The call comes to go to the Boston starting line, so Doug and I shed some of our outer layers that will get collected for the homeless, and dispose of the ground cover we were sitting on. We drop our gear check bags in buses parked on the street to the starting line. We walk in a constant stream of people about a half mile to the starting line. Just as we get there, they are singing the national anthem, so we pause and take off our caps. Fighter jets fly over, and there is a cheer from the crowd of 13,000 runners in Wave 1. The corrals are organized by every 1,000 runners, so Doug and are both in corral 12. Oddly though, there is not enough room for us. No one seems to mind, and we wait for the official start, and then are funneled in as the 11,000 runners ahead of us start on this epic course, with the simplest of directions –From Hopkinton, take Route 135 until it turns into Commonwealth Avenue in Boston. After you pass the giant Citgo sign, go right on Hereford and left on Boylston.
At first it’s a slow walk, and stop and go, but there is plenty to soak in – the ambiance of this quaint New England town, the warming sun, the wind at our backs. After about 5-10 minutes, we are passing under the cameras and the starting line. It is a steep downhill at first. The field is crowded on this narrow rural road, but we move pretty fast, because everyone around us is seeded because they can run at our pace, and everyone ahead of us can run successively faster. The hometown crowds are cheering madly. With the kids off school, there are a lot more families lining the course, some with probably no connection to any runners, but following a long tradition of treating the Boston Marathon as a cross between a patriotic parade and the Super Bowl.
As we head out of the small town, a lot of runners are darting into the woods to relieve themselves, mostly men, but some women, too. Doug and I swap stories about bathroom breaks of ourselves and others during other races. Pretty quickly I declare a change of subject to block the power of suggestion on either of us. It feels like the first mile is fast, but we are actually a little over 8:00, which is our goal pace to finish in 3:35. I try to make up a little time in the second mile, and end up going to fast trying to get around blocks of runners. I also get a little too enthusiastic high-fiving kids along the way, and hit a sub-6 minute pace for a hundred yards or so, giving us a mile two split of 7:43.
It is great having Doug at my side, he holds my cap when I take off my long-sleeved cotton shirt in the third mile, which I toss to the side of the road. Yesterday on the course tour, Dick Beardsley talked about his “Duel in the Sun” with Alberto Salazar in 1982. In spite of jockeying for first place most of the race, they would share water with each other when it was handed to them by spectators or support people, since there were no official water stations in those years, even for elites. When I miss a Gatorade handoff, another runner grabs one for me without missing a step. Doug and I make this effort for each other a few more water stops down the line. My hydration/nutrition strategy is water in one mile, and Gatorade another. I take a Gu every 45 minutes or so. Doug is skipping the Gatorade, and taking a gel every 30 minutes.
After Hopkinton, the next town we go through is Ashland. The first 4 miles have been mainly downhill, and only the first mile was above an 8 minute pace. There are a ton of people in this town. Yesterday at the expo, I took part of my race packet envelope, and I made an extra “bib”. I wrote my name, and then ”I Love (heart) Boston”. The markers I used were red and blue, the Red Sox colors, which I make an effort to mimic the Boston Sox Script “B”. all along the route people yell back “We love You, too, tom!” or “I Love Boston, too, Tom” “Boston Loves you back Tom.” I wave, and sometimes yell “I love you more!” or, just “Thank You”. Sometimes people say “Go, Tom from Boston.” It is a huge boost, and sometimes takes away the pressure to yell something back to them, which can wear you down throughout the race.
I really do love Boston. Of course, the race holds a mystique for marathon runners, and I have been lucky enough to achieve my quest for this Holy Grail. My affection for the town goes back to my twenties, before I was any kind of a runner. My first job out of college was with an economic forecasting firm called Data Resources, Inc. It was headquartered in Lexington, Mass, back in the pre-PC days when Route 128 was known as Silicon Highway. We had a bunch of mainly 20-30 year olds working out of the Chicago office, and trips to HQ were a mix of rural New England office complexes, and hanging out in Cambridge and the Bull and Finch pub that inspired the TV show Cheers.. As a first-generation Irish-American, I felt right at home in Boston. I even got over the chip on my shoulder from seeing University of Chicago’s reputation overshadowed by Harvard. DRI was founded by Harvard economists, and had a lot of top people from U of C, Harvard, MIT and other great schools. At that time, I would have moved to Boston in heartbeat. Now I’m content to visit once a year in April.
The next town we come through is Framingham, at about mile 6. The course is flat and wide through here. I am expecting to see Melanie and Sherri here. Melanie came along from Illinois to get inspiration for her quest to qualify, and stayed with her high-school friend, Sherri. Right before the start, Melanie told me on the phone that they would be holding a sign that says “Go Yankee Runners!” to cheer on the group of runners that meets in Oak Forest at the Yankee Woods Cook County Forest Preserve. I see them next to the railroad tracks. They are on a wide shoulder, all by themselves. I angle away from Doug, throw my arms wide, and yell “Hey! Yankee Runners!” as I run right in between them, barely slowing down, while I through an arm around each of them. Melanie is yelling, holding the sign, and Sherri is snapping pictures furiously with a zoom lens. I just take a few steps in place, and say a few words, confirming that they are going to meet the runner with the stomach problems. Later on, I found out that Boston area locals did not appreciate the reference to “Yankee Runners” on their sign, not knowing that it was an arbitrary place name, and not connected to the baseball team at all. I probably compounded the resentment by yelling out “Yankee Runners” and then abruptly left them holding the bag, so to speak (Oops, my bad!)
For the next few miles, we hover between an 8 and an 8:10 pace. Doug has been talking about his stomach not feeling good, and I suggest slowing the pace down for a while. Of course, the next time I look we have run another sub-8 minute mile. We both seem to be feeling good otherwise, but we know that our pace has been too fast early on. Around mile 10, Doug decides that at the next chance, he is going to stop and use the bathroom. Meanwhile, we approach Wellesley college around mile 12. I don’t hear the girl’s screams as early as I last year, possibly because this year there is tailwind, and last year there was a tailwind. I had decided not to stop and get any kisses from the girls like I did last year, but they start yelling out my name from seeing the sign, saying “We Love You Tom!”. I run to the side, and hold my hand out for about 20 high fives in row at what Doug later told me was under a 7 minute pace. (My Garmin showed my fastest pace in the marathon was 5:36, which was probably on a downhill for about 25 yards). Back to my almost 50 year old reality and the rest of the race, I escort Doug into the town of Wellesley, and he founds a Port-a-Potty. We wish each other luck, and I press on towards Laura at mile 17 in Newton, that’s where I’ll get my kiss – one that really means something – everything to me.
I’m running okay for awhile by myself, but after about a mile, I feel my focus start to falter without Doug to distract. I start to feel the pounding of the early miles add up. My right foot feels like the sock is bunching up in between my first 2 toes, or that the powder that I use is wadding up. As I get closer to mile 16, I get some more speed on a downhill, looking forward to seeing Laura. She told me she would be at mile 16.8, where she could get off the “T” rapid transit line. It is right before the route turns at a right angle around the fire station in Newton, where the dreaded Newton Hills begin. All of a sudden, I notice the sign for the T-station, and I look at my watch, which says 16.94 miles. OMG! I must have missed her! But I remember that the Garmin has been counting the miles short, or maybe I started it before the official start. I stop and look right into the crowd. Half the people are chanting my name because they see it on my shirt. I want to tell them to stop, because I need to hear Laura calling my name! Then, looking straight ahead, I see her leaning out in the street, yelling and taking my picture. I am so relieved I did not miss seeing her at the only spot in the course. I kiss her, and explain to her where Doug is. The high school football coach from our town, Greg, is here to watch his girlfriend , the track coach run. He raises both his hands up for a high five. The dude is a couple of inches taller than me, and I think he is standing on a curb, because I feel it when I lift my hands up. Next time Greg, down low for a fist-bump. (That’s the way me and "terrorists" like Michelle Obama roll.) I head back into the steady flow of runners, knowing exactly what I’m up against in the next 4 miles.
The turn by the firehouse is slightly downhill, and the crowds and the atmosphere sort of slingshot me around the corner. But soon enough, the road starts to rise. Between crossing the highway overpass in mile 16, and stopping to look for Laura, my pace was already close to 9 minutes. Now it is slowing even more. I know I can get through this, I did it last year. I remember some advice I read and keep my eyes focused 15 feet in front of me, about 3 runners, so the road does not look so steep. My legs feel heavy, my stomach is sloshing, but I am determined not to walk the hills. It takes me awhile to pass people who are walking, but at least no walkers pass me. The crowd keeps me going, “C’mon Tommy, You’re looking awesome.” It reminds me of hanging around traders from Bridgeport at bars around the Board of Trade like Alcocks. Within 5 minutes of learning your name is Tom, they call you Tommy like you went to the same parish school together. I love that about Chicago, and right now Boston is making feel at home, even though it hurts.
Last year, Laura was stationed just on the backside of Heartbreak Hill, so that carried me up the hills. Today, I have nobody until I get to the finish line, so Heartbreak is a tougher climb. But, I recognize where I am at, so I know I am done with the worst. I pass Boston College, and I hear my name chanted by fraternity brothers “TOM! TOM! TOM!” That’s awesome, and I get a few more times on the course. Just across from BC is the main spot where Mel’s group hangs out, with a printer banner saying “Yankee Runners, Illinois” I give them a shout out, although I’m not sure of any of them personally know me. People warn you about overdoing it on the downhill past Heartbreak, because there are 5 more miles, including a few small uphills. I don’t quite have to worry about that. but there is some effect. My pace the mile before heartbreak 9:44; for the mile including Heartbreak Hill – 10:30. the mile after Heartbreak, 9:46.
The course changes quickly from rural/small college town to quasi-urban. The streetcar tracks that the “T-“ runs on cross the street, or run parallel for the remainder of the course. It also feels like the pavement is much harder. Maybe these streets were underlain with cobblestone and paved over with asphalt. Or maybe there is just so much more traffic. Or maybe the last 21 miles of hills have just beat my legs up. It just feels like the pavement has less give, until right near the finish.
The crowds are crazy these last few miles. I wish I had something left in reserve, because they could really push you to a strong finish. I come within spitting distance of a 9 minute pace for a mile, but most of the last 4 miles is slower than a 10 minute pace. At some point I try to make 3:45 a secondary goal, but maybe I should have done that at the start. I’m not disappointed, but feel lucky to be running in this crown jewel of the marathons, to be running marathons at all, and to be able to run and be active altogether. People are passing me on both sides, and it makes my pace seem awfully slow. The mileage on my watch is too long, but the time is accurate. I know I am going to be close to my time of last year, and I really hope that it reads 3:48 something at the end. But for now, I don’t look at it. I go by Fenway, and I can see the Citgo sign and the Prudential building. When I go under the last underpass that gives us our final hill, I can see the turn onto Hereford street. I try to get a good stride, and make sure I am smiling. This brings back so many memories. I cut the right-hand turn corner, and angle towards the final (and only ) left turn on to Boylston street. I pass a woman in a pink cowboy hat. I remember that the corner of Hereford and Boylston has a pothole, and sure enough, they have a cone in front of it. I squeeze in between it and a couple of runners. It’s a few hundred yards to the finish, I am keeping stride, but I can’t really say it’s a finishing kick. I hear them calling out runners names, but I don’t notice mine as I cross the timing mats. I stop my watch and it reads 3:49:32, which is one second within my official time, although the distance on the watch says 26.7 miles. I’ll trust that the BAA got it right. I did run on both sides of the course at times, but I tried to cut the tangents when I could.
It has been great to be able to run Boston 2 years in a row! It has been awful not having a job for over a year, but my running has kept me sane. It’s hard to believe I re-qualified while not working. I feel guilty for having the expense of travelling to Boston. Laura seemed to love the experience last year as much as I did - in part because she shared in the joy that I had accomplished one of my dreams. Last year I said that she “bought me the ticket to my dreams”, like Dick Beardsley's Dad buying him a plane ticket to Boston for his high school graduation. This year, she punched my ticket again when she challenged me to re-qualify so I could run with Doug after he qualified in Twin Cities. We found a way to afford it, and she has had faith that I could run, and that we would make do on her salary until I get a job. Sometimes when you run on faith, it gets you farther than you could imagine.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Back in Boston
My phone alarm wakes me up at 5 am. I have all my clothes set aside for the day. I plug the coffee maker in, and go to the bathroom. In some hotel rooms the morning of a marathon, I have tried to get keep the light off, and get dressed in the bathroom. But our room at the Boston Park Plaza is small, and a throwback to the 1940's. It's like an aging Hollywood starlet - classy, but the elegance is at the expense of modern conveniences. So, Laura gets to share this early morning ritual with me, and then go back to sleep before taking the Boston Mass Transit to mile 17 to watch the race.
I always try to eat something as early as possible when I wake up before a race. That might not be as necessary, because Boston has a 10 am start, as opposed to the typical 8 am, or even 7 am start. I get a bagel, and go to grab my coffee. Then I realize that I did not have the coffee put placed all the way under the coffee maker. So only one-quarter of the coffee is making it into the pot. Luckily, the coffee setup is on a tray, so we don't have a mess all over the room. later, as I am putting my race gea together, I bang the side of my ankle against the hotel furniture. It isn't bade enought to damage any tendonds, but it really stings and will eventually leave a bruise.
I make sure that I have my race bib,, and my shoes with the timing chip tied in, along with gobs of other gear for before during and after the race. Here is my checklist:
Ball Cap made of wicking material
Bondi-band for ears, if needed.
Lycra gloves for race
Race-ready shorts
Running socks
Saucony Pro Grid Ride with Yankzees laces
Addidas long-sleeve top
5 energy gels (Gu Tri-Berry and Power-Gel Raspberry Cream) I take one 15 minutes before race, then 1 every 45 minutes up till 3 hours.
Garmin 103 GPS watch. It's an old model without the bells and whistles, but it uses the same satellites, and keeps the pace fine.
Pre-race/during
Cotton Long sleeve shirt
Mizuno Wave Rider 900s (Wait, this might be the pair I ran my first marathon in, maybe I should have them bronzed!)
Work gloves
Old Jeans (throwaway)
Flannel shirt (throwaway)
Wind shirt
Knit Cap
PostRace
Short sleeve shirt
New Balance Wind Pants
I am really a creature of habit when it comes to marathons. I have a pair of Race-Ready shorts that I have worn in 10 marathons, and probably 5 half-marathons. Even though they are 5 years old, I guess they are not too worn, because I don't wear them on many training runs. I am wearing a long sleeve shirt (the finishers shirt from the 2009 Boston Marathon), lycra gloves and a cap. The forecast is 40 degrees and sunny at the start, with a slight tailwind. I have an old Turkey Trot long sleeve cotton shirt that I can wear for a few miles until I warm up. The real layers of clothes are those that I will wear on the bus ride and the 2+ hour wait in the athletes village in Hopkinton. For other races, I have brought torn/stained sweatshirts and warmup pants, and thrown them away at the start. For Boston, they have volunteers with bags and containers collecting the clothes to donate them to a homeless shelter. I figure that they get so many sweatpants and hoodies. So, instead I wear old jeans that I have used for painting, and a quilted flannel shirt. I also donate an old pair of running shoes that I was looking to donate to Share Your Soles (I have several more pairs at home that they will get). So instead of wearing bags around my race shoes to keep my feet dry from the grass, I just change my shoes and socks.
I kiss Laura good-bye and leave my hotel room. I go down to the ornate lobby of the Park Plaza. It is swarming with runners, including what looks like a group with its own bus. I go next door to the Au Bon Pain (which opened at midnight to accommodate the runners), and get my second bagel and coffee. I take it back to the hotel lobby, and sit down. Just like last year, a conversation develops between myself and the guy next to me. He looks close to my age, sounds like he is from the Northeast, but probably not Boston if he is staying here. He tells me that he is running for a charity, Team Whole in the Wall. The have camps for kids with terminally ill cancer. His wife arranged for him to run Boston for his 50th birthday, so I am guessing they made a sizeable donation towards his quota. He says that he has run the Chicago Marathon for St. Judes, and others such as Team in Training for Leukemia. He sounds really proud of that, as he should be. I tell him about my past affiliation with the Arthritis foundation, and we discuss my qualifying time. His best marathon time is 3:42, and he needs 3:35 to qualify at age 50. He says his stock response to "What will it take for you to qualify for Boston?" is "Ten years and a sex-change operation." I tell him that I got down from a 3:42 to a 336, and then to a 3:29 with the F.I.R.S.T program "Run Less, Run Faster" . I told him how my running partner, Dale was poised to run a 3:35 or 3:40, and qualify either at his low 50 or upper 50's age group. I tell him he is a good candidate to use this program to qualify: His time is just 7 minutes away; he has a good running base of multiple marathons; and, maybe most important, he runs with a purpose – to help others through charity fundraising. I get his name, and promise to call his room after the race to let him know the name of the program.
I get a text message from Doug that he is getting on the subway near the convention center . Two-three stops, and he will be at the bus pickup site at Boston Commons. I grab my coffee, and walk a block to the Boston Gardens. This horticultural garden is the backdrop for many movies set in Boston’s back Bay area, such as “Fever Pitch”. It’s swan boats are the log of the Park Plaza . I cross the street from the Gardens, and go into Boston Commons, where I did my last pre-race run 2 days ago. It’s inspiring that this site has been around since the early 1600’s and the site of many famous events in the formation of our nation. At the far side of the park, there are dozens of school b uses. I meet Doug, and we get in line. The busses leave as soon as they fill up, and we only have to wait for one busload. It is probably 6:30 by the time we pull away from the curb. As we make it our way to the highway, police wave our convoy of qualifiers through red lights and intersections. Talk about rock-star treatment! We get to Hopkinton, and the route the driver takes is a little more convoluted that I remember last year. It must be later and more congested already, because we park behind the school grounds that host 25,000+ for the morning, and we have a longer walk, but we are here, and we have a good two hours plus before its time to go to the starting line. We find a spot in one of the tents, and stake out a spot. Doug has a plastic sheet, and I lay out a couple of garbage bags, which I crumple up newspapers for insulation. We pass the time taking a few pictures, and I send a few texts to my running partners, Bill and Dale. They have been a boost all through my training, and I hope my trip here inspires Dale to qualify, because knowing Bill had run Boston gave me the confidence that I had trained with a Boston qualifier.
I make one of my first trips to the bathroom, and already there is a slight wait for the porta-potties. I skip the coffee, but have some Gatorade and a few bites of a bagel. There is a lot to absorb here, there is an announcer playing music, exhibitors have booths with giveaways. It’s has sort of a “Run-apollooza’ festival atmosphere. Only, we are going to take the whole show on the road to Boston, and finish it up on the streets there.
I get a text from someone in the running club, and its bad news. Cindy says she has thrown up multiple times already. I feel terrible for her because she has been trying to qualify a few times. Just as I go out to look for her, I see Frogger, our token ex-hippie from our running club, a repeat qualifier from last year like myself. We start looking for our mutual friend in intestinal distress. We find the group that she came with, the Yankee Woods runners. She is not with them right now, so that probably means she is in the bathroom again,. The nucleus of this group is here, Mel Diab, the owner of premier specialty running store in Chicago’s south suburbs, Running for Kicks. Mel has organized many popular races, like the Palos Turkey Trot, and the Palos Bank Half Marathon. He has outfitted and trained may runners, and is was fitting to see him reap the well-deserved rewards of his commitment to running by qualifying for Boston last year, and to see him return this year.
I have a feeling that Cindy will still try to run the marathon even though she is sick. Rather than try to talk her out of it, I think of a fallback option. Her good friend Melanie has been spending the weekend in Boston with us, and is waiting at mile 6 with a friend who dropped her off in her car. Melanie plans to run the last 20 miles of the race as a training run. I tell her that she should either run it with Cindy, if she insists, or get her a ride to the finish with her friend.
I always try to eat something as early as possible when I wake up before a race. That might not be as necessary, because Boston has a 10 am start, as opposed to the typical 8 am, or even 7 am start. I get a bagel, and go to grab my coffee. Then I realize that I did not have the coffee put placed all the way under the coffee maker. So only one-quarter of the coffee is making it into the pot. Luckily, the coffee setup is on a tray, so we don't have a mess all over the room. later, as I am putting my race gea together, I bang the side of my ankle against the hotel furniture. It isn't bade enought to damage any tendonds, but it really stings and will eventually leave a bruise.
I make sure that I have my race bib,, and my shoes with the timing chip tied in, along with gobs of other gear for before during and after the race. Here is my checklist:
Ball Cap made of wicking material
Bondi-band for ears, if needed.
Lycra gloves for race
Race-ready shorts
Running socks
Saucony Pro Grid Ride with Yankzees laces
Addidas long-sleeve top
5 energy gels (Gu Tri-Berry and Power-Gel Raspberry Cream) I take one 15 minutes before race, then 1 every 45 minutes up till 3 hours.
Garmin 103 GPS watch. It's an old model without the bells and whistles, but it uses the same satellites, and keeps the pace fine.
Pre-race/during
Cotton Long sleeve shirt
Mizuno Wave Rider 900s (Wait, this might be the pair I ran my first marathon in, maybe I should have them bronzed!)
Work gloves
Old Jeans (throwaway)
Flannel shirt (throwaway)
Wind shirt
Knit Cap
PostRace
Short sleeve shirt
New Balance Wind Pants
I am really a creature of habit when it comes to marathons. I have a pair of Race-Ready shorts that I have worn in 10 marathons, and probably 5 half-marathons. Even though they are 5 years old, I guess they are not too worn, because I don't wear them on many training runs. I am wearing a long sleeve shirt (the finishers shirt from the 2009 Boston Marathon), lycra gloves and a cap. The forecast is 40 degrees and sunny at the start, with a slight tailwind. I have an old Turkey Trot long sleeve cotton shirt that I can wear for a few miles until I warm up. The real layers of clothes are those that I will wear on the bus ride and the 2+ hour wait in the athletes village in Hopkinton. For other races, I have brought torn/stained sweatshirts and warmup pants, and thrown them away at the start. For Boston, they have volunteers with bags and containers collecting the clothes to donate them to a homeless shelter. I figure that they get so many sweatpants and hoodies. So, instead I wear old jeans that I have used for painting, and a quilted flannel shirt. I also donate an old pair of running shoes that I was looking to donate to Share Your Soles (I have several more pairs at home that they will get). So instead of wearing bags around my race shoes to keep my feet dry from the grass, I just change my shoes and socks.
I kiss Laura good-bye and leave my hotel room. I go down to the ornate lobby of the Park Plaza. It is swarming with runners, including what looks like a group with its own bus. I go next door to the Au Bon Pain (which opened at midnight to accommodate the runners), and get my second bagel and coffee. I take it back to the hotel lobby, and sit down. Just like last year, a conversation develops between myself and the guy next to me. He looks close to my age, sounds like he is from the Northeast, but probably not Boston if he is staying here. He tells me that he is running for a charity, Team Whole in the Wall. The have camps for kids with terminally ill cancer. His wife arranged for him to run Boston for his 50th birthday, so I am guessing they made a sizeable donation towards his quota. He says that he has run the Chicago Marathon for St. Judes, and others such as Team in Training for Leukemia. He sounds really proud of that, as he should be. I tell him about my past affiliation with the Arthritis foundation, and we discuss my qualifying time. His best marathon time is 3:42, and he needs 3:35 to qualify at age 50. He says his stock response to "What will it take for you to qualify for Boston?" is "Ten years and a sex-change operation." I tell him that I got down from a 3:42 to a 336, and then to a 3:29 with the F.I.R.S.T program "Run Less, Run Faster" . I told him how my running partner, Dale was poised to run a 3:35 or 3:40, and qualify either at his low 50 or upper 50's age group. I tell him he is a good candidate to use this program to qualify: His time is just 7 minutes away; he has a good running base of multiple marathons; and, maybe most important, he runs with a purpose – to help others through charity fundraising. I get his name, and promise to call his room after the race to let him know the name of the program.
I get a text message from Doug that he is getting on the subway near the convention center . Two-three stops, and he will be at the bus pickup site at Boston Commons. I grab my coffee, and walk a block to the Boston Gardens. This horticultural garden is the backdrop for many movies set in Boston’s back Bay area, such as “Fever Pitch”. It’s swan boats are the log of the Park Plaza . I cross the street from the Gardens, and go into Boston Commons, where I did my last pre-race run 2 days ago. It’s inspiring that this site has been around since the early 1600’s and the site of many famous events in the formation of our nation. At the far side of the park, there are dozens of school b uses. I meet Doug, and we get in line. The busses leave as soon as they fill up, and we only have to wait for one busload. It is probably 6:30 by the time we pull away from the curb. As we make it our way to the highway, police wave our convoy of qualifiers through red lights and intersections. Talk about rock-star treatment! We get to Hopkinton, and the route the driver takes is a little more convoluted that I remember last year. It must be later and more congested already, because we park behind the school grounds that host 25,000+ for the morning, and we have a longer walk, but we are here, and we have a good two hours plus before its time to go to the starting line. We find a spot in one of the tents, and stake out a spot. Doug has a plastic sheet, and I lay out a couple of garbage bags, which I crumple up newspapers for insulation. We pass the time taking a few pictures, and I send a few texts to my running partners, Bill and Dale. They have been a boost all through my training, and I hope my trip here inspires Dale to qualify, because knowing Bill had run Boston gave me the confidence that I had trained with a Boston qualifier.
I make one of my first trips to the bathroom, and already there is a slight wait for the porta-potties. I skip the coffee, but have some Gatorade and a few bites of a bagel. There is a lot to absorb here, there is an announcer playing music, exhibitors have booths with giveaways. It’s has sort of a “Run-apollooza’ festival atmosphere. Only, we are going to take the whole show on the road to Boston, and finish it up on the streets there.
I get a text from someone in the running club, and its bad news. Cindy says she has thrown up multiple times already. I feel terrible for her because she has been trying to qualify a few times. Just as I go out to look for her, I see Frogger, our token ex-hippie from our running club, a repeat qualifier from last year like myself. We start looking for our mutual friend in intestinal distress. We find the group that she came with, the Yankee Woods runners. She is not with them right now, so that probably means she is in the bathroom again,. The nucleus of this group is here, Mel Diab, the owner of premier specialty running store in Chicago’s south suburbs, Running for Kicks. Mel has organized many popular races, like the Palos Turkey Trot, and the Palos Bank Half Marathon. He has outfitted and trained may runners, and is was fitting to see him reap the well-deserved rewards of his commitment to running by qualifying for Boston last year, and to see him return this year.
I have a feeling that Cindy will still try to run the marathon even though she is sick. Rather than try to talk her out of it, I think of a fallback option. Her good friend Melanie has been spending the weekend in Boston with us, and is waiting at mile 6 with a friend who dropped her off in her car. Melanie plans to run the last 20 miles of the race as a training run. I tell her that she should either run it with Cindy, if she insists, or get her a ride to the finish with her friend.
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