Finishing the Race

It wasn't the sunny, clear day we had back in April, but it was lovely nonetheless.  For my long run today, I ran into Boston, to the finish line of the Marathon to watch thousands of runners complete their race.  

Crowds starting to gather

It was tear-filled, cathartic and soggy.  And it was wonderful to cheer on the runners.  It was also awe-inspiring to see our police out there supporting the runners, clearing the roads, watching the crowds, just like they do every year.

Here they come

Copley Square Memorial

I love this running community, and I want to keep this communal feeling.  Running can be an isolated experience, so from now on, I'm waving when I see people running.  6 minute miles or 12, if we cross paths, I'm gonna wave and smile.  We're a part of a secret club, and this is our handshake.

Damp tissues

This is really hard.

We heard the news at around 3pm.  Driving home from Natick, where we'd been at a BBQ with Paul's coworkers.  Because this is how it is on Marathon Monday, you go to watch the race, you drink beers and watch the kids play in the sunshine, you talk about your own training with other runners.  I stopped Paul mid-sentence to turn the radio up - I thought they'd said something about explosions at the finish.  They switched the story back to the race winners.  I started crying.  Paul tried to calm me, reminding me that we didn't know any details yet.  I tried to find details online, but boston.com was timing out, nothing had hit FB yet, then the first reports started coming through on twitter.  The radio stopped trying to cover the race, and instead covered the blasts.

I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to soak up any detail, but also not trusting what the media was reporting (when they can't google Patriots' Day, I had little hope they were getting the rest of the information right), tracking down friends, alerting my family that I was physically safe.  But mostly I just felt devastated, and bad for feeling so upset and stupid for thinking this could never happen here.  And I cried.

I felt like didn't have the right to be so sad.  Boston is my home town now, but I've never actually run the Boston Marathon.  I didn't know any one injured, dismembered or killed.  How can I show up to work having tossed and turned all night, eyes swollen?

This is my community.  The Boston Marathon is the holiest of our holidays.  It is one of the very best things the city does.  It's a shining example of human triumph - not just the runners, but certainly them too.  The hours trained, the records broken, the hundreds of thousands of dollars earned for charity, the precision of measuring and timing the course, of checking and double-checking every elite water bottle to insure that it is placed and spaced correctly on the table.  Boston has thousands of volunteers.  This year they turned away volunteers.  They have a volunteer loyalty program (and I assure you most people are not in it for the jacket).     The Marathon is just pure joy.  It is uncompromisingly good.

Of course, it would be a target.  How could I have been so naive as to think that evil would never try to mar the goodness that is the marathon?  Why can't we have nice things?  I have no doubt the Marathon will go on, but it will never be the same.  The specter of this year will hang over it for decades to come.

I wish that I could feel defiant or angry toward the perpetrators, or awed and amazed at the people who raced to the scene, but for now I just feel hollowed out.

I am so thankful to my friends for reaching out from places and phases of life, near and far.  It means a lot to feel less alone in this tragedy.

Return to elite hydration

This year, like last, I volunteered at the 10K elite hydration stop of the Boston Marathon.  I love Marathon Monday so much, getting to be out on the course helping the pros run their best (especially in a scorcher like we had on Monday), cheering on the amateurs as they reach their goals and riding my bike all over the course on a gorgeous Monday when most other people are at work.  It's just fabulous.  I won't go into the whos and whats and wheres and whys this time, since I covered that last year.  Here are the highlights.

1.  Losing my bottle cage.

Ok, this is less of a highlight.  I was riding my tri-bike, trying to make a workout out of my ride to the 10K mark, and I went over a bump.  I heard a crash, and looked back to see my rear bottle cages in the middle of the road.  I pulled over, and went back for them.  What I found was my cages and this small mustache-shaped brace.  If you look carefully, you'll see that the screws that were holding the brace in place have been snapped clean off.  Fail.  I had a back pack, so I chucked the cages in there and put the bottle in a side pocket.  Not as easy to retrieve, but better than nothing.

2.  Wearing spandex gives people license to talk to you


We stopped at a Dunkin Donuts on the way out, and every one was asking how far we were riding and if we were running.  Putting this in perspective:  on any other day, I would assume some one approaching me was either selling something or crazy.  And the idea that some one who presumably drove to the Dunkin would have anything to say to me other than abuse about being on their roads, well it just doesn't happen.  This is the magic of Marathon Monday.

[my table]

3.  And the cyclists were out in force


We saw hundreds of riders heading out to the start and back again while the roads were less utilized.  Perhaps it was just the warmer-than-usual weather, but it was great to see so many people out, and to get swept along with a group or two.

[here come the ladies]

4.  It was a smaller elite field

Organizers told us beforehand that because of the Olympics in London this year, they had a smaller crop of elite runners registered.  Pair that with the blinding conditions and my women's table only had 2 bottles on it, my mens table had none.  :-(  Some one suggested that perhaps because World Records cannot be set on this course that pros were less interested, but it's still Boston.  WR or no, it's still a significant line on your resume to win this race.

5.  No taste testing this year

With fewer athletes, hotter conditions, and a better organized strike of the water stop, there wasn't much opportunity to try out the elite's drinks this time around.  I'm curious if they would have been more salty this year.

[the men approach]

6.  A desolate, post-marathon wasteland

Once the majority of the race had passed through, we packed up and rode out to Heartbreak hill for a little cheering.  As we rolled through the amateur water stops, the road resembled some post-apocalyptic scene.  The street was strewn with cups rolling around, a few dazed runners staggered through.  Looked like a scene from a movie.

7.  Lost and found

Just as we were packing up at the 10K marker, a runner came up to me and thrust his balled up jacket my way.  He said, "Here, take it.  It's from Chile."  It's a very nice jacket, and I'd like to return it to the runner.  I've googled the team name, and they appear to be a race organizer from Chile.  I couldn't find anything on their marathon team itself.  There are only 24 males from Chile who raced Boston, and based on the time, I think I know who it was.  I'm going to try to contact the BAA and see if they can put me in touch with him.  If you have other ideas for how I could find this runner, please let me know.

Elite Fluid

Geoffrey Mutai set a new course record (and will possibly be recognized for a new World Record) on the Boston Marathon course Monday. And I had his water bottle at 10K. I think I deserve some credit for his win.

OK, ok, he didn't actually take the water bottle from my table. A lot of runners decide not to take their designated bottles, be it, they just don't want a drink, or they are on the far side of the pack from the fluid.

Here's how it works. Every 5K there's an elite fluid stop. Each athlete provides their own bottle of whatever they want to drink in advance of the race. For most of them it's just a few ounces. There are ten tables each with 4 bottles. As an athlete approaches the stop, they know their bottle will be on the 2nd table in the 3rd spot (for example).


Each bottle is different. Some people decorate their bottles so they're easy to spot:

Ryan Hall signs each of his bottles and tosses them to the crowd as a souvenir when he's done.

After the elites have passed through we broke down the tables and signs. By the time the amateur runners start coming through, there's no sign that we were even there. As we were packing up, we realized that the leftover elite bottles (the ones that weren't collected by their athletes) were just going to get tossed, so we did a taste test. They broke down something like this: water, gatoradey and, wait for it, salty. The worst tasted like a cherry-flavored ocean. Blech. (I didn't take note of what Mutai had, he hadn't won the race by this point).

All in all, a spectacular experience. Amazing to be so close to the elites as they sprint by and great to be in a spot to cheer on the amateurs where every one is still just rapt to be there.

Signs of spring

I'm calling it. After all those hours shoveling snow this winter, we're done with snow for the season (and we won't make a full Shaq's worth). I'm ok with that though. It's still cold in Boston, but it's definitely springy. Even those snow banks that seemed they would become permanent structures have receded and disappeared from Cambridge and only left a few shady remainders out in Concord.

I know this because last weekend, I went on my first ride of the season. We took the short River Runs Through It CRW loop, which is 28 miles. I probably rode this loop a dozen times last summer and knew it by heart. This time around, I realized the turns that stood out were the ones I had missed in the past. Landmarks played tricks on me, everything seemed familiar, but nothing was certain. Here's a house with a stone foundation that I recognize, or an out-of-place modern boxy house from the 60s, or a tiger striped mailbox, or one hanging from a tree. They all start to blur together. Was that on this loop or a different one? We only had to consult the cue sheet once to confirm a turn. Despite that, it was bucolic and bordered on a Disney cartoon: flowers bursting forth, squirrels running along side, birds singing and playing in the trees above our heads. Maybe it's just the excitement of feeling the cold air rush past or the lean and lurch of the bike as I increase the pressure, but this ride was perfect.

Another sure sign of spring, the Boston Marathon takes place this weekend. I'm volunteering once again. This year though we've been upgraded to "Elite Fluid Distribution" at 10K. Thus far though it seems like our responsibilities are to (1) match the labelled bottle with the label on the table (and not to worry to much about it because some one will come by to fix our mistakes) and (2) stay out of the way of the elites. Will let you know how well we achieve these two goals.

Finally, not at all related to spring, I just finished reading my friend Erin Tocknell's book Confederate Streets. It's a fantastic read (and not just because there's a brief mention of my coxing in the final chapter). Erin's attention to detail astounding. Reading her book, seeing Nashville and Pittsburgh through her eyes and experiences made me realize how little of the day to day I appreciate and remember.

Lessons from the other side of racing

I took the day off yesterday to hand out water at the mile 18 hydration station of the Boston Marathon. It was a fantastic experience, inspiring to watch both the elite and the age groupers compete. I did come away with several lessons both for myself as an athlete and also for race organization.

As a runner:

• Connect with your water volunteer - make eye contact, nod or even point to show them that you're coming in. We had one guy who essentially just knocked cups out of 7 or 8 volunteers' hands as he ran by, he just wasn't trying. If you surprise the volunteer, you're much more likely to lose the cup entirely.
• If you're going to walk through a water stop, then pull behind the volunteers if you can. Especially, if you're keeping up a good clip when you're running, other runners will be trying to run through and grab some water. Walkers blocking the cups make for some serious traffic jams.
• If you're not going to drink the whole cup, pour it out first, then chuck the cup.
• Thank the volunteers, they love it! So many runners were so grateful when they passed through it was really awesome.
  

Race organizers:

• The single most important change they could have made was to have different colored cups for water and gatorade. Sure the gatorade cups said "Gatorade" and the water cups said "Poland Springs" but they were both green. I mean come on, how many athletes are going to read the side of the cup to determine the contents, not to mention international runners who may have no idea what "Poland Springs" is.
  
• After that, having gatorade on one side of the street and water on the other would also make sense. Our water stop had tables on the right side of the street followed by tables on the left. Consistently telling people you will always have gatorade on the right followed by water on the left would be easy to implement and would eliminate confusion.
• Signs on the giant trashcans that we fill the water cups with would be a welcome addition. It's hard to blame people for trying to throw their trash in the trash cans. A "no trash" sign, or just roping them off would help keep runners and spectators from contaminating them with rubbish.

Finally, watching the marathon did make me think a bit more about "racing" versus "participating." The world of marathoners has grown substantially over the last 30 years. Boston allows people to finish within 6 hours of starting. Does it undermine the people who actually train and actually push themselves to finish to allow those who walk the majority of it? Every one still gets the same medal.

PS. Best spectator sign read: "Go Everyone!"