Page 26.2

Only 26.2 miles from Hopkinton to Hell: The 108th Boston Marathon

2004-04-22T09:03:00.000-05:00

Let's kick this off with some statistics.

Official entrants: 20,344.
Official entrants who actually showed up: 17,950.
Official entrants who finished: 16,743.
Runners receiving medical treatment: just over 1,000.
Runners hospitalized: 136.
Runners who had heart attacks: 2.

In light of all that, I am really happy with how my Monday went.

--Hopkinton--
I disembark from a shuttle bus in the parking lot of Hopkinton High School. As I stumble down the street to our team meeting place, I think about all the other things I could be doing at 7:45 on a warm Patriots Day morning. Like sleeping. Or... sleeping.
By 11 am, I have guzzled about 40 oz. of water, which I think makes me eligible for sponsorship from Belmont Springs. After watching the temperature slowly creep up over the course of the morning, the entire Dana-Farber team lines up for a pre-race photo. The sun is out in full-force, and we're baking in 83 degree heat on the pavement. The guy sitting next to me says, "This is ironic. A cancer fundraising group, and we're all gonna get melanoma."
I cross the start line at around 12:30, start my watch, and proceed to run the slowest two miles of my life. Slow like the sloth. Slow like my 70-year-old uncle behind the wheel. I did this with the intent of making up the time in the second half of the race, a plan only slightly less doomed to fail than a 1990's dot-com start-up.

--Ashland--
Some cloud cover rolls in, which pushes the temperature down to 80 or so. Spectators are spraying us with garden hoses, telling us that the Red Sox are behind by 3 runs, and pointedly not telling us how many miles are left. People are passing me, apparently in a rush to get to the mile 23 medical tent (which is where I see more than a few of them later).

--Framingham and Natick--
The course flattens out and becomes The Most Boring Stretch of Road in North America (tm). With absolutely nothing to distract me, realization sets in that I have something like 20 miles to go. The heat has addled my brain so much that this seems like a reasonable, managable distance. In the interest of experimentation, I attempt to drink a half-cup of Gatorade while still jogging, and manage to inhale about 3oz. of lemon-lime electrolytes. By the time I get through Natick, the Sox are only behind by 1.

--Wellesley--
I get to the halfway point at about 2:30, convinced that all the Wellesley students have left the course and I'll be able to pass by the campus in peace. Not so. At least 200 women are still out there, doling out high-fives and screaming like banshees. The guys around me are stunned and awed. I witness the following exchange between two male runners:
"Well, there's one good thing about the heat."
"What?"
"Short skirts."
"Amen, brother."
I choke back another Gu at mile 13 -- Vanilla Bean is losing its cache -- and keep plugging, looking for Dad, Stephen, and Diane. I finally come across them at the 93 overpass, and I have never been so happy to see lawn chairs and a cooler in my life. They dole out sweaty hugs and douse me with ice water, and Diane exclaims, "You look great!" She will be the first of many people to lie to me in this fashion over the course of the afternoon.
Just as I am contemplating parking myself in one of the lawn chairs, Stephen says, "The Kenyans went by about a minute ago." Wiseass.

--Newton--
My name is pretty easy to pronounce, right? It's phonetic. Jo-nelle. Easy. However, this tongue-twisting feat is too much for at least 60 percent of the fans on Washington Street. I wrote my name on my jersey before the race, hoping to get a little love from the crowd, but it turns out that many of them can't pronounce it. As I advance on them, I see them squint a little, and they shout, "Come on, Jo... Jo-lene," or "Jo-elle," or some other verbal train wreck. It's okay. I appreciate the effort at this point, because the sun is back out, and I'm dragging. This part of the course gets hazy, but I remember I picking up a tangerine PowerGel at mile 17 and promptly spitting it out, having found something that tastes even more disgusting than Just Plain Gu.
With the exception of the water stops, I haven't walked yet, but the hills are taking their toll. I've lost about 4 pounds at this point, and every molecule of salt I've consumed in the last three days has seeped out of my body and is encrusted on my singlet. Then, just before mile 19, I find a reason to keep going.
Two cute, shirtless boys. 'Tis true.
Ninety percent of the people around me were walking, but these boys -- bandit runners, I think, for they had no shirts on which to pin a number -- were slowly jogging up the hills, and I suddenly found a reserve of energy that allowed me to keep up with them. Everytime I bottomed out and wanted to walk, some spectator would hose them down, and I would find a way to keep running. We do what we must do.
I finally passed them at the top of Heartbreak and realized three things:
1) The last three miles were the fastest I had run all day.
2) My stomach cramps had faded a little, and my legs were feeling surprisingly okay.
3) I only had five miles to go.
So, thank you, Cute Shirtless Boys. I salute you.

--Brookline--
Brookline is somewhat of a blur. I remember seeing Avital on Beacon Street, and I remember a very nice group of guys just after a water stop yelling out my name (pronounced correctly, thank you very much) and encouraging me to start running again, and I remember seeing a lot of people walking. By the time I get past Coolidge Corner, I tell myself I am never allowed to run a marathon again.

--Boston--
I pick up another Dana-Farber runner drinking water at the mile 24 medical tent, and we commence to get through the last 2.2 miles. By the time I see the Citgo sign, I'm swearing under my breath, realizing that I'm going to have to do this again. And again. And again. Stupid inspirational Adidas ad campaign.
I wave to the Dana-Farber patients and fans on the Kenmore bridge and dig in for the last mile. The guy I'm running with has never done Boston before, and I tell him, "Boylston Street is going to seem really long. It's not." I'm lying.
I see my mom on Hereford Street, screaming like a Wellesley girl; I hang a left; and I make it down Boylston to the finish line.
A volunteer gives me a mylar jacket, even though it's 85 degrees out. I get a big hug from my roommate Charlotte -- I think she was covertly checking me for signs of hyponytremia -- and I shuffle down Boylston, looking like a salty, foil-wrapped baked potato.

All in all, a good day.

Done and done

2004-04-20T11:09:00.000-05:00

I finished. I ran the whole way. And I wasn't hospitalized.

A blow-by-blow description of the day is forthcoming, after I shotgun some more ibuprofen. Just wanted to let everyone know that I got through it and I feel pretty good.

If not humor, at least esoteric wit.

2004-04-18T19:10:00.000-05:00

So, yeah. It's the night before the race.

Just got back from the Dana-Farber pasta party, and I will begrudgingly admit to getting a little teary. All season, people have been repeating the same tug-at-the-heartstrings rhetoric, the "you're making a difference" reminders. When I saw the pictures of kids being treated at the institute, it hit home.

We all have our own race to run -- literally and metaphorically -- and some of us get through it with wisdom, or ego, or inspiration. I try to do it with humor. (You've read the training log, so you judge whether I'm succeeding at that or not.) But if I hit the bottom tomorrow, if there comes a point where the Gu and the Gatorade and the crowd and the internal wisecracks aren't helping me get it done, I've got a pretty powerful store of inspiration to draw on.

I'm running in honor of a lot of people who have won their battles with cancer, and a lot of people who lost. You're all letting me run in honor and in memory of your loved ones -- I've got a responsibility to them, and to you, to get it done.

And with that, I'm going to watch "This is Spinal Tap," set two alarm clocks for 5:30am, pack up my PowerBars, and go to bed.

But mylar is the new black!

2004-04-18T10:28:00.000-05:00

Someone pointed out to me yesterday that since it's going to be so hot on Monday, they probably won't need to pass out those kickass foil jackets at the finish line. This is a tragedy.

Mmmmm... electrolytes.

2004-04-17T22:46:00.000-05:00

36.5 hours to go. Not that I'm obsessing or anything.

I am carbo loading as we speak, eating a late dinner of leftover pasta and wondering what the hell Drew Barrymore has done lately to merit her hosting Saturday Night Live. Picked up my number today -- 17,206 -- and met up with Robbie for our traditional pillaging and plundering of the marathon expo. The PowerBar booth never knew what hit it.

The road really is a bi-ah-itch, my friend.

2004-04-16T15:42:00.000-05:00

Things I am reading to take my mind off the fact that the marathon is in three days:

Fifteen Minutes. I used to take pictures for this magazine, back when it was funnier and less self-important and didn't run stupid articles about eavesdropping through fire doors.
Summit Up. Even though I don't live in Colorado anymore, Summit Up is still the absurdist highlight of my day.
Joe's Journal. Who knew Joe Pisapia was so funny? And he plays a mean banjo, to boot.
Stereogum. "Spray, delay, walk away." Brilliant.

You know what I'm not reading? The weather forecast.

Media mogul

2004-04-15T13:54:00.000-05:00

From my hometown newspaper. It makes me sound like a huge wuss.

There are times when "8" is not a lucky number

2004-04-15T10:27:00.000-05:00

Screw you, Pete Bouchard!

Everyone's forcasts for Marathon Monday have been creeping up over the past couple of days, but Pete over at Channel 7 has topped them all with a cheery "high of 88." Eighty. Eight. Degrees.

Also, a gusty, southwesterly wind. Is that a headwind, or a tailwind? Which way am I running again? Where am I?

Cloudy with a chance of biblical plagues

2004-04-14T08:13:00.000-05:00

Never let it be said that marathon runners do not obsess over absolutely everything.

Weather update...
- National Weather Service: Showers and mid-60s.
- Channel 7: Cloudy and 81.
- Strange woman: Floods and locusts, chance of raining frogs.

Which is preferable: low 80s, or frogs? I'm torn.

Vive le General Admission

2004-04-12T12:15:00.000-05:00

A week before my first marathon, back in 2002, I bumped (literally) into Dave Matthews on my way back from my last long run. (He was in town for a show at The Vault.) I kind of hoped history would repeat itself Saturday and I would trip over Ben Kweller or Ben Gibbard on JFK Street, but I had to settle for admiring them from the audience. Concertgoing is an important component of my cross-training regimine.

Have I mentioned how great tapering is?

2004-04-12T08:00:00.000-05:00

Finished my last long run by myself on Saturday morning, knocking out ten miles along the river. Ten miles is supposed to be a "short" long run. It's still long. But this week, besides a few miles on Tuesday and Thursday, all I've got to concentrate on is eating carbohydrates (I spit on Atkins' grave) and not injuring myself before next Monday. When you're as klutzy as I am, this is a challenge. It might not be a bad idea to just cover myself in bubble wrap until race day.

Went home on Sunday after dozing through Easter Mass. My parents just developed a roll of film that's been in the camera since the Reagan administration -- we're not big picture-takers in my family -- and there are a handful of shots in there from last summer of my mom with no hair. She looks really... aerodynamic.

It's been almost a year since her initial diagnosis, and it's kind of shocking to realize how much has changed since then. Mom had breast cancer, then she didn't; Tracy was single and living in the city, then she wasn't; I was a writer and a pathetically poor snowboarder in Colorado, then I wasn't; Dad... well, Dad's pretty much the same, come to think of it. There is probably some metaphor to be made here about running and life and hills and Gu and... something. Screw it. It's too early in the morning to get philosophical.

2500 meters, or one cruller and a medium regular.

2004-04-07T15:53:00.000-05:00

So, I promised to talk about the general strangeness of my health club.

Let me start by admitting that I am fairly spoiled when it comes to health clubs. Back in Colorado, I lived half a block from the Breckenridge Recreation Center, a big, gorgeous, town-run gym with basketball courts and an indoor track and two relatively kick-ass climbing walls. Even the oft-disparaged MAC, the school gym I used as an undergrad, had a great stretching studio, and its planners had the good sense to position the cardio machines in such a manner as to offer unparalleled views of good-looking swimmers and basketball players. Rowr.

The gym I belong to now -- let's preserve its anonymity and call it the "Deacon Chill Health Club" -- has none of these things. Granted, climbing walls are not in great demand in the city, and Boston suffers from a dearth of good-looking swimmers. Also, rents suck. This is probably why Deacon Chill Health Club has approximately the same square footage as my apartment. For those of you who have seen where I live, picture my apartment with freeweights in the living room, spinning bikes in the foyer, and about 20 cardio machines crammed into the kitchen. Convert Charlotte's bedroom into two locker rooms, throw in a vending machine and -- voila -- Deacon Chill.

This wouldn't even be an issue if the cardio machines, like, worked and stuff. Correction -- they do work, but the eliptical machines all appear to be stuck on level 13 or so, making your workout feel something like running through syrup. With dumbells strapped to your ankles. The elipticals and treadmills offer a lovely view of Dunkin' Donuts, a planning move clearly designed to get people off the machines and out of the club to pick up a double-glazed. There is also one forlorn rowing machine with a broken distance meter, which necessitates the fun game of "Guess how far you rowed." The answer is usually "Far enough to deserve a double-glazed."

The locker rooms, besides being a little cramped, are sandwiched between the spinning studio and the kickboxing studio, guaranteeing you a soundtrack of really loud music and really loud grunting at every hour of the day. The whole place has an exposed-brick-and-beams, dirty-windows, industrial aesthetic, which would be kind of cool and edgy for a downtown loft, but not so much for a gym, where the emphasis should be... oh, I don't know, cleanliness? Not edginess. Cleanliness.

And yet, I will remain a member in good stead. My employer picks up half the tab.

Did some light-cross training on the bike during my lunch break, then proceeded to eat a lunch of epic proportions. Tapering is wonderful.

Band reunited

2004-04-05T12:05:00.000-05:00

I'm pleased to report that my IT band seems to have shaken off whatever depression it was going through and is functioning normally again. Whew. Had a much better (though still slow) run on Saturday in South Boston, around the sugar bowl and out to the JFK library. I know everyone else hates that route -- it's out-and-back, and flat, and the wind bitch-slaps you for two solid miles around Castle Island, and it's easy to get lost, and you have to run through some shiggy over by U.Mass... whine, whine, whine. I love that run. Bring on the shiggy.

I also consumed the much-abused packet of Gu at mile 9, and I am happy to report that the washing, drying, and freezing had no adverse affects on the Gu's ability to produce the necessary amount of glycogen. However, "Just Plain" is the nastiest Gu flavor ever. It's just really... flavorless. Plain, if you will. I don't recommend it.

Fundraising total is up to $3,774.40. Giddyup.

Worst. Day. EVER.

2004-04-01T14:49:00.000-05:00

I despise April Fools Day. No other 24-hour-period causes me more stress.

Every e-mail you get is a hoax. Every news story you read is false. Every conversation you get drawn into ends with some twisted punchline. I have to spend the whole day approaching everything with twice my normally healthy level of paranoia. My head is about to explode.

This one is kind of funny, though: Save the Peeps! Those wacky Christians.

I just got back from the gym, where spent a blissfully pain free hour on the elliptical. Now I'm just obessing over what I should be eating and what other pitfalls await me between now and marathon day.

More proof that I train

2004-03-30T14:29:00.000-05:00

I love my spiffy DFMC jacket, but it makes me look like I weigh 40 extra pounds.

Getting the band back together

2004-03-29T16:43:00.000-05:00

Warning: English major wielding medical terminology. Continue at your own risk.

The iliotibial band -- also known as the IT band -- is a string of tissue that extends from the thigh down over the knee and attaches to the tibia. When the knee bends (flexion) and straightens (extension), the iliotibial band slides over the bony parts of the outer knee (the lateral femoral epicondyle).

When one does stupid things repeatedly -- like, say, running long distances on concrete -- one may develop lateral knee pain related to irritation and inflammation of the distal portion of the iliotibial band at, or just distal to, the point at which it crosses the lateral femoral epicondyle.

In other words, ouch. Bad Gu was the least of my troubles on Sunday. (And, no, I did not eat the Gu. I put in in my freezer in an attempt to reconstitute it.) I developed some minor twinging in my left IT band around mile three of Sunday's 20 miler, which sent me into panic mode. I slowed down and shuffled through the rest of the run, and the pain faded around mile 18; by that point, however, the rest of me was in quite a bit of pain. I also came down with a cold Saturday, and spent Sunday morning producing and exhaling mass quantities of snot. So my longest run of the season -- the cornerstone of my training, if you will -- was ridiculously slow and completely draining.

The human body really isn't meant to do this, is it?

I'm okay. Still stuffed up, but just a bit of traditional muscle soreness today and no knee pain, which is a good sign. I'll get my miles in on the elliptical this week and tackle Saturday's run with more than usual caution. If a little runner's knee (the more common name for IT band achiness) is the only thing wrong with my body this week, I'm in pretty good shape.

And, hey, I *did* run all 20 miles -- on the hills of Newton and Wellesley, no less. What's 6.2 more?

Dryer vs. Running Pants vs. Gu: an experiment

2004-03-27T18:33:00.000-05:00

I was just folding my laundry -- taking note of the fact that I own an alarming number of shirts emblazoned with the words "Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge" -- and I felt something suspiciously squishy in the pocket of my Nike Dri-Fit Track Pants (tm). I opened the pocket, and, lo and behold, found a packet of Gu. The flavor was "Just Plain" (as opposed to my customary "Vanilla Bean"), leading me to believe that I picked it up at the Gu Stop along the route of the Law Enforcement Half Marathon a couple of weeks ago. I didn't eat it then, a little wary of what "Just Plain" might taste like, and tucked it in the pocket of my track pants for the Wayland run. Alas, it went uneaten for another week, and pants and Gu together went into the spin cycle.

The packet is still intact, though it feels a little more liquidy than normal Gu. Thus, we are presented with a connundrum. Do we:
(a) Attempt to eat the Gu during tomorrow's run, bearing in mind that 20 miles is a long way to go on bad Gu;
(b) Save the Gu for next week's 13-miler; or
(c) Dispose of the Gu and stick with unwashed, undried Vanilla Bean?

Voting closes at 7:30 a.m.

Ziggy Cooper and the Constantinople Buckaroos

2004-03-25T14:54:00.000-05:00

... is not a real band. But they could be. I'm thrilled to have discovered something else to ponder during my long, long run on Sunday.

Ok. I am starting to freak out a little.

2004-03-23T11:53:00.000-05:00

Had another solid long run Sunday morning -- 15 miles in Wayland, with a healthy negative split. Four weeks to go, and I'm finally starting to get a little... achy. And nervous. With so many good runs in a row, I'm overdue to get lost, or accidentally melt my running shoes, or blow out my iliotibial band. It's a light week in preparation for 20-22 miles on Sunday, so I've got plenty of time to obsessively worry about what will go wrong.

Unrelatedly, Springsteen provides the soundtrack to this little video tour of the route. Check those hills!

Our strength is in their memories. And our speeding tickets.

2004-03-15T13:56:00.000-05:00

Had a blast at the Law Enforcement Half Marathon on Sunday. After I peeled off one of my many layers at mile 3, the conditions were perfect and the course pleasantly flat. I paced myself well, ran negative splits, indulged in a little trash talking and finished feeling as though I could run another 13.1 at nearly the same pace. Unfortunately, the competition was swifter than usual, and my conservative pace landed me somewhere in the bottom third of finishers. But a good time was had by all.

We're doing another medium-long run this Sunday... 12-15 miles. I hope I still feel this good when I'm due for an honest 22.

Topped off my Sunday race with an intimate little performance by this guy, who made my night by playing a couple of rarities and going off on an inspired rant during "Something's Missing." It's nice to know that I'm not yet too old to appreciate a General Admission show.

Idiot's Guide to the Boston Marathon

2004-03-12T11:29:00.000-05:00

I remember reading this around marathon time last year, and thinking to myself, "Man, I should do this again." What the hell was I thinking?

No, your body is a wonderland. Baby.

2004-03-12T09:26:00.000-05:00

Ran a fast nine miles on the course last night. (Well, fast for me.) And it was a *good* nine miles. The hills are nowhere near as bad as they used to be, and they no longer inspire blind panic.

I think I am finally learning how to pace myself and, conversely, how to push myself. That's an exciting prospect, but I'm wondering why, after 20-some-odd years of running, it finally kicked in this winter. Better late than never, I suppose.

In any event, looking forward to the Law Enforcement Half-Marathon on Sunday and catching John Mayer at Brandeis Sunday night. Maybe I'll get thrown another guitar pick.

Fear and loathing in Newton

2004-03-10T11:10:00.000-05:00

Last Saturday, I ran 14.9 miles through Brighton and over the marathon course in overcast weather, and turned in negative splits, despite the fact that I briefly got lost near the end. I am slightly concerned that I got lost ON THE MARATHON COURSE. But I paced myself almost perfectly, tackled the hills and ran my last two miles in about 18 minutes. Good times. (Please pause and appreciate unintentional pun.)

Hit the gym yesterday, fearing snow, then inhaled Greek food at this new joint. Sending out a round of fundraising e-mails tonight and prepping for another hill workout tomorrow.

South Boston has a yacht club?

2004-03-01T13:44:00.000-05:00

Had a low-key week in preparation for mile-heavy March -- 5 miles on Tuesday and 5 on Thursday. I ate lots of pasta, drank lots of water, and discovered a new favorite emblematic running song by Ben Kweller. Note the repeated "running as fast as I can" mantra and the clever mention of carbohydrates.

When Saturday rolled around, the sunshine made me so damn happy that I had a very good long run with the team in South Boston (and past the aforementioned yacht club). I thought I did a slow 18 miles, I found out today that someone miscalculated the distance, so I actually did a moderately paced 19.7 miles. Yeah, that's right. I'm Rick James, bitch.

Proof that I actually do train

2004-02-23T10:04:00.000-05:00

Here's a picture of me hating hill work. I'm at the bottom, in the purple and black jacket, trying to hide from Vic's camera.