Hello Dead friends,
After a warm and sunny weekend full of fun and anticipation, Marathon Monday
dawned cloudy and cool -- only 41 degrees at 7:30 a.m., after a night of
sleep interrupted by periods of wakefulness and anxiety. Lots of thoughts
about the many things that can go wrong in a marathon. I try to push the
sense of dread of the pain and the long day away and to focus instead on the
positive - the joy of running and of the crowds. It is a constant battle I
will wage all day.
A quick breakfast of oatmeal, banana slices and coffee, then out the door
and we are driving to my club's coach bus. Mike and I are early this year,
having parked one car near the Boston Common, and the other at MIT where the
bus picks us up. On the bus, I see old running friends, including Martin
Duffy, running Boston #37-in-a-row. He is definitely an inspiration to me
and to the newcomers on the bus, full of energy and excitement about running
their first Boston.
I always enjoy the sights and sounds on the ride out to Hopkinton. We cross
over the Mass Ave bridge and see the sailboats dancing near the esplanade,
go past Fenway Park on the left. There are already people standing on the
monster seats at 9:05, ready for the 11:05 marathon day Red Sox start.
There is also a good amount of traffic on the Mass Pike --many yellow school
buses filled with marathon runners and cars heading west after the Easter
weekend.
Our bus pulls into the parking lot at Hopkinton High School and there are
tons of coach buses parked cheek by jowl, end to end, with runners from all
nationalities and teams peering out their windows. It is still gray and
cool and quite breezy. I walk around and enter the "athletes' village"
which is twice as large this year -- divided into "red" and "blue" areas for
the two waves of runners, the 12:00 and 12:30 starts. It is a pretty calm
and pleasant scene, with orderly lines for port-a-potties and powerbars,
bagels, water, coffee and gatorade. I enjoy walking around and looking at
runners but the sound system is really loud. There is both singing and
non-stop talking about where to put your baggage, what time it is, etc. Way
too much noise, and I am feeling chilly. I retreat back to my nice warm
seat on the quiet coach bus, listen to my music on my IPOD, read messages
from deads Sally and Diane M.on my blackberry, and prepare myself for the
effort ahead. "Calm, calm" I tell myself, "just keep going, don't panic,
and don't stop".
At 11:30 the faster runners leave the bus for their noon start and there are
only a few of us left on the bus. The temperature is about 50 degrees F and
it is cloudy and breezy. Everyone is wearing shorts but I make a decision to
wear tights as I know my legs get cold easily and I will be out there a long
time. The other runners on the bus think I am nuts -- that it is going to
be much too warm for shorts, but I gamble on a cool breeze in Boston. It
turns out to be the right decision for me.
I am the last person to leave our bus and the driver says, "You really don't
like the cold, do you?" and I say, "No, I like it warm".
"Well, have a good run, anyway".
"I'll try my best."
After we drop our bags off at the baggage buses, we are herded into Grove
Street and walk en masse between barriers erected to keep runners from
leaving the street and peeing on people's lawns. That's one of the main
reasons we have a two-wave start this year -- Hopkinton residents complained
so much about runners peeing on their grass on the way to the start. So now
we line up only on Main Street, red wave #2, at 12:15, while helicopters
buzz overhead. It is an orderly process considering there are so many
runners in such a tight space and we enter our corrals without much
difficulty.
My corral, #17, has about 95% masters women and we are a quiet group as we
wait for our start. At 12:25, a woman warbles the national anthem in a
high-pitched voice and minutes later, we are walking up the hill and down
the street towards the starting line. We look at the clocks to see how much
time has elapsed when we cross the start, but all the clocks are off. I am
guessing it has been about five minutes since 12:30 as we head down the hill
past the starting line. In all my years running Boston, I have rarely
actually RUN the first half mile (always walked it because of the
congestion) but this time we are actually running. I don't usuallyl like
change but I think I like this two wave start.
At mile one, the clocks read 12:45 and my watch indicates that my first mile
was about 10:00. The sun comes out and the crowds are thick and yelling
encouragement. Everyone around me is running pretty quickly as I try to
rein myself in. I'd like to run about a 10:00-10:30 pace and to walk the
hills but it is hard to walk in the early miles. Feeling like a fish in a
stream that is surging ahead, I go with the flow and don't really walk until
several miles into the race. Of course, it feels easy and smooth in the
early going and everyone is full of enthusiasm cruising along, but I know
what lies ahead so I tuck behind some slower runners and ease up on the
throttle a bit. It feels warm and comfortable with the sun out, the muscles
moving, and the crowds cheering and I feel happy to be part of the marathon
for now. I know that, like the Boston weather, is likely to change...
Every few miles, Adidas has these huge billboards picturing a bib number and
a written comment. As we head through Natick, I see one that I like -- "It
is going to get worse before it gets better. But then it gets much, MUCH
better". The woman next to me points to it and runs over to the sideline to
take a picture of it. I smile. I like to see runners having fun while
running this marathon.
Mile 10 goes by and I am feeling OK. My pace is a little faster than I like
but I let myself enjoy the energy and happiness of everyone around me. My
legs are a little heavy so I walk a bit up a hill and through an aid
station. A woman in a bright orange "Liver Research" jersey has been
running near me and we begin to chat -- she is running her 2nd marathon, 1st
Boston -- it is easier for both of us to keep a steady pace, so we start
working together. She is full of questions, "Where is Wellesley?" and I
tell her, "you will hear the screaming before we get there, soon --around
mile 12." And before long, the green playing fields are on our right and we
can hear the whooping. Lori and I run towards the right side so we can
high-five the women and feed off their energy. This is my favorite part of
the course -- the downhill, the smiling faces, the outstretched palms to
slap, the funny "kiss me" signs -- and I am on a high as we cruise through
the Wellesley half-mile. "I am going to miss this most of all", I say to
myself, "Record this moment", for this is why I love running Boston.
"I wish they could follow us the whole way" I tell Lori, and her eyes are
wide.
"I have never seen anything like that", she marvels, "that was terrific!"
I feel like a tour guide.
I am guessing that my time at the half is about 2:15 and I am happy with
that. My goal is to get in under 5 hours today.
If Wellesley is the highpoint of the first half of the marathon, Newton
Lower Falls and the small hill as you cross over Route 95 is the lowpoint.
It is ugly, quiet, and you are starting to feel the strain of having run 16
miles. For me, it is when my heartrate starts to climb and my breathing
takes more effort. You can actually feel the level of energy of runners
around you start to lag here. "Let's gather ourselves for the effort up the
hills" I tell my new friend, "we have the toughest 5 miles coming now." The
only consolation is that I am so familiar with this part of the course that
it feels like home. I always like to make the big turn at the fire station
up Comm Ave to the first of the Newton hills and to hear the crowds. Lori
and I walk the long hill -- with our quick and long walking strides, we
don't lose that much time given our short choppy running steps -- and we
give our hearts and breathing a break. It is a good strategy. Although
lots of people pass us and spectators beg us to run, we keep walking
steadily. When we crest the hill, we feel OK and pass many people on the
way down. Around mile 18, I am happy to see my friends Helen and Lois and
give them a big smile, telling them, "I am getting too old for this!" They
smile, having known me for many years.
At the next water stop, Lori drops back, saying she is starting to really
struggle. I am sorry to lose her company and try to convince her to come
along with me, but she doesn't, and I go ahead, passing Newton City Hall and
the Johnny Kelly statue on the left. I give it a quick glance and a thumbs
up as I go by. The legs are starting to get heavier and my left knee aches
but my breathing is OK as long as I walk the hills. I find myself looking
forward to them, as the walking breaks are a relief. We pass Centre Street
and mile 20 and I yell at my massage therapist Glenn, whose office is there
and who is actually massaging someone on his table in on the sidelines. I
wish it was me lying on his massage table. "Go Connie!" he screams and I
give him a thumbs up.
I am feeling OK, tired, but OK. T tell myself to just get through
Heartbreak Hill and it is mostly downhill from there, but I also know the
marathon begins at Mile 20...I walk up Heartbreak hill and that takes a long
time walking but there are drums and lots of people yelling encouragement so
I distract myself by counting drum beats. Everytime I hear "Go Hawaii", I
smile and wave and wish I were running but I know I have got to walk here.
It is cool and cloudy and breezy and I want it to be over soon, but we still
have a long way to go. Here is where the marathon demons find you and tell
you you're no good, and you won't make it, but I shut them up by smiling and
telling myself I am going to make it.
Finally, finally, we crest the hill at Mile 21 and the yelling at Boston
College begins. Over the past ten years, BC has really come into its own
with their crowd support, almost rivaling that of Wellesley College. You
really need encouragement here, and the BC crowd has gotten better every
year. I can feel the energy level of the runners increasing again and I
pick up my pace going down the hill, running along the train tracks on
Chestnut Hill Ave and making the left turn onto Beacon Street at Cleveland
Circle. Last 3.5 miles, now, although Beacon Street always seems to
lengthen ahead of you.
The crowds are still pretty thick and there is a slight headwind. Most of
the runners around me are walking now. I chug along, yearning to get to
Mile 23, where Mary Jane should be waiting -- and there she is on the left!
"Hey" I yell, and come to a stop in front of her. "How are you?" "Good,
good", I say, stretching on the blue barrier she is standing behind. I am
not moving. I stretch some more.
"Go and finish the race, then. Why are you standing here?"
"It's painful".
"GET going and I'll see you at home soon!"
"OK, bye." It IS painful but at least much of it is flat or downhill.
My friend Kate should be just after mile 24, where she has waited for me for
many years, and I see the Hawaiian flag she is waving, along with her
friend, Steph. "YES!" we yell at each other, for it was not a sure thing I
would make it here this year.
"You are such an inspiration year after year" she yells as she runs with me.
"It is not getting any easier. I'm getting too old for this", and I shake
my head, grimacing.
"Never mind that. You're HERE. Have fun!"
I take the little Hawaiian flag from her and wave it to the crowd as I run
towards Fenway Park on the right.
Less than 1.5 miles to go and my body hurts. Everywhere. I am running
about a 10:30 pace now and that is a minor miracle for me.
We make the right turn at Kenmore Square and I pass the One Mile to Go Sign.
It's almost over. It won't come soon enough. The streets are lined with
people yelling still as we head down the underpass at Mass Ave for the first
time ever. It is pretty steep downhill but short, and I walk up the steep
hill as we emerge from the shadows and turn right onto Hereford Street. The
sun is shining and I run up the incline, which, as Joe Bator had said, feels
almost flat now, after the short hill of the underpass. Then I take the
final turn onto Boylston Street and am rewarded with my first sight of the
yellow and blue banner at the finish -- there is it! I smile as I run
steadily and painfully towards the finish and Boylston Street is long,
always longer than I expect. The banner feels like it is not getting any
closer but eventually it looms right overhead and I wave my Hawaii flag.
YES. I am there. I search the clock for my time. It reads, "5:12". I
takes me a few seconds to subtract 35 minutes and I figure out my net time
is about 4:37. I never thought I would be happy to run a 4:37 but I am.
That's good today for me, I think, but I don't really care about the time
anymore. I am DONE.
We run over the chip mats with in exhuberance and everyone stops abruptly as
we cross. We are wet, we are cold, we are sore, we are tired, and we are
far back in this Boston pack, but we are here. We've finished.
I think about my fifteen Boston marathons stretching back to 1992 -- some
390+ miles logged in the Boston marathon over all those years. It all went
by so fast. The same feeling of satisfaction when you are done.
And this year, with all my medical woes, I want to paraphrase the head of
the Penguin Brigade, John Bingham:
"It was not that I had the courage to finish, it was that I had to find the
courage to start."
Thanks for coming along for the ride. It's been a good run.
-Connie Chan, not too sore, in a cool and cloudy Chatham, Cape Cod,
Massachusetts