Ticket to a Dream

Running the Boston Marathon was everything I expected, and more. It was the perfect cap to a great weekend, and the 4 years that I have been running long distances.
Last night, we ate in Little Italy. (Laura is getting tired of pasta after 3 nights in a row). I have 2 alarms set, plus my cell phone, and I still wake up 15 minutes early. I have all my gear set up, and the coffee maker plugged in the bathroom. Earlier in the weekend, we heard Dick Beardsley talk about how his parents gave him money for graduation, and had a card that said it was for a plane ticket to fly to Boston to run the Boston Marathon. I thought that was great how they encouraged him to dream big. As I kissed Laura good-bye in the dark, I tell her “Thanks for the ticket.” Ever since I decided to run a marathon, she has believed that I could run Boston. Everyone needs someone to “buy them their ticket” to the place of their dreams, and I have my wife, Laura.

There are a lot of runners in the lobby of the hotel. I talk to a guy from Bristol, England, who actually grew up in County Tyrone, Ireland, so I talk about my Irish connections. After a cup of coffee, and visit to the last indoor plumbing I would see before the end of the race, I walk the 2 blocks to where the buses will pick us up. I cross the Boston Common, site of the Boston Massacre, and many famous speeches and gatherings in colonial, and revolutionary Boston. There are dozens of school buses lined up, with hundreds of runners waiting. I get waved over to a bus with empty seats, and I am off to Hopkinton by 6:15 am.

As we drive in the fog to outlying towns, I join a conversation with a couple of guys around me. One is grey-haired, and running his fourth Boston Marathon. The other is in his early 20’s, and running his first Boston Marathon like me. The older fellow had started running accidentally at age 55 when his thought his wife had registered him for a 5K walk, but it was a run. About six years later, and he is back at Boston for the 4th time. We talk about the races and conditions we have run in –me from Chicago, running in the 90 degree heat with Laura in 2007; The young guy was in the Lewis and Clark Marathon in Missouri, when rains influenced by Hurricane Ike flooded part of the course, and turned it into a 10 mile race. The 3-time veteran of Boston has been chased by coyotes and run near sites of mountain lion attacks near his home in Albuquerque. We have other things in common, like the Albuquerque guy was an investment advisor (I got his email for networking), and the young kid had gone to college at Concordia near Chicago – but obviously what we shared most was our love of running, in spite of conditions, at any age – that’s what gained us our initiation into this fraternity.
The conversation on our favorite topic (marathon running) passes the time quickly, and soon we are getting off the buses at the Hopkinton High School (“Where it all starts”). They have giant tents with water, Gatorade, bananas, bagels, and of course, hundreds of porta-potties, (that you know will still not be enough 15 minutes before race time). It is quite a festival atmosphere. Someone is handing out shamrock temporary tattoos saying “Boston 26.2”. I got one to match the shamrock cap, and my “Lucky shamrock socks”.

Today it is about 44 degrees at the 10 am start, and go up to about 50 by the time we neared Boston. It is mainly overcast, and rain is not expected until late afternoon. There is a light wind of about 8-10 mph starting to blow the fog away, and it supposed to pick up to 15 mph about halfway through the race. It is an ENE wind, so we will be running straight into it. Hopefully, those famous Newton Hills will block some of the wind as we plow up them. In running, especially a race, your body temperature will raise 5 degrees after about 3-5 miles, so staying warm should not be an issue once we get going. The trick is to stay warm before the race to conserve energy. I am running an a long sleeve top and shorts. I wear a billed cap to catch initially keep warm, catch the dripping sweat, and shield the sun. Even though the forecast calls for clouds, the weather can change over the course of 3-4 hours and 26.2 miles. I also wear sunglasses, because squinting , even just a little can cause you to tighten up, from the head down to your shoulders. I have cotton gloves that I have worn for hundreds of miles in cool weather, and in half my marathons. If they feel too hot or cumbersome, I’ll toss them away at a water stop.

Before the start, I have a baggy old shirt I got from a race, and some warmup-pants that are frayed, and have broken zippers. Volunteers go around the race start, and collect these “throw-aways” for Big Brothers and Sisters of the Poor. In addition, I have a golf wind-shirt to wear around the Athletes’ village. What I see at this start that I have not seen before, is a lot of people bring camp chairs and blow-up air mattresses to sit on the ground . I have been pampered at the Chicago marathon. Even for the 2 years after we raised money for the Arthritis Foundation, we were welcomed guests in their heated runners tent , with chairs and refreshments, and easily accessible porta-potties. The Buffalo marathon was so small, and we did not have to get to the start hours early. At the Green Bay Marathon, one year we had the start right near a convention center/hotel complex, and I stayed inside until 15 minutes before the start. The year I qualified, I parked my car 100 yards from the start in the parking lot at Lambeau Field, and then hung out in the indoor atrium part of the stadium. Your reward for running yourself into the ground to qualify for Boston is that you get to wait in mild discomfort before the real pain begins.

It’s all good, though, and I find a spot up against a wall, and start to talk with a local guy from a nearby town, who had been wanting to run the marathon since he grew up watching it. I’m glad I bought my cell phone, because I see a text message wishing me good luck from Scott. Last night, I got one from Gil – those guys are the next ones to get here: 3:30 in Chicago this October guys- You’ve done an Ironman- you can get to Boston. We all do an 8 minute pace, and we come back here in 2010. We saw some Multisport Madness jerseys this weekend – now we need the Southside Chapter to get here in Force!

Soon, I get a call – it’s Sue from the Park Forest Running Club. She and her husband Rob are running Boston for the third time. We make eye contact through the crowd, and I join their group of about 15 runners. Mainly, they are with the Chicago Area Runners Association (CARA), that runs in Yankee Woods in the south suburbs. Laura will be with their cheering section on the back side of heartbreak Hill. I see some of people I met at their pasta dinner the other night, and Sue shares an extra garbage bag, so I don't have to sit on the wet grass. We talk about the race, and the weekend. I make another trip to the bathroom, and I am about to consider another one when they call for runners in the first wave to drop their gear bags on the buses. I wish Sue luck, and I head out through the crowd. It's an impressive logistical feat - they have side windows of the buses open, and every 500 entrants or so pass in their gear bags to each bus. They will drive back to downtown Boston, where we claim them at the finish. I keep the bare minimum, and I start following the crowd to the start. It looks like we have to walk about 3/4 mile to the starting corrals. With my 3:30 time, I am in the second-to-last corral of the first wave start. Just as I get to the entrance of the corral, they sing the National Anthem. As I show my bib number to enter the corral, some Navy fighter jets do a flyover. (Of course, they will make it Boston even faster than the elites.) As the time gets closer, I peel off my cotton long-sleeve shirt, and the track pants, and pass them to a volunteer collecting them. Hopkinton is a postcard New England town, with white clapboard churches, and general stores. We ooze forward to the start, and we hear the gun, but it takes 5-8 minutes for me to get to the starting line. People are cheering us madly, and the course starts on a downhill, so I'm careful not to run too fast at the start. But the size of the crowd of runners prevents that.

As we run down the winding Route 135 out of Hopkinton, I am in awe to be following the course that so many great runners have followed before me for over one hundred years. I thought I would be super anxious and nervous, but I feel pretty calm. The first six miles are like a roller-coaster at a carnival. It's like a Mardi-Gras for runners. Still, I manage to keep my pace around 8 minutes for the first mile. If my downhill pace starts to get faster than 7:30 minutes per mile, I slow it down, because going to fast on the downhills can wear out your quadriceps when you need them later in the race.

I find myself picking out the same few runners to try to keep pace with, but we have different paces on the varying terrain and hills. I skip the first water stop, and when I stop to get Gatorade, the middle table I happen to pick does not have any poured. I don't want to get low in sodium like I did in the Green Bay marathon, so I come to a stop to wait while the volunteer pours one. A guy who picked up his cup at the table before, plows into me, and spills his drink on my arm. I'm glad I have long sleeves on.

There are some impressive runners running alongside me, not as many characters as you see in the Chicago Marathon, but the few here are good ones. Like an man and woman in colonial garb - Pinned to her back it says "The British Are Coming". On his back, it says "The Kenyans are Long Gone." Later, I will hear everyone cheering for Wonder Woman. When she catches up to me, she is a middle aged woman, in full costume- flesh colored tights, headpiece, and I think a fake wig to give her the dark hair.

Laura wrote out a sticker with my name on it, and I slapped it on my chest. About every half mile, I get people cheering out "Go Tom!", and it really helps keep my energy and focus up. We segue from the town centers of places like Framingham and Natick, to the rural outskirts flanked by ponds, and cranberry bogs. As I run, I exchange words with a few fellow runners, commenting on the crowd, or finding people who talk about running Chicago. But I don't really get synced up with anyone and start a conversation. For the last 3 marathons, I have run with Tom Flynn, run with a pace group, and run with my wife. So, it seems different not having that interchange. But I'm soaking it all in, and enjoying the crowd. I keep hearing the crowd chant for someone named "Laura", and it reminds me of when Laura had her name on her shirt, and it feels like she is with me today.

After about 6 miles, the course gets flatter, but still has winding turns and short hills every so often. I have a timer on my GPS watch set to let me know when 45 minutes elapses, because that is recommended time to take a Gel pack. We start to see groups offering beer along the way, but I don't notice any runners take any. People along the course have turned it into a part. One group seems to have rented a "Dino-jump" inflatable to keep their kids happy while they watch the race. In one of the towns, there is a a group of about 10 kids bouncing on mini-trampolines as we run by. It seems to be a gymnastics team or school. Today is a holiday in the state of Massachusetts - Patriot's Day, commemorating Paul Revere's ride to warn that the British Are Coming.

Around 10 miles, it starts to feel like a race, and I realize that I am in this for the long haul. It's weird, but I seem to run faster up some of the hills, because I am focused on charging up them, while I try to slow down on the downhills to save my quads. Pretty soon, we are coming by one of the famous parts of the race at around mile 12- Wellesley College, the all-women's school where the young women scream for about a half mile, and offer kisses to runners. I run by high-fiving, and one calls out "Nice Shamrock!", so I stop to let her kiss it. A few dozen yards later, a girl has a sign that says "Kiss Me. I'm Irish", so I tell her "Me, too!", and peck her on the cheek. It's pretty exhilarating and impressive that they are out here for 5-6 hours. I'm not sure if it has raised my energy, or sapped it when I am past them, but it was a nice distraction.

I have not been too concerned about my pace, but I can tell I am slowing down. I try to pick up speed when I can. At times, the wind chills me, and I feel my arms sore from pumping up the hills. My right calf feels tight, and I try to ease my stride, keep getting Gatorade, so I don't get a cramp. If it still is tight in a mile or two, I'm going to stop and stretch it. I also can feel some aches in my knee and ankle. There's a blister on my right foot, I think my sock has bunched up underneath my toe. My back and arms hurt, but I don't think it's because I am tense, I must be pumping my arms going up the hills.

Besides finishing this race, one of my goals is not to be crushed by the Newton Hills, and not to walk up Heartbreak. I start thinking about Laura running in the Chicago Marathon, and our friend Michelle battling cancer. Their pain dwarfs what I'm feeling, and is with them every day. Mine will subside in a few hours, and the soreness will be gone in few days, provided I don't injure myself. I feel so lucky to be running in this marathon, I want to honor it by running strong, not necessarily fast, per-se.

I pass mile 17, and we make a sharp turn near the Firehouse in Newton, so I know the Newton Hills are coming up. When I get some water for a Gu, I walk, and make sure I ingest the whole pack. I want to make sure I have fuel for these hills. When I was riding a spin bike for my cross-training, one of the songs on my I-Pod was "Heavy Fuel" by Dire Straits. It's a very tongue-in-cheek song about a hard-living guy who says "If you wanna' run cool, you've gotta run on Heavy, Heavy Fuel,", which for him is "Six hamburgers and scotch all night, nicotine for breakfast just to put me right". Not my lifestyle exactly, but the driving beat sticks in my head as I take these hills on the way to Heartbreak. People call out my name, calling good job. The next couple of miles have several very long hills. People are lining the course, and I need the help. At some point I realize that I don't have my name stuck on my shirt anymore. I focus on being ready for Heartbreak Hill, and I'll see Laura right after that. I see the hill, and people have signs up and there is chalk written on the sidewalk. I hear a guy panting next to me, and I call out to encourage him. I'm sure my pace is slow, but once I'm past this, any more hills will seem easy. I get to the top, and I am cognizant of not trying to speed up on the downhill (like I even could).

Now we are at the campus of Boston College, and I am supposed to see Laura and the Yankee Runners group. As we get to the heart of the college, the crowd is thunderous - the bass section to Wellesely's soprano screamers. Even Laura's cheering would be drowned out by this. I want to glide down this hill and cut a tangent on the curve, but I slow down by the right side, looking for Laura and the Dunkin' Donuts they are supposed be hanging out by. In Chicago, roadside Dunkin Donuts usually are in cookie cutter buildings with big signs. In Boston and New England, they seem to be in picturesque, unique building s with more discreet signage. So, I am starting to worry that I will miss my one chance to see her. Then, I see the Dunkin Donuts on the left, and as I am scanning the crowd, I see her. I can feel my face light up, I'm slowed down so much that she can't really get a picture of me running, so much as sauntering up her. I give her a kiss, and tell her I love her. Then she starts to tell me to "Go, get going". She has the misguided idea that I could actually PR in this race. I want to enjoy this accomplishment, and share it with her, so I
ask someone in the group to take our picture, and then my competitive wife pushes me on my way.

There is more of a downhill, and then it seems like we are getting into a more populated area outside Boston. A lot of people are out grilling, and the smell makes you hungry. We are running alongside the tracks of the "T", the light rail system that Laura will take back into Boston. People are meandering along one of the tracks, so I don't know if the train runs on only one track today. The crowds are like the ones in the Chicago Marathon, now, 4-5 deep, hanging out of windows of apartment buildings. I see the Citgo sign, and I keep chugging. Megan gave a card with that Citgo sign on it after she ran Boston, and I was going to try to qualify. I posted above a rack with my other marathon medals to give a pinnacle to aspire to. Now that pinnacle was in sight. I was past mile 24, and heading to 25. I knew a while back that a 3:30 time was not possible today, but 4 hours was well in reach, if I did not break down. We must be in the area near the Red Sox game. I'm not sure if it is over yet, but I heard along the way that they were winning. Commonwealth Avenue is a broad boulevard separated by the T-tracks and pedestrian bridges. There must be a guy near me with "James" written on his shirt, because whole blocks of guys chant "James! James! James!" as he comes by. I wish I had written my name on my shirt, then I could hear that cheering for me to pump me up at the end.

As we turn off Commonwealth Ave, I imagine how incredible it must have been for Dick Beardsley and Alberto Salazar to hear the crowds cheering for them as they battled to an epic finish. I recognize the Hynes Convention Center where I have spent a lot of time this week, so I know the remaining distance to the finish line. I try to use what little kick I have today. I hear the announcer calling people's names and hometowns, and I want to hear mine from this storied reviewing stand. I pass a couple of people. The clock time is under 4 hours, still so I know my finish will be close to 3:50, probably under. I smile and raise my arms for the camera, and I go under the finish stand. Crowds are cheering on both sides, and its time to get my best medal ever.