910 days had passed since the previous Boston Marathon. There was a whole bunch of life that happened in that time. I went to Everest (base camp + marathon, not a summit), DNF’d a 100 mile race, finished a 100 mile race, nabbed a couple more BQs, and then Covid happened. I did some rad running stuff during the pandemic - 38 miles for my 38th birthday, my first non-race 100 mile week, set the FKT on the Silver Comet, and ran a bunch of self-supported trail ultras.
When we got into the final weeks leading up to this year’s Boston and saw that other majors were happening without a hitch, it started to feel real. I didn’t let myself truly accept it until pretty late in my training because it was cancelled with only 6 weeks to go last spring.
Summer marathon training in Georgia is pretty awful. Even if you get up early or run late in the day, it’s just uncomfortable. My happy running temp is 35-40 so even our “cool summer” was still terrible. I usually am pretty self-motivated to run, but I had a few weeks that I struggled getting out the door. I gave up on workouts before starting them and threw in the towel early on more than I care to admit.
Prior to Covid, I raced a ton and usually had a bunch of gauges as to where my fitness was. The more you do something, the less intimidating it seems. So it seemed a bit daunting to me to step into the arena of a pretty prestigious marathon with not a lot of indicators as to how it was going to go.
But, sure enough, once we got a couple of days that it wasn’t a billion degrees with 1,000% humidity, I finally felt my fitness turn a bit. I knew I wasn’t PR fit, but I knew that I was probably BQ fit. Especially since I now had an extra 5 minutes!
Adam hadn’t traveled on a plane since prior to Covid and we were both nervous about navigating all the new challenges with his decreased mobility. Luckily, my mom was coming to watch the race for the first time and was a big help both physically and emotionally getting us through the weekend. My mom’s cousin Glenda lives on Commonwealth and generously allowed our boisterous clan to stay for the long weekend.
The race expo was super tiny outside the Adidas shop. I bought a few things, but we were in and out pretty quickly. This freed up our Saturday to walk/scooter the Freedom Trail with my mom and Glenda. I was happy to be outside on a beautiful day, but got a little nervous when we got home for the evening and saw I had 26,000 steps. Yikes.
I did a very short shakeout run/errand on Sunday morning to pick up my race morning food/coffee and then promptly spent the rest of the day sitting around with my feet up. I wanted to nap, but I was too excited. I drank a TON of water all day and Gatorade, anticipating the predicted warm weather for Monday. We shared pasta for dinner and then it was time to try to sleep!
I actually slept embarrassingly well. Garmin says I got almost 9 hours of sleep. With bus pickup at 8:15am and a 10 minute walk away, I had the luxury of waking up at 7am. I ate part of a muffin, drank a nitro cold brew, and my mom came downstairs to help me get the scooter outside for Adam to use later. Then it was off to the races!
The guy I stood behind in the bus line started chatting with me and we sat together on the ride out to Hopkinton. I sipped my little bottle of water and ate my traditional pre-race Snickers. With the rolling start, we all just headed towards the race once we were dropped off. I, along with every other runner, went to the porta-potty lines. I actually beelined directly to the back of the giant U-shaped area and found that there were plenty of vacant ones.
As I walked up to the start line, I noticed Marathon Maniacs Tony over to the side, tying his shoe. It reminded me I needed to re-tie my own and I used the opportunity to say hi and snap a picture together. Then it was time to take one more picture by the start before I fired up the playlist.
The rolling start was weird. Good because it gave me plenty of time to do all the last minute things on my own clock, but bad because it seemed anticlimactic to just step on the timing mat and go whenever. But, there I was, clicking start on my Garmin and rolling down that first hill for (another!!!) Boston Marathon.
Oh lawd, I was not prepared to be emotional. For the first 5k or so, I couldn’t control the fact that I was overcome with joy to just be there. I fought it a bit thinking that I might overtax myself mentally, but then just decided to ride the wave.
Somewhere in my head, I thought a 3:2X marathon was in my wheelhouse. I knew a 7:5X pace would get me there, but I also didn’t want to be a slave to my watch. So the first few miles, I glanced at the pace when the mile beeped, but I desperately just wanted it to feel sustainable for as long as possible.
As I rolled through Ashland and Framingham, I knew I was playing with fire, but I kind of just wanted to see if it would pay off. The crowds were electric. I could feel the excitement of the communities having this very normal pre-Covid thing return. The weather was too warm for running, but it was great for spectating. I high-fived tiny hands, pointed at people who shouted my name (it was on my singlet), and at one point, lifted my arms up to rally the crowds to cheer. Even if my playing with fire left me burned, I was determined to make it fun while it lasted.
Into Natick, I was surprised to still feel good clicking off 7:3Xs and remember thinking that if I just made it to the halfway point at 1:40ish, I could still likely manage a squeaker BQ even if the second half wasn’t great. I felt dry-mouthed from the start and was trying to drink something at every hydration station even if it was just a few sips. I took my 3rd gel around mile 12 or so and noticed that I had to choke it down.
Wellesley is always a highlight, but they seemed extra loud and extra in your face this year. I high-fived about 50 girls and then had to veer left because I knew I still literally had half a marathon to run.
Over the next couple of miles, my stomach started to turn and I got concerned that I was going to need to find a porta-potty. I hated to lose any time to anything not running when my race was going so well, but I also was starting to get severely uncomfortable. When I got to the mile 15 hydration station, I bolted to the porta-potty and tried to do my best Shalane in-and-out-rapidly impersonation. I still clocked an 8:11 mile so clearly my sprint to and from paid off!
Mile 16 is the last down before the Newton Hills and I took stock of how I felt. Tummy was now happy, legs were tired, but still moving well, and with 10ish miles left in the race, I was feeling pretty good. I decided to wait another mile or so before taking another gel and sipped on some Gatorade before tackling the hills.
The Newton Hills are only bad because of where they are in the marathon. There are some hills in the earlier sections, but they are moderate and the net downhill in the first 16 miles is very, very wheeeeee. By mile 16, runners are feeling the cumulative fatigue AND then they have to climb. I had a few 7:4X in there, but I didn’t panic and really hadn’t been checking my splits for a while. I was more concentrated on the overall time.
I remember seeing signs in years past about the top of Heartbreak Hill, but I didn’t see them this year. As I crested the final top before Boston College, my emotions caught up with me again. Wtf? I was torn between wanting to just finish the darn thing already and also, wanting the moment to last a really long time. It wasn’t like it was easy, but I was definitely in a flow state. I remember feeling like I was pushing the gas pedal almost to the floor, but leaving just a little bit for Boylston Street.
There were some really strong runners to follow in the final miles and I stayed a few steps behind them as I felt my excitement growing with familiar sights. The subway tracks at the turn on Beacon Street, the first glimpse of the Citgo sign, the stupid sun-exposed hill at mile 25.
I started anticipating seeing Adam, my mom, and Glenda and knew I needed to be towards the left. I started scanning the crowd even before I got to the Charlesgate Bridge because I wanted to make sure I saw them. As I got close to the corner of Commonwealth and Hereford, I saw my mom waving her hands wildly and I sped up to give hugs and kisses. It was everything I’d hoped for and then some.
As I bopped up Hereford, any pain I was feeling was completely masked by my happiness. In fact, I was so smitten with feeling good that I continued running at my 7:3X pace, not aware how close I was to being under 3:20 until maybe I had 40 seconds to go? Apparently I still had something in the tank because as I glanced at my watch with 3:19:XX, I BOOKED it down the final stretch. I was pumping my arms wildly, grinning like a complete cheeseball, and in disbelief that it went so darn well.
3:20:05. I’m not mad about it. <insert winky smile face here>
I loosened my shoes, collected all my post-race goodies (water, heat sheet, mask, medal, food bag), and made the zombie-walk back to the apartment. My support team was crossing the street on the opposite side right as I was and we all made our way back inside.
I’m still kind of processing the whole thing. I ran much faster than I thought. I ran in a much better headspace than I thought. I was worried about the heat and the expectations and was bracing myself for a rough day. But it never happened. Sure, it got hard and I fought to keep the pace honest throughout, but somehow, Boston magic prevailed.
Merrill’s this year taught me (as plenty of previous races have) that a good day at the races is never a guarantee. I’m allowed to be proud of the ones that go well and be disappointed in the ones that go awful. And if they go really well, I might just be celebrating an extra week.
