Boston Marathon 2013. Part Two: The Race

(Continued from Part One: Pre-Race)

We were called to the start line from Athlete's Village by our corrals. Wave 1 and 2 had long since cleared out, so it was all charity runners left in the Village at this point. Most of my teammates were in corral 4. We marched our BAA bags to the bag check busses and started walking to the start line -- a distance of .7 miles. Meh, we're about to run 26.2 miles, what's another .7? There was a large group of Run for Research runners walking, and we decided we'd all stop at "Porta-Potty Heaven", an enormous bank of porta-potties located right before the start line, with plenty of toilet paper and no lines. We knew about this in advance thanks to our teammate and fellow tipster Nhu. After our group pit stop, we continued on to the start and took our place among the thousands of runners lined up in Wave 3.

I was feeling excited and anxious to start. I wasn't really nervous at all. As I do for many races, I had a hierarchy of goals. Goal #1 was to finish in under 5 hours -- possible but not probable. Goal #2 was to finish in under 5:14 so that my average pace would still be under 12 minute miles. Goal #3 was to beat 5:34, which would be a marathon PR for me. And goal #4 was to finish upright and smiling. I'm not sure if it was the impact of that morning's mission moment, or just the culmination of running with this team for the entire season, but running for a good clock time was not really that important to me. I said to many people in the week leading up to the race that I'd rather finish in 5.5 hours and feel good than to beat 5 hours and be miserable doing it. Since I was confident that I could probably hit goals 2-4, I really wasn't nervous going into the race. Did I still pace myself with the intention of beating 5 hours? HELL YES.

Miles 1-5
My friend Lisa and I started together. We were both checking our Garmins in the first mile to make sure we weren't going out too fast. The Boston Marathon starts on a downhill, so combine that with the adrenaline rush that has been building for the 6 hours you've already been awake waiting for the race to start, and then add insane spectator support, and suddenly you're running 8 minute miles for the first time in your life. But, not us. We were running right where we were supposed to be. My coach had given me pacing guidance for the race, so I was keeping that in mind. The first 4 miles were just a warm-up, she said. I can do that. I told myself I wasn't allowed to think until after the first 5 miles, which is something I tell myself on training runs too. Those first miles are always full of thoughts about how I don't want to be doing this, and I think I have a stress fracture so I better stop, and I must have gained 10 pounds since the last time I wore these pants because I don't remember them feeling like this, etc. etc. Then, after 5 miles, all of those thoughts are long gone and I'm in the groove. Lisa and I separated somewhere around mile 3, I think. I don't even know when I lost her, or if she was ahead of me or behind me. I was focused on the race, so that's where my mind stayed.

Miles 6-15
Coach's orders were to run the next 10 miles at a faster pace. I had one sub 11:00 mile in there, but the rest were all in the low to mid 11's, right where they should have been, and I was feeling good about it. When I started to approach mile 6, near the Framingham train station, I had my first realization of how different this year's Boston Marathon was compared to last year's. The 2012 Boston Marathon had record high temps, approaching 90 degrees, which is uncomfortable enough to run in, but even more so when you've been training in the cold winter months the entire time and are unprepared for the sudden jump in temperature. Last year I ran at a 14:02 pace, finishing the marathon in 6:08. Clearly I had already noticed the difference in the temperature, but what I noticed when I ran into Framingham is how many more spectators there were at this spot than there were last year. Truth is, I'm sure the amount of spectators were the same, but this year I got there so much earlier that they hadn't started to clear out yet. My dad would be waiting on the left side of the course, just past the 10K mark, and after the train station. Last year he was easy to spot. There were plenty of other spectators last year, but this year they stretched out wider than they did before, and they were 3-4 people deep in spots. As I passed the train station and still didn't see my dad, I started to get nervous that he either wasn't there yet, or that I had somehow missed him in the crowd. Then I saw his bright orange shirt and arms waving, and I made a bee line toward him. I stopped long enough for a high five, and to grab the Shot Bloks (my fuel) that he was holding out for me. If I was going to beat 5 hours, I didn't have any time to stop and chit chat.

I had another friend who told me he'd be in Framingham, but I didn't know exactly where or what side of the street. It was a bummer that I didn't see him, but it was a great distraction for me to be scanning the crowds on both sides of the streets all the way through Framingham. Well, except for this moment when my friend managed to spot me, threading the needle. Whoops. Thanks for being out there, Steve!  Before I knew it, I was in Natick. My next spectators -- my mom, aunt, and cousin -- would be at mile 11.8 on the Natick/Wellesley line, so I just had to run through the town of Natick to get to them. I was still checking my pace at every mile and was still within the range of a sub-5:00, and I didn't feel like I was pushing the pace at all.
When I approached mile 11.8 and started looking for my family, I realized that the crowds here were also much more dense than they had been the year before. In my memory from the previous year, my mom and cousin had lawn chairs, a cooler, a picnic basket, and were playing croquet on all of the vast open space (ok fine, I made that last part up). I knew they'd be on the left, so I stayed on that side and eventually saw a familiar orange shirt as my aunt poked her head out of the crowd about 100 feet ahead of me. I waved wildly and they must have shoved their way to the front of the pack because then I saw all 3 of them. Again, I stopped briefly, only long enough to smear some aquaphor on my chafing bra strap, and then I continued on. Luckily my cousin decided to run with me for a little ways, so I was able to chat with her for a little bit.
Almost immediately after that, I heard the screams of the Wellesley girls in the distance. The "scream tunnel" at Wellesley is a famous spot along the course, with hundreds of college girls offering kisses for the runners. Last year when I got to Wellesley, there were a whole lot of "kiss me" posters on the ground, but the rambunctious crowds had long since departed. I was thrilled to hear the screams this year. I took off my headphones as I ran through the scream tunnel, but with sub-5:00 on the brain, I did not stop for any kisses. Maybe next year, ladeez.

Almost immediately after Wellesley College, you pass through the quaint downtown area of Wellesley where the half marathon course marker is located. I looked at my Garmin as I crossed the mats and noted the time was 2:29:54. 6 seconds to spare off a 5 hour marathon. Now every step I take will mean I have less ground to cover to the finish line than I have already run. I still had lots of energy at this point, but did I have enough to cover the same distance in the same amount of time? I started to shake the thoughts out of my head and repeated a mantra I've said many times before in long races, "Keep your head where your feet are." I focused on the next spectator spot, which was mile 14.7 where my coach would be. When I reached Peej, I still felt great. She ran with me for a bit, laughing at me when I said, "I feel like I'm just out for an easy jog!" and coaching me on the upcoming miles including the dreaded Newton Hills. She had been following my splits so she knew I was having a great race, and she told me that she had no doubt I'd run a sub 5:00 today. Read her report of the day as she experienced it.

Miles 16-21
After you cross the Mile 15 markers, the course has a short steep descent into Newton Lower Falls. This is the first place on the course that I felt anything physically uncomfortable (well except for, ya know, running for almost 3 hours at this point). A lot of runners go flying down this hill, but then their legs are trashed when they start the 5 miles of hills that follow. I tried to take it easy on this downhill. Perhaps I "braked" too much, or perhaps the pain was inevitable despite anything I did or didn't do, but my quads were reacting very unhappily on this downhill. It was as if someone was stabbing a knife into each quad with every step. Knowing that it was related to the downhill, I just kept moving, and sure enough the pain went away. I had a great stretch of spectators coming up, so I focused on them.

Up first was my teammate Connie's husband Chris and their son Kellan. I high fived both of them and kept on running. What I didn't see, which may have been for the best, was a poster that Kellan had made for me. On it was a picture of a turtle. Apparently he was going for the Tortoise and the Hare theme, with me being the hare in that scenario, except he realized that he didn't know how to draw a hare, so he just left a picture of the turtle next to "Go Beth!" Almost immediately after seeing them, I saw my dad again, along with family friends Bob & Sue -- which was a great surprise because I did not know they would be there! Sue was able to snap this picture of me high-fiving my dad. With all of the back-to-back spectators I had along the course for the past 2 miles, and knowing that I was on the first of the Newton Hills, I felt like I was closing in fast on the finish. I was still maintaining my pace at this point too. In another quarter of a mile or so, I hit the Liver Team cheering station in front of Newton Wellesley Hospital. This was a huge burst of excitement. Coach Jorge was there and went running by me so he could get ahead of me to take my photo. Not a bad action shot, if I do say so myself.

I turned the corner onto Commonwealth Ave, and that's when I first realized that Goal #1, a sub-5:00 marathon, probably wasn't going to happen. My average pace up through the first 15 miles was under 11:25 (11:26 is the average pace for a 5 hour marathon), but now at mile 17, it was just over 11:30. I would have to run faster than I had been in order to drop it back down, and the next 4 miles of the course were supposed to be my slow "don't even look at your watch" miles. I could have turned Beath Mode ON for the next 4 miles and powered up the hills, but not only did I have no desire to do that, I also reminded myself that I'd rather feel good finishing regardless of my time, than finish in five hours and feel like crap. So for the next couple of miles, I walk/jogged up the hills. My mom, aunt, and cousin had left their earlier post and had joined my sister, my brother-in-law, and his mother at mile 19.1. Mama Mellouk, as we call her, is from Morocco, doesn't speak any English, and as far as we know, has never seen a marathon. She was having the time of her life. Since they had lots of time to get to mile 19 to see me, they watched the marathon coverage on the news and saw all of the elites come in. Mama Mellouk was practicing her cheering by sitting on the couch ringing her cowbell. When she got to the course, she happily continued doing this, but now she was ringing it in the faces of the runners passing by. I guess my spectator tip about "skip the clapping, more cowbell" might need to be clarified. Emily ran with me again, although after a short while, I told her I needed to walk. I was fading. I was hoping that I'd get my second wind at the top of the hills and "hammer it home" as my coach advised. For right now, I just needed to get up these hills, and I did.

Miles 22-25

Sure enough, I got to the top of Heartbreak Hill and knew the worst was over. I got a second wind and started to "hammer it home". That lasted about 28 seconds. I was mostly running at this point, but my pace was slowing. I wasn't anywhere near 11:30's anymore. I had my sights set on Goal #2, to finish with an average pace in the 11's. I passed BC and scanned the crowd for my friend Judy, who I didn't end up seeing. After passing BC, the course turns onto Chestnut Hill Ave to Cleveland Circle. This was the spot last year that I really turned on the juice, so I was hoping that would happen again this year. I ran through Cleveland Circle, really feeling my legs getting heavy and tired, but knowing that I have run this stretch of road nearly every single Saturday morning since November. This was my territory, and I was going to power through anyway I could. At about mile 22.5, I saw a familiar orange poster with my name on it, then saw my friend Liz holding it and cheering me on. Liz had made the signs the night before and posted them to facebook so I recognized it immediately (another brilliant spectator tip). Liz and her friends cheered for me as I ran toward them, then as I got closer, she beckoned me to come over, somewhat seriously. As I got near, she said, "There was an explosion at the finish line, I just wanted you to know." (Read Liz's account of her day.) I was very confused by this comment, so I continued to run, wondering what that meant. A teenager with a cherry bomb? A malfunction with some equipment that was at the finish line? That was pretty much the end of my thinking about the comment and I went back to recalculating my pace and re-evaluating the strength left in my legs. About a half mile later, my ex-boyfriend came walking straight at me on the course, motioning for me to take my headphones off. I did, and he said, "Two bombs went off at the finish line." I responded with, "Did anybody die?" He said, "I don't know yet, but there are missing limbs. There's no finish line. The finish line is shut down." I said ok and kept on running. For some reason his comment about the finish line being shut down didn't translate to stopping running. Still not fully understanding the mayhem that was ensuing, my brain was simply trying to problem solve. Would they divert us to another finish line? Do they have a contingency plan for a secondary finish line? Have they ever used that before? Where is it? How do the timing mats get transferred over? Then the thoughts went back to the other part of what was said. Two bombs. Missing limbs. Dear God. Who the hell cares about where the finish line is? Then I thought about the spectators. Immediately the image that flashed in my mind was of the VIP passes that a fellow teammate had posted on facebook the day before. Her parents would be sitting in the bleachers at the finish line. And that reminded me that my friend Lisa (who I started the race with) also had her mom and cousin in the bleachers as well. And what about my family? I started doing the mental math. If I left my family at mile 19, and now I'm at mile 23, that's 4 miles. Could they drive to the finish line in the amount of time it took me to run 4 miles? Then I remembered my friend Dave from camp said he'd be at the finish line to cheer me on. Oh my god, Kien and Trish! I tried to do the mental math on his pace -- would he have been at the finish line when this happened? He started in wave 2, 20 minutes before I did, and if he ran 10 minute miles, then... FUCK! WHY DO I HAVE TO BE BAD AT MATH?!?! The Run For Research Team had 200+ members. Were they ok? Were their families at the finish line? I was not running with my cell phone, and I wasn't running with any teammates, so I had nothing to do but continue running -- to what or to where, I didn't know. Meanwhile, spectators were still cheering us on in full force. Cowbells were ringing, water stops were fully staffed with cheerful volunteers telling us that we can do this. Runners continued to run. The mental confusion in my head did not match any of the sights and sounds that were happening around me. Police cars with sirens and lights going started coming down the course behind us, lots of them, 3-4 at a time, and another group of them every couple of minutes. As we approached an intersection just before mile 25, I noticed the police presence. It wasn't until I actually reached the intersection that I saw the barriers across the race course. Boston Police officers were calmly telling each runner, "The race has ended. You are done now. Please clear the area." I wasn't entirely surprised when this happened, although now I just had one more question going through my head with all the rest: What do I do now? 

Post-race

The race has ended, but there were no race officials there, no water, no food. My brain might have been confused as hell, but my body just ran 25 miles in record time and it was shutting down. They did have mylar blankets, so I was able to wrap myself in that. There were some volunteers (not race volunteers, just helpful passersby) who were offering use of their cell phones to the runners. I tried to call my sister, but the call wouldn't go through and the cell phone screen flashed "Emergency Calls Only." I stood there confused and shivering for a few more minutes, not sure which direction to walk, not WANTING to walk. Then, I saw my teammate Jameel finish. His fiancee Heather, who was not running, suddenly appeared too, along with a few other friends. I congregated with them. Heather let me use her phone to text my sister. We started walking to their apartment which was only a few blocks away. People who lived in that neighborhood were coming out of their homes with plates full of anything that they had in their kitchen cabinets: a pile of wheat thins, a bunch of grapes, half of a coffee cake, some slices of bread. They were walking toward the wandering runners, offering us food. We got into Jameel and Heather's apartment and turned on the news. This was the first real report I had seen. I watched in disbelief. My sister had called Heather's phone, so I was able to talk to her. My dad was waiting in Kenmore Square -- his pre-planned spectator spot, which was only about a quarter of a mile away from where I was stopped on the course. My sister and I agreed that dad would stay where he was, and I would make my way toward him. I thanked Heather and Jameel for their hospitality, and then they gave me a jacket to wear. As I walked out of the building, one of their neighbors was also walking out. He immediately asked if I was ok, and I said yes, I think so. He asked where I was going and I told him to Kenmore Square to find my dad who was waiting for me on the course. He offered to walk me to Kenmore. He was very comforting, and told me how his fiancee had been volunteering at the finish line earlier today, but luckily had already left before the explosions occurred. I found my dad in the middle of Kenmore Square, and we walked to his truck. I called my mom from his phone and told her we were on our way, but that I had to check on Kien and Trish first. Since I didn't have my phone or access to my email, I did not know any way of getting in touch with them. I decided that we would drive to their hotel, in the hopes that they had made it back there. Before we got to the hotel, my dad and I had an altercation with a guy on a bicycle that deserves its own blog post, which I may or may not ever write. (Who am I kidding, of course I will. Just... not yet.) We got to their hotel and I called their room from the lobby. No answer. I left them a message with my parents' home phone number, and told them to call me there. About 20 minutes later, I got a call from my mom that there were some facebook messages back and forth between Kien and my aunt in Michigan, and so I called their hotel again and finally got in touch with them. They were ok. Kien was also stopped at mile 25. Trish was a few blocks from the finish line when the explosions happened, but only close enough to hear, not to see. She assumed they were celebratory cannons. I think Kien ended up walking to his hotel in Cambridge after the race, but I still have to get the full version of the story from them. 

My dad and I finally made it home to my parents' house, where all of my family members were who were spectating that day. I still didn't have any of my belongings -- no glasses, no cell phone, no car keys, no house keys, no change of clothes, so I knew I was there for the night. We ate salad and pizza and sat in the hot tub and told and re-told the story of the altercation with a guy on a bicycle. Eventually when everyone had gone home, I finally logged onto facebook and my email. That was when the first flood of emotion happened, as I read through the entire days worth of posts from friends, family and acquaintances checking up on me. I searched my fellow teammates pages to make sure they were ok and saw the same outpouring of support on their pages. It was hard to find any messages from my friends on their own facebook walls, but when the whole page was filled with, "Glad to hear you're ok!" that was sufficient enough. I haven't seen any of my teammates yet except for Connie, who I work with. I missed the day after party where many teammates gathered. I also have not been online or seen any news reports about the status of the investigation, or an update on the victims. I wanted to write my account of the day before I absorbed a thousand other facts and accounts of the day.

Oh, and I did go into Boston on Tuesday morning to retrieve my belongings. When I was given my bag from the BAA volunteers, they also gave me a finisher's medal. I didn't give a shit about the medal until the moment they put it around my neck. To me, the medal doesn't signify my victory in running the Boston Marathon, but it signifies the collective strength and resilience of all runners, and of Boston, and of the Boston Marathon. My heart goes out to the victims of this tragedy.