This started as a travel blog. But it’s accidentally become more of a running blog. And a sporadic one at that.
I’ve gotten into the habit of writing recaps of my major races. Yet with spring on the horizon and finals week approaching, I’ve been putting this one off. Plus, what can I say that hasn’t already been said much better here, here, here, and so many other places? Plus: pressure. This was The One. I’ve been chasing the unicorn, quasi-literally and figuratively, for so long. I should be able to muster up something articulate! Thoughtful! Reflective! Instead, I feel monosyllabic, much like I was during the race itself:. UGH! BLAH! SHIIIIT!
But, to keep up with this mini-tradition, I’ll do my best to lend something to the conversation.
With less than a week between myself and this race, I must admit that, despite all of the ughs and blahs, my first Boston was pretty freakin’ great. Yes, I know it was maybe the worst weather in the race’s 122-year history. I know about the hypothermia and the crowded medical tents and the relatively slow finishing times. I was there. I have my own experiences of stinging rain, crippling headwind, waterlogged shoes, and nonfunctional fingers at the ready. This thing sucked. It was hard. Ridiculously, unforgettably, and indescribably hard.
To prove my point, check out a few images of the Athletes’ Village in Hopkinton, before the race even started.
But if I wanted easy, I’d stay home or take a beach weekend. The marathon is hard. We do it for that very reason. For the challenge, for the stories. To experience the new and the singular. To feel alive and vibrant. To redefine what is possible. To brag. To be a badass.
Given all of that, on every single front, Boston 2018 delivered. Challenge and badassery galore. An experience like no other. Stories for decades, with grim photos to back them up (see above, and below, and any other blog or webpage chronicling this day). As for feeling alive…does it get any better than pushing through the wind, dodging puddles, rain stinging your face, music blaring, without a care in the world for what exists outside of this tunnel of cold, wet misery?
Alive does not necessarily mean happy. But there were even some weirdly happy moments during this thing. Wearing a wacky but really toasty outfit of running clothes under massive Goodwill throwaway sweats under a Tyvek suit under a plastic poncho to the start was hilarious! And losing my “real” running hat – all technical and sleek – and having to wear the Pippi Longstocking monstrosity I got at the Goodwill as a throw-away? Funny stuff! (This hat was actually awesomely toasty and kept my headphones secure. Love you, Pippi-hat!) Looking at – but thankfully passing by – the Athletes’ Village, with its ankle-deep mud and hundreds of pairs of discarded shoes? Also a riot. Later, during the race, the Wellesley tunnel – thinned out as it was – provided a massive boost. And I had to laugh when a surprise crosswind swept through, so swiftly that my anklebones bumped into each other and drew some blood. The absurdity of this! WTF!?
Yep. I got my money’s worth. And that’s saying a lot. Did I mention that, in addition to everything else, I had to go buy a new Lululemon outfit because of the shifting forecast and my poor packing? (I was not alone.) Add another $250 to the tab. Still – worth it!
And my performance? Given the downhill nature of the first half, I was not too surprised to be going at PR-pace (sub 3:30), albeit smartly. But the weather just got worse, my spirits got lower, and the hills appeared, as I knew they would. I dropped back and did what may be the hardest thing of all – let go of my PR hope (which was never really part of the plan anyway) and tried to be compassionate to myself in the process.
While this was not a glorious race or triumphant finish, I ran my third fastest marathon – a 3:39:46 – and beat my bib by a cool 6,008 spots. And I still have all my fingers and my toes and a love of running. Win!
So, let’s have a redo next year, Boston. And while I like an edifying experience every now and then, I also heard that I missed out on some serious cheering and crowd love thanks to these elements. Mother Nature, you can be a little less dramatic next time, mmmk?
Onward! Five little weeks until the beautiful, PR-friendly Stockholm Marathon. #gluttonforpunishment