My good friend Melanie convinced me to go back to Boston in 2014. Although I had always thought that Boston would be a one time thing, I decided to go back and get that finish line celebration that was taken away from me. Months of training began. Long runs, speed work, painful physical therapy. The work was done, the hay was in the barn. Marathon weekend finally arrived. John stayed home with the kids this year as both were still upset by the events from the previous year. My friend Lauren traveled with me and we were going to be meeting up with our friend Karen who lives near Boston, as well as my friend John Geissinger and his family.
The city opened its arms to the runners, all who were determined and ready for this race. Boston Strong was everywhere, you could feel it. The excitement was electrifying. We spent Saturday at the expo, picking up our Runners Passports and getting our coveted bib numbers. We find a local seafood restaurant & bar and have a wonderful and fun-filled evening. Sunday morning rolls around and when I get up, I notice a slight cramping in my stomach. I go down and try to eat some breakfast, but the feeling does not go away. I had planned on doing a 2 mile shakeout run, so John and I leave for a run through Cambridge. I complete the 2 miles, but the cramping remains. Eventually it comes on stronger, so Lauren and I decide to walk a block to the pharmacy. I get some stomach medicine, sure that this will do the trick. I spend a majority of the afternoon in the hotel room, curled up in the fetal position. When I try to walk, my stomach is cramped so badly that I can't even stand up straight all the way. I start having race day doubts creep into my mind, but I try to push them back. I will be fine. I'm always fine. Karen arrives at the hotel and we leave for the Red Sox game.
I am trying to stand in a hot and crowded train heading to the game, and honestly thought that I was going to pass out at one point. We find our seats at the game and I sit down, doubled over and wait for the game to begin. The pre-game ceremony is a beautiful tribute to honor the victims, the survivors, and the volunteers. As I watch, I can't help it as the tears stream down my face. Everything surfaces. The memories from last year, the sense of loss I feel for the victims and families of the victims, and the physical pain I was currently feeling. John asks if I'm feeling better, but I can't respond. He tells me not to worry about the race, everything will be fine. After awhile, I tell Karen and Lauren that I need to go, so we leave the game early. John and I decide on a meeting time for race morning and we part ways. We make it back to the hotel and I immediately lay down, but Lauren encourages me to go ahead and get my race things together. I muster up the energy and can't help but think that there is no way I will be able to run in the morning, it's 9pm and I still can't even stand up straight. I pack my things and we go to bed. Laying there in the dark, Lauren and Karen make me promise that I will be careful in the morning, that I listen to my body and not hurt myself. I try to get comfortable, but have a fitful night's sleep. My alarm goes off at 5:30 and much to my dismay, my stomach is still cramped - although much less than it was the previous day. I get dressed, take some more stomach medicine, grab a bagel and banana to go. Karen takes John and I to the bus and we begin the drive to Hopkinton. I am trying not to sit doubled over, but find that it relieves the pain a bit. I force myself to eat the banana, but can only manage a couple of bites of the bagel. As time goes by, the pain begins to subside. I try to come up with a run plan and decide that I will just listen to my body and run a comfortable pace. I am not very confident, knowing how detrimental it is that I wasn't able to eat anything the day before. John leaves for his 10:25 start feeling confident, excited, and nervous. I feel none of those things. I make my way to the start with Lisa (another runner from Austin) and I line up in my corral. The gun goes off and we begin the race. The crowds are amazing, lining the streets on both sides yelling things like "thank you" and "Boston Strong" and "great pace!"
The beginning part of the course is predominately downhill, so it is a fast section. My first mile split is 8:05, so I remind myself to slow down. Next splits are 8:07, 8:07, 8:09. My legs are feeling pretty good, I'm not pushing too hard. It's a little warmer than we were hoping, but it's far from being Texas hot. I have an 8:10 split for Mile 5 and I take a gel as I had been training with them every 5 or so miles. By mile 7, my legs are starting to feel sluggish which is definitely abnormal for me that early on. Miles 8 and 9, I've gone from sluggish to struggling. My heart rate has increased and my pace has dropped to 8:29. One foot in front of the other. I hear the voice in my head saying "You can do this. You can do anything you set your mind to." And I also hear Lauren and Karen in the back of my mind reminding me of the promise I made. My pace drops to 8:48. I feel it all slipping away. I know that I physically can not make it another 16 miles. I have to stop. Most endurance athletes fear running out of gas. My fear is not finishing what I start. My tank was empty before I started, the cards were stacked against me at the starting line. I had hoped that I could run 26.2 miles on sheer determination, but it proved to be not enough this time. I have never DNF'd in my life and it is a hard pill to swallow. I know too well how to push through discomfort and pain, but there is a difference between that and what I was experiencing during this race. It may have taken me years, but I have finally learned to listen to my body. I have such loving and supportive friends who have offered me condolences and amazing words of encouragement. My husband John sent me a text that said "I know it sucks, but THANK YOU for stopping. ❤❤." No matter how difficult it is for me to accept it, I know I did the right thing.
And I also know that I will run Boston again. I don't know when, but I know with all my heart that I will have that finish line celebration on Boylston Street. I'm determined.
