In the howling wind comes a stinging rain
See it driving nails
Into the souls on the tree of pain
See it driving nails
Into the souls on the tree of pain
These lyrics from U2’s Bullet the Blue Sky echo through my mind as I carefully plod through the muddy
field at the Athlete’s Village at Hopkinton High School. The wind is gusting and
the rain is unrelenting, it is in fact a stinging rain at times as the
precipitation straddles the line between rain and sleet. My start time is about
two hours away. I need shelter!
As I venture into one of the tents set up for this purpose I
can feel it; Heat! Precious heat! Runners fill practically every nook and
cranny but I manage to find a spot near the back entrance where I settle in to
enjoy the warmth for as long as I can. Just outside the opposite
entrance from where I stand, the Gatorade tent blows by. That’s right, the tent
actually blows by. The force of the wind pulled its stakes out of the ground
causing it to topple over and roll like a tumbleweed about 20 feet. This is going to be a wild one today, I
think to myself.
I’ve been running competitively for over 30 years but never
have race day conditions been as extreme as they are today. There is wind, rain, and sleet and unfortunately
I’m not talking about an Earth, Wind, and Fire cover band that's serenading runners on the course. The wrath of the elements is prominent as the
temperature with the wind chill is -1 degree Celsius. My goal originally was to
beat my qualifying time that got me here (3:15 set at the VT City Marathon.).
However, today’s conditions dictate a change of plans. The new goal is simply
to finish, running as efficiently and swiftly as the conditions allow.
After hanging out in the tent for about 45 minutes I finally
have to give in to nature’s call. As much as I hate to do it I need to venture
back outside to wait in line for the port-o-let. I pick the line that looks the
shortest and patiently wait my turn, periodically bouncing up and down on my
calves with my arms folded in front of me to stay warm. Slowly but steadily the
line moves. By the time I exit the port-o-let the time has come for me to work
my way towards the starting line. The adventure begins!
Still unsure of what specifically I want to wear for layers,
I jog towards the starting line to get a sense of how I will feel when I’m
running. On my lower body I have my shorts
with wind pants over them. Up top I have a running cap, running gloves, a short
sleeve wicking shirt and arm warmers. But wait, there’s more! Over the short sleeve shirt and arm warmers I
have a long sleeve wicking shirt. For my final layer I have a clear garbage bag
with slots cut out for my arms and another for my neck. I never thought I’d be
a garbage bag wearer, but it’s a good way to stay dry and desperate times call
for desperate measures.
I know I’ll ultimately be uncomfortable in these wind pants
so I take them off and place them in one of the bags of clothes for charity.
Continuing to jog down Grove Street towards the starting corrals I am fairly
comfortable, but I can’t help but think that with my current layers I’ll be
overheating by the time I get to Framingham. Getting the right layers feels
like such a crap shoot today. The line between too few and too many is razor
thin.
I gotta do it! I gotta at least try running without the long
sleeve shirt. I pull it off and am left with just my cap, gloves, short sleeve
shirt, arm warmers, shorts, and of course the stylish clear garbage bag. Hey, this isn’t too bad! I feel a
slight chill, but I’m not running very fast. By the time I get a few miles into
the race I should be okay. I decide to ditch the long sleeve shirt, so I put
that in one of the charity bags too.
I proceed to my starting corral ready to get this party
started. I recently read a book titled; The Way of the Seal by retired Navy Seal
Commander Mark Divine. In it he uses the term; embrace the suck, as a strategy for getting through tough
situations. Basically, instead of
focusing on how miserable the conditions are, embrace them and make the most of
them. With this in mind, my plan is to pretend to be a kid out playing in the
rain, having fun splashing through puddles on my 26.2 mile jaunt.
Standing near the front of my corral I hop up and down to
stay warm. The weather conditions are too bad even for there to be the usual
flyover by either military planes or helicopters. The starting gun can’t happen soon enough. I
look to my left and see 2014 winner Meb Keflezighi walking towards the front of
the pack. Although he officially retired from competitive running he’s back to
run this year for charity as a member of Team MR8. Meb and I have the same fashion
sense. He’s sporting a garbage bag too. If this was the red carpet at the
Oscars and I was asked; “Who are you wearing?” I’d have to say “Glad”. I wonder what Meb would say.
Finally the starting gun sounds and we are off. My mission
is to spend the first few miles just feeling things out. Not worrying about running
a specific pace, just seeing what feels manageable and using heart rate as a
guide as well.
Fortunately, the weather hasn’t prevented some diehard
spectators from showing up! They aren’t as numerous as usual, but there are
enough to provide some much needed energy to the environment and to be a
positive distraction from the elements.
The first 3 miles are at a controlled pace as I focus on
adapting to the conditions. I cross the 5k checkpoint in 23:06. Hey,
this is fun! I’m actually enjoying this. I legitimately feel like a kid out
playing in the rain. My chosen apparel, including my garbage bag jersey from
the Glad collection, is providing me with adequate warmth.
I focus on just being in the moment as the course exits
Hopkinton and travels through Ashland. Much like in Hopkinton, the number of spectators
is down from the usual, but still there is valuable extra energy and enthusiasm
supplied to the environment by their presence.
After Ashland we enter Framingham. Framingham is rocking!
Music fills the air. Spectators with enthusiastic non-stop cheers of
encouragement line both sides of the street all through town. It seems to be the race day party spot it
always is. What a great adrenaline boost!
The 10k checkpoint is located in Framingham, which I cross
in 45:58. My pace is pretty consistent with where it was at 5K. I am starting
to heat up to a slightly uncomfortable level, which could mean if I don’t make
a change I will be much too hot by the time I hit Wellesley at 13.1 miles. I decide it’s time to lose the garbage bag. I
tear it off, leaving me with all the other layers of clothes, with the
exception of my gloves. I take those off too and am tempted to toss them. But
they are small and not much of a burden to carry, so I hang on to them in case
they are needed down the road.
Since the start of the race there has constantly been
precipitation of some form, only the intensity has changed. It’s gone from
moderate rain to heavy rain to sleet and back again. The varying headwind speed of 30+ mph sometimes
even causes the rain to blow sideways. Yikes!
By the time I arrive in Natick (10 miles) my childlike
enthusiasm for the conditions is gone. My legs are feeling a little numb and
I’m drenched. I alternate between putting my gloves on and then after several
minutes I take them back off again. I can’t get the right combination. I’m too
warm with them on and get too cold when they come off. Having a miserable
attitude isn’t going to help matters so I need to refocus as I have absolutely
no intention of dropping out. A quote from the film Hesher starring Joseph Gordon Levitt comes to mind; Life is like walking in the rain…you can
hide and take cover or you can just get wet. I’ve trained too much to let anything,
including the elements, stop me. I will run and I won’t hide. I will just get wet.
At 12 miles into this soggy marathon trek we pass Wellesley
College (aka the scream tunnel), where the women of the college typically line
up in force to cheer on all runners with their decibel chart busting screams. Today’s
weather has greatly reduced the size of the tunnel. Even though far fewer women
are out than usual, you wouldn’t know it from the decibel level. The women who
are here are more than compensating for the fewer numbers by screaming even
louder, which I didn’t think was possible. Their cheers give me a rush and
provide an invisible force that pushes me through to downtown Wellesley (the
halfway point) which I reach in 1:38:31.
With half the marathon still remaining my plan is break the
large goal of the 13.1 miles into smaller ones. I’ll focus on getting from one
landmark to the next. The next one that comes to mind is the fire station in
Newton on the corner of Route 16 and Commonwealth Ave. This point in the race
marks the beginning of the infamous Newton Hills and is located at around mile
17.
The rain and sleet continue to show no mercy, coming down
with a vengeance. First the rain then the sleet then back to rain. The winds
continue their head on attack with a speed range of 30-40 miles per hour. I’ve been running with my gloves off but
can’t seem to put them back on again. The fingers are folded inside out and I
can’t seem to undo them. The gloves are soaking wet at this point anyway so I
don’t think they would do much good even if I could get them on.
The level of numbness in my legs is gradually increasing and
it seems to take more exertion to move them. My heart rate monitor shows me
that my heart is beating at 165 beats per minute, which is normal at this point
in a marathon but usually I’m about 30 seconds faster per mile. The conditions
are most certainly having an impact.
In preparation for the demands of the Newton hills I reach for a GU energy gel from my fuel belt. The weather conditions have caused the
dexterity in my hands to be slightly impaired, so I clutch the gel packet as
best as I can and tear off the top with my teeth. It takes two attempts but the
mission is accomplished. The flavor of
choice is Jet Blackberry. The “Jet” in the title is due to the 40mg of
caffeine, which I’m hoping will have a similar effect on me that spinach (no, this isn't a flavor suggestion) has on
Popeye.
For the past couple miles I’ve felt a slowly building need
to pee. I don’t like to stop unless I absolutely have to and rarely do I need
to pee during a race, but these extreme conditions mean my body doesn’t have to
sweat much to stay cool. The water has got to go somewhere, hence my growing
need to pee. There’s no way I can hold it until Boston so I decide to go ASAP. I
spy a port-o-let at the side of the road but another runner is entering. There’s
bound to be another one soon (I hope), so I keep running.
At last I reach the Newton Fire Station and turn onto
Commonwealth Ave to begin the ascent of the legendary hills of Newton. I tell myself to just keep my legs moving and
be on the lookout for a port-o-let. Like
most other sections of the course the spectator numbers here are lower than usual too, but there is still an enthusiastic bunch
who showed up to provide much needed support.
I steadily ascend the first hill, as I get to the top I think to myself,
“one down two to go” (this is in
regard to the 3 major hills in Newton, the 3rd being Heartbreak).
The terrain is gradually rolling leading up to the second
Newton hill. As I reach hill number 2 and begin my climb towards its summit I
see them, there are 3 port-o-lets lined up side by side about half way up the
hill. Oh sweet relief! Never do I recall being so happy to see a port-o-let.
The best part is one is actually available. (Phew!). After what felt like an
eternity I leave the port-o-let slightly rejuvenated.* I lost 1 full minute but
the benefit was well worth it. Now I can run without that distraction. I cross
the 30K checkpoint in 2:25:25. My pace is slowing but that’s not a concern. My
primary mission is to just keep moving forward.
*For some
reason there were no news stories about Moe Brown stopping to visit a
port-o-let like there were for Shalane Flanagan. LOL
It’s not long before I reach the infamous Heartbreak Hill. My pace continues to slow. I’m wet, cold, and
fatigued from fighting a headwind for 2 ½ hours, so it’s no wonder. But I know that
there is salvation ahead at the top of Heartbreak Hill. The top of Heartbreak
is mile 21, at this point the terrain is either downhill or flat (relatively
speaking). I make a mental note that the rain seems to have lightened up.
Seconds later all that changes. The sky opens up and down comes one of the
heaviest rainfalls of the day, perfectly synchronized with my ascent up
Heartbreak Hill. I can’t help but chuckle at the irony of this.
After rounding each bend I look ahead, anticipating the
beautiful sight of the cathedral located on the campus of Boston College. Unless
you are delirious from your marathon journey and experiencing a mirage, the
sight of this cathedral means the top of Heartbreak Hill is near. Steadily, I stride up the hill; left,
right, repeat…left, right, repeat, until finally the cathedral is in view. I
continue on…left, right, repeat...left, right, repeat. At last I have reached the top.
There’s still 5 miles to go, but at least the most
challenging terrain is behind me. My energy goes through peaks and valleys
(figuratively speaking). I take advantage of the peaks and pick up my pace.
During the valleys I just focus on keeping my legs moving.
I need to have another GU but my hands have even less
dexterity than before. I use the same technique as before, holding the GU
packet in place with my hand (which feels more like a claw now) and let my
teeth do the work. The GU gives me a bit of a boost as I make my way through
Brookline, then Coolidge Corner onto Beacon Street. My pace continues to
fluctuate but I’m making forward progress and every step gets me closer to
Boylston Street and the finish.
The Citgo sign in Kenmore Square comes into view. “I’m almost there”, I jubilantly think to
myself. I reach the 40k checkpoint in 3:21:51. Doing math during marathon
running doesn’t always go well, but I have enough experience with kilometers to
miles translation to easily calculate that this is about 24 miles (24.8 to be
exact). I’m typically finished by now but that doesn’t concern me. Today is
about survival and I am oh so close to the finish line.
I feel something lightly brush up against my leg. Looking
down I see that my race bib is hanging by a thread and hitting my leg. Over the
course of 24 miles the strong winds have caused the bib to continually push
against the lace locks holding it in place. One of them has slowly but steadily
slid completely off the fuel belt. Now, just shy of mile 25, by bib is being
held in place by just one lace lock. It may survive the remaining 1.4 miles but
I don’t want to take any chances. In order to be an official finisher I need to
have that bib on me. I have battled the
elements for close to 3 ½ hours. If I didn’t get recognized as an official
finisher after all this it would suck to no end. I don’t want to take any
chances. I hold the bib in place with my right hand which slightly alters my
gate, and probably looks a little funny, almost like I have a cramp in my side.
But I don’t care. I’m going to do what I got to do to get to the finish line.
1 mile to go. The sign in Kenmore square reads.
Running through Kenmore Square never fails to bring about goose bumps. Not
because there is one mile to go (although that sure is nice) but because it’s
one of the busiest sections (if not the busiest) of Boston and it’s closed to
traffic, enabling spectators to line the streets three, four, and sometimes
five rows deep(possibly even more if the Red Sox game has finished). The energy
from the crowd’s cheers here is off the charts. I’m going to make it! I’m
getting colder and my patience for the conditions has almost expired, but I can
absolutely make it 1 more mile.
I continue at whatever pace I can muster, which at this point
fluctuates within the 8:30-9 minute mile range. I run down Beacon Street, then
through the tunnel that goes under Mass Ave and back up to reconnect with
Beacon St. With ½ mile to go I then make what I’ve heard referred to as the two
most famous turns in sports; right on Hereford, left on Boylston. All while
continuing to keep my bib clenched tightly to my side.
When turning on to Boylston the finish line is immediately
in sight off in the distance. The sight of it fills me with excitement every
time. Today is no exception. I’ve run 3 ½ hours through the most extreme
conditions in Boston Marathon history and I’m going to make it to the finish
line. I have persevered through the storm. I will do this!
The finish line is only about 3/10 of a mile in the distance
but it looks like 3 miles. I keep my eyes focused on the road about 50 feet in
front of me, periodically glancing up to see how much farther I have to go.
Little by little I reel myself in closer and closer until at last the glorious
moment arrives. I cross the finish line in 3:34:50.
I am shivering uncontrollably as I walk down Boylston after
finishing. The area on Boylston right after the finish is where runners get
their medals, food, and a Mylar blanket for warmth. I am intensely cold! I
don’t think I have hypothermia but I will soon if I don’t get warm. I don’t have any recollection of ever being
this cold. Where the @#*! are those blankets!?
My legs are tight, so my walk resembles
more of a stagger. On top of my uncontrollable shivering I also feel nauseous.
As tempted as I am to just stop, I know that I need to keep
moving in order to get warm. My Mylar blanket awaits me not far ahead and my
dry clothes are about a block away. My
stagger ultimately brings me to the first station, which is where the medals
are handed out. Receiving the medal is what makes finishing feel official, so I
try to cherish the moment. But, my constant shivering is too much of a
distraction for me to revel in the moment for very long. Once again echoing
through my brain is the thought; Where
the @#*! are those blankets!?
I stagger on, finally making it to the Mylar blankets. The
volunteer wraps it around me. It gives me some relief but no wear near the
level I need. I just can’t stop shivering.
Taking deep inhalations and exhalations provides me some relief from the
nausea, but more than anything I just need to go someplace warm and sit
down. I continue on but my walking
ability doesn’t improve much.
I grab a food bag a volunteer hands me, but don’t take time
to consume anything from inside it just yet. I’m on a mission to get my dry
clothes ASAP. As I continue staggering forward my nausea seems to subside, but
not my shivering. My enthusiasm rises as
finally my staggering has carried me to the baggage area where I can get my dry
clothes.
I happily claim my bag, but now I need to put on my clothes.
Wherever do I do that? A volunteer informs me that there is a heated tent for
changing and some businesses are letting runners change in their rest rooms as
well. Specifically which ones she’s not sure. Like a fish swimming upstream I
work my way back in the direction I just came from, since that is where the
heated tent is.
Much to my dismay there is a line of soggy, shivering
runners like myself waiting to get into the tent. Ugh! If I have to wait any
longer I may just collapse. I’m almost hypothermic and walking like a drunk
penguin. I don’t have the patience to go around from business to business
asking if I can use their rest room to change. That’s when I see them. Right there on the
street corner near the tents is a row of port-o-lets. Once again a port-o-let
offers me my salvation. It might not be the most glamorous or spacious location
to change, but I could get hypothermia trying to find just the right spot. I
enter the port-o-let and about 15 minutes later, like Clark Kent exiting a
phone booth as Superman, I emerge a new man.
Despite the conditions and my time, this Boston Marathon is
one of my most memorable and one that I will recall “fondly”. The conditions were brutal but I didn’t give
up. I weathered the storm. I persevered and became stronger as a result. I feel
like I am empowered to take on whatever challenges life throws my way. I think of it as a metaphor for life. Sometimes
in life things get tough and may seem overwhelming. But by focusing on just making
forward progress, even if it’s slow, we ultimately enter better times.
