2009 Derry Recap

This morning was the equal parts dreaded and beloved Derry 16-Miler, officially termed the "Boston Prep." Though I denied to myself, I hoped to run a best time--it didn't have to be by much--even a minute or two would do. That said, I've run this race before, and was fully aware of what it takes to complete it--survival instinct. The course is winding and hilly, and at 16 miles, no joke. Nor is the weather usually a treat, as last year's snowstorm and this year's cold proved. (Zero degrees before I hit the road for the drive to Derry, though it did warm up some.)

I ran into several fellow DFMC runners pre-race, and was happy to see some familiar faces. I'd packed Jared's iPod in one pocket, just in case I found myself both alone and tired somewhere on the course. Some good conversation, a lot of stretching, and a quick trip to the ladies, and we were off. Here's my recap, and thought process of today:

Mile 1: Settle in with fellow DFMC runner, chatting about last year's snowy miles, my muscles and joints protesting the early efforts, lined with early sloping hills. A little sadness set in as I checked the split on my watch: 10:20. Boo. Still, the lack of wind brought more warmth than expected--or should I say less cold?

Mile 2: As I ran by a fellow wheezing, I turned to ask him, "Hanging in there OK?" He responded that he was, that he'd had surgery two weeks prior to fix some hernias--as in multiple. He went on to say that this year would be his first attempt at the Boston Marathon, that it had been on his "Bucket List," and that he was committed to putting in the training to make it happen. Wishing him well, but reminding him to run smart, I continued on.

Mile 3: Fresh off a water stop, I ran along alone for this mile, looking about in wonder at the snowy tree-lined paths, the clean road, and generally being happy about life and running. Eavesdropped on three women chatting about the apparent abundance of single men in Colorado. Chipped in my two cents that I'd read Denver was the #1 singleton city, and that I personally knew an eligible bachelor in Boulder. (Evan--there are some ladies in Derry who'd really like to meet you...and guess what? They like to run.)

Mile 4: Astonished at the miles completed already, I merrily slugged through Mile 4, much like Mile 3, cruising up and down hills. A woman near me commented to her companions that the pace so far averaged 8:50. (What?! Where did I lose all that time from the 10:20 mile? Gift horse, gift horse...)

Mile 5: Fresh off Vanilla Gu, I somehow found myself chatting with Susan and George. Susan, the leader and coach of the GoKids marathon team, and a past competitive runner, told me about a bad experience with water poisoning, and how after a 20-year hiatus, she'd decided to get back at it, with the 2007 Boston Marathon.

Mile 6: I babbled away about my charming fiancé, our running endeavors, in a generally doe-eyed manner. (What can I say? I wished he was there--though to be fair, I always do.) They asked about the wedding plans; I filled them in on where we are.

Mile 7: George filled me in the his glory days (cross-country), the 20 years of inactivity, and his training so far this year, as he works toward completing his first marathon as part of the GoFit team. He told me about his daughter, a freshman in college, and a bit of a princess, but also Daddy's little girl, and his son, 15, and a "pretty good kid."

Mile 8: As we passed the mile marker, I couldn't believe how good my legs felt. Susan and George were committed to a 9:00 min/mile pace, and promised me they'd force me up the hill at 10.5. Little did they know that I was holding the pace with a bit of an ulterior motive--building up my "bank" of time, so that if I had, or just wanted, to walk the devastatingly steep Warner Hill, I could do so--without feeling guilty. Neither had ever run the race, keep in mind--and didn't know what awaited us.

Miles 9-10: I downed another Gu (chocolate, mmm) and continued to cruise with George and Susan, now with Susan yelling over what turned out to be her teenage son's iPod, letting us know what she thought of the curse words in some his musical choices. George and I tried to converse back, until we realized she couldn't hear us over the hip hop rhythms. As they sped up near 10, I wished them well, and kept to my own clipping pace, as they bolted ahead.

Mile 11: Halfway in, I hit it--my Everest--the long and steep Warner Hill. A quarter of the way up, my lungs, calves, glutes, and hamstrings screaming, I decided to take my option--and use some of the bank. I was surprised, though, to find that above and below me on the monstrous hill that more than 75% of runners were doing just as I was, ducking their bodies into a walk. The few runners scooting along kept pace with we walkers, or barely edged ahead.

Mile 12: As the fatigue of running 10 miles set in, I felt as though I had begun to move at half speed. I allowed myself one more hill of walking, and ran into a fellow DFMC'r, Jeff, whose wife volunteers, and had met Jared.

Mile 13: A water stop rejuvenated my flagging spirits, though I was bummed to find that my last race treat, Watermelon Luna, were frozen, rendering them inedible. Drat!

Mile 14: I realized, with surprise, that I was clipping along again, my legs feeling tight and tired, but retaining plenty of steam. Not so fresh though, that I didn't start to think about the water stop somewhere right after 14, and looking forward to a stretch. I forced myself to come to terms with the fact that my time would likely be approximately the same as last year's. Ah well.

Mile 15: Having come to the conclusion that I'd misread the map, I decided there must be water in mile 15, and pondered on the practicality of a water stop so close to the finish. Feeling tired, and a bit put out, I remember my beloved's perseverance at Falmouth, and decided to run on until I found it rather than stop.

Mile 16: Acknowledging at last that I'd misread the map and there would be more stopping until the finish (Wishful thinking? Maybe), I forced myself through last mile of flat and downhill running, letting my legs fly as they would down hills, taking no heed of the potential for later joint pain. As I took the last corner, I found myself with 20 yards to run, and the clock in sight--which ticked to 2:25 as I crossed the finish line, a full 7 minutes faster than last year, and a 9:04 min/mile pace. Hoorah!

The walk to the school, where Gatorade and chili awaited me, along with the ride to the car was filled with silly, happy grins, as was the exuberant phone call to my beloved to give him a play-by-play.

As before, a tough, tough race, but one I am happy to have run!