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SRRC Race Reports

Boston Marathon, Boston, MA —Monday, April 20, 2009
by Alison Gittelman

Fifteen months is a long time to spend preparing for a marathon. Since qualifying to run Boston in January 2008, I’d gone through all the emotions—elation, excitement, fear, trepidation, nonchalance, melancholy—until I got to the start line of the 113th Boston Marathon. I’m almost ashamed to admit that, while standing in my corral with thousands of new friends, having spent the last 30 minutes wading through people and looking at the endless lines for the porta potties, I suddenly didn’t feel quite so special. I’d spent 15 months feeling like one of the elite (“You qualified for Boston? Wow!”), but now I was alongside my fellow qualifiers, 25,000 of them, and it was a little deflating.

Throngs of runners in Hopkinton.

Maybe that was a good thing. You shouldn’t start a marathon feeling full of yourself. There’s a long road ahead of you and if you don’t start out humble, the distance will soon humble you. So there I was, standing in my corral. Well of course, the lines for the porta potties were ridiculous, and Kathy and I were about to nip between the back of the potties and some trees when we noticed a cop and remembered the warnings about ticketing those who relieved themselves in public. Not wanting to start such an event on a sour note, we decided to wait for a safer opportunity. Thankfully there are lots of trees and very big rocks in the first few miles.

But let me go back, because I’m forgetting to mention some interesting events. As we all know, a marathon is a long way and so, instead of discussing how I felt at every mile, I will just recount the things of interest/humor, which is what you want to hear about anyway.

Actually, let’s go waaay back. Before starting my training for Boston, I changed a couple of things in the hope that doing so would help me avoid the IT (Iliotibial) Band Syndrome I’d suffered at both of my previous marathons. To start with, I paid a visit to The Running Store in Gainesville. I was fortunate enough to have local running star Alisa Harvey analyze my gait. She confirmed what I had been thinking: I didn’t need motion control shoes as my orthotics were taking care of my over-pronation. I had been considering the theory that my motion control shoes, which I’d been wearing for years, were possibly over-stabilizing me and causing my IT Band problem. Alisa suggested I try neutral shoes, and I agreed.

The next thing I worked on was shortening my stride and increasing my cadence. I discovered that I had a footstrike of about 83 (that’s 83 strikes with one foot in 60 seconds) and starting working toward a goal of 90. I had noticed that when trail running I never had IT Band pain; when running on the trails you naturally shorten your stride and take quicker steps to avoid all the natural obstacles. Stride out, and you’ll lose your footing. So I worked on those things, too. Did these changes fix the problem? No. I still had some pain and had to visit the physical therapist throughout my training. But I do think they helped.

So Kathy and I had booked a room at the Hyatt in Cambridge because it was just a half mile walk from the departure point of the bathroom-equipped CSU bus we were taking to Hopkinton; that is, until they moved the departure point due to the need for a bigger parking lot. The new site was still only half a mile away, but it was now on the other side of the train tracks, and despite painstakingly reviewing satellite images of the location, I failed to find a bridge that would take us across. Our only option was to go all the way around the tracks, adding another half mile. Then I had the bright idea of e-mailing Duke, the CSU bus organizer, to ask if there was a spot where one could cross the tracks. He replied that there was! We just had to find the parking lot across the street from the MIT track, and there we could safely cross the tracks.

This is why at 6:45 a.m. on race day you would have found Kathy and me lugging ourselves and our bags over a flatbed car that had been inconveniently parked at our crossing point. Thankfully we had scoped out the crossing the night before, finding that it was a little less conspicuous than Duke had implied, as you had to walk to the far corner of the parking lot, where there was an opening in the fence, at which point you could simply walk across the tracks after you had checked a train wasn’t coming, of course. Fortunately we met some MIT students going in the opposite direction during our scouting adventure, and they informed us that they crossed here regularly. No problem!

We found our way to the buses and hopped on the first one. However, the only available seats were all the way at the back, right next to the bathroom, and the stench of that cleaning fluid they put in there was unbearable. So we hopped off that bus and asked for a different one, preferably with seats up front. Suitably accommodated in another bus, we were surprised to find Jill and Diane from Loudoun Road Runners. We sat back and waited for others to arrive. Soon I saw Adam wandering outside looking bewildered or sleepy or perhaps just annoyed, so I hopped off the bus and yelled, “Adam, the party bus is over here!” The people in the other buses wondered what they were missing. Everyone on our bus wondered who’d let the lunatic out of the asylum. Adam hopped on our bus.

I have no idea why it took so long to drive 26 miles. It was something like an hour and fifteen minutes after our departure when we finally rolled into Hopkinton and parked. My hips were really bothering me from sitting on the bus and possibly also from a fitful night’s sleep. Our room was opposite the elevator, and I should have requested a switch, but thought it would be okay. I spent the entire night listening to "bing" [sound of doors opening] "bing" [sound of doors closing] until I was hearing it even when there was no sound.

There's always a line . . .

Anyway, waiting around for the race to start—I was in wave 2 at 10:30; wave 1, which Adam was in, was at 10:00—consisted of lots of watch-checking and weather-feeling and getting back on the wrong bus every time I went for a wander. I ate some oatmeal (I heated up water in the coffee maker in the hotel room and put it in a thermos), did some yoga, listened to my ipod, went and looked at the runners village (masses of people; imagine it would look much worse in bad weather) where those runners who had been dropped off the by BAA school buses had to hang out. Those of us on charter buses got to stay on our buses—a definite plus because I heard one girl in the village mention that she’d stood in line 1 hour to use the porta potty! One of the charter buses came with its own massage tables and masseurs which they stationed behind their bus! Behind our bus was a bush and so instead of massage tables we had an instant restroom.

Speaking of restrooms, let’s go back to the race. The atmosphere was amazing I couldn’t believe how many spectators there were, and how crowded the race was. Getting from one side of the street to the other was a feat in itself. You may ask why I’d want to waste energy doing this; well, for the first mile I kept looking for a good tree or rock since I hadn’t found an available porta potty, but every time I found one it was on the other side of the road, and by the time I could reach that side it had long gone! I realized my strategy had to change to looking—and staying—on just one side! On either side of the road were lots of kids with their hands out so you could literally high five (or rather, hand swipe) people the whole way. I’d do this on one side for a while and then would have to cross to the other side and do it there for a while, to give each arm a rest. Yes, I’m sure it was an extra workout but it was fun and I wanted to have a good time.

People were having cookouts in their front yards as they watched the race. One guy even had a hot dog stand! And people were handing out lots of goodies. I snagged pretzels, gummy bears (in a baggie!), ice (in a baggie!), which I stuck down my shorts to try to relieve my sore hip, and a flavor ice, which I also stuck down my shorts until I realized the nice person who handed it to me had probably pre-opened it (she had) and it might leak everywhere, so I ate it instead.

At one point we passed a retirement home – several of the residents had been wheeled out in their hospital beds! With their blankets up to their chins and hooked up to oxygen tanks, they held out their hands for high fives/swipes and seemed to be getting a kick out of it!

Boston competitor . . .

At about 12 miles or so I noticed Kathy running over on the other side of the road. It took me about 5 minutes to get to her, during which I got tripped and hit by a flying water cup—did I mention it was crowded?!—but I eventually made it and casually offered her a gummy bear. We exchanged the usual “how you feeling?’ to which her response was “my quad hurts” and mine was “my hip hurts” and then we talked about how much fun we were having high fiving everyone and hearing all the kids chanting our names. Then we heard Wellesley. Or the girls of Wellesley. Of course I’d been told about the screaming and how you can hear it from a mile away, which is true, but you cannot fathom what it’s like until you hear it. You instantly know what it is, but the sound is other-worldly and almost surreal. This—except for the last few miles—is the only part of the course where there are barricades to keep the spectators from the runners. I imagine it would be a mob scene otherwise. As we ran through Wellesley, high fiving/swiping the girls, the sound was deafening. I put my free hand to my ear and jokingly yelled “I can’t hear you!” as I ran by. It was one of the more bizarre experiences of my life. Here I am running the Boston Marathon while high-fiving people who are screaming and holding “Kiss me – I’m a lesbian” signs!

Shortly after Wellesley I found that I hadn’t applied enough Body Glide and was in need of the Vaseline they offer on the course. Thankfully Kathy knew it was supposed to be at mile 15 and so we kept an eye out and soon spotted people holding the sticks with the sticky stuff. Suitably regreased, I rejoined Kathy and we prepared for the Newton hills. Just the word “Newton” scared me. This is the part I was most concerned about. But as we started the ascent I soon realized it wasn’t at all steep, and I actually enjoyed running uphill for a change. (Boston is a notoriously difficult course because it descends for the first 17 miles, climbs for the next 4, and then goes downhill again. That much downhill can turn your quads to mush, rendering them useless for uphill running and breaking people when they are at their most vulnerable—in the second half of the race.)

Boston finisher . . .

It was coming off the hill that I realized Boston had got the better of me, too. I did my best impression of a folding table as my legs started collapsing under me. I was actually looking forward to going uphill again to get some relief. The second hill was a long time coming but, again, I felt strong going up. And again, coming down, my legs collapsed. The third hill, heartbreak hill, sealed it. I went up slow but strong, and came down with the weight of the world on my shoulders. Five miles to go and I knew I was toast. Still, I wasn’t going to give up without a fight! As we passed Boston College, the students were out in force, screaming at us, chanting our names, and I pushed on. I knew I was going to finish close to 4 hours but was happy as long as I stayed under 4. Kathy rolled by me saying “three miles to go!” when there were actually four, but I appreciated that she was either falsely optimistic or delusional, and I pushed on. At one point a girl near me mentioned that the finish was at the Citgo sign we could see way ahead, and I fixed on that sign as if it were my lifeline. The wind had picked up and occasionally a gust would knock us sideways, but I pushed on. The Citgo sign got temptingly closer and closer and, all of a sudden, it was gone. I knew the finish was on Boylston Street and as we made the last couple of turns I made it my goal to look for that name, knowing that it would be the last turn and the finish would be up ahead. Finally the blue finish line came into sight. I ran towards it for what seemed like an eternity, the word "FINISH" getting more distinct with each step, until I was there, with two minutes to spare.

It was a long walk to the bus where my bag was located. Having retrieved my bag, I sat on the ground and got out my phone to call Stuart. It started ringing—it was Kathy. She asked me where I was. I said, “Sitting in front of my bus.” She said, “So am I! Where are you?” I looked to my left and she was 10 feet away! I said I couldn’t get up so she shuffled over to me. Some support staff started annoying me by telling me I should be walking around and insisted on stretching my legs and telling me to eat. My main problem was that, having stopped running and being in a wind tunnel, I was freezing and needed to put on some clothes! I finally got on all my clothes, with the support people’s help, and Kathy and I ventured over to the free massage place where we luckily got in just before they shut down. They gave us chicken broth and we waited about 5 minutes before getting great massages! Then we wandered over to the pickup point for our hotel’s shuttle bus, and were lucky enough to catch the last bus!

Upon returning to the Hyatt, we hatched a cunning plan: we asked to switch rooms to get away from the elevator, then I used the bathroom in the old room on the 7th floor while Kathy used the new room on the 14th floor. I had decided to take an ice bath so I ran some cold water while I went to get some ice. When I got back to the room, my key would no longer work. No problem. I figured I just go to the lobby and get my key reactivated. Getting from the 7th floor to the lobby was like a scene from a Chevy Chase movie. Since I couldn’t use the stairs (ever tried walking down 7 flights after running a marathon?!) I took the elevator. To cut an excrutiatingly long (as in, fear of flooding the whole 7th floor) story short, the elevator stopped to let people on and off on practically every floor on the ride down, and the same on the back up. When I got back to the room I rushed in to find the water had just reached the top! So I started again, this time propping the door open while I went to get ice! I had a nice 15 min ice bath (which I recommend to everyone) followed by a shower, and was ready for a night out on the town!

I highly recommend the Boston Marathon. It has great prestige, fun crowds, and a brutal course that will chew you up and spit you out, but you don’t expect it to be easy, do you?!

April 2009

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