Boston's finest

Why do we do the things we do?  Why would anyone run 26.2 miles?  (Or maybe you wouldn’t, couldn’t, and/or disdain those who do.)   For me, simply, challenging oneself defines who you are, irrespective of the forms of those challenges.  The joy of running 26.2 miles from Hopkinton to Boston on Patriot’s Day is not only because of the challenge that that course represents, but also because of the outpouring of humanity one experiences along the way.

Several weeks ago I realized that my hamstring was healthy enough to conceive of the idea of finishing Boston this year.  (See last posting about being hamstrung by a hamstring).  So a-marathoning I went last Monday in Boston.  Given my injury and the possibility of seventh-level of Hades type heat, it was difficult for me to identify explicit goals for this year.  As I rode the bus to Hopkinton from Marshfield with the Marshfield Road Runners Club, I certainly knew that first among these goals was “don’t get more injured…stupid.”  A corollary was to “train through” – that is, to hold back enough during the marathon so that training for certain much longer and impending events would not be sacrificed.  Dear Matt Broaddus also helped me to realize that if I was not running this year to beat my previous best time, then perhaps I should try to experience the race in a deeper way; enjoying the sights, the sounds, the people, whatever came to me along the way.

There were two distinct phases to running Boston this year – the first, a stroll through the first 15 miles; the second, beginning abruptly at mile 15, was the realization that the heat, hills, and a quick pace for the first half were coalescing into one gigantic problem. No race I have run has taken so much out of me at such a sudden juncture.  

First phases first.  Some readers may note that I should refrain from describing my pace early on as a “stroll.”  Of course, it was not exactly as such.  But truth be told, Boston’s terrain is very kind to you in the beginning of the race: you feel as if you are floating for the first 5 downhill miles.  I found myself smiling for the first time in a marathon.  I was enjoying the fresh air, the view of small ponds on the side of the road, a Led Zeppelin cover band, a male Japanese marathoner dressed up as Minnie Mouse.  This year I particularly enjoyed and went out of my way to slap “high-5s” to the thousands of kids with their hands outstretched (and some without…ouch!...sorry kid, but you deserved it).

 (Feeling photogenic in the first half.)

Several people I knew cheered for me this year.  Among those I knew, Stephanie from work and her beau yelled out to me at mile 6.5.  That was a rush. Several people held up signs reading, “Keep it up Random Stranger.”  You know, even completely impersonal encouragement works in a marathon.  After seeing Stephanie, I had another 10 miles till I got to see Martha at mile 16.5.  Seeing your other half in the middle of these races is a complete psychic boost.  With some extra morsels of energy, I blew her some kisses, and for about 10 seconds, felt better about the heat and the impending 3 hills.

Enter phase two.  While in the first 15 miles, I enjoyed the crowds, ran with upright posture, smiled back at on-lookers, and ran according to my body’s feel, all of that fun crap stopped abruptly at mile 15.   84 degree heat in a marathon makes Guantanamo-style torture seem fun – indeed, you truly wished you were being water-boarded.  As one runner this year described in a delirious state afterward, “Nobody runs in a sauna.”

One of the main reasons runners like that suspicious-sounding “Paul Jacobs, 33, of Washington D.C.” finish the Boston marathon is the community spirit of the Boston spectators.  People living along the race course brought out their hoses to cool people off; the fans cheer endlessly with spirits; spectators spent hours outside handing out ice, which to an overheated marathoner is worth its weight in considerably more valuable matter.  Just one example of this gemuchlikite is how Janine, Max, Emma, and Jake (of the Heberlein clan) chalked encouraging words on Heartbreak Hill for certain fans they knew (yours truly included), and cheering for countless others.  Maybe, the pain of running a marathon is worth the creation and deepening of wider social bonds that occurs on days like last Monday.  Maybe.

(The encouraging, and very large, words of Emma, Jake, and Max; Upside-down view for readability.)

In all honesty, I have never considered quitting a race so frequently.  My calves started cramping as of mile 19; my pace had slowed drastically from that glorious-feeling first half.  When not trying to break one’s previous best time, the motivation to move forward abates.  What is the purpose of finishing when you’re supposed to keep yourself fresh for the following weeks?  I tried making my mind gravitate towards positive thoughts, but like a dog distracted by a squirrel, I would inevitably wander back to the only thought I truly believed at the moment – quitting right now would end this pain.  So why, in the 84 degree heat and without a discernible goal to finish, did I cross the line?  In short, Enid and Jerry were waiting for me at mile 25.5.

(This is NOT how you want to finish a marathon.) 

I have the extreme good fortune of having the most wonderful in-laws on the planet.  Consider that Enid had knee surgery only a couple weeks ago, but insisted on getting herself to the sardine-packed Kenmore Square area and both of them waited around for 3+ hours to see their son-in-law claw himself to the finish line.  Undeniably, part of the reason we runners run is the social bonds running cements, and I do not just mean when you go out for a jog and your legs feel like concrete.  As part of the challenge to oneself, sometimes you also make a commitment to others – “Hey, for hours on end I do a silly activity of putting one foot in front of the other, and in a day and age when we have about a thousand substitutes for this activity.  Want to come watch?”  Surprisingly, some people say “yes,” and I take that seriously enough to want to finish these sometimes exceedingly painful activities I start.  

The lesson here, I think is two-fold: 1) when trying to accomplish something difficult, pre-commit to others that you’re going to do it; humans are social beings and those commitments egg you on when you need egging; and 2) the form of what you do for fun or pride is irrelevant – running is absurd an activity as any – it’s the people you find along the way that matter, so choose activities where the people are good people, whether they are your teammates, partners, or observers.  Running Boston this year fit both these concepts.  Thanks be to those who made it an experience worth writing about.