Memories From My First BostonThe 2009 Boston Marathon Race ReportPart 5 – Beyond The Finish Line

Just to complete my race report, I’m going to share all that went on physically and psychologically after crossing the finish line. Although I no longer feel the same about these things as I did back then, I’m going to state the facts and emotions as truthfully as I can at that time for two reasons. First, I need to stay true to the report so you all can understand and appreciate how I was feeling at the time. Second, I want to capture the moment for my own sake so that a year and ten years from now, I will remember what I look and felt like after finishing my first Boston. (In other words, read for your own pleasure and discretion, but no need for the votes of sympathy afterwards…although as always, comments are appreciated!)

Without further adieu, I present to you the final chapter of the Boston Marathon race report.

After the Finish

By the time I arrive past the most famous finish line in all of marathoning, I was no longer in control of my physical self or my emotional self. Even as I was exhausted, hungry, fatigued, and cramping faster in more muscles in my legs than I could identify, I was pushing away all of the volunteers who were being so nice in offering all forms of assistance.

As I alternated between stretching and limping gingerly ahead, mentally I was still trying to figure what went wrong out there at mile 19.5 that so suddenly wiped away all the great pacing and racing that I had done up to that point. I just couldn’t understand how my physical body could have turned against me so quickly when it has always responded so well to adversity in training. When I finally had the energy to click my Garmin to find that I had missed my PR time by one second, I was devastated and almost started to cry. Luckily, at that same moment, a couple of the runners extended their hands for a congratulatory handshake, forcing me to collect my emotions temporarily and respond in kind.

The Quest for The Unicorn

I continued limping and limping and limping. I looked around, expecting someone to wrap a Mylar blanket around me and hand me my medal already. Unfortunately, although there were plenty of volunteers offering assistance to us finishers, there were no one handing out blankets or medals. I force myself to continue limping. At the one block mark, they hand us the post-race food and goodie bag. At the two block mark, they finally cover us with blankets. But where are our medals? I kept wanting to ask, but couldn’t force out the words in my fatigued state. Dammit, I just want my medal already! I kept thinking as I inched forward with the crowd. In my delirium, I found myself in such a panic, thinking that I had failed sub-3, failed to PR, and now won’t even get a medal to show for my efforts that I finally broke down and cried. After that point, everything became somewhat of a blur, as I allowed the tears and the sweat to cloud my vision and drain some of the frustration and emotion that had building all day. Right there and then, I told myself that I never want to run another marathon ever again even as I knew that I would break that promise as soon as I got the opportunity.

Eventually after limping and walking for what seemed like an hour, but in actuality was only four blocks, I got directed to the side of the procession where a volunteer removed my chip from my shoe and finally hung a medal around my neck. I was so relieved to finally get my unicorn ornament that I kissed it as soon as I got it! I’m not sure if it was justified, but it was one of the most sentimental moments I’d ever had in my life. I became much happier afterwards as I congratulated everyone else around me on their accomplishments and thanked the volunteers who were all still cheering and offering as much assistance as they could.

It had gotten cloudy and cold all of a sudden. I was shivering as I walked to the baggage buses where I was handed my dropoff bag with my warm and dry clothes. I picked a location towards the back of the bus and proceeded to change everything right there on the spot. It took a long time to negotiate my cramping legs out of my race shorts and into long warmup pants. As I was changing, I selectively hear all the runners around me regale each other with their PR stories and race times much faster than me and I couldn’t help but be jealous and disappointed once again. Even after I finished changing, I stayed where I was for another ten, fifteen minutes to listen in on some spontaneous race reports and soak in the post-race atmosphere.

Leaving Boston

The biting wind and dropping temperatures became somewhat harder to bear as the afternoon wore on. After I had recovered physically and psychologically enough to move again, I pampered myself a bit and got a post-race massage before walking back to the hotel for the longest and most relaxing post-race shower I’d ever taken. By the time I was done, it had been about two hours since I had crossed the finish line and F.L. texted to say she was just now done with her race was waiting for me at the hotel lobby. I hurried down to meet her. We grabbed a quick bite at the Au Bon Pain around the corner and did our best Amazing Race impression by rushing over to South Station to catch the last bus out of Boston to NYC that day. While FL slept most of the way back to town, my mind was somewhere else, thinking about all that had happened, and how I would never ever forget my first Boston.

Wrapping Up

In the end, looking back at all that transpired on race weekend, I had a great experience traveling to Boston and running the marathon there for the first time. The people I met all around town were friendly and nice; the volunteers were spectacular, enthusiastic and very helpful; the crowds all along the course were energetic and lively (especially when I needed them the most at 19.5), and the race organization and logistics were top-notch and efficient in every imaginable way. Even though I personally did not have the best race performance, I can say without a doubt that everyone should have the opportunity to run this race just once in their lives. To be out there, amongst the crowd, running the ultimate distance with the best athletes in the sport, really gives you a sense of honor and accomplishment that cannot be easily translated to words. I feel tremendously privileged to have participated in this event and have no regrets about how I prepared or ran my race. I hope in future years when I can no longer sustain the level of fitness and training necessary to qualify for this race, I can look back and be proud of my performance here as well as inspire others to do the same in their own races.

Halfway to RedemptionRace Report from the Long Branch Half Marathon

Before I conclude my thoughts and give a synopsis of what went on after I crossed the finish line of the Boston Marathon, let me take a short break (from what some are calling my own narcissistic pity party) and tell you all about the half-marathon I ran this weekend. Now, I know there are many who question my decision to run this race so soon after Boston. In fact, a concerned blogger last week e-mailed to ask “Um, Lam, what kind of recovery program is this?” But I figured that since I’ve run this race once before (see Exhibit A – last year’s race report) and know that the course is pancake flat plus the fact that many of my friends would be out there running either the full or the half with me, I could just do this as a fun run if I really didn’t feel well and still enjoy myself. Besides, if the weather cooperated, there was the possibility of turning race day into a full beach day. Now, how fun would that be? So yeah, in the end, the decision to run this race was really a no-brainer.

Heading Down to the Jersey Shore

Because Long Branch is located in the southern New Jersey as part of the Jersey Shore, it is actually quite far away from the city. On race morning, those of us traveling down from NYC had to wake up at 3-4am to take the 5AM NJ Transit train that would take us to a station that was within walking distance of the start of the race. Although I had only about 4 hours of sleep the night before and couldn’t doze off on the train for the life of me, I was still feeling quite awake and ready to race by the time we got to Long Branch. I dropped off my bag at the expo, went to a portapotty one last time, and headed over to the race start. Since there were no corrals or waves or even designated pace markers, I was anxious to start near the front to avoid the inevitable congestion after the gun goes off. On my stroll over to the front from the back, I ran into JoyRun, who was running the full marathon. We chatted for only a few seconds because the scheduled start was only minutes away and I needed to find my buddies near the front. Little did I know that once I carefully situate myself where I thought I should be near the front of the pack, there was a 28 minute delay to the start of the race. Apparently, there was an accident on one of the roads we’d be running through. So we had to wait for a police escort to guide them out and re-clear the roads before starting. After many false-starts and more stalling by the M.C., the countdown finally ensued at 7:58AM. A few moments later, we were off and running!

Miles 1-5

Winds and rains dominated the weekend forecast for much of the northeast, and we knew even before we arrived that Long Branch would be the same. Although the rains hadn’t yet officially come in by the start of the race, it started to sprinkle by mile 2 and continued to rain off and on pretty much the entire day. Knowing that I was facing a bad weather day and with my physical recovery from the marathon not fully complete, I established very modest expectations for myself at the beginning of this race. My goal was simply to redeem myself somewhat from my disappointment at Boston by proving that I am a better runner now than I was last year. In order to do that, I wanted to run this exact race in almost the exact weather at a faster time. For reference, I ran this race in 1:27:28 (6:40 avg pace) in last year’s race, which at the time was a 28 second PR for me. I also wanted to implement my new half-marathon racing strategy of running the first ten miles at a good and comfortable pace before gradually picking it up in the last 5K until I’m running at top speed by the last 1.1 mile. I have learned from my early 2009 race experiences that this racing style not only lends itself to fast and strong finishing times when the plan is well executed but it also trains the body to run negative splits over the long haul. Anything beyond these goals would just be more icing on the proverbial cake.

Early on in this race, even though I felt I was letting the elites take off while consciously holding back to run within myself, the first mile still ended a bit too fast for me. But instead of carrying through and holding on to this blistering pace like I’m apt to do in previous races, I slowed myself down purposely to a more manageable pace over the next two miles. By mile 4, I felt I had hit my zone and was happy with where I was in terms of my leg cadence, heart rate and breathing. Traveling behind a pack of three younger girls who were running side-by-side a few steps in front of me, I was quite comfortable just to stay where I was, take in the scenery and just drift. By the end of mile 5, almost unintentionally, I realized I was carrying a PR pace and feeling great.

Mile 1 – 6:12
Mile 2 – 6:23
Mile 3 – 6:27
Mile 4 – 6:33
Mile 5 – 6:33

Miles 6-10

Unfortunately, somewhere in mile 6, when the rain started to get heavy and I found myself having to dodge puddles on the street, my right hamstring and knee started acting up again. The involved muscles, which were the same one as those that cramped during the Boston marathon, weren’t actively screaming so much as just merely complaining and letting me know that racing a half marathon less than two weeks after racing a full really isn’t such a good idea. Sadly, I had to let the girls go as well as about a dozen other runners as I forced myself to decrease my cadence to a turnover rate that would appease my right leg. Again, I had to deal with the awkward feeling of allowing my legs to dictate what my heart and lungs couldn’t in the middle of a race. It took me about three miles to get readjusted to this new slower pace. By mile 9, as I rode the only blip in elevation for the entire course and passing back a few people, I gradually realize that my legs were no longer being so disagreeable. I charge the hill a bit harder and take the descent a bit faster. I take a GU in three bites and anticipate slowly speeding up and taking control of the last 5K.

Mile 6 – 6:42
Mile 7 – 6:45
Mile 8 – 6:45
Mile 9 – 6:39
Mile 10 – 6:35

Miles 11-13.1

I had wanted someone to focus on overtaking as I prepared to run the last 5K progressively faster than the miles before. But since we were so spread out by this point that I haven’t been in shouting distance of passing or being passed in the last mile and half, I turn inwardly for my motivation to keep running faster. Luckly, the last couple miles of the course is sort of out-and-back, allowing me to see and interact with runners at mile 6-8 on the other side of the double yellow line as they came toward me. Honestly, I was running too fast to pick out any recognizable faces amidst the crowd, but I must have heard my name being called out at least a dozen times within that mile. I felt bad not knowing sometimes who called me but figured I’d thank them later when they identified themselves. I did get to see JoyRun again, looking strong running her marathon, which was so inspiring to see. Eventually, I crossed the bridge, made a left and found myself on the boardwalk again bounding for home. Once I knew I was on the cusp of a great race with only a mile or so left to go, I dropped the hammer and ran as fast as I could down the straightaway to the finish line. Although there was no one to pass and my footing was precarious on the wet pavement, I finish the race strong and with fervor. I can say I held nothing back in that final mile and finished with a much better time than I expected…and a new half-marathon PR!

Mile 11 – 6:29
Mile 12 – 6:27
Mile 13.1 – 6:40 (6:03 pace)

Final Statistics
Gun Time – 1:25:22
Chip Time – 1:25:16 (PR by 0:28)
Average Pace - 6:30 min/mi
Overall Place – 34/4636 (0.7%)
Age Group Place – 7/282 (2.5%)

The funny thing about these results was the fact that even though I achieved my goal and ran almost 2 and a half minutes faster this year than last, my age group placement remained exactly the same and my overall placement dropped by 8 places! Seriously? Is racing really getting that much more popular or do the really fast guys just intuitively know which races I’m entered in so they can gang up and make me feel generally incompetent. Haha! I am loving and savoring my new PR because I think it was well-earned and legitimizes my contention that I’m a better runner this year than I was last year (and still improving!), but still, I can’t help but wonder what I’d ever have to do to have a chance to hang with the top dogs.

Congrats to all the road warriors who ran such great races this weekend. There are a lot of great race reports out there this week (and too many for me to even attempt listing them all). I’m getting excited to move on from Boston in anticipation of my next marathon just reading you guys.

Memories From My First BostonThe 2009 Boston Marathon Race ReportPart 4 – Heartbreak, The Last 10K, and The Finish

Mile 19 – A Mile of Calm

After conquering two of the four notable Newton Hills, I know I am half-way done tackling the toughest portions of the course. Although my pace had slipped to a few seconds about 7 minutes the past two miles and my heart rate began drifting about 170 for the first time in the race, I continue to run calm and steady, knowing the push to the finish is just two miles and two small speed bumps to go. The road levels to a gradual downhill at this portion of the course, allowing my legs a short reprieve and the opportunity to regain my form and stride. With Heartbreak Hill looming so large in the distance, I do not dare speed up like some of my comrades who were using this decline as an excuse to surge ahead. “Either they are veterans and are accelerating here by design or they are amateurs heading for a cataclysmic blowup in the next mile or two. I’ll find out soon enough!” I thought to myself as I shot them a glance as they passed by. The crowd is thicker now and louder than I remember them a few miles back. Some of the college kids were offering us beer disguised in cups meant to hold beverages of another sort. Unlike earlier when the frequent interactions between marathoners and spectators made running near the sidelines somewhat entertaining, few runners here were paying any mind to the roaring crowds spilling onto the course like crashing waves over a sandy shore. In my head, I hear nothing but my own synchronous footfalls hitting pavement as I follow the running caravan due east toward Boston. (Statistics: Mile 19 – 6:58; Overall Time – 2:09:33 Overall Pace – 6:49)

Mile 20 – A Physical Lockdown

Since Rover the Garmin hadn’t yet learned to report exact distances (or accurate paces for that matter) and I lost all ability to do math after about the first mile, I’m not sure what my overall pace is at this point in the race. However, as I pass by the mile 19 marker and see the next hill a bit further off in the distance, I know I am still south of goal pace by a few seconds per mile. However, I also know that I will need to avoid catastrophe scaling Heartbreak if I am to have any shot at breaking 3. The sun has climbed a bit higher in the sky, but it struggles to fight off the wind, which has also gotten stronger as morning gives way to midday. I make my way down Commonwealth Avenue and quickly arrive at the foot of the third Newton Hill. I lift my eyes, see the crest and quickly realize that this ascent is fairly short. “No big deal. A Cat Hill!” I mutter to myself as I begin the climb. Looking straight at the top while imagining myself as a gazelle, I scale the hill triumphantly and eagerly anticipate what’s to come next. Because the back side of this hill is speedy, narrow and straight, many runners are galloping past me like thoroughbreds chasing for the top prize. I was already planning my tactical assault on Heartbreak when a sudden jolt of intense pain in my right back leg stops me dead in my tracks. The awkward sensation was so unexpected that it took a few seconds for the neuronal message to register. Apparently, right here at mile 19.7, without any previous foreshadowing or pain, my right hamstring, the one that was slightly strained many weeks ago when I ran the last mile of a tempo run too fast, inexplicably decides to lock up on me and throw a tantrum. Within two seconds flat, I am transformed from a free running gazelle to a stand alone mannequin, unable to make the slightest movement with my right leg. I am embarrassed and petrified. As my mind desperately searches for answers, I lift my leg to take a step but find the shockwaves of intense pain radiating throughout my entire right leg simply too excruciating to bare. Beyond the cacophony of footsteps scampering every which way around me, I hear voices from the crowd yelling my number, urging me to “Walk it off!” and “Stretch It Out!” For a few seconds, while instinctively stretching and massaging my right hamstring, I think about admitting defeat, calling it quits and limping off the course. After all, the NJ Marathon is in a couple weeks and if I can figure out what went wrong and recover well enough, I can just chalk this up as a hard training run and try again for sub-3 there. Best of all, since I’m completely anonymous amongst these runners and spectators anyway, no one has to know! But as soon as the thoughts became coherent, I remember all of my bloggy friends back home who are right now tracking me. I remember the sign that Margo prepared and sent me the night before. I remember my running friends who have used my journey to Boston as inspiration for their own running. I remember F.L. who is dealing with injury issues of her own and running this race with me anyway. Most of all, I remember the race I am running in and know I’d never forgive myself if I DNF’d my first Boston. Besides, what am I going to do, throw away my celebration jacket and just pretend I never came? So, soon after I stopped, I make a new promise to myself that no matter what, no matter how, I am bringing this sorry body, crummy leg and all, across that damn finish line! Miraculously, once I realize that quitting was no longer an option, I feel my body relax, which allowed the tension in my right leg to dissipate. I am still in throbbing pain, but can almost as a dare force myself to take a few steps. Upon realizing that I did not crumble to the ground like I had feared, I begin to walk very gingerly as best I could. And after walking slowly for what seemed like another eternity, when in actuality was only 5-10 seconds, I begin to wonder how long it’d take me to walk the remaining 6.5 miles to the finish and how long it’d take my left leg to stiffen up too once I am walking. So I force myself to start running again. I define “running” extremely loosely in this context because although in theory I am carrying my body from point A to B as fast as I can given the circumstance, in practice, my forward motion compares more favorably to an interpretation of the triple jump (hop, skip, and a jump) than a run by any stretch of the imagination. It must have been quite an inspirational sight to see because once I began moving, the ovation I received from the generous crowd of marathon spectators was louder and more boisterous than any I’ve ever gotten for anything I’ve ever done in my life! (Statistics: Mile 20 – 7:47; Overall Time – 2:17:20 Overall Pace 6:52

Mile 21 – The Heartbreak Hill

I blink twice hard once I see the digits from the horrific mile flash across the Garmin display. I climb Heartbreak with the knowledge that quest for sub-3 is officially over. I am disappointed in myself even as I know there really wasn’t much I could do about it. My troublesome hamstring continues to throb with each uncertain step as I make my way up the hill that has gradually become synonymous with my outlook on the race itself. It feels somewhat anti-climatic to be running up this historic landmark now that the pace and time no longer matter for me. Although many has described it as the longest uphill mile you’ve ever run, my review of this mile is rather modest, as it closely resembles the 5th Avenue Mile at Mile 23 of the NyC Marathon, only that it’s less steep and quite a bit shorter than it’s NYC counterpart. It is also somewhat less decorated than I’d imagined as I hardly even know I was there until I was at the top staring at a sign in the crowd that read “It’s All Downhill From Here”. To be honest, I was somewhat disappointed upon reaching the summit since I was expecting more and had so much left to give than what the numbers would show afterwards. (Statistics: Mile 21 – 7:24; Overall Time – 2:24:44 Overall Pace – 6:53)

Mile 22 - The Graveyard Mile

Once over the top, I see the city skyline unfold off in the distance and feel again the palpable excitement of the crowd. There is a festive atmosphere here as the runners all around me celebrate their conquest of Heartbreak by tearing down the steep and lengthy descent. I cannot join in the revelry with my slow and awkward gait so I slide off to the side to avoid the impending stampede. As the multitudes run conveniently by, I see and feel the derogatory stares from runners I had passed many miles back. I thwart their glances and turn my head. A thousand uninhabited tombstones follow my gaze and greet me as I scamper painfully by. I curse myself and wonder aloud why I’m hurting so bad and being subjected to such ridicule and shame. (Statistics: Mile 22 – 6:57; Overall Time – 2:31:41; Overall Pace – 6:53)

Mile 23 – Beacon, Brookline, and Misery

It is becoming cloudy and cold as I turn onto Beacon Street and enter the town of Brookline. Despite the harsh headwinds impeding our arrival into this suburban town, the last of its kind before Boston, the locals around here don’t seem to mind. They are grilling burgers out on second floor balconies and dancing in the streets to loud music pumping out of frat houses and bars. The roar of the crowd lined four to five deep is almost deafening as we approach closer and closer to our destination. Unfortunately for me, despite their affectionate outpourings of support and wild displays of joyful exuberance, I have just about given up on my race by this point. My leg is crampy, my quads are burnt, my gait is uneven and awful, and my pace is unrecognizable to me. The only solace I have is the knowledge that I’ll be done with marathons for a while after the next few miles. I try again to speed up beyond a comfortable pace with the intention of getting this torture test over and done with ASAP but my hamstring seizes up in anticipation of a preeminent cramp. I return reluctantly to a slow manageable pace even as I know from experience that my heart and lungs are capable of so much more. (Statistics: Mile 23 – 7:26; Overall Time – 2:39:07; Overall Pace – 6:55)

Mile 24 – An Emotional Ride

I continue on through Beacon St, running almost in fumes. I am hurt, angry, depressed, disappointed and extremely tired. For the life of me, I cannot imagine why I ever thought THIS would be fun. As I am about to slip further and further away from the marathon and the crowds and into my own world of pain and self-loathing, I remind myself to speak to the one person who never fails to bring clarity and perspective to mile 24 of every single marathon I’ve run. I have a secret and emotional rendezvous with my sister who I can see and hear most clearly when I’m at my worst. I start by telling her about my life, my running, what has changed and how it’s changed since the last time we met at mile 24. She listens attentively while I discuss with her why I think running this race and inspiring others to do the same has made me a better man. Despite my physical pain which is making this spiritual conversation more difficult than I’d imagined, I ask for her forgiveness that I have forgotten the main reason I run marathons which is so I can share these silent, powerful and private conversations with her that no one can listen to or see. My sister does not communicate with an audible voice, but I feel her presence none the same. She wants me to know that I am a good runner and a good man, like none other she’s seen. She tells me she’s proud to be a sister of a Boston marathoner, just like I should be of myself, and urges me to seize the moment and run as happy and as free as I can. Before reaching the next marker and leaving this conversation behind, I say a prayer of gratitude, tell sis I’ve really missed having her around, dry my eyes with the underside of the bandanna on my forehead and return to the race with a renewed fervor and attitude. (Statistics: Mile 24 – 7:27; Overall Time – 2:46:34; Overall Pace – 6:56)

Mile 25 – The CITGO sign

I finally arrive at downtown Boston where the giant CITGO sign up ahead shines against the dark and overcast sky like a giant beacon of effervescent light guiding us toward the finish line. The headwind which started as a breeze coming over Heartbreak has gotten significantly worse as the afternoon wears on. By this point, everyone is his own worse enemy as I see more than a few runners walking and limping off to the side. I myself am caught in no man’s land as I alternate between running, shuffling and waddling. The sharp cramps in my leg have subsided to a constant but dull gnawing pain as I struggle against my better judgment to finish off the race. Kenmore Square and the legendary Fenway Park pass me by but I can no longer lift my eyes to enjoy the majestic scenery. All I can afford to think about is putting one foot in front of the other in whatever gait that won’t aggravate the right leg and getting to the CITGO sign that seems to be moving deceptively further away from me with each and every step. (Statistics: Mile 25 – 7:28; Overall Time – 2:54:02; Overall Pace – 6:57)

Mile 26 and The Last .2 – The Final Push

Eventually, I arrive at the CITGO sign and almost instantaneously pass through the Mile 25 marker. I react to the juxtaposition and become livid with disgust. For some reason, I had thought that the CITGO sign marked the end of the race. From seeing signs from the crowd declaring “Almost There. 1.2 Miles To Go!” I wanted to curse the whole world and drop dead right there on the course! Suddenly, no doubt suffering from a delirium brought on by extreme anger and utter disappointment, I stop caring about the precarious nature of my leg and make up my mind that I will run like hell for the finish line. Right there and then, I started running. Fast. Down the rest of Commonwealth and the right onto Hareford and finally the left onto Bolyston, I ignore the fatigue, the pain, and the screaming pretenses warning me to stop. I don’t look up to soak up the atmosphere and the crowds like I always imagined I would but just kept running and counting the steps until the finish. As I did, I must have passed 10-20 runners during that last mile. It was a small consolation prize for missing the original mark and gutting it out to the end. I keep my drive and do not stop until I cross the finish line in front of the Boston Public Library where I was imagining a more triumphant victory 24 short hours ago. I stop my watch and immediately see that I had finished a second behind my PR time despite carrying what I thought was a ferocious pace in the last 1.2. I am extremely disappointed once again even as I know I had absolutely given it my all just not to limp off the course, not to DNF and finish what I had started in the toughest and most physically challenging marathon I’ve ever run. (Statistics: Mile 26.2 – 8:19; Final Time – 3:02:21; Final Average Pace – 6:57)

*Addendum and some pictures to follow. I apologize for the tardiness of this last update, but it has been extremely difficult for me to recapture these moments and re-tell my tale. Please don’t hate me for it! I’ll explain further in a subsequent post. I appreciate your support and your patience.