4:09

Feeling some post-marathon blues that I'm going to use as fuel for inspiration. Remember how endorphins = endogenous morphine? I was on such a high last week (albeit borderline manic- "I NEED TO CHILL!" I texted inbetween carbo-loading and packing for my swim from Hopkinton to Boston...) You could say that Monday went swimmingly, Jen and I partied with our families that night, limped our way to lunch on Tuesday, and then I crashed.

Now what?

Welp, before we get to that, let's recap Monday.

The hardest part was getting to the start. The last few years have taken about 30 minutes to walk to the start, where you are lined up in sub-categories of corrals, before walk-bumping into everyone as you head down Main St of Hopkinton. This year the organizers tried so hard to get everybody out sooner, not just for the runners who had been standing in Athlete's Village for probably about 2 hours, but also for the volunteers who so wonderfully awaited our arrival. Turns out you can't really usher out 10,000 people very quickly, and it took us almost an hour to walk to the start. (Cut to 1:30 in the first video, below. Pretty good recap.)

Now this was really something special. Thousands of runners in ponchos, shuffling through pouring rain and wind, just to the START of 26.2 miles! What in the world were we doing?! I really wanted to take a video or photo but was certain my phone would meet its demise with the precipitation. Runners are always a bunch to make the best of things, and I looked around for groups making light of this ridiculousness. Truthfully, there weren't any people cracking jokes. It was pretty cold...

I'd left our cozy warm bus at 10:15am, and by the time I shuffled to the start at 11:15, I was freezing and it took my hands (and my stupid sprained knuckle) about 5 miles to warm up. But really all I could think about was how badly I felt for the volunteers, OFFERING to stand there, and not be able to run to warm up like we were. They're amazing.

As I got closer to Jon and Zoe at the halfway point in Wellesley, on pace at 2:03, I tried to decide whether I should change my jacket. I remembered thinking that changing coats had saved me in 2015; though I had run without a poncho. But the weather was worse this time. And I was already feeling the cold. Alright. So I planned to change.

I love her so much!! She was so happy with her cup of Gatorade ("apple juice," she calls it) and she said, "I love you, Mom," as Jon helped me with my coat. 2.5-3 minutes later, I hugged them goodbye, and continued on. Surely, a stop had never taken me quite so long, but I didn't care, with the forecasted 27mph headwinds to come.

The Newton Hills came and went, I and continued to be super impressed with the spectators and volunteers. Was I missing something? These people were seriously crazier than I was, standing out there like that. I teared up as I approached Heartbreak Hill, so inspired by the spectators. I tried to lighten the mood of the runners around me with a "WOOOOO!" ... but got nothing. "I wonder how Shalane did!" I said to a woman next to me. I got a sympathetic glance at best. Footsteps. Runners were in survival mode.

I thought about taking off my poncho as it was super annoying to have the wind hit the wall of plastic draping me, and it would twist around and hit me in the face, and it was challenging to get my hand out to accept water from the volunteers. I tried to predict what life would be like sans poncho by sticking my hands out for a few minutes, and noticed they'd quickly get cold (and my stupid knuckle would get sore,) and so I'd tuck them safely back in. The poncho had to stay- though I eventually tossed it over the fence at Mile 25, unlike the countless other runners who dumped them like Mario Kart banana peels all over Hereford Street.

My dad caught me at mile 20, Natalie at 20.5, and my mom caught me around 22, though I didn't see her. Hitting the downhill into Boston around Mile 21 was FABULOUS, and I'd meant to scold the sidewalk/scene of the crime where I'd fallen, but forgot as I went by. I was focused on getting my time down as the stop in Wellesley had cost me 3 minutes and the Newton Hills didn't help.

5 miles to go? Looking like a 4:14 finish.
4 miles to go? Looking like a 4:12 finish.
3 miles to go? Looking like a 4:12 finish.
2 miles to go? Looking like a 4:11 finish.
1 mile to go? Looking like a 4:11 finish.

(What else are you going to think about at that point?)

I hit the 26 mile marker and looked down at my watch, with a current time of 4:08. I was NOT going to get this close and run a stupid 4:10. My legs hurt A LOT but with no threat of puking, I happily booked it down the last 385 yards of Boylston Street and finished in 4:09:57 -- a 1 second PR for Boston. Cheerily I slogged back to the bus with the help of some wonderful MVS volunteers, posed for a photo, shakily peeled off my cold wet clothes, and went home to get ready to go out to dinner. Zoe and I even shared some delicious Doritos in the car on the way to dinner. Yes, this is an important part of the story. I wasn't puking!!!! (See my, "I'm not going to puke today!" smile below.)

Ergo, the 4:09:57 was not what I came for, but I'll take it. Plus if I hadn't stopped for 3 minutes? That would be a 4:07. But you can't play games like that. I did stop. And Monday was crazy. Anyway.

Comparing one Boston time to another is much like apples and oranges. The weather is such a huge variable that I find the closest thing to be an indicator of performance is analysis of finishing places. Last year I'd placed at 7370/12380 female starters (40th percentile), and this year I'd placed at 7182/12063 female starters (40th percentile). Again. Ugh. And I'd trained so much harder this year. Maybe I didn't taper enough. ARGHH.

I moped about my harder-effort-same-place-finish for several days before realizing the impact of that 3 minute stop. Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't switched to a dry jacket? PLUS the qualifying cut-off time was faster this year than last year, so technically the field of women was overall faster. That counts too, right?!?

So what now? Track. Our workout tonight was amazing on a beautiful 65 degree evening.

I have to qualify. I'm thinking a late fall marathon (Philadephia? IDK.) would be a good bet for Boston 2020. I will try for September/Boston 2019 but there are so many weather variables in early September that may or may not work in my favor.

Flow the lactic acid must. LET'S DO THIS.

Listen to the Road

I AM SO PUMPED. Thanks to a special student and AHS News for putting this clip together. <3

The weather's not entirely cooperating, but I'm really not worried about it as a runner. I empathize more with the volunteers and spectators who will bundle up and stand out there in it. Most runners are more concerned about heat on race day than rain and wind. I'm optimistic about this weather not making me feel sick, so bring it on. It is, however, truly comical how high the winds are forecast to be, and how much rain is predicted. I survived and had a blast in 2015 after I'd had pneumonia and a stomach bug and a sleepless 1 year old so I'm certain 2018 will be FABULOUS.

My goal for this year is 4:04. Actually my goal this year is to not puke. But my second goal is a 4:04. When I ran my last long run 3 weeks ago, I was running a 9:10 pace in 50 degrees, which is about a 4:04, and I think I could have run a faster last few miles, so 4:04 is fair. I've been doing most of my long training runs at 8:59 which is usually a good predictor of race time (3:58), however with the predicted 20mph headwind and hilly terrain and soooo many runners in the first few miles, and not wanting to puke, I think a 4:04 is good. My goal is to run a 2:04 in the first half and a 2:00 in the second half.

You can hold me to that by tracking me: Text 234567 with my bib # - 29642 . It will give you updates and predicted finish times every 6 miles.

I know I've written about this before, but here's a recap of past stats:

2012: 87 degrees. 4:20.
2015: 45 degrees and raining. 4:09.
2016: 70? degrees. Maybe. I don't remember. 4:09.
2017: I don't remember, but it was hot at the start. 4:12 -- though my place was the best of all 3 years. I think it was windy?
2018: I will be ok with anything less than 4:09, but dear lord let it be 4:04, and ecstatic with anything less than that. My eye is twitching.



Meanwhile, on that last run a few weeks ago, I fell and sprained some tendon on my hand. I was running the course on the famous "last long run" - an unofficial gathering of thousands of runners. My mom drove me to the start in Hopkinton and followed along in her car, stopping for a hug every few miles. I made it to 21.4, just past Heartbreak, and waved at her as I ran by, on my way to finish 22.0. I thought about getting in the car instead of being seemingly crazy, but decided to finish what I came for, and plugged on. I was looking up ahead, considering taking a picture of the "Welcome to Brighton" sign, but instead decided to focus on where I might actually hit 22.0.

Happily I continued along the sidewalk, thinking about the delicious cheeseburger I was going to find and devour shortly after. And then I fell. Hard. It happened so fast. It had been going so well. It HURT. Like excruciating hurt.

I'd been heading down the sidewalk, towards the crosswalk you see on the left. The corner was covered in a 4 foot snowplow pile. Though I didn't process it at the time, I zigged and zagged in and out of that electrical box and recycling? mailbox? thing, cutting across the mud to the crosswalk. My shoe caught the sidewalk and I went down, into the decline of the wheelchair accessible ramp.

Another runner immediately turned around to help, and I peeled myself off the sidewalk and gasped that my mom must be pulling up right behind me THANK GOD. I ripped off my water belt and threw it, not wanting anything to get in the way of me climbing into her car. The poor runner picked up my water belt and put it in my mom's car, and my mom drove to the St. Elizabeth's emergency room just down the street. Stupid sidewalk. Stupid, stupid sidewalk.

I eventually figured out that I'd bent my index finger sideways over the tops of my other fingers. Today, 3 weeks later, it's still black and blue and I can't hold a pen properly, cut with a knife properly, squeeze a shampoo bottle properly, etc. They are just little annoying things though, and I should be so lucky. But man was it a change of pace for a couple of weeks.

I put on quite a show on 22 miles of low blood sugar and what I swear was a very painful fall :D

Thus, the title of this post. Last week as I left for my 10 mile run, Zoe called out to me, "Listen to the road!" Beautiful. She made it up- I've never heard it before. Perfect.

Listen to the road. And never make any decisions while running uphill.

BRING IT 2018.