Marathon Monday Recap

Monday. Monday. Monday...how could you, Monday?

Marathon Monday dawned sunny and cool, and runners throughout the greater Boston area (including myself) rejoiced--no repeat of last year's tiny monsoon. While waiting in line to board the BAA buses at the ungodly hour of 6:00 a.m., I reveled in my last-minute decision to wear a long-sleeved under armour under my Dana Farber singlet.

I ditched it within the first mile, as the sun broke its full warmth onto 25,000 runners lining the streets from Hopkinton to Boston. The crowd was present even in Hopkinton, with streets lined nearly the full 26.2 miles. Partyers shouted encourage from rooftops and tailgates, children lined the streets with sliced oranges and Dixie cups of water, and even a group of fireman shouted some hoorahs as we ran by.

I'd settled in with Caitlin and Brenda, and we'd agreed to start together at the very least. We spent the first 13 miles forcing ourselves and each other to slow down, constantly on the watch for a too-fast pace on the downhills that we knew would destroy our quads if we weren't careful. By the half-marathon, we were holding to a 10:00 minute/mile pace, on target for our goal of a 4:30 marathon.

At 17 miles, my quads had started to burn above the knees, and I started looking for my family and friends--clad in matching baby blue "Team Vern" t-shirts. Here was where I could:

1. Stop for a breather.
2. Say hello.
3. Meet up with Kate, who planned to jump in and run with me for a while, and
4. Stop for a breather.

At the same time, Caitlin found her boyfriend Lucas, shanghaied into running the last 9 miles with her. She broke from the pack, and then it was just Brenda and I, with Kate's fresh legs alongside us.

By 18 miles, the ache in my quads was a squeeze with every footfall, and I piteously requested of Kate that we walk for a bit. Brenda (the endless energy of that chick!) bolted ahead with an eye to finding a friend who'd promised to meet her.

The next four miles can only be described as a trial--to my legs, my sanity, and to my friendship with Kate, who I actually started to hate for a while. She deserves a much nicer medal than the BAA gave me for putting up with my surliness, whiny-ness, the conflicting requests I made of her ("Kate, I need you talk; tell me something to distract me." "Kate. You need to be quiet now while we go up this hill." "Kate, I need to walk for a minute." "Kate, I need you to be mean and make me keep going."), and, occasionally, outright rudeness. To her credit, Kate, a marathoner in her own right (Nike Women's, October 2007), took it all in stride, even going so far as to offer to punch the person of my choosing in the face. (This was right after I told her I hated everyone in the universe. What can I say? There were a few rough miles.) I didn't take her up on it, but mostly because to find the girl watching the marathon in her purple bathing suit and leg warmers would have meant backtracking.

By 22 or 23 miles, she's convinced me of the futility of stopping, and that I had in me the ability to continue moving. Never have the words "You're looking good. This is a good pace." had the ability to drive me forward as they did on Monday. My thoughts became consumed with maintaining the effort needed to move forward.

At 24 miles, I spotted roommate Liz shouting at another Dana Farber runner. I beelined for her, and while she hugged me and shouted about how proud she was of me, I draped the majority of my weight onto her (her at about 5'2"; me at 5'11") for a quick minute.

25 miles, and the drunk baseball fans were out in full force. My legs were throbbing, my spirits low--and there again was my cheering section--Mom, Dad, Jared, and roommate Katie, all waving the Dana Farber pompoms and cheering madly. There was not stopping this time, just a pitiable wave as Kate and I slogged past them towards the finish up Comm. Ave.
Afraid I would quit without her motivating force, I asked Kate to run with me to the turn onto Boylston Street, where there was only 4 or so blocks to go. She did, and off I went, at my now plodding pace. (I'd like to say I picked up the pace those last few blocks...but I didn't. The tank was empty, and there was no race for home.) I finished my first marathon in 20, 190 place, at 4:51, about 20 minutes slower than I had hoped, but with no complaints from me after having traveled the distance.

The next couple days were sore ones, but I was lucky in having some serious enforced stretching immediately after the marathon, and the next day--I am convinced that it was because of this that I am walking so comfortably today (Friday), only 4 days later. My cheering section was in full force (with gorgeous flowers even) post-marathon, with congratulatory words and squeezes. (Note also, the sheer bad-assery of my dad in those glasses.)

Overall--This was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. The number of runners, the numbers of fans...the encouragement from both to everyone there was incredible, and I truly felt that I was a part of something greater.

Congrats to all the runners! We'll be seeing each other next year, I think... :)