Boston Marathon factoid: there are nine Dunkin Donuts on the race course itself.
I never thought I'd see myself in the Boston Marathon. I'd run one marathon at the beginning of 2004, and came in just shy of four hours. Pleased with myself, for sure, but impressed that the Boston qualifying time for women my age was about 30 seconds per mile quicker than I'd just done. Cutting off 30 seconds a mile! For every one of 26 miles!!
Ace qualified for Boston in winter of 2004, so could have gone to the 2005 or the 2006 running. He trained in a hurry last year to squeeze it in to a schedule of lots of other events, and ended up with some real problems. Tight IT band, stress fracture, I forget. The marathon was kind enough to give him a medical deferral so he could pace himself better and race the following year.
By then we were dating, and a tickle in the back of my brain was wondering, "What if?" Could I do it? If I were ever to try for it, wouldn't it be a bonus if I could qualify somewhere that would let me go along with Ace, not just to participate, but to race along with him? Ace was all for it, and seemed convinced I could do it.
In my mind it was a very long shot, but still it was a motivational goal, since even thinking about it required really reaching outside of myself.
My philosophy of endurance sports is mainly to go at a comfortable pace - after a long enough time, that becomes uncomfortable (wherein the achievement), but you grin and bear it until you're done. Ace knew this attitude wouldn't get me where I needed to be. He made me consider a new philosophy - what if you go aggressively from the outset and see how long you can hang on?
I kept this thought in mind as I trained for Sacramento, knowing what pace was necessary to qualify (8:24 per mile), and trying to run at that pace whenever I trained. I failed, often. I was miserable weeks out - gave up the dream, accepted that some achievements were not to be, not for me.
But on race morning last December, I decided to just go out as if I could reach my goal and see how long I could hang on. I felt good, I felt surprised, I got scared (because once you allow yourself to dream, you open yourself up to disappointment). By mile 17 I was truly just hanging on. By the 20's I was hurting, a lot. Sore all over, legs screaming, joints aching, just exhausted. But I kept recalculating* the per mile pace I had to cover, and as long as it seemed doable I kept trying.
* Like in high school, when you used to calculate how low you could score on a given test and still maintain your class grade.
When I crossed the finish line, a hair under my goal time, no one was more shocked than I. I started crying. (Either from joy and relief or from the fact that my legs really, really hurt.) My mom stood around not knowing what to do, not understanding how to soothe self-inflicted wounds. (You were great, Mom. I just needed time to shake the acid out of my legs and take everything in.)
But even after what should have been a self-validating success - an objective achievement - I made excuses for myself. I'd had a fluke day! It was a downhill course! I was going to Boston, but - did I deserve it?
I'm queen of the roll-down, the asterisk. (You know, the home run record with a corked bat, that kind of thing.) In triathlons, "roll down" spots are entries to championship events for which people ordinarily qualify by placing at the very top. Because "you must be present to win" these slots, though, if the First, Second, and Third place finishers in a particular age group aren't there or decline the spot - often because they've already earned a slot to the championship elsewhere - winners are inclined to win repeatedly - the slots "roll down" to the next-highest-finishing participants present. If winners and the next strata down fail to be present at the awards ceremony, which is sometimes the case when ceremonies are held late in the day - non-podium finishers really have no reason to attend - slots can roll down really far into the field. This is how I "qualified" for the IM 70.3 Championship - I was in thirty-first place at my qualifying event. But thanks to tagging along these days with Ace and his speedy friends, who often have good reason to attend awards ceremonies, I was present - and I took it!)
Competing at Clearwater was thrilling to be sure, but at no point did I think I deserved to be at a World Championship. I don't win triathlons, I don't place. I was there because nobody else in my age group wanted the spot.
By the same token, I was never a varsity athlete in high school, purely mediocre. I only got a varsity letter at all because nobody else wanted to throw the discus. You might say I've been benefiting from roll-downs all my life.
So qualifying for Boston has been something I've been so, so proud of for the last several months. For once, it wasn't about sloppy seconds, it wasn't charity. It was about meeting a very real cut-off time, set by the Boston Athletic Association itself. I did it. I did it.
But as we sat on the bus shuttling us to the start, I overheard people talking about racing Boston year after year, qualifying for Kona and the usual fake-self-deprecating one-upsmanship (everyone who'd done an Ironman at this race found a way to work that fact - and how many they'd done - into the getting-to-know-you conversation - except for Ace, which is one reason I like him. Ditto the repeat Boston runners.) I tried to fawn appropriately. But as we sat there, huddled in garbage bags, I started to wonder about my asterisks.
Was it a fluke? Had I qualified at a totally easy race? Did I belong here, with those people?
Nevertheless I was thrilled to be there, and though I tried to be businesslike and blend in like it was no big thing, as I shuffled over the start line, I smiled and tears welled. I was running the Boston Marathon!!
!!!
Ultra-runners and Kona racers, all you narcissists who try to work your achievements into small talk with complete strangers, bite me. Being here - wow. That was enough.
During the race, I basically pursued the same strategy as for my December marathon. I hadn't trained for speed...but I had nothing to lose. (My original plan to just enjoy the vaunted crowd went out the window when the Nor'Easter blew in - the crowd was thin, and there wasn't much about the day to enjoy.)
It was about mile 18 that I thought I could probably make the 3:40 qualifying time. At about mile 20 I became more confident, and by the time I reached miles 23 and 24 I knew I was going to do it - and I got all weepy again. Because it was then and only then that I finally, for real, felt like I belonged here. Not only had I qualified to be here, I was going to qualify again at this very race. I was one of those people.
I tried to blink back the misty eyes as I crossed the finish line (3:39!!), but the helpers there were so nice and smiley and congratulatory; they are so proud of their race and its history and what it represents and what it does to people, I felt I owed it to them - so I smiled big and let the tears flow, and I got nods and smiles like they wouldn't have expected anything less.
Anyway, I'm very aware that I wouldn't be writing any of this were it not for Ace, who simply believed in me, more than I believed in myself; who introduced me to a different way of thinking about these events; and who encouraged me and pushed me. He never expected anything less, either.
Hey, I met you at Ruth Ann's party back in December; we were the other people who were fashionably late and I was scarfing the jelly bellies that you guys? brought.
Anyway, this made me tear up. I SO know what that all feels like--all the excuse making and underestimating, and then suddenly unapologetically realizing some crazy goal. Wow!
Also, I'm thinking that now that I can't bike race anymore (baby) I'm going to try to train for a marathon. You've inspired me!
Posted by: Katie B | May 10, 2007 at 12:43 PM
You're so sweet, Katie. It's funny how we pigeonhole ourselves, yet at the same time have these secret hopes. I don't think it's false modesty, I wonder if we're just afraid of disappointing ourselves and others, and then we find ourselves in the habit of thinking small.
I think my chances of success in December were greatly increased by the simple fact that I announced my plan/hope to people a few months in advance. It made it more real.
Let me know if you decide to train! You should also come to run club - you wouldn't be the only person with baby in tow.
Posted by: TasterSpoon | May 10, 2007 at 05:34 PM