I wouldn’t have done it for any other race, but I brought my
banged-up body to the Hopkinton starting line Monday in hopes of experiencing
the joy (and inevitable pain) of running the famed Boston Marathon. However, the only heartbreak I
experienced with heartbreak hill was that I never saw it.
Almost four weeks out from the marathon, I traded running
shoes on my feet for needles in my butt and spent my evenings and early
mornings painfully foam rolling my legs and strength training. I was optimistic I would heal before
race day (and so was the therapist), but the inside of my lower, right leg (a
few inches above my previously sprained ankle) was still aching when I marched
into my corral to wait the 45 minutes before the official start of the 118th
Boston Marathon.
From the moment my timing chip registered, I felt the
discomfort in my lower, right leg.
However, I was hopeful that as my legs warmed up, my muscles would
loosen and the pain would subside.
As suspected, despite the discomfort, my pace felt
effortless in the beginning and I had to force myself to slow down several
times. The pack around me was so
thick that I had some difficulty in gauging how fast I was running. When there are bodies all around you
moving in stride, it messes with your perception of speed – especially when you
are not used to running in a group.
Thus, I was almost completely trusting in my Garmin watch to pace me.
However, I was unable to lock in to any consistent pace in
the tight, mass pack of runners I was squeezed into on the narrow streets of
Hopkinton. In fact, I’m quite sure
I have never been surrounded by so many boys in my life. Still, I don’t think they noticed me –
About a mile in to the run, one of the guys let out one of the loudest belches
I have ever heard. I laughed and
thought to my self – Impressive.
But only a few minutes later he did it again, and I was like – How much
Gatorade did this dude chug?
But I admit I wasn’t on my best manners either when I
accidently verbally expressed how disgusted I was at the pace my Garmin
displayed for the prior quarter mile when I got slowed down while grabbing water
and sloshing it on my neck and wrists to help keep my temperature low in the
heat of the blazing sun (Hopefully the guy running beside me didn’t think I was
talking to him). In fact, I
struggled with maintaining my pace through each drink stop – I either got stuck
behind people who literally braked for Gatorade or I wasted time weaving
through runners as if I were cutting across three lanes of I-277 traffic so
that I can take the exit for my neighborhood.
If only my problems had ended at slow drink service and
belching boys, I would have been a happy runner on Monday, but the aching in my
lower right leg wasn’t leaving even as I ticked off mile after mile. Around mile 10, I started thinking that
maybe I would drop out at the halfway point – I was just in too much discomfort
with my bum leg to think about running another 16 miles. But about a mile later, I realized it
was not just uncomfortable – I was definitely in pain. So, a little after mile marker 11, I
stopped running and stepped off the course onto the sidewalk. And given the fact that I was immediately limping as I made
my way to the medic tent, I realized I did not stop a mile too soon. In fact, I’m afraid if I would have
kept running another couple of miles, I may not have been able to walk at all.
You may think that I was devastated by my inability to
complete the Boston Marathon, but I knew going in that there was a very real
possibility that I had a stress fracture or another serious injury that would
put me back on the bus to Boston’s Back Bay. So, I tried to make the best of my time hanging out at the
medic tent (my nurse thought it was hilarious to snap the below photo of me and
send it to my mother) and watching the runners who hadn’t dropped out pass
by. And when I boarded the medic
van along with the other injured (No, I’m not sure what their stories were…I
kinda felt like the dropout bus was like prison where I assume it would be rude
to ask “So what are you in here for?”), my only question for the medics was
“Have the elite women finished yet?”
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| Watching the Race from the Medic Tent |
Still, I was a little bummed that I couldn’t go to dinner
Monday night with a medal around my neck, and it stunk to have about 100 people
after the race congratulate me as I hobbled back in to the hotel. I couldn’t explain to every person on my
route that I didn’t actually finish so I just said thanks. When I finally entered my hotel room
(after an elite woman, already showered and leaving her room, gave me a “Good
Job”), I said to my parents – “I’ve told so many lies.” And even after
showering and switching back in to regular clothes, I continued to have people praising
my false achievement as I limped the short distance to our restaurant – “I know
that walk…Congratulations!”
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| Still Deserved a Beer |
But I did not shed a tear for my race. I did, on the other hand, have to force
back waterworks while watching the interview with Shalane Flanagan (Boston’s
kickass sweetheart) moments after she crossed the finish line in a
disappointing seventh place. The
poor girl was sobbing…so, so devastated.
It was painful to see, and I don’t know how anyone could not feel for
her as she struggled with the impact of not claiming the victory that she had
dreamed of. “I love Boston so
much. I really wanted to do it for
my city.” http://boston.cbslocal.com/2014/04/21/shalane-flanagan-sets-personal-best-in-boston-marathon/
Despite the
disappointment felt for both Shalane and myself, I still had an incredible
experience in Boston. It was
awesome to feel the energy of the city and never before had I been in a place
where there were so many runners!
After going downstairs to get coffee my first morning and seeing
countless skinny, little men and women in athletic gear, I decided that I had
found my people.
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| Post-Race Dinner View |
But on Monday, it
didn’t matter if you were a runner or not. The city truly came together as one, and I felt like every
racer, spectator, tourist, and local was on the same team. And speaking of teams, the Charlotte
Running Club had a strong showing on Monday. The girls certainly didn’t need my help in claiming a top
ten spot – 8th out of 72 teams!
I’m not sure if it
will be next year or 10 years from now, but I know I will return to Boston
(healthy!) and finish the race. For now though, I am just appreciative of the
experience I had and being able to play a small part on such a historic day.
6 Weeks till Running! Yup, that’s the promise I received
from the docs. I am on crutches at
the moment but looks like plan is to put me in a boot for a couple of weeks
followed by another few weeks of relative rest. I am committed to doing everything I am supposed to in hopes
that I really will be running again in 6 weeks. Give me a rule and I will follow it. I am counting down.
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| Doctor's Orders |
This Week’s Beer
Choice: Samuel Adam’s 26.2
Brew (obviously!)
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| You Can Probably Guess Which One Is Mine |
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