There’s a joke where you ask, “how do you know if someone is a marathoner?”
The answer: “don’t worry. They’ll tell you.”
This is a reflection of my experiencing running the Boston Marathon. As much as I soaked up the entire day, I feel obligated to write down the experience so it doesn’t fade from memory.
THE BIG PICTURE
In case you hop into this recap with out knowing much about the race, I’ll start with the context. The Boston Marathon is the most prestigious marathon in the world. It’s been run over 125 years and is the loftiest goal for any serious long-distance runner. It’s a one-way course, starting 26.2 miles outside the city in a town called Hopkinton. It meanders through seven different communities before arriving in downtown Boston. Patriot’s Day, the date of the traditional running of the Boston Marathon, takes place the third Monday in April. Local kids are off school for Spring Break and the Red Sox usually have a game that starts in the late morning. It’s an unofficial holiday in the region, meaning tens of thousands of spectators line the course.
Boston is best known most for its qualifying standards. With nearly all marathons, you simply register or win a registration lottery to participate. With Boston, however, unless you connect with a local charity to raise money for them, the only way to get a race bib is to earn it. I’d suggest that this creates the attractiveness of the race. In recent years, as more people have applied, qualifying standards have become even more daunting.
Even though I’m a solid runner now, I had to train extensively to earn a qualifying time back in fall 2019 in Indianapolis. I tell people that qualifying for Boston was the most challenging physical feat I ever performed.
Running Boston is a bucket list for any marathoner and that’s why it meant so much to me.
DAYS BEFORE THE RACE
Unfortunately, Patriot’s Day coincided with Easter weekend this year. As a result, the ladies didn’t accompany me and I went solo. Navigating around the city during the marathon is challenging enough so, while I missed their presence, it was probably best they couldn’t attend. They both thoughtfully made me encouragement notes.
I flew into Boston on Friday afternoon. There’s a free bus into the city from the airport that dropped of just 300 yards from my hotel. The bus was packed with runners and their families but, beyond the shoulder-to-shoulder ride, it was rather convenient. I ended up guiding a family from Indianapolis to our hotel.
My plan for the weekend was to hit up the Expo on Saturday (the day when I would do the majority of walking), and take it easy on Sunday before the Monday race. I still went out for a walk Friday evening (about 4-5 miles) just to keep moving.
I could tell then that my right foot was going to be problematic. The week of the race, I overexerted myself but didn’t think it would matter. I was wrong. By Saturday morning, I could tell that I was hurt. I self-diagnosed a slight case of bursitis in my heel. I’m pretty sure walking almost ten miles on Saturday didn’t help, but the adrenaline of the weekend was starting to kick in.
My hotel was closer to the harbor, about 2.5 miles from the finish line. I had to pass by the end of the course on the way to the Expo so I finally got to see Boylston Street set up for the finish. I couldn’t stop grinning. I had a random family take my picture at the finish line. Even though I arrived at the Expo fairly early on Saturday, the crowds were crazy. Picking up my packet was easy while buying licensed gear was chaotic. Hundreds of people were crammed into the tightest of spaces.
Here I’ll offer my biggest complaint about this whole experience: the gear Adidas made for this year’s marathon was lackluster. I desperately wanted a traditional blue/yellow Boston shirt/jacket. Yet this year, they decided to use light purple and florescent green as accent colors; there was nothing with just the iconic Boston colors. I’ll eventually get over this but I think I’ll always be somewhat bitter that these marketing gurus couldn’t get this one thing right.
I still bought a few shirts.
I took the scenic walk back to the hotel but by the time I made it back in the mid-afternoon, my foot was in serious pain. I stopped by a Trader Joe’s, bought some food, and hunkered down for the night. I was planning on going to a local church for Easter services, but shifted to watch our Echo Church services online instead. I spent all Easter Sunday nervous about the next day. Ultimately, I knew nothing was going to keep me from finishing, but I was unsure of what I could accomplish on a bad foot.
RACE MORNING
I slept well Sunday night. I woke up at 5am (normal for me on marathon days) and was out the door at 6:30. It was about a 45 minute walk to get to the location of the bus pick-up in Boston Common. I did research about all this process but the only thing I overlooked was bag drop off. When I’m running the Flying Pig in Cincinnati, I never drop off a bag. But here I knew I’d need supplies post-race so I prepared one. While I assumed the bag drop off would be right with the buses, it was actually a couple of blocks further away. I wasn’t sweating it. My bus slot was 7:30 and my start time was 10:25. I thought I’d be fine. But the buses were late. And then, when we finally started driving, our bus driver got lost on the way out to Hopkinton.
I thought the delay was odd. While we were waiting, a guy next to me told a story about the previous year, when his bus got lost. Then, when another lost bus arrived, some of the people there were telling stories about lost buses in years prior. I found it fascinating that organizers would help the bus drivers with specific directions.
Even though we made it to Hopkinton just15 minutes late, the bus dropped us off on the opposite side of town. I had to walk another 1.5 miles on my bad foot just to get to the check-in center.
They also advertised that their would be food at the check-in center. While there were porto-potties and water/Gatorade, I couldn’t find any food at all. Since I last ate at 6:15, I was nervous that I would be under fueled for the run. That, plus my foot, made me a bit nervous.
They called my group and I walked back into town to my starting corral. At this point, I recognized the area surrounding the starting line. It was so familiar to me after years of watching Boston starts on the television.
I hadn’t run since Wednesday, so I was unsure how my foot would react. But I really didn’t care. I was standing at the most famous starting line in all of running. It was sunny and the weather was in the high 40’s/low 50’s. I had this.
THE PLAN
Since this was my 25th marathon, I had a pretty detailed plan set out.
1. Remember the big picture. I already registered to run the Flying Pig marathon in two weeks; it’ll be my 12th in a row, so I want to keep that streak. I trained well in January and February, but my training waned in recent weeks. An unusually hectic travel season meant I missed a couple of long runs so I wouldn’t have the stamina to run two fast races within two weeks. So I decided to set a realistic goal of a sub-four hour race.
2. Start out slow. This is something that everyone advises about Boston. The course has an overall elevation drop and the first few miles of the race are almost entirely downhill. The temptation is to start fast. Having done so in multiple marathons, and knowing how it can hurt you at the end of a race, I repeatedly reminded myself to watch my pace in the first five kilometers.
3. Take the Newton Hills. At mile 16, there are a series of four hills, culminating in the historic Heartbreak Hill. Since I run in Cincinnati, I’m practically a maestro of running hills. More than anything, I vowed to take every hill without walking.
4. Soak it in. While I might make it back to this starting line some day, this could be the only time I run Boston. Just in case, I would focus more on the experience than my finishing time.
THE RACE (BEGINNING)
I had a solid qualifying time for my age, so I was near the front of the second wave out. At the gun, I just started running. I mentioned that it was downhill from the start, so I struggled to gauge how my foot was holding up. I was able to run on it without pain, only slight discomfort.
My biggest concern was the pace. My running watch can sometimes be off, but I kept looking down to see that the pace was far too fast for me. Additionally, it’s an incredibly tight course at the beginning. I was hit multiple times by people trying to fly past me. I essentially had to tuck my arms in for the first couple of miles to avoid getting hit. I would nestle in behind someone going slower but, when they saw the crowd around them, they’d speed up. I knew I had to find my own pace.
I pushed over to the far right side of the road, where the asphalt would turn to gravel and dirt. Out of Hopkinton, it’s a bit more rural so there were few spectators on the edge. Despite this far right position, there were still people flying past me on the outside. It stayed like this for almost the first ten miles of the race. Even though it was slightly distressing, seeing so many people fly past me, I was still confident in my strategy.
I mentioned my lack of food but, fortunately, there were random spectators handing out things like oranges slices and licorice sticks. For the first part of the race, I ate anything anyone handed me. Days later, I haven’t felt food poisoning, so chalk about another victory for me.
After those earliest miles, as I kept my turtle pace, I found myself close to the spectators. So many kids had their hands extended for high-fives but my group was pushing hard and didn’t seem interested in engaging with the crowd. Since I was slower, and occupied the edge, I started giving high-fives to everyone with an outstretched hand. Without a doubt, I have never hit hands with more people in my life. It’s tough to give a high-five during a race, especially to kids; you don’t want to hurt them, so you just let your hand glide by behind you. I cherished there enthusiasm. And in the middle of all this, I got to see Spencer, the official dog of the marathon.
I don’t remember much more about the start of the race. I was trying to stay calm, encourage the crowds as they were encouraging me, and maintain a steady pace. Even through mile ten I thought I was going too fast. Eventually, I remembered that my foot had been hurt, but it was holding up well. I knew that I could finish the race, even if my goal of sub-four hour run wouldn’t materialize.
THE RACE (MIDDLE)
Approaching the halfway, I felt confident. I could tell I trained sufficiently enough. Before the race, I had memorized the order of the towns on the way in (Ashland, Framingham, Natick) so I’d check them off my mental list every time I hit the town limits. I was still giving high-fives as I entered into Wellesley and started to hear a roar.
Wellesley College is an all-girls school and they’re known for their scream tunnel, as the students line up to yell at the top of their lungs. It’s also known as a spot where runners occasionally stop for a kiss from a student; many even had signs requesting a kiss. Being happily married (and also questioning the tradition in an era of #MeToo), I felt the high-fives were a sufficient exchange.
Up ahead was the town of Newton, the aforementioned location of the hills. Knowing the challenge that loomed ahead at mile 16, I spent miles 14-16 trying to slow down my pace. Here the course starts to descend before the hills, so slowing down was more challenging than I anticipated. As runners started flying past me, I prepared myself for the enjoyable hill run in my running career.
The first hill is a long one. I attacked it with vigor, perhaps even speeding up from my standard pace. As I neared the top of the hill, I started passing a couple of walkers. I nailed it.
The second hill was forgettable. Apparently it was steeper than the first, but I’m not sure I could tell. I pushed through this too, and the amount of walkers increased. After cresting, I first felt fatigued. I mentally prepared myself that the third hill would be the most challenging. I was only halfway through the hills, and I needed enough in the tank to still take Heartbreak.
Predictably, my pace slowed for the third hill. I never stopped running, but gravity started pulling at me. This was the hill where the walking of my fellow marathoners was most noticeable. Since everyone knew Heartbreak was ahead, those who were exhausted took the opportunity to walk. I felt like a snail but I still passed people.
Finally, I found myself at the foot of Heartbreak Hill. It might have been the easiest of the four, if not for its length (half a mile), its location on the course (twenty miles in), and the fact that there were three hills right before it. Knowing this is the hill run of my life, I pushed with everything I had Very few people were walking here, buoyed by the crowds who fully understood the meaning of this moment. It was so loud. They begged runners not to give up.
There’s a banner hovering over the street at the top of the hill. That became my sole focus. Eyes fixed, head up (the key to hill running), I pressed toward the top. I was actually passed a couple of times here by other runners feeding off adrenaline.
At the top, I briefly lifted my hands in triumph, knowing that one of my goals was achieved. I took the hills.
THE RACE (END)
After the peak at Heartbreak, I used the slight downhill period to rest. But at the hill’s crest, I immediately felt a fierce wind in my face. There was a strong headwind coming from the city that made a pleasant fifty degree day feel cool; the wind was a wall slowing me down. I didn’t care much for this win and, when combined with the exhaustion, I knew these last five miles would be an absolute grind. I had little left in the tank. Missing out on some long training runs in March cost me here.
To cope, I used the following water stops to take a breather. Early in the race, I was drinking only Gatorade to try to build up carbs. At the end, I was thirsty and drank 2-3 cups of water every stop. At the end of each water line, I’d walk while drinking two cups. When I was finished, I’d start running again.
Moving from Brookline into Boston, the crowds began to grow. People started seeing my name on my race bib and encouraging me by name. While I spent the first part of the race trying to inspire spectators with high-fives, I spent the final part of the race feeding off their energy. I never had such an experience in my previous marathons. I took out my headphones so I could fully hear the crowds.
I was planning on skipping the water stop at mile 23 but I was so thirsty. I knew I needed one more stop. As I took my waters and walked it out, there were four college guys who implored me to run.
They yelled, ”you got this! You don’t need to walk!”
I responded, “last water stop, boys. I’m onto the finish line.”
I gulped my water, tossed the cups, and started running again. The four of them yelled “STEVE” as I ran off. I gave them a thumbs up in the air.
The iconic Citgo gas sign was finally in my sights. I knew Fenway Park was right next to it, so I finally felt close. On previous visits to Boston before, I’ve been in this Kenmore Square area so I started recognizing streets and landmarks.
One Commonwealth Avenue, I saw the “one mile to go” sign. Looking at my watch, I knew I’d hit a sub-four hour race (actually sub-3:50) so I actually slowed down. This is counterintuitive for marathon runners, and I started getting passed a lot. But I couldn’t care less. This was the finish I dreamed about for years and I was content to live in the moment instead of worrying about the clock. I knew I executed my race plan.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
I made the two most iconic turns in marathon lore: right on Hereford, left on Boylston. I could finally see the finish line and felt the energy from the crowd assembled along the course. I was exhausted so my focus on pushing through almost kept me from absorbing the moment. A few tenths of a mile out, I through up my arms and kept my thumbs up. The crowd was boisterous and they carried me home.
My finish was 3 hours, 48 minutes, 17 seconds.
I finished in the bottom 30% of male participants and in the bottom 25% of my age group. Percentage wise, that’s probably the worst I’ve ever performed, even though it was my 11th fastest marathon. But I laugh at those stats. I really can’t be bothered. I have a Boston finisher medal.
IN THE END
It was obviously an unforgettable day. Every marathon is challenging, but the suffering was most enjoyable.
At the moment, I don’t see myself trying to qualify again any time soon. I proved to myself that I could do it and, frankly, I don’t feel motivated to try. I’ll keep running the Flying Pig every year, and might try a few more when the kid graduates high school, but I’ll hold off until I age into a new qualifying bracket. If I can stay in shape, I won’t have to attain such a low qualifying time.
Now, I look forward to new challenges designed to keep me from complacency. Don’t worry; I’ll tell you.
