That pretty much sums up my experience at the Boston Marathon this year. So that's it, thanks for reading!
Just kidding...again.
Well, the day really started off bad when our Bostonian driver didn't take the right exit, leaving us to tell HIM where to go and 2 hours later jumping off the bus and going directly to our corrals - but that's another story. So the National Anthem plays, they introduce all the Elite men and the gun goes off! I start out slow and go through mile one in 6:50. Perfect! The first few miles are downhill so you really have to start this race controlled. I slowly dropped my pace and by mile three or four was right on my PR pace of 6:35. Sounds like the start to a perfect race, and it probably would have been, had I not been injured the last month of training. So let's go back and give you a little history:
A month out of race day I found myself not being able to run, or even walk, without pain. I couldn't straighten my leg completely without hurting and it was even waking me up at night. I made an appointment to see someone about my leg and decided to take time off until then - 5 days. Ugh. After seeing him I tried to run and made it only one mile. *Insert panic face here* Ok, time to rethink this. So Coach Dad and I came up with a cross training plan, and I scheduled more appointments to have my leg worked on. I got sick the next day and had to take more time completely off. No big deal, my body needs rest. (That's what I kept telling myself to keep from really freaking out.) Finally, I was able to run after a week and half off. I could get through five miles - still with pain. I did easy runs every other day the last few weeks of training, never getting over 12 miles, and did intervals on the rower to try and keep my aerobic capacity. By race day my leg was good enough that I felt a little more confident that it wouldn't shut me down late in the race.
So back to the race. I wasn't feeling great, but I was holding my pace.I was talking to myself, staying positive and telling myself to just keep clicking the miles off. "You've got this." By the time I hit mile seven, I knew things were getting bad. The self talk turned into "You'll be OK. You'll be OK. YOU. WILL. BE. OK." I wasn't OK. It was only mile seven and I felt like I had run 18. Still, I was thinking positive thoughts and trying to stay motivated. However, by mile 11 reality had to be accepted that today just wasn't going to happen. It was a hard pill to swallow. I couldn't believe that at mile 11 I felt like this. I mean, I could believe it. I had hardly run the last four weeks. How the fuck was I going to go through 15 more miles and my legs deteriorating this fast?!? I decided that I had to play with this race and use the crowd and enjoy the experience. If you haven't run Boston, I will tell you that the crowds there are UNBELIEVABLY awesome. Wicked awesome, to be exact! I even debated kissing a Wellesley College girl in the infamous Scream Tunnel. ;) ( I didn't though.) If you don't know what that is CLICK HERE !
Watching mobs of people going by me - a lot of them women - was hard on my competitive spirit. I kept having to tell myself to let my pride go. By 15 miles I didn't have a choice in the matter. My legs were so bad that I didn't even know if I could make it to the finish line. Now, every runner thinks this at some point in their race because your legs hurt so much and you just want it to stop, however, you know you will finish. This time, I legitimately didn't know if I was going to be able to finish; if my legs would hold out that long. I kept telling myself to just take it one mile at a time, that I would be fine and that I would make it. But even at miles 20 and 23, I still didn't know if it was going to be possible. I hurt SO FUCKING BAD. Want to know just how bad I hurt? I WALKED. Yes, I said it: I WALKED. Never in a race have I ever had to stop and walk but my quads were seizing so bad I could hardly pick up my feet and was tripping over cups in the aid stations. I was desperate. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not saying anything bad against people who have to walk. I am simply saying that I have never done it before and for me, and for those who know me, you know it means things are BAD. Not only did I walk, I had to do it more than once. I walked through a couple aid stations and a few times in between them. I never stopped for more than 10-20 seconds but to walk in the Boston Marathon, in front of thousands of screaming people, makes it hard not to feel a little embarrassed by it.
When I finally saw the 1K mark (a little over half a mile for the metric illiterate.) I couldn't have been happier. Still, all I could think about was just being done. For the pain to stop. To walk away to my hotel with my tail between my legs. When I finally crossed the line, I had a moment where I felt a little proud of myself. Proud that I pushed through. Proud that even though I wanted to quit - and it was tempting with Med Tents EVERY SINGLE MILE - I didn't. I finished. It may have been 22 minutes slower than my PR ( Now do you see how fucking bad I was!?) but I finished. I didn't quit. I didn't stop moving. I may have walked, but I didn't stop moving.
There is a saying: Never quit in the dark. But I didn't care if it was light or dark, I could not quit. Especially this year. That was what the 2014 Boston Marathon was all about. BOSTON STRONG. Seeing those signs all along the course wouldn't allow me to quit. The fans wouldn't allow me to quit. So I couldn't allow me to quit. It doesn't mean that I didn't go back to my hotel room and proceeded to call my mom and cry my eyes out. (YES! I still call my mommy when I am sad. SO WHAT!?)
I am disappointed to say the least in how the race went. Looking back it would have been smarter to have started back with my Dad and experience the marathon with him. However, I had to try. I am a competitor and I wanted to compete. It didn't work out and that is OK. There are more marathons to run and more chances to improve. I still had an amazing time with my dad and all the friends that were there. It was an incredible atmosphere and there was so much emotion and determination and fight in every single person there - spectators and runners. The 2014 Boston Marathon is an experience that just can not be described and I don't think anybody that was there, will ever forget it.
It's still a Runderful Life.
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| PROOF I FINISHED! ;) |
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