Cowboy Hazel

This year's Boston Marathon is the toughest race I've ever run. I think the failed 100 mile attempt last year left me more mentally drained, but my body has never been this beat up from running. I finished in 2:59:13, over nine minutes off my goal and ran a horribly imbalanced race – my second half was eleven minutes slower than my first. As bad as that sounds, I don't think I made any mistakes on race day… I simply didn't have a good race in me. I was still not fully recovered from the stomach bug that hit me last week when I started coming down with a cold. After dealing with all that, my body just didn't have enough left to run 2:50. I knew that really early on (and thought that was the case even before we started) but I decided to shoot for my goal anyway and see how it ended up. No regrets there.

Here's the narrative…

On Sunday morning, Danny, a Brooklyn runner I'd met at the NYC Half, and his wife picked me up and drove me to Boston. I'd already purchased a bus ticket, but he said they had plenty of room and I was happy to avoid the bus. (I'm on a bus now coming back to NYC as I write this and am reminded how happy I was to not ride the bus on the way up.) We chatted about running a bunch and I started to get really excited about the race, even though I was having to steadily consume Ricola to keep from coughing.

The three of us went to the expo and wandered around a bit after getting our bibs. We ran into TK, who walked us over to GMR teammates Matt and Mike, who were also running Boston. After wandering some more and getting lots of free samples, I spotted Paul from Warren Street and his wife. We chatted for a while, followed by more wandering. Helen called and said she was getting close, so I headed downstairs to meet her. She had gone up to western Massachusetts on Saturday to spend some time with her dad and then drove out to Boston to meet me.

Helen and I drove up to Chelmsford and spent a really nice evening at her aunt's house. After a perfect pre-race meal of spaghetti and meatballs followed by homemade banana cream pie, we headed to bed early and got a solid night's sleep.

But, by morning, my sore throat had gotten even worse and I was having trouble swallowing. I drank a bunch of water, ate some breakfast, then started on the Ricola again. Helen drove me to Hopkinton and I got there with plenty of time to spare. The morning was cool, but not cold. I found Danny in the athlete's village and we hung out a bit before dropping off our baggage. On our way to the corral, I realized I had pulled a rookie mistake and left my PowerBar Gels in my bag. Luckily, Danny had an extra Gu that he gave me.

In the corral, everyone was chatty and the pre-race energy was amazing. Seeing the elites, especially such an enthusiastic Ryan Hall, coming out to the starting line made it impossible not to get excited. I had pretty well convinced myself at this moment that I would be able to put mind over body and keep to my original plan of running a 2:50.

So, when the gun went off, Danny and I started running 6:30s together. We consciously put on the brakes going down the hills and did a decent job keeping our pace in check. We were a few seconds per mile fast, but nothing to worry about.

However, I was worried about the fact that I was already starting to feel fatigued really early on. By mile 7, I knew it was over and told Danny that I thought it was going to be a bad day for me. I tried to just keep rolling, though, and hung with him until mile 10. I think it was right after that mile marker that I told him to run ahead, that I was slowing to 6:40s to see if I could recover. He went on to run a 2:48, a big P.R.

Meanwhile, I did slow down some, but not all the way to 6:40s, and crossed the half marathon mats at 1:24:33. Simple math tells you that's on pace for a 2:49, but I knew there was no chance. I was already on fumes. In fact, I had almost stopped running at the last medical tent I'd passed, thinking I'd just ride back in. Obviously, I'm glad now that I finished running, but I really wasn't sure then if I was going to be able to. I don't think I've ever been so close to throwing in the towel in a marathon before.

A couple miles after the half, my pace began slipping seriously. 6:35s turned to 7:10s to 7:30s and even to a 7:52 mile. I don't remember a lot from the course except for the heat, the pain, and the incredibly loud crowds. Every once in a while I nodded at a spectator who'd yelled out Go Warren Street! but mostly I was in a fog. I completely missed Helen and Sarah when they were cheering for me, I didn't see Elizabeth until I was right next to her even though she had been screaming my name as loud as she could, and I even failed to noticed that Paul had run alongside me (and had even jumped a police barricade) from mile 24 to 26 cheering me on. The hills that seemed so tame last year seemed like monsters this year, and I kept wondering which one of them was Heartbreak. I'd look down at my watch occasionally and see how bad my pace was slipping, but there was nothing I could do about it. The heat seemed overwhelming, and I dumped water on my head at almost every fluid station. There was a PowerBar Gel station somewhere and so I was able to get a second gel. I had been drinking lots of Gatorade early on too, but couldn't at the end because my stomach was rebelling and so I switched to water. At mile 23, I realized that I would still have a sub-3 if I ran 8 minute miles to the finish and so I fought to make that happen. My quads were shot and I was beyond spent, but somehow I kept going. I don't remember much of the last few miles except for finally making the turn onto Boylston Street and realizing it was almost over.

I finished with a bunch of guys that seemed to be happy about breaking three hours, but I was pissed off. I just kept thinking how unfair it was that I had gotten sick and lost all the training I had done this winter.

When I got through the chute and to my bag, I found 17 messages on my phone. The support from Helen and from my family and friends back home was amazing. And then, while waiting for Helen to make her way past the big detours and get to me, I called my dad to tell him the bad news. I don't remember exactly how the conversation went, but somewhere in the middle of it, I realized that it was just a run and that there would be plenty more runs… I was able to let it go.

Helen and Sarah found me sitting on the sidewalk with my shoes off contentedly munching on snacks. We sat there for a long time, talking about the race, and eventually headed over to the train station.

Helen and I picked up the car in Wellesley and drove out to western Mass, where we stayed for the last two days. It was really nice to have the decompression time and to not have to jump back into work right away.

Today has been painful. The right side of my body is super sunburned. I never even thought of wearing sunscreen – I had no idea it would be that sunny. And, my quads are in an incredible amount of pain. I've never felt anywhere close to this bad after a marathon before. I could hardly go up and down stairs today and have been walking around like an old man with a limp. On top of that, my nose is steadily running and my head fills like an overfilled balloon. Having a cold is not fun.

I've never taken more than a day off after a marathon before, but I'm going to take a few days this time. After that, we'll see…

Notes: I wrote this last (Tuesday) night on a bus coming back to NYC, but didn't get a chance to upload it until now. Also, I know I mentioned the heat several times but it wasn't actually that hot – I looked it up today and it was 43° in Hopkinton at the start and 57° in Boston at the finish, hardly sweltering heat. I don't know for sure why it hit me so hard, but I think it was a combo of the direct sun, the fact that I hadn't had any heat training yet this year and was used to colder temps, and that I probably had a fever even before we started so my internal temperature was already elevated. It seemed so hot out there, it really surprised me to see that it never got above 57.