Given that I have yet to post an Around the Bay race report, maybe I shouldn’t be writing about Boston, but want to get it down while it’s still quite fresh in my mind. I could write pages about the expo, about the atmosphere in the city, about the organization, etc., but then I’ll never get to the race itself. Or at least not anytime soon.

Short story: I am thrilled to have done Boston, and at the same time disappointed that it wasn’t the Boston I would have wished for. But as with most things, there is more good than bad and ultimately the ability to say, “Yes, I did run the Boston marathon” far outweighs the disappointment.

On to the race...

The weather forecast changed quite a bit in the several days previous, but when I checked it around 5:00 a.m. on Monday it was for 13 or 14 C, clouds giving way to sun, not too much wind. Pretty nice conditions, a little warm but the clouds would counter some of that. So I stuck with my planned outfit of shorts and short-sleeved shirt, but for the walk to the buses and the wait in Hopkinton had tights, a jacket, a fleece and gloves on as well. The fleece was an old one that I planned to throw away while running if I was still wearing it when the race started.

So DH and I walked over to the buses – about a mile – and met up with my buddy P and her husband. As always, I was pretty nervous and kind of dreading the start of the race, and she had similar feelings, but intellectually I knew the nerves would go once we were actually running. The thing that was giving me some concern was my stomach (and by extension, the rest of my digestive system). Despite following the usual pre-race plan for several days – no fried foods, no fish or seafood, limited dairy, etc. – something just did not feel “right”. DH and I were supposed to go to the pasta dinner Sunday night, which we have never done before, but of course this was Boston and I wanted to see it all. And thought I could risk eating something very plain. However, when we finished the course tour around 3:30, my stomach hurt and I really didn’t want to go. In fact, I really didn’t feel like eating much of anything, but with the “fuel up” mantra in mind did have a smallish vegetarian flatbread sandwich and a few forkfuls of the vegetable fried rice that DH brought back to the hotel room a couple of hours later. Nothing I’m not used to, nothing that’s been an issue before.

Monday morning I was kind of hungry and ate my usual Vector Energy Bar and hot water pre-race breakfast. Still just didn’t feel quite myself in the stomach/gastric department, though. Not sick, not remotely ill. Just not quite right. As we were leaving, I recall saying to DH, “My stomach hurts”, which it did, but not in a debilitating way. More like background noise, which I hoped was nerves and would go away.

Anyway, after waiting quite a while, P and I finally kissed our respective husbands good-bye, boarded a bus, and were on our way to Hopkinton. An uneventful ride – although now I know what other people have meant when they say it seems so long! – with a big delay at the end trying to get into the school grounds so that we could all get off. In the end, there wasn’t much time to be nervous. We waited in line for what seemed like forever to get into a porta-potty, ended up changing lines twice until we found one that was moving, and at first were still pretty chilly. One of the people supervising the bus loading had said it would be overcast and cool all day, and while part of me was delighted, the rest was lamenting that I hadn’t worn a long-sleeved shirt. Then all of a sudden it started to warm up, and within 10 or 15 minutes the sky was bright blue and it was warm. Off came the tights, the jacket, the fleece, the gloves, and I was glad to have made the right clothing choices after all. On went the sunscreen, but not completely as I did end up with a couple of sunburned blotches on my ankles and the backs of my arms. No big deal.

After the porta-potty visit (which did leave me feeling better), we just had time to drop our bags in the buses and head for the start line, and in the end we had to sprint a little to get into the right corral – the gates were closed and we had to squeeze through the bars. So absolutely no time to get wound up waiting to start – I’m not sure we had five seconds between getting into place and the gun going off.

P and I had agreed to try and stay together, at least in the general vicinity, but not to stay behind if one of us had issues and had to slow down. She was recovering from an injury and not sure if her leg would hold out, I was just nervous in general.

As for the actual marathon, the first half was great. P and I stayed together and were running well. A little too fast through the first part – not that unusual – but by the halfway point we were doing a pace that felt pretty good, about 1:49 total time so about a 3:40 if we held onto it. I was wearing DH’s CamelBak, something I’d tried out on my last couple of runs, and it was working well. I hadn’t wanted to wear a fuel belt but did want to have my GU2O, and this was the perfect compromise.

We had a gel around the 7 mile mark, and a couple of water breaks, a little Gatorade. I was taking in the GU2O on a regular basis, and also having salt tablets (first one about 8 km) to prevent cramping from low electrolytes. By the halfway mark the sun was getting to me a little. After months of winter the 12 C temperature felt warmer than it actually was, and the course doesn’t have a lot of shade, but at least we were running away from the sun. I thought it might be slowing me down a little, but didn’t want to go “too fast” anyway, and it wasn’t like running in mega-heat and humidity. Just a little uncomfortable.

Then a little before the 14 mile mark my race started to go south. We were running along, I think up a little bit of a hill, and then suddenly I felt my bowels send a major signal. Uh oh… It is rare that I get through any race without some “discomfort”, shall we say, but previously it’s started much more gently and I’ve been able to get through by changing pace a little, some mental effort, and so on. Which was what I tried this time, of course, but quickly realized that without a dreaded porta-potty stop, things just weren’t going to get better. P was a sweetie and waited for me, took that opportunity to gel, and after a couple of minutes we were off again. I remember saying, “I feel one thousand percent better”, and that was true. But not for long.

Although it hadn’t been a long break, it was a complete break, and I was having trouble finding my pace and then staying on it. As well, my legs suddenly felt more tired than they had before, and in retrospect I realise that during the break they had started to tighten up. Not good, but we were more than halfway along and around the 25 km point there is a nice long downhill into Newton Lower Falls, and I hoped that by running that easy and loose, I would be able to almost feel like I was starting a new run, get my body back in tune, and so on.

Not quite. It did help but as we were approaching the first hill I could feel “digestive issues” starting again and had to slow down, again, in hopes of basically cutting it off early and being able to just keep running. One porta-potty stop had been bad enough – two was definitely not part of the plan.

It was about that point that I lost P, who was continuing to have a great race. Mine was unfortunately becoming not so great. Looking back, it’s kind of hazy, but I was falling into a pattern of: run, slow down to calm GI tract, run, slow down, run, slow down… At the same time, I was continuing to hydrate because the sun was hot and I really didn’t want to get dehydrated. By this point I was rationing the GU2O a little, not being sure how much was left, and taking a bit of Gatorade at some of the stops.

Around the 17 mile mark I got a real lift because DH was there with the “Go Jogger Barbie Go” sign that he’d made the night before, he grabbed some water and ran about 10 steps with me, and that was really nice. I remember saying to him, “I feel like I have nothing left”, but at the same time I was still running and still hoping to solve my issues and get onto a pace that I could hold, so although conditions weren’t ideal they certainly weren’t horrendous.

However, the digestive stuff just wasn’t getting any better. I can’t remember whether it was the second or third hill where I was forced to admit that a second porta-potty stop was unavoidable, but I do recall walking for a couple of 2 and 3 minute stretches – a long time during a race – because I just had to in order to avoid a very embarrassing accident. Then I would start to run again, and get a little ways before having to slow down again, and it just felt awful to be having this happen during this race, of all races. It didn’t help that a couple of times I passed porta-potties that were occupied – bad enough having to stop but I wasn’t going to stop and wait, as well, so kept going. At one point someone was handing out orange wedges, and they looked so good – something “real” instead of all the artificial drinks, and I took one. Big mistake – one bite and my insides just turned over. Fortunately a short ways on, somewhere near the beginning of Heartbreak Hill, there was an empty porta-potty and it became my new home for longer than I would have liked. Several minutes, anyway – I don’t know how long but I do know there was no alternative.

Okay – so there I was giving myself a pep talk – “only about 8 or 9 km to go, only one more big hill, 8 or 9 km isn’t a terrible distance, this is a rotten delay but all you have to do is finish, this is the FREAKIN’ BOSTON MARATHON so how can you let this get you down” – and of course I really did feel better after my body had purged itself of whatever was giving it such problems. So I step back outside, take a salt tablet, rejoin the crowd, and realise that during my unplanned break my quads had frozen into place. Right. Run a course with a lot of downhill sections and then come to a halt. Why am I so surprised? But why did this have to happen today?!?!?

After that, the next few miles were pretty darn tough, to put it mildly. I remember at one point being so frustrated, I think it was on the last part of Heartbreak Hill. My breathing wasn’t hard, my heart rate didn’t seem to be elevated, but the legs just wouldn’t work. The muscles were just so tight, couldn’t seem to stretch them out, couldn’t get them to loosen up – it was no.fun.at.all. Funny how after enough experience you learn what the different kinds of leg discomfort/pain mean. There’s the “I’m really tired but still responding” sensation, where slowing up a bit and some mental effort gets you past it. There’s the “I need electrolytes” cramping, which takes a while to work out but can be done. And then there’s the “I thought you were finished running so I’ve checked out for the day” sensation that I was having.

At the same time, I was still mobile, no intention of quitting. My A Goal had been a nicely-paced 3:45 or 3:50 – that was gone. My B Goal was to BQ at Boston – that was in real danger of going but still possible. My C Goal was to finish – and that was most definitely still in play, even if I had to walk the rest of the way.

But I didn’t have to walk the rest of the way. Boston is a tricky course – there are few truly flat stretches – but the beauty is that there are lots of downhill stretches over the last few miles once you’re past Heartbreak Hill. And my strategy became to run as fast as possible on the downhill sections – about a 5 min/km pace according to the Garmin – and then try to keep it up on the flat stretches and uphills, but take walk and water breaks as necessary. Not the ideal, but I was still in the race. Playing all kinds of mental games to keep going and of course making sure that for the timing mats and the cameras I was running. I remember promising myself to run from a certain point to the 40 km timing mat – made it almost the whole way, had just one short walk break – and by that point the end was in sight. And with all the downhills my legs even felt like they were starting to relax a bit.

One unforeseen benefit of all this – trying to look on the bright side – was that I probably saw more of the course and took in more of the surroundings than would have been the case if I was running with my usual tunnel vision. And this would be a good point to mention the fantastically supportive crowds. Sometimes they really did keep me going, but they weren’t always enough to keep my tight legs from getting the break they were demanding. At least my stomach and GI tract were mostly okay, although periodically I still had to slow down as another cramp would go ripping through and threaten to sideline me once again. I almost wish it had been nausea instead – hate the thought of puking in public but it’s quicker and you don’t absolutely need to find privacy for it…

Anyway, so I see the famous Citgo sign from a long way out, remember what everyone has said about not concentrating on it because it doesn’t seem to get closer, keep making my way along the long stretch of low-rise apartment buildings soaking in energy from the crowd, and then finally we’re past the sign and there’s just one mile to go. It’s not going to be easy but it’s less than 2 km and I’m going to do it. The course is as busy as it’s been from the very start – a sea of people ahead, around and behind – but I’m in a pace I think I can hold (please, let me be able to hold it for just one more mile) and starting to get a little excited because that finish line will soon be a reality.

And then the woman in front of me suddenly slows down. It was like a car accident, or dropping something. Time slows and you see something bad happening but you can’t stop it. I tried to move to the side and get away but couldn’t do it fast enough, or there was someone beside me, or I’m not sure what. But I can’t get away from her and can’t put on my own brakes fast enough, and so I clip her on the side of her body and we both go down. Oh my God – this has never happened before. Is she okay? Am I okay? Immediately I’m getting up, apologizing, asking if she’s okay, another woman stops to see if we’re okay, we obviously haven’t broken anything because we both take off running again, but about 30 seconds later it registers that my right knee really hurts and gosh darn if that doesn’t make sense, because there are a couple of lovely bleeding scrapes on it.

Okay – I admit it. For a fleeting instant I just wanted to throw in the towel and give up on the whole thing. No, I didn’t actually stop and no, I wasn’t serious. Because of course my brain immediately screamed, “You’re less than a mile from the finish line of the Boston marathon and you can even contemplate this?!?!? Are you out of your mind?!?!?” Guess not, because I kept going. There was one point on the little rise out of the tunnel where I walked just a few steps, but I’m pretty sure that by that point the crowd was carrying me the last km or so and from somewhere I found that “finishing line last bit of energy”. There is a small rise – it felt like a real hill – and then that final turn onto the long, flat stretch of Boylston with the finishing line as the focus of every bit of energy you have left. I cannot begin to describe the feeling but I will never forget powering myself down those last few hundred meters and finally hearing that blessed “beep beep” as I crossed the timing mat, and somehow it was over and I had actually run the Boston marathon. Final time was 4:01 and change. Not my finest race – not by a mile, heck, not by several miles – but it was done.

Of course, after that final effort my muscles were cramping like mad, but Boston is great for keeping you moving and I just progressed from point to point – got some water, got the blanket, and – best of all – gave up the timing chip for the medal. Normally medals aren’t important to me – if races only had medals for the people who place that would be fine – but the Boston medal is a whole different story. I even made a point of getting a post-race picture with it. Funny – as I write this now I’m actually feeling more emotional than at the time. I think when it was all happening I was so dazed by the whole experience, and so focused on getting my stuff and finding DH and finding P that there was no energy to spare for being emotional.

And all of that did happen, in due course. Because of the Jogger Barbie sign it was easy to find DH in the family meeting area, he was wonderfully supportive, we picked our way back through the crowds to the hotel where P and her husband were waiting. P had a wonderful race, said for once “everything went right”, and she was just glowing. To keep it short, my friend D (who finished a little behind me) and her husband also made it back to the hotel, we all got showered and changed and went out to celebrate, and we’ll all be back. Thank heavens I already qualified for 2009 at Scotiabank!

Not surprisingly, I have done so much dissection and processing since the race. Adding 21 minutes to your initial qualifying time, and 26 minutes to your best qualifying time, will do that to you. Yes, I am human, and yes, I am disappointed. At the same time, I’m not devastated. I ran Boston. The big one. The one that so many people dream of and never get a chance to do. No excuse for a pity party.

My splits for the last half are interesting (at least to me). Half to 25 km: 23:43 (included first porta-potty break). 25 km – 30 km: 31:25. 30 km – 35 km: 36:03 (included second porta-potty break). 35 km – 40 km: 29:19. 40 km – 42 km: 12:40 (included fall). Obviously much slower than the first half, but definite improvment from that low point in the middle where it was all going off the rails. Bottom line: I finished the race, running most of the way, in a time that lots of people would be thrilled to have. At 47, I am 70% into my age group (40-49) but finished at around 56% of my age group. On a bad day. I have to take some comfort from that.

Fortunately, over and over I kept saying that I was trying to go into Boston without expectations. I didn’t know what to expect, and there was nothing riding on this race (i.e.: a BQ). And I am SO glad that was the case, that I didn’t go out there hoping and trying for a PB, because that would have made everything that happened much harder to deal with. And although in many ways all the digestive issues were my worst race day fears come home to roost, better to be taken out by something uncontrollable like that then by just pure bad running and lack of preparation. Was I trained for the race? I think so. But I can’t be sure. Once my GI tract took over, it felt like everything was falling apart, because I just couldn’t seem to settle things down long enough to get into any kind of steady running zone. Would I have cramped up like that without the stops? Again, I don’t know. Typically I don’t stop like that during a long run and especially not during a race. Walk breaks, sure. Pauses for stop lights and such? You bet. But nowhere near as prolonged, and of course even if I do tend to have trouble running LSDs at LSD pace, long runs are still not as intense as an actual race.

Of course, I’d still like to know exactly what went wrong. I don’t think it was just nerves, because it took until Wednesday afternoon before my stomach really started to feel normal and before my appetite truly returned. Again, I wasn’t sick, but neither was I normal. Typically, after a long run or a race my body needs a little time to settle down and be hungry, but then I am hungry and eat well. Monday night, I couldn’t quite finish my dinner and had no craving for dessert or for snacks later on. Tuesday morning, no desire for breakfast and my stomach actually turned over a little just thinking about it, barely ate until lunch. Was hungry for dinner, but again not much. None of that is like me. My best guess is that my almost-vegetarian self (the odd serving of fish or seafood requires the “almost”) somehow consumed something that contained meat. Or was cooked in concentrated meat stock. Maybe something I ate was a bit spoiled. No way to know. But I have learned a big, big lesson: next time we travel out of town several days before a race, I am bringing lots more of my own food, or buying it from a grocery store once we arrive. And if I am lucky, the pre-race diet will work well, as it has before, and I will finish the race without seeing the inside of a porta-potty.

Wow – I knew this was going to be long but didn’t expect this long. No way I’ll be able to forget my first Boston now that it's recorded in such excruciating detail…!