2013; Eat my dust Meno!

Pisco Sour wrote: »

I know everyone's thoughts are with those affecting by what happened in Boston, and everything else pales in comparison, but just wanted to come on and congratulate you on an awesome performance.

Thanks a million. It was tough out there. Very warm and a very challenging course. Slightly outside my A-goal but a 2ish minute PB which I haven't really thought twice about since
the bombing. I got to relish my moment for about an hour unlike many others. Such a sad time and so unfortunate that such an amazing day has been overshadowed. Will be back with more later.

Six months ago Digger and I ran BQs in Berlin. These results were followed by an devilish DD confirming that Boston was still accepting entries....

This invoked countless emails and discussions between the Foot, the Manager and the Coach. There was a lot to consider. After Berlin, I really wanted to set a sub-3 marathon goal – whether that was to be 12, 18, 24 months or more down the line; it wasn’t going to be 6 months down the line, and it certainly wasn’t going to be on a course as tough as Boston. However, when both myself and Digs qualified and there were still some available spots, it proved difficult to not get caught up in the excitement that the Boston Marathon oozes all year round. Ultimately, the decision to enter was made because the opportunity was staring us in the face and not knowing what life holds, it could have been our first and last chance to do it together. Running the Boston Marathon is an honour and we had earned our opportunity. So I accepted that my next marathon would not be my sub-3 (or attempt at it) and into the pot went our names and our qualifying times for verification. I quietly suggested at one point that if I wasn’t going to be able or ready to train for sub-3 that I might just go to Boston and run a comfortable marathon just for the experience. To say this was shot down, would be an understatement. Coach ran Boston once you know… and if he was working with me and my first RV with the course, I sure as hell was doing everything I could to get as much of a PB as possible.

As you all know (because I think I complained enough) I was laid up with injury for the entire month of December. Ran a 5k PB on the 1st and didn’t lace up my runners again until the 31st when I tentatively stepped out the door for a very short recovery run. Thankfully everything held up and it was clear the cross training and physio exercises had ensured the least possible overall damage was done. Throughout the month off however, I was a bit of a depressive nightmare to be around. I thought I’d never run again. I thought Boston was out the window. And there were times I wanted to kill poor Digger when he was tired and didn’t want to go training. I could barely walk, and he was bailing on runs because he wasn’t bothered. Completely normal and acceptable of course.. to everyone but an injured runner! The month off saw the Boston plan (which had long been drafted on the back of a beer mat and sent by picture message) and the tune-up races therein requiring some adjustment. The Raheny 5 went from being a big goal to an enjoyable and comfortable tempo and the Donadea 50k was wiped off the board altogether. We did manage to get stuck into training after a 3 week easy ‘return’ period and things were going ok with the readjusted plan and goals. Then around mid-February I got a dose which really knocked the stuffing out of me. I had some terrible training runs and a really tough 10k race; in which I ran a PB but not one which I was overly happy with it. The Bohermeen Half Marathon was, as far as I was concerned, the most important tune-up race in terms of setting a realistic target for Boston. Unfortunately I wasn’t quite over the dose, and although I ran well (1:28.44), I was unhappy that the indication was that I was in no better shape than I had been in for Berlin. Thankfully I live with one man who doesn’t support self-pity, and have another one of the same constantly at the end of my email machine! Some lengthy discussions and a vow to engage the positive mental attitude (with a dash of arrogance) saw training take a positive turn. Not all of the runs were good but things did start to look up and I started to feel a good bit better about my ability and what I might be able to tackle on the day.

The weeks continued to roll by and it wasn’t long before we found ourselves in taper time. A slightly shorter taper period than initially planned but not a debilitating one. In fact, the shorter the better for the sake of one’s mental health I say. Particularly for me and my issues with wild rabid dogs, deaf old ladies and toddling snot bubble machines! I ran a 2 mile race the weekend before and although it was an absolute blow out, I felt good and strong. I was happy and confident that Boston would be a success and no matter what, it could not have been worse than the absolute blow up I had suffered during an MP style run 3 weeks previously. We got more and more excited as the days passed – to the extent that we’d find ourselves randomly shouting BOSTON BABY at each other. At the very end of the day, we were running an amazing race and would not take it for granted that it was something that many can only dream about.

We headed out to Boston the Friday before the race. The lists had been written and re-written and the organisation was impeccable (not that it actually would have mattered had I forgotten my runners as it turned out!;)). We had an extremely straight-forward and stress-free trip to the other side of the water and were settled in our hotel before we even realised we’d left Ireland.

The timing was perfect and we spent the afternoon (and my entire savings!!) at the Expo. I may not ever be a home owner, but at least I’ll never go cold what with my new collection of t-shirts, sweaters, shorts, jackets, runners (X2 pairs!!), all topped off with a brand spanking Garmin 910XT (a birthday present from Digs…who said romance is dead?!). The weather on Friday was pretty bad so we didn’t stray far for dinner and actually found a perfect Irish pub for a feed and a couple of pints of water. Thankfully the weather was promising an improvement and we had heard that Boston never lies. If it says there’ll be sun after lunch, you better grab your sunglasses at 12:30. Sure enough the following day was far more pleasant, and after a few recovery miles by the Charles River and some breakfast, we took to the streets for some very easy wandering and exploring. We took some photos by the finish line before Digs got his brand new marathon runners (I don’t know why I’m getting so much grief about mine!) and we headed across the river, by the MIT campus and up to Harvard. A train journey home for some coffee and cake, a couple of hours reading and another good feed saw an end to Saturday. We were pretty tired and doing everything to pass an extra half an hour – to the extent that we prepared our gel belts and pinned our numbers to our tops 2 days before the big day!

On Sunday morning, after another lovely recovery run, we met up with DD and JD, and took a bus tour out to the start line in Hopkinton and back in along the marathon route. It took me the 50+mile round trip to get over the amount of goodies I’d received. And the weight of them. If I was the suspicious type, I may have thought someone had a game plan… The marathon route didn’t overly scare me but I knew it was going to be a tough one. Sunday afternoon rolled away with plenty of fuelling and resting. We went to the official Pasta Party in City Hall and met some fellow enthusiastic and friendly runners. The atmosphere was fantastic. The excitement was palpable. When we got back to the hotel, there was nothing more to do. It still took me about 45 minutes of procrastinating before I actually gave in to the fact that this was it and got into the bed. I ended up sleeping surprisingly well and reckon I got a decent 6 hours all in, which I was very happy with.

We were awake and ready to go before the alarms went off and headed down to meet the group to make the journey to the start. The crowds were huge but the organisation was impeccable and it didn’t take long to get us loaded on the bus and on our way. There’s always something in the air around the start line of a race but particularly with marathons; it’s an understanding of the excitement, the insanity, the passion, the fear and a whole raft of other emotions. Well, multiply that by a figure with lots of zeros and you’re some way towards understanding the feeling of Boston. We arrived in the Athletes’ Village and it was straight to the porta-potty queue. Despite Digdig thinking we had all the time in the world, I was aware (as a lady who gets stuck in pre-race queues regularly) that I needed to be conscious of the time. I had my Irish flags applied to my face as we queued and by the time we got to the top of the line, used the facilities and stripped off the first layer of clothing, they were calling for those on Wave 1 to drop bags and head towards the start line. I flippantly applied some sun cream (resulting in the ultimate smudging of my face paint), wrapped myself in the blanket that I had not borrowed from the plane on foot of Mrs M ‘ex-trolley dolly’ Stew’s advice, bid my adieus and headed off.

This was it. No going back now. I felt I knew the course like the back of my hand having done the tour, read copious amounts of books/threads/articles, listened to the tales of MS and TRR who I think (I’ll have to double check) ran the Boston Marathon before... I was as prepared as I could have been. The gun went and the crowd started moving. As the last few items of clothing were flung into the crowd to be delivered to worthy causes, I crossed the line, hit the watch and started the long journey back to Boylston Street. From the first step, the support along the route was incredible. Patriot’s Day is a State Holiday in Massachusetts and the Marathon is a event for everyone. There were big kids and little kids, families, grandparents, college students out in force. I reckon that even the grumpy ole neighbour from down the street who gives about darn kids playin ball in his back yard managed to crack a smile last Monday!

The first few miles were very congested. I found myself weaving quite a lot to get the pace down to what I wanted to run; which was, by the way, 7:00m/m... I knew the first 6 miles were fast. I also knew from all my research that the first 6 miles of Boston have ruined the race for many many runners. So the race starts in Hopkinton and runs downhill to a town called Ashland and through to Framingham. After about 3 miles, my pace was down to 6:55 so I eased back and watched it hover comfortably around 6:57 for the next 3. I went through the first and second 5k markers ahead of time but not worryingly so. I was very comfortable and loving it. I knew I could have been running faster but I had enough respect for the course not to. The course began to flatten out (relatively speaking!) and I got into a good consistent rhythm. There are plenty of rolling hills in Boston to keep you interested and honest. There wasn’t much chatter on the course but the silent companionship was golden. The miles continued to tick by realatively pain free. With the news of Rotterdam and the tough runs experienced by many fresh in my head, I had prepared myself not to expect the worst, but to accept it if it happened. It was pretty warm and about 10 miles in I noticed the temperature outside a shop reading 56 degreesF. Although not a scorcher, it was certainly noticeable considering the 0-5 degreesC we’d been training in all winter. Because of this, I made a decision and an effort to keep hydrated without overdoing it. I tried to take some water at every second station and a couple of sips of Gatorade every third station. The Garmin had started to clock each mile quite a bit in advance of the markers. We continued on through Framingham and on to Natick. All places I’d read so much about – it was bizarre. By the time I hit 10 miles, the overall pace was reading 6:55 but the time was just under 70 minutes. I was happy that I was still averaging 7:00m/m but it was starting to become less easy. The tummy acted up for a few moments at this point and I was trying to figure out the logistics of stopping for a loo break – how much spare time I had / how much I’d have to make up / how long it would take the legs to get going if I stopped etc etc. In the end I decided I’d just keep going and only stop if I absolutely had to! This may have checked my pace a bit but you take the hand that’s dealt on the day eh. We hit the 11 mile mark with the Garmin having beeped about 100m out. I was just under 77 minutes at the marker so still happy out. It wasn’t long after that the Wellesley screaming started. Although the guys who had run here before (did I mention TRR did?!) had said I probably wouldn’t enjoy this section as much as Digger, I think I did. I ran on the right hand side of the road and high-fived the chicks as much as I could. There was a guy just beside me who stopped and threw the lips on some girl. Initially I assumed it was his girlfriend but then I saw her sign ‘Kiss me, I’m frustrated!’ and realised he’d just stopped to do her a favour. It was gas; so much fun.

The course quietened a little for the next section which continued with some pretty undulating terrain. Then we were into Newton. And so my little legs were introduced to the infamous Newton Hills. The first one was a doddle. I actually asked the guy beside me ‘was that it?!’. He replied that if you train on hills and haven’t gone out too hard, then you’ve nothing to worry about. Excellent. Just what I wanted to hear. Smiles all around. Second hill was a little tougher but I kept repeating MS’s advice to DD “I eat hills for breakfast”, and Chinguetti’s “Hills are my friend. Hills are my friend”. The third hill was harder again but I put in a good effort. I did my best to crest each hill with strength with the hope I could make lost time on the downhill – I’m not sure if I did. There had been some discussion about whether there are actually 3 or 4 hills as some think that one of them is lowly in comparison that it shouldn’t count. So when I saw a sign saying “Heartbreak Hill didn’t break my heart”, my spirit lifted and I found something to dig into. I thought ‘great!’, hard work done, just power those pain infused legs home now dear. HOWEVER... this lady had obviously made her sign before she decided where she was going to watch the race from. Turned a corner and boom! Hello Heartbreak; I’ve been expecting you! In a way I’m glad the way it panned out because had I been anticipating it, I think I would have taken more of mental battering than I needed at that point. I powered up passing people left and right (I say powered...it felt powered...it probably looked more like a drowning snail!) There was a big Irish contingent around here who spied my smudged cheeks and gave a much needed shout-out.

Over the top of Heartbreak and I knew I was nearly home and that if I could hold it together I’d get a PB. The watch was reading 7:01 at this stage but the mile markers were nowhere to be seen when the watch was beeping so I knew I was slower. I thought I could make a couple of seconds heading down to Boston but every step was starting to hurt. I felt like I was flying after another mile and was surprised to see the pace had dropped to 7:02 on the Garmin. Every step felt like somebody was battering my quads with a sledgehammer. I wanted to slow down. I didn’t want to stop but I wanted it to be enjoyable. But I wanted a PB more. I asked myself to dig deep; did I have any strength or power anywhere to harnesss. I made sure I was leaving every ounce of effort on the course. Lungs were good and no stitches thank god but the legs had just taken such a pounding. Although it appeared I was slowing, I was passing people all around me. I knew there were a couple of lumps and bumps to come but I tried not to think about them.

I knew going into the race that there was an Irish girl in the corral ahead of me. I suspected she would break 3 hours but that didn’t stop me keeping an eye out for her. It got to the stage where every girl I passed in a white and green vest looking a little Irish had me thinking if I had her so I had to stop. We were in Boston – there’s a little Irish in a lot of people. I then passed a girl in a CorkTri top and thought for the last time – oh maybe?! (Turns out I got her in the end...!)

The noise and the throngs of people were UNBELIEVABLE. I saw the Citgo sign with about 2-3 miles to go and thankfully had been warned that you see it long before you arrive at it. I was saying ‘3 miles’ – that’s the Friday am recovery run to the bottom of the road – easy!’; ‘2 miles – sure that’s not even a warm-up’; ‘1 mile – one mile, ONE MILE. Simples’.

As I turned onto Boylston and saw the gantry in the distance, I knew I had my PB but I wanted every second and every place I could take. I passed some more in the final few hundred metres and was absolutely delighted to cross the line in a time of 3:06.21. Just under 2 minutes off my time in Berlin – which course what a doddle compared to Boston.

I continued through to knock back a bottle of water, devour a protein bar, get my photo taken for the Dole website – someone commented on my coat-hanger grin saying they hadn’t seen many of them coming through. I continued on, picked up my bag, chatted and laughed with loads of people around, put on my tracksuit and sat down on the side of the road. Well, I tried to sit down, it was more of a ‘let go and hope I manage to find a perk en route’. I have never experienced such immediate muscle pain in my quads. It was horrendous. But it was a reminder of what I’d just achieved. As I checked my phone and waited for Digger’s call, I soaked up the amazing atmosphere around me and vowed to come back and run Boston for fun.

I was delighted to get a call from Digdig who had had a tough run but still a really great run in the circumstances. As I had had my time on the ground, we changed our plans to meet at the family area near the finish and instead I sauntered/hobbled a block further away to where his bag had been dropped. After I let myself give into those marathon emotions a little, we decided it best to keep walking and head back towards the hotel instead of fighting our way back through the crowds to catch our other friend who was in the third wave hoping to run sub 3:45. We took photos in Boston Common and got chatting to some super-friendly people. One woman texted me photos of the start line and the elites because we had no one at the start line with us. We couldn’t get over the atmosphere and the positive attitudes of everyone.

We were almost back at our hotel when we heard the first explosion and thought it must be thunder. Then we heard the second one and thought it was an echo amongst the buildings. I was cold and wanted a coffee so we went into the Starbucks across from our hotel and that was when we first heard about the bombs. Digs got a text from our friend in the third wave saying it was chaos. I assumed it had to have been a gas explosion. The thoughts of something more sinister didn’t even cross my mind; until we got back into the hotel and saw people crowded around the TV. We simply couldn’t believe it. We spend the afternoon watching the news and the stories of the injured and fatalities unfold. The phones were going off the hook and our priority was to let everyone know were safe and had been well away from the scene. It was mind-numbing. Eventually, and once our friend and her SIL returned to the hotel, we muted the TV and decided to go grab some food. It was a sombre affair. A far cry from the celebrations that had been planned for months; but that didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered. Running, races, training, results, parties all went out the window as we realised how trivial it all is in the grand scheme of things. We had 2 beers back in the hotel to calm the nerves and enjoy that we were safe and with friends.

Walking around the next day was so strange. A city that had been so full of life less than 24 hours previous had been turned on its head. The streets were under armed patrol and there were remnants of the fantastic marathon strewn across deathly quiet streets. I think it really hit me for the first time as I stood looking at flowers and cards right on the corner where I’d so excitedly met Digs the day before. As we made our way to the airport, I was devastated at how everything had turned out but I swore I’d go back. There was no way I was letting the people responsible for such an horrendous act have me live in fear and unwilling to continue doing the things I love.

I think it’s only really hit me since I’ve come home. Everyone was so worried about us and while we knew we weren’t in the middle of it, it must have been awful watching it from home not knowing that. The way things unfolded on Friday really rattled me as we had spent the day after the marathon walking around. As well as that, hearing the stories emerge about the innocent victims was heart-breaking. Observing the moment’s silence at the K Club on Saturday and the London Marathon yesterday hit me like a brick; but all I can say is that my thoughts and prayers are with the victims and their families. I hope the injured recover well and live the rest of their lives to the max. And may the three deceased rest in peace. They died for showing love, support and friendship to thousands of people and they won’t be forgotten.

For those of you who have run Boston (TRR?!) it’s an honour to be part of the gang; for those of you who haven’t, if you ever get a feasible opportunity to run there, grasp it with both hands and enjoy every moment!

I haven’t really thought about my time but if I do, I’m very proud and happy. I was the first Irish lady over the line and hope I did the smudge on my face proud. I also want to express the thank you of thank yous to TRR for all of the support since (regrettably?!!) taking me under his wing 12 months ago. I hate to say it but I don’t think I’d be posting the results I am without it all – I suppose the carry on between himself and the Guns is worth putting up with just for that.

And Guns, you’re not so bad yourself! I’m disappointed for you that you missed out on your goal but you still ran a great race and achieved a great time. We’ll get you that London tattoo soon...