Sunday morning on a downtown Boston street
"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have remained faithful." --quote from the Apostle Paul. Upon crossing the finish line at the Boston Marathon, I could definitely relate to the spirit of these words. Those who crossed the finish line last Monday fought against the wind and cold rain, we struggled up the Newton hills, with our bodies depleted we put one foot in front of the other until we turned onto Boylston Street, and then we rode the swells of the roaring crowd until we crossed the finish line. We had remained faithful to the commitment we made more than a year ago to run this race.
Looking back, I now realize what a high risk/reward endeavor running Boston can be. The risks are obvious: extreme training for months to run a qualifying marathon; running the qualifying race and hoping for a good day to beat the qualifying time by enough to get in to Boston; putting the non-refundable money down for Boston eight months before the race; securing an expensive hotel room in Boston for three nights; making travel arrangements; going through extreme training for months before the race; getting to Boston and making sure you are at all the places you need to be to pick up your packet and get to the starting line; finally, running the race and finishing. If you make it through all of the above successfully, the reward of crossing the finish line is amazing. But man, those risks seem high. Maybe that's why Boston is so alluring. It attracts risk-takers, people who are willing to put time, money, and their own bodies on the line if it means a chance to accomplish something exceptional.
My wife, daughter, son-in-law, two grand boys and I stayed at the Omni-Parker House on Tremont Street, about a mile from the finish line. On Sunday we walked to the expo to pick up my packet and a friend's packet (this friend couldn't run because of an injury--thus the risk/reward factor). Of course I spent close to $200 on an official sweat shirt, jacket, and hat, rationalizing that I may never pass this way again. Unfortunately, I forgot to pick up some energy gel packs for the race. Walking around historic downtown Boston was great--lots of shops, a big park called the Boston Common, and even an old graveyard.
On race morning I knew I was supposed to catch the shuttle (school bus) on Tremont Street. I didn't realize that the buses would be lined up from Boston Common clear to my hotel. I didn't have to go far to catch the bus. The ride out to the starting line in Hopkinton took about fifty minutes. I sat next to a dear lady from New York named Grace, who had run Boston many times. She filled me in on what to expect when we got to the Athlete's Village and offered advice about running a successful race.
At the Athlete's Village
(notice the stylish garbage bag)
After arriving and disembarking at the Athlete's village, I spent a lonely two hours under a huge tent with thousands of other runners while the leaden sky drizzled rain. The tent was as big as a football field and was surrounded by port-a-johns. My wait in line for the port-a-potty took about thirty-five minutes. I tried to look for the few people I knew were there, but the mass of humanity made it difficult to find faces in the crowd. Finally, the announcer called out my wave and corral numbers, and I headed to the starting line, almost a mile walk from the Athlete's Village.At the starting line there was another holding area for the runners where we waited as the first wave started. It was all very well organized. To me, the start was on quite a narrow road compared to other marathons and half marathons that I have run. Of course, only the wave 2 runners were at the starting line when I began the race. The pack of runners thinned a little as the race progressed but not much because we all ran about the same pace.
I loved the first twenty miles of the race. The first mile was a little slow because we were packed in like sardines--7:42. I felt great. The crowds were fantastic. It felt like I was floating along on their roaring cheers. The wind wasn't bad yet, and it was just sprinkling. I kept looking for people handing out gel packs but couldn't find any. The next twelve miles zipped off well, and I went through the half in 1:35:57 (about 7:21 pace). Still no gel packs. At this point the rain poured down and the headwind picked up to about 20 mph. Miles 14 through 19 slowed to about 7:27 but then came the Newton Hills. Still no gel packs. I figured if I ran hard to the top of Heartbreak Hill (mile 21), I could stretch out my legs and finish at a 7:30 pace on the downhills and flats to the finish line.
That didn't happen. Although Heartbreak Hill wasn't that difficult compared to the hills in the Ohio Valley, by the time I got to the top, my energy was totally expended. No calories left. The strong headwind and cold rain had also taken its toll. My failure to bring gel packs with me was a major mistake. Suddenly, it hit me: if I try to run 7:30s the last five miles, I might collapse before I get to the finish line. I slowed my pace to 8:20 to make sure I didn't completely fall apart. I wanted to get that medal!
One mile from the finish.
When I turned on to Boylston Street, the roars of the crowd were deafening. What amazing support the city of Boston offers up for these runners. Although I was weakened by the race and conditions, I definitely felt "Boston Strong" because of the people. After crossing the finish line, I noticed my GPS watch stated I had run 26.55 miles at 7:32 pace. My official time was 3:20:04 at a 7:38 pace. The extra mileage is normal because it's impossible to take the turns at the right angles in such a crowded pack of runners.
I knew I had to find my family quickly because I always get extremely sick after a marathon. This day was no exception. After walking five blocks to the specified family meeting area, I could hardly see straight or think clearly. Luckily, my daughter, Sarah, found me. She and her husband, Josh, led me to a nearby hotel lobby to warm me up and nurse me back from the dead with water, a banana, and yogurt. It took about forty-five minutes, but slowly I started to come out of it, and we made the long trek back to our hotel, cutting across Boston Common.
It was an incredible experience. The risk and cost was worth it . . . this time anyway. Looking back, I wish a few things would have gone differently. I wish this winter hadn't been so harsh. I felt I was about a month behind in my training because of the weather. I wish I would have held back just a little bit in the first 13 miles so that I would have had a little more left in the last five. I wish I would have brought gel packs with me to help add calories for those final miles. I wish the rain hadn't poured down and the wind hadn't blown so hard. I wish, I wish, I wish. The good thing about dissatisfaction is that it motivates one to try again. Next time, next time, next time--I'll do the right things, train harder, and hope for better weather.
Next time? I'm thinking in two years when I turn 60 I'd like to try again. I finished 149th out of 1500 in my age group (55-59). If I can run close to the same time when I turn sixty, perhaps I could finish in the top 25 in my age group (60-64). I could get excited about that.
I would like to thank everyone who has read this blog for the past 15 months. I hope it was entertaining or at least informative. This will be my last post. This old man has fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Thanks to the good Lord above! Through the Running Boston for Malawi mission project, we were also able to raise more than $1500 for the people of the Domasi Presbytery in Malawi. Many thanks to all who gave. May God bless you abundantly.
Happy running,
Joe C. Ellis
