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.