Boston 2017

Like nearly all cities, Boston is host to many running races throughout the year. However, if you say you are "running Boston," it can only mean one thing: the Boston Marathon. Why I thought that signing up for the 121st edition of the worlds longest running annual marathon during a semester when I was taking two classes, plus the Qualifying Exam, as well as delivering a major project at work are beyond the scope of this report. Ill-advised as it might have been, I did, and actually managed to do a better than terrible job preparing for it.

I bring Yaya with me in the hopes that there might be some educational value in visiting such a historic city (note to parents of 13-year-olds: there is NO educational value in bringing a 13-year-old to a historic city). At least she's good company and she gets along well with the children of Lainie and Nick Ives, our hosts for the trip. The Ives are good friends of ours who live an hour north of the city in Newburyport. It's an easy train ride, so it's a far preferable option to sitting around an overpriced hotel room on marathon weekend.

I pick up my number on Saturday, with Olivia and Charlie (the Ives' 13-year-old) in tow. Since the marathon isn't until Monday, we wander around the city a fair bit on foot. Sunday is much less active, with just a short run prior to Easter Mass and some easy walking later in the day. After considerable debating of options we settle on the plan for race day: I will take the train into Boston, drop my bag, and then take the marathon bus out to the start. Lainie will bring the kids into the city later, viewing at Newton and the finish. We'll all go back together. As Nick is an accountant and it's April, he's pretty sure he'll miss the whole thing, but we leave open the possibility of him getting out of his downtown Boston office long enough to see some of the race.

This means a pretty early start for me but, since I usually get up between 4:30 and 5:00AM, not one I'm unaccustomed to. After my usual breakfast of coffee and oats, I collect my drop bag and jog over to the train station to catch the 5:20 into Boston. As we leave the station, I offer payment to the conductor who responds: "runners don't pay today." Well, at least one thing went my way.

The train gets to Boston's North Station a minute early at 6:24, which gives me 16 minutes to drop my bag and get on the buses. It's an easy jog of about a mile, though I had underestimated the climb. Unlike the good folks of Illinois who will name a road "Cliff Street" if it runs atop a 20 foot embankment, the settlers of Boston saved the name "Beacon Hill" for a hill large enough to make a good setting for a beacon. I take it easy figuring that I can always take the wave 2 buses and still make the start.

That turns out to be the second win of the day because, unlike what's implied in the race bible, there is no real break between buses for each wave. They run pretty much continuously, so being five minutes late just means taking a bus five minutes later. I arrive in Hopkinton with an hour to kill before my wave is even called to the start. I spread out the garbage bag that I had intended to use as a disposable jacket and take a short nap on the grass of the High School.

At 9:10 we're called to the start. As that's only a kilometer away, I take my time, not wanting to stand around in the corral for too long. When I do get there, I find the organizers have cordoned off a nice area for warming up and I spend 15 minutes jogging easily before entering my designated corral. Thanks to the result in Milwaukee (only a month after Grad School started), I'm seeded fairly well in wave 1.

Well enough, in fact, that my main concern is not getting trampled. Fortunately, the first mile at Boston is fairly steep downhill and I'm a good downhill runner. So, even taking it easy, I get through the mile in just over 7 minutes and don't hinder those around me. Over the next three miles, I get passed by a few thousand folks, but I don't seem to be causing an obstruction.

Now off the steepest downhill part of the course, the reality of the weather is starting to sink in. It's hot. More importantly, the dew point is very high for this time of year, well above 60F. I wasn't expecting to run a great time anyway, so I'm not too upset about that, but I notice that many of the folks who were eager to get by me are now pulling back on the reins a bit.

The water stations, which come every mile except the first, are crazy as the field hasn't spread out even a little bit and everybody seems to want some. I decide that it's not that hot and I can go four miles between drinks (after all, I routinely do 16-mile split-tempo runs in St. Louis with no water at all). While that's true, at the station at 4, I make a point of getting a bottle rather than a cup of water. I don't really like carrying a bottle in my hand, but it's the best way to ensure I don't get too far behind on hydration.

At mile 7, I pass a guy in a Purdue University singlet. I tell him the last thing we need on a day like this is a Boilermaker.

I get to 8 in 58:45, just slightly on the slow end of my plan of running the first half in around 95 minutes and then adjusting from there. I try not to think about the fact that only a year ago, I would have been hitting 9 in another minute. What I do think about is that there's no way I'm holding even this pace for much longer. The heat hasn't gotten to me yet, but it surely will. The forecast calls for a cold front to arrive soon and I decide to bank on that. If it doesn't pan out, I'll just finish really slow. Won't be the first time that's happened.

And then it arrives.

The spectators probably don't notice much other than a few big gusts of wind. For the runners, it's transformative. Almost immediately, the moisture leaves the air. While the temperature holds in the mid 70's (well over 80 on the road), the combination of the breeze with the fact that sweat can now evaporate results in a immediate cooling of the skin. Within a mile, the cooling has spread to the core. Breathing is relaxed and the legs feel fresh and springy. I toss off my bottle (it's mostly empty anyway). I resist the temptation to drop the pace, knowing that this blessing could easily be squandered trying to claw back time on the relatively level ground through Wellesley when it really should be saved for the hills of Newton.

Speaking of Wellesley...

The women of Wellesley College are out in force as always, collectively audible from nearly a mile a way. Each is brandishing a sign of why they should be kissed and, in an obvious, but still interesting commentary on the tradition, quite a few of the signs indicate they would prefer a kiss from a female runner. I get a quick peck from one who indicates no preference and offer high-fives to several dozen more. It makes for a fun mile and, at 7:20, not a particularly slow one.

I go through the half at 1:36:47. A bit slower than hoped but, given the conditions, I'm quite fine with it. I hold the pace even for three more miles to Newton and then get to work.

Heartbreak Hill is the most famous obstacle in marathoning for good reason. However, it does not stand alone. If it wasn't for the three hills that precede it, any decent marathoner could just suck it up for the three-minute ascent and get on with finishing the race. The Newton Hills make all the difference. None are particularly tough, but they come in quick succession at mile 16, 17.5, and 19. The cumulative effect  is moving the critical distress point (which usually comes at 22) forward to 20, which just happens to be the location of Heartbreak Hill.

I decide I've got enough in the tank to risk hitting all of them pretty hard. The legs respond without complaint. The crowds are considerably larger than 2012, consistently lining the road and 2-3 deep on the uphills. Between the noise and the effort I lose track of where I am. About halfway up Heartbreak, I suddenly panic that this might not be the last climb. I've already committed to it, so I keep the pressure on and am greatly relieved to see multiple signs at the top indicating that this was the the big one.

While uphills can kill the engine, debilitating injuries like muscle pulls are much more likely going back down. Knowing I've gone deeper than I intended, I take it easy on the descent into Brookline. The clouds that accompanied the front have broken and the heat has returned. However, the dew point continues to fall, the legs are still OK, and there are less than five miles to go. There's really no excuse for not finishing this one strong.

While it's a bit warm for marathoning, the weather is ideal for marathon watching. The crowds lining the final flat miles into Boston are even thicker and louder than they were on the hills. It's great fun to be running well in such a situation. While my pace is only a few seconds per mile faster than it's been all race, there are enough runners wilting in the heat that I'm passing dozens every mile. I make the final turn onto Boyleston Street and am greeted by a deafening roar for the last quarter mile. I hit the mats at 3:14:30, which is actually a course PR since my only other run here was the 2012 death march compared to which today's conditions would rate as idyllic. My finish position is 3564, only five places beyond my my 3559 bib number (no way that would have happened without the heat, so I guess I should be happy about the conditions).

As with everything else in this race, the finish is well organized and well staffed. I quickly collect my drop bag, change, and meet Lainie, Yaya, and Charlie. While I didn't see them on course, they saw me at both Newton and the finish. Perhaps more importantly, they got to Newton in time to see both the elite men and women come through. That was great for them. You just can't comprehend how fast they are running unless you see them come by in person (even then, you can't comprehend it, but at least you've seen what you didn't think was possible).

For me it was a huge step forward in my migration from "races" to "events." I've made incremental progress on that front, but this was the first time I was able to run an event and truly put competitive thoughts out of my mind. Given my current fitness, it was a decent run and I was able to embrace it as just that. The fact that I've gone considerably faster on other occasions and got beat by 162 other guys in my age group simply seemed irrelevant. I just enjoyed running. And running is something I truly enjoy.