1/50 - 2009 Boston Marathon

I had never run in the winter.  In fact, I had a pretty familiar habit of only running six months in the summer on sunny, hot days.  I did it for the Irish sun tan otherwise known as acquiring-enough-freckles-to-look-as-though-I-was-tan-from-50-yards-away-while-squinting.  It's all I had and unfortunately my vanity got the better of me on numerous occasions when I came home with painful sunburns.  That's all behind me now that I'm married.  Being pale is celebrated within this union!

My winters were usually spent gaining five pounds and looking forward to running it off come spring.  This winter was to be different.  I was going to don a pair of tights and face the cold, snow and ice like a man...performing at the ballet. 

My running seemed to benefit from a group training atmosphere so I decided to sign up for a group specifically geared toward Boston Marathon training.  It was through a running store in Chicago called Fleet Feet.  We were the Boston Bound Runners.  I still wear that pullover emblazoned with their logo out as if it validates my existence as a runner.  You see, once you've run Boston, you are a celebrity among runners.  Seldom does a finisher of that race turn down an opportunity to wear whatever tacky, loud-colored jacket, headband or short shorts with the race logo in public settings.  For three month after that race, I wore the fluorescent blue and yellow jacket over my suit as I commuted on public transit to my office as the boring accountant that I was.  It didn't matter; I was proud and someone in the crowd was sure to recognize my accomplishment with the same fervor and admiration bestowed upon war veterans. 

Training in a Chicago winter was not how I ever envisioned spending my Saturday mornings.  I would come back from runs with a snow and ice and snot beard frozen to my pathetic red beard.  However, there was something satisfying about finishing a grueling run under those conditions.  Not only did my body and mind feel good, but I could eat whatever I wanted!  It was great to cement friendships while sitting down to a group breakfast of pretty much two of everything on the menu after a long run.  These meals were events in that they literally lasted hours!

With the dream of running the Boston Marathon soon to become a reality, my wife, parents and I took flight to Boston on Saturday (the race was on Monday, Patriot's Day)  to take it all in.  When we arrived, we settled into a Holiday Inn about two miles south of the city.  The next day was spent navigating the transit system to explore the expo.  It was here that I realized the Boston Marathon was no longer an event that simply celebrated the elite runner.  Now, it was a marketing juggernaut geared toward not only draining your muscles of oxygen but relieving your wallet of whatever burdensome cash it was carrying.  Luckily, the training group was having a happy hour that evening where I was able to fill my stomach with Swedish meatballs and other assorted pub fair for a fairly cheap (and beer heavy) dinner!

I had a two mile run on Sunday and afterwards we ventured into the city to walk the Freedom Trail and take in the many sights along its path.  We grabbed some New England clam chowder and made the requisite stop at the Cheers bar for a beer or three.  We met a dozen or so of the other runners from my Boston training group for that celebrated tradition of Italian food the night before the race at Piccola Venzia in the North End.  I've since learned that I can eat just about anything the night before a marathon and never notice a difference in my performance but for some reason, the masses swear by spaghetti.  Meh.  Whatever works.  I was most excited about Mike's Pastries afterwards.  Wow.  Cannoli the size of your head!  Go for the lobster cannoli, you'll be most pleased.  Note - the lines can be a bit daunting, just push your way to the front. 

Monday morning, 4am.  I'm up and ready to go.  The sad part about that is that the race doesn't start until 10am.  I had to be on a bus at 6am in the city that would take me 26.2 miles out of town, where the race would start.  Luckily, the Boston training group I joined had our own bus so we could sit in a warm bus with a toilet while we waited three hours until the start time.  Money well spent, I say!  It was about 30 degrees F and a bit chilly to be standing around for three hours in shorts that are so short they would probably be illegal if I wore them any other day for any other reason.  Alright, I won't lie, sometimes I take that chance when I mow the lawn...  I like to live dangerously. 

About 30 minutes before the start, we walked to our staging area.  There were about 25 - 30 corrals where we were placed according to our qualifying times.  I was in the third corral.  It starts in a small, country town with narrow streets.  This is where I decided that I would not like to run with the bulls in Spain!  Being toward the front of a pack of fast runners means you keep up or you get swallowed.  The first two miles of the race were at a significant downhill.  The trick here was keeping cool and not taking off too fast.  I was successful.  My first two miles were 7:30 and 7:08, respectively.  I went on to clock a 1:29:45 at the halfway point.  This, I should mention, was a pretty fast point in the race due to the Wellesley Scream Tunnel.  The all-girls college is known to shower the runners with an overabundance of affection in the form of screaming and kissing.  Had I been single, I probably would have dropped out of the race at this point and still gone home with a win!  In the end, I married a girl from Smith College, the Wellesley all-girls school rival across the state where "the coffee is strong and so are its women."

http://www.newsweek.com/2008/08/08/the-12-top-rivalries.html. 

I set my focus back on the race as the second half was legendary for its hills, most notably, Heartbreak Hill around mile 20.  Even though I was on pace to break a three-hour marathon, I didn't imagine it was possible at this point due to the hills ahead.  They struck at about mile 17.  I found this first hill to be the longest and toughest.  It slowed me from a 6:38 mile to a 7:02, and for the next five miles, I would clock just over seven minute miles.  For the entire race, I ran with a friend from training, Alex.  As we approached mile 21, I turned to him and asked, "just where is this Heartbreak Hill we've heard so much about?"  A man next to us overheard and replied in a desperately out-of-breath manner, "that WAS Heartbreak Hill!  If it wasn't enough for you, you can go back and run it again!!!" 

This was my high point.  I had conquered the legendary hills with surprising ease and was about to coast into a finish over the next five miles (although it was mostly downhill from here, there was a nasty headwind with gusts up to 30 miles per hour on this part of the course).  It wasn't until mile 25 when I saw my family that I realized I was very close to breaking three hours.  I ran that last 1.2 miles at a 6:20 pace and finished with an official time of 2:59:06.  I was so ecstatic that I was actually moved to tears.  This was my perfect race.  I had run a 16 second negative split, I did what I never thought possible and on top of it, I broke three hours for the first time.  As soon as I caught my breath, I swore I would never run the Boston Marathon again (I still stand by that!). 

My family was in stitches for most of the race, as they were following my prediction time on the Boston Marathon website and watched as it danced around the three hour mark.  We celebrated that night with a nice French dinner at Petit Robert Bistro, a rowdy, late evening of drinking with fellow runners at Durty Nellies and some other place that we took over as we all roamed the streets in our Boston finisher jackets and medals.  You would think we looked like a bunch of nerds, but in Boston, you are treated like royalty in this garb on the day of the marathon.

The next morning we drove to Cape Cod for a few days of relaxation and sightseeing in terribly gloomy weather.  It's a good thing I had this newly acquired Boston Marathon jacket to serve as a raincoat.