The morning-of was pretty uneventful. Logistics went off without a hitch, bus ride was easy, found Team Brookline, had all the right food / fuel, long enough in Hopkinton to get a good stretch and relax, but not too long. The only detail of note was how warm it was. I would guess mid-60s by 11am? Not hot, but not really cool either. But the weather was also going to make for fantastic crowds, so I just made sure to keep hydrating, put on some sunscreen, and roll with it.
I started in the fourth wave at 11:25, but I was in the third corral and I was only 30 yards from the line when we started. Which means that I was actually relatively in the clear less than a half-mile into the race. This was not what I was expecting. The threat of crowding at the start had been one of my biggest concerns. But I also remember making a concerted effort to not get too excited about my unexpected freedom. First mile was 7:11, which was faster than I thought the crowds would let me run, but not faster than my target pace. Mile two was 6:37. We'll get back to this later, but for now we can all agree that this was a little too fast. But then I settled down into 7:00 pace for the next 11 miles. Ironically, the worst stretch was going through downtown Natick, right after mile 10, where it seemed like I caught up with all nine thousand runners from the wave before us.
Mile 10 also happened to be where I started having some doubts. You have a lot of time to do math in your head, and I could tell that I was barely going to get through the first half in under 1:30. And I didn't feel all that great. Nothing specifically was bothering me, but they say the first half is supposed to be easy, and between dodging other runners, stopping and starting for every water station, and probably being too obsessed with my target pace, I could tell that I was exerting way more energy than I wanted to, both mentally and physically. Looking back at my splits, I didn't back off my pace too much. Still went through mile 13 at 1:30:08. But I was already coming to terms with the fact that 3hrs probably wasn't in the cards. And if mile 10 was the first mental slip, then mile 13 was the first physical crack. I "backed down" to 7:15 for the next two miles, but it didn't matter how much I slowed down at this point. My legs were getting tight. I started grabbing every banana in site, but I knew this was going to be too little too late. Just before mile 16, at the top of the hills that lead down into Newton Lower Falls, my right hamstring cramped.
I was stunned. a) I've never had a hamstring cramp while running before. I've had tightness in my calves, but I didn't even know a hamstring cramp was possible. b) I was TEN F'ING MILES from the finish line. I wasn't even at the hard part yet. So... now what? I honestly had no idea what to do. I pulled over to the side and started to stretch, but was that even going to help? Was I going to be able to run anymore? Jog? Was I going to have to walk the last 10 miles? Did I need to go to an aid station? Was I done? A guy running by yelled out "I was there last year buddy! You can do it!" and that's when I realized that I was also in a messed up mental place. My target time was out the window, but whatever, I always knew that was a stretch. This was different problem. I wasn't running anymore. I was standing there, stretching, trying not to make eye contact. I was mortified.
(Quick aside, I started having flashbacks about this two months later, when I was watching, of all things, LeBron's cramp game. Google "Lebron cramp game" if you missed it. Anyways, instead of enjoying a small chuckle at Lebron's expense like most Cleveland natives, I was grimly nodding my head. "Yep, that sucks. And nope, there's nowhere to hide." But I'm sure that won't happen again, right Cleveland?)
I have no idea how long I was bent over at that curb. It felt like forever, but it was probably closer to one or two minutes. I will never forget that stupid spot. But then I started to walk, and after fifty yards I tentatively started jogging again. And to my amazement, my leg didn't immediately seize up. Factoring in the stretching, mile 16 ended up at 9:08. Mile 17 was actually 7:54, but I knew I wasn't going to be able to keep that up. Once my hamstrings quit, my calves and quads were quick to remind me that this was not part of the original deal. I discovered that slowing to a walk was way more cost effective than cramping / stretching again, so for the remaining 10 miles that was the game I played. Jog until the last possible moment before the onset of another cramp, and then walk. On average I probably jogged half a mile, then walked 30 seconds. For 10 miles. Average pace over that stretch was 8:56.
And then it was over. Final time: 3:26:56. Basically a 1:30 front half and 2:00 back half. As I wobbled through the maze of exit chutes, I realized that I wasn't even that winded or dehydrated. My legs were gone, but otherwise I was fine. Grabbed my stuff, and hobbled onto the T at Boylston. (But not before I went down the wrong entrance first, making for an extra trip up and down 20+ steps. Me: "Sorry about that." Legs: "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!") And then spent the next three days in bed.
What happened? I'm still not entirely sure. Yes it was warm, but I wasn't dehydrated. And yes, it was an aggressive pace, but I had easily maintained that same pace for most (but not all) of my 20 mile training run three weeks earlier. If forced to guess, I would blame the second mile.The third most famous blunder in the world is "Never go out too fast in the Boston Marathon." I can't think of a single person who didn't warn me about this for the weeks leading up to the race. So I probably shouldn't have run a 6:40 second mile. Especially when compared to the first couple of miles of the aforementioned 20 mile training run, which I ran at 8 min/mile while warming up, and, well, oops.
But I finished my first marathon. The Boston Marathon. In under 3:30. As almost every single person has reminded me whenever this comes up, that's pretty cool, no matter what the circumstances. People were dropping left and right that day. It was hot. Aid stations were overflowing. As far as sob-stories go, I don't have a particularly good one. And while I talked a big game about trying to run under 3 hrs, I knew that was going to be a stretch (!) and in the end I was never going to care what my time was anyways. As I mentioned before, I don't make race plans, and even when I do I don't keep them. Was I going to be disappointed if I ran 3:05? Or 3:15? Of course not. Can I run faster than 3:26? Probably. Does 3:26 bother me? Not in the least.
So why was I completely depressed? Michelle, a good friend and Boston veteran, kept telling me before the race to make sure I enjoyed myself, yet that was the one thing I clearly forgot. If I didn't care about my time, why was I so obsessed with it? Even going back weeks before the race I was agonizing over whether to wear racing flats or trainers, worried about squeezing every second I could out of my equipment. I caught up to Pete somewhere between the first and second mile, but instead of relaxing and having a few laughs together, I shot past him, hopping curbs and compulsively checking my pace every thirty seconds. (Pete ran a great race, btw. Took 20 minutes off his previous time.) And of course for the last ten miles I was in a shell. Shut down mentally, staring at the road 10 yards ahead of me, avoiding all eye contact. I might as well have been on a treadmill for all I noticed. And this is not how you're supposed to run Boston, or at least not Boston 2014. After 2013, and after a brutal winter, the entire city of Boston turned out on a glorious spring day for a 26 mile block party. And I basically missed it. There are almost too many quotes to pick from, but I'll go with this one: "It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end."
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My dad came up from Maryland to watch the marathon, but there was a wrinkle. He was competing in the CrossFit Open, and he had one more workout to do in the 3rd round. So on Saturday, on the way to pickup my bib, we arranged to go to the Fenway box to complete this last workout before the deadline. When I asked what the workout was, he said three circuits of rowing (easy), double-unders (easy for him), and handstand pushups. After a very long pause:
Me: "Have you ever done handstand pushups before?"
Him: "Not really."
Me: "How many do you have to do?"
Him: "15."
Me: "Total?"
Him: "Each round, God willing."
He ended up grinding out the first set, taking almost 30 minutes to get 15 good reps, with probably another 20 or more no-reps. (Forget the pushups, just getting up on the wall unassisted is brutal.) And then he called it. Was he disappointed? Sure. But on the way back to the airport on Tuesday, I asked if he had plans for the week.
"Work on my handstand pushups."
Fast forward seven months. I was talking to him on the phone the other night. "Not sure if you remember that CrossFit workout, but I can do the pushups now." And then we coordinated where to meet up in Philadelphia for the marathon this weekend. My cousin Rachel said that she didn't know anybody who only ran one marathon, and hopefully by this time tomorrow I will no longer be the exception.