What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died? Oh wait....wrong Boston story.
In short, my experience this past weekend was remarkably frustrating.
I started to feel achy on Friday when I got to town, but I brushed it off as fatigue from work, traveling, life, etc. Saturday morning I got up and went for a three mile run, and I felt dead. On Sunday I woke up feeling tired, and decided to skip the run. By Sunday night, I knew in my gut that I was coming down with something, but I did my best to ignore it hoping that I could "will" myself to feeling better.
Monday morning I woke up and felt miserable. I slept like garbage, and was completely void of any energy. Usually on race morning I'm alert, eager and ready to roll. I knew something was wrong, but I was hoping that the excitement, adrenaline, crowds, etc., would push me through the race. The ride up was nice, but I was struggling to stay awake!
Got to the 4000 corral, and went over the plan in my head. I really felt that I was in shape to go under 3:10. It was a very realistic goal based on my previous two marathons, and the training to date.
I made it through nine miles. I was about 30 seconds off my mark at this point, and then I just ran out of steam. I then walked / jogged the next 17 miles back to Boston. It was miserable. I thought about dropping out multiple times, but kept going, convinced that I could get some positive experience out of this situation. When I got to Boston College, I was able to do more running than walking, and crossed the line at 4:18 (to give you an idea of how bad it was, they had already adjusted the finishing clocks to reflect the second wave runners).
I made my way through the gear check, and then went back to my room to shower and take a nap.
I was starving so my girl and I went to Charlie's right by Boylston and grabbed some dinner. As we were walking back to our room after eating, there are still a few people making that final stretch to the finish. We start to hear a bunch of police sirens, horns, and people cheering. I look back and I see this wheelchair participant who is pushing himself to the finish with just one leg. He was severely crippled, and was accompanied by a couple of guides. By this time, it’s nearly 7:00 p.m., and my math tells me he’s been out there for at least nine hours, presuming he started at 10:00. It really put things into perspective, and I quit feeling sorry for myself on having a crappy day. I’m still frustrated, but gone is the anger and feeling of being “cheated”. It's true what they say....no matter how bad you think it is, someone else has it a hell of a lot worse.
I still feel groggy, but gone is the fever. Fortunately my time from Chicago last fall gives me another shot at Boston in 2011, so I'm looking forward to redemption.
Congrats to all the participants. It's an incredible experience, and I'm fortunate to have done it three times. There's nothing else like it, and it's something I'll always remember.