The B.A.A. doesn't acknowledge my existence past 25km.
As far as official documentation goes, I am, for all intents and purposes, a ghost. Vanished off the map after 16 miles. What happened? Well, I'll tell you.
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Marathon Monday began with my mother making sure I was awake -- fifteen minutes before I needed to be. I roused myself from a meager slumber, made my way into the bathroom, and hopped in the shower. Got out, dried off, got dressed in pre-race attire. Made sure everything was stuffed into my yellow bag. Ate a breakfast of scrambled eggs and English muffins. My dad, my brother and I left for Boston at 5:30. They dropped me off at the Marriott at about 6:00. I headed upstairs, and stood around, a bit timidly, until we were ushered off to the buses at Boston Commons.
During the wait for the bus and the ride to Hopkinton, I got to know two of my fellow teammates, Stefy and... Emily, I think it was. Stefy was the only veteran amongst the three of us, and she talked us through what we would experience, told us what we might need to know. I was feeling eerily calm. We arrived in Hopkinton just before 9:00, grabbed a little area, and got ready. At 9:10, the staff took us outside for the group photo. At about 9:30, we heard the Wheelchair division go off. Our Wave 1 Runners left for the starting line, and at 10:00, we heard them go off. Not long after, we humble Wave 2 runners departed for the starting corrals. The weather was impeccable. Cool, partly cloudy, a slight breeze. Couldn't ask for better conditions.
There's one thing no one ever really tells you about the starting corrals for Wave 2. They are very much reminiscent of a roller coaster. The last corrals are at the bottom of a fairly considerable hill, and you slowly trudge up to your corral, and you wait, staring up a hill full of people, waiting for the ride to begin.
At 10:30, our ride began, and the front of Wave 2 crested the hill. About 10 minutes after the gun went off, I crossed the starting line. That is the last place things went according to plan.
The first 5km of the race was, for lack of a better word, dreamy. My pace was comfy, I felt like I could go faster, but I pulled in the reins and kept it pretty respectable. Mile splits were something like 10:45, 9:50, 11:15; 5km was 32:02. I wasn't keeping great track, my watch wasn't the greatest. Second 5km, I started to realize that I was actually doing this, and the nerves hit. Had to make two bathroom stops of about 5 minutes. With those, my second 5km was about 46:19. I was still ahead of the pace I had metered out in music on my iPod by quite a bit. The third 5km, my pace was 38:45 . So, through 15k (9.3 miles), I'm sitting at 1:57:06, and pretty happy, considering ~10 minutes of that was spent either in a porta-potty or in line for one.
The fans in the first 10km, and even most up to 15km, were amazing. Every row of high fives was like a little boost of energy, of confidence. Every time someone yelled my name, I felt empowered (and a little bewildered. It's not often people yell my name!). Really made things fun and eased my mind.
Fourth 5km, I had one more, slightly shorter bathroom break (the last, thankfully), and my pace was 46:45. Things are going pretty well, right? Sans the three bathroom breaks, I'd be just over 5 hour pace, an hour faster than I anticipated. Cruising along, right into Wellesley. They told me I'd be able to hear the lovely ladies of Wellesley College from a mile away, and let me tell you, they weren't lying. Even almost three hours in, they were out in full force, with signs and high fives for one and all. It was quite the experience.
Unfortunately, it will be something other than the women of Wellesley that I remember most about this stretch of land. A couple of minutes after crossing the 20k marker, I felt something in the back of my right leg give. It was more than a twinge, but thankfully, not a pop, somewhere in the upper calf/lower knee region. I came to almost a complete stop. Tried to walk it out. Couldn't. Sat down, stretched. Got up, walked. All I could think was "you're not injured you're not injured you're not injured " over and over.
After a bit, I got myself back to a light jog, and I crossed the halfway point. I was still ahead of my planned pace, so I decided it was best to take it easy. No sense in pushing the leg I may have just hurt, right? Right. I kept up the light jog for about three miles, into Newton. At that point, it became clear to me that my leg had had enough of my demands. I continued onwards at a walk, until I spotted the next medical tent. I stopped by, grabbed some Tylenol, and a bottle of water. Took a seat outside the tent, and thought for a few minutes. Thought that it was over, that I couldn't conceivably keep going. After all, I can't even jog.
And that was what was running through my mind when one of the medical personnel guys came over and asked me if I was done, going back on the bus.
I hesitated for a moment before telling him no.
I took a moment, gathered myself, and started walking.
I eventually made it to the aforementioned 25km marker. My time read 3:46:56. They practically were rolling up the timing mechanism as I crossed. I kept walking. By Mile 18, the road crew was coming along and taking down the mile markers. 18 was the last one I saw. I kept walking. Up through the Newton hills, past some sore, staggering souls. I knew that my friend Maria was waiting at Mile 21, at Boston College, with Reese's peanut butter cups. I wanted them. I kept walking.
Eventually, I descended from the Newton hills, down towards BC. Very few people were still out cheering, but there was my friend Maria, with a sign, some chocolate, some water, and two surprises -- my dear friends Felicia and James, who live in Maine, had ventured down to cheer me on. I stopped and said hello, explained to them how things had gone.
"We're walking the rest of the way with you," was their collective response.
So we walked. Five point two miles. Through Brookline, and into Boston proper. Down Beacon St., past hundreds of hammered college students, past other runners heading home. The walk seemed interminable, even with company. A friendly shop owner gave me an ice cold bottle of water. All the while, James was behind me, occasionally holding up a neon green sign that said "GO COCO GO" in black and glittery letters. Eventually I could see the famed Citgo sign. I kept walking. The sign, and with it Kenmore Square, Boylston St., and the finish line, inched closer.
Roughly seven hours and seven minutes after departing Hopkinton, I gimped across the finish line.
But my family, and my girlfriend, were nowhere to be seen.
I was thrown my pre-race bag off of a truck, and handed a finisher's medal out of a van. Everything was starting to get packed in. We headed to the Marriott Copley, where everyone was meeting up afterwards. I got my mom on the phone, told her to meet us there. I got there, was nearly toppled by my girlfriend running to hug me.
"Some bitch at the medical tent said you dropped out after 25k with an injury!" she exclaimed. Everyone else was abuzz with emotion. My aunt, my nana, my parents, my brother, my friends, were all talking at once. I had just enough energy to get one important thing out:
"She was wrong. No way I wasn't finishing."
"We're walking the rest of the way with you," was their collective response.
So we walked. Five point two miles. Through Brookline, and into Boston proper. Down Beacon St., past hundreds of hammered college students, past other runners heading home. The walk seemed interminable, even with company. A friendly shop owner gave me an ice cold bottle of water. All the while, James was behind me, occasionally holding up a neon green sign that said "GO COCO GO" in black and glittery letters. Eventually I could see the famed Citgo sign. I kept walking. The sign, and with it Kenmore Square, Boylston St., and the finish line, inched closer.
Roughly seven hours and seven minutes after departing Hopkinton, I gimped across the finish line.
But my family, and my girlfriend, were nowhere to be seen.
I was thrown my pre-race bag off of a truck, and handed a finisher's medal out of a van. Everything was starting to get packed in. We headed to the Marriott Copley, where everyone was meeting up afterwards. I got my mom on the phone, told her to meet us there. I got there, was nearly toppled by my girlfriend running to hug me.
"Some bitch at the medical tent said you dropped out after 25k with an injury!" she exclaimed. Everyone else was abuzz with emotion. My aunt, my nana, my parents, my brother, my friends, were all talking at once. I had just enough energy to get one important thing out:
"She was wrong. No way I wasn't finishing."
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Everything after that is an achey blur. It took me a while to work out the words for this post, to confront the vast array of emotions I experienced last Monday. It was a tough, tough day. One of the most difficult days I've endured in terms of physical pain. Some things went right, some went awry. There is still a strange, distinct mix of disappointment and pride swirling about within me, but ultimately, I look at it like this: by the time the fundraising has ended, we will have raised over $6,000 for cancer research, and, on a day where almost everything that could have gone wrong did, I still scratched and clawed and fought my way to the finish.
This leaves me with one thought, at the end of everything:
"Well, it can only go better next year, right?"
