Or is that guilty pleasure?
I'm still not sure. Let's start at the beginning.
In October, Casey asked if I would run a marathon with her, which sounded like an awesome excuse to "have" to do another one. Of course I said yes, and we eventually agreed to run our sixth!! marathon in Burlington, which had been touted as one of the country's best. This was around the time I found out I'd have the opportunity to run Boston in the spring too, but training between the two was a minor detail to be worked out later. It would be like getting a two-for-one - train for one marathon, but actually run two!
Casey trained religiously all winter with a double jogging stroller through colorful injuries and tough northern NY weather, with two young boys trading off illnesses, and a husband deployed in Afghanistan. Seriously she is my hero. Runner's World should write an article about dedicated running mama's like her. If she can do it, anybody can.
We got a house through Airbnb, and her awesome sister and dad agreed to help watch the boys while we ran the marathon. (It takes a village!!) Race weekend finally arrived with a forecast of 84 degrees. That's the kind of temperature where you sort of abandon all goals except finishing. And when the race directors sent out an email that morning asking for runners to comply "if" the race were canceled due to heat, truly finishing became a very real goal. They promised to add extra water stops and roving ice stations and misting stations... but we'll get back to that.
Casey hydrated faithfully and convinced us to run in sports bras, which I'd never done before. (She was totally right! Hooray for evaporative cooling.) We packed some extra saltstick capsules, posted a few Millennial Facebook photos, and off we went.
I whined for the first four miles that we were going too fast, and then we turned onto some godforsaken highway that felt like running under the Tuscan Sun. The first few water stops were 2-3 miles apart. One of them was almost out of water when we went by, and we heard from others who confirmed they actually did eventually run out. By mile 8, Casey wasn't feeling too great, and she definitely wasn't alone. It was 80 degrees with like a gazillion percent humidity. What were the race planners thinking, running out of water so soon???
I hadn't been worried about the heat because Boston in 2012 was hotter and though I was sick after, I'd survived, and I was certain this couldn't be any worse. What I didn't realize until now was what a difference Boston's copious water stops at every mile made.
Casey started to slow down and though she wasn't complaining out loud, her lack of usual loquaciousness had me worried. We pushed on, run-walking, graciously accepting hoses, sprinklers, and popsicles from Burlington's outstanding spectators. (But where we those extra water stops and race-generated ice stations?)
And then it happened. We came out of the port-o-potties at Mile 19 and the race volunteer turned her warning sign from red to black, which we knew meant the race would be called. Their radios garbled something and a volunteer announced that the race had been closed, and to wait to the side for the shuttle to come pick us up. Apparently the "wet bulb globe" reading measured 82 at three different points along the course, three consecutive times, which means the American College of Sports and Medicine recommends discontinuing the race. I looked ahead and saw people still running. A volunteer said that we could try to keep going, but that he didn't know what would be available to us, and that they strongly recommended stopping. So many things went through my head.
1. Poor Casey. They can't do this to her. Just tell us there will be water out there. We've made it this far!
2. Thank goodness there's an excuse to stop. The race was canceled. There's NO shame in stopping. She needs to stop.
3. Oh Burlington. You're telling me that it's against medical advice to finish this marathon, but that I can try if I want to? Do you realize you just made this the sexiest race ever?
4. I'm going to beat that freaking shuttle bus.
Casey promised to still be friends with me and we parted ways reluctantly. This was something I had to do. "Great job," praised the volunteers. "Keep going! You're amazing!" The water stops and spectators were plentiful at each mile, and I discovered what turned out to be the
Until mile 24.
There was a cruiser parked across that beautiful, shaded, delicious bike path, this time not with volunteers and EMT's, but cops. Angry cops.
"DON'T LET ANYBODY GO AROUND YOU. HEY! DON'T YOU GO AROUND ME. IF ANYBODY GOES AROUND YOU, TAKE THEIR BIB. IF YOU GO AROUND ME, I'LL TAKE YOUR BIB!"
How un-Vermontesque, indeed. ("Vermont? How about VerDON'T! Burn!! E Sanders. muahahahaha.")
Again I watched as people continued down the path beyond them. Had I just missed the cutoff? No!! I wanted to beat that bus! I started to come up with something in protest, but didn't have to, as another runner argued with a cop and ripped his own bib off and threw it at him. I took advantage of the diversion, walked a wide path through the parking lot, and rejoined the trail. I was going to beat that bus. SCREW THOSE COPS!!!
"Great job! Keep going," shouted the volunteers. So much confusion. I'm sorry. But you can't tell marathoners they "can't" physically do something, and then not enforce it. As I ran past other runners, who were invariably complaining about the cops and abundance of confusion, we cheered each other on to stay strong and finish.
As I approached the finish, the photographers and spectators increased steadily. This was going to be the best race ever! I did it! I beat the bus! And wouldn't you know it-- the clock was still ticking. Several volunteers waited at the finish to award runners their medals- which I will say had been promised to all marathoners regardless of whether they actually crossed the finish.
I couldn't wait to compare stories with other runners and was thrilled to find John Jannetti and those MVS'ers at the finish. The MVS'ers had respected race management and stopped when they were told to. They were angry that they'd been told to stop. I felt so bad. Man, maybe I had made a mistake.
But... but... SCREW THOSE COPS! I had kind of welcomed the opportunity to run an angry, exciting race against time. I'm generally a pretty docile human. But this became aggressive. Where were the extra water stops, and misting stations, and roving ice stations? There was zero ice from the race. I suppose it was hard to tell what "misting" was provided by spectators as opposed to the race itself. And I'm pretty certain there was no additional water. There had been a push to start the race earlier, and they didn't. If they had started the race at 7 instead of at 8, they could have fit in another hour of the marathon before the wet bulb globe met its threshold. They clearly didn't have a plan for how to *effectively* close the race in case of emergency. When Chicago was closed a few years ago, a bus came around and swept runners off the course. Vermont wasn't anywhere close to being forceful in their shutdown. It's like they wanted me to keep going... right???
And so, it is with some reservation, that I conclude this post on life as a bandit runner. I knew that I was fine this time, but there have been some races that I would not have pushed my luck against medical advice. If I'd had any doubt about my health, I would have stopped, as I wouldn't want to take resources away from anybody else who might need them. The right set of variables were in place to allow me to finish this time. But shhh, don't tell anyone. :)
Bring on Baystate in the fall! Rawr!! Oh and I'll totally be back to Burlington next year. What a beautiful race!
YOU! ARE! FREAKING! EPIC!
ReplyDeleteLove, Dad