Boston Marathon Weekend 2019

The short version posted from my Instagram:

Boston, you are unlike any other. 🦄
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Every part of this weekend is so special. Picking up your number feels momentous. The people walking around Boston in their jackets from years past is captivating. Riding on a school bus to Hopkinton, holding your pee and trying not to sandbag your race is nerve-wracking. Sitting in the Athlete's Village amongst 20,000+ runners about to embark on the same journey is electrifying. 💙
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The half mile walk to start feels like the last day of school and the first day of a new job. The minutes waiting in the corral stretch for eternity and yet, go by way too fast. 💛
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The gun goes off. Thousands burst onto the street, hoping it is their day. We race the steep downhills to Ashland. We high-five the swollen crowds in Framingham. We settle into race mode in Natick. The Wellesley girls taunt us with their enthusiasm. The Newton hills challenge our spirit. The Boston College kids revive our hearts. 💙
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As we navigate the final miles of the streets of Boston, the crowds cheer unwaveringly. Shutting them out is impossible. When you think it can't get any louder, you make the right turn on Hereford and the left on Boylston. You. Have. Arrived. 38 marathons later (including 5 Bostons), I am humbled to be a finisher.

The longer version:

Boston, Boston, Boston. What to say? Chances are, if you are reading this, you know me and you know the outcome anyway. But if you want all the juicy details of what was swirling around in my head (or at least that I can recall), it's time to dig in.

I last left off with the story of running 70+ miles over crazy terrain, completing the Georgia Death Race on March 30th. Recovery was B-R-U-T-A-L. Large in part because I developed food poisoning of some variety the Monday after the race and couldn't eat anything for nearly 3 days. I should have been getting plenty of sleep and consuming calories and I couldn't do either. Anyone who knows me well knows I am always warm and I was wearing 3 jackets at work Monday afternoon! By the time the weekend rolled around, I was still feeling the lack of energy, but I had signed up to volunteer at Umstead 100 and made the 6-hour trek to Raleigh.

Midway through last week, I finally was feeling like me again and went out for a few short runs per my coach to get the legs moving again. Just some easy 3 milers, but it felt good to get the legs moving again!

Adam and I flew to Boston on Friday morning, hit up the expo Friday afternoon, and were zombies by the time Brad arrived at our Airbnb that night. I had the B.A.A. 5k in the morning, but had signed up as something to do and well, truth be told, I love the extra Boston swag.

Brad and I jogged a mile or so to and around Boston Common. It started raining a bit heavier so we took refuge under an awning for about 20 minutes before I lined up in my corral. I stood in the 7:00-7:59 pace area, without really thinking too much about my race strategy. The first mile was the usual dodge-the-walkers game and while it was kind of annoying, I was actually okay with being forced to just chill for a bit. I was able to get into a comfy pace in the second mile and once we reached Boylston, I was ready to lay on the gas for the final mile. Splits: 8:19, 7:18, 6:19, last 0.2 (cause of the weaving) was at a 5:52 pace.

Brad and I then went walked back to the Airbnb so he could get ready for the expo and I could relax a bit with Adam. We then met back up to go the Red Sox game and enjoyed seats right above the bullpen. The batting coach even tossed us a couple of baseballs! Though the home team lost, we still had a fun time and I enjoyed a chance to be off my feet.

Photo cred: Brad

For dinner, we met up with Ken and Glenn at the Five Horses Tavern for a little Loopster meet and greet.

Photo cred: Adam

Sunday was my birthday, but I enjoyed such a low-key day last year the day before the race that I really wanted to duplicate the calm again. We went to brunch near Boylston and then headed back to our place for the Masters Tournament and naps. I got a solid 2 hour nap and then went out to grab ingredients to make a pasta dinner at our place. Eating in our little apartment with a great friend and Adam was the perfect birthday evening and the perfect pre-race meal.

Photo cred: Brad

I laid out my flat girl, read a little bit, and slept like a champ!

Brad and I headed out just after 7 a.m. and the sky OPENED UP. We were wearing ponchos, but it was raining so hard it was comical. We just laughed and stomped through the puddles as we made our way to Starbucks (pitstop #1), bag check (pitstop #2), and finally got onto a bus to Hopkinton.

Sharing the bus ride with a friend was great and we talked about anything and everything on our way to the Athlete's Village. I was hoping to find Stephen when we got off so I suggested we beeline to our meeting spot when we got off the bus. However, the first wave was leaving by the time we arrived so we missed him. However, we got to see Ken for a minute before we hopped in the porta-potty line.

It was time for me to leave shortly thereafter so Brad and I said our good lucks and I made the half mile walk to the corral by myself. Luckily, Ken and I were in the same corral and he spotted me so we stood shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting for the gun to go off.

I really had zero idea as to how my body would react. I've run ultras, I've run marathons. But I've never run arguably one of my hardest races ever 2 weeks before running a marathon in which everyone is tracking me. I had nothing to lose by going fast - I already had a BQ for 2020 and if I blew up, I was confident that I would just walk it in, ultra-style, and wear that medal proudly after running for 18 hours just 2 weeks prior. As Ken said, I was playing with house money.

My coach suggested I start with 8:15-8:45 pace and I thought he knew me well enough to know that I'd translate that to 7:45-8:00 pace. When the gun went off, I resolved to just try to run by feel as much as possible and really just not look at my watch except at when it beeped for a mile. From the gun, I felt good. Unreasonably good. My legs had pop. My heart was happy. I was really, truly, authentically happy to be there.

I looked down at the first mile and saw it was too fast for either plan, but I was so relaxed, I just stuck with what felt good and decided to see what would happen. The miles ticked off as we cruised through Ashland and I knew I was racing, but I also felt arguably the best I had since the Jacksonville Marathon in 2017. Everything felt controlled.

As I rolled into Framingham, I remembered that if my day was going to fall apart later, I was at least going to make it fun. I high-fived the crap out of so many hands that I must have run with a cheesy grin for at least a few miles. I searched out the smallest little hands. The ones attached to shy little girls. I specifically remember seeing an older man's hand (before high-fiving it) that was caked in grime, seeing his tattered jacket, and thinking how it incredible it was that the Boston spectators spanned all walks of life.

The day warmed up quickly and I took water at every stop, dumping some into my mouth and some over my head. I read a book more recently about the physiological effects of splashing water on your face (lowering your heart rate) and dumped a bit in hand before throwing it on my face. I got a little overzealous at one point and doused myself good enough to blow out one of my earbuds. I stayed on track with my nutrition the entire race, consuming a GU Roctane every 4 miles through mile 20.

Last year, the wheels started to fall off in the second half with my boot to Boston race and I was bracing myself to feel the energy evaporate. But my legs felt strong and my mental game was stronger. I remember glancing at my watch around the hour and a half mark and thought, if I can run for 18+ hours 2 weeks ago, I sure as hell can push it for 2 more hours.

So I pushed it into Wellesley, past the screaming wall of girls shaking their posters wildly and pursing their lips for kisses. I high-fived their extended hands and smiled at their reckless enthusiasm.

The sun crept out behind the clouds as I made my way through the last sweet downhill before reaching Newton. I love and hate mile 15. The grade is just perfect enough to feel fast without ruining your quads, but I knew the climbs were awaiting me on the other side.

I attacked the first of the four Newton hills with fervor, picking runners off and as I made my way to the top. A few of them would catch me on the downs, but I’ll admit I felt a bit smug thinking about all the elevation I had tackled during GDR.

The second hill always feels the hardest and according to the elevation map, it is certainly the steepest. I knew I’d be rewarded with a nice bit of down afterwards so I held on until cresting the top. It was somewhere in this section that I somehow spotted Ken running not too far ahead of me. I knew his goal was 3:15 and I had been running pretty close to that myself so it wasn’t too surprising to see him given that we started in the same corral. He was moving well and I gave him a fist bump after following near him for about half a mile.

As I made my way to the third Newton hill and finally, Heartbreak Hill, I was still kind of in awe that I was still feeling reasonably okay. I was warm and definitely feeling the 19 or so miles on my legs, but I was still pushing. I didn’t look at my watch for a few miles and tried to run by feel. Good, bad, or otherwise, running 38 marathons has given me a good gauge of what I’m capable of in the final 10k.

Once I reached the roaring crowds of drunk Boston College kids, I allowed myself to do a bit of runner math. If I stayed on pace, I could stay under 3:20. The pain cave was trying to close in on me. My music sputtered and died and the crowd noise grew overwhelming. I tried to block out their deafening cheers, but they were relentless and the weight of their screams inched me in mile by mile.

I caught a glimpse of the Citgo sign and inwardly groaned as it looked still so far away. I hit the 40k mat and though so close to the finish, I desperately wanted water. I took the final cup at mile 25 and trudged up the hill. I tried to keep pace with the few runners who were still moving strong, staying far to the right and as much in the shade as possible. I flashed a smile for the Citgo sign photographers, relieved that there was just over a mile to go and it was going to be a sub-3:20 day.

As the course connected to the 5k route, I shouted a loud and lonely woo! inside the tunnel, a nod to myself to remember to keep it fun even when it gets hard as hell. Making the right on Hereford is arguably as good as the finish for me because I knew Adam would be waiting at the top. I started searching madly as the crowd along Boylston came into view.

When I heard him shout my name, I immediately spotted him and threw my hands in the air. I beelined directly to the side and gave him a quick kiss, my heart full and the finish line in sight.

I took off down Boylston, soaking in the cheers.

A runner who had collapsed had found her legs again and the crowd erupted as she started moving forward. I pushed as hard as I could, finding that final gear as I cruised through the final meters.

I. Was. Back. 3:18:28.

A few steps after the finish, I was overcome with emotion. I’d had some really great races (and some eh ones) since becoming injured last year and I was so unsure I’d ever be the runner I had been. And while it wasn’t a PR, it was the 4th fastest marathon I’ve ever run and only 4 minutes and 34 seconds slower than my PR. And only 2 weeks after I completed 74ish miles. I really, truly didn’t think I was capable of holding that kind of pace for 26.2 miles with such a short recovery time and I wasn’t really sure if I could go under 3:20 again.

But now knowing that I could do it on a muggy day with tired legs, it makes me excited to see what a healthy, marathon-specific training cycle could net me if I decided to attack a marathon the “right” way. I’ve got no immediate plans as Everest (!!!) is next on the list and then I promised myself I’d take a few weeks to really figure out what I want to do for fall.

It’s very likely that the next blog will be all about EVEREST!!

Resolution Run 6 Hour: The last PRs of 2017

After I raced the Jacksonville Marathon and came up with my 3rd fastest marathon on December 16th and the hurt-but-still-BQ'd Rehoboth Beach Marathon on December 2nd, I was definitely in recovery mode. I didn't even crack 20 miles the week before Christmas mostly because I was sore and tired. So I plodded along a few miles here and there, but it was all just slow and short. The top of my left foot felt bruised from JAX so I was also trying to be smart (ish).

The week of Christmas, I felt sluggish from all the cookies, steak, and wine. I asked Laurie & Jen on the 26th if they were doing the Resolution Run and they both were traveling. I did a 10 miler at MP +30 on the treadmill that evening and woke up the next day with a return of the sore foot and a head cold. Ugh. I took the 27th off running and decided to do an easy 5 mile progression Thursday.

On Friday, I woke up thinking I was just going to tell Matt I would skip the Resolution Run. But then he texted me a screenshot of his registration. Crap. I seriously wavered back and forth for hours about it all day when it popped into my mind. My sniffles were mostly subsided, but my stupid foot was still sore. I taped it up and told myself I would just wait until after work to decide.

It did actually feel much better with the tape and decided I would just sign up. The race fee was only $10 so even if I woke up feeling horrible, I could just either not go or hang out and volunteer.

With a 1:00 p.m. start in Greenville, SC, I had plenty of time to sleep in and pack up my gear in the morning. I made the 2 hour drive easily and ate some avocado wraps and granola I had packed about an hour before the race. It was definitely chilly just sitting around and I waited until about T-minus 15 to toss off my warm-ups before we got going. I popped a couple of ibuprofen, ate my traditional mini Snickers, and popped in my ear buds.

Matt got caught up at work and so I would be starting the race without really knowing anyone. Cool with a marathon, but kind of lonely in an ultra. The race director ran the first 1 mile lap with us so I just stuck to the front of the pack when we started. It was just under a 10:00 minute mile and while I was grateful for an easy start and conversation, it was nice to get moving after that first lap.

There was a teenager who leapt out in front and I watched his galloping, light strides as he slowly separated from me. He was built like a typical fast high school runner and immediately wondered how long he would hold that pace. I knew I was being a bit reckless with my own pace, but it felt comfortable and all my body parts seemed to actually being feeling good.

Each lap we ran, we had to grab a pebble from a 5 gallon bucket and place it into a cup. The first few times, it was kind of fun to stop and watch the pile grow. Admittedly, I got a bit annoyed with this system later in the race as other runners would take their time to choose a rock from the communal pile and drop it in their cup. Silly in retrospect as those few extra seconds didn't mean anything, but it was just one of the things breaking my rhythm every mile.

The course this year was less hilly than the prior year, but I still ended up with over 2,000' of gain for 40 miles. It was a mixture of paved sidewalk, concrete sidewalk, a smidgen of dirt, and a grassy soccer field. All of that in a mile. So just when I'd find my groove on the pavement, it would switch. And when I started to feel happy that the grass would be absorbing some shock, it would switch. So it really kind of was like an urban trail run in that you had to pay attention to your footing a good portion of the time.

I started blasting my music after the first mile, content to just put my head down and run until Matt got there. I was about 7 miles in when he arrived and we continued seeing each other in the same out-and-back section for many, many miles. It was kind of funny that we were running nearly the identical pace for about 15 miles or so. He stopped at the aid station at one point long enough that I was able to finally reach him when I was in my 20-something mile.

Somewhere in the late teens, I felt a twinge in the hamstring and started to panic. It wasn't acute like when it first happened, but rather the same residual soreness I had afterwards. Strangely enough, it dissipated after about 5 minutes and I never felt it again through the race. It kind of put me in a funk through those middle miles though as I was worried I was going to have to cut my run short.

When I did catch up to Matt, I was still in that funk. And really wasn't in any mood to talk. I kind of mumbled some words at him for about a mile and a half and then pushed him to go on ahead. Though I wasn't inherently feeling anything physically bad (wahoo!), I wanted to do quiet work by myself.

There was a 3 hour race that started at 4:00 p.m. and it was good to get some faster moving legs out on the course. The 12 hour runners were definitely into the zombie zone and the teenager who led the 6 hour for awhile had begun walking. About an hour into their race, I passed one of the 3 hour women and she must've thought I was in contention in her race because she immediately came blowing past me with a whole new gusto. Though I knew we weren't competing in the same race, it was good to kind of have someone be the pacemaker for at least a short while.

I had been pretty on top of my calories all day and was proud that side of the race was going really well. After I got into the double digits, I put my handheld on and kept hydrating until the final hour. I started with gels and then guzzled Tailwind in the middle miles. At some point, I grabbed a coconut bar and a handful of rosemary potatoes from the aid station and felt like a new person.

I drank an entire Coke from my stash as I was actually feeling sleepy in the second half. It seemed to be helping so I sought out another one from the aid station. I found one on the table, opened it, drank a quarter of it, and came back about 45 minutes later and drank the last quarter of it. Apparently I was sharing with someone, but these things somehow seem less gross when you've been running for 4 hours?

My marathon split was somewhere in the 3:40s and I was relieved when I hit that mark. Somewhere before I actually hit 50K, Matt and I were running together again and he asked if I had ever gone under 4:30 for a 50K. My 50K prior to this race was 4:47, but happy crossed over the line around 4:30 and Garmin beeped at 4:32:21. My GPS was losing about 2/100ths of a mile each lap so no official chip PR - just a Garmin one. But hey, a PR is a PR!

As it got close to 6:00 p.m. and the 5 hour mark, I noticed the waning sun and decreasing temperature. When I stopped to get my headlamp, I also tossed my gloves back on. I actually felt very comfortable temperature-wise the last hour so the gloves were a great choice!

Runner math was not really on the table until I had about 45 minutes left in the race. I was content to just get to a marathon, a 50K, then 35 miles. Once I got to 35 miles, I realized that I could hit 40 if I stayed within a reasonable pace. It was definitely getting harder and the miles were wearing on me. But with the finish nearing, I kept going. Just 3 more laps, just 2 more laps, just 1 more lap.

I knew I'd have 39.5ish on my Garmin when I stopped and really wanted it to say 40. But when I stopped after my 40th lap - the lap time became good enough. I was pooped. Happy, but pooped. I counted all my rocks, recorded my laps, and waited for Matt to come through on his final lap. He ended up with 33 laps - we basically did the same pace for 5 of the 6 hours - and he came in second!

40 miles in the 6 hour is a PR for me. Coming off 2 marathons and on a less-than-ideal course makes me feel good about where my fitness is even if my body parts are randomly uncooperative. There is always the what if factor of an ideal course and a rested body, but a couple of extra miles in the 6 hour is one I'm okay to leave on the table for now.

Rehoboth Runparty PR Bonkfest

A year ago, I thought I didn't need to go to Rehoboth again. It had given me my first BQ in 2013.

A tutu PR in 2014.

And the best race ever in 2015.

What else could I need from this race in Delaware?

Apparently nothing and everything.

I had everything I could want in 2016. There is so much to recap, but I'll do that in a separate post. I signed up for Rehoboth mid-year without any goals or expectations in mind. In fact, I still would have been satisfied with merely a medal around neck. The finish time never mattered.

And not that I'm dissatisfied with a PR (spoiler alert!), but it solidified that my relationship with running and racing is not always measured by the clock.

Thursday, 8:30 p.m.
Megan came by as promised to paint my nails. She found a fabulous nautical theme that matched my previous finishers' medals.

She also dropped off an envelope for me to open on race morning.

Thursday, 11:00 p.m.
I brought our senior dog, Luxy, downstairs to go to the bathroom outside. She had been whining off and on all evening, but I couldn't quite figure out what was going on. When I set her in the grass outside, she started having a terrible seizure. I watched helplessly as she shook. After a few minutes, I brought her trembling body inside and called for Adam to come down. We watched over her lying on her side, wordlessly wishing that the pain would be over for her soon. Neither one of us spoke much and eventually, I pulled the bed over by the family room rug so I could lay on the floor.

Adam eventually fell asleep on the sofa with Torrance and Moe. I dozed off and on, resting my head on a cushion on the floor, one hand on Luxy's failing body. I changed out paper towels at intervals and fretted about what I was going to do when it became imminent for me to leave for the airport.

Friday, 5:45 a.m.
Wrecked with guilt, Adam and I were forced to discuss how/when to take Luxy to put her down. I hated to leave him to take care of it all. It seemed so wrong and selfish of me to go. But I was also relieved as I knew that I didn't want to be sitting around for 4 days (that I had taken off work for Rehoboth) at home, surrounded by sadness.


It took me 15 minutes to walk out of the house after I tried to leave the first time. My slow tears grew into big, ugly sobs. I kissed her forehead 100 times and held her in my arms. I ran upstairs before I left and grabbed her collar (which she hadn't worn for a few months as she was no longer a flight risk) and stuffed it into my purse. As I stepped out the door and forced myself to close it for good, my heart ripped apart. The drive to the airport was about an hour and I spent a good 30 minutes gasping for air while I cried uncontrollably.

The tears subsided as I parked, checked my bag, and went through security. When I reached my gate, I texted Adam for an update. He called me back and told me that she had passed at home while he was getting ready. I tried to keep my composure among a terminal full of strangers, but tears streamed down my face with the news. I was relieved for the end of her pain and the feeling of closure, but I allowed myself to feel grief. Sweet girl, you are missed.

Friday, 11:30 a.m.
I was so wrapped up in the my thoughts when I stepped off the plane that I didn't even notice Steve was waiting for me in the terminal. I started walking with a purpose towards baggage claim and he had to catch up to me. Seeing a good friend gave me a sense of relief. Though my heart was heavy, Luxy's death was also a reminder that our time here on Earth is short. I could allow myself to be sad when the moments washed over me, but it was okay to be happy too.


We went to pick up the rental car, got a free upgrade (!!), and headed out to Rehoboth Beach. There was the usual stop of Subway and a supply run before we pulled up to the beach house right behind Erin and Bacon.

Friday, 3:30 p.m.
Erin and Bacon were wearing the race shirts from packet pickup because both didn't have an extra long sleeved shirts. They were about to do a 20 minute shakeout run and suggested we come along. I decided to walk the block down the street to packet pickup (awesome rental house location!!) and then I switched shirts in the street so the 3 of us could wear our race shirts during our shakeout run. Unnecessary and superstitiously bad? Yes. Hilarious and worth the odd stares from strangers? Also yes.


Friday, 5:00 p.m.
While waiting for the rest of the crew to arrive, we headed over to Dogfish Head to grab a beer or 2. DFH never disappoints and I had two brewpub exclusive IPAs.

A few more joined us for the second round and then we all walked back to the house. Dinner was started (thanks Caitlin and Chris!) and soon, we were sitting around the huge dining table cramming spaghetti into our mouths. Others joined us later and a total of 12 stayed at the house this year--a small group compared to the first year I went, but the smaller number kept things like meals much easier to coordinate.

Friday, 8:30 p.m.
After dinner, we sat around talking about running as runners do. I was exhausted from barely sleeping the night before and was having a hard time keeping my eyes open. Once the first suggestion was made to call it a night, I bolted upstairs to get some sleep. Caitlin and I were sharing a room and we laid out our flat girls before snuggling into bed.


Saturday, 5:15 a.m.
I heard Caitlin's alarm go off and I laid in bed knowing that I didn't have to get up right away. My alarm was set for 5:30 a.m. and that was plenty of time to get ready with the start line only a couple of blocks down the street. I got a bagel and coffee first and then went back to change into my race clothes. I tore open the envelope Megan gave me when she painted my nails and inside was a bracelet inscribed with the words she believed she could, so she did.

I immediately knew that I had to wear it while racing. I touched Luxy's collar in my purse and then met everyone downstairs.


I had a Snickers bar right before we left and felt completely at ease as we walked towards the start. A PR was definitely possible given my year, but I knew it would completely depend on how I felt once my legs got moving. The weather was perfect at the start. Chilly and sunny. The wind seemed to be okay.

Saturday, 7:06 a.m.
Everyone was murmuring about when we were to start, but the gun finally sounded a few minutes after 7. I took my time easing into the first mile and tried to relax as we spread out. People position themselves fairly well for this race and I didn't have to do too much weaving. I tried to stay close to the right hand side of the road, knowing the first few turns were right.

My legs felt pretty good from the beginning and I decided that I would make a go for it when I hit the second mile. If I failed, at least I had given it a shot. The wind was noticeable as we headed on the straightaway along the 3rd mile. If it kept up, I knew I would be in for some tough miles later on. 7:39, 7:13, 7:22

I saw Erin, Bacon, and Ken on their way back after the turnaround for the half-marathon. Then the full marathoners split off onto the first section of trail. I noticed the slight increase in effort right away, but it became ridiculous when I hit the crosswinds next to the lake. 7:17, 7:30, 7:24

I was still trying to reel in runners in the single digit miles as the course wound through Cape Henlopen State Park. I'd run shoulder to shoulder with someone and then one of us would slowly fall back while the other inched forward. At the out-and-back I saw 2 females ahead of me and a bunch right in my shadow. 7:33, 7:15

The highway section felt particularly tough this year. The headwind going into miles 9 and 10 was ferocious and I tried to stay in the back of a pack of runners. There were 3 guys and 1 other girl and the 5 of us fought together, jockeying for various positions as we ran down the stretch. 7:31, 7:32

At the turnaround, I felt a sense of relief as we picked up the tailwind and headed back towards town. There were still 16 miles to go, but there was something about running "back" that felt good. The other girl we were running with dropped back along with one of the guys and the other 2 guys in our pack took off in front of me. I saw Steve, Caitlin, and Angie on their way out and mustered waves and smiles as best I could. 7:23, 7:16

I wavered a bit at mile 13. I was about to annihilate my fastest half marathon split in a full. But I started to feel the efforts of the first half catch up with me hard. As we ran up a very teeny hill around the lighthouse, I knew the second half was going to be tough. I hated having these negative thoughts so early, but I allowed myself to know that I would still had an awesome afternoon/evening no matter what it said on the clock. 7:20, 7:40, 7:30

There were big stretches where I was alone at this point. My thoughts drifted to Luxy and a few tears dripped down my face. Running in the cold had my nose dripping enough; this was just excessive. I touched the bracelet on my wrist a few times and fought through the dark places. 7:31, 7:40

The course travels back through town at mile 18 and runners (cruelly) can see the finish line. I was not in a happy place. As the course hit the road section that connects to the second trail, huge gusts of wind nearly stopped me in my tracks. I felt as though I could have leaned into the wind and it would have held me up. Gah! 7:44, 8:00

There were still a good number of half marathoners on the trail and so it became quite crowded again. I was actually glad for the mass of humanity as it gave me small targets to hit with each step. But without looking at my watch, I knew that any chance of my second half matching my first half was not going to happen. I saw the first place female who was way ahead and then I saw the second place female about a minute ahead of me! 8:06, 8:11, 8:02
 
Whoa. Third? I ran a 3:20 at this race last year and was 10th? I saw a few females not too far behind me so I definitely had to find another gear for the last 4 miles. Except it wasn't anywhere to be found. I knew 4 miles was a long way to go at the end of a marathon and it could shred anyone no matter how close to the finish they were. I saw Steve, Caitlin, and Angie who all managed to shout or give high fives. 7:49, 7:44, 8:02

When I hit the pavement again and could spot the mile 25 sign, I was so relieved that it was almost over. And I was 3rd overall! I spotted JB crouched down along the road and whacked him on the head as I went by because I was so elated to see him.

The race photographer got a few shots along this stretch too.

The smile is fake. I am dying inside. I come around the sharp corners of Canal Crossing Road and then out onto Rehoboth Avenue. My arm warmers are annoying me and I take off my gloves. As I am shoving them into my sports bra, a girl goes flying past me in a marathon bib.

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?

I try to find that other gear. Revved with adrenaline of being passed at mile 25.7, I dig deep and.....shred my calf.

What. The. Eff.

My gloves fly out of my sports bra as I struggle to even keep up with the pace I was at. My calf is screaming in pain and I am hobble-running into the final turns. 7:22

I come into the finish chute and feel wrecked. I cross over the finish line with a shiny new PR and am shocked at how pissed I feel about losing 3rd.

Who is this person?! When did I start caring about that kind of thing?!

I collect my race medal and heat sheet and then I have to collect myself. Holy emotion Batman! I should be happy about my PR. 3:19:22!

But it doesn't sink in yet. I am mad about losing 3rd. I am mad that my calf hurts. I am mad that the race was really hard. I am mad that my dog went over the rainbow bridge. I am mad that I am not happy.

I laid on a side street spread eagle on my back for a few minutes. I am exhausted and broken, but I know a few minutes alone dealing with it will point me back in the right direction. Eventually, I pull myself up and see Jenster walking down the street towards me.

Saturday 10:40 a.m.
Jenster and I walked down the street and wait to see Steve, Caitlin, and Angie come through the finish. There is nothing like watching people finish a marathon to cure you of moping. Within a few minutes of cheering and clapping, I shut down my sorry parade. It really didn't matter what the clock said or what place I came in or how tough it was. I'm lucky enough to be doing it and lucky enough to be surrounded by a lot of really, really great people afterwards. And that's everything I need.

 
 


 

The trails are intoxicating

It's dark when the alarm goes off. It is cool, quiet, and calm in the bedroom. I swing my feet over the side of the bed and touch the floor.

I sip cold black coffee from a plastic cup as I drive the now-familiar route north. The sky is cloudy and it seems as though the world is taking a little longer to wake up this morning. On The Road Again rumbles over the stereo speakers and I drum on the steering wheel.

As the road gets curvier and my ears pop, I feel antsy to begin. The mountain tops that seemed so far off in the distance are now close and steep. A canopy of trees line the road as I navigate the switchbacks up, up, up.

I drive slowly down the road leading to the parking lot. It is dense with tree cover and seems almost dark on this cloudy morning.

A few minutes of fumbling with my pack and shoes and I'm off. The first mile is a familiar climb and I hike hard and fast on the incline to the 3-way intersection. A pair of couples are stopped on the rock stairs halfway up and we greet each other with good mornings. The oldest man is wearing a dark green floppy hat and says something about my speed that makes the others laugh. I cannot discern exactly what it is, but I smile back nonetheless as I continue on.

I make a right onto the Appalachian Trail and take the short, downhill path down to Neels. The rustic building on the north side of the road is nothing to write about except when shelter and civilization suddenly become a beacon in the wilderness. I trot under the covered walkway and make the easy early climb up to the highest peak of the day.

My legs feel fresh, my stomach is cooperating, and the cloudy day makes the air temperature tolerable for a late July morning in Georgia. I can discern peaks through the trees on either side of me. The views from the sections are breathtaking. Green covers the ground, the trees, and everything in between. I see a bear approximately 50 feet from the trail scamper off into the woods as we come into sight of each other. My heart races wildly, but my actions are strangely calm. I continue on with a slight uptick in speed, but without calling attention to myself.

As I come down the peak, I head the distinctive noise of metal tapping. It sounds as though a camper is hammering in tent stakes. Within a few minutes, I cross paths with a day-hiker who had been tapping his trekking poles to scare off bears. We converse for a brief moment and he takes a moment to show me a photo of a snake on his phone. He warns me that he saw it about a quarter mile from where we were standing. I warn him about the bear I saw about a mile back.

The next section features a series of lookouts at various peaks and I take out my phone for a few pictures. The day is still considerably cloudy and I feel good about my water supply. The trail is rocky in the climbing sections, but easy moving on the flats.

I crest the last peak before Tesnatee Gap and careen down trail without realizing the full brunt of its' steepness. At the Gap, a mother and son are sitting on the side of trail awaiting a ride. I stop to eat a couple Oreos and wander around looking for the white blazes. I ask the mother and son if they know where the trail continues and the point around the corner just at the top of the curve in the road. They are just finished overnight camping and warn me that the next section is incredibly steep.

I shuffle off onto the trail and soon find every muscle burning as I climb. It is step, rocky, and full of tight switchbacks. I am drenched in sweat and my lungs are working to provide every ounce of oxygen I need to keep going. My pace has slowed to over 20:00 minute miles and I feel like my heart is beating hard enough to pop out of my chest.

Fortunately, the peak is reach within a mile. My breathing returns to normal. But the sun begins to peak out from behind the clouds and filters through the trees. There are a few open sections and I feel the heat slowly rising. As I reach Hogpen Gap, I discover I have just 2 miles to go before I turnaround.

I pass two men a few years older than me who walkie talkie to a group of adolescent boys that a runner is a approaching. 5-6 boys split themselves on either side of the trail and I thank them for stepping aside to let me pass. Another short climb up and another short ride down leads me to mile 10. I make a few extra steps and then start right back up. I plan to change out my water bottles at the top, but the hikers are congregated there and I continue along until I am without of earshot of them.

I pull out my water bottles to transfer and fumble a bit with the caps. As I start to put everything away, I hear the group getting closer to me and I keep my empty bottle in my hand as I trot along the trail. The mercury is rising and I start to get a bit concerned about the fact that I've burned through a little more than half of my water.

The mental funk sets in. My legs are growing weary, the rocks underfoot seem sharper with every mile, and I am uncomfortably warm. The climbs burn my lungs, the downhills burn my quads. Every so often, I enjoy a few minutes of flat before ascending or descending.

After passing Hogpen, I decide I will just run down the road at Neels and cutoff my run by 1.5 miles. I worry about running out of water. I am tired. I might have bit off more than I chew.

The descent down to Tesnatee is rough. I am going down, but I cannot go fast. The rocky stairs and uneven footing makes the trail nearly impossible to run and I hold onto trees as I try to keep both my ankles intact.

I spend the next few miles worried about my water. I wasn't going to die. But I was going to be really thirsty by the end. I stop looking at the lush greenery and the captivating lookouts. The light mist that threatened in the early miles would be a welcome relief. I come upon a hiker who was changing her shoes on top of the tallest peak. She asks me how my run was going, I ask her how her hike was going. I tell her I wish it would rain.

As I come carefully down the hill, thunder crackles loudly. I jump as it rumbles. Within minutes, fat raindrops fall on top of the trees. I am covered briefly for a short while, but as the rain intensifies, the water begins to drench me. The dry trail can't soak up the moisture quick enough and sheets of water run down the slope like miniature waterfalls. My shoes and socks are soaked instantly. I was indeed the fool who wished for rain.

The only saving grace is that the lower temperature buys me a bit more time and I careen down the last section to Neels at the fastest speed I can maintain without falling. I aim for the covered pathway at Neels. As I spot the building, I breathe a sigh of relief.

I stand under cover for a few minutes and put my water bottle out on a picnic table to collect rainwater. A woman steps out of white SUV and walks under the cover with me. She asks if it's okay if she smokes and though I clearly would prefer she didn't, I say yes. She talks to me for a few minutes about her family driving her crazy in the car and attempts to warn me about bears, snakes, and people on the trail.

After she finishes her cigarette and walks back to her car, the rain lightens up enough that I go in search of a water fountain. I see a spigot on top of a wooden box next to the building with a few dog bowls scattered about. Good enough for dogs, good enough for humans...

With a nearly full bottle, I decide to finish the last mile and a half as planned. It is far steeper to the intersection than I remember, but once I get beyond that, I know it is all downhill. Literally and figuratively.

As I cross over the 20 mile mark, I feel the familiar pangs of happy exhaustion. It is extraordinarily satisfying and yet so challenging. And despite feeling like it is so tough every time I am out there, I cannot wait to return.