Julie’s Boston 2013 Race Report

We all know how Boston ended yesterday.  Originally, I planned to write a quirky race report about my sixth Boston marathon on April 15th--how I spent a winter torturing my running partner, Felix, to run hundreds of laps around King Farm Park with me in morning darkness in an effort to end my streak of flat lining at Mile 23; how my Montgomery County Road Runners Club (MCRRC) training group came together to successfully coach ourselves under the name Broderick to Boston in memory of our beloved coach Mike Broderick; and how I fought off the voice of negativity in my quest to redeem myself after running last year’s Boston with a chilly towel around my neck in 85 degree heat.  I wish more than anything that I could write that race report, but I can’t because my sixth Boston culminated with the detonation of two bombs at one of the happiest places on earth--the Boston Marathon finish line.

The events leading up to the race did not disappoint this year.  Between meeting Dick Hoyt with Coach Lisa at the expo and belting out Sweet Caroline at Fenway in seats just a few rows behind home plate with my wonderful family, I enjoyed a perfect Boston day before another perfect Boston day--Marathon Monday, a day that is so much more about spectating than running, as what makes this race so special is not the course itself, but the spectators eager to greet thousands of runners streaming through each town with deafening cheers, kisses, beers, massages and beautiful children eager to give high fives to every runner who will to take a moment to do so. 
 

The pre-dawn school bus ride to Hopkinton with my fellow MCRRC runners the following morning was, as always, eerily similar to a bus filled with middle schoolers--plenty of laughter, raunchy jokes, and complaints of people needing to pee after drinking volumes of Gatorade en route.  We all remarked that the 85 degree temperature run last year, which, we affectionately referred to as the Boston Massacre, was a distant memory, and that unlike last year, this race was going to be a superb opportunity for a personal record.

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My biggest concern, like everyone else, was whether I would bomb my race.   That word has now been erased from my vocabulary as a means to describe a race performance.  With my Sandy Hook baseball hat in tow, I walked to the start line prepared to dedicate my 26 miles to the 26 victims of the Newtown tragedy without knowledge that yet another tragedy would occur that day.

 

Using my time from last year’s Boston, I was assigned to the third wave start at 10:40 armed with my own pacer, my friend Ken, a 2:40 marathoner who generously offered to pace me to hopefully a new personal record, while selflessly foregoing the opportunity to set his own personal record on a glorious day.  The gun went off and we calmly began our journey from Hopkinton to Boston.  My breathing was a bit off, but I remained calm and repeated my mantra, “Believe you can.”  By mile 8, I was believing I couldn’t.  Ken could tell I was dragging, and my thoughts wandered to leaving the course and calling it a day.  I got myself together and kept going hoping that these negative feelings would disappear.  They didn’t, and by mile 13, I knew I would not meet my expectations that day.  I adjusted my goal, moved forward and focused on taking in the moments--seeing my husband and children along the course with their “run like a mutha” sign , my supportive friends and family all over the country tracking me online, and--my legs--how lucky I was to be out there running on a course that so many will never have the opportunity to experience.  I crossed the finish line at approximately 2:15 pm.  My time--3:28--about 10 minutes off my goal, but well within the qualifying time I needed to return next year, and at that moment, while still hyperventilating with my quads screaming, I couldn’t wait to return in 2014.

 

 

 

After receiving my medal and my drop bag, I made my way to the local watering hole, Fire and Ice, a few blocks away from the finish line, to meet my fellow MCRRC runners.  Just minutes after entering the bar, reports of a bombing at the finish line began to materialize.  CNN images on television were horrifying, and cell reception was non-existent.  A nightmare was unfolding before us just blocks away as we remained inside confused, shaken to the core, and eager to find our fellow runners who had not yet arrived.  Thanks to Facebook, all runners in our MCRRC family were accounted for within a relatively short period of time.  Nonetheless, we are all family out there--spectators and runners alike--and members of our Boston family suddenly became victims of an unspeakable tragedy that instantly turned the finish line into a crime scene.

 

As we all grapple with this unfathomable act of terror,  I find solace, like so many, in the reports detailing what occurred within moments of the blast.  First responders, race volunteers, and bystanders exhibited extraordinary courage in response to the horrifying scene, while runners, exhausted from running 26.2, ran to nearby hospitals to give blood. The resilience and strength of the great people of Boston and the running community immediately surfaced in the midst of chaos and devastation at one of the most celebrated sporting events in the world.  

The people of Boston are defiant--they will rise above the chaos, and, like thousands of other runners, I am undeterred and eager to proudly cross that finish line next April.  As runners, we lost a part of our innocence yesterday, but we have not lost our determination, our deep appreciation for the great people of Boston and our love of crossing the finish line at the holy grail of running-the Boston Marathon.  See you next year, Beantown, and until then, stand tall and know that runnahs all over the world are with you.

Coach Julie's 2012 Boston Marathon Report

For the past several years, Coach Julie and Coach Lisa have experienced the Boston Marathon together, capping off our version of a Girls' Weekend with a 26.2 mile run along one of the most renown and historic race courses in the world. This year the experience brought us some important insights into why we love to run. Here, in Coach Julie's words:

For most marathoners, the Boston Marathon is the holy grail of running. To run Boston, you must qualify, and to qualify, you must run a fast marathon. No exceptions. For that reason, runners throughout the world, inlcuding me, relish the opportunity to run the magical 26.2 journey from Hopinkton to Boylston Street. on Patriot's Day. The course, while beautiful and steeped in tradition, is challenging, to say the least. A net downhill first half, combined with a hilly second half, produces disastrous results for runners who fail to respect the elevation and terrain. Nonetheless, with the right training, the course is generally kind to those who execute a race plan that includes running conservatively for the first few downhill miles to preserve the quads for the last tough few miles of the race.

Each year at Boston, I've set a personal record on the course, but this year, in particular, I was intent to run the course in 3:15. I knew I had it in me, and with the big 4-0 looming this year. I thought this would be a great way to close out a decade of marathoning and my fifth Boston Marathon. Like so many other Boston-qualified runners, I started preparing for race day in mid-January. I logged more early morning miles than ever, pounded the track with unprecedented workouts, and plodded through miles of marathon pace (MP) miles to prepare for race day. My training was brutal at times, but rewarding nonetheless. I enjoyed the predicatibility, the feeling of completing a seemingly impossible workout at 5am before most are out of bed, and seeing improvements in my fitness as a result. As I started to taper toward race day, I was ready and excited to tackle the course and achieve my goal.

Unfortunately, springtime weather in Boston is unpredictable and can hinder the performances of even the most elite runners. Although temperatures on race day are typically cool and ideal for running, gusty headwinds and unseasonably warm temperatures are not uncommon. The forecast for Patriot's Day 2012 was beyond unusual--it was downright scary--78 at the start and 88 at the finish with some blazing sun added to the mix. It's a disastrous forecast for any large outdoor event, let alone a marathon comprised of runners who trained thoughout the winter in colder tempatures without any acclimation to the heat.

To their credit, the Boston Athletic Association (BAA) issued mutliple warnings to runners leading up to race day and even provided runners the opportunity to defer their race entries to 2013-an unprecendented move in the marathon's 116-year history. Marathoners are tough, though, and not many even considered deferring, and although I admit that I considered it for a moment, I decided that I would rather race the course on a bad day than not race at all. Like so many others, I fretted about how to tackle the race. How would I adjust my pace for the heat when I wasn't even acclimated to the heat? My race goal was no longer about time, as much as it was about finishing strong without injury--not quite the Boston I anticipated when I started training in January.

The weather weighed heavily on all of us as we gathered in Hopkinton on race morning, and unlike my previous Hopkinton experiences, no one seemed pumped to race. In fact, the BAA seemed to choose a lot of seemingly calming music to pipe through the music system, instead of its usual heavy metal music that's intended to energize the runners before the start. Clearly, the BAA was doing everything possible to encourage us not to race the course. As the clock approached the start time of the first wave at 10am, I noticed that I was sweating already, and I wasn't even moving! I knew this would be tough. Twenty minutes before the start in my futile attempts to control the situation, I placed ice packs on my back and core, tied a goofy Chilly Towel around my neck, and stuck a visor on my head to shield myself from the blazing sun I was about to run toward for the next few hours.

The gun went off, and I started running 15 seconds slower than my originally projected marathon pace. I felt okay and almost a bit confident. Maybe I could do this. By mile 2, I was sweating hard, and I knew any thoughts of slowing down slightly were out the window. If I wanted to finish this race, I would have to slow down significantly and respect the heat. I grabbed ice along the course, poured water on my head at every stop, and, of course, consumed electrolytes along the way. I took salt tablets every hour, a GU every 45 minutes, and hoped that my ad hoc nutrition and race plan would work. As I approached Wellesley, the screams of the girls were deafening, yet, in spite of the levity around me, I was not in a good place. I was still going too fast. I was way too tired, and I had a tough remaining half-marathon to go. I knew I had to leave my ego in Wellesley and forget about my pace. I recognized that, in spite of my fitness, I was not acclimated to the heat at all, and to finish, I had to run even slower.

For the remainder of the race, I measured my pace by my breathing only. If I started to breath heavily, I slowed myself down. I did not look at the others around me. I did not try to pass anyone. I tried to enjoy the course as much as I could, while focusing on my nutrition, hydration, and salt intake. I drew on my training, and knew that I would finish strong if I stayed steady. I thought of my kids and how I could use this experience to inspire (or lecture) them to keep going. I tackled Heartbreak Hill, and then, I knew I had a mere five tough miles to go. The temperature reflected on the clock--88 degrees.

Thankfully, my friend, Jenny, jumped in with me at mile 21. Originally, she was planning on running 7:20s with me for the last five miles to help me achieve my 3:15. Little did we realize that she would instead be running 8:30s with me, which is typically a slow training run for me, while I desperately tried to stay with her. I looked at my watch, and knew if I kept that pace, I would re-qualify the following year, thanks to my upcoming 40th birthday. We ran, I poured water, I drank Gatorade, I shoved ice in my clothes, and she kept me on track.

As I turned the corner on Boylston toward the finish line, I knew I was about to complete the hottest Boston Marathon in recent history and re-qualify for next year. Although it was not the PR I set out to attain in January, it was pretty epic, and a great story for years to come.

Congratulations to all Boston Marathoners who gutted it out on that course yesterday. Enjoy your ice bath and here's to a cooler 2013!