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.
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| 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.
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| 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?
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| A view of the race from Fisk Pond |
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