Top Ten Reasons Why I'm NOT Running the Boston Marathon

Contrary to popular belief, running isn't a common subject of conversation around the workplace. For one, very few of my colleagues run. Those that do are in it more for fitness and weight control than as a way to test physical limits. For another, since I deal mostly with obese kids and teens throughout the day, most of my patients and their families would probably define marathon as a long drawn-out movie or TV show. So imagine my surprise when this morning, in the middle of a highly stimulating and intellectual Grand Rounds presentation on the genetics of autism, a colleague that I didn't know well suddenly turns to me and whispers "Hey, aren't you running Boston next week?"

"Uh...no!" I whispered back.

"Oh, why?" He continues, with a surprised wrinkle on his face.

Before I could think of a suitable explanation, someone in back shushes us, bringing about an abrupt end to the conversation.

I didn't think too much of the previous interaction until it repeated itself again a few hours later. This time it's one o'clock and I am in a jam-packed elevator with patients, nurses and doctors all waiting to go on a lunch break. In between floors, one of the doctors in another department who I didn't know but obviously knew me asked loud enough for all to hear "So you're going up to Boston this weekend for the big race?"

"Not really. I'm not running Boston this year." I said.

"Really? That's sad. Why not?"

"C'mon dude. You seriously want me to hit the emergency brake and give you my exhaustive list of reasons for why I'm not running Boston this year. You really want to know that badly?" That's what I should have said. Instead, my mind drew a blank and I gave a lame-ass excuse that I'm running a marathon next month instead. The doors opened, he left and I felt like an invisible jackass the rest of the day.

Seriously, I had no idea so many people around the hospital had such a vested interest on my not running the Boston Marathon next Monday. Maybe I missed a memo. If I did, I would have taken my time, drafted a suitable response and printed them out as flyers to hand out to all the department heads. In actuality, it would have looked a little something like this:

Top Ten Reasons Why I'm NOT Running the Boston Marathon
10. Because I haven't any practice chugging beer at mile 20 on any of my 22 mile long runs
9. Because some Red Sox fan might want Buckner's ball back and kidnap a Mets fan for ransom.
8. Because I'm waiting on my Queens homie, Kara Goucher, to make a triumphant return. (Both of us ran our best times in NYCM '08, and Boston '09. Just sayin')
7. Because you gotta fall in love before you experience Heartbreak again.
6. Because last year's celebration jacket is way cooler.
5. Because I'm boycotting this race on behalf of all my friends who qualified late and got shut out of registration. (So completely unfair!)
4. Because running a marathon PR in Boston (and not NY) would cause my brother (a Yankees fan) to completely disown me.
3. Because running two Bostons instead of just one might give me a swell head.
2. Because I haven't yet forgotten how much the Newton Hills suck!
1. Because it's not New York!

Best of Luck to everyone who IS running Boston next week. May you all have great weather, awesome races, and very speedy times! I'll be cheering you on virtually with a simulcast of the race in the background in between patients. Have fun out there! Rock on Boston Marathoners!

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.

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.

Memories From My First BostonThe 2009 Boston Marathon Race ReportPart 3 – The Middle Miles – Miles 7-18

Miles 7-9

After crossing the 10K time mat, I knew I was officially entering the “middle miles” of the race. Surprising, the course is still relatively crowded at this point, with not much open running room on either side of the two lane road. Navigating through traffic at the water stations was especially treacherous, given the barrage of water, cups, hands and feet thrown in every direction around me. This “middle-of-the-pack” sensation at mile 7 of a marathon feels completely foreign to me since at most major marathons I’ve done, the passing lanes are clearly defined and relatively clear by this point in the race. To avoid anxiety, claustrophia, and a complete freak-out, I concentrate my attention on a few notable characters that have been traveling at the same pace as me over the preceding miles. There’s the guy running in the fluorescent yellow Boston Marathon Finisher shirt with a hand-written “First Boston” sign on his back who looks like he’s falling apart. Beside him, an elegant female prancer with a face younger than some of my pediatric patients is pounding out the miles with such focus and determination that she does not care to acknowledge the crowds furiously cheering her name. Further along, I see a runner avoid a water station to grab a beer from some spectators on the side. I felt his choice of hydration rather odd until I notice while passing he is running without a bib. “Welcome to the spectacle that is the Boston Marathon,” I say to myself as I stroll through the series of rolling hills that marks the course passing through the township of Natick. (Statistics: Mile 7 – 6:45; Mile 8 – 6:50; Mile 9 – 6:49; Overall Pace – 6:44)

Miles 10-12

The feeling of running through the Natick town center adorned with spectators lined three to four deep on either side feels both invigorating and eerie. On the one hand, I feel like a rock star at a sold-out concert running amidst the boisterous crowds. On the other hand, it is somewhat strange to run through here with such wild fanfare when you realize that this is a picturesque and quiet suburban town the other 364 days of the year. From mile 10-11, I hug the left side of the road, trying to find my friend MT who was dropping by to watch me run the marathon. We had made arrangements over dinner the previous night to hold a spontaneous meeting near the mile 10 marker where she can snap a photo or two of me running this race. Although I am still running comfortably at this point, meeting my splits while conserving energy, I am somewhat desperate to see a familiar face from back home. It feels awkward to be running in such a big race, get cheered on by hundreds of thousands, yet be completely anonymous. Truth be told, ever since FL left me soon after our arrival at the Athlete’s Village, I’d been sporadically looking around for other NY Flyers, friends, anyone I might know during the race, but up to this point, my efforts have not been fruitful, which was somewhat disconcerting. Throughout the mile, I scan the crowd, hoping for a face I’d recognize, which in practice was harder than it seemed. I even lower the pace to facilitate the search, but to no avail. Eventually, after passing through mile 11 still with no sign of MT, I abandon the search, ingest a GU and brace my ears for the craziness at Wellesley. (Statistics: Mile 10 – 6:51; Mile 11 – 6:55; Mile 12 – 6:48; Overall Pace – 6:46)

Miles 13-15

Mile 13 isn’t so much about the running as it is about witnessing an exercise in admiration and vociferation because unless you’ve been through the scream tunnel and ran by the girls of Wellesley College, you cannot imagine what it feels like to be the object of affection for the hundreds of young enthusiastic women that line the side of the course. I likened the sensation to tearing down the 59th Street Bridge during the New York City Marathon only it’s a bit louder, a bit closer, and the voices are all female. As I cautiously make my way through the thunderous ovation and noise, the ladies all reach out for me, enticing me with their “Free Kisses for Runners” posters and “Kiss and Run” cartoon drawings. For a short while, I thought about obliging their offers. But since I’ve already seen a few of my running neighbors disappear into the hordes of women not to be heard from again, I worry that I too would get lost in the gauntlet and never get out alive. As a result, I stick to the center lane and do not dare look over until the voices have trailed off into a whisper behind me. “Next time girls, next time!” Not long after the exhilaration at Wellesley, I pass the half marathon checkpoint at 1:28:44, a minute ahead of schedule and a full 46 seconds ahead of my PR pace in NYC ’08. I am ecstatic with my pace thus far but remain cautious, knowing the worse is yet to come. I roll through mile 15 at a comfortable (albeit a little slow) pace preparing my body physically and mentally for the challenge that is to come a half mile away. (Statistics: Mile 13 – 6:49; Mile 14 – 6:45; Mile 15 – 6:58; Overall Pace – 6:46)

Mile 16-18

Shortly after entering this mile, we descend quickly and without warning into Newton Lower Falls. In terms of both grade and net elevation loss, it’s the biggest downhill section we have had since the early miles back at Hopkinton. As I glide down the nondescript road, I remind myself that this is a short appetizer for the tough main course that will stretch through the next five miles. I take the short reprieve to review my battle plans. Since miles 16-21 would be the toughest stretch by far along the course, before running I broke down the marathon into three smaller parts. There is a 16 mile warmup, a 5 mile race, and a 5 mile victory lap to the finish. I see the road in front of me unfold into a steady climb and suddenly realize that the game is on. The first of the Newton Hills at mile 16.5 is long and gentle. I take my time and scale it without much difficulty. After a short flat stretch to recollect my thoughts, I consume another GU and find myself at the foot of another hill. This second hill at 17.5 is short and steep, and in a sense is similar to the West Side hills when running Central Park in a clockwise direction. On this hill too, I tried to protect my knees and maintain even effort throughout although it is becoming more apparent with each successive step that I am in fact slowing down. I look for the designated Flyers cheering section in between Miles 17 and 18 but they are no where to be found. I am becoming increasing aware of how anonymous I’ve become since starting the race amongst 28,000+ . Luckily, by this point, I no longer care. My complete focus is on tackling the last 2 hills while keeping sub-3 a real possibility until after Heartbreak. Little did I know disaster would strike within the next half mile that will blow those pre-conceived race goals right out of the water… (Statistics: Mile 16 – 6:46; Mile 17 – 7:03; Mile 18 – 7:03; Overall Pace – 6:48)

Memories From My First BostonThe 2009 Boston Marathon Race ReportPart 2 – The Bus Ride, Athlete’s Village, The Start, and Miles 1-6

Monday, 4/20, 6:14AM

It is finally race morning. Sitting in a semi-awake, semi-comatosed state on a crowded yellow school bus shuffling toward the marathon start in Hopkinton, I’m reminded of a similar journey I took four years ago in my first marathon in NYC, when I woke up way too early to join the mass exodus out of Battery Park toward Staten Island also on a school bus. At that time my excuse was that I was a marathon virgin and didn’t really know any better. This time I’m still a virgin, a Boston Marathon virgin, and had no other choice. This morning, I think I prepared well though as I woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast (a chocolate croissant, a banana, and an orange), packed up, and checked out of the hotel all within a half-hour. Still my stomach feels a bit queasy as I endure the hour long bus ride out to Hopkinton. I’m not sure if I’m having real GI issues or if my gut is just revolting against the rumbling and tumbling of the bus making its way out of town. I turn around and catch the glance of FL sitting in the seat behind me. She darts her eyes to the boys sitting in the next aisle and wiggles out a wry smile. I nod my head in silent agreement and turn back around. Yes, I heard them too. The boys, probably in their early 20s, in college no doubt, were discussing, no, bragging about their PRs and race goals loud enough for all the bus to hear. I heard one of them say, “I know this is my first one, but if I run this thing in anything over 3 hours, I’m going to shoot myself.” Poor immature colts, I thought to myself as I take a swig from my water bottle, they really have no clue what they’re talking about. No matter how good or speedy they think they are, they have much to learn in the sport of distance running.

Monday, 4/20, 8:48AM

The sun hasn’t yet peeked behind the clouds and the air feels misty and cold as I make my move. I’m standing in a poor excuse for a line waiting for a port-a-john. It’s not like I have to go really, but since I’ve been sitting and slightly shivering beneath the sporting tent in Athlete’s Village for the better part of two hours, I thought it wise to move around, start getting warm and get on line. Besides, since arriving, I’ve had 2 bananas, 2 oranges and a bottle of Gatorade/water concoction that I made early this morning and I know I’ll need to eliminate some excess digestive baggage before heading over to the start. The scene around me is a complete runners’ mayhem. Besides a sea of runners wrapped in a myriad of clothes trying to stay warm, there are tables everywhere--bagel tables, coffee tables, even a table where they’re giving out free gloves. I thought about getting an extra pair for FL but since she ditched me early this morning to hang with her friends at the Hawaiian House right at the start, I figure she won’t have much use for gloves anyway. I feel restless and start stretching my hamstrings and quads while standing in line. I am ready to race.

Monday 4/20, 9:59AM

The powerful sonic boom from two F-14s soaring overhead resonates across the starting field like a call to arms on a battlefield. On my immediate left, spectators are lining the steps of the Korean Presbyterian Church, anxiously awaiting the race to begin I have conquered the half mile walk from the Athlete’s Village to the starting line and have shed the cotton long sleeve shirt I had been wearing to keep warm by the time I arrive at my corral. We are moments away from the start of the 113rd Boston Marathon and I’m at peace with myself as the national anthem plays off in the distance. Despite the hundreds of spectators clapping and shouting words of encouragement to all the runners, all I can hear in the moments before the start are echoes from my own sage voice the night before, advising FL and others to start off slow and keep the flow. Seconds later, the starting horn is blown and we’re OFF!

Miles 1 and 2

The runners take a gradual left as the course immediately descends right off the start. I remind myself that this is the steepest part of the entire marathon route as I start my race at a comfortable pace. I let others fly by me as I gingerly make my way downtown. A sparse crowd is already starting to form on both sides of this two-lane road by the time I stroll through. The capricious sun makes an appearance from behind the clouds and I’m grateful for the increased warmth this weather change brings. I slither by the middle lane at the first water station and watch the chaos of musical chairs with runners and water unfold on either side. After passing through, I take a swig from my own Gatorade supply I was carrying and watch as Captain America in full gear pass right in front of me. I must be going slow, I thought to myself as I pass the first mile marker. I look down and was shocked to see 6:58 for the first mile. “Going slow is one thing, but this is utterly ridiculous.” I lecture myself as I enter Mile 2. Since the course continues will gradually descend gradually for another five miles, I use this opportunity to speed up some in an effort to reclaim my pace. Cowbells, beer, and New England accents abound on both sides of the course. Everyone is enthusiastically cheering us on right from the get-go. I see kids and adults, young and old, going wild on the sidelines and feel fortunate for us and for them that the rainy weather as forecasted is holding off. (Statistics: Mile 1 – 6:58; Mile 2 – 6:26; Overall Pace – 6:47)

Miles 3 and 4

We enter Ashland just as we start the third mile of this course. After running the last mile much faster than I’d wanted, I tempered my speed just a tad and settle into a more consistent pace. Even at the 5K mark, waves of people are still passing me by on both sides. As I will comment to a friend a while later, I’d never felt so middle-of-the –pack as I felt running this race. I am curious to know the identities of these folks who think passing me this early in the marathon was justified so I draft behind a set of twins wearing the same marathon outfit. I didn’t hear much from their conversation, but from what I did hear, I am somewhat disturbed. They are both running their first Boston and are planning to run a 3:10 marathon, yet were moving just as fast as me through the early miles. Either I am way off target or they were seriously overestimating their abilities. I look down at the Nike pace bracelet I was given at the expo and realize that I was at least ten seconds ahead of schedule at this point. Remembering to “believe in the pace” and “run my own race”, a formula prescribed to me by a kid on his dad’s shoulder holding up a sign, I shorten my stride, ease back my pace and rejoin the recesses of runners swarming up behind me. (Statistics: Mile 3 – 6:35; Mile 4 – 6:36; Overall Pace – 6:39)

Miles 5 and 6

The sight of a freight train rolling by signals my arrival into Framingham, the third town in a series of seven I’ll pass by on my way back to Boston. We climb up a short hill as we make our way toward the famous railway house. I was surprised, but the ascent was actually a welcome relief to my legs which had gotten weary from the long stretches of downhill running. Under the bright-lit sky, I am not cold but can feel a slight headwind blowing against my face. I finish up the last of the Gatorade from the bottle I had been carrying and toss it to the side. Ahead of me, I see a guy running with two prosthetic legs, the kind Oscar Pistorius made famous last year, and I get a bit teary-eyed. I think about all the people who couldn’t run today. I think about FL and how she’s gutting it out just to finish despite her myriad of injuries. For them, I can’t even imagine how I’d feel if I didn’t run my best today. I ride the wave of emotion, slap some kids high-fives on the side and continue on my journey, now almost a quarter complete. (Statistics: Mile 5 – 6:50; Mile 6 – 6:48; Overall Pace – 6:42)

Memories From My First BostonThe 2009 Boston Marathon Race ReportPart I – Pre-Race Weekend

Saturday, 4/19, 10:21AM

I’m sitting anxiously on the back of the bus. Beside me, the April issue of Runner’s World beckons for my attention. My three-and-a-half hour ride to Boston is barely an hour old and already I feel as if I’ve traveled a thousand miles. In my head, I’m I trying to envision what’s ahead--arriving at the race expo, picking up my bib number, seeing FL again since last December--but my mind wanders with each thought and drifts back to flashbacks from my own running past. From the BQ fail of 33 seconds at Hartford in Oct 2006 to my marathon triumph in 2007 NYC, from a DNS at Boston 2008 because of a broken clavicle to my marathon PR in November at 2008 NYC, each race in its own way was pivotal in bringing me to this bus ride today. Although I cannot define what I hope to find in Boston, I draw comfort in knowing exactly where I’ve been. With my Boston Marathon celebration jacket clenched tight around my body, I stand to scan the premises and to find familiar faces who might be traveling to town for the same purpose as me.

Saturday, 4/19, 2:41PM

It’s mid-forties, dark, overcast and a bit windy. Black wispy clouds hang overhead like a puppeteers over marionettes. For me, this is typical New England weather for this time of year. For FL, who doesn’t believe good weather exists under 70F, this is downright cold and dreary. We’re sitting on park benches outside the marathon expo enjoying lunch and reacquainting ourselves with our lives, our own goals for this race and our race prep anxieties. All around us, tons of runners are walking to and fro showing off their Boston Marathon gear as if they were all members of a large eclectic secret society that had just spilled out onto the streets. It took several elitist thoughts slipping into my conscious mind before I “got” it. I too had just left the biggest expo ever and have a marathon shirt, a marathon hat and several bags of goodies that I cannot wait to tear into. Although I’d like to think I’m humble and cool and am content just to be an average marathon runner preparing to run just another 26.2 mile race, I cannot help but be inspired by the sight of thousands of finely tuned Boston marathoners, the best athletes in our sport, circulating in all directions all around me. They’re all scurrying to pick up race shirt and bibs, meet family and friends and make last minute preparations for the same race that I’ll be running in. And then it dawns on me, it really hits me. I AM one of them; I AM one of the best; I AM a Boston Marathoner. I have arrived.

Saturday, 4/19, 5:55PM

“Every runner is different.” The platform poster says. I couldn’t agree more. I’m boarding the commuter train to Newburyport, NH, where I plan to have dinner and spend the night with out of town friends. Next to me, an older gentleman wearing the same celebratory jacket as I, strikes up a conversation. Like me, he is also running his first Boston. But unlike me, it took him 13 attempts to get here, including his first B.Q. back in Arizona in January of this year, where he qualified by less than 10 seconds. He indulges me by giving me the lowdown of all his marathons to date. As he is talking, I’m mesmerized by his candor, his excitement and his serenity. It was obvious that he was enjoying the experience and was happy just to have arrived. “I haven’t trained well this winter, and so I have no time goal. The game plan is to go slow and enjoy the show.” I’m envious that he seems so relaxed, with race day now less than 2 days away.

Saturday, 4/20, 11:48 PM

My eyes are droopy. My stomach is full. I am ready for bed, but since an animated MT is talking running, which isn’t usually a topic of late night conversation with her, I am obliged to listen. She shares with me her favorite Patriot’s Day memories from B.U., where she had gone to college. She remembers the wild frat parties that spilled into the streets even before noon. She remembers standing on the sidelines on the first warm spring day and offering beer to runners who looked like they were struggling. She even remembers when as a dare, some of her college friends would chug a beer, jump the barricades and run a portion of the marathon course with some of the runners. In the middle of all of this, she suddenly declares to me that SHE wants to qualify and run the Boston Marathon in a year or two. I found this rather ironic as I’m coaching her to run her very first half-marathon just next week. I smiled and nodded as she relates to me all she plans to do as she runs the course. Although I fear that her exuberance and excitement will be short-lived once she realizes the extensive training necessary to run a successful marathon, it was nonetheless extremely inspirational for me to hear what Boston means to someone else besides me.

Sunday, 4/20, 11:20AM

Beyond the stage offered by the coach car window, the silent cinema of the rural countryside unfolds next to me in a reverse direction to what I had seen yesterday afternoon. Although I find myself aboard the same commuter train with the same B.A.A. poster advertising the Boston marathon, I am less anxious and more relaxed as I await the one hour ride back to town. Maybe it was the delicious five course meal I shared with MT and her friends which took the entirety of last night to finish, or the realization upon waking this morning, that even though the start of the marathon is less than 24 hours away, there is really nothing more I can do to prepare for this race, either way, I am enveloped in a quiet subdued confidence that I hadn’t felt all weekend long.

Sunday, 4/20, 3:01PM

FL and I are together again in the same hotel room, just as we were four short months ago in Vegas. This time however she’s badly injured, with a sore and tender piriformis muscle that prevents her from running with a normal gait. As she lies on the floor going through a myriad of exercises with her system of trigger balls to ease the tension on her back, I read over the mile times I plan to run from the pace bracelet I had prepared for the occasion. FL notes the awkward juxtaposition and comments. “Just as Vegas was about me and that BQ…This race is about you and your sub-3. I’ll be okay. I’m just hoping to finish.” I thank her for the vote of confidence but can sense the disappointment in her voice. “Don’t worry. We’ll come back again and do it right.” I assured her. “Let’s get through tomorrow so we can grab that medal and go celebrate.”

Sunday, 4/20, 7:14PM

I never could have imagined a pre-race pasta dinner without pasta, but the filet mignon and vegetable rice risotto my friend SH (with assistance from DS) conjured up made for a more than adequate substitution. Although the gathering was small by marathon standards with only seven in attendance, the abundance of food and the pre-race jitteriness and excitement felt amongst the four marathoners, including three Boston first-timers, made for some lively and spirited conversation. FL was intrigued to meet another injured soul who was running the marathon just for the medal and not for time while I sought the advice of another who had traveled the course once before. It was mystifying how everyone with such varied running experiences and race goals can spontaneously coalescence and be encouraging to one another. I feel bad for those partygoers who aren’t yet marathoners or runners but got swept up in all the excitement and hoopla anyway.

Sunday, 4/20, 10:48 PM

As it often occurs on marathon eve, we stayed out a bit later than expected and got back to the hotel room way past our scheduled curfew. It’s alright though. I’ve got my drop bag, my pre-race breakfast and drinks all laid out for a quick getaway in the morning. One last check of race day weather on the internet verifies that there’ll be no rain in the morning and will reach 52F by the early afternoon. I ditch my long-sleeve technical and settle on a quarter-zip sea blue light technical shirt for the race. I find my matching blue bandana and Asics race shorts and lay them out on the nightstand for easy access in the morning. Before climbing into bed, I confide in FL that I’m indeed nervous and unsure if I can run sub-3 on this course. She turns to me and says. “Listen to me. I know you’re a sub-3 runner. You know you’re a sub-3 runner. If it doesn’t happen tomorrow, it’ll happen the next time. The point it, IT WILL HAPPEN, so quit worrying. DDYA!” I nodded in agreement and closed my eyes. As I drifted off to sleep, I reminded myself that although sub-3 is an important race goal, it was more important to enjoy the journey, because I’ll never again get the opportunity to run my first Boston.

Result From My First Boston Marathon - 3:02:21

The motto for this year's Boston Marathon (as written on the official posters all around town) is "Every runner has a story." As you all know, my I finished my first Boston Marathon one second behind my marathon PR time of 3:02:20 in last year's NYCM. (Thanks to all of you for tracking me and virtually cheering me on. You all are totally awesome!) What you don't know is how I almost walked off the course, almost DNF'd, and had to fight like hell just to finish.

What is to follow then, after I recover feeling in my legs again, is my story because one thing I learned at this year's Boston is that behind every race time, no matter how slow or how fast, is a great story. Stay tuned.

Final Thoughts Before Boston

That’s it folks. My bus ticket is printed. My bags are packed. I’m leaving New York for Boston first thing in the morning. As I’m trying to anticipate what I’ll forget to bring once I leave (and I will forget), it’s beginning to dawn on me that this Boston Marathon thing is really going to happen. I’ve been fielding good wish calls from friends all week. I’ve been reading forums and books and articles on the marathon all month. I even did a podcast with a few friends from the Runners’ Lounge on the race a few days ago. Yet it was the simple act of packing and the prospect of leaving home that finally made me realize that this race is no longer a pipe dream and is really going down in three days…

"Are you ready to run this race?" Everyone around me has been asking for the past few days. "I don’t know…I think so." has been my patented answer. In a way, I do know since I’ve trained hard and feel pretty confident that this will be the race for me. In another way, I truly don’t because so many extrinsic factors beyond my control can ruin the day. All I can promise is that I’m preparing to give my all to run a smart, fast, and tactical race. So if the running powers that be are on my side on race day, I’ll bring home the sub-3 with plenty to spare.

To all you ladies and gents who’ve virtually come with me all this way, thanks for all the celebratory congrats on all the good runs and the kind encouragement on all the bad ones. Words really cannot express how appreciative I feel for all of your support. You people are simply amazing! I really would have never been so inspired to train for this race if it were simply me. But since I felt such a collective virtual presence on all the training run and races, I simply felt obligated to always put forth a good effort. And now that that effort has carried me all the way to the Boston Marathon I sincerely feel very blessed and grateful. Even though all of you won’t be around in person on race day, you all will virtually be with me as I run this race.

So look for me on Patriot’s Day in the third corral of Wave 1. My race bib number is #3135 and I’ll be rocking Boston with a bandana on my head and a whole blogosphere out cheering for my success. It’s going to be a great race, and I officially cannot wait. Alright Boston. Bring. It. On.

So check me out on race day (you can use Athlete Tracker on the B.A.A. website), and I’ll follow up with all of you on the other end of Bolyston! Enjoy the race everyone!

My Motivation: What Running Boston Means To Me

As a runner, by default, I’m a creature of habit. Before every marathon I’ve run so far, I often like to make a list of 26 names for whom I’m running. I do this so that for every single mile, I have someone to imagine a conversation with in case I get bored and need motivation to get through the rough patches. Some people use mantras, others hum songs, but this is what I do to inspire myself as I’m running the course. This time however, as I sat down to construct the list of names to be used on race day, my mind drew a complete blank, which was somewhat shocking. So I asked myself a simple question. For whom are you running the Boston Marathon? What does running Boston mean to you? I waited patiently for my mind to settle on an answer and this is what it’s telling me…

Boston is not just another marathon. The course, the crowd, the history, the tradition, and the athletes, combine in a powerful and magnificent way to create a magical experience that is unlike any other. No matter how many previous other marathons you’ve run before or how many others you will run, this marathon is and always will be a special race. It is your First Boston. You’ll be honored and cheered, celebrated and congratulated more than ever before as you run the course, for the simple act of receiving the privilege to toe the line in Hopkinton is already an accomplishment all onto itself.

So even though you’ve run other marathons in dedication to family and friends, both virtual and real, this one for all intents and purposes, is strictly on you. For the first time in a long time, they’ll be very few friends on the sidelines looking for you. There won’t be the usual personal cheering zones at assigned street corners scattered along the course as you’ve come to be used to. There won’t even be Flyers station handing out PowerGels at Mile 19. This is Boston, Lam, not New York, but you’ll be fine. You’ll be more than fine. You’ll run a spectacular race in a historic marathon and will love every second of it.

But if you should have trouble and feel out of sorts on the course, remember the long months of waiting and tedious hours of training it took to get to where you are today. Remember how you ran a 3:11:33 in 2006 and missed out on the BQ by 33 seconds. Remember how you finally qualified a year later in 2007 NYC and still couldn’t run the race the following year because you broke a collarbone and couldn’t run for months. Most of all, remember how hard you’ve trained this winter, out in the snow, out in the cold, when it’s dark and gloomy and slippery and wet, and all that pushed you out the door each day was the passion to run and the resolve to prove to everyone else around and most of all to you, that you are a decent marathoner and deserve to run Boston. Yeah, remember that, because this has been a long journey, and you’ve come so far in preparing your body to run with the very best out there that day. Laminator, you have a date with destiny. Seize the race, run your heart out, take no prisoners, and enjoy the ride!

This is what my mind is telling me as I’m packing my bags with race day now just four days away…

Jealously Missing Boston

I am not by nature a jealous person. I never ask myself what if I had that beautiful car, or lived in that gorgeous mansion or had the talent to be a professional athlete. Maybe that’s because I’ve always lived with the premise that you always want what you can’t have and if you can have it, you wouldn’t want it anymore. Moreover, I feel that a happy person always treasures what he has more than what he wants. So, yeah, I have always assumed that jealousy was someone else’s problem.

This week, however, has been a bit different. I found myself reading every blog post, listening to every podcast, watching the course video, and getting genuinely anxious and excited about a certain Boston race that I’m not even running in. When was the last time I knew so much about a particular race that I wasn’t a part of? I know it’s a historic race, and the Boston Marathon is the Super Bowl of marathons, and it’s happening the day after the women’s marathon trials, and the weather’s going to be perfect, and Lance Armstrong is running it, and I might be able to keep up with him if they’d let me run, but all of that still doesn’t explain why I’ve spent so much time and energy this week researching the topic (I listened to Phedip #137 on the State of the Course five times!) that I’ve memorized every turn, every street name, and every speed bump from Hopkinton to downtown Boston.

I think what it comes down to, if I am completely honest with myself, is that I’m jealous. I’m jealous of all my blogger friends, jealous of Steve Runner, jealous of Lance Armstrong, jealous of Huckabee and everyone else who’s preparing to run Boston on Patriot’s Day. Although I am feeling guilty about my jealousy, after all, I have my own race, albeit a much shorter one, to run tomorrow, I feel on some level that I should be there, right alongside them, enjoying the marathon trials tomorrow, and experiencing the butterflies for Monday’s race. I ran my BQ in NY last year, so there should have been a spot at the starting line with my name on it. If only I didn’t break a bone on a freaky accident this winter…uugghh…

No, I am not going to be that guy. If there’s one thing this sport has taught me, it is to be patient and have discipline (hey that’s two things…but no one’s counting…) So I will run my best in my short 4-mile race tomorrow, enjoy the perfect weather and the perfect foliage (it’s cherry blossom time in Central Park this week), congratulate all the runners who made it to Boston, cheer them all on virtually from my office on Monday, and lay aside my personal emotions and agendas until I get to run my own Boston on my own terms next year.

But so someone can benefit from the fruits of my labor, here’s a little motivational video for those of you who are looking to join me in Boston next year. Who’s coming with me?