2 B2B or not 2 B2B

Have you ever had someone mention or recommend some event, a running race, a concert, a triathlon, or a movie that sounds really good at the time of the mention, you commit to said event, but when reality wipes away the fog, you are usually faced with a monumental lapse of judgment and decision making? I would count my decision to enter the Boston to Big Sur Challenge as one of those said lapses. The B2B, as it is affectionately called, is the act of running the Boston Marathon and then less than two weeks later, running the Big Sur Marathon. Yes, you heard me correctly, two marathons in less than two weeks and the opportunity to be called “bicoastal”.

I’ve previously described the Head Slapper 2000, a device for which I am seeking a patent, which allows the operator to slap themselves upside the head when faced with poorly reasoned decisions or life choices. Buy the special “undercoating” for your new car – wham, upside the head. Purchase the extended warranty for your Iphone – whump to the back of the head. Go home with that person that looks like Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie after a night of heavy drinking –thunk to the forehead. Sign up for the Boston to Big Sur challenge – whack goes the Head Slapper 2000.

Recovery week after Boston was a painful exercise in movement management. I tried unsuccessfully to minimize the amount of time any neurons would fire in my legs causing muscles to contract and me to cry out in an agony only surpassed by having to watch reruns of Jersey Shore. I managed to propel myself around the office, butt firmly placed in my ergonomic chair, by simply doing arm pulls on the nearest doors, cubicle walls or coworkers. For meetings in other buildings, I would wait in my chair near the exit of my building until an unsuspecting colleague ventured across the parking lot and then I would lasso them with a monitor cable and hitch a ride. Second floor meetings were especially daunting, not so much for the up as for the down. I discovered you can walk down stairs supporting your entire body weight on one arm without letting your knees bend or quads engage. So what if HR has opened a file on me for suspicious behavior.

By the Wednesday after the Boston Marathon, I thought I should try a little running to see if I was still capable of upright forward propulsion using my own appendages. I started slow and tried to suppress the whimpers of pain emanating from deep within me so as to not alarm the other denizens of the group run I joined. Pain receptors fired from parts of my body whose existence was unbeknownst to me at the time. Simply put, the run was ugly. I’m talking Donald Trump giving Rush Limbaugh a naked back rub ugly. I lurched forward, face contorted like Jim Carrey in the Mask, and tried to find my happy place, that mystical realm runners reach when the endorphins flow, your legs stride effortlessly beneath you, unicorns trot alongside you, and rainbows mark your path. Instead of running nirvana, I entered a dark place populated by the anguished cries of angels, visions of my running form being criticized by Simon Colwell on national television, and the tears of newborns as they witnessed the horror of that first post Boston run.

Race day arrived like an out of control freight train. My legs had recovered and I was capable of running without frightening innocent children with my cries. My friend and partner in insanity, Andy, and I drove down Saturday to Monterey to pick up our packets and meet up with the other deranged residents of our race club asylum participating in the B2B. The Expo did not yield any new surprises other than a few products being offered of which I questioned the marketing strategy being employed. At every Expo I’ve attended of late, I always have to smile at some of the products and services companies feel are suited or targeted for runners and triathletes. I can certainly understand if you have a line of compression socks, putting efficacy or outcome data aside, where runners and especially triathletes (who will purchase anything with the promise of increased speed) are the perfect target demographic. The companies I question are the ones hawking legal services, magic balance bracelets, and George Foreman grills. Are runners plagued by excessive legal woes, inner ear problems, and insatiable pannini cravings? At least the attendees are showered with a virtual cornucopia of free schwag at these expos.

After exiting the Expo, Andy and I met up with our team mates in downtown Carmel for dinner at the requisite Italian eatery, trying hard to not be attacked by the roving bands of cougars. Well, to be perfectly honest, we didn’t try that hard. I have to doubt the wisdom of aging cougars and pumas prowling the streets of Carmel. I question whether the prey they seek would be frequenting any of the establishments in the cozy burg. Unless they were seeking one of the emaciated runners in town for the marathon, I think all other prey was already engaged in some form or fashion. I’m sorry to say most if not all of the pack went home alone with wine migraines, sore feet, and crushed dreams.

Race morning was beautiful with clear skies and the absence of the customary coastal fog. The temperature dipped down into the 30’s so we sought refuge in a teammates SUV. We were packed shoulder to shoulder like the sardines which were once the major economic driver in nearby Monterey. We huddled in the car preparing our post race performance excuses until the porta-potty clarion call sounded. Being a well organized race, there appeared to be at least one potty per 3 runners, making the normally nauseating and daunting pre-race evacuation of the bowels a less than onerous task. Some runners camped out in the Safeway store located next to the start/finish area staking out territory in favorite sections. Gaggles of gals occupied the wine aisle while their male brethren enjoyed the beer section.

I went to the start line with my friend and team mate Alexia where we formulated our race strategy. Having run the exact same time down to the second at Boston despite starting in different corrals, we determined we should pace each other. We then decided to simply have a good time and run within ourselves. We had no pressure on us to BQ or PR since the course really was not conducive to either objective. We ran comfortably at a conversational pace drifting between the 3:30 and 3:40 pace groups. The musical interludes along the course were fantastic and kept us entertained the entire way. The volunteers outdid themselves practically falling over each other to ensure we got our needed hydration and nutrition. The sun was shining and the temperature never reached an uncomfortable level. We saw many other B2B lunatics along the way and chatted with those around us, something I rarely do in competition. Without pushing the pace, we came in to the finish line only 6 minutes off our Boston time including one unscheduled bathroom break and multiple photo ops.

The B2B organizers treated us extremely well after the race, plying us with copius amounts of beer and food. We collected our prized B2B jackets and medals and made our way home, taking the time to ensure proper post-race recovery by executing an In & Out Burger drive through. What started with hope banished and dread looming, ended on a high I’m still riding almost three weeks later.

Boston Marathon 2011

The parallels between my qualifying marathon, the Camarillo Marathon in Southern California, and the international athletic mega-event, the Adidas Boston Marathon are simply uncanny.
* Boston had 27,000 participants; Camarillo has a population of 27,000 people.
* Boston had five hundred thousand spectators lining the course while Camarillo had five hundred thousand tomato, strawberry, and onion plants growing along the route.
* Boston participants ran in shoes. For the most part, Camarillo participants ran in shoes.
* Each race had its unique cast of characters; Boston had the Gorilla Guy, the Caveman, the Jester, Celtic cheerleaders, and the dude in the pink tutu. Camarillo had the Good Hair Guy, Booberella, California Triathlete, and Jesus (no, not that Jesus…the other one).
* Boston had incredible on-course runner support including aid stations with water and Gatorade every mile, medical assistance, throngs of cheering fans, Celtic cheerleaders, Wellsley Girls, helicopters overhead taking pictures and video, and food and blankets at the finish. Camarillo had on-course support including a confused migrant farm worker holding a gallon jug of water at mile 9 and a guy that looked like Jerry Garcia making pancakes on a BBQ grill at the finish.
As I said before, the parallels were spooky.

The road to Boston was rather long for me. I began the journey way back in 1999 when I ran my first marathon in Big Sur. I hobbled away from that event thinking it would be kinda cool to qualify for Boston. I did a little research and settled on CIM as my qualifier being that the course was net downhill, close to home, and the end of year timing was conducive to warm weather training. Being a young’un of thirty odd years, my BQ time was 3:15, a mark I missed by 6 minutes at that CIM. I half heartedly tried again at the Athens marathon in 2001, but after having to wade through knee deep water for the first 10 miles, my BQ dreams vanished like politician’s promise. Having qualified at CIM, my wife, Janine, entered Boston in 2003. Having been the bridesmaid, but not the Boston bride yet in three marathons, I decided to give it an all out push to qualify. The Las Vegas marathon was in February, two months before Boston. This was back when you could qualify almost up to the day of the race and still get into Boston. I put in the time and the miles and was prepared, but the running gods had other plans for me. The LV marathon was blessed with 50 MPH headwinds that day slowing even the leaders down to the pace of a line at the DMV, dashing my hopes of a BQ. Janine and I still went out to Boston where I ran the last 10 miles with her and was able to experience some of the charm of the race, but like taking your cousin to Prom, it wasn’t quite the same.

Life and Ironman intruded on my Boston goals as I waded into the deep end to try my hand at Ironman events in Canada and Coeur d’Alene taking my focus off Boston and running. I dabbled in triathlons then life came screaming around the corner and hit me head first with the arrival of my beautiful twin boys in 2007. I entered a new marathon training program of sorts that consisted of feedings, burpings, diaper changes, too few hours of sleep, and minimal time to train for anything other than a sprint to the bathroom after eating some bad fish.

I managed to wedge in a few races here and there including a sprinkle of road bike racing, a dash of 10K’s with the boys in the twin jog stroller, and a pinch of triathlons including the very enjoyable destination race in Santa Barbara. Early in 2010, my friend and teammate, Simon announced he was going to run the Camarillo marathon near Ventura California. Anytime you need to describe a place as being “near” somewhere, it is usually a sign that is not much happening there. The Camarillo marathon was a harrowing experience I’ve described previously, but it did produce my BQ putting me on track for the 2011 Boston Marathon.

I jumped into Simon’s marathon training plan, a recipe of sorts for realizing potential and fulfilling dreams at Boston. Along with Top Chef Simon, other celebrity chef teammates added and modified the training program until I was a well oiled stew simmering for success when I toed the line in Hopkinton.

Along with about 20 teammates, Janine and I flew out to Boston on Friday, spent the requisite time pushing through the crush of humanity that is the Expo, saw a few sights to see, ate our loads of carbs, and took advantage of the absence of the twin alarm clocks that we affectionately call the Twinadoes. Race morning came quickly, I kissed Janine goodbye since she was starting in later wave and did not need to wake quite as early as I did, and began the long journey out to the start line. One subway ride, a bus ride, and a short walk later, I was standing somewhat near the start. Being in corral 9 in Wave 1, I was literally sandwiched between 8,999 runners on one side and 18,000 runners on the other. I was the top slice of bacon in your typical BLT. The anthem was played, a gun went off (I think), and we…stood. A few minutes lapsed before the crowd slowly began to shuffle forward like a great multi-headed beast seeking its elusive prey far in the distance. The Beast coiled and roiled over itself as runners positioned and paced themselves according to their goals. I ran with my training partners and friends Michael, Tara, and Patrick, the Three Musketeers of our race club (oh, does that make me d’Artagnan?). I kept the Musketeers company until around mile 16 when my Garmin decided to pull a Palin and quit working. Without technology, I was adrift in a sea of multiple paces and unknown distances. To accompany my technological challenge, my quads started to tighten and cramp signaling the first throes of the battle to be waged over the next 10 miles.

My pace slowed and I assessed where I was. I knew I would finish since there is literally no way you cannot be carried forward by the energy produced by the runners and spectators in the last miles of the Boston Marathon, the only question would be “when?” I soaked up positive vibes from the people along the route offering high fives, orange slices, Red Vines, Lady Gaga CDs, spare socks, and loose change. I was inspired by the many challenged athletes I encountered along the way overcoming obstacles I cannot begin to fathom. I was humbled by our fighting men and women who hucked the entire course in full fatigues and with 45 pound backpacks. I was literally pushed and pulled forward by the moment, the fervor, and the tradition that is the Boston Marathon.

As I rounded the corner onto Boylston, the cacophony of sound emanating from all sides was overwhelming, so much so that I accidently cut off a runner to my right and almost sent him sprawling. Regaining our composure, we surged forward and crossed the finish line, arms held high, trying to finally get a decent finisher’s photo (no such luck). As I write this missive, I am still on a high from the race and the experience. I’m happy with my performance, but like with most events of this caliber, I think I would like to go back and exercise a few demons that plagued me during the race.

Many thanks to my lovely wife and #1 training partner, to Simon, the Three Musketeers, Carrie, Chris, Amy, Andy, Sarah, Bruce and Page and all my other teammates that made getting to and racing Boston a success.