Boston Race Report 2014 P. 3

Wave 1: Corral 6. The group had seen their fair share of upset leading up to Boston, with stress fracture scares, pulled hamstrings, illness. Kyle Lampi hadn't run but 26 miles in the month of April leading up to the start line, this coming off of a 1:15 half in Phoenix late winter. Needless to say, everyone who had planned this trip had to recalculate their race plans come race day. I had a 3-week tapor of cutting down mileage roughly 20-40-60% (74-52-30). I gave myself even more of a break in the final week, because I wasn't recovering from being sick.

At the race start we were ushered into our corrals, all the BAA volunteers offered well-wishes. There were men in speedos, tri-kits, american flagged from head to foot, sharpie-scrawled positive messages, including, "No more hurting people," decorating arms & legs. Police were stationed on building rooftops with binoculars. Helicopters flew over head - the gun sounded. It was 3-4 minutes before corral 6 saw the start line. Within a few minutes of our start, there were handfuls of men pulling off to the sides to pee. There were a long line of them saluting the woods.

I went into the race knowing that the crowds could garner my pace - it was either give in or rook out and dodge & weave to run an all-too-fast first half. I was patient - let myself get stopped up, avoided stepping on ankles and being stepped on, holding onto something like a 6:45 pace (?) It felt really easy as it does in the beginning, on a downhill. One woman I flew by yelled, "Slow down girl! Don't be stupid," which annoyed me, because it was assumptive. I think this is the downfall of having a slower start time, and trying to get yourself into a position where there are others trying to achieve a similar goal, many minutes faster than the entry.

From the start there were crowds 10 people deep, many many children standing so close to the racers, their parent's hands planted firmly on their shoulders. I was surprised to find that there were a few hills to climb (though minimal) in the beginning of the race, which was less of a visible impact because of the mass of people, but still, there. I thought, Well maybe no one notices these as much because of the adrenaline. I remember hearing once or twice how hilly Boston is, but I assumed it was just that it was downhilly, with a blip. Stats say it is net downhill, but, I think I was so focused on there only being a series of hills through Newton, that I wasn't expecting there to be other areas where I needed mental strength to push up and over. There was an especially aching one I had to overcome mentally, right after I decided to push, near mile 22. Someone in the crowd yelled, "This is the last good hill!" I was thinking, What the hell! I thought Heartbreak Hill was the LAST good hill. As much as I'm sure it was helpful to know about the Newton hills, I think I might have run more confidently through the race as a whole if I wasn't so aware of them. Around mile 7 or so, I caught up to LB, who said, "I'm trying to stay in the present, but I can't. I can't stop thinking ahead to the hills." This is so telling. If we hadn't been so consumed in the pain we were about to feel, I really feel like we would have been more powerful, mentally and emotionally, which would have then carried into physically.

Wellesley was my favorite section. Pervy signs of, "Kiss me, I'm still sexually frustrated," and the like were thrust into the air with the force of a pre-teen girl at a Hanson's concert. Men were throwing their arms up in efforts to stimulate more roar. I was smiling ear to ear. If I had run more casually, I would have made out with all of the Wellesley girls.

Sidelines held thick crowds the entire 26.2. There were mini trampolines with people leaping in cheer, children with sticky flat palms holding orange wedges, hoses, signs, pink wet sponge handouts, sticks with globs of vasoline, gatorade and water at every mile, chalk art, fat heads of racer faces, beer tables, otter pops. At each water station you had to be cautious of your footing for there were thousands of cups in a sea about your feet. The entire race I slowed to be safe at the stations, drinking more than I usually would because of the 70-degree & climbing heat, and each time someone would dart in front, or reach their hand across my face to get theirs. Technically, I don't think I had room to run until the 1/2 marathon cross point, and even then, I dodged and abbreviated my stride often. I feel naive and negative to say that this was displeasing, but I really thought the crowds would break a lot sooner than they did.

I got high-fived in the back, dropped some gu out of my pants, was offered treats from other runners who wanted to make sure I stayed equipped, and nearer the end, I had a couple women who felt similarly paced to me, which encouraged me to not give up. I remembered the old Rob De Castella quote, "If you feel bad at 10 miles, you're in trouble. If you feel bad at 20 miles, you're normal. If you don't feel bad at 26 miles you're abnormal." So when the bottoms of my feet started hurting by mile 3, and that I was definitely tired by 10, I felt like an a-hole. I'd say that I "held on" from mile 10-26.2. I focused a lot of unnecessary energy on my feet. At a couple points I did humor the thought of just running off the course and ordering a beer. I knew I wouldn't be able to live down a DNF for such an important race. If there were those who suffered and were not given the opportunity to finish last year, I was sure as hell going to finish this year, with nothing but mental weakness holding me back.

I saw the Citgo sign, and knew there was a little more work to do. I lengthened my stride, tried to drive in under 6:30's to make up for what I had lost, but with all of me, I couldn't hover there. My breathing had been great the whole race, my arms felt stronger than ever (when they usually give out & feel full in acid), it was just inner dominance I think I was lacking, the ability to reach back, believe in the training, mileage, feel a deeper power. The kind of thing I should have been working on over the years, but couldn't. I felt like I had all the passion in the world, it just didn't reach deep enough to my bones.

Similar to the steeplechase, this marathon is the only race I've ever smiled during. I came to get some work done, to see how close I could get to the B-standard, and to try and break the 2:50 barrier. Despite having some sub 6:10-minute miles interspersed at different points along the course, I didn't achieve that A-goal. But - I did not have anything left at the end, and the only thing I know to be true in trying to understand how I feel about all of this is that I gave it all I had.

LB & I post race

I crossed the finish line thankfully, so thankfully. Was apparently weaving so much a nice & gentle man came and held me for a while, walked with me, saying, "If this was any other situation, I'd cite you for a DUI." Then I was alone, a medal placed around my neck, and I stood to the side, no one ushering me along, no one telling me to keep moving (thank god). I was interviewed by the news, and then I saw LB; we held each other as she let herself cry. She was in pain, the fault of her compression socks, which had caused her calves to cramp. We were helped into our post-race capes, and walked around like baked potatoes, not sure how to connect with anyone, seeing as all our connectables were at the hands of some Boston policeman. Had to use a nice stranger's phone to drop a pin outside of a Hermes, to be found...most of us found each other, one went missing...

SB's major chafe

S came in after us, and didn't know how to get a hold of anyone (trust, I've heard the slew of you-should-haves). We lost her for like 4 hours, until she broke down to another policeman and used facebook to find us. She had chafed so badly during the race, that when she crossed the finish line someone had pulled her aside and said, "Honey, did you start your period, or is that an injury?" She was wheeled into a med tent, where they put rubbing alcohol directly on an inner thigh chafe wound so deep it was like a coin purse. Let's just say, the girl had a rough day.

Post race we got our much craved burgers, fries, and coronaritas. Afterwards we checked out the post race party outside of Fenway Park at the House of Blues, where there were raffles, free beer & food, and dancing beneath disco balls.

D. Lampi & her race burn waiting for the T

LB & I both felt like we had come into Boston underequipped. Whether we were or weren't, the course had taken it's toll. It's never fun to feel like you're not trained for something, especially when you've been training, but this course is the type to do that, and time will help me understand that better. Before I left for the trip I was interviewed by the Bellingham Herald; the interviewer wanted to know how I felt about how politically charged and emotional this race would be - would I feel something more? Was I running for a cause? I don't like to focus on personal views or stands. We all know how everything has changed & we will feel the loss in many areas of life, beyond this year's race. It was an honor to run in the 118th Boston Marathon - the energy was incredible.

Here's some footage of the elite female field finishing, and of Shalane Flanagan's post race interview; it really made my heart hurt.