Almost everyone who runs the Boston Marathon has a good story. I’m not about to claim that mine is any more inspirational than the 26,999 others that ran the race, but in the end it’s the only one that I have. When it is all said and done, as we lounge in a easy chair and bounce our grandkids on our knee, I guess that’s all we really have is our own stories. What follows is the story of how I found myself standing at the start line of the 115th running of the Boston Marathon.
Eleven years ago I wasn’t a runner. In fact, as a high school and college football player, I hated to run. In those days anything over 100 yards was serious work better left to the skinny guys with the short shorts. With this mindset, everything moved along well as long as I continued to play football, lift weights, and do the occasional running workout. This usually consisted of wind sprints or maybe a mile jogged at the local track. Problem was, after my sophomore year of college, I was no longer an athlete. Those lifting sessions and wind sprints became keg parties and midnight trips to Taco Bell. For obvious reasons these pursuits don’t have near the fat burning potential as playing college football.
In the spring of 1999 I graduated from Hiram College and weighed in at 215 pounds. This was a whopping 30 pounds over my playing weight and probably 40 pounds heavier than a healthy weight for a man my size. Over the course of my first half year out of college, I dropped a little weight, but still remained about 205 pounds as 1999 bled into 2000. That was when I decided to make a change. Following a longstanding family tradition of starvation diets, I proceeded to drop 40 pounds over the next three months. How did I do it? My approach was not a healthy one and not one I would encourage anyone to copy. I made meals of plain white rice, a can of vegetables, or anything else lacking any real sustenance or nutrition.
There was one major problem with this approach though. I knew that as soon as I went back to any sort of normal diet, the pounds would seek me out and resume their position on my midsection. The way I was able to keep the weight off, and I have for 10 years now, was running.
On my first run, I left my Brunswick apartment in the suburbs of Cleveland and managed a half a mile before I had to stop. Subsequent workouts raised that total to a mile, and within six months I was able to put in 2 or three miles several times a week. The running worked and the pounds stayed away. More important than the weight was my budding love affair with the sport.
Over time I grew to look forward to those lonely miles on the trail and began to experiment with going longer and longer distances. As the natural progression continued, I entered my first 5k, then my second, and before I knew it I was racing half a dozen times a year. This trend then led me to the half marathon and beyond with my first full marathon coming in 2005. Like all runners, especially those new to marathoning, I obsessed over splits, missed workouts, and nutrition. I also began to dream about the chance at running the world’s most prestigious marathon. I began to dream of what it would be like to toe the line at Boston.
Fast forward to May of 2010. At thirty three years old, I was preparing for my shot at qualifying for the Boston Marathon in the fall. For those who don’t know, in order to run Boston, you have to achieve a qualifying time. These qualifying times are challenging for some and nearly impossible for most. Coming into the Cleveland Marathon that May, I had only hoped to run a good time before making a real run at a Boston qualifying time in the fall. That fall I would be able to qualify as a 35 year old for the 2012 race. At thirty-five I would pick up five extra minutes on my qualifying time, which I hoped would put me over the top.
With this as my “plan”, I went out fairly hard at Cleveland. I felt especially good that morning and my mile splits quickly reflected this. At the halfway point of the marathon I began to realize that I was on the pace I needed to qualify for the race as a thirty-four year old in 2011, not the 2012 race that I was originally shooting for. I also was aware that if I wasn’t able to keep the pace, that I would probably crash and burn. This is the dreaded “hitting the wall” that runners whisper about. It’s when a runner has pushed his body farther than he should. Thus the runner usually feels like he has encountered an insurmountable brick wall right in the middle of the course. Most runners who encounter this wall end up either shuffling or walking the rest of the race with their heads down and an overwhelming sense of failure. Needless to say, it isn’t a pleasurable way to enjoy a race.
So I found myself there, halfway through the 2010 Cleveland Marathon either destined to run my fastest time ever, or to hit the wall and walk, embarrassed in front of several thousand fans at the finish line. Luckily for me, the wall never materialized and I crossed the finish line in three hours and nine minutes, finishing about a minute and a half ahead of the necessary qualifying time. In that particular race, I remember not letting myself believe that it was going to happen for me until the final two tenths of a mile. Up until that point, I was still prepared for the worst. I waited for the side cramp that never came.
Encouraged by the strong finish at Cleveland, and without any pressure to qualify, I ran an even faster marathon at Akron in the fall. This time I clocked a 3:08 and change just three weeks before registration opened for Boston.
The morning that registration opened, I was on the computer beginning about ten a.m. The reason I mention this is that many people weren’t as lucky. Every year, nearly 75,000 people run a time that will qualify them for Boston. Of these, only about one third are able to get in. Obviously not everyone that qualifies is interested in running the race on a given year, but for the 2011, it appears that quite a few were. In only eight hours and three minutes, the registration closed leaving many talented runners out. This mad rush has since prompted the Boston Athletic Association to lower qualifying times and stagger registration so that the fastest runners get to register first. Although I understand their logic in this situation, I do find it disheartening that many talented runners will now be kept out of the sport’s greatest spectacle. In fact, many of the guys that I know were on the cusp of qualifying, only to have the proverbial football yanked away by Lucy, leaving them kicking at air. But this isn’t an article about the sins of the BAA, so I’ll refrain from any more discussion of the qualifying standards.
Entrance to the race expo at the Hynes Convention Center
On April 18th, my day finally came. After training all spring for the marathon, in the midst of moving to Spain, and finishing my new football book, I travelled to Boston to run the world’s most famous foot race. For the weekend I was accompanied by my father who was there to act as my support crew for the weekend. We arrived on Saturday to take in a game at Fenway on a chilly 45 degree day. The game was great and the stadium one of those not to miss experiences for all true sports fans. On Sunday we took the sightseeing trolley and walked to the finish line before heading out for the traditional pre-race meal of pasta and meatballs.
Boston's Fenway Park
Monday morning, Patriot’s Day in the state of Massachusetts, dawned perfect for running a marathon. The sky was clear and temperatures were slated to be in the mid to upper 40’s at the start and just shy of 60 at the finish. My day began about 4 a.m. As with most nights before a marathon, sleep was elusive. At 6 a.m., I gathered my things and headed down to catch the train to Boston Commons. Once at Boston Commons, I would board a bus for the forty-five minute ride out to the small town of Hopkinton. Unlike most marathons, Boston is a point to point course. This means that it literally starts 26 miles outside the city, with only about the last two or three miles actually inside the city limits. Along the route, the marathon passes through sleepy little New England towns and hamlets each of which come out to stage their own celebrations and cheer on the runners.
After exiting the subway at Park Street, I climbed the stairs into a sea of people. I would spend the next hour or so waiting to get on a bus. Despite all its pomp and circumstance, Boston is not without its challenges. As a friend of mine once put it, “There are a lot of hassles that go along with running Boston, but people put up with it…..because it’s Boston.” So after an hour of standing in the cold at Boston Common I boarded a yellow school bus. The experience was strangely reminiscent of travelling to a high school track meet.
After hitting traffic, we arrived in Hopkinton at the High School/Middle School at about 8:45 am. The area is referred to as athlete’s village in an obvious nod to the Olympics, but it more closely resembles a county fairgrounds on the fourth of July. There are tents and people sprawled everywhere. Most are attempting to stay off their feet, while avoiding the mud that always seems to accompany large crowds congregating on grass. At about 9:15 a.m. the announcements began asking those in the various waves to begin moving towards the start line. As a qualifier in wave one, of three, I checked my gear bag and headed to the start line about 9:25.
Earlier I mentioned the hassles that usually accompany a large marathon. One of these was the walk to the start line. Now I know what you are thinking. He runs marathons, why would he complain about a ¾ of a mile walk. It’s not the distance, it’s the timing. The last thing you want to do before tackling one of toughest marathon course is to stand in line for an hour and walk ¾ of a mile. Again though, this is Boston. You do whatever is necessary to stand at that start line and have your go at it.
At exactly 10 a.m., the gun went off and our nervous feet began to carry us forward. Like all large marathons, you don’t immediately cross the start line. This is because the sheer number of people. Even though I was in the first wave of runners, and starting in the fourth of nine waves, it took me roughly a minute and a half to two minutes to cross the start line. This is nothing compared to the horror stories you hear about the Chicago Marathon. At Chicago, they have one start with no waves, and those at the back of the crowd of 45,000 can take up to a half an hour just to cross the start line. As a quick note here, your official time is not started until you cross the start line. All runners carry a microchip either laced into their shoes or attached to their race bib. The chip starts a runner’s time when they cross the start, and stops when they cross the finish. In addition, most races also have mats you run over that provide timing splits at various points on the course.
Crossing the start line, the course immediately dips downhill. One of the challenges of the Boston Marathon course is that nearly the entire first half of the course is downhill. While this may sound appealing when you are set to run 26 miles, the reality is somewhat different. When you run downhill your legs are forced to almost constantly apply the “brakes”. As you do this it puts a great deal of pressure on your quadriceps. Over time your quads fatigue and begin to tighten up. This is especially troublesome when the course decides to throw in four miles worth of hills between mile 17 and 21.
During these first challenging downhill miles, many runners are prone to going out too fast. Unfortunately, this is what I did as well. After the first two miles I was right around 7:05 per mile which is nearly ten seconds per mile faster than my all-time best marathon pace. Starting at mile three I concentrated on slowing down, but with the downhills and the crowds carrying you along, it was difficult. At the halfway point (13.1 miles) the clock read, 1:34:24, right on pace for a personal record (PR). The problem was that at 13.1 miles in, with a half marathon to go, I already felt as though my legs were done. The brutal downhills of Boston had managed to shread my quads. I knew that the next 13 miles would be rough, but this was Boston. If getting here were easy it wouldn’t have taken me five years and twelve marathons to reach the start line.
The second half from my perspective was to simply get to the next mental landmark. After the halfway point, I looked forward to the Newton hills. The Newton hills are the four legendary inclines in the small berg of Newton where many a Boston Marathon had been won or lost. The hills are famous not because they incredibly steep or endlessly long. They are famous because of where they come on the course and what you’ve already been through when you get to them. In my case, I was actually looking forward to the hills.
Throughout my training in Madrid, I made a constant effort to run hills and prepare for this stretch. Although my splits weren’t lightning fast during this section, I did find myself consistently passing other runners for the first time in the race. By now most of my miles were in the 7:40-7:50 per mile pace. Well off my PR pace but still consistent, I was content to keep this up through the finish.
At about 20.25 miles, you hit the most famous (and the last) of the hills. Heartbreak hill stretches out in front of you like a serpent, slithering itself up a nearly ¾ mile incline. Although not incredibly steep, the hill seems to go on forever. As I climbed Heartbreak Hill, I kept my head down and focused on the task ahead. My legs were shot and I had a little over five miles yet to cover. On the plus side, my energy was still good and I knew I had the legendary crowd support of Boston to carry me to the finish. Cresting the hill, I was greeted by another downhill as the final push to the finish began. Mile 22 was my last fast mile. Because the terrain was relatively flat, I was able to run a 7:30 mile here. As I said though, this was my last. The next four miles reminded me of just how difficult a marathon could be.
The last four miles I averaged right around 8 to 8:10 per mile. It has been awhile since I’ve really struggled in a race, but in a way this was fitting. With all it took to get here in the first place, in hindsight I think it would’ve been anti-climactic had I just coasted in. Instead I put my head down and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
With a little over a mile to go, you hear the crowds. The last mile to mile and a half is lined shoulder to shoulder with screaming spectators. They pack the area four or five deep and encourage all the runners. After a right on Hereford Street and a left on Boylston, the finish line appears in the distance like an oasis in the middle of the dessert. Here the crowds are at their loudest and the energy the most electric. Crossing the finish line in 3:15:47 I felt a mix of exhilaration and relief, exhilaration at finishing what I began when I started running nearly ten years earlier and relief in knowing that I had not squandered my opportunity. Whether I ever run at Boston again or not, time will tell. Either way, I’ve accomplished what I set out to do and completed the journey I began as an overweight 23 year old over ten years earlier.
While it was not the religious experience for me that other runners claim they feel at Boston, the race did have the best energy I’ve ever experienced in a marathon. The crowds were great, the support good, and the runners serious. For the rest of my life I will carry with me this experience the same way I carry other accomplishments in my life. Like graduations, weddings, children, and other milestones in our lives, these moments are what we come to define ourselves by. Although life is full of filler, these moments make it all worthwhile and provide us the memories we carry with us the rest of our lives. The 115th Boston Marathon will be a memory I carry and a sense of pride I feel for the rest of my days. The journey was not an easy one, but was well worth it.
