Boston Marathon
If you are anticipating a RR with pacing, nutrition or other pertinent information to help you with you Boston Marathon or me with my next, stop here. This is more of a journey than a race.
I joined EN in April 2013 after participating in three sprints. I decided these were fairly easy in part because I was late to the party at 54 and my age group was filled with older people. I was often the youngest in my wave by a decade. I set my sights on Timberman 70.3 in August. After researching on line plans for about three minutes I joined EN. Sometimes you really do get lucky!
With training, the effort became sustained and I was confident that I could finish in about six hours. And then my husband was diagnosed with a rare oral cancer and our world became unhinged. I completed the 70.3 reasonably well, 6:26 for those counting, because it was so important to my husband and our three daughters who each became their own self proclaimed support vehicles for my training. They were all there at the finish as my husband gave me my medal. It was so bittersweet because we all knew this was the last race we would all witness together. He died in May 2014.
Each time my husband would go for chemotherapy we passed a poster for Team Mass Eye and Ear a group of recreational runners who run the Boston Marathon to raise funds for research. We would joke that “When dad is cured” we will run Boston. After he died the girls, all former collegiate athletes turned to sports to help with the grief. I kept “training” but the RPE was very out of whack as I cried on every run or bike. Never a small woman, I ballooned 25 lbs above my already large frame. The lasagnas and casseroles kept coming from well meaning friends and family; and I ate them.
One day in November, enough was enough. I logged back on to EN after a fairly long hiatus and found the dashboard and forums full of the supportive if not obsessive “friends” I had counted on for my 70.3. I lurked, listened to podcasts and occasionally posted but knew I needed a goal to get me through this place I felt trapped in. So I called the girls and asked them, will you run the Boston Marathon with me to raise money for head and neck cancer research for Dad? They all said yes before I finished the question. We applied to Team Eye and Ear for a charity number and we were in.
Fundraising was the easy part. People were so generous and kind that it soon became not if we can make it but when we make it to the finish line. Two of the girls live in Boston and were my Sunday long run partners, the other lives in Virginia and we face timed before and after every run. Snowmeggedon hit Boston this winter and we cajoled our way into gated communities to run loops around prestigious golf communities where the likes of local professional athletes live, just to run outside and not be flattened by drivers who could not see over twelve foot snow banks. We ran heartbreak hill in an ice storm, crawling up signpost to signpost on an inch of ice…it was sunny when we started that morning. I ran in hats, gloves, three layers of gear on top and two on the bottom as weeks went by with temps below 15 degrees. I bought more gear this year than in my lifetime for all of us to stay warm or dry. We ran in snow, rain and hail, my least favorite sh##t from the sky. I booked flights to Paris where my oldest worked for a few weeks to get in long runs with her so she would not lose momentum and I could go to La Dore for macaroons! We ran along the Seine and planned her wedding shower, floral arrangements and seating plans for the wedding to happen this June. I ran the monuments around DC with the middle daughter every six weeks so she wouldn’t do this all alone although virtual runs are great too. I flew the youngest to the middle daughter so that they could all run together as we built the base. While running, I discussed grad school plans with the middle daughter and I was regaled by the youngest, in a pre med post baccalaureate program, about what my mitochondria were doing at any given moment on a hill run. We laughed, reminisced about dad and slowly healed the pain of loss with each mile. We supported one another as their dad asked them to do before he died. He wrote a letter to each of them asking them to be kind to one another, support one another and their mother, laugh together and live every minute to its fullest.
Then it was here, April 20th, Marathon Monday, Patriots Day, 2015. I knew that I would drink water starting at mile four and Gatorade at six, alternating every even mile, gels at miles 6,12,15,18 and 21 as we had done in training. Salt pills at mile 12 and 18 because I am a salty sweater…who knew? We had all run Hopkinton to Heartbreak Hill once. We knew where it would hurt and that we could do it. We would not walk the hills no matter how slow we ran. It was pouring rain and 43 degrees at the start and we were wet, so wet and we hadn’t even started. The gun went off and I began to cry. The girls made me promise to hold it in until the finish and we began. So slowly at first that it was ridiculous. It took fifteen minutes to cross the start line during which time we doffed our trash bags and began swimming…I mean running in a terrible downpour that would alternate between light rain to mist to pouring rain throughout the entire course. Our first mile was an 11:30 pace but we couldn’t run faster, there was no room to get around people. We were in what the locals call the “charity bucket”, the eight thousand or so recreational runners who are on a mission for some reason or another, like us. People were walking by mile three. We were flying at our 9:30 pace by then happy to honor our dad and husband who had faithfully dragged the girls out of bed every Thanksgiving to run the local Turkey Trot and Christmas for the Jingle Jaunt. And it rained, so hard we couldn’t see the people in front of us at mile nine.
We reached the first group of family, the plus one’s as my daughters call them, at mile twelve and stopped to take photos, change socks for one daughter and just soak in the joy of running all together. Then off again, stopping at mile 19 to take photos with the Team Eye and Ear staff and again at Boston College so my youngest could take photos with her field hockey teammates who were still students, She graduated in May after playing for them for four years. We ran past friends and family at almost every mile from 12-26.2 all with signs, cheering, crying and laughing. A group of William and Mary friends were at mile 20 in full lacrosse gear, the middle daughter played for them. It was such a great surprise to see them. We never walked except the ten steps for water at the even mile aid stations and of course for the photos. As we crested the first hill in Newton, I told the girls that when I die they never have to do this again and the eldest laughed and said, “Of course not, we will just have to do a 140.6”.
Left on Hereford, right onto Boylston. It is so iconic yet I drive it almost every day. It never looked so awesome. It happened so fast and the finish line was right there. My calves had been cramped for some time by now and yet we ran. My middle daughter, always suffering from blisters despite every type of shoe, sock or glide had blood squishing from her left shoe with each soggy step. The headwind was nasty and the cold ripped through our moisture wicking/sogged clothes. For a while around mile 23 I thought my three quarter length running tights were creeping up my calves but it was the cramping I was feeling and a pain that was unbelievable just kept building. As we reached the flags just short of the finish, memorialized in the marathon bombing clips, we all held hands crossing the finish line together, never having been more than a few yards apart the entire distance and into each others arms. We were so cold yet awestruck. I didn’t cry. I was too proud of them to be anything but happy.
As a parent you know that each child has a gift and it is your job to nurture that gift so that each will reach their full potential. My children now know that they have the gift of perseverance. My husband Phil showed us the way. I will never run Boston again but I did run my first marathon successfully because of EN and will probably do another (flatter, drier and faster). Thank you all who post and encourage the speedy and those not so speedy among us. And for those counting, our time, photo stops included was 4:57:57…under the five hours we set as a goal! I will let you know who the rate limiting runner was if you promise lasagna!
I joined EN in April 2013 after participating in three sprints. I decided these were fairly easy in part because I was late to the party at 54 and my age group was filled with older people. I was often the youngest in my wave by a decade. I set my sights on Timberman 70.3 in August. After researching on line plans for about three minutes I joined EN. Sometimes you really do get lucky!
With training, the effort became sustained and I was confident that I could finish in about six hours. And then my husband was diagnosed with a rare oral cancer and our world became unhinged. I completed the 70.3 reasonably well, 6:26 for those counting, because it was so important to my husband and our three daughters who each became their own self proclaimed support vehicles for my training. They were all there at the finish as my husband gave me my medal. It was so bittersweet because we all knew this was the last race we would all witness together. He died in May 2014.
Each time my husband would go for chemotherapy we passed a poster for Team Mass Eye and Ear a group of recreational runners who run the Boston Marathon to raise funds for research. We would joke that “When dad is cured” we will run Boston. After he died the girls, all former collegiate athletes turned to sports to help with the grief. I kept “training” but the RPE was very out of whack as I cried on every run or bike. Never a small woman, I ballooned 25 lbs above my already large frame. The lasagnas and casseroles kept coming from well meaning friends and family; and I ate them.
One day in November, enough was enough. I logged back on to EN after a fairly long hiatus and found the dashboard and forums full of the supportive if not obsessive “friends” I had counted on for my 70.3. I lurked, listened to podcasts and occasionally posted but knew I needed a goal to get me through this place I felt trapped in. So I called the girls and asked them, will you run the Boston Marathon with me to raise money for head and neck cancer research for Dad? They all said yes before I finished the question. We applied to Team Eye and Ear for a charity number and we were in.
Fundraising was the easy part. People were so generous and kind that it soon became not if we can make it but when we make it to the finish line. Two of the girls live in Boston and were my Sunday long run partners, the other lives in Virginia and we face timed before and after every run. Snowmeggedon hit Boston this winter and we cajoled our way into gated communities to run loops around prestigious golf communities where the likes of local professional athletes live, just to run outside and not be flattened by drivers who could not see over twelve foot snow banks. We ran heartbreak hill in an ice storm, crawling up signpost to signpost on an inch of ice…it was sunny when we started that morning. I ran in hats, gloves, three layers of gear on top and two on the bottom as weeks went by with temps below 15 degrees. I bought more gear this year than in my lifetime for all of us to stay warm or dry. We ran in snow, rain and hail, my least favorite sh##t from the sky. I booked flights to Paris where my oldest worked for a few weeks to get in long runs with her so she would not lose momentum and I could go to La Dore for macaroons! We ran along the Seine and planned her wedding shower, floral arrangements and seating plans for the wedding to happen this June. I ran the monuments around DC with the middle daughter every six weeks so she wouldn’t do this all alone although virtual runs are great too. I flew the youngest to the middle daughter so that they could all run together as we built the base. While running, I discussed grad school plans with the middle daughter and I was regaled by the youngest, in a pre med post baccalaureate program, about what my mitochondria were doing at any given moment on a hill run. We laughed, reminisced about dad and slowly healed the pain of loss with each mile. We supported one another as their dad asked them to do before he died. He wrote a letter to each of them asking them to be kind to one another, support one another and their mother, laugh together and live every minute to its fullest.
Then it was here, April 20th, Marathon Monday, Patriots Day, 2015. I knew that I would drink water starting at mile four and Gatorade at six, alternating every even mile, gels at miles 6,12,15,18 and 21 as we had done in training. Salt pills at mile 12 and 18 because I am a salty sweater…who knew? We had all run Hopkinton to Heartbreak Hill once. We knew where it would hurt and that we could do it. We would not walk the hills no matter how slow we ran. It was pouring rain and 43 degrees at the start and we were wet, so wet and we hadn’t even started. The gun went off and I began to cry. The girls made me promise to hold it in until the finish and we began. So slowly at first that it was ridiculous. It took fifteen minutes to cross the start line during which time we doffed our trash bags and began swimming…I mean running in a terrible downpour that would alternate between light rain to mist to pouring rain throughout the entire course. Our first mile was an 11:30 pace but we couldn’t run faster, there was no room to get around people. We were in what the locals call the “charity bucket”, the eight thousand or so recreational runners who are on a mission for some reason or another, like us. People were walking by mile three. We were flying at our 9:30 pace by then happy to honor our dad and husband who had faithfully dragged the girls out of bed every Thanksgiving to run the local Turkey Trot and Christmas for the Jingle Jaunt. And it rained, so hard we couldn’t see the people in front of us at mile nine.
We reached the first group of family, the plus one’s as my daughters call them, at mile twelve and stopped to take photos, change socks for one daughter and just soak in the joy of running all together. Then off again, stopping at mile 19 to take photos with the Team Eye and Ear staff and again at Boston College so my youngest could take photos with her field hockey teammates who were still students, She graduated in May after playing for them for four years. We ran past friends and family at almost every mile from 12-26.2 all with signs, cheering, crying and laughing. A group of William and Mary friends were at mile 20 in full lacrosse gear, the middle daughter played for them. It was such a great surprise to see them. We never walked except the ten steps for water at the even mile aid stations and of course for the photos. As we crested the first hill in Newton, I told the girls that when I die they never have to do this again and the eldest laughed and said, “Of course not, we will just have to do a 140.6”.
Left on Hereford, right onto Boylston. It is so iconic yet I drive it almost every day. It never looked so awesome. It happened so fast and the finish line was right there. My calves had been cramped for some time by now and yet we ran. My middle daughter, always suffering from blisters despite every type of shoe, sock or glide had blood squishing from her left shoe with each soggy step. The headwind was nasty and the cold ripped through our moisture wicking/sogged clothes. For a while around mile 23 I thought my three quarter length running tights were creeping up my calves but it was the cramping I was feeling and a pain that was unbelievable just kept building. As we reached the flags just short of the finish, memorialized in the marathon bombing clips, we all held hands crossing the finish line together, never having been more than a few yards apart the entire distance and into each others arms. We were so cold yet awestruck. I didn’t cry. I was too proud of them to be anything but happy.
As a parent you know that each child has a gift and it is your job to nurture that gift so that each will reach their full potential. My children now know that they have the gift of perseverance. My husband Phil showed us the way. I will never run Boston again but I did run my first marathon successfully because of EN and will probably do another (flatter, drier and faster). Thank you all who post and encourage the speedy and those not so speedy among us. And for those counting, our time, photo stops included was 4:57:57…under the five hours we set as a goal! I will let you know who the rate limiting runner was if you promise lasagna!
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