The day finally arrived. All the worry about bad weather was gone. It was a glorious day. Granted, it was rather chilly first thing in the morning -- being about 40F. However, the throwaway sweater and fleece pants that I bought, plus the hat (from donating platelets at Inova) worked beautifully for keeping me warm throughout my time waiting to catch the bus all the way up until getting into the corral.
The only thing that didn't work as well as desired were the throwaway gloves with hand warmers. Nothing I do *ever* truly works to keep my hands warm. I have so many different types of gloves that I've used for running, it's ridiculous. Ah, Raynaud's.
I surprisingly met up with a colleague from work -- I knew he would be running the race, but hadn't planned anything. Well, his inexperience (it was his first Boston) had him jump out of the growing crowd (to my eye) waiting to board the buses. He has a shaved head, is short, and very light. And, what jumped out at me was the fact that I was seeing this person with a shaved head wearing a singlet and shorts, and nothing else. No outer layer, no mylar moil blanket. Nada. As I got closer to him and the rest of the crowd, I recognized him. After about a minute of chatting, despite his claim of being ok temperature-wise, I offered him the mylar blanket I had in the pocket of my throwaway sweater. (I had it on me thinking I might have needed that extra bit ahead of the race.) He accepted it, and I can only imagine how bad it would have been for him prior to race time had he not done so, because even with it, he was still shivering a bit.
After we got to Hopkinton and into the Runner's Village, it was close to my first Boston back in 2017 in terms of the vibe, energy, etc. They had more portapotties, and even a sectioned off area for urinals (that line moved really fast). They had the usual big tents (though most people were outside in the sun, staying that much warmer than the tent would afford. While they did have water and Gatorade available, and Maurten was also there providing some of their product, there was nothing else for a food or drink nature. Previously, they had bagels, coffee, Clif bars, Clif shot bloks, Gu -- nothing. I am SO glad that I had decided to stop at the HoJo kitchenette before leaving to prepare a bagel with peanut butter for my arrival at the village. While it's not part of my usual routine before marathons, having a bagel very much *is* part of my routine before Boston and New York.
The big moment came. 9:15am. The announcer (who is a riot, by the way, changing up his rote announcements to make sure neither we nor he gets bored) opened up the gates for Wave 1 to move to the pre-staging area, and then one pair of corrals at a time, tell us to move towards the corrals. Very smooth process. By 9:30 I was walking to corral #8, and by 9:45am I was in place at the front of the corral. After shedding my sweater and fleece pants, it was only a few minutes before the gun went off and corral after corral was released to make our way to the start. I was over the start line just about 5 minutes after the gun went off. And it was great -- it was not crowded at all for me starting in the last corral. At no point did I need to jostle with anyone. Just fly down the initial hill.
The pace band I printed out for myself had a stretch goal time of 3:13:59 on it. Having just aged up the prior week, my qualifying time for New York City is 3:14:00. And despite already having a sufficient time from Mesa back in February with my sub-3, I was looking forward to the possibility of achieving a qualifying time as a 50-year old *in* Boston. Given I've never even gotten a BQ in Boston, it was an ambitious goal.
With all the recent publicity and social media surrounding Spencer (Golden retriever who has been "cheering on" runners for more years than I've been running Boston -- and not once had I ever knowingly seen him before), I was keeping an eagle eye out for him at about Mile 2.5. I saw him, but had I not known where to look, I wouldn't have known it was him. When I got there, the banners he usually has in his mouth (by way of a pole they are on either end of) were on the ground -- so he looked like any other dog along the course, and there are usually quite a few that come out with their humans.
I looked for the family of a friend of mine who had come out once to cheer me on, not knowing if they actually would. (One of them lives near the course, so she usually does come out for some of the time to cheer on the racers, as so many locals do.) While I didn't see them (since I was looking in the prior spot), turns out they *were* cheering me on a little further down the road. While I didn't see or hear them amid the crowd, they saw me "in the zone" around Mile 8.
While my early miles were certainly faster than what my pace band said I should be doing, it wasn't exceedingly fast (about 10-15 seconds "too" fast per mile). I was feeling great, and the weather was ideal for running. After about Mile 3, I shifted my hat a little so that it stayed on my head but exposed my ears so I wouldn't overheat. Around Mile 12, I heard the Scream Tunnel about ½ mile away -- damn, those ladies are LOUD! And when I got there, it was wonderful with the cheering and screaming. And there were a couple of us that simply cupped our ears in the "I can't hear you gesture," whereupon they would take up the challenge and roar even louder. It was great! Gained even more speed on the downhill leading away from Wellesley.
However, a little past half-way through the marathon, I noticed my splits and my cumulative time were slipping. With the Newton Hills still ahead of me, I knew that my stretch goal of sub-3:14 was not going to happen. But I had to stay enough in control if I was going to accomplish my dual goals of finally conquering the Newton Hills and getting a BQ at Boston. What's more, I was starting to feel the twinge of needing to make a pit stop. And not a brief one, either.
Off of my experience in Mesa with going faster than pace down the hills to willingly "give it back" on the uphills, and having not only added inclines to my treadmill workouts for weeks ahead of time but made sure to know basically where they were, one by one, I was jogging (but NOT walking) my way up the hills (slightly increased effort, but not overly much) and declaring them DONE when I reached their peak. I recognized the minor rolling hills that were in between some of the main hills so that I didn't trick myself into thinking the hills were gone sooner than they were. And when I finally summited that last hill, I slammed the metaphorical hammer down and declared Newton -- the bane of my Boston marathon existence -- to be conquered, once and for all! I checked my time, and sure enough, I had given back about 5-6 minutes on those hills. Yep, sub-3:14 was totally out of the picture. But I still had BQ in my sights.
And, yes, the extra energy I expended early in the race, and as much as I wound up using in Newton, likely hampered my efforts in the back 5 miles to some extent. But, in the end, as I got ever closer (and was thankfully able to keep those intermittent twinges at bay), it became increasingly clear that I was going to make it.
Right on Hereford. Left on Boylston. Past Mile 26 (with the sign missing this year). Doff the hat at the memorial (and miss seeing my mom, who I was expecting to be in that area), and cross the finish line. 3:23:20 -- BQ for the first time *at* Boston in five years running it!
The race over, the adventure had not yet finished.
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