Boston Marathon senses

The herring run.

It took all morning to drive then walk to the "athlete village," then continue walking from one Port-a-Potty line to the next. I took my first opportunity all morning to sit down in my starting corral at the Boston Marathon. The sunlight caught every trunk of the forest of legs from the same angle, but cast a patchy canopy of synthetic polyester. I realized that tripping was a major hazard today.

The gun went off, and after a delay for the preceding corrals, the mass began to move. The course was free of spectators for a few minutes after the start line. I heard sound of the 1,000 people in my corral running in identically paced unison, except for the randomness of our feet. It was quieter than sitting in the start corral, listening to all the ambient and amplified voices. I ran in the midst of a sifted stampede.

Big city marathons apparently have aid stations every mile, 1 on each side and 5-7 folding tables long. My feet stuck to the asphalt if I got too close to the Gatorade tables and slipped once people got thirsty enough that the asphalt became saturated in cups.  I worried about the wasted cups and a few nearly-trampled runners.

I kept water on my head and monitored my ligaments and threshold. I love marathon pace because it starts out smooth and comfortable, but eventually crosses a line of being hard to maintain. I leaned over the line when the fronts of my ankles briefly tightened, and strained against it when by the end all I could focus on was the endlessness of spectators screaming. 26.2 miles is a lot of screaming. I finished surprised by a decently evenly-paced race, and it was still loud, but at least my blood wasn't singing.

It took a long slow walk and being shoo-ed out of the half mile finish chute by blessed cops until I could lay down. That street normally crawls with traffic but I finally did not worry about getting trampled. After a concert, your ears still throb. My calves pulsed as if a dozen electro-stim pads had been wired up. They still heard the roar of the crowd, Wellesley,  Johnny, and random people rising from all angles.

I survived a big city marathon. I expected to feel overwhelmed by the crowds, but it was just my senses.

Mark, Cheryl, me, Johnny, and the bird that literally just left the frame<3
Thank you for your hospitality!

I was so lucky to meet Johnny's client Dodge just after he managed to ID me struggling through the LONG finish chute.

Managing a "straighten!" for one of the Boston Marathon photogs, but I also just love Edith's face photobombing 2 o' clock.

Chrissy, me, n Edie <3
The best girls to run with.

UPDATED W/ PACER PERSPECT. Friday's to do list: Run

11/06/2016 updated so Courier font represents excerpts of my bests' pacing perspective.

Leading up to the Bear 100, I was wary. The course underwent a change to avoid a very recent fire, John was fighting off bronchitis after Wasatch, and while I was not injured during my taper, my knee would tweak on occasion. I was constantly reminded that anything could happen.

The Bear was a project I've been consciously working on the last three years, and unconsciously since I was in middle school, when I first started running and began the battle of learning to listen to and have respect for my body. To make it to the start line, uninjured, after years of training definitely brought tears to my eyes during that 10 second countdown.

Johnny, me, my ma, and Chrissy at the start. I had planned the cutest running outfit, but fashion quickly went out the window. I went through three pairs of shoes, 3 pairs of socks, and two outfits during the race. I don't know why I bothered exchanging shoes since they would get caked in mud 5 minutes later.

The cold and rainy weather made waiting around at each aid station a little less fun and no matter how many jackets I wore (at one point I had on six layers and one trash bag) I never felt very warm. **Note- I was also sporting a pair of jeans with a large hole on the inner thigh…that could have been the source of the problem. With the constant feeling of being cold and the excitement of seeing my friends on and off for 12 hours I found myself getting ready for a night of pacing without any napping and very little food. But I only had a casual 26 miles to run so I didn’t fret about it.

Or so I thought….

The course was rerouted for the second time the day before the race, so now there was a 3 mile out and back from mile 6 to 12. I had the biggest smile on my face during that stretch, punctuated by laughing sobs, and I entertained myself watching people's faces light up as we crossed paths.

I think the rain started when we started our first climb at mile 12. Honestly, it rained so much during the race that my memory does not register the points where it stopped. Snow coated the mountains flanking that first pass, reminding me that keeping dry would be one of my top priorities. As soon as I got wet, I'd get cold and lose motivation to feed myself. With the forecast, I knew I was bound to get wet--I just needed the delay the steps of that downward spiral as long as possible.

I got to see my mom and Chrissy at mile 21. They told me I was in 8th and I told them I didn't care, so after that the never told me anything.

Jump ahead to mile 44. I was enjoying seeing the trails I'd heard so much about. If I made a to do list, at the top would be Run, then a long list of bihourly appointments to snack. A very wonderful day. I was excited to part ways with my mom and Chrissy at this point because I threw on some tunes, I was going to see John on his way down from Tony Grove (I was approaching the point where the course reversed itself), and I would run with my mom from mile 54.

The climb up to Tony Grove was SLOPPY with mud 4 inches deep. Luckily it wasn't tacky. I braced myself for the 8 mile climb to take me 4 hours. Before I knew it though, there was Johnny, then there was snow, then there was an unexpected mileish descent to the aid station. I saw some friends and their pacers on their way down, and they were all very excited for me. Chrissy said I made it up that climb faster than John and the Hokies, and unbeknownst to me I'd been running in 2nd since around mile 36.

Photo by Gordon Anderson

I asked my mom if she was ready for the dirtiest run of her life, she was game, and off we went. She stuck with me basically the whole time, making sound effects the whole way. I told her to quiet down, but it brought a smile to my face anyway. I apologized to some of the runners on their way up. One of them said, "I like it... louder!" Even when my cleanly little mother slipped right off the trail, covering her whole left side in mud, we kept together smiling and hut-hut-yip-yipping. At the bottom of the descent, I changed shoes and picked up Chrissy.

Hannie came into this aid station much quicker than I expected - which she had been doing all day so one would think I should have been prepared. After a short regrouping, Hannie and I were off into the twilight. The coruse was slick with mud and there was still a steady train of people coming the opposite direction which made sharing the single track not super fun. I started blabbing as we moseyed along through the woods. Hannie didn't talk nearly as much, which was to be expected, but that didn't stop me from making lots of movie references and soaking up some quality time with my best frand. Hannie was moving great on this section and we rolled into the next aid station hooting and hollering.

I was excited to run with Chrissy because we planned to be brave like the Stranger Things kids. I was El because my bib was number 11. Chrissy braided my hair in an upside down French braid that morning, which was my key to the upside down, even though we were NOT going to go there.

At mile 70ish, when we saw my mom, she encouraged us to put on more clothes, but we told her we were way too warm. Boy do mothers know best. Little did I know that this was the last time I was going to feel warm for the next 10 hours. After that aid station we began a forever climb back up into the snow. Around mile 78, that cold I'd been trying to postpone hit hard. Of course, I couldn't eat, but I also started having issues breathing. My breath was rapid and shallow, and it took a lot of focus to keep from panicking. I thought I kept hearing a woman screaming in the distance, but it was just my little wheeze. It sucked to go from running strong this entire way, to being incapable of running the descent out of the snow (get up get DOWN was the closest thing I had to a mantra for this race). I've experienced this shortness of breath during some previous 50s, and now I wonder if I have exercise-induced asthma.

Hannie said she was having trouble getting a full breath of air...which caused a bit of alarm - with 30 miles to go, homegirl had a lot of breathing left to do. Hannie started wheezing rather loudly as we got towards the top and that's when the idea that I was going to be running past mile 85 started making a presence in my mind. 

Mile 75ish was when very uncomfortable cold feelings began to set in. My clothes were soaked through and I was using spare socks as gloves because my fingers were donezo. Hannie wanted a reminder to eat every 25-30 minutes and every time I had to move my fingers to fold up my sleeve and check my watch I wanted to scream.  All our talking pretty much ceased and for miles it was just the sound of the wind and Hannie’s wheezing (which had me in silent constant state of panic that she was having some sort of asthma attack).

 

There was an aid station at the bottom of that descent, mile 83, but we still had 3 miles until we would see my mom and dry clothes again. We developed a plan to simply get hot food at the bottom, then huff it to my mom and take our time getting warm and dry. That mile 83 aid station exceeded expectations. They had a giant torch(some leaf blower looking thing) they pointed at us and gave us trash bag ponchos before they sent us on our way.

We probably spent an hour at the mile 86 aid station. Chrissy expected to be done here, but big lesson learned: never expect to say good bye to your pacers until the finish line. It meant so much to have her with me the rest of the way, since I know she was at least as cold and miserable as I was. We exchanged every article of clothing (except the trash bags), grabbed our new friend Alex and made our way. Alex was in the trailer with us trying to get warm while we exchanged clothes.

With Hannie leading, me in the middle, and Alex at the caboose we started up what was to be the coldest climb of my life to date. Alex and I did the small talk thing about life and running, but the chit chat didn’t last long as the little warmth we gained from the aid station left us. The rain was still coming down hard and the trail was slick mud which made the slightly slanted trail even more of challenge. Again, me not knowing how long this climb was, kept muttering positive expressions to the group about how we are “doing great” and “will be at the top in no time”. Rain turned to snow, mud turned to bone chilling slush, and as we marched on Hannie’s breathing became worse and I could hear Alex sliding around behind me. I kept telling Hannie to eat even though I was too cold to heed my own words. Hannie marched with her hands on her hips which knocked into every branch and bush we walked by flinging snow back at me, but her breathing was more important than my cold face - so I said nothing and we marched on. That 5-mile climb took two hours. I was convinced there was an aid station at the top which had me dreaming warm thoughts during our frozen march.

There was no aid station. 

That final climb was endless and I had no recollection of landmarks near the top. Chrissy and Alex waited for me every time I stopped to catch my pathetic breath. The descent to the final aid station wasn't much easier. A steep, rocky jeep road, and we were in a cloud so thick I couldn't see 5 feet in front of me (I am 5'6"). I was able to descend a little faster than Chrissy and Alex, and she called out to me, "Hannie! It's the upside down!"  Indeed, I looked back through the dark haze, and their headlights were floating like those particles in Stranger Things.

The rest of the race was uneventful. One woman had passed me while we geared up back at the mile 86 aid station, and another passed me while I ate a hash brown at mile 93 aid station. 26 hours and 50 minutes. Good enough for 4th woman. It took about six hours after finishing for my breathing to normalize.

Chrissy and I at the finish. See? Fashion. Not pictured here are the trash bags and surgical gloves we wore to keep warm and dry.

I surprised myself in so many ways.

• My body worked normally: I peed regularly. 
• I never even infinitesimally considered dropping, despite the 60% drop rate. Even when I shivered soup all over myself, I trusted my plan to make things better. 
• I never dreamed of the feasts I would eat upon finishing. All I wanted to do was brush my teeth, take a warm shower, and sleep. 
• I never felt sleepy. 
• I didn't cry at the finish. I was too relieved to be done, and making it to the start was the greater accomplishment.
• The goop I hacked up in the shower was a foot long.

At John's previous hundreds, I would always ogle at the women who finished. I wondered what kind of metamorphosis their minds and bodies had gone through. Now that I've come through the other side of 100 miles, it feels a little different than I imagined.

It's true. My knees and ankles were wicked sore, I couldn't find my ankles anywhere let alone flex them, and the tips of my toes throbbed as if blisters formed from the depths of my bones. Before the race, I savored how lean and prepared my body felt. I'm glad I did, because I did not expect how swollen it would become.

Nothing about my mental state differed initially. After spending one evening in a stupor on my couch, I began to feel like something was going on in there. First of all, I finally understand why people think I'm crazy. In part because the weather was so terrible, but looking through other folks' photos from the day, I realized what a terrible thing I just did to myself. I didn't even notice the beautiful scenery or terrifying weather because of the tunnel vision I adapted to get me through. Running is such a beautiful thing to me, so to realize how grotesque this actually was surprised me.

Photo by Bethany Talbot Draper

But, much like any strange thing we all do to calm ourselves, it brought me so much joy. In addition to understanding that I'm a total weirdo, I feel I've retreated further into understanding myself and farther away from being understood by everyone else. I doubt I'll ever take the time to convince anyone of my sanity or solidarity to myself again. No one except myself can understand why I would run 100 miles. In fact, even the people I hold closest in my heart think I did it to try and be like John or something.

Acknowledgments

• That weather was definitely easier to run through than stand around in. Thanks to all the volunteers who braved that terrible weather, allowed their personal belongings to get trashed, and provided warmth out of their own pockets. 
• My mom and Chrissy made me so happy every time I saw them. They took such great care of me and I am so grateful for their support. 
• Shawn and Trudy came out to crew John. It took a lot of stress off Team Hannie, and it meant a lot to spend some time with them over the weekend. 
• All the Fort Collins, Boulder, and Hokie friendly faces I saw and heard out on the course. 
• Everyone back in the Fort who held down the fort. 
• Everyone out there in the world who might have been tracking me or otherwise thinking of me. 

Time to hunker down, fatten up, and finish my thesis. Running and school are so intertwined for me, so I can't really be proud of myself until both of these projects are done.