come and bedevil you in marathons were circling
around me, taunting me with how bad I felt no matter how slow I was going.
It took all my energy to hold them at bay, but I got some encouragement from
Dead runner Sam Levitin at about 12 miles and that helped me to focus again.
Thanks, Sam. Once I reached the Wellesley women, I was able to grab and
hurl the little demons out of sight along the blissful shade of the
Wellesley pine trees and the screaming masses. This is my favorite and
fastest mile of the day -- downhill, high-fiving the women, and feeding off
their energy. Wow. Maybe it *was* worth running today, even in this heat
and in my woeful medical condition.

There is a slight letdown after the tunnel of sound as you head towards
Wellesley center, and I struggled a bit, walking and pouring water on
myself. My legs were starting to feel heavy and my calves tightening quite
a bit. Then my arms felt tingly and I began to worry about heat problems.
I go through the half in about 2:32 and I think to myself, "my chip time
must be about 2:20 (it turns out it was 2:15); that's OK, I can make it
under 5 hours.

Soon, I find myself not caring about the time, not whatsoever, as I am
working hard on moving forward, whether running slowly, or walking the
hills. I do feel I am rushing, as this is not fun or comfortable, and I want
to get there so I can stop. More than anything, I would like to stop. But
there is still a long, long way to go. I run the long downhill through
Newton lower falls and my breathing is fine as long as it goes downhill.
Once we hit the ugly Route 128 overpass, I feel like I am baking and my head
is going to explode, I am so hot. Calming myself as we pass Newton
Wellesley Hospital with memories of blasting through here in my first Boston
en route to my PR in 1992, I try to remember how fortunate I am to be here
at all today. Those thoughts help me make the turn onto Comm Ave at the
firehouse, even as I walk, pumping my arms, up the hills and then running
the flats. My stride is short and my legs feel like lead, but I keep
jogging when I can catch my breath and walking when I cannot. The crowds
are great here, full of encouragement and there are drums and bell ringers.
I hate that I am walking in front of so many people, but I have no choice.
I have to run/walk/run/walk and I know I will eventually make it to the top
of Heartbreak Hill and mile 21. And somehow, I do, I get there after an
eternity. Only five more miles. I think "this is good, I will make it
now", but it is slow and it is painful. My feet hurt, my legs are dead, and
I am pretty much out of breath the whole time I am running. Somewhere
around 22 miles, I see the clock and it reads "4:03", and I think, "I ran
that time for a whole marathon less than 5 months ago". But now I still
have four freakin' miles to go! I am only at the top of the Cleveland
Circle reservoir. I feel discouraged but I don't know what else to do but
to keep moving. I think about quitting marathons and do find some odd
satisfaction having those thoughts.

As I jog down Chestnut Hill avenue and make the turn onto Beacon Street, I
am desperate for this to be over and to throw myself into the reservoir of
clear blue water on the right. Not much more, I tell myself, and I know
this part of the course very well, so I take some small comfort in that.
But it still takes a long, long time, and I want to hide when I walk because
it feels embarrassing to have the crowd see me walk. So I try to keep
jogging slowly and am able to do that except on the uphills. All around me,
runners are shuffling along or walking, and we give each other small words
of encouragement as we pass, "keep it up", "hang in there", "we're going to
make it", and I am filled with love for our running community and for the
many spectators who are still here, at 4:30, cheering us on. To my surprise
and delight, the crowds are just as thick and as vocal when I go through
Coolidge Corner (mile 24), and near Fenway Park (mile 25) this late, as when
I have gone through an hour earlier in years past. At Coolidge Corner, I
hear my name and see Dead Runner Roz Switalski on my right, waving and
smiling. I wave and am happy to see her and then I head down on the small
stretch before Park Drive, looking forward to reaching 25 miles.

As I struggle up the little bridge over the turnpike heading towards Kenmore
Square, I spot Doug Dodds in his usual and familiar location, and I wave to
him. "It's a misery", I say, as I pass him, and he looks at his watch at
my slow time. But then I say, "But a finish is a finish", as I slog on
towards the final mile. The crowds are still thick and loud here and I
smile and wave a bit when they say, "Go Hawaii", but I just want to be done
now. Since it is the last mile, I run the whole way, very slowly to keep my
breathing smooth, and take the last little hill up Hereford Street. When we
turn onto Boylston Street, the finish banner seems very far away and I make
no progress for what seems like many minutes, as it does not get closer. My
legs are cramping and my arms hurt, my shoulders ache, and my feet are sore.
'Keep moving, you'll get there", I tell myself. About two hundred yards
before the finish line, I see Martin Duffy, a fellow CSU club member who is
finishing his 36th consecutive Boston despite injuries himself. On impulse,
I run over to him, take his hand, and raise it up high as we approach the
finish. "You did it, Martin!". I am so happy and proud for him. "Hi
Connie", he smiles, "take it in, go ahead", and he gives me a small push.
I muster up a tiny burst of turning over my legs faster and finally,
finally, reach the red mats and the finish line. As I look up at the clock,
I am glad to get under 5 hours but even more glad to have finished yet
another Boston. This was my slowest Boston by far, and a PW through 31
marathons. It was no fun run, either; no far from it, but it was one of my
hardest efforts, and I feel like I have stolen a finish from the jaws of a
did-not-start or a DNF.

Boston Marathon weekend was one of pure joy for me. This was my first
Boston Marathon, 19th marathon overall, and something I never dreamed
I'd be able to do. I want to begin my report with a big thanks to Joe
and Julia for hosting the bagel brunch on Sunday. What a delightful
pair! It was great meeting everybody!

One of the things I really looked forward to was going to the expo and
purchasing one of the official jackets. For years I'd seen people at
races with these jackets and it sort of annoyed me, people parading
around the fact that they were fast enough to run Boston. So after I
qualified last June at Grandma's Marathon I decided I would buy "one of
those obnoxious jackets", and so I did! And let me say it's a mighty
fine jacket too!

As I walked around town before the race, I could not believe I was
actually going to run the Boston Marathon! I was so excited! Sunday
night as I lay in my bed, I thought of the marathon that got me here. I
saw myself running strongly along Lake Superior, determined,
exhilarated. Having the marathon run of my life, 3:42. It's a very sweet
memory and made me realize just how far I've come.

Marathon Monday! It's here! The ride to Hopkinton was great; the bus was
lively with laughter and conversation. I sat next to a young woman who
said this was just her second marathon, having qualified in her first.
Throughout the whole weekend I kept meeting people like this. I
alternately felt a little foolish telling people it took me 10 years to
get here (heck, a few years ago I couldn't even run 4 hours) and on the
other hand a bit sad for them. Do they know what it is like to toil in
the trenches so long to finally, unexpectedly break free? There is great
satisfaction in having reached something that seemed so unattainable.
Okay, maybe I'm a little envious!

The bus arrived in Hopkinton at 8:00 am. Everybody seemed excited to
finally be here in Athlete's Village. Now, what to do for four hours?
Talk to lots of runners! The main question of the morning was, "So,
which marathon was your qualifier?" It was so fun to hear others'
experiences at their qualifying marathons. Also fun was the encouraging
sendoff by 1980 marathon winner Jacqueline Garreau and then three-time
champion Uta Pippig.

Just before high noon the topic of conversation in the porta potty line
was the weather. Just standing there, my back felt like it was on fire.
There seemed to be a cooling breeze, but the sun was intense. Everybody
kept saying, "Well, it's better than last year". I took my place in
corral #13. Before I knew it, we were off (after 12 minutes, that is).
Woo hoo!

My main goal at my first Boston was to take it slow and enjoy every bit
of it. I hoped for a 3:55 and felt it was doable. The early miles
clicked off very slow and easy. I remembered what Joe said; don't go out
too fast in the first half, save something for the hills. Things were
going along well, until somewhere before mile 10. Then I started to feel
like my breathing was becoming labored. Uh oh. It's too early for this,
I'm dehydrated.

We passed through all of the towns I had heard about: Ashland,
Framingham, Natick, and then Wellesley. I had been looking forward to
the halfway point for a long time, I couldn't wait to hear the famous
"women of Wellesley". They did not disappoint with their roars of
encouragement. By the time I passed the halfway point I was starting to
think about the hills. I had seen them on a Boston business trip last
fall, so I had some idea of what I was in for. But it wasn't the hills I
should have been worried about, it was the downhill! I love downhill
running, but after awhile, my quads and IT band had had enough! My "bad"
IT band (that never gives me trouble anymore) started aching and the
constant pounding was bugging my quads. After mile 15 I got surly and
thought, "This whole damn course is downhill!" I actually was looking
forward to some uphill so I could use different muscles. I still felt
thirsty all the time, so I started drinking a cup of Gatorade and a cup
of water at each stop, also trying to stretch my legs. My modest goal
time was quickly going out the window.

Okay, hills, bring 'em on! Here we go, the first hill past the fire
station, which was tough. I managed to make it up at a snail's pace.
Only three more to go! The best was yet to come. Yup, there it was in
all its glory, Heartbreak Hill. Fortified with fluid and GU, I started
my trek up arguably the most famous and mythic hill in all of
marathoning. I kept going up and up, passing a walker here and there.
Yes! The worst is over! But then, more downhill. Blecch! Enough already!


The crowds were very encouraging and especially so when I found myself
running around Wonder Woman. Yes, that's right. Some woman completely
dressed as Wonder Woman was running the Boston Marathon. She had the
full outfit on, and would twirl her lasso every time people cheered for
her. I'm pretty sure she beat me too. But then again, she is Wonder
Woman.

That little overpass before Kenmore Square was filled with encouraging
spectators, many runners around me were losing their will and were
walking. I still had energy, so I did something I've never done before.
As I was going up the overpass I waved my hands over my head and clapped
them to get the spectators even more fired up, and they responded in
loud, boisterous cheers. And then--aah, the Citgo sign! Awesome! I had
seen it so many times on TV. Just one more mile!

Running mile 25 I realize it's just a right turn onto Hereford and then
Boylston and then the finish! Enjoy this! It's the Boston Marathon! On
Hereford people were hanging out of the window of the fire station and
standing 10 deep on the sidewalk. As I turned left down Boylston I see
the blue and yellow FINISH banner. Amazing! The crowds in the stands on
both sides of the street were cheering wildly and I just took every
minute of it in. Finally, I crossed. I just finished the 109th Boston
Marathon!

I couldn't believe the spectators afterward. It seemed like every third
person that saw me walking around in my Mylar blanket congratulated me.
The people of this city are amazing. My day was documented at
MarathonFoto:
http://www.marathonfoto.com/order_assigned_photos.cfm?BFI=jqn8nll42r&OID
=12902005S1&BibNumber=13677&CustomerNumber=Z17027&Currency=USD&Language=
en

Despite my earlier projected finish of 3:57, I didn't finish until 4:10.
True, I had a blast and wasn't trying to run hard, but I wish I would've
run faster. I know I have better in me. There's a 3:40 in these legs,
I'm sure of it! Pretty sure never on this course, but somewhere!