The Boston Marathon

Because they seed runners based on qualifying times, as soon as we cross the starting line we begin running at race pace. The race begins with a big down hill and I concentrate on running softly, trying to lessen the impact on my legs. At the same time, I'm looking around, taking it all in. This is it. I'm running Boston. Two years of hard work and today is the reward. I ease my way toward the side of the road and start high fiving all the little kids who are lined up along the course. The sun is out and as we'll soon learn, there is very little shade along this course. I have the sunburn to prove it. Still, it is pretty good running weather, low 50's with a gentle head wind.

I run the first mile in 8:05 and then rattle off consecutive 7:56's for each of the next 3 miles. I'm not feeling very strong and I have a feeling I'm in for a long day but I figure if I can keep running at this pace I'll be in line for a 3:30 race. I'm certainly not huffing and puffing but I'm not feeling great either. The course is exactly as my friend described it. Rolling hills. Little to no straight aways. I start wondering if there is anywhere in Columbus where I could train that would help me prepare for this.

We run through Ashland, the second in a series of small towns along the route. I'm amazed at how many people are lining the streets and cheering us on. It's a big party. Some people are drinking beer, the smell of barbeque is in the air, bands are playing. Others are actively supporting the runners. Handing out orange wedges, water, sponges, ice, jelly beans, gummie bears, popsicles, beer. It's like this for the entire 26.2 miles. I've never experienced anything like it. The crowd is estimated to be over 500,000 people strong over the length of the course, and I believe it. It is a 26 mile wall of people. Amazing.

My splits remain pretty steady through 7 miles but then begin to slip a few seconds (and sometimes much more) each mile over the next 19 miles. By mile 9, my quads are already sore, even though I've been trying to take it easy. The real hills, the big ones, don't start until mile 16, I begin mentally preparing myself for a tough afternoon. On the bright side, the pain in my quads was trumping the pain in my butt, so I hardly felt any pain back there for most of the race.

Around mile 12 I started to hear it. The famous Wellesley scream. Soon, we rounded a bend and there they were. The girls of Wellesley College, screaming their heads off. As luck would have it, I was on the right side of the road so I high fived about 300 girls as I ran by while dodging the guys who stopped for kisses. Right past Wellesley we hit the 13.1 mile mark, which clocked me at 1:47:38. Not too bad, but I knew my fastest miles were long behind me.

At the aid station just past the 14 mile marker, I grabbed a cup of Gatorade and then made my way to the side of the road and walked for about 10 seconds while I drank it. I knew the hills were coming up and I really needed to give my quads a brief break. It would be the first of many walk breaks today. Before I knew it, I was at mile 16 and the start of our ascent.

I took the first hill slow and steady and made it up just fine. I had been told that although the hills are tough, there is adequate time in between each hill for you to catch your breath and prepare for the next one. I found this to be true. I made it up the second hill with no problem and started preparing for the third hill, which is longer than Heartbreak Hill, which would be the fourth and final hill. Hill number three was tough. It just kept going and going. A lot of guys were walking. I was determined to press on. Although I did walk through another aid station once I reached the top because I knew I was going to need all the energy I could muster to conquer Heartbreak Hill.

At this point, I started thinking about how long the miles were getting, how much farther apart they seemed. I'm definitely hurting. It seems like I'm never going to reach the 20 mile marker. Finally, I see it. It won't be long now. I run around a bend and bang, there it is, Heartbreak Hill. This is the one I've heard so much about. This is the one that can break you. Again, there are a lot of people walking up the hill. No way, not me. I've come this far, I'm running up that hill. I take a deep breath and start inching my way up the hill. I feel so slow, my feet so heavy. A kid reaches out and hands me a cold, wet sponge. Pure joy. I wipe my face and neck and splash what's left down the back of my shirt. The crowd here is really encouraging the runners. They really help me get to the top. Moral victory.

I get a small energy boost, having made it through the legendary hills, and I start down hill, exhausted, on fumes, everything becoming a blur. Then, just when I needed it, Boston College. The crowd here is awesome, very vocal and supportive. It helps that there are TV cameras here that they are reacting to. But in my mind, they are cheering for me.

I make it to mile 22 and then I can't remember if I'm on mile 23 or 24. At this point, my quads are throbbing so hard that it feels like they are literally going to break right through my skin. I start walking for about 50 yards while I try to massage the quads. It helps a little bit and when I start running again I feel pretty good, briefly. Somewhere in here I get my first glimpse of the famous Citgo sign and I know that the end is near but that the sign is still a couple of miles away.

Mile 24, getting near downtown Boston. The crowds are becoming thicker with every step. I'm barely hanging on. I'm having a conversation with myself. I know that if I just keep pushing I'll finish in under 4:00. A sub 4:00 Boston? I can live with that. Another part of me is saying screw sub 4:00. Walk it in. Suddenly, my hamstring cramps. I pull up and start walking while trying to massage the cramp out. The crowd is yelling, pushing me on, telling me to fight through it, work it out, you got it. A medic comes over and asks if I'm alright. I tell him it's just a cramp. A guy in the crowd looks me right in the eyes and says, "you've got this, 8325, you've got it." As if by magic, the cramp disappears and I start running again. The crowd reacts. I start pushing, determined to reach the finish line. Getting closer with each step. I'm going to do this.

Mile 25. Are you kidding me? Who put that hill there? There is no way, no way I can run up this hill without cramping up again. I'm barely hanging on. I suck up my pride and start walking up the hill. It only takes 30 seconds or so and as I get to the top another runner who has been walking beside me pats me on the back and we start running it in. I run around the bend and I see the convention center. We are so close. I hear a friend yelling my name but I don't have the strength to ackowledge him. I turn the corner onto Boylston and I can see it. The finish line. It's probably about a half mile away but it's there. I try to pick up the pace but I'm so close to cramping with every step that I just can't risk going any faster. I coast toward the finish line, soaking it all in. This is what I trained for. Soak it in. The crowd, the TV cameras, the flags, the police, the fire trucks. BOSTON! With about 100 meters to go I hear my name over the PA system. Sweet. That's the first time I've ever heard my name called during a race. The finish line...arms up for the camera...victory, 3:54:56.