"The course will humble you."
These were words of 'encouragement' I got from a Boston veteran. I'd told him I was aiming for a Personal Record. He thought me crazy.
In fact, so many Boston veterans passed on similar advice: just enjoy the race, don't try for a personal best, the hills will get you, don't go out too fast. Not a single person suggested running hard. No one said this is the race to give it your all. Not one person.
But to me, that's what Boston is about. It's the Mecca of marathons. Where else do you give everything you've got but in the one race that is more famous than all others put together? I was going to Boston with big goals.
- First and foremost, I was running for a personal best time. I wanted to beat my qualifying time of 3:13:48.
- I wanted to run sub-3:10.
- If conditions were right, I secretly planned a goal of 3:06.
Race Day
I slept surprisingly well the night before. Usually I can't sleep before a big race, but last night I was out. I wake at 5:45 and get ready. This race is different from most races as it starts at 12 Noon. So you're running in peak temperatures. Not really ideal. But that's what it is. I had a light breakfast and one full bottle of gatorade. After a small glass of water, I stop. I'm not drinking anymore until the race starts. Every race seems to find me rushing off for bushes and Boston being Boston, it's wall to wall people. Not many bushes. I'll come to regret this decision.
After a 45 minute bus shuttle (where I nap again), I arrive at our holding pen; home for the next 2 1/2 hours. I find a plot of grass and settle in to some bad karaoke on the main stage.
I talk with 2 runners from Canada. This is their first Boston and they're here just to enjoy the race. I tell them I'm going for a personal record, but that doesn't go over so well. Now they stare at me as if they can already envision me crashed out on Heartbreak Hill with a First Aid team slapping paddles to my chest. This doesn't shake my confidence. But I do stop sharing my goal with people.
Finally, we're called from the school yard to make our way to the start. I get set, lose my track pants, check my gels and jog my way to the start. Helicopters are flying overhead, several planes trailing ads behind them. And then I turn onto the main start road and it's instant pandemonium.
I've never seen such a crowd out for a marathon! There are people everywhere. They line every free speck of sidewalk, lawn, window, deck. They're everywhere. I try to make my way to the actual start line just to get a look at it before the gun. But I physically cannot make it through the crowd.
At Boston, you're organized according to your qualifying time, the fastest runners at the front. I'm bib number 5766 in corral number 5. There are 5765 faster runners in front of me. I have to wait for them to pass the start line before I get there.
I don't chat much in the corrals. I'm getting myself race ready. Not so much thinking about my plan as I am just trying to relax. I've been training so long for this I can hardly believe the moment is here. And it's here in the 5th corral that I have my first glimmer of doubt. Anything could go wrong. These things are so unpredictable. At this distance, a dropped gel could kill your race. Someone stepping on your toe. Anything.
Just then I hear the roar of 2 fighter jets. I look up and catch them soaring past us. A guy beside me says they're gonna reach the finish line in 4 minutes.
The Starter's Gun
A few minutes later, I hear a little 'pop' that seems to excite the crowd. I guess that was the gun. Even though corral 5 is close to the start, I still can't see or hear it.
And we wait.
Then we start shuffling.
Then we start jogging lightly....okay now we're moving. And I see the start line approaching...and cameras! Cameras, cameras, cameras! There's a giant crane dipping overhead into the crowd, about 4 or 5 television cameras, all trained on us, everyone enthusiastically waving.
And we're off.
In an instant we start a steep downhill. The runners are bunched so tightly together that we all do a slow shuffle. If you trip in this, you're gonna be trampled. The guy in front of me (200 meters into the race) loses one of his big fluid bottles. It bounces to the ground and is lost in the crowd. Ouch. New race plan for him.
After the first mile, I realize I'm a minute behind my anticipated pace. I had hoped to take advantage of the downhills but it's way too congested.
Second mile, I'm still a minute behind. The same on the 3rd. I adjust my race goals. I'm not gonna try and make up a minute on this course. 3:06 is out. I focus on a sub 3:10.
Before the race, someone had told me to write my name on my shirt. The crowds love to call out names and it's much better than hearing "Go 2338!" Or worse, "Go Bobby!", the guy beside you who DID write his name.
So the night before, I drew a Canadian maple leaf on my shirt with my name. And it was paying big dividends. "Go Canada! Go Kevin!" At one point I pass a group of drunk frat guys who are picking out names from the crowd. "Kevin, Kevin, Kevin, Kevin!" They keep chanting long after I've passed them.
After about the 20th "Go Canada!", one of the runners near me asks, "Who the hell's from Canada?"
At the 5k mark, I pass my first check point. 22:21. This is good. I've managed to make up a bit of time, but I'm still sticking to my sub-3:10 goal.
The field's opening up and I'm able to get into a groove. I'm maintaining a good 7:10/mile pace. It feels easy. I could go faster and still be comfortable but I don't. I decide to keep it all easy now until after the Newton Hills.
I can't get over the crowds. They line almost every inch of the route several people deep. If you need extra support, a runner needs to just drift to the sides and run near them. The crowd responds.
10km
At 10k, I'm 44:00 on the dot. This is perfect. I'm keeping my pace even. Because of the qualifying times, you run with runners of similar abilities. As a result, it's somewhat easy to find a groove with the crowd. You can just go with the flow and keep a good pace. I use my pace band less than I have for any other race. In fact, later after mile 16 I stop referring to it completely.
The course has flattened out a bit. It will just roll gently over the next few miles until the Hills.
There's no reason to get thirsty in Boston. Besides the water stations at every mile, the crowd is handing out anything a runner could want...water, orange slices, bananas, ice cubes. I grab my share of bottled water and ice cubes.
I may have started too late on the gatorade, though. I haven't had to make any pit stops, but I'm getting a serious stitch in my right side. I just ignore it and keep running. But it doesn't leave. And it's getting worse. In fact, it's hitting that point where it starts bothering my run.
And there's really not much to do. Just run tall and grit yer teeth. After a mile it starts subsiding slightly. But I can tell it's not going to go away.
As I approach the halfway mark, I start to hear a dull rumble. It's the Wellesley College girls a full mile away from me. Famous for their race enthusiasm, they've been cheering runners since the first run 110 years ago. One runner warned me before the race, "They're truly a siren's call. You can't help but run faster when you start hearing them. But that extra speed is going to kill you later in the race."
And he's right. It's tempting to pick it up. But I stick to my pace. And when I do finally come upon them, they are so loud and enthusiastic that their high-pitched cheers (screams really) actually turn into a low dull buzz in my ear. They hold up all sorts of signs that all say, "Kiss me!" or some novel variation. But really, I swear they're all screaming for themselves. A little sanctioned primal scream therapy at the Boston Marathon.
Half-Marathon
Soon after passing the girls, I cross the half-marathon mark: 1:33:15. I realize that's the 2nd fastest time I've ever run for a 1/2 marathon. Not bad in the middle of a full. I get a slight glimmer of fear that I'm not conserving enough.
Soon I'll be on the infamous Newton Hills, but before that my stitch reappears. And again I spend the next mile wincing and trying to keep my pace. I run close to the sidelines to draw energy from the crowd. "Go Kevin! Go Canada!! You can do it, Kevin!"
The Newton Hills
Finally, I round the corner past the fire hall, famous for being the last big landmark before the hills. I'd read from some Boston champions the best approach is even effort. Don't try and charge up them, don't slow down, just maintain the same effort you do on the flats.
The first hill is pretty straightforward though I can see I'm running slower than I had hoped. I'm starting to feel the miles. I'm not exhausted. I'll be strong through the whole race, but I can also tell I'm significantly slower than I'd hoped.
I'm passing several runners but I'm also being passed alot. For some reason, I've got it in my head that there are 3 hills. And I'm counting them 1, 2... As I hit number 3, I am also aware that I'm still in mile 19. I should be at the top, at mile 21. Unless of course...
..there's a fourth hill. As soon as I realize this, I shake my head. There's always been 4. I've known that. I've studied these hills. But still it feels like an extra hill has suddenly been thrown in.
Even effort and I finally crest the hill, my last mile at 7:56. This is significantly slower than I'd hoped, but after a 100 meters of quick recovery, I start picking it up. Now there's a sharp downhill and I take advantage of it.
I glide down the next 2 miles in a blur. The crowds are even thicker now (is it possible?) and I round a turn and see the Citgo sign off in the distance, the famous marker for the last mile. But it's still a good 2 miles or so from me.
As I'm running along, I get a funny thought: I'm bored. I've run enough for today. I just want my medal now. I figure it's my mind doing Jedi tricks on me. It wants me to stop running and is taking a passive approach. It knows I don't respond to pain. But maybe boredom.
But I don't fall for it. I keep running. I can still do 3:10. It's still in my sights. But I need to go faster.
The Citgo sign
I pick up my pace but my legs are really hurting now. As I approach the Citgo sign, I know Jennifer is here watching for me. She's been at every marathon I've run. She's been my biggest cheer leader and has spurred me on when I'm spent. But I have absolutely no idea how she will see me or I will see her. The crowds are only getting bigger and bigger. They look at least 10 people deep. It's absolutely insane to see this many people gathered for a road race. The crowd is a loud constant roar. I can't even hear my name or anyone else's. And of course, with everyone chanting my name, I wouldn't even know if it was Jennifer or not. (Amazingly, Jen did spot me in the crowd.)
I run through and am down to my last 1.2 miles. Checking my watch, I realize I'm having trouble keeping the pace I wanted. I needed to run 7:00/miles these last 2. But I'm at 7:10. That's not gonna do 3:10. It's too close.
I approach a new hill that's been added to the route. This was big news leading up to Boston...another hill? How could they? The hill is a road that dips under a bridge and then back up on the other side. As we run through it, it's briefly quiet. The crowds aren't allowed in the underpass. Just the runners footsteps echoing. I come up the other side and continue on. The hill is insignificant. Completely. If anyone complains about that, they don't belong in the marathon.
The Final Stretch
And suddenly the finish is upon me. I turn a corner and realize this is it. I make that last turn and it's straight to the finish line. I check my watch. If I charge, I just might be able to do it. I gun it up the last hill. I can make a 6:45 mile and that may be enough. I round the last corner and I see it. Way off in the distance is the finish line. Waaaaay off in the distance. Way more than I remembered. For a moment I start charging, I start gunning it. And then I stop myself. I realize I'm not going to hit 3:10 no matter what. But I am going to get a personal best time. So I decide to just enjoy the last 300 meters of the race. I cruise in letting the crowds pull me.
I cross the finish at 3:11:42. Over 2 minutes faster than my previous record. And at Boston, no less. I stop running and the first thing I spot is a Red Cross volunteer manning an empty wheelchair. I suddenly feel my whole head spin. I could faint right here. Holy shit, I'm really going to faint. I want to flop in the chair. But I keep myself moving and eventually it passes. I work my way through the network of volunteers, receive my medal and go search for Jennifer.
3:11:42 That's my number now. It's the stat all marathoners want to get out of you at some point in a conversation. And it's a good number. Now on to a sub-3:00...
