It was a full week before Marathon Monday and I was already obsessively checking the weather. How accurate, I debated, could they really forecast 7 days out? It would change, right? It had to! It couldn’t really rain on the Boston Marathon and it just certainly had to be warmer than mid-40s. I didn’t even notice what they were saying about the winds until Dan mentioned it. It was all the talk on the Facebook training group I followed. I started to worry. I worried a lot. As the week went on, the rain chances were increasing not decreasing. We departed Minneapolis on Friday, thankfully, as Minnesota was hit by an epic snow storm that began shortly after we left. Had we stuck with our original Saturday travel plans, we quite possibly would have faced massive delays. It was breezy and cold in Boston all weekend long, and my dread about Monday’s weather was quickly turning to fear. I was very sincerely worried that I would not be able to run a marathon in the conditions they were now quite certain Monday would bring. Couple that with long lines at the expo made even more miserable by technology crashing right as I was about to pay, to standing outside in the cold for 45 minutes waiting for the pasta dinner, and I was growing increasingly grumpy. My every thought was filled with what to wear, what to toss, and self-doubts about my training and abilities.
Thankfully, Monday morning finally arrived. There was no more thinking, just doing. I put on nearly every layer I packed, and tossed what was left into my gear bag so I’d have something dry to put on at the finish. Dan and I walked across the Boston Common to the bag drop. As we stood in the rain waiting to cross the street, I told him I could walk back to the busses alone and he didn’t need to come with me. With hope in his voice, he asked if I was sure because he certainly would walk with me and see me off. I assured him that it was best if he found an establishment along Boylston Street from which to watch the coverage, eat, drink, and be merry. (But not too merry that he couldn’t find me afterwards.) We confirmed our post-race meeting spot, said our goodbyes, and off we went in our separate directions. Since I knew Dan would be dry and happy, all I needed to worry about was myself.
As I stood in the line for the busses that would take us to Hopkinton, it started to rain even harder. Luckily, the wait wasn’t too long. I boarded a bus and found an open seat next to a nice gentleman from New Jersey. We passed the time with polite chit-chat, pausing to note how long the bus ride was taking. It’s rather intimidating, I stated, to realize we have to run back once he drops us off. I kept looking towards the front to make sure the bus driver could see out the window. From the view in my seat, almost nothing was visible outside because the windows were all fogged over. Eventually, I could tell we were getting close and it wasn’t long after that we pulled up to the Athlete’s Village. The rain had mostly stopped by this point and I had dried off a little bit during the bus ride. Just as we stepped off the bus into the brisk air, it began to downpour again. Any hope that I had to stay even slightly comfortable until Wave 3 started disappeared.
My plan was to use the porta potties and then find a place to stay warm until they called my wave. Unfortunately, the toilets were in the middle of a massively muddy field. Anyone that knows me would understand that I very nearly panicked, thinking there’s no way I’m going through that. But, there really was no other choice. When I nearly lost a shoe in that awful mess, I was very glad I was wearing my old shoes and had brought my new ones along to change into right before the start. I think I stood in the bathroom line for an hour. I struck up a conversation with the guy behind me and discovered he was on a bus that got lost and it had taken them over an hour to get there. I later found out that more than one bus got lost. How that happens, I’m not really sure. When there’s a line of about 50 busses all departing at once, can’t you find at least one to follow? They are big and yellow and quite visible. Anyway, I was thankful to have been on one that made it on the first try to the start. I was about 2 from the front of the porta potty line when they announced that runners in my wave could now make their way to the starting line. Only slightly panicked, because I knew I still had 30 minutes before Wave 3 started, I got into the porta potty and realized why it was taking everyone so long. Working to pull up 5 top layers and pull down 3 bottom layers in a toilet that slanted backwards was not an easy task. I had wet toilet paper stuck to my hands and though I desperately wanted to use a Wet One and wipe them off before putting on my gloves, I realized it was rather pointless. Instead, I pulled on my plastic gloves and then my soggy cotton ones on over them. It was supposed to be the other way around until the warmer ones got wet in route to the start. Growing increasingly anxious, I found a spot to change my shoes and discard my rain pants. I put on one last layer of chapstick, stuck my hotel key and Clif blocks in my pocket, and abandoned the rest of my stuff. There was no time for any further preparations.
After navigating back through the mud as carefully as possible now that I was in my dry shoes, I was on my way to the starting line! I was actually starting to feel less anxious at this point. I remembered, from my 2014 experience, the rather long walk to the starting line. People were continuing to shed layers, but I decided to leave a couple more on until I was just about to start and then peel the remaining top layers off during the race. When I finally got to Coral 5 for Wave 3, I really didn’t have to wait much longer until we started. What relief those first few moments of the race brought. After months of preparation, training in the harsh winter elements, battling through a hamstring injury, and the endless stress about the current conditions, I was running the 2018 Boston Marathon.
Things actually got off to a fairly good start. Before I knew what the weather would be, I wanted to try and run a 3:50, which meant 8:50/mile. If I could achieve that, I would re-qualify with a 5 minute cushion. Considering the conditions, I told myself simply to run a smart race and be careful. I was feeling good at the start and was running faster mile splits than I had expected. Occasionally, I reminded myself to slow it down and save something for the hills that would come later in the race. It rained continually. Sometimes, it was just a light rain. Other times, it poured. I was one of the few people that wasn’t wearing a cap with a brim on it, so the rain was blowing right into my eyes a lot of times. I kept wiping them, hoping I wouldn’t swipe away my contact lenses. I found myself running on the right side of the road, likely because I wanted to grab water at the stops with my right hand. However, that side of the road always seemed to have the larger puddles. Needless to say, I spent a lot of time moving around the course trying to find just the right spot.
One of the biggest challenges I faced was simply the number of runners. There were 7,500 runners in each wave and so I was constantly passing someone or being passed. It’s difficult, because you don’t want to cut anyone off or get cut off. So many people were running in their ponchos which was really rather annoying. I had to go that much further to get around their billowing rain gear and it got rather old by the end of the race.
As the miles ticked off, I actually found that I was enjoying myself. I think I probably felt better running in the cold, wet weather of 2018 than I did in the rather warm conditions of 2014. This time, I was better trained and more mentally prepared. I recalled asking Dan earlier this year if training in the harsh winters of MN better prepares you for Boston than the sunny, warm weather of the southern states. His reply was, “It depends on what the weather is on Marathon Monday”. I thought about all those long runs in the cold and ice, and my last long run in Elgin in very gusty winds that reduced me to tears. Despite how much I complained about the weather all winter long, I was so much better prepared because of it.
I vowed to try and take in the race and remember more parts of this time around. I so appreciated the crowds who endured the weather to cheer us on. When it would downpour and the winds would gust, the crowds would roar louder, as if to echo my thoughts of “bring it on”. I saw a dog holding a Boston Strong flag in his mouth and donning a rain jacket. I saw Santa Claus. Really, it was Santa; I was not delirious. I smiled when I ran through the scream tunnel at Wesley College, though I noted that very few runners stopped for kisses from the coeds. There were probably a thousand other things those girls wanted to do on Patriots Day than to stand outside in the cold rain, but they didn’t disappoint, nor did the weather dampen their enthusiasm. I watched the signs as we passed from town-to-town. I noted the police, military, and other security along the route. Running in such conditions wasn’t exactly fun, but just standing in it had to be miserable. As we got closer to Boston, we started to encounter the hills. I listened as one runner encouraged another runner up a hill and then asked her if it was the famous Heartbreak Hill. They both thought it was. When we eventually ran up the actual Heartbreak Hill a short time later, I was so relieved. I passed so many people who were walking but I knew once I made it to the top, the worst of the hills was over with.
At this point, I remember thinking “I’m doing this”. Not only am I surviving, but I’m actually doing pretty well. I tried not to focus on my overall time, but rather just concentrated on my pace. My legs were tightening up, so I tried to take liquids at least at every-other mile. I think it’s the first marathon where I never walked once, not even through the water stops. Sure, that meant I poured half my drink on my shirt or had it go up my nose, but when you’re already drenched it really didn’t matter.
Though I had tried hard to commit to memory more of the race, a lot was a blur. I keep trying to recall more of it, but it’s simply not coming back. What I do remember is watching for the famous Citgo sign, which signals mile 25 of the race. Once it came into sight, I was ecstatic. I was certain I could make it then, and it was at that point I finally allowed myself to visual finishing. As I was approaching the sign, my legs suddenly seemed to seize up and I started panicking. There was no way my legs could give out on me now, I was so close. Through my anxiety, I realized we were going slightly uphill. I talked myself up the incline, knowing that I’d recover on the downhill. Sure enough, things loosened up at the top and off I went in pursuit of the finish line.
From there, emotion took over. My watch was about .25 ahead of the official markers, thanks to all my zig-zagging, but once I got close to the finish line it didn’t matter. The rush of adrenaline from the cheering crowds carried me. I reminded myself that though I was trying to push harder, I wanted to enjoy and appreciate everything about getting this far. “Right on Hereford, Left on Boylston” kept going through my mind. Hereford was littered with the ponchos that everyone suddenly discarded. I guess vanity finally took over and people wanted to look good for their finish. I was wearing a buff on my head that I pulled off, but more so that Dan would notice me more easily (seriously). I successfully made it past all the debris on Hereford and made that left turn on Boylston. As I did, I had to choke back a sob. Then another. The fans were screaming, the iconic yellow and blue finish line was straight ahead, and I was about to finish my 2nd Boston Marathon. I thought about giving a triumphant fist pump or some other display of emotion, but in the end, I decided to cross the finish line without any visible celebration. My heart was full, that was enough.
Those first few moments after finishing a marathon are indescribably joyful; it’s a feeling that I wish I could hold onto to forever. It’s the culmination of so much hard work, dedication, and sacrifice. Running a marathon is hard; running it in the cold rain with a strong headwind made the challenge all that more rewarding. Because of the cold and possible onset of hypothermia, I walked quickly through the finish line chute. I collected my medal with great enthusiasm. The thermal wrap was almost as exciting a reward. I took some water and some food, and then headed to get my gear bag for some much needed dry clothes. The gear bag pickup was a bit of a nightmare. There were not enough volunteers so runners were going behind the barriers and just grabbing their own stuff. Some even had the nerve to just stop right there under the tent and change into their dry clothes, all while the rest of us waited patiently, still in the rain, and followed the rules. The volunteers eventually regained some order. I gave one a pleading look that tried to convey, “I’ve been standing here for 15 minutes and following your rules, so please help me so I don’t end up in the medical tent”. Finally, someone took pity on me. Bag in hand, I set off to find Dan.
Our first spot to find each other was the PF Changs just down the street. If we missed each other there, we were going to just meet at the hotel. I prayed that the delay with the gear bag didn’t mean that Dan left thinking he had missed me. I didn’t think I would A) find the hotel without my phone for directions or B) make it that far without a glass of wine. When I saw his blue rain jacket through the window of the restaurant, I nearly wept with joy. I got inside the warm establishment, used the bathroom to change into my dry clothes, and gave Dan my first of many race recaps over a glass of wine (okay, you’re right, it was two). By this time, I was also fully aware of my finish time. To my great surprise, I finished in 3:48:56. A Boston Qualifier with a 6 minute and 4 second cushion!
As I’ve said before, Boston is a special city and the honor of running their marathon is unrivaled. It’s a privilege to call myself a Boston Marathoner. By the grace of God, my body will allow me to continue running and I will consider myself blessed each time I can turn in a performance worthy enough of this prestigious race.
#bostonstrong #neverforget #togetherforward