Yeah… Boston Baby, Boston …Yeah!!!

 It’s what the crowd screams, after the crest of the last Newton hill at mile 20 during the marathon that all marathoners look forward to running, Boston .  It’s referred to here simply as, “The Marathon” and for good reason, the city and surrounding area come alive with half a million enthusiastic spectators lining the streets to see the runners converge on the city from rural Hopkinton. 

Mine is a story like so many runners who make the pilgrimage to see what they’ve got and to run in the footsteps of the greats like Boston Bill, Greta Weitz, Robert K Cheruiyot, John E Kelly, and so on.  The race is more of a celebration than a contest for the masses who run these rolling New England streets.  It’s a chance to rub shoulders with others who have reached the goal of qualifying for the oldest annual marathon on the planet.  For some it takes years and many attempts to qualify, and for others, it happens after the first time they run a marathon, but for all, the prize lies at the finish on Boylston St .

Getting to the starting line

The day began early, my alarm sounds at 4:31am, and by that time I was already awake and rolling in my bed filled with anxiety.  I was ready.  Ready to get to the line and get the race started.  My job was to put a cap on the emotions and be patient as my wave did not start until 10am.  I got dressed and said good bye to my family and made my way to the train.  First, there was a five minute shuttle, then a 25 minute train ride to a friend’s hotel, another 5 minute train ride, all before we could even catch the buses that shuttle us to the athletes’ village.  We spent nearly another hour in transit on the buses, arriving at athletes’ village around quarter to nine.  Since this was not my first point-to-point marathon, I was prepared for the distance we were traveling to the starting line.  On the ride over, we joked with each other, discussed our goals for the race, and kept conversation light.  I focused on getting hydrated, finishing off a gallon of water that I brought.  At athletes’ village the lines were very long for port-o-lets, and we stood waiting for over half and hour.  By the time the call for the first wave at 9:30 came, the masses were moving toward the start, which was another mile or more of walking.  I checked my bag to be retrieved in Boston , then gave my friend and training partner Jess a hug and headed to the starting coral.  By the time I reached the coral, I had covered about 5 miles on foot already that day, and I was concerned that my legs would be zapped.  The only downside of the entire day was now behind me, and it proved to be a lifting experience from the race start up to my final moments as I laid my head to sleep.        

The Marathon

Following an F-18 flyby, the gun sounds and the crowds begin to cheer as the elite runners quickly sprint off out of sight.  I was tucked nicely in the 2^nd of 26 corals, and reached the starting line in about 50 seconds.  I started my watch and headed off with the flow of runners trudging downhill through Hopkinton in the narrowest start in major marathons.  My bib number was 2630, based on an old qualifying time from over a year back, so there was roughly 2500 runners jam packed in front of me.  My goal was to run mile 1 in 6:15 to open the day with a comfortably pace, but it wasn’t to be.  There were simply too many runners in my way and mile 1 was about 20 seconds slower.  Over the next 2 miles I carved out the space I needed and by mile three was back on pace at 18:45.  The wind was blowing steady in our face for the entire point-to-point race, so my strategy was to run behind the biggest group of runners I could see until it was time to go by them.  I went through mile 10 in about 1:03:10 exactly where I wanted to be, but by this point the field was coming back to me so my wind shields were much harder to find.  I met a few runners that appeared to by moving at my goal pace of 6:15 just before the wall of sound at Wellesley College , which I could hear from a mile away.  As we got there, I noticed signs that read, “Kiss Me” so I took a couple of the girls up on their offer and went back to work.  The advice I’d received about the course was that the halfway point was a time to conserve energy for the hills to come.  By mile 16 we entered Newton in a near single file line, with an occasional pair of runner shoulder to shoulder.  The early pace had left thousands of runners who had pressed too early or gotten caught up in the excitement cramping and falling back.  I was feeling fine and taking in fluids and carbohydrates from my flask, even with cool temps in the upper 40’s I knew the pace would require the right nutrition.  For all they are made out to be, the Newton hills are not too challenging.  However, they are about a half mile each and they are consecutive.  The first of the Newton hills is in my opinion the most difficult, the second and third I can’t even remember, and so comes Heartbreak Hill.  I approached Heartbreak with my head on a swivel, as I was looking for my family who would be waiting there to see me go by.  Just after the 20 mile marker, halfway up the most famed hill in all of marathon running, I spotted my son Nicolas jumping and shouting with excitement.  I don’t remember ever feeling that emotional competing a sporting event.  For the 30 or 40 meters that I climbed with them in my sights, I was lifted.  I yelled, “I love you guys” blew them a kiss and finished the climb with tears streaming down my face and a smile from ear to ear.  It was at the top of Heartbreak that I heard it for the first time, “Yeah… Boston Baby, Boston …Yeah”.  Over the last 35 or 40 minutes it became my mantra.  The rest of the race seemed to be downhill and there was 10 to 20 meters between runners as we careened downhill passing through Boston College .  Each step my muscles tightened as they will during the closing miles of a marathon, and I was thankful at this point that the hydration and nutrition had gone down well earlier in my run.  I was running very gingerly by this point with hopes that my muscles would not cramp and those who have run a marathon know, at any given step, your legs could shut down.  I don’t remember trying to pick up my pace or make a final push, my goal time was no longer important, but rather soaking up the crowd support was my focus.  As a Mizuno employee, I was clad from head to toe in branded racing gear, and so the cheers came from the crowd, “Go Mizuno”.  Mile 24, the CITGO sign became visible, and the cheers from the lined streets intensified.  Mile 25, Fenway Park and I felt the finish approaching.  My legs were shot and as in other marathons, I believe my mind got me to the finish from there to the end.  I saw a sign that read 1 mile, I glanced at my watch, not sure why, but rationalized that it would be only about 6 minutes left to the finish and I pressed on.  As I made the left turn onto Boylston St , the crowd was going crazy.  I only remember hearing 1 man during the final 600 meters.  His words separated from the chaos of 10’s of thousands, “there it is guys, go and get it”.  And so I did. 

Yeah… Boston Baby, Boston …Yeah!!!

2:45:00 -- Overall #278

Special Thanks to Mizuno USA, Tri Running-Lafayette, and most of all to my parents George and Barbara and son Nicolas.