From Hopkinton to Boston 2018: My Soggy Journey

In the howling wind comes a stinging rain
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 3^rd 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.

You've Got This! Redemption and a BQ at the 2017 VT City Marathon

“Follow me”, the race official says as he leads me to the entrance of the preferred starting corral at the 2017 People’s United Bank Vermont City Marathon. Because I had run a half marathon time that fell within the parameters of qualifying for a preferred coral spot, I was receiving a dose of what felt like VIP treatment. The start of the race was only 5 minutes away and I needed to get to the starting line-pronto!



I usually don’t like to cut it so close, but my arrival had been delayed by a much needed detour to the port-o-potty. Hustling through the crowd to get to the line and unclear of the quickest way to get there caused me to utter in frustration-“how the hell do you get up there!” The race official (God bless him) sensed my need for assistance and quickly responded. Now, here I am at the line, moments away from what I am hoping will be a redemption run. Redemption from 2 years ago when at this very race I experienced my first ever DNF (see my blog post Exposed to Kryptonite).

 

As I stand at the line in anticipation of the starting horn I feel optimistic (because my training had gone well), excited (it’s race day, how can I not be?), anxious (it’s race day, how can I not be?) and even though it might seem contradictory- at peace. The sense of being at peace was because I was placing no pressure on myself to run a specific time. Sure, I had goals--the primary one being to improve upon my Boston qualifying time of 3:20 from the 2016 Clarence Demar Marathon-but achieving that goal wasn’t going to be my sole measuring stick of a good day. I also wanted to enjoy the journey and have fun. I get to run today after all. Run in the beautiful city of Burlington with a stunning view of Lake Champlain and enthusiastic spectators. Positive energy is all around me.

At last, the horn sounds and we are off and running. The glorious sound of ringing church bells mixed with the energizing cheers from spectators make goose bumps appear. As we loop through the city for 3 miles I feel pleased with myself. Pleased because I feel I have been running smart. My pace is not too fast yet not too slow, putting me in a good position to better negotiate the challenges of the upcoming 24.2(can’t forget the .2) miles.

For miles 4-8 the course exits the streets of downtown and enters the wide open and rolling stretches of the Burlington Beltline (route 127). This part would be tough mentally if it weren’t for the fact that it’s out and back, allowing runners to encourage each other as they pass. Runners are also treated to the much needed energizing rhythms from a band playing Brazilian music at around miles 5 and 7. My effort is consistent throughout this section although my pace does waver some due to the rolling terrain. As I climb the hill that exits the beltline at mile 8, I am happy with both how I handled it and the fact that it is behind me. Upon re-entering downtown the energy from the spectators pushes me along like a strong tailwind.    

In the 2015 race mile 9 is where I felt the unraveling begin, with the wheels finally coming off at mile 10 as I slowed to what felt like a walk. Even though I’m very well prepared and my spring allergies haven’t reached threat level red like in 2015, I can’t help but have some flashbacks and feel slight anxiety. The voice of reason in my brain immediately kicks into damage control mode, making the proclamation; “You’ve got this! You trained. You’re prepared. Remember, you’re here to have fun.”

Suddenly, while descending spectator rich Church Street, a loud voice (not in my head this time) shouts-“Go Moe!” I don’t recognize the voice but it gives me a burst of energy and happiness. Further driving home the point the importance of enjoying today’s journey.

Turning from Church onto Main Street the cheers dampen momentarily as spectator numbers decrease briefly, only to return again as Main turns onto Pine Street, bringing spectators in abundance.  Energetic tunes blasted from a band on the corner add excitement to the moment. All this and the decline at the beginning of Pine Street provide momentum, pushing runners down this straight 1 ½ mile open stretch of the course.

As the course winds its way through partying spectator abundant neighborhoods, then through picturesque Oakledge Park, there is no shortage of positive vibes in the air. I soak it all in while staying alert to my pace. At Oakledge I cross the half marathon checkpoint in 1:33:57. I’m feeling good, running smart and having fun, right on par with my mission.  Spectators and athletes mingle in the vicinity of the half marathon checkpoint, which is also an exchange zone for the 2 person relay.  Once again, an unknown voice shouts from the group-“Yeah, Go Moe"! This bit of encouragement gives me just the extra boost I need to carry me through the miles leading up the biggest challenge on the course, that being Battery Street Hill.

It’s starting to get a little toasty as the temperature and the humidity start to creep higher. Not a crazy amount but it is taking a slight toll. I’m noticing my perceived exertion level is climbing a bit even though my pace is holding steady. With minimal shady spots until mile 21 it will be essential to take precautionary measures to stay cool. This will involve the periodic self-induced dousing with water when passing through an aid station (oh yeah, and drinking it too) and running through the water sprayer stations scattered about the course. I will also consume my power pills I have stashed in my shorts pocket.*

*Actually they are electrolyte capsules. Calling them power pills is more fun.

After a loop that includes Oakledge Park and some surrounding neighborhoods, the course reconnects with Pine Street, this time ascending it before turning on to King Street. About half way up Pine is a water spraying station, I leap through like a kid running through a sprinkler on a hot summer day. Gotta stay cool!



King Street is a downhill stretch which is nice change, but I know what is lurking around the bend-the infamous BATTERY ST HILL. Each foot strike brings me closer to this impending climb. From the corner of King and Battery to the top of Battery is ½ mile. It’s a straight ½ mile and looking into the distance towards the top can be a bit intimidating. It looks like you are running to infinity, never making any progress towards your goal.

As I turn onto Battery I hear the motivating beats of the Taiko drummers coming from their standard location just prior to the steepest section of Battery (the last ¼ mile). Despite their presence I know that looking towards the top of the climb could still be psychologically detrimental. When we have a goal sometimes achieving it can seem like such a lengthy process, making it appear overwhelming. However, if we break our ultimate goal up into multiple smaller goals the process becomes far more achievable. I take this approach with climbing Battery. My smaller goals are ascending the hill 10-15 feet at a time, which is where I keep my eyes focused. 

Before I know it I’m at the top. At the top of the hill I have a momentary flashback to 2 years ago. This is the point where I finally pulled the plug and dropped out of the race. “Not this year”, I think to myself, “I got this!”

Shortly beyond Battery Street is the 16 mile marker. I cruise past if feeling good but cautiously optimistic. A lot can happen in 10.2 miles after all.  As a precautionary measurement I repeat the affirmation in my mind- “You have strength! You got this!” There is some fluctuation in my pace but overall it’s pretty consistent.  My journey continues.

Just beyond mile 17 the course loops through Lakewood Parkway. Always a festive loop this community regularly wins the runner's vote for most spirit. Music fills the air, cowbells ring, cheers are screamed, and someone even took it upon themselves to make a kissing booth. On the final section of the loop the group Sciatica (the Burlington Marathon band) rocks out for some extra motivation. Or, as their description says on their Facebook page: Sciatica gives runners at mile 18 a sonic baptism of pure rawk. All these sights and sounds are great distractions from the unavoidable fatigue associated with having run 18 miles. Plus it's kind of cool to know I've been sonically baptized. 

The course meanders through various streets and neighborhoods until at last I cross the mile 20 checkpoint in 2 hours 27 minutes and 2 seconds. My average pace is 7:21 per mile. The increased temperature has definitely taken a toll as my pace has slowed from the first half in which I averaged 7:10 per mile. But, I’m still on track to achieve my primary goal. I give myself a mental high 5.

When getting close to achieving a goal the process usually becomes more challenging. It’s as if we are being tested by the Universe to see how bad we really want success. The marathon is no different. Miles 20-26.2 are the most challenging both mentally and physically. The finish line is near, but even when keeping the same pace every mile can feel like 2. It’s when this struggle occurs that our abilty to persevere is tested.  Perseverance is essential for success in any venture. This is one of the many ways marathon running is a metaphor for life.

To get through these final miles I typically use some mental trickery. When I have 6 miles to go, I don’t think to myself, “only 6 miles to go.” Instead, I think of it as six one mile runs. For example, since today I am averaging slightly over 7 minutes per mile I tell myself, “only six 7’s to go.” I focus on 7 minutes and then the next 7 minutes and so on. Running 6 miles at my current pace will take over 42 minutes, which in a fatigued state can seem like an eternity when thinking about it. But, surely I can run another 7 minutes. Time still seems to go by slower but at least mentally it is easier to deal with 7 minutes at a time.

My pace starts to waver as my energy ebbs and flows. 7:30 pace one mile, 7:45 pace the next, and then back to 7:30.  I don’t feel like I’m in danger of hitting “the wall” but my legs are feeling heavier, so I need to run smart.  Go too fast and I risk hitting the wall. Go too slow and I risk falling short of my goal. These final miles are dance on the line between these two paces.

At mile 24 I look at my watch and see that I am still very much on pace to be sub 3:20. How far below will depend upon how my legs respond during the final 2.2 miles. I estimate that at my current pace I should be able to finish with a time of around 3 hours and 15 minutes. As if on cue, the 3:15 pace group cruises by me on my left. “Keep them in your sights Moe and you’ve got this”, I tell myself.

My brain sends a command to my legs; “C’mon, cooperate for 15 minutes, then you can rest all you want.” My legs reply like Scotty in the engine room of the USS Enterprise; “We’re giving it all we got Captain!”  

The presence of a pace group in my sights acts like a slipstream. I am by no means running in this group, but knowing that they are in front of me helps me find another gear. I run strong and steady, my pace never wavering. Before I know it I am passing North Beach at mile 25, then I’m on the new stretch of bike path at 25.5.  Excitement builds with every step. My inner voice shouts out- “You’ve got this Moe. It’s yours! It’s yours!” I dig deeper into my energy reserves to knock off every additional second I can. Turning onto the chute to the finish I hear the race announcer call out my name. Giving whatever I have left in my kick to the finish to cross the line in a time of 3 hours 15 minutes and 18 seconds. 

Happily reflecting upon my race, I feel as though I ran one of my smartest marathons. First of all, I accomplished my primary goal, besting my previous Boston qualifying time by 5 minutes. Woohoo!! In the process I paced myself well, staying fairly consistent throughout the race; I made adjustments along the way to correspond with the conditions; and perhaps most importantly, I enjoyed the journey. I soaked up all the energy and excitement on the course and as a result I had fun. As obvious as fun’s importance may seem, it is often forgotten when we pursue our goals. It’s easy to become so fixated on the process that we overlook the value and importance of it. Without it we cannot become our best selves. It helps us relax, stay positive, and transmit that much needed positivity into our environment. 

Another important part of life is to celebrate successes. With that in mind, I thank my legs for getting me through and tell them now they just have to take me to the beer tent.

Exposed to Kryptonite: My 2015 VT City Marathon

“F#@%!" I utter. Not loudly, yet at a volume loud enough to be audible to the runner passing on my left. It’s very evident I’m hurting. I’ve just reached mile 10 of the Vermont City Marathon, a section of the course which begins with a modest descent before leveling off. Certainly not challenging terrain, and not far enough into the race to induce “hitting the wall”. Yet, here I am, feeling as though I am about to do just that.

All week long the pollen count has been incredibly high. As a result I’ve been battling intense allergy symptoms which have provoked my asthma. My breathing has been inefficient and slightly labored, even with the help of medications. Yet through it all I remained optimistic that it would clear up by race day. 

Race morning found me with slight nausea, but my breathing much more unrestricted. I’ve had many a race in my career in which I haven’t felt the best in the pre-race hours, yet I performed surprisingly strong and felt almost invincible once the race got underway. I was hoping today would be one of those days.

While not feeling strong, I certainly had been feeling decent from the time the starter’s horn bellowed at 8:03 am. I had been running at a consistent pace and was on pace to complete a very respectable marathon, finishing somewhere in the vicinity of 3 hours 15 minutes. That was, until I hit mile 10. As a result of inefficient breathing my body was using glycogen (it’s most efficient fuel source) at an elevated rate. Once the glycogen goes away, so does any semblance of speed.  So now, at mile 10, the needle on my internal fuel gauge is flirting with “E”.

I reach for a GU energy gel from my Fuel Belt. I have each individual GU packet stored in the belt with the top half of the packet facing down. This allows for fast and easy access, enabling me to remove the GU packet as if I’m removing a gun from a holster. Also, the packets tend to stay in place more securely this way. I blindly reach down and grab the first packet I feel. As I pull it up into view I see it’s the flavor “chocolate outrage”. I am aware that I may just be delaying my inevitable termination from the race. Yet I can’t help but hope that this “chocolate outrage” will provide me with the “rage” of energy I need.

Upon consumption I have a slight spike in my energy, yet it is certainly no rage and it is very short-lived. An epic battle of “tug-of- war” now begins in my mind. The sensible side of my brain gives a tremendous pull, proclaiming: You should drop out! You have nothing to gain by staying in the race!  If you do you will end up walking, being on the course for hours longer than anticipated and it will take at least twice as long to recover once the run is over!

The stubborn side of my mind then tugs back mightily, proclaiming that I should: Suck it up! Dropping out is a sign of weakness! You should stay in the race and finish, even if it is a slower time than you’ve ever done!  At least you’ll have completed the mission! All the while there is a lingering optimism in the back of my mind that I will still get my second wind, a resurgence of energy that carries me through the remaining miles. 

I’ve never been one to drop out. If I start, I intend to finish. The mere thought of a “DNF” (Did Not Finish) is difficult to comprehend. I am also slightly concerned with how my decision will be perceived. I normally am not tremendously concerned with what others think about my actions. However, as a trainer and a coach I want to set a good example. Will dropping out send a bad message? Will taking 5 ½ - 6 hours (or more) make me look unskilled?  Which of my current choices is the lesser of two evils?  These thoughts may be unfounded, but for an athlete who, for the first time in years is suddenly forced to come to terms with the fact that he is human, are completely natural. 

I tell myself I will postpone the decision by giving myself until Oakledge Park, the halfway point. If I am going to get a second wind it should happen by then. At each aid station I consume both water and Gatorade, hopeful that they will join forces to give me the resurgence I so desperately seek.

With each foot strike the tug-of-war continues in my mind, with no clear winner in sight. My pace slows significantly with each mile, down to as low as 9:30 when I finally hit Oakledge Park in a time of 1 hour 45 minutes. Doubling this time would certainly make for a very respectable marathon. However, that would require averaging 8 minute miles from this point forward. I face the reality that this will not happen. It was all I could do to hit the last mile in 9:30 and I feel my energy waning. I still, however, cannot bring myself to actually drop out. If I do drop out here I will still have to walk back to the start. So, I might as well continue to run. The battle wages on!

I continue to shuffle along at whatever pace I can muster. There are no significant terrain changes but my pace continues to slow, with it now down to 10:00 per mile. I'm also feeling out of sorts and not exactly steady on my feet. I make the decision that I will pull out of the race as I hit the bottom of Battery Street. This will allow me to have minimal walking distance to get to the baggage check area where my warm up gear is stored.

However, as I turn the corner from Maple Street onto Battery I am quickly seduced by the rhythmic beat of the Taiko drums and the intoxicating cheers of energetic spectators. The drums are being played at the base of Battery Street and the spectators are lined up along the hill. Both combine to provide a powerful driving force that propels runners up the hill. I can’t deny myself this experience, nor can I resist!

I continue to run(my pace still somewhat resembles a run so let’s go with that) with my eyes focused no more than 15 feet in front of me to avoid being done in by the daunting hill.  As I ascend the hill I hear cheers of; “Go Moe!” To avoid burning excess energy I avoid turning to look at the crowd but I wonder how so many people know who I am. Then I remember that along with my number my first name is written on my bib. I love how spectators will cheer for you even if they don’t know you. It’s one of the many things that make marathons so rewarding.

My legs start to burn with the fires of accumulating lactic acid. I tell myself to just keep moving, make it to the top and worry about the rest from there. The beauty of this stretch of the course is that the drum beat and spectator’s cheers provide so much energy they can make even the slowest runner feel fleet of foot. As a result, I summit the hill much quicker than I anticipated.

As I round the corner to turn into the Battery Park, the tug-of-war is over. My body has made the decision for me. With all of my glycogen depleted, running is no longer an option. I slow to a walk and exit the course, officially proclaiming my sensible brain as the winner.  

I stand in Battery Park to reflect for a few minutes. I’m at peace at the moment but fear that as the fatigue wears off I will become upset that this happened. In my 31 year career as a runner I have NEVER  DNF’ed.  

As I slowly make my way to the baggage area, then to the finish line to transition into the role of spectator, I pause to think further. There really is nothing I could have done differently. What made me have a bad race is a poorly timed peak to allergy season with a pollen count that is higher than it’s been in years. Even Superman has Krytponite to deal with. I was just exposed to my Kryptonite, which happened to be in microscopic granular form. The good news is that I didn’t drop out because of an injury. I live to run another day!

From Hopkinton to Boston

            April 20^th, 2015 marks the 119^th running of the Boston Marathon. I have competed in this amazing event 7 times, including 2013 when the tragic bombings occurred.  I feel extremely fortunate that I finished the race and had exited the finish area before the explosions occurred.  However, that didn’t take away my feelings of anger and sadness. The Boston Marathon occurs on Patriots day; a day of families, happiness and rejuvenation.  How dare someone bring so much hurt to this day! I knew I had to return for my 7th Boston in 2014 to join in the “take back the race” effort.

             

           This year I have chosen to forego the race to participate in the Vermont City Marathon in hopes of getting a personal best time. As great of a race as Boston is, it offers its own unique challenges (such as heartbreak hill and the adjoining hills of Newton, MA) which make running a personal best time difficult.  However, I will still be following the race this year with excitement, and most likely with a slight sense of sadness that I am not there.

          The Boston Marathon has always held a great deal of mystique for me. I still recall sitting in the back seat of the family car as a child and looking up in awe at the “It all starts here” sign while traveling through Hopkinton. We had relatives in the area and would periodically travel there for visits. Little did I know that one day I would be running in this extraordinary event and gaze at that sign through much older eyes.

         

          The marathon itself is a metaphor for life; you get out of it what you put in. By persevering through the challenges you experience the joy of achievement and success.  In this blog post I have chosen to share with you my experiences at the 2011 Boston Marathon (in which I set a course personal best) to help illustrate this point.

From Hopkinton to Boston; The 2011 Boston Marathon through my eyes

It’s Monday, April 18^th, 8:00am and I’m walking up Hayden Rowe in Hopkinton, MA.  I’m on my way to the Hopkinton Middle School, home of the Athlete’s Village for the 2011 Boston Marathon.  On Sunday evening, I was fortunate enough to be able to stay with friends in Hopkinton, avoiding the need to catch the official race day transportation bus to the starting line, which left early that morning from Boston. 

I’m walking up Hayden Rowe, because the streets surrounding the middle school and starting line are closed to traffic.  My friends dropped me off as close to the Athlete’s Village they could get, which was just under half a mile away, leaving me to walk the remaining distance, this is fine as it allows me to work off some race-day jitters. 

As I approach the Athlete’s Village, I can feel the energy in the air.  Thousands of runners are spread out on the school grounds, stretching, hydrating, and doing their best to stay warm.  The temperatures are expected to reach the mid 60’s and the sun is shining, but there is a steady wind that puts a slight chill in the air.  I don’t want to expend too much energy walking around, so I search for a spot that’s out of the wind as much as possible, where I can sit and relax and stretch.

Directly behind the school, I see a spot located between two buildings, which can provide both shelter from the wind and sunlight to help me stay warm.  As is typically the case on race day, I’m anxious to get started.  However, I’m not scheduled to report to the starting line for at least another hour, so I bide my time by listening to motivational music on my iPod and visualizing the race ahead.

My training for this year’s race was more aggressive (as far as mileage and speed-work go) than in the past.  As a result, I have high expectations for the race, with a goal to accomplish a new course personal record.  However, with challenges unique to the Boston course, I'm not expecting do to complete a personal record marathon time.  I knew that I was prepared to run strong, but variables such as how you respond to weather conditions, make the marathon a challenge regardless of how well-conditioned one may be.      

With that in mind, I am having some doubts about whether I can really run a PR.  Fortunately though, these doubts are overcome with the help of Steven Tyler and Aerosmith.  On my iPod are several Aerosmith songs, one of them being “F.I.N.E.”  In the chorus for this song, Steven Tyler repeats the words “I’m ready, so ready,” and while I know he isn’t talking about being ready to run a race, it reminds me that I am, in fact ready.

Finally, it’s very close to the time that I need to report to the starting line.  I shed my warm-up clothes and my iPod, giving them to race volunteers to transport to the finish.  I want to get to the start early enough to watch the elite women, who are scheduled to start before the elite men.  Between television and news articles, I have heard so much about these women, and am excited to see them in person.  I am also interested in watching some of the elite men, however the fact that I am scheduled to start at the same time makes that impossible.

The elite female runner I’m most interested in seeing is Kara Goucher, who in 2009 came within seconds of being the first U.S. female winner of the Boston marathon since Joan Benoit Samuelson in the early 1980’s.  Each of the elite women does their warm-up near the starting line.  Kara Goucher just so happens to do a warm-up run within 20 feet of me.  While I had envisioned her being taller, she was just as attractive in person as in magazine photos.  All of the women, including her, looked very fast.

The time has now come for me to race.  The starting line is sectioned off into corrals, which runners are assigned based on qualifying times.  I am in corral #5, meaning that I will be no more than 2.5 minutes from crossing the starting line once the starter’s pistol is fired.  In my corral, I strategically locate myself on the left-hand side.  This is my 5^th Boston Marathon, and I have learned that being on either the inside or outside of the pack allows me to run much more free and without encroachment. 

After the typical ceremonial events, such as the singing of the national anthem are performed, the starting pistol is fired.  The 2011 Boston Marathon has begun.   The first four miles are a steady decline, so past experience tells me it’s very important to control my pace.  It’s very easy to go too fast on the downhills in early stages, which will ultimately catch up with me as I approach the infamous heart-break hill. 

To achieve my goal of setting a new personal record, I will need to average approximately seven minutes per mile.  However, as the pack is usually so congested during the first few miles of these races, I’m being forced to run at a 7:30 pace.  Going too slow now will require that I have to make up more time later on.  A 7:30 pace is slower than I should be going, but unfortunately there is not much I can do about it.  For now, I will look for any opportunities I can to open up my pace.

After the first mile, I’m able to pick up my pace.  I will aim to gradually make up time over the upcoming miles as opposed to running a few too quickly.  I cross the 5k checkpoint at 22:03, which is right at my target pace, so much for not making up that time too quickly.  I am wearing my heart rate monitor to keep myself honest.  While my heart rate has fluctuated some, it has not risen too high, indicating that I’m still running within my capabilities.

The start is always full of excitement, with hundreds of spectators lining the course.  Approximately 3 miles into the race, we enter Ashland and pass by one of the liveliest spots, TJ’s Spirits.  We’re greeted by patrons who’ve arrived early on in the day to celebrate and cheer on the continuous stream of runners.  There’s so much energy from the spectators during this stretch that I have to actively focus on my own pace.  Looking ahead, I see a steady, uninterrupted stream of runners, and I know the same can be said about what’s behind me.  We must resemble a human river running through the streets of Massachusetts. 

Leaving Ashland, we enter Framingham and I cross the 10k checkpoint (43:29), putting me right at 7-minute miles.  I am on pace and still feeling strong.  This stretch of the course is straight and wide, which can make it tough on a hot day with no place to hide from the sun.  Fortunately a nice tail wind guides us along and keeps us cool.

At the 15k checkpoint (1:04:45), the course runs by Lake Cochituate.  While my eyes are focused on the road ahead, having that scenic vista makes the run mentally easier.   My pace at this point has decreased to 6:56 per mile.  I think to myself: at this pace, I could break 3 hours.  I know, however, that the hills of Newton may tell a different story.

The next famous landmark is the Scream Tunnel at Wellesley College, but that’s not for another 4 miles.  For anyone not familiar with this famous part of the Boston Marathon course, this is where the women of Wesley College stand and scream at the top of their lungs for all the runners passing by.  Keeping a controlled pace by Wellesley College takes extra focus, and since I have 4 miles until then, I must keep my pace controlled for now.

This is my 5^th Boston Marathon, and each time there has been a large, hand-written sign in Natick, stating Detour with a large arrow pointing to a keg party at a nearby house.  Sure enough, this year is no different.  While I’m always up for a free beer, I don’t feel that that would be too conducive to setting a PR marathon time.  So I opt not to take the detour.

I continue to run along at a strong, steady pace through Natick and crossing into Wellesley.  I know that any minute now I’ll be hearing the screams from hundreds of Wellesley college women.  Based on past experience, Wellesley is a point in the race I can use to gage my performance.  While only just shy of the half way, in years past, any indications of a bad race usually start to appear in the form of fatigue at this point.  The cheering women at Wellesley provide a great boost, but if I’m having a bad day, this boost is very short-lived.  So I approach downtown Wellesley hoping for the best.

Rounding the bend just before Wellesley, I start to hear the distant screams.  As expected, the traditional lives on, and the women are lined up outside of the college.  As I get closer and closer, the screams become louder and louder.  It takes everything I have to maintain my composure and keep my pace steady.  Running through the infamous scream tunnel, I move closer to the right side of the road where more of the women are located to absorb up as much of the energy as possible.  Numerous signs are held up saying kiss me.  While tempted, I’m on PR pace and don’t want to lose momentum.  If only these ladies could be lined up at the finish, I would be happy to oblige.

I eventually exit the scream tunnel as the course dips down, only to rise back up again into downtown Wellesley, the official half way point.  While downtown Wellesley is certainly not lacking in spectators, the scream tunnel is a tough act to follow.  But, as always, the cheers of the crowd are uplifting.  I hit the half marathon at (1:31), slightly ahead of pace with miles just under 7 minutes each.  Even better news is that I’m still feeling great with no signs of fatigue, and my heart rate continues to remain steady.  The sun is still beating down, and if it wasn’t for the wind, this might be uncomfortably hot.  The tail wind is still providing a nice, cooling effect. 

The next town we’ll be passing through is Newton, where the real fun begins.  As I continue to run through Wellesley towards Newton, I replay my strategy in my mind for dealing with the Newton hills: quite simply, survive.  I will do my best to maintain my steady pace, with the understanding that it may in fact decrease slightly.  My goal is to keep this to a minimum however.

While not that steep, the hills present challenges because of their location in the race.  Starting at approximately mile 18 and continuing through mile 21, this is where runners typically hit “the wall,” the point at which runners begin to lose fuel and have to dramatically slow their pace.  Having to deal with hilly terrain can bring on “the wall” sooner if proper pacing has not been sustained.  Due to the downhill stretches in the early stages of the race, at this point the runner’s legs can feel like Jello, thus making the uphills that much more of a challenge.

                    Statue of Boston Marathon Legend Johnny Kelley located in Newton, MA

                                          

When I crest the top of heart break hill (the last of the Newton hills) at mile 21, I will then open up my pace and aim for a strong, final 5.2 miles.  As the course crosses over Interstate 95 and enters Newton, the number of spectators increases.  I know that any moment, we’ll be rounding the bend, turning off Route 16 and onto Commonwealth Avenue by the Newton fire station.  This is where the hills begin.

To help prevent cramping from dehydration, I take two electrolyte capsules, drink some water, grit my teeth, and prepare for hill #1.  Hills have always been one of my strong points.  While disliking them like most other runners, I tend to perform well on them.  While on my initial ascent, I cross the 30k checkpoint (2:10).  I’m still at my 7-minute mile pace and well on my way to achieving my PR. 

From past experience, I recall that there are some flat and downhill stretches between the major hills.  While running my first Boston Marathon in 2004, these downhill stretches deceived me into thinking the hills were behind me.  I won’t be fooled so easily today.  As I approach the second of the Newton Hills, I am starting to feel some leg heaviness.  This hill is the steepest of the three, and I’m anxious to have it behind me.  I power my way up, increasing my pace in the process.  As I do so, I see runners on both sides of me having their own encounters with “the wall.”  Some are walking and some are jogging at very slow paces.  I feel for them, but hope that’s not me in a couple miles. 

At the top of the hill, I’m feeling more fatigued than I should.  Perhaps I got slightly greedy, and went faster than I should have.  I’ll do my best to use the stretch between here and hill #3 ( aka heartbreak) to recover. There are mile markers at every mile along the course, and I use them to make sure I’m on pace.  At this point in a marathon, each mile can feel like two.  The last mile marker I saw was mile 18.  Looking ahead, I see mile marker number 20.  Somehow, I missed mile 19.  Perhaps I blacked out for a while.  Regardless, I’m happy to see that this is in fact mile 20, and that it didn’t take me 15 minutes to run 1 mile.  Mile 20 also means heartbreak hill is just ahead.  I focus on keeping my legs moving for 1 more mile, and know then that the hills of Newton will be behind me.

  

Ascending heartbreak hill does feel a bit more laborious than Newton Hill #1, but overall, I feel good.  I keep my eyes peeled for the church on the campus of Boston College.  This is a beautiful sight, not only because of the architecture, but because it means that I’ve reached the summit of Heartbreak Hill.  I continue to chug my way up, and finally, the church is within sight.  In my head, I rejoice.  There’s still 5.2 miles to go, but it feels awfully nice to have those hills behind me. 

Just pass the top of Heartbreak hill is the 35k checkpoint (21.7 miles), which I cross at 2:32.  This translates to 7 minute, 2 second miles.  Still on track for a PR, this consistent pace means I’m using energy efficiently. Boston College is also a high-energy stretch of the course, as students show up in force to cheer on each and every runner.  This energy helps build the excitement of entering Boston.  Shortly after Boston College, the course enters Brookline.  The Boston skyline is now in sight in the distance.  While great to see, there are still over four miles to go.  I need to keep my excitement in check as the last four miles are typically the toughest of any marathon.

Continuing down Commonwealth Avenue, just past Mile 22, the course descends to Cleveland Circle turning onto Beacon Street.  My legs are feeling quite lively, so I attack the downhill, taking advantage of every opportunity I have to knock seconds off my time.  I round the corner onto Beacon Street.  The street is open, long, and straight, with no turns in sight.  This can be tough mentally, especially in a fatigued state. 

There may be just about four miles remaining, but after running 22, it can feel like a long four miles.  To make this more bearable, I utilize one of my common strategies of breaking the remaining miles down into segments.  Instead of having 28 minutes left to run, I tell myself I have four 7 minute segments. I hit mile 23 with my most recent mile split being 7 minutes, 15 seconds.  This is slightly slower than what I’d been averaging, but not slow enough to negatively effect my PR quest.

Continuing down Beacon Street, more and more buildings of downtown Boston are becoming visible, including glimpses of the famous Citgo sign, located in Kenmore square.  Suddenly my pace drops dramatically.  Every step feels like I have ankle weight attached to me.  While I haven’t hit “the wall,” it’s certainly taunting me.  It’s as if it’s taken human form and is running behind me, whispering in my ear, telling me that today is not my day after all.  I have visions of my PR slipping away.  My legs are heavy, and with each step the ankle weights grow in size.  My split for Mile 23 is 8 minutes, a full minute below what I have been averaging.

 I think to myself, just get through this.  Even if you don’t achieve a PR, you’ve still had a great time.  But then another voice speaks to me louder and screams; No! You’ve trained too hard! You came here to PR, and that’s all that’s acceptable!  I know that my fuel is running low, and each step is pulling “the wall” closer to me.  I have two Gu energy gel packets remaining and quickly consume both.  I then hit the next water stop where I drink both water and Gatorade.  I may not have much fuel left, but I’m going to use every bit of it to get  to the finish line as fast as I can. 

The combination of Gu, water, and Gatorade do their job as I feel a bit of a spike in my energy.  I dig deep and put the throttle down.  I hit Mile 25 with a mile split of 7:20.  I’m too fatigued to do the math, but I’m confident that if I keep this pace that the PR will be mine.  The course then takes me through Kenmore square, certainly one of the most exciting sections of the course, not just because there’s only one mile to go, but because this is a rare opportunity to run though one of the busiest sections of Boston.  I try to put on a good show and hide my pain.  Hopefully I’ve succeeded.

Just past Kenmore square, the course dips down underneath Massachusetts Avenue.  I am elated because the finish line is oh so close, about ¾ of a mile.  At the same time, I feel like I’m running on fumes.  The course is requiring me to run uphill to re-connect with Beacon Street, thereby causing me to work a little harder.  My low fuel supply has left me in a bit of a daze, but I’m confident at this point, I can maintain my pace. 

Upon reconnecting with Beacon Street, I see the turn onto Hereford Street just ahead of me.  Inside, once again, I’m rejoicing because I know that Boylston Street, the location of the finish, is at the other end of Hereford.  Knowing this has caused me to accelerate.  I turn onto Hereford Street and see the runners in front of me, ascending a slight incline and rounding the corner onto Boylston Street.  In my fatigued state, even a slight incline can feel like heartbreak hill all over again.   But as I approach this incline, knowing what lies around the corner gives me the boost I need to propel myself onward with my speed unaffected.

I round the corner onto Boylston, and in the distance I see one of the most glorious sights that any runner can see, the finish line of the Boston Marathon.  It’s looming in the distance, which in my dazed and dehydrated state, makes it resemble a mirage.  I know however, that this is no mirage.  This is the real thing.  Even though the finish line is in sight, there is still about a half mile to go, and in open stretches such as this, you can run and run and feel like you’re not making any progress.  My internal fuel supply gage is on ‘E.’ The ankle weights on my feet are once again getting larger.  With the finish oh so close, I’m bound and determined to get my PR.

This final stretch is loaded with spectators.  The energy they supply with their cheers resembles the force of a tail wind, pushing me along to my destination.  I know that every step brings me closer to the finish, so I focus on the road in front of me, not the finish line in the distance.  As I continue to run down Boylston, the cheers become louder and louder as I get closer to the finish.  Typically, the adrenaline of being near the finish allows me to bring out my inner Carl Lewis and kick to the finish.

My brain summons my legs to kick into a higher gear so that I can sprint to the finish. But, much like Scotty in the engine room of the USS enterprise, my legs say; “we’re giving it all we got captain.”   I continue on, picking up my pace slightly, but not to the degree I would like.  The finish line is within reach, no more than ¼ mile away.  At this point I’m running on sheer determination.  I put my head down, dig deep, and use every bit of my remaining fuel to power my way towards the finish line.  About 20 feet from the finish I I hear the announcer say: “Maurice Brown from Burlington, VT.”  This makes me feel like a rock star as I cross the finish line in 3:06:03, exactly 60 seconds faster than my previous best Boston Marathon time.

Despite my concerns at mile 23 and my close encounter with “the wall,” today was, in fact, my day.  I can now officially use every runner’s two favorite letters of the alphabet, PR, when referring to my time.

              Whether your goal is to run a marathon, become more healthy and fit, start a business, etc...there are often setbacks along the way.  These setbacks can resemble “the wall” that a marathon runner may encounter.  But just like in a marathon, these setbacks often occur when you’re close to success.  With any goal, the closer you are to success, the more obstacles you encounter.  What makes the difference between success and failure in these instances is how you handle yourself in the challenges you face.