Wowza, I feel like it’s time to attempt at keeping
semi-regular race blog posts after my 1.5 year absence here! Things have been
crazy busy with PT school, a temporary move to California, a drive across the
country in December, an incredibly hard winter than slammed all attempted at
distance running for about 2 months, and starting up a new schedule and routine
as I finish up my PhD back here in Delaware. Anyways, it is also difficult to
initiate race write-ups again after you have not been doing them for so long,
but I felt like I had to write one up about my race at Boston this year.
PRE Race
It seems that every time a non-runner learns that you have
run a marathon at some point in your lifetime, the follow-up question is “Have
you run the Boston marathon??” There is a reason for this. Boston is the oldest
(I think?) and arguably the most prestigious of all road marathons in the
country. I ran Boston four years ago back in 2010, loved the experience, and at
the time, set a new PR of 3:21. This year I wanted to go back for a few
reasons…1) I have finally been released from the vice grip of PT school and could
take the Monday off, 2) my mom really enjoyed the trip a few years back and was
really hoping I would go, and 3) In light of the bombings last year, I wanted
to be part of the come-back this year and had a feeling that this year’s Boston
would be an experience that I would never forget. So, despite my usual tendency
to avoid crowds, especially ones of over a million people, and, oh yea, having
just 8 days to recover and get myself together after the Bull Run 50 Miler, I
was on my way to Boston 2014!
Packet-pick up. Amazing history has been made on the line I am standing! |
We arrived in Boston on Sunday and I could already tell from
a comparison of a few years back that this year the energy was higher than
ever. I had traveled up with my mom, Auntie Ann, Jeff and Jason Lantz. We did
the usual pre-race stuff on Sunday, and probably walked a total of 8-9 miles
for the day just getting around to lunch with Henry Peck and some friends and
packet pick-up. The city was bustling with the energy of the 36,000 runners and
their company all day.
My alarm went off at 5:30 to wake me from the coma of a
sleep I was in. I downed some coffee threw on my singlet and newly-crafted bib
skirt I made in the car on the way down, and I was off to the buses. The bus ride
down was fun as always. I met some new people, trying to be discrete about the
fact that I was an ultrarunner until it inevitably comes out somewhere (and
even though I was in a bus full of Wave 1 runners, I still think it’s funny
that most of them cannot fathom running for longer than 26.2 miles....it’s
easy, just slow down…? Hah!)
The whole bus ride and herding of the Wave 1 runners for the
10Am start went surprisingly smoothly, considering there were 36,000 runners
this year, the second largest in the history of the race. I could also tell the
competition this year had mounted, considering that four years ago I had a qualifying
time of 3:28 and was up in Wave 1, Coral 5 and this year I had qualified with a
3:11 and had barely scraped getting into Wave 1, and was starting back in the
Coral 9, the last coral of the wave. I was actually glad to be starting back
there though, because there was probably less chance of me getting trampled at
the start.
Boston packing. Everyone is all in for Boston this year, including Sir! |
RACE
It didn’t seem like I had waited for too long in the Coral
before I saw my Garmin had turned 10:00AM. “Welp, it’s 10am!” I was crunched
into a small gated square of road with thousands of other runners and no one
had moved. I was trying to get as close to the edge of the gate as possible but
already the closeness was overwhelming and I already felt like I couldn’t
breathe. The runners around me and I had to laugh little bit because we hadn’t even heard the
gun shot or cannon or whatever they use to signal the start of this massive
race. A few minutes later we were finally slowly walking forward towards
something in the distance I couldn’t see through all the people. Then the walk
turned to a slow jog and a couple minutes later, I crossed a timing chip mat
where the start of the race was. We were off.
Prerace morning photo, courtesy of Auntie Ann. |
The first 8 miles is almost entirely downhill, so those
first several miles came really easy, almost too easy. My goal for the day was
to take in the experience and, after last weekend, survival. I had never raced
a marathon so close to the completion of a 50 miler and was not sure how my
body would handle it. Obviously I wasn’t going for any PRs, so I really just
wanted to have fun. I had done a few shorter test runs that week after BRR and
my legs felt a little sore at first, and then just pretty flat all week leading
up, so you could see why I was having some increased nerves for just getting
through this race.
Still, I clocked a seemingly effortless 7:06 for the first
mile of the race and just remember thinking, Uh-oh, better slow down. It was
difficult with all the excitement of the race though, and I ran into my
downhill 5K split in under 22 minutes, still cruising along smoothly and
easily. I was running with a couple other girls, the three of us qualifying
with a 3:10, 3:11 and 3:12, and we ran together for a little bit. One of them
was from the Naval Academy marathon team so we had some friends in common. The
crowds along the side of the road this year were screaming louder than I
remembered before, and I found I really had to restrain myself from picking up
speed in all the excitement.
My new wardrobe apparel was a big hit right away. I was
running along with side of the crowd on the left side and every 3-5 seconds
someone would yell something like…
“Nice
skirt!”
“Awesome
skirt!”
“Go
Delaware bib skirt girl!”
And my
person favorite “This girl’s got EXPERIENCE!”
Getting personalized cheers and comments along the way was
definitely a boost and made running in a crowd of 36,000 people that much more
enjoyable.
My (probably illegal) screen shot of a MarathonFoto photo | from the first half. |
After the first 8 miles I could feel things start to level
out and the gravity assisted cruising gradually let off, which is where I
started to feel my legs for the first time. As we approached the famous
all-girls Wesley college on the right, I made sure that I stayed on the left
side of the road this year, to avoid being cut off by all the old men trying to
get some free smooches from the under-dressed 20 year-old girls holding up
signs, usually indicating for them to do so. Ek. But anyways, I also found
staying on the left side was nice because it was easier to pass people
(although most of that wouldn’t come till after the half marathon mark) and,
because all the water stations first started on the right, then on the left, I
avoided having too many people cut me off to get the first sight of water that
they saw. Somewhere in those first few
miles I passed Dean Karnazez, who had apparently run the course backwards at
5am this morning and was headed back in for the 52.4 miler for the day. (I said
hello, and though tempted, refrained from making any pizza order comments,
which I am sure he heard 500+ times throughout the day).
I ran through the halfway point in just under 1:36. If it
had not before, at that point I really felt Bull Run catching up with me. My legs
had gone from feeling slightly flat in the first half of the race to that all
too familiar deep burning overall dead kind of feeling that you get from
running really long distances back-to-back. I felt my pace slow a bit here to
about 7:30-7:40s, but didn’t fight it too much because that wasn’t the point of
the day. It did hurt, but I was just so excited and happy about being a part of
Boston and also, admittedly, almost excited about that back-to-back long run leg
burning pain that (with the hellacious winter this year) I had not experienced
in far too long. So, with hurting legs, there was never a minute that I did not
want to be at the place where I was. But now most of the fun down-hill running
was over and the real “climbing” had not begun.
There were definitely some emotional points over those few
miles. I passed several amputee blade runners at this point, who all seemed to
have their heads down, digging far deeper than I was and giving it everything
they had to make it to the finish line. A couple of the runners around me told
me at least one of those athletes was a victim in the bombings at the finish
line last year, which was pretty moving and brought tears to my eyes. It takes
a strong individual to turn around from that kind of life-altering tradgedy and
come back to the exact place where it happened to run a marathon, especially
when you are familiar with the amount of rehab it would take form someone to do
something like that just one year later.
Mile 16 and the crowds, usually 5-8 people deep on either
side, were screaming louder than ever, and it definitely helped to keep my effort
level honest. My breathing was controlled and consistent, despite the whole leg
hurting thing. Over the next few miles we hit some small hills, which actually
didn’t feel too bad to me, but apparently they did to other people. For the
first time in the race, I started passing people, blazing by some at an almost
alarming rate. I even saw and passed some women with elite bibs. I checked my watch. I wasn’t speeding up. They
were just slowing down on the hills. A lot. I certainly won’t argue the point
that the hills did not feel good, but
they were nowhere close to the hills I regularly run in training and I wouldn’t
even say they were worse than the hills in Delaware (don’t underestimate the
hills in Wilmington!), but the hills really aren’t that bad. There were
probably three small hills with a fourth “big” and famous Heartbreak Hill at
the end, around mile 20. When I hit Heartbreak hill, the crowds were unreal,
cheering, screaming waving signs from behind an invisible line the patrolling
officers had drawn on the pavement. I dug deeper here, and the hill was over
before I even thought it would be. I pushed over the crest and then enjoyed the
gradual downhill on the other side of it, knowing that most of the hard work
was over and I could enjoy the finishing 10K stretch.
Those next 10K were probably the most fun of the race.
Although I did not think it possible, the crowds thickened as the miles
progressed and the screaming and cheering was so loud I couldn’t even hear myself
breathing anymore. A couple miles later we passing through Boston College, and
the crowd quickly changed to packs of screaming 20-some year olds, excitedly
reaching out as far as they could for high-fives, offering beer and yelling
some umm personalized(?) cheers (hahah). The crowds all over were enthusiastic,
but this was off the charts and their energy seemed to translate to me as I
threw out my own arms giving high-fives, screaming with them, feeling myself
run faster. I even humored them and grabbed a solo cup of cheap beer and choked
it down, which only make them scream louder. It was fun. Somewhere in there I
heard some guy yell “YEA JACKIE PALMER!!!” from somewhere just behind me. I
whipped my head around and saw the guy in the crowd who seemed to have screamed
my name, perplexed that his face was completely unfamiliar. Well that was kind
of strange…Boston college was great fun.
After we passed through the college-aged excitement, I was
completely exhausted. Running through BC was arguably more tiring than running
the marathon in itself, even though it is downhill! Two guys who were running
beside me and were also having fun through BC also seemed to think so and we couldn’t
help but to all laugh at ourselves as we gradually slowed from the 6:30 pace we
had been running through there, back to about 7:30.
Picture through the trees that Auntie Ann snagged from the closest | she could get to me with a mile to go |
Although I was having fun, I was pretty happy to see that 1
mile to go sign, and even more excited to see the 1km to go banner hung over a
bridge as we raced down Boylston Street there towards the famous race finish. At
this point the midday sun was beating down on me, the screaming crowds growing
louder still and my whole body felt numb from the deafening vibrations of 3+
hours of sensory overload. As the crowds grew deeper, and now the invisible
lines that the police had strewn miles ago turned to metal caged baracades with
patrolling officers every 20 ft on either side of the street facing the crowd.
As I ran down the finishing stretch of Boyston Street with the finish line in
sight, I looked for my mom, aunt and Jeff on the right side of the street and
felt a huge smile break on my face when I finally saw them and heard their
cheers through the dense crowd.
Just meters from the finish line, excited to see my biggest fans, photo courtesy of Jeff Merritt :-) |
I happily crossed the finish line in 3:14, incredibly satisfied
with the hard effort on tired legs. But I was even more ecstatic seconds later
when I heard the announcers exclaim that American man, Meb Keflezighi, had won
the race. First American man to win Boston in over 30 years, and what a year to
do it! I took in the satisfaction of the tired progressively stiffening legs,
the hugs and support from my family and Jeff and the entire Boston experience.
Jason had finished earlier in 2:38, with a huge 7 minute PR, which was also
really awesome! (We had to turn around and head back to Lancaster afterwards
but we made sure to celebrate with Jager shots later. Ekk :-P) Boston 2014 was
an overwhelming but incredible experience. I am not sure if it will be next
year, but someday Boston, I will be back!
Don't know how, but I found my family again after getting through the finishing shoot. |
<3 |
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