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!!

Snickers Albany Marathon RR (aka 28 Marathons Later: From 4:01:09 to 3:13:58)

Sunday A.M., 3/5/2017

Less than 24 hours after the race is complete and I am stewing on the facts.

I've created a monster. 

I am addicted to the hesitancy of mile 8 to go the distance, the self-doubt of mile 17 to maintain the speed, and the sheer physical pain that makes every mile 25 a negotiation to just get to the finish.

It is the penultimate in addiction. The more I train and race, the more I need to go faster and further. I am still in denial about how it truly makes me feel. How can I have had a huge PR yesterday and all I can think of today is what could I have done to go faster?

Who is this person? 

A look at the slippery slope after the race report....

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I made the 3 hour drive to Albany by myself. A rather large contingent of local runners were going as well and offered me a ride, but I was camping (thanks to the kindness of Gary, Travis, and Curtis!) and wanted to have access to all the junk in my car. It was an easy drive filled with plenty of car karaoke and sunshine. I had my usual footlong Italian sub at Subway and drank obscene amounts of water.

I got to the hotel with packet pickup just after 3:00 p.m. The 3:15 pacer happened to be one of two pacers manning the table and I spoke briefly with him. Luckily, I remembered to buy a few gels to pad my supply and then I went to my car to strip down for a brief shakeout run. As luck would have it, there was a nice little Greenway section along the river near where I parked and I took it nice and easy for 10 minutes out, 10 minutes back.

As I was coming back along the sidewalk area towards my car, the finish line was being constructed. I apologized as I came through, but I was secretly elated to have the vision of the finish line in my head. The run itself was pretty terrible. I was struggling through 8:00 minute miles and every little twinge was reminding me of their existence. Hello IT band! Hello Achilles! Oh hello shin, it's been awhile!

But I shoved the negative thoughts aside as I posted to Strava. I have to just trust the process.

It was stupid beautiful outside and so I set up my nail salon next to the Ray Charles statue in front of the hotel. Megan was traveling herself this past week, but she gave me all the polish and instruction. I was quickly reminded why she is so much better at it than I!

Runner friends started pouring in to pick up their bibs and I walked over to the hotel to chat with them and meet new friends. A group of us decided to have the pasta dinner offered by the race in the hotel's conference center. It was exactly the kind of pre-race dinner I like--a little roughage, blandish pasta, and a huge piece of chocolate cake.

After dinner, we met up with the guys I was camping with at Mellow Mushroom for a couple of beers. Being around other runners (and most of these people are also triathletes) is delightfully the same. There is never any shortage of sandbagging and poop-talk.

I followed the guys to the campsite (which also happened to be located in a park with a zoo!) and got my tent set up. We sat around the fire for an hour or two before finally calling it a night. I had plenty of sleep the night before so I wasn't really too worried about how well I was going to sleep on race night. I slept like a brick. I pulled the sleeping bag over my face and seriously woke up to my Garmin alarm clock at 5:25a.m. Not once did I wake up in the night panicked that I had overslept.

When I got up, I decided to eat first (2 pieces of bread with Nutella plus a few swigs of Starbucks Iced Coffee) and then disassemble my tent. By the time I got my camp broken down, I was ready to head to the bathroom and then change. I threw my pajamas back on over my race clothes for the drive because it chilly to be in shorts and a tank.

I followed the guys to the start line and parked in nearly the same spot I had the day before--right near the finish and on the same block as the hotel. It was about 6:20 a.m. Small town races really do have seriously pluses sometimes! We immediately saw some of our other friends and all walked into the lobby of the hotel together to stay warm. I ate my Snickers bar (prerace tradition!) and then decided to make one last bathroom break. Somehow I managed to find the darkened conference room restroom completely open.

Walking to the starting line was no different than any other goal race. I was quiet, withdrawn, and swirling in my own self-doubt. The bigger the stakes, the less likely I am to converse. I said hello to the 3:15 pacer after meeting him the day prior at packet pickup, but kept my conversation to a minimum. We were really close to the starting line as the half marathon and full separated within the first mile. I've only ever been that close in small ultras.

An actual cannon was shot and a couple seconds later, we were on our journey. I pressed start on my Garmin and play on my Shuffle. Lindsey Stirling's Take Flight seemed appropriate for the first half mile. A pack of about a dozen of us jockeyed back and forth behind the 3:15 pacer as the field spread out. There were 2 other females in the pack. A number of the runners were chatty and jovial in the first few miles. I probably came across as rude when one guy started to talk to me about Marathon Maniacs, but I kept my answers short and clipped. Every breath mattered.

The course ran east and south for the first 4 miles before returning to the start/finish area and intersecting with the half marathon course. It was delightfully perfect weather those first few miles and I was comfortable in my tank, shorts, and a pair of gloves. I didn't feel particularly good or bad right away. Honestly, much of the first part of the race is a blur. 7:36, 7:20, 7:31, 7:21

After we intersected with the half marathon course, I remembered to take my first gel at just mile 4--a Cherry Lime Roctane GU. I have had better success with gels and water as sometimes the Gatorade doesn't sit well with my stomach. I accidentally grabbed Gatorade twice on the course and drank one with pretty immediate regret.

Runners began to spread out a little bit more over the next few miles and I was pleased that I could just tuck in behind the pacer and a few of the guys running alongside him. It helped kept the wind to a minimum during those early miles and likely saved my race. 7:32, 7:19, 7:23, 7:23

The pacer peeled off to use the porta-potty around the Albany State University West Campus after we crossed the mile 8 sign. I was confident he would catch back up with our little pack, but I was feeling confident to just go ahead. The knowledge that if he caught up to me meant that I was still in the 3:15 range was a good thing. I would hopefully hang on if he did catch up, but there was a certain feeling of safeness if I stayed out ahead. I had a Honey Stinger Mandarin Orange gel at just past the mile 8 mark.

When our pack loosened up from the pacer pit stopping, I heard a spectator (I'm assuming a coach) shout to a girl in our pack to "tuck in behind someone". We were headed out on a long straight stretch along Gillionville Road and while the wind wasn't bad, it certainly was noticeable. Many of the runners were keeping a pretty even pace so it was easy to just focus on the foot strike of the person in front of me. 7:21, 7:16

Mile 11 brought us through a residential area with a few rolling hills. I had a couple of low moments during that stretch where I watched a few runners pass me though I was keeping a pretty even pace. However, I knew that I couldn't trust my mind so early and that there would still (hopefully) be better patches. 7:22, 7:22

I had another Cherry Lime Roctane GU just past the mile 12 marker and popped 2 Excedrin. I am not sure if the Excedrin is more placebo than painkiller, but I've taken some during ultras and it seems to work. As the course crossed over the 13.1 mile marker, I noticed that I was slightly slower than a 3:15 pace if I wanted even splits. Running that fast wasn't new territory for me, but I had run 2 marathons with positive splits when I had tried to stay in the 7:20s. The hard part was to now trust that I could run a bit faster during the second half. 7:30, 7:26

Mile 15 was spent reeling in a pack of 3 runners who had started with the 3:15 pace group. They had been within my sight the entire race, but I started to slowly pull closer to them. By mile 16, I was running right behind them and happy to be within a pack of people again. My music was blaring, but I could hear snippets of their conversation. I knew I was being annoying being right on their heels, but I justified in my mind at the moment that every edge I could get would help me reach my goal. I had a Huma Chia Apple Cinnamon gel at just past the mile 16 marker. 7:20, 7:25

During mile 17, one of the runners dropped off and then it was just me, a guy, and a girl. They ran side by side for quite some time and then they switched back and forth with one person leading the other. I was always in the back of the peloton and eventually felt strong enough to go towards the front. As I went past, they followed suit for a bit. However, by the time we got to the mile 18 marker, they had fallen back a bit. 7:22, 7:22

I had looked at the course map briefly to know that the lake was near mile 18 and that typically it is a low point in a marathon for me. Running 18 miles and facing 8.2 more always seems daunting. But I was having a great race so far and feeling very little signs of faltering in the last hour. I tried to do a bit of quick runner math to calculate how fast I would need to go to hit the A++ goal of smashing 3:15, the A goal of 3:14:59 (because who wants a :00 when you can have a :59), B goal of sub 3:19:15 (the PR to beat), C goal of a BQ (when did my C goal become BQ??), and D goal of just finish the damn thing. 7:13

I had an Espresso GU at the mile 19 marker and suddenly felt really, really good. Like runner's high good. Something in me knew that I was going to make this happen and I felt so strong. When I crossed the mile 20 mat, a runner next to me exclaimed, "only 10K to go!" 7:23

The next few miles, I was careful to stay calculated in my assault on the last 10K. Those last 27 marathons were useful for something: the last 10K will always make or break a race. There is a reason they call it the wall. But I was strategic in my nutrition and pace and was hoping that I would just let it all out in the last 3-5K. 7:20, 7:17, 7:31

At some point, I saw Nikki and later, Sean out on the final miles of the course. It is always great to see people I know racing and both of them had laid down some killer fast miles early on in the race. Both of them are incredible runners and I was humbled to be shoulder to shoulder with them!

I had grabbed two Hammer Apple Cinnamon gels from one of the hydration stations (swag!) and actually was able to suck down another one at mile 23. Forcing the nutrition early and often seemed to work so I decided to just stay on top of the calories if my stomach could handle it. There were a bunch of turns in mile 23 and I was so ready to start looking for signs that we were headed back to the downtown area. 7:20

With 2 miles left, I was ready to empty the tank. I thought about mile marker 2 on the Greenway and knew that all those progressive runs were for a reason. That 3:15 was going to happen! At this point, I was passing a bunch of runners and each person I picked off fueled my competitive fire. 7:07

Somewhere along the last mile I spotted a group of guys in warm-ups along a straightaway. I knew it was the half-marathoners in the local group that had come back to cheer on the full marathoners. I was in high gear coming in towards them and seeing familiar faces gave me that one last boost I needed to charge towards the finish. 7:08

When I spotted the mile 26 sign, I started keeping an eye out for the mile 13 sign so I could just charge down the finish. Luckily, it was an easy downhill and short straightaway. I leaped over the timing mat with 3:14:XX on the clock. Last 0.4 miles: 7:11 pace

Oh. Em. Gee.

As I clicked off my Garmin and collected myself, I realized that I might actually be 3:13:XX! But I was too elated to care about seconds. I had reached my A++ goal and I felt GREAT throughout most of the race. I believed that I could do it and I did!

I went and sat on the hill next to the finish chute and watched my friends come in. John smashed his PR and earned his ticket to Boston. Casey punched her BQ card by giving it everything she had through the finish line. As we waited for everyone to cross the line, we regaled race stories, drank beer, and enjoyed a gorgeous March day. No matter their time, everyone gave it all they had and being a part of a community like that will leave you pretty darn misty-eyed.

At some point, I went to get my phone out of my car, grab my warm-ups, and check the official time. I was 7th overall and 1st in my age group! 3:13:58

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Many (most?) people reading this will know I've been marathoning since 2009 and running a good chunk of my life. I ran 5 marathons before I got the idea to try to qualify for Boston. I stuck to my training schedule like a perfect type A and had the race of my life on December 7th, 2013. It still gives me chills to think about it. No race has topped it. Not finishing Boston, not winning my first ultra, not finishing my first 100 miler. Nothing.

So maybe I'm in search of that feeling again? I've come close. Yesterday was really, really close. I think when you work for something really hard and still have doubts that it will happen, it feels better when you achieve it. Perhaps that's why I didn't feel that way about Boston or the ultras. I knew I could do it. This felt close because I still had a lot of self-doubt. But it's funny how accomplishing one thing makes you feel like you can tackle the next big thing. Breaking barriers doesn't happen overnight. This has been quite a long journey and yet, I feel like I am just getting started. 

Mercedes Marathon RR: Follow Your Own Dreams

Frank asked, "what's the hardest part of running a marathon? "

"Not wanting to quit when everything in your body and mind are telling you to stop."

It will happen. Sometimes, if you're lucky, it will be a fleeting moment. It will pass over briefly in the 25th mile when the finish line is so close that you might as well just run. And sometimes, it will linger for miles and miles, taunting you to just give up. Or walk. Or at the very least, slow down.

As we lined up between the 7:00 minute per mile and 8:00 per mile signs in the starting corral, I said to John that I never trust how I feel at mile 5. Good or bad, it is never an indicator of the 21+ miles to follow.

Mile 5 is a liar.

I honestly wasn't sure how this race would play out. My running has been consistently strong lately, but I haven't had "proper" rest, recovery, or taper. I ran a 36 mile race on December 31st, a 50K on January 7th, and a 3:20 marathon on January 29th. I am hoping that this early base building will transition into some decent ultras over the summer and fall.

But everyone likes a PR, correct?

Except Birmingham is hilly and this early February day was oppressively humid. The only saving grace was that it wasn't sunny.

After touching the start mat, John shot out ahead of me while I slowly came to life. I was tempted to follow suit briefly before I remembered to stick to the adage of follow your own dreams. He was chasing his own goal of BQing.

I don't remember too much about the first few miles other than my pace was a bit faster than I preferred. Everything else was typical of a mid-sized race with half-marathoners and full- marathoners flooding the streets of downtown Birmingham. I tried to fight the urge to weave and knew that with every step, the field would thin out.

Wanting to stay atop hydration, I grabbed a cup of Powerade from the first volunteer I saw. By the second stop, I was ready to douse my head and shirt with water. Noticing immediate relief, I continued this trend throughout the rest of the race.

I had actually looked at the course map before the race, but totally didn't realize it was a double loop course until race morning. Oops. Luckily John mentioned the double loops before the start. It is a double-edged sword to run a course you've run before. You know what to expect. You know what to expect.

After a relatively flat 5 miles, the course headed to the hills. Rollers and steady inclines filled the course for the next 5+ miles. This was baby stuff compared to trails and ultras, but for a fast marathon, every foot of elevation gain made a difference. I held my pace fairly steady through the hills and picked off runners as we ascended.

A relay runner cut me off in front of a hydration stop to grab a cup of Powerade. I had to slow my pace to keep from crashing into her. She took a few strides and then tossed the cup right in front of me, covering my shirt and face in Powerade. I was so shocked that I said fuck! She quickly apologized after realizing her tossed cup covered me in sugary electrolytes.

I changed my tune quickly within the next mile. A push-rim wheelchair athlete was gutting it out up a particularly steep section. I felt silly for letting the cup thing get to me. Shortly thereafter, I came upon John around maybe mile 7 or 8? and hung behind him for about a mile before I came up next to him briefly. It was only after the race that I realized he followed me for quite some time.

Finally, the hills starting operating in my favor and a couple of nice descents in miles 10 and 11 had me feeling pretty good again. As we came back into town, I realized the long stretch on 2nd Avenue was going to be long and lonely the second time around. It was oddly windy in that stretch and the only time that the temperature felt decent. Runners had already thinned out pretty far and around 1.5 miles or so from the finish, the halfers were separated from the full-marathoners.

I was still feeling pretty good and knew that my miles splits were mostly in the 7:2X range. If I could maintain this speed, I would definitely be able to PR! But as I crossed over the 13.1 mark, I knew there was still half the race to run. The first few miles of the second half were miserably lonely. There were long stretches of the course that there were no other runners nearby and no spectators. The only people I saw were police directing traffic at various intersections.

As I neared the hilly section, I started to feel the symptoms of bonk. My mind and heart were in it, but my legs started feeling heavy and the effort to maintain the pace got increasingly difficult. This was the opposite of the race I had in Miami.

I gave myself a mental pep talk, took a GU, threw water over me at the hydration stop, and held on. It had been quite some time that I wanted to stop and walk a hill in a road marathon. But knowing that I just had to maintain an 8:00 minute mile pace to PR gave me enough reason to keep going. I tugged my visor down and turned up my music. It was just me against the clock now.

As I neared the top of the hilly section, the course became slightly more crowded as half-marathon walkers and relay teams crossed my path. I welcomed their camaraderie and started to give and get cheers. Heading into the windy homestretch, I veered off the right once again with the split. I could barely see any other full runners in front of me, despite the healthy number of halfers on the left.

I think I last looked at my watch around mile 24. The last 2 were just kind of a let's get this done kind of attitude. I projected I was going to have another 3:20:XX and was super satisfied with that considering all that led up to the race and the fact that it was hilly and humid.

I held tight to what I felt I could muster and watched for the mile markers. Mile 25. Mile 26.

As I came around the curve to the finish line, I saw 3:19:XX. My PR was 3:19:22. I ran down the chute, saw Megan and Frank on the sides.

I was full of smiles as I crossed the finish line. When I clicked the stop button on my Garmin, I saw my brand new PR time.

3:19:15!!!!!!!!! 35th Overall, 9th Female, 4th AG.

I'm likely not going to stop racing so much, have a real training plan, or do anything else that might make me super duper fast. I like racing a lot. I like my chillaxed approach to training. Even when I have bad runs or races, it's actually pretty good. I just like running. It makes me happy.

Special thanks to Megan and Frank for our short n' sweet B-ham weekend. #rally And thanks to John and his awesome family for support on race day!

Miami Marathon Rally & Puke

Monday, January 23rd

It was barely less than a week from race day and I was so sick that even watching TV was too hard. I slept for an obscene amount of time and muddled through an 11 hour day of work on Tuesday. Not ideal.

Wednesday, January 25th

The symptoms were reduced to a hacking cough and I was itchy to run. I took to the Greenway after work for 4-6 miles. The first mile was great. The second mile had me doubled over coughing so hard that I could barely catch my breath. I promptly turned around and decided more rest was in order.

Friday, January 27th

I'm not one to be fearful of cooties, but getting on an airplane with a respiratory thing 2 days before a marathon had me a bit nervous. We had an early flight and decided to head to packet pick up right as it opened on noon. I took a long nap that afternoon and went to bed early.

Saturday, January 28th

With just 1 day of running since the prior Friday, I felt anxious about running 26.2 the following day. Deciding to test the lungs was a good idea and the 3.1 miles jaunt made me feel slightly better about the impending situation.

I spent most of the day just hanging out with Adam's family and took a short walk in the park in the late afternoon because it was ridiculously beautiful outside. We went to Adam's dad's temple for a food festival for dinner. The old adage of "nothing new on race night" didn't phase me--I ate a bunch of challah bread, a small portion of brisket, tabbouleh salad, cheese blintzes, and cruised past the dessert table twice.

Sunday, January 29th

At 4:00 a.m., my alarm went off. Uggggggggggggh.

I ate two pieces of white toast with peanut butter, a couple gulps of cold coffee, and put on my race outfit. Adam and his dad are awesome and agreed to get up at this ungodly hour to stand out in the cold rain to watch me run around Miami with some sort of bronchial funk. I truly had no idea what time to expect because I was so unsure of how my body was going to behave.

As we walked out of the parking garage, I ate two Snickers minis--my newest pre-marathon obsession.

When I signed up, I had put in my Rehoboth time of 3:19 and so I was seeded in corral C. I noticed the signs for 3:20, 3:25, 3:30, etc. At 5:50 a.m., I made the game day decision to tuck in behind the 3:25 pacer and see how far I could hold on.

The wave start meant that our group started at about 6:05 a.m. and despite a few people clearly in the wrong corral, there was not too much jostling. A big group followed right behind the 3:25 sign and I stayed on the outskirts about 20-30 strides behind. We climbed the MacArthur Causeway and I looked out to the cruise ships fully light up in the darkness. There was a police boat that had all of its sirens going and music blaring nearby that broke up the otherwise silent pounding of runners in the early morning hours.

As we approached South Beach, revelers called out from hotel windows and a few straggling party-goers dotted the streets. The sky started to lighten around the same time the rain started. I actually breathed a sigh of relief knowing that the rain would keep temperatures ideal.

Somewhere around mile 5, I realized that the early mile funk had dissipated and I no longer felt sluggish. I actually felt quite comfortable stomping through the mud puddles and watching the runners around me try to stay with the 3:25 pacer. I was tempted to surge on ahead, but decided to play it safe and let the pacer do the work.

 There were 3 other girls in our pack of about 20. It didn't occur to me until later that they could be running the half-marathon as the race doesn't split off until about mile 12. I tucked in behind one of them for quite awhile and just followed her footsteps, zoning out.

The course winds through Miami Beach and travels back over the Venetian Causeway offering views of oceanfront mansions along the way. I tried to remember to look up every one in awhile to take in the sights. As we hit the bridges over the water, we were smacked with incredible wind and spitting rain. It was briefly uncomfortable, but easy going compared to the winds of Rehoboth.
 
Our group slowly started to get smaller as we neared the split. 2 of the girls took off--one definitively towards the half marathon split. The other I later saw on the full course. The crowds swelled near the finish line area and the spectators amped me up. I was actually surprised to find the race was nearly half over (thanks ultra running!) and felt ready to run even faster.

Right after the split, I was running side by side with the pacer and noticed that our pace had dropped to a 6:55. Oops. I reeled myself in a bit. Too early to go that fast. But as he slowed down a bit, I stayed ahead. The crowds had diminished with the half marathoners gone and I set myself to the task of slowly picking runners off.

I still had a half marathon to run, but I was feeling pretty good and comfortable running in the 7:20s. As I ticked off each mile marker, I was surprised that my energy wasn't really waning. I started holding my hand out to high-five spectators and policemen as I went by. The smile on my face was 100% genuine. I was so happy to feel so good and so strong.

A couple of times I would pull past a guy and he would try to hang on once he realized he was being passed. One dude practically tried to elbow me as I went by even though we had an entire lane of road and runners were pretty spread out at this point. I just smiled to myself, gave him some space, and went to the far side of the road to go by.

Once we got to Coconut Grove, I was getting excited to hit the turn around to head back towards the finish line. I came up behind the girl that had been running with the 3:25 pack and ran behind her for about a half mile. She was running strong and her form looked great, but I was ready to start pushing the pace towards the end. I inched up close behind her and made my move to pass.

Feeling pretty good through mile 22, I continued to pick off runners down the long stretch of Bayshore Drive. Though I had intended to take one more gel on the finish stretch, my stomach was feeling sloshy from the Gatorade. I bypassed a couple of water stations at the end, knowing that I only had about 30 minutes left to run.

The course swung out on the Rickenbacker Causeway and though the wind had died down a bit, it was still noticeably harder heading west. But I was in good spirits and thrilled that my fears of muddling through 26.2 with cranky lungs were just fears.

I wasn't really looking at my splits in the last mile--I just tried to leave enough in the tank for the finish chute and cranked down my pace. My last true mile was 6:32. The last 0.2ish cannot be trusted with my Garmin data because the buildings screwed up my GPS.

As I turned onto Biscayne Boulevard, I glanced down to see it wasn't a PR, but it was a 3:20:XX. What once was incredibly hard, was achievable and repeatable.

And best of all, I had FUN.

Well, until I stopped. I walked slowly down the chute, collected a bottle of water, and had a volunteer place a medal around my neck. Took a photo.

I started coughing. Coughing harder. Then I went promptly to a trash can and puked. Gatorade and gels came rumbling back out in all their electrolyte glory.  A photographer passed by and realizing I was going to be okay and said, "just let it out!" Guess I wasn't 100% yet.

The good news is that I can run a 3:20:34 on diminished lung capacity. A super amazing taper and lackadaisical attitude are strong contributors to this success. Plus, the power of the negative split and picking off runners for the second half cannot be forgotten.

What next? Who knows! I am enjoying running to run and racing with freedom to fail. I consider every day I get to lace up and sweat a little another day to be grateful to do what I love.