Marathon #10 is in the books. All done. "Finis", as someone speaking a different language might say. It has been for a couple weeks now. The soreness has faded. People are starting to ask whether I'm writing a race report... Yeah, I am probably reaching some kind of statute of limitations on this one.
So without any further ado, here's ten things I learned (or re-learned (or reinforced (or just kinda thought about after the fact))) at the 2015 Boston Marathon.
Just because you have a great race, it doesn't mean the race report is going to come easy.
I did have great race. The best one so far - and not really because of my finish time. Every race now seems to be promising "Your best run ever!" or something along those lines. But this time it actually delivered.
I had my best run... wait for it ...Ever!
I thought nothing could top the experience I had at the 2010 Austin Marathon. And then this one came along and took me completely by surprise. But the race report... well, it has been kind of a booger. I wrote a first draft a few days after the race and... it was bo-ring. Exciting to me, but only because I was there. So I had a beer. Then I looked at it again a couple days later, and it was still boring.
"Does the race report have to be interesting?"
Well yeah, kind of. I don't really write these things for myself any longer. I used to, but I get enough friends telling me how much they like reading my ramblings that I kinda want to do a good job, you know?
So, I re-wrote a couple times. The problem is that I was trying to just describe everything. All of it. From the dream I had the night before the race, to a long conversation I had in the middle of the race with some other guy from Texas, to the gigantic Clif-brand marinara sauce packet that came in the race goodie bag, to the ongoing waiting game to see if I sacrificed a toenail for my (spoiler alert!) new PR. I tried to just condense it, but then it lost the excitement, even for me.
So finally, I settled on ten thoughts, more or less interesting, and more or less related to the race. Not that this is really any shorter. I just get to expand on some of the stuff that was interesting or entertaining (or so I thought) and ignore most of the stuff that wasn't. I hope this first one is the least interesting of the bunch, but no guarantees.
Pooping on a moving bus is not the same as pooping on an airplane.
(And here you thought I was joking about describing everything.)
I probably chose the worst possible moment to go take care of business on the bus ride to Hopkinton. It was after we were off the pike, and waiting to turn left onto a typical Massachusetts springtime road. For anyone unfamiliar with typical Massachusetts springtime roads, they've got more nooks & cranniesTM than an English muffin. There are usually some healthy bumps and potholes you can blame on the previous winter. And they're also quite curvy pretty much all year round, which you can blame on them starting as wagon wheel ruts back when a four horsepower engine was a big deal.
I got into the bathroom just as we turned left onto said road, and soon realized just how bumpy and windy it was. The window at knee level wasn't making me any less nervous about the whole thing. At first I wasn't even sure I wanted to make the attempt. Then, I reasoned that if I just walked back out, the whole thing was a wasted trip. So I did what I had to do. On the bright side, this was the first time I've ever grabbed onto the "oh shit!" handle in a moving vehicle and been able to follow through.
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| This is a completely different and unrelated bathroom. I regret not taking more pictures. |
Don't get too worked up about the W-word.
The weather is usually one of the big things on my mind in the week or so leading up to a race. Is it going to be too hot? Too cold? Will there be rain? Wind? Snow? Volcanic activity (its happened)? I tried desperately to ignore any mentions of Boston weather until I actually got there on Friday. Because really, there's nothing anyone can do about the weather. Everyone is getting the same roll of the dice, and you just have to make the best of it.
Coach Amy's take on this is great. She's told us several times "Even in crappy weather, there is always someone who has a great day. It might as well be you."
It isn't a trivial task to just ignore it though. Especially when a bunch of people you know are running the same race you are, and obsessing about the same weather report you are trying to ignore. The next best thing, I think, is accepting it and embracing it. At least if it is accept-and-embraceable. If it was going to be unseasonably warm for example, it might be a case to stand in defiance (until it crushes you) or resort to outright denial (until it crushes you).
But it wasn't one of those days. It was a bit rainy. And a little windy. Kinda chilly - the temperature probably would have been perfect actually, if it hadn't been for the wind and rain. But neither one really bothered me much during the race. There were enough runners around to buffer the worst of the wind, except on some of the stretches where it was coming straight into our faces instead of from the side. When the wind was bad and I didn't have a buffer, I just leaned into it. I decided it was an opportunity to run with better form than I actually possess. Embrace.
The rain wasn't constant - it came in waves. I think we were just getting hit by a series of storms passing by. I remember thinking when it first started coming down, that it wasn't so bad... just a sprinkle. Then it turned into a deluge during mile 8, and was on and off like that for the rest of the race. After the initial soak cycle it really didn't matter anymore. Wet is wet. Accept.
Never underestimate random coincidence and superstition.
I often mention this kind of stuff when I am racing because it probably has more to do with race day performance than any other single factor.
Yes, that's right. I had an awesome bib number! 2070!
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| Back of bib two hours post-race. Moisture still intact. |
The math on this one is simple. 2 + 0 + 7 + 0 = 9, which is the biggest and most powerful of the lucky numbers. You can divide nine by one of the other lucky numbers (three) to get three (one of the other lucky numbers). And if you take half of nine, you get 4.5 which is only half of three less than six, coincidentally the last of the lucky numbers. That's really all that needs to be said about it.
Except that also... this was my third time running this race... and the first time I ran it was my third Marathon... and 2070 means that I was in the 3rd corral... and 3 + 3 + 3 is 9. I know, right?
And what's more... 20 + 70 = 90, and just three days before the race, my grandmother celebrated her 90th birthday! Coincidence? Absolutely. But if you believe that all that stuff actually helps, then... yeah. There's some power there. I'll stop now. This might have to be the last time I mention the bib number thing. Even I think it is getting old.
Patience, Grasshopper.
Start easy, finish strong. It's probably the first piece of race advice my coach ever gave me. This one is really difficult, but I think I got it right this time. Sort of. Well, maybe it could still use some work.
"What? Start easy? Why is that difficult?"
Exactly!
The challenge is mostly mental. It's hard because the last part of a Marathon invariably sucks (according to the part of the brain responsible for receiving and/or doling out pain). In the last N miles of a Marathon your brain wants nothing more than to stop running, or at least slow down a bit. The number N is extremely variable, between 4 and 17 in my experience, and it correlates well with how stupid I was in the early part of the race. And by "slow down a bit" I mean that your brain wants you to slow down enough that you are no longer moving (a.k.a. "stopped"), and in some cases, no longer even standing (a.k.a. "sitting" or "assuming the fetal position"). It's probably some kind of evolutionary self-preservation thing to... Blah, blah, blah, whatever.
The important thing is that to finish the race, you must ignore all these so-called "survival instincts", and keep moving forward.
So now I am going to go into this long explanation of how I interpret the "start easy" part these days, for no good reason other than the fantastic dubbel ale that was coursing through my liver as I wrote this section.
There's the "goal pace", which is the time you hope to finish the race, divided by distance in whatever units you prefer. Ideally, you aren't really sure you can run that fast for that long (which is what makes it exciting!) And then there's the "efficiency line", which is a term that I am just totally pulling out of my own butt. If you are a runner who is interested in the science-y part of running, you have heard of the "aerobic threshold". This is exactly the same thing, but with more syllables in the first word, and fewer in the second.
To get all technical, the efficiency threshold-line-thingy or whatever it is called, is the effort level at which you transition from feeling like you are floating along all light, relaxed, smooth and free, to where you begin to question all the life decisions that brought you to this moment.
It's a fine line, and crossing it is a very subtle transition. No amount of GPS or heart rate monitor technology can tell you where the line is at any given moment. You just have to bring on the Lebowski, and feel it, man. The fun part is that it moves all over the place while you're running, and at some point in the Marathon, you will realize that you have gone over, and you can never return to the other side.
Anyway, when I have a time goal and I stay on the efficient side of the line for 16, 17... 20 miles, what it really means is that I have some catching up to do at the end. Because I was going slower than goal pace, on average. It means I have to speed up.
Speed up when it starts really hurting? Just thinking about that hurts. That's why patience is so difficult. But it can pay off! Here's some data to illustrate:
Table 2.2. Splits According to Garmin
1 6:52 10 6:38 19 6:31
2 6:39 11 6:34 20 6:43
3 6:34 12 6:31 21 6:57
4 6:27 13 6:39 22 6:19
5 6:37 14 6:40 23 6:33
6 6:27 15 6:47 24 6:23
7 6:35 16 6:28 25 6:19
8 6:37 17 6:43 26 6:23
9 6:35 18 6:41 26.39 2:19
Which may or may not add up to the official time of 2:53:22. A new PR by 1:34, and my fastest Boston by 11+ minutes!
Time for a break.
- = { Intermission } = -
The people.
"The people? You learned 'The people?'"
Yessss. Important, they are.
"Whatever you say, Master Yoda. Did you switch over to white russians after invoking The Dude's name?"
Tasty, Kahlua is. Hmmmmm.
It isn't like this is a new concept. I've gotten all sappy in the past. But it is really true, and I felt it more in this race than ever before. The people... many of them you people, were with me out there.
I'm not really talking about the thousands of other runners all moving with the same purpose, or the amazing crowds who came out in the miserable spectation weather to scream their lungs out. They helped, yes. But...
It was also the friends I got to visit and run with in Boston before the race. The teamily on the bus, providing a pre-race therapy session with familiar faces and conversation. The coachly advice showing up in my brain when I needed it. Santa Claus. Yes, really!. The knowledge that at every timing mat, the friends and family playing the home game were getting another data point... etc.
Most of that stuff just showed up on its own. The only thing I really went out of my way to control was a little talisman I brought with me. A wrist band that I wore to remind me that my family was with me out there, too. I could glance at my wrist and conjure them up whenever I wanted, and it was comforting.
People really do make the difference. Just me, running by myself - it wouldn't have happened.
Nobody runs 26.2 miles at Boston.
Tangents don't exist in a race like Boston. At least not for us mortals. There are so many runners that you can't even usually see the next corner, let alone run straight to it. Someone is always in the way.
Q: "But wait! It looks like a pretty straight course on the map! I heard there were only like 5 turns on the whole thing!?!"
A: Please refer to Section #2: "Pooping on a moving bus is not the same as pooping on an airplane" (subsection "nooks & crannies") for more information about the roads in Massachusetts.
Clocking in at 26.39 miles, this was the longest race my Garmin has ever recorded. Granted, my watch is possessed, and the little demons living in it consistently overestimate or underestimate the distance I've actually run - but that's a separate topic which won't be covered here.
I was just one in a river of runners flowing from start to finish. I chose to run down the middle or the left side of the road for most of it. It seemed a little less crowded there, and trying to fight my way across the river to hug the corners would have blown the whole efficiency thing. Somehow, I was usually on the right side when the water showed up though. Go figure.
Wear something everyone can identify with.
I am of course talking about Cookie Monster Santa pants. If you wear Cookie Monster Santa pants, everyone will take notice. Hotel clerks, friends, half the people on your bus will comment. A National Guardswoman at her post might even ask about them. And for a short time they may even start trending on social media, and you'll learn new phrases like "on fleek".
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| Pre-race picture party. © 2015, Breen Enterprises. |
It is a shame that there is no bag check at the start any longer, or Cookie would certainly have survived to see another race. Perhaps I should have just worn them right through the race as well. As far as I could tell, exactly zero people shouted anything with the words "Red" or "Rogue" upon seeing my Red Rogue shirt. Then again, for the first part of the race it was shoulder-to-shoulder runners, and for the latter part of the race it was all just incoherent noise from the massive crowds. If anyone was calling me out, I wouldn't have noticed.
But besides characters from preschool TV shows, what else do people identify with? The answer: state names.
Around mile 10 or 11 there were a lot of people yelling "Go Texas!" I knew that it was unlikely they were shouting this at me (it was the guy I mentioned back at the start of this - he was from Dallas, and had the word "Texas" on his shirt, if you can believe that). It was a weird deja vu kind of thing since it happened the last time I was in Boston, too. It wasn't just Texas though, there were a lot of state names being yelled at us. And coincidentally, a lot of runners around with state names emblazoned on their clothing. Something to think about for next time.
Find the gunk packets that speak to you, and go with them.
It's easy for me to to screw the nutrition thing up. Even with the best-laid plans the race does funny things to my brain. Breakfast is difficult to stomach on race day, when you're already full of butterflies. Ingesting a packet of gunk every 5 miles or so is not usually a pleasant experience either, and I don't always follow through with my plan.
I wanted to try and change that for this race. The past six months I experimented with some new-to-me flavors and brands.
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| This stuff did not speak to me. |
First - Honey Stingers. These are pretty tasty. They taste like honey. Probably because the main ingredient is... honey (truth in advertising!) They can be a little sticky and are maybe a bit too sweet as well. Because, you know... honey.
Gu brand Roctane Lemonade was the other item on the menu. I really like these too. Anyone familiar with Gu shouldn't find it surprising that these don't really taste at all like lemonade. They don't even taste like fresh-squeezed Roctane berries. What they do taste like is Betty Crocker Lemon Squares. So of course, I'm bringing those along to every race now. At least until they start making margarita Gu that really tastes like key lime pie.
Even though I find these new choices more appetizing than normal, I still had trouble bringing myself to eat the last one at mile 19. But then coach Amy's words from the previous week were echoing in the back of my head... "You will eat your little packets of tar when you are supposed to, and you'll like it! You don't want to crash and burn like you did at the end of Boston 2011, do you? DO YOU?!?"
Ok, so I'm paraphrasing a little bit. She doesn't talk like that. It's not even how she sounded in my head. But it's more entertaining this way.
Take your wet gloves off, dummy!
So this "lesson" is kind of weak, but I am just going to shoehorn this little story in at the end because I thought it was kind of cool.
When I finished, I stopped my watch and walked a little bit so I wasn't immediately in the way of the other runners. I turned around to look back up Boylston street, and take a mental picture. Soaking in the moment, if you will. Speaking of which, I was completely soaked at that moment, and began to shiver now that I was no longer generating much heat on my own. I joined the waddle in search of tinfoil blankets and sustenance.
No, that's not a typo - let's look it up:
wad·dle /wädl/
noun
A flock of post-Marathon runners.
A huge crowd of incredibly efficient volunteers worked us through the assembly line in the finish area. First the water, then the medals, the food, the more food, and the more food after that. Eventually I found myself, carrying an armload of food I wasn't immediately interested in eating, in a sea of other runners who were getting wrapped in the post-race weather protection. It was more of a hoodie-vest/poncho thing with velcro closure than the normal tinfoil-blanket-and-sticker combo. A volunteer materialized in front of me and held up one of the strange garments for me to stuff an arm through. Then another, and there was a hood on my head and wham! It's on. I thanked her profusely and tried not to drop all my stuff.
I continued to waddle over towards the meeting area, but I was a popsicle. The wind and rain were really getting to me. There was no shelter, my silvery-warmup thingy had no arms, and the Arlington T station beckoned. I answered the call. Once inside I stopped and fumbled around for my train ticket. I was shaking so bad that I had trouble opening the little zippered pocket I had put it in. I had to take off my gloves and immediately realized that I should have probably done that a long time ago. My fingers were all crinkly like you get after spending too much time in the pool, but I started to feel a little warmer.
I finally got the ticket out and headed towards the gate. A police officer motioned me over, saying "Don't worry about that, we've got you", and ushered me through. Then I was on the platform, and there was already a train sitting there. The doors were open, but it was packed full, so I just stood there to wait for the next one.
Then another officer said to me "You want on this train? I think we can get you on here." He motioned to the people in the car and said "You got room for one more?" The answers from several voices came back - "Of course!", and a hole opened up. I thanked the officer and stepped on. Another runner, shaking just as bad as I was, wrapped his arm around me to keep me from falling backwards out of the train (or perhaps he was just trying to get warm). In either case, I didn't fall out. The door closed, and we were off.