I have procrastinated writing this blog entry because I have had the recurrent feeling that I should develop deeper feelings about the meaning of the Boston marathon in 2014. What happened in 2013 was tragic and I would never minimize or ignore the physical and emotional loss that many experienced. But, while I may have observations about the difference in this year's race from my prior experiences (2011, 2012), I won't pretend to have anything profound to offer about last year's events. My main feeling about the whole thing is rather crude and unenlightened: why did I run Boston in 2014? Because anyone that tries to instill fear into others through violence should go ahead and pleasure themselves. If you are looking for more subtle words like "inspiration," "redemption," and "renewal", well, I just used those words, so you can stop right here.
I am not trying to malign those that found great meaning in this year's event. Indeed, as an atheist, I am forced daily to find meaning in the most mundane adventures, observations and linguistic conventions. But, my own perspective about the 2014 BAA marathon was one of tunnel vision: a focus on intense training, running my best race with minimal impact of injury, rather than some transcendent meaning of putting right foot in front of left. Surely, on April 21 of this year I felt a tidal wave of human kindness, camaraderie and esprit de corps: a beautiful celebration of running, determination and humanity. And, honestly, I feel that after many races, both large and small. The handshakes with and pats on backs of strangers, the euphoria of accomplishing something with your fellow denizens of planet earth, the existential contemplation of why we are so determined to do things that are meaningless at heart: these are all wonderful feelings I think many runners share in most races. You don't need to run Boston to feel this; just find commonality with your neighbors by shoveling their sidewalk when it snows or giving them an ear to squawk at.
Training
My own training leading up to this year's Boston was intense. It began in June of last year: yes, June! I trained most of last year for the Marine Corps marathon but didn't compete because of an injury. So, I restarted training in December for Boston. Along the way, I quit drinking (temporarily), lost 19 pounds (temporarily) and lost my mind (temporarily...or at least I hope). I started a regiment of weightlifting to avoid further injuries. In total, I spent 9 - 1/2 months giving birth to the performance I am about to write about. Forgive me if I spare few details or indulge a runner's appetite for mile splits, wind direction, protein versus carbohydrate consumption, and other minutiae; as I said above, I lack for larger philosophical insights in this post.
Boston being Bahston, there always is something special in the air on Patriot's Day, especially because that air is thick with lots of words pronounced without "r"s. This year, the crowds were noticeably larger in Natick, Newton, and other points farther from the finish. If every marathon finished with the crowds that existed all the way out at mile 6 on the Boston route, there would be many happier runners out there.
The race
A major downside of this year's race was all the logistical complications that arose from increased security. All three years I've run, I have taken a bus from Marshfield, MA where Martha's parents live to the start line. This year, as some expected, we were turned back and I almost missed the start of the race. Once again, the balance between security and convenience seems to be struck too heavily for the former than the latter. Because they could not inspect all the buses, they force them to drive to the same location, where thousands of people cluster together. Dare I ask: how does putting all the uninspected buses together, in the same 100 meter radius, with many thousands of runners, improve security?
With that logistical annoyance over, I got to the start with about 5 minutes to go. Amazingly, I felt calmer than I ever have in a race before. I have to thank a nagging injury for that. Somehow I always get injured 4-6 weeks out from my next big race and this year was no exception. But, knowing that I may have to slow the pace, or perhaps even leave the race, to avoid severe pain or damage, made me somewhat nonchalant about the whole endeavor. It was imperative to start conservatively and pay attention to any signs of early fatigue or the injury recurring.
The weather this year treated most of us well with low humidity and temperatures staying moderate throughout the day. My own preference in running marathons is for temps in the low 40s. But then again, I'm covered with the hair density of a grizzly bear.
I sneaked into the back of the 2nd corral, where I was assigned, to avoid slowing up others in case the calf seized up early on. The gun goes off. I am still calm. I run the first mile slowly -- 20 seconds off pace -- I think "well, that will only matter if I'm 20 seconds behind my goal time." (Which was sub - 2:40...stay tuned). After this very gentle start, I was able to strike my goal pace without much effort -- a superbly awesome feeling! This is how marathoning should be in the early miles; the taper makes you feel invincible, but you use that feeling to conserve all available energy for the end.
After starting this conservatively because of my injury, I must recommend getting a nice calf tear or a hamstring pull before your next race.
The next 12 miles fly by just a few seconds off target (average = 6:07 pace/mile) and I'm feeling great; no conversations with my injury and I only had just begun to feel a little weakness at around mile 12. I started hitting the energy gels from there on. The Wellesley girls between 12 and 13 never disappoint. They create a tunnel of scream that is beyond deafening. It always makes me run a mile split 10-15 seconds faster than I should. They did it again this year.
I came through the half in 1:20:02. Without any flare up in the injury and not really out of breathe, that alone felt like an accomplishment. But I had to march on.
Another quirk of this race was my attempt to direct some of the cheering attention to myself by putting my name on my jersey. It started off with all four letters -- P-A-U-L. Then the U fell off, so I was everyone's "PAL." "Hey Pal, keep it up," I heard often. Then the L came down, so I was just "PA." Then the P came off, so I was "A." It was a riot because only college-aged weirdos were into shouting for a guy going by the name of "A." Was I "A" for anonymous? What I "A" for "almost there." Mostly, I just got very confused looks.
At mile 15, I noticed that my legs were feeling grumpy. At least that meant I was working hard. I felt like I had energy left, but also that I was running a smart race. I kept pushing, but not aggressively, and told myself that I wanted to be in good shape when I passed Martha, parents (in-law), and my boy at mile 17. I ran by them at 17 point something and got a nice surge of energy and positivity. I blew kisses to them. There is nothing like the support of your loved ones along the course.
At mile 19, on the 3rd hill, I was passing people. This was gravy for me. And also a very uncommon flavor of gravy. I also knew that I had to save some energy for a kick because I was 10-15 seconds behind my goal pace. As downhill person, I wasn't going to gain that time on the hills, so I had to push it on whatever downhills were left. And, oh yes, there are 5-ish miles of sweet, sweet decline at the end of Boston -- what a gift.
Heartbreak hill at 20.5 was not easy -- it never is -- but it's never as bad as everyone says it will be. It's just relatively worse than the rest of the course. Perspective people! Shortly after, at mile 21, I decided to put the hammer down -- I had something left in the tank although you never know how much. I knew I was a few seconds off my goal pace, and downhills awaited me. I had to take advantage of the downhills and push to the finish.
While I wish the end of the story was accomplishing the goal of a sub-2:40 finish, alas, that was not in the deck of cards. I surged many times in the last 5 miles. I would push for a 1/3 of a mile reaching 5:50-ish pace, and then my body would resist any further effort and I'd slow considerably. I pushed again and again -- perhaps 4 - 5 times, but each time, I was thwarted...by myself. I gave that race every last ounce of my non-existent soul. But I did not have enough on Monday, April 21, 2014. I came through the tape in 2:40:18. (About that 20 seconds I lost by going out slowly from the start....)
Perspective -- running and otherwise
Compared with previous marathons, I did several things well on race day. (Comparing my training cycles would take another couple blog posts, so I'll spare you those details.) I ate well leading up to the race. I ate and hydrated well during the race. And I conserved energy early on, keeping an even-effort, and basically almost even paced race throughout.
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[Nerd alert: if you abhor the maths, you may want to skip the next two paragraphs.]
In a previous Boston attempt in 2012, the standard deviation of my 5k splits was 21 seconds. This means, that looking at the roughly 8 5k splits of that particular race, nearly all of those splits would be within 1 minute and 24 seconds of each other. In 2014, nearly all of my splits were within 12 seconds of one another! A 7-fold reduction in the variance of my splits! While, I did not have the energy or turnover to kick it in at the end, I was able to put out a consistently hard effort throughout without feeling like I was sandbagging the race or jeopardizing the second half with a fast start. Over the Newton hills, my 5k splits slowed to a 6:11/mile pace over these sections, which makes me prouder than almost anything else I did on Monday. This was probably the first race that I executed with tactical sense that was intentional from start to finish.
Unlike any other race I've run before, I had my eyes focused on my heart rate. A strategy I adopted on the fly was to run the first 3-4 miles by feel alone. Then I observed the heart rate that corresponded to that pace. That number, 172, was a little high, I thought, but the pace felt right and the heat and other factors may have contributed to that higher number. Having established what my baseline was going to be for the day, I decided that I would not move higher than 172 unless I was hitting a hill or pushing myself at the end. I think this technique contributed to a successful pacing strategy.
[Nerd alert over]
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I am quite blessed that my parents drove up from New York to watch me run. My in-laws once again provided incomparable emotional support and hospitality. My wife has put up with 9 - 1/2 months of training and agonizing over my training. I am so fortunate to be able to be supported while engaging in my own selfish passion for running.
While surrounded by such a great outpouring of the human spirit, and warmth of our sun and the gentle breezes on Patriot's Day, I simultaneously felt as if so many things we do, especially running, are meaninglessness in the scheme of the universe. As far as my performance, this paradox kept me cool as a cucumber right from when the gun went off to the very end, which was beneficial. As far as life, perhaps this paradox suggests we should be grateful (to whom?) for what we have, and to distract ourselves from negativity as much as we damn well can.
I am sorry I cannot provide some deeper truths about what the 2014 Boston means or what it represents for our society. I threw my entire corporeal existence into that race. It was fun. The people were electric and beautiful and crazy and emotional. It was an experience. I am very happy nobody tried to stop us.
