A Grand Finale

We approached BU's South Campus with a little less than 2 miles to go. In my completely unbiased opinion, the crowd filled with Terriers completely outshone their Eagle counterparts from Chestnut Hill. GO BU! As a fellow alum, I think Alison received the same bump in energy as we passed through.

"You see that 40K sign? Remember when it was only 15K? 2K to go!! Let's do this!"

There were three small hills still to conquer. The first of which brought us into the heart of Red Sox Nation, a hostile place for a Yankee fan on any other day. The game against the Baltimore Orioles had ended in a loss more than 2 hours earlier, but thousands of fans still lined the course on the hill leading over the Mass Pike and into Kenmore Square. We don't walk up hills!

We apparently don't walk the last mile and a half of marathons either. I was thinking that we would rest for a few minutes until we hit Kenmore Square. Alison had other ideas and just kept churning away as Beacon Street merged with Comm Ave and we passed the two greatest signs in the Boston Marathon. The Citgo sign high above, and this one down on the street:

I found out later that they had turned away spectators from the finish line area because there were just too many that wanted to get a glimpse. This turned out to benefit all of us on the course because it packed the final mile with an enormous crowd even though the elite runners had finished well over 4 hours before. They were everywhere and the cheering was deafening. Alison's tears of pain were now getting replaced with tears of joy. I kept telling her that there was no crying in marathoning and to save it for the finish line. She didn't listen. 

Six or seven years ago, the BAA decided to throw in a final twist on the course and have the runners go down and up the Mass Ave underpass instead of cutting across at the surface and block traffic. There was a 1K to go banner plastered across the bridge over the underpass. "Remember when it was 27K to go?" That one really got the water works flowing for Alison, but there were only two more turns to go. 

Right on Hereford!!

Left on Boylston!!

We turned for home and could see the finish line ahead of us. Alison was practically sprinting now and I was having trouble keeping up. I felt like I was an elite runner since the crowd was still 4-5 deep along Boylston Street. Any other year, and the crowd would be mostly comprised of family members still waiting for their runners to finish. I guess everyone was family this year and I got a kick out of making them respond.

Get loud people!

Before you knew it, there it was. The finish line. It wasn't a strip of paint on the road any more. It was a statement of accomplishment. 

OK Alison, now you can cry.

We crossed the line, hands held high. It might not have gone as planned, but we did ultimately end up crossing the finish line together. It was quite a scene. Alison found her best friend, Lindsey just past the finish line. I found all of my athletic training friends working the area as medical volunteers. Many of whom were involved in saving the lives of so many last year, but had nothing but smiles on their faces this year, even after 10 hours on their feet and still a few more to go. It was really too much to take in, and I didn't want to leave the finish area. But alas, there was one more thing left to do:

What a day!

Next Chapter: Celebrate and Remember

Onward to Boston!

Heartbreak Hill tops out just before Boston College. This may be the only time I ever say something nice about BC, but as per usual they know how to party and show their support on Marathon Monday. I mistakenly high-fived a BC student at the start of the steep downhill on the backside of Heartbreak, and made a point not to do it again. We were all Bostonians that day, but a 2-time BU grad can only do so much!

After taking advantage of the downhill momentum, Alison and I rested as we passed the graveyard section of Comm Ave. Aptly named for both the dead legs and the actual graveyard that borders the course. We were about 4.5 miles from the finish, and the first 22 had obviously taken its toll on Alison's ankle. I thought she finally tore through her angry tendon every time her leg gave way due to the pain. There was just no quitting now. We passed the 35K sign and time sensor, proving to anyone tracking us online that we were still alive. "Remember the 15K sign when it was 27K to go? We're only 7K to the finish now!"

Cleveland Circle was another amazing adrenaline rush. The crowd was still three deep as we turned right on Chestnut Hill Ave, and left on Beacon Street. Only two more turns to go. We knew a lot of our friends would be staked out along the course waiting for our arrival. My friend Jenna captured a few action shots while we were trying not to trip on the T tracks:

Rare evidence of Alison not smiling through the pain!

Six towns down and two to go. The three mile stretch of Beacon Street through Brookline is seemingly never ending. Thankfully there was plenty more support out there to break up the monotony. The thousands of random strangers were still providing a non-stop cheering line ushering us to Boston. I want to send a special thanks to Mandy, Steph, Will, Jenna, Maria, Sara, Zach, Katie (and the athena crowd), Adrienne, Jen, Andy, and the Fox family who stuck it out to provide some sweaty hugs and the loudest cheers around, whether I saw you or not! Please forgive me if I've left you off the list, but feel free to shame me in the comments.

The pain on Alison's face was almost unbearable to watch now. Mile 24 brought another medical tent stop to release the compression wrap that was now way too tight around a swelling ankle. The volunteers knew where they were on the course and were going to do everything possible to make sure we made it to the finish. Yes, that included the requisite medical care, but they also provided smiling faces and priceless words of encouragement. I hope I can remember their attitudes when I think I've had a long day.

Just before we left the tent, we started hearing a commotion out on the course and spectators were scrambling to get a better view. We had no idea what was going on until we left the tent and started moving again. While testing Alison's newly taped ankle, we noticed a sea of red singlets ahead of us. As we approached the swarm of runners, it became obvious what all the excitement was about. It was quite possibly the most inspirational sight you could hope to see in the Boston Marathon:

No words can describe this sight.

Dick and Rick Hoyt were less than 2 miles away from finishing their 32nd Boston Marathon together. 2013 was supposed to be their final race, but the world had other ideas and they weren't allowed to finish last year. Team Hoyt epitomizes Boston Strong and wouldn't go out like that! Many members of their fundraising team made sure to let everyone know who was on their way to Boylston Street.  Our final challenge: Get to the finish to see them arrive!

Next Chapter: A Grand Finale

We Don't Walk Up Hills

Meb won! Meb won! It was just past Wellesley College when we found out the incredible news. Could it have been any more perfect to have an American win the Boston Marathon this year?

Wellesley Town Center marks the halfway point of the Boston Marathon. The road narrows and the crowds pinch in as you pass their small shopping district. We passed the 13 mile marker and the half marathon milestones in quick succession, which always made me feel like I was getting somewhere quicker! However, the 13 mile water stop probably comes closer to 13.5 when the road opens up and provides enough space to house all the tables, volunteers, and yes, the portable toilets. I don't think Alison was expecting the extra half mile when she threw down the next challenge to run to the next pit stop, but we made it there as the pain in her ankle was obviously building. What I didn't hear was, "I'll meet you at the end of the water station," before she took a restroom break. So I stepped off the course to get out of the way of other runners.

I waited. . . and waited. . . and chatted with a few volunteers . . .and waited. . . and stretched a little. . .and waited some more. Finally, a friendly volunteer and I surmised that my running partner had given me the slip. Let the chase begin again! Luckily, it didn't take 9 miles to catch up this time, and after a reunion a quarter mile later, we made our way through the rest of Wellesley and on to Newton.

Wow, a smile! And someone trying to hold me back.

For anyone that has run the Boston course before, you know that Newton is where the course likes to play mind games with you. It starts with a steep downhill into Newton Lower Falls, and then a long tedious uphill that no one ever seems to mention when they talk about the dreaded Newton hills. Alison and I decided then and there that we would run up every hill for the rest of the race. We probably should have got our heads examined at Newton-Wellesley Hospital as we crested that first arduous climb.

We rested a good portion of the flat mile that follows the hospital and we arrived at the "firehouse turn" onto Commonwealth Ave. The first of only five turns on the course. I knew there was always a medical tent there, and I convinced Alison to have one of the amazing volunteers take a look at her ankle and at least get some ice to numb the pain. This also gave me an opportunity to celebrate the day with the kids, volunteers, and staff of the Goodwill Youth Initiative. They were camped out at their usual spot across from the medical tent and I was welcomed with resounding cheers and high-fives as I ran past. And since it was so much fun the first time, I ran past again after Alison was freed from the medical tent with a new compression wrap on her ankle.

Our very own Goodwill cheering section!

Still enjoying myself at mile 17.5!

We were immediately faced with another long uphill. And another. And another. Running up each one, and resting in-between. Then came the big one. Heartbreak Hill. More than 3/4 of a mile of absolute pain and suffering, even for the healthiest of runners. What a perfect start to the 10K race to the finish line.

Heartbreak Hill is this big!

The traffic light at the top of Heartbreak became the next challenge. The Drum Connection drummers gave us a beat at the bottom of the hill, and we kept churning until we reached the top. As the hill flattened out, I figured we had accomplished our goal and started to slow down, but Alison zoomed past and noted that we hadn't reached the light at Hammond Street yet. I'm such a slacker.

Next chapter: Onward to Boston

The Real Adventure Begins

Now, remember Alison? You know, the friend I failed to connect with at the Athlete’s Village because I chose not to carry a cell phone for the race? Well, in reality she could kick my ass in a marathon every day of the week, and twice on Sundays. Unfortunately, the injury bug caught her in late March, and she could barely walk, no less run without pain for the weeks leading up to race day. But if you know Alison at all, nothing was going to keep her from the start line this year. Partly because she is a little insane, but mostly because it was THIS YEAR!! (For a little context: she completed last year's race and was collecting her gear a few blocks past the finish when the bombs exploded). Since I run slow enough these days, we decided to try and run together because my pace might just take enough stress off the injury to get to the finish. Oops, so much for that plan!

As it turns out, it takes me approximately the 9 miles to Fisk Pond to catch up with someone that is basically running on one good foot. When I spotted her in the crowd, she was already making friends with others taking a break from running to soak in the atmosphere. I knew if she wasn't running, she was probably in a heck of a lot pain. I'll admit, I was skeptical of anyone attempting to finish the final 17 miles of a marathon in that amount of pain. Did I mention Alison was a little bit insane?

After the initial surprise of finding each other in the crowd wore off, we revisited the original game plan and started to break the race down into digestible pieces. We were right around the 15K marker, which meant we were "only 27K from the finish." For some reason that sounded better at the time than 17 miles to go, but it became a recurring theme the rest of the day. There's also a photo op just past 9 miles, and no one wants to be walking in an official Boston Marathon photo. That became the first challenge:

Most people do a much better job of looking at the cameras!
You would think I was the one in pain, not Alison.

After a mile or so, we took a break, drank some Gatorade, and looked for the next challenge. The crowd on this stretch of the course was amazing. As we entered Natick Center, it was like being at Fenway Park when the Yankees were in town. They were roaring for everyone that came through, and we couldn't help but run through town. That was the first time I was ever compelled to yell back at the crowd, "NATICK IS AWESOME!" How many times have you ever heard someone say that and mean it? I think that's also the same time I stopped mocking Alison for killing my steady 9:30 pace.

A few more starts and stops, and we were barreling down on the scream tunnel of Wellesley College. I remember the adrenaline rush I received in 2009 while running through this stretch just before the half way point. No, it's not because of the hundreds of undergrads from a female-only school who apparently never get out except on Marathon Monday, but it's the out of this world vocal support they provide to the throngs of runners. I'm still kicking myself for not getting a few kisses from the ladies, but I think Alison and I both high-fived every single hand that was outstretched over the railing. Within a couple minutes, we'd be half way home.

Don't turn me into the AP for stealing this photo.

Next chapter: We Don't Walk Up Hills

The First Nine

It took close to 10 minutes to walk to the start line, and then we were off. Exactly six years before, on April 21, 2008 during my first ever marathon, I had also started at the rear of the final wave with all of the other fundraisers.  I had high hopes of running a great race that day because my training had gone so well.  I couldn't handle all of the congestion early on. It was going to affect my time! I started ducking and weaving, and I probably ran an extra mile within the first five from all the zigging and zagging. By the halfway point, I knew I was in trouble. By mile 18, I was making friends with the first responders in the medical tent. I finished that race about 90 minutes later than expected, but I knew from that point on, Boston was all about the experience, not about the time. There were milestones I spotted like Jeff Stone's house at Mile 4 in Ashland. He is an athletic trainer I've met a few times and he was profiled in the Boston Strong story in the latest Sports Illustrated. He mentioned the house and how he always raised a flag on Marathon Monday. Last year it was lowered to half staff to honor the victims, but this year it would wave from the top of the flag pole.

Wait, how far is it to Boylston Street?

I had come to terms many weeks earlier that my pace was going to be between 9:00-9:30 per mile. As it turns out, you actually should train more than 3 days a week if you want to run in the 7s. So, the slow pace at the beginning was just what I needed. The hip pain I was experiencing since getting off the plane had gone away, but my ever annoying calf muscles were acting up early on. I was just hoping they would relax as I settled in. It was close to 70 degrees at the start, and the bare trees provided no shade at all. I’m glad I put on sunscreen, another item I overlooked in 2008.

I've always been amazed with the crowds for the Boston Marathon. I typically stayed in the middle of the road, away from the encroaching spectators, thinking that sometimes they were just in the way. This year was different. This year required handing out high-fives to all the little kids that looked on with excitement and awe, thanking the police officers and servicemen that lined the course every tenth of a mile, and simply acknowledging the hundreds of thousands of people that cheered on every single runner for hours on end. So that pretty much summed up the first 9 miles for me. I concentrated less on the miles ahead of me, and more on what was right in front of me all along.

I guess I could smile more for the camera!

Running along Fisk Pond at mile 9 is always one of the more memorable parts of the race for me. It’s one of the only times a significant body of water lines the course, and it can be somewhat serene in all of the chaos. This year was no different. My lungs were still fresh thanks to Colorado, and my legs felt decent all things considered, but I knew there was still a long way to go. I was clicking off 9:15 minute miles regularly. For the most part, I was enjoying the marathon. Who says that about a marathon with two-thirds of the race left, honestly?

A view of the race from Fisk Pond

Next Chapter: The Real Adventure Begins

Getting to the Starting Line

It’s Monday morning, April 21. For the second time, I would be running the Boston Marathon on my birthday. I think I should turn it into a tradition whenever the two coincide. I have some time to train for the next one since it won’t happen again until 2025. As I walked out of my aunt’s condo, I noticed all of the commotion that was already occurring on the course. I looked left and there were two towering security cameras that would be able to watch that stretch of Beacon Street. Across the street, a police unit was setting up and I noticed a few vehicles labeled bomb squad. It was sad to think that this would now be the normal preparation for Patriot’s Day in Boston. I just hoped that they wouldn't have to spring into action.

I hopped on the Green C-line trolley just before Coolidge Corner. I definitely stood out from all the riders that were heading to work on a Monday morning. I was already in shorts and running shoes, carrying my official clear plastic gear bag, with my numbered Goodwill jersey hanging over my shoulder. I guess I wasn't trying to conceal my identity. The closer we got to downtown, the more runners boarded the train. I met Heidi from Oregon who came back this year to run even though she hadn't planned on it. It was only a couple weeks before her 50^th birthday and she had a qualifying time, so I don’t think she really had a choice. She probably didn't have the T experience last year because she seemed very nervous about missing her stop. I’m glad I was able to provide some guidance, but happier to chat with someone that could relate to all the anxiety. We exited the Boylston station, said good luck and went our separate ways. I’m sure she would find her way back to Boston a lot quicker than I was planning that day.
If she’s the lone 49-year-old Heidi from Corvallis, she rocked a 3:23!!

For the second year in a row, some members of the Goodwill Running for Great Kids marathon team met in front of the Loews movie theater across the street from Boston Common. This time around, I was one of the 23 team members searching for the extra warmth provided by the small streaks of sunlight that made its way through the buildings along Tremont Street. I was happy that many from last year’s team were going to join us on the yellow school bus ride out to Hopkinton. I think we were all trying to ignore the nervous energy that goes with attempting to traverse 26.2 miles in the world’s most storied marathon. We all shared accounts of what it took to get there including the countless hours spent covering hundreds of miles in conditions that the word freezing can’t come close to describing the temperatures associated with a polar vortex or two. Luckily for us, it was forecast to be an almost perfect New England spring day. Although the conditions were far better for spectating than running, I wasn't going to complain about a sunny day.

As the hundreds of buses began to motor away with the earlier starting wave’s runners, it really started to become real. I've never taken the buses from the Common to the start in my previous Bostons, but it quickly became apparent why Patriot’s Day was a state and school holiday. How else are you going to get tens of thousands of runners to the start if it weren't for the school bus drivers that spent the first day of their spring break hauling us all out to Hopkinton?  We can add them to the unsung heroes list that makes the marathon happen every year.

We got stuck in commuter traffic along the Pike because both I-93 and Storrow Drive were closed down do to accidents. Murphy’s Law strikes again. By the time we arrived at the Athlete’s Village, we had just enough time to wait in line for the bathrooms, grab a snack and water, and make some final preparations for our run. Before we knew it, we were being herded down Grove Street. 

Just as we reached the corrals on Main Street, the starter’s gun fired and Wave 4 was on their way.  I had planned to run the race with my good friend Alison, but that was looking less and less likely since I wasn't able to meet up with her at the Village or in the corrals like we planned. Now with another 9,000 runners heading towards Boston, I didn't think I would see her until we were celebrating with a cold beverage that night. 

Next Chapter: The First Nine

Reaching Race Day

It’s Saturday, April 19 and I’m waiting for my flight to Boston to depart, two days before race day. I learned from my last destination marathon that I should probably give myself a buffer day since Murphy’s Law caught up with me last time. It turned out to be a smart move because just after closing the cabin door, the captain said, 

“The maintenance issue is worse than we thought, and we don’t have a clue how to replace the part that fell off the plane between Seattle and Denver. We’ll give you an update sometime between now and next week. But we’ll allow you to deplane because we don’t have enough overpriced food boxes that we can’t even give away for free because we are broke.” 

OK, I think I may have taken some liberties with that quote, but it’s really not far from the truth. I guess I should just drive to all my races from now on. Only two and a half short hours later we were airborne. Thankfully, the two-hour time zone difference didn’t leave me too tired when I finally arrived at my Mile 24 Brookline hotel around 1am ET. (Thanks Aunt Mary for letting me stay at the condo!) 

Easter Sunday didn’t seem to exist in Boston this year. Maybe it was because I was staying in Brookline, and let’s be honest, there’s a different demographic around Coolidge Corner, and we happen to not celebrate Easter. But in reality, I think there was a second, more important holiday this year. . . Marathon Monday!  Everyone’s Sunday best was replaced by running shoes and Marathon jackets. There were white, blue, and yellow versions from previous races, and there were the easily identifiable tangerine orange and blue striped version that would forever identify them as a 2014 Boston Marathon participant. I wasn’t convinced that I would purchase this year’s jacket until I arrived at the Hynes Convention Center that morning. When I saw the racks and racks of safety cone colored gear, I knew I had to have it to commemorate the race.

The Official 2014 Marathon Jacket that is hard to forget!

My trip to Hynes also included retrieving the all-important race number that made me and 36,000 other people instant Boston celebrities for a few days. It was like having an all-access backstage pass to the greatest rock concert of all time. I wasn’t alive for Woodstock, but I think we had more fans than Jimi Hendrix come race day. It was a shame to hear later that people had “hopped the fence” by photocopying other people’s numbers from pictures they found on the internet. I guess there will always be Boston bandits, but let’s just hope they at least paid the normal entry fee to a local charity. (Shout out to Mandy for that brilliant idea!)

My ticket to temporary stardom.

I was only a couple of blocks from the finish line when I left Hynes, but I remember thinking that I didn’t want to go see it just yet. That was reserved for tomorrow, race day. Besides, it was only a stripe of paint until you put in the work to turn it into a finish line.

Honestly, how cool are these mannequins?

Next chapter: Getting to the Starting Line