Hopkinton to Boston

As I arrived in my corral I remember the feeling of a dry mouth. I remember feeling thirsty.

Odd.

Never happens to me.

I brushed it off as nerves. I was lucky to be the first corral in Wave 2 and as the gun sounded we were off. I kept in the middle and started telling myself to let everyone pass, stay true to your pace and let them go. I felt I was doing well, staying slow and knew immediately my legs were not fresh. They were heavy and I honestly believed I was going very slow. My splits were ridiculous, it was all I could do to try and drag myself above an 8 minute pace. I knew this was too fast and there was nothing I could do.

I kept trying to slow, kept trying to pace better....and just couldn't.

I was hot.

I was thirsty.

This was strange. I took water by Mile 3. SO, not like me.

At mile 7 I realized this was going to be a long day.

My legs were shot.

I took on my first Hammer Gel and more water and continued to try and strip clothing to cool off. As the sun darted behind a cloud or a breezed kicked up I was thankful for a brief cooling.

I can't recall when or where or how, but I had to really get in my head.

I mean REALLY get in my head.

It was all I could do not to quit.

As I passed each pace mat I knew so many were following and supporting me and at each one I tried to draw strength.

I wanted to make them proud.

I wanted to do my best.

There were so many people in the towns and on the streets....but I was in another place. I regret not being able to take in the sights and sounds as much as I would have liked.

I was impressed by the girls at Wellesley but I have to hand it to the crowds at Boston College. They were immense. They were LOUD.

Before I knew it I was approaching Newton and knew the family would be there. It was all I could do to get to them. I spotted Tommy first, then Dad....then Mom, Katie, Lindsey, John and Chris. I stopped to kiss Mom on the cheek and asked her, "Am I done yet?"

By this point Chris encouraged me to dominate the upcoming hills and I let him know, the race was over for me....it was now about finishing. I had let go of the chance of re-qualifying at Boston and all I could think about was trying to survive.

I barely remember Heartbreak Hill.

I just remember telling myself that I could NOT walk the hills.

My right quad cramped, my adductors burned. I'd never felt pain in these muscles before.

My focus had shifted to survival long ago and I started to cherish the people. I ran passed the Hoyt team, passed a man pulling his oxygen tanks in a cart, passed the amputee runner, passed the soldiers. I stopped to shake each soldiers hand and say Thank You. I stopped and congratulated the amputee and told her she was amazing. I stopped to help a woman stretch her cramping calf.

I couldn't be the runner I wanted this day so I tried to be the person I want to be.

There is a lot of blur as I was light headed early on and as I was forced to walk now and then I looked down, ashamed of myself and disappointed in my run and sadly I missed so much.

I had no clue if I would see my family again before the finish and just tried my best to get to Boylston.

"Right on Hereford, Left on Boylston"

I turned the corner and saw the finish and decided to see if I had anything left. Surprisingly my legs had a little to give.

However, with each push my calves threatened me....."push any harder and you'll be sorry".

I did what I could, and having not looked at my Garmin since mile 10 I had no idea my pace, my time, not a clue.

As I crossed the line I could hardly even lift my arms in victory. I did not feel like a winner and I was crushed to see I had gone beyond my "worse case scenario" goal. I was light-headed and cramping and stumbled my way to the family area....only to find they were not there.

I sat on the curb and melted a pile and the tears began.

This was not the race I hoped. It was not my day. I can't say I have regrets. Afterall, I did it. I took the challenge and hard as the course tried to beat me....it did not defeat me.

I'm melancholy now.

Not sure I'm a runner.

Not sure what I'm doing.