Every year I say I'm going to write down my experience immediately after. Well, I finally did it. Warning: it's rather long, like the race. Enjoy!
*****
4am Ouch. I am SO not a morning person. Who moved up the start time from noon to 10/10:30am?
4:30am. Heather: I've never had less confidence about finishing a race. Tom: *I* have never had less confidence about you finishing a race. H: WTF? T: Oh come on, it's Chevy Chase. You set it up perfectly. H: You're an ass...
5:30am. Head out the door to drive over to Wellington to meet the Somerville Road Runner bus. We both reflect how early we are this year -- last year I was one of the last ones on, nearly giving Tom a heart attack.
6am. Bus heads out. I now realize that having volunteered to help out with the logistics for the bus ride has its downside: the driver doesn't know for sure how to get to Hopkinton, so now I can't snooze the ride away.
7am. Arrive in Hopkinton. Gordon and I head over to the Dana-Farber refuge, a church several blocks away (for those of you keeping track, this is where today's mileage starts to tick upwards of that 26.2 miles). We're early -- no kids out collecting our autographs yet.
7:15 to 10:15am. Hang out with the Dana-Farber runners. Uta Pippig comes to wish us well. A group of us hanging out trade war stories with some newbie runners. Justin, our favorite photographer, takes a great photo of me from the ground, showing off the writing on my left leg. Linda, Brittany's mom, calls from Florida to wish me luck. The entire team of 550+ gathers for a fantastic group photo in front of the church. I bring my bag to the bus to send it on to Boston, debating whether to throw on another shirt and/or take my jacket. I do both, which will prove to be the best decision I'll make all day. I eat more bagels and bananas until I'm sick of them, then eat a few more. Upteen trips to the bathroom, the last being at 10:15am with Jan shouting into the ladie's room that we *really* need to get a move on it.
10:25am. Finally make my way to the 22,000 corral (still keeping track of that "extra" mileage, anyone?). Damn, I have a pebble in my shoe. I debate too long about taking the shoe off and get caught in a ridiculous dance of shuffling forward with the crowd, trying to tie the shoe back on, all while neither getting trampled nor knocking over the girl behind me.
10:30am. The gun goes off. It will be six or so minutes before I cross the starting line. Our coach, former Boston Marathon winner Jack Fultz, is up in the press box calling out greetings to the Dana-Farber runners as we pass.
Mile 1. Pretty non-descript. You're jostling for position and chuckling at the men (and some brave women) dashing into the woods for a last minute commune with nature). I'm taking things slow, not sure how the pulled calf muscle is going to react, so I'm getting passed on all sides by eager runners taking on the downhill. No matter -- I see a few that are sure to burn out later on!
Mile 2. Fairly flat, still crowded. We're now in Ashland, although I think I missed the sign. All body parts are doing what they're supposed to do. I turn on my iPod to listen to the great mix Tom made for me in 2007.
Mile 3. Still in Ashland. Everything feels good. I decide right then and there that no doubt, I'm going to finish. I cross over the electronic pads on the road for the first athlete alert at the 5K. Chirp!
Mile 4. More Ashland. I look for the island in the road and stick to left. A few hundred yards ahead, I see Kim Balkus who waits every year for me to take any unwanted clothing and replenish me with food and liquids. I waffle as I approach her: dump the jacket tied around my waist, or keep it. Finally I decide to keep it -- it's not bothering me, aside from the sweat collecting at my lower back. My second-best decision I'll make today.
Mile 5: A few small rolling hills as we head toward Framingham. I'm nervous about those tight calf muscles and walk up one of them, trying to stretch everything out. Five miles is where I start to get a comfortable pace, now confident that the legs are working according to plan. We round a corner, heading into Framingham.
Mile 6. All respect to Framingham residents aside, not my favorite stretch on the course. It gets industrial, the crowds thin out a little. I reach the 10K and hear more chirps. Less than 20 miles to go. Somewhere along the way I step off the course and shake the pebble out of my shoe. Ah...much better. Like the Princess and the Pea, it had been growing to boulder proportions.
Mile 7: A more entertaining part of Framingham. Chicken Bone anyone? I ponder whether its Boston location went under as Tom recently heard. People have been partying here, and there are more little kids running out to high-five you. A few hundred yards later I see the first major DFMC crew and run over to give Delores and Wayne Weaver a sweaty hug. They're owners of the Jacksonville Jaguars, and the research program supported by DFMC is named after Mrs. Weaver's mother. Hey -- they told us last night at the pasta party to come in for hugs!
Mile 8. We're working our way out of the industrial area into suburbia, aka Natick. I lose track of the miles and stare in disbelief at a 20+ minute mile, until I realize I must have forgotten to hit the lap button. Oh well... Somewhere around this point I got passed by the two guys running in their briefs. Yup, undies. Oh man, they're going to get COLD!
Mile 9. The wind picks up around Lake Cochichuate, without any trees to block it. I'm grateful that I added an extra shirt and hung on to my jacket, although I don't put it on yet. At the 15K mark, another set of pads mark our progress, with photographers in a glorified cherry-picker take candids. Smile for the cameras, Heather! I pass one of my favorite houses just after the Lake -- they hang a huge banner every year that says "shortcut" and points to their backyard. Always a party going on there!
Mile 10. I had promised my mother that I would check in at Mile 10 and fight with my phone for several minutes. Sunscreen and sweat have covered the phone's face, and I'm reluctant to take off my sunglasses, as they're protecting my contacts from the increasing wind and flying debris. It's been cranky as of late, and wouldn't you know it -- it gets hung up. I nearly fling it to the ground in a fit of rage, regretting my decision to hold off on replacing it for a few more months. With a sigh, I shut it down, run for a few to Natick Center, then fire it back up, finally get a text off to my parents, sister, Tom and Amy Darosa, Amber's mother. Mission accomplished, but I've lost patience in reading the dozens of messages and texts that have arrived -- back to my job at hand.
Mile 11. A very residential area in between Natick and Wellesley. Crowds are thin here, but the piece de la resistance was a guy dressed in drag. Seriously, it was awesome! Updates flood in on the Red Sox game. Tom, who was supposed to go to the game, ran into a snag with a work project and is instead locked into his computer at home. I suspect he's not a happy camper...
Mile 12. Wellesley. The Scream Tunnel. Seriously, you can hear this coming more than a half- mile away. I learned my lesson many years ago: stop yelling "Wellesley alum coming through" because you'll waste valuable energy. Instead, I wear a Wellesley hat, which I tap as I run by, and also have "Wellesley '95" in big letters on medical tape across the front of my singlet. The women go nuts. I have a chance encounter just before the Tunnel with fellow alumna Christy Doran. After the tunnel, I walk for a few minutes with fellow DFMCer Tom Zappela, who borrows my phone. Then I call into my sister to let her know I'm approaching. 20K in. I finally find a portapotty with no lines/no waiting, thank goodness!
Mile 13. Mom and Alison are positioned at the same spot every year: Talbot's red door, nearly exactly at the half-marathon mark. A few years ago I ducked into entrance to rip off wet clothing and replace with dry ones, much to the horror of both my mother and the sales clerks. I guess my mother thought I would use a dressing room... This is my opportunity to sift through my packed belt pack for lip balm, my inhaler and a few other odds and ends that were too difficult to dig out while running. A few hundred yards later, the winds pick up considerably, and I quickly pull on my jacket, leaving it mostly unzipped so the crowds can see my name, number and Dana-Farber.
Mile 14. All of a sudden, my on-again/off-again foot pain reappears. This has been plaguing me for more than a year, but never with any consistency. It's the far left side of my left foot, almost feeling as if it's taking too much of a pounding. I adjust my stride slightly and concentrate on striking more center. I call Tom to complain as the pain escalates. Now my left knee is bugging me -- no pain, just not right. Doctor Tom recommends two Advils STAT and to take it easy until they kick in. Thus begins my walk in Wellesley Hills.
Mile 15-17. I'm thoroughly pissed here about my foot. There's no two ways about it. Let's just say that I walked more than I ran and leave it at that. Somewhere I pass 25K. This also covers another one of my least favorite parts of the course: going over 128. I pass Newton-Wellesley hospital and have a brief moment of humor: I'll be here tomorrow for my annual physical (such timing) and can get these pains checked out then.
Mile 17. I stop at the next DFMC pit-stop and pilfer a few Swedish fish and water. I say hello to Dave Brno who is volunteering with DFCI. With heavy heart, I head out again. What's this? The Advil has kicked in and the pain has been dulled. Either that or the placebo effect from the candy. No matter, I'll take it. I hustle through the gauntlet known as PowerBar gel, then pull out my preferred GU. A half mile or so later, I make the turn at the Newton Firestation and officially begin the ascent: the hills of Newton. I text an update to my usual suspects letting them know that the foot is better and that I'm climbing. Strategy: walk the hills, because I'm moving faster than the people next to me are running, and it saves energy. I didn't train enough on hills, sobeit.
Mile 18. Hike up. Run down. Loan my cell phone to a guy experiencing a lousy race who wants to notify his friends that he's alive, but not moving quickly. I look for the Somerville Striders water stop, but missed it somewhere. A little further, I find the Somerville Road Runners water stop, which has many familar faces and delectable Fig Newtons. Thanks, Karin! Another checkpoint reached, more photos. 30K down. Somewhere along here Jim Rhoades took my photo...
Mile 19. Coming into Newton City Hall where my father waits every year at the Johnny Kelly statue. I see he's not alone -- some how my mother has managed to beat me there. I take a few sips of Coke, disappointed that I had forgotten to open it earlier in the weekend and dispense with most of the carbonation. A few photos, and I'm off to tackle the rest of the hill.
Mile 20. Still more hills. A few novices around me get dishearted, and I try to give them a visual of the six miles ahead. One more mile to BC. Then a mile to Cleveland Circle. Shortly after that the Citgo sign, and you're practically there. They're not buying it. I forgo taking a sip of beer from enthusiastic BC kids -- I did this a few years ago when I was feeling like a rock star and was burping the rest of the way in. Lesson learned.
Mile 21. I crest the hills and see the familiar facades of Boston College. Lots of screaming college students, but they don't hold a candle to Wellesley (sorry, BC!). They're also more drunk, so there's a delayed reaction to "BC alum." Entertaining! I text my usual suspects and ask Tom to log into my Facebook to update everyone. Listening to messages with this wind has become a royal pain in the you-know-what. I scan text messages instead. Downward ho!
Mile 22. My foot and knee are hurting a bit more, so I take the decline into Cleveland Circle with less gusto than I usually do. Police and military types line the turn onto Beacon Street. The crowds get thicker and more lively around here. I text my usual suspects that I have rounded the Circle. Amy, her father and Amber leave Somerville to head to Mile 25.
Mile 23. More crowds. Now I see an occasional marathon finisher, thankfully not running back, which would have completely bummed me out. I get confused by the intersections in Brookline -- several people have told me that they watch here or have homes here, but I can't remember where. Luckily somewhere around 23 and 24, Bonny Kellermann spots me and jumps out to walk with me for a few minutes.
Mile 24. Crowds are now spilling out into the road, creating a narrow lane of passage for runners. Mostly college kids celebrating the day and cheering us on. I text my usual suspects: Amy and family are in place at Mile 25. I've discouraged Tom from coming in, given his most recent battles with public transportation, and instead agree to a post-marathon dinner. About halfway to 25, I spot a medical tent and ask a group of women for help getting out of my singlet, putting my jacket back on as a base, then putting the singlet over it -- all without knocking my baseball hat off. Guys -- try the whole ponytail through the back of the cap thing, and you'l appreciate why I needed help for this seemingly simple feat. I approach the base of the bridge into Kenmore Square and call ahead to Amy to confirm where they're standing.
Mile 25. Amber rushes out to great me at the top of the bridge, letting me know that it's freezing. Really? Hugs from Amy and her dad, and a beautiful poster cheering me and fellow DFMCers on. Amber and I are off, walking hand in hand. She's grown quite a bit since last year and is much chattier -- she updates me on the underwear guys (yes, they looked cold, but I think she's too young to understand terms like "shrinkage") and a few other strange sites that have come through. Because she's bundled up for the cold, she has no "signage" on her that would cause the crowds to cheer her name, so we volunteer the information for more cheers. My marathon is done at this point -- I don't care how long this mile takes. We walk under Mass Ave, then turn right onto Hereford Street. More photographers snap our photos. We turn left onto Boylston and spot my parents at the corner (once again, they've beaten me in).
The Finish. As Amber and I drink in the sights and sounds of the last few hundred yards, we plan our strategy. At the second street light, which is now red, we'll make a break for it and run the rest of the way. With a giggle, she sets off, commenting that she can almost walk faster than I'm running. Lovely! As we approach the finish with no other runners near us, the PA announcer calls out my name, notes my Dana-Farber affiliation, then remarks on my beautiful daughter accompanying me to the finish line. This has become a long-standing joke between me and Amber -- for one mile, every year, she's my daughter...at least in the eyes of the fans and announcers! We high-five as we cross the finish line, and remarkably I remember to hit stop on my watch. Just 15 seconds over six hours. Not exactly one of my finer performances, but I'll take it.
The Walk. Oh, but wait, you're not done! You still have to walk to get your mylar blanket, walk some more to hand in your chip and collect your medal, then walk some more to find the bus that has your bag. THEN, we have to walk all the way back to Copley to the Marriott where our families will be meeting us at the DFMC gathering. Sorry folks, it's SO not a 26.2 mile race. It's well over 27 or even 28 when you add it all up. Sorry to burst your bubbles!
So that's it: my six hour journey from Hopkinton to Boston. I wish I had trained more. I wish the weather had been better (I'd like it about 10 degrees warmer with a tailwind, but at least the rain held off). I would have liked to have taken calls on the course, but apparently I need a new phone for that one. But it's another one in the books (, and I'll take it any way I can get it!
What I can't describe is the number of people who shout out to you "thank you Dana-Farber." At 550+ strong, we're the largest charity running group out on the course, and we get a lot of love. We're making a difference for so many folks out there, so my hat's off to all of you for supporting me along this fun, occasionally painful, journey.
As for the 2009 Boston? I'm asking for a mulligan on my performance -- I've signed up to run the NYC Marathon in November!
Posts
