My Boston Marathon 15/04/2019
3:38am, 17th Apr 2019 | Boston Marathon | 31 Comments
Blog by SailorSteve
| More by this blogger
| More bloggers
Pre-Race
I’m not into the notion of a personal ‘bucket list’. I have found that the events and experiences that have had the most powerful impact on me tend to be unplanned and unexpected. Things that I’ve dreamed of from a remote perspective of time or distance have often not been able to live up to the pictures painted in my imagination. Up until a couple of years ago I had never imagined that I would ever run in the Boston Marathon, but if I had had a running bucket list, Boston would have been on it.
As a football-mad kid growing up in the sixties there wasn’t much room for any other sports in my life, but my first memory of athletics is from the 1968 Olympic Games in Mexico. As a seven year old I was pretty shocked that the Great Britain team wasn’t winning all of the gold medals so, when David Hemery won gold in the 400m hurdles, in a new world record, it made a big impression on me. Hemery’s father’s work in the USA meant that young David went to school and then university in Boston.
Fast forward a couple of years to 1970 and Ron Hill became the first British runner to win the Boston Marathon, shattering the course record by three minutes, with a time of 2:10:30. I remember reading this in The Evening Standard with my Dad: The marathon, an unimaginable distance to run, in a country a long way away, won by a Brit!! Just a small piece in the paper, part of a column of news in a sports section otherwise dominated by football, but there it was again: Boston.
Now, more than 50 years later, having finally got into running, I am very conscious of the Boston Marathon. Its status as the world's oldest annual marathon, first held in 1897, the year after the birth of the ‘Modern Olympics’. Its unusual course. The challenge of qualifying. The unpredictable weather. And, unfortunately, the shocking and tragic bombings in 2013.
Since 2013 “Boston Strong” signs are prominent in shop and business windows and it seems that overseas visitors are given a particularly warm welcome. The city is hugely proud of its marathon, its history and the way that the event and its people have continued undaunted. Locals are ready to talk about it, in lifts, bars, restaurants and even at the immigration desks. Crucially, The Samuel Adams Brewing Company produces a special beer to commemorate the marathon: “26.2” and it’s a pleasant distraction from the pain that you know is coming your way on race day.
My log tells me that I ran 840 miles 18 weeks training for this marathon. Slightly more than London last year and slightly less than my two quickest marathons, Valencia and Birmingham. Was it enough? Will it ever be enough?
Then there’s the weather. In 2018 it was appalling, with snow and sleet at the start, driving sleet and rain throughout and a headwind of up to 45mph. A week before the race, the forecast wasn’t looking good, but would we get lucky this year?
No point worrying about it. You can only do your best with the training that you’ve done, on the race day that you’re given. Plenty of runners (and ‘normal’ people too!) would gladly swap places with you, so just get on with it.
Race Day
Rain and thunderstorms were forecast from 0600 until around 1000, to be followed by an increasingly clear day with temperatures and humidity levels rising. I had a two mile walk to get to the classic yellow school buses, hundreds of which are used to transport runners from Boston to the race start in the little town of Hopkinton, 26.2 miles away.
As I left the hotel the first heavy drops of rain started to fall. Within 2 minutes lightning was forking the sky all around me and thunder crashed overhead. The rain very quickly became a deluge of biblical proportions.
Always well-prepared(!) I popped a bin liner over my head and plastic bags over my feet (inside my trainers) and sloshed merrily onwards towards Boston Common. It was humid and warm and all vaguely hilarious. Runners were appearing from every direction like rats emerging from sewers and everyone was already in a party mood with lots of laughing and whooping. I took shelter in a doorway during a particularly severe downburst and killed time for as long as I could before wading down to the buses. The volunteers/marshals were all in high spirits too and whenever you thanked them, they immediately thanked you back for running “their” marathon. The atmosphere was already electric (literally) and it was only 0715.
Thankfully the organisers had decided to hold the buses’ departures back as long as possible to avoid runners being spat out into the storm near the starting area and to minimise the inevitable mudbath at the Athletes’ Village - imagine the Gosport Half Marathon at Bayside school, but catering for around 33,000 runners.
After a disconcertingly long drive (“is it really that far back to Boston?”) just as we arrived at our destination, the rain stopped! The logistics and admin were truly first class as the sequence of start waves were processed and we were ushered towards the start line.
Race Tactics
My primary objective was to enjoy this iconic race. Such a simple statement but so difficult to work out how to achieve it on this unique course: The point-to-point route runs from Hopkinton to Boston, roughly south of west to north of east. My homework suggested roughly 11 downhill miles (including some short flat sections and slight inclines) followed by 4 flattish miles, then a ridiculous downhill at mile 15 before undulations to around mile 17 and the first of 4 significant hills, culminating with “Heartbreak Hill” starting at around mile 20. Despite the summit being referred to as the “top of the world” it’s not all downhill from there. There are a couple of inclines and a short, sharp bump at the top of Hereford Street before the sacred “left on Boylston” and 385 yards to finish line sanctuary.
Although I’m a believer that ‘even splits’ are the best chance of achieving one’s best time on a flat course, that approach seemed unworkable with such front-loaded downhills and back-loaded inclines. Consequently I set myself a different plan. I accepted that I’d cover the first half quicker than normal, in around 1.35ish, and, unless there was a substantial tailwind, endure a significant slow down in the tougher second half, maybe 1:40+ for something around 3.20ish. Given that I don’t wear a watch this approach was unlikely to end perfectly and so it proved.
Most runners in the Boston Marathon have earned their place through qualification. Your starting position is determined by your qualifying time and your bib number reflects your ‘seeding’. My number was #9450 so another race target was to finish higher than 9450 overall.
How it felt
I can’t overstate the happy ambience at the start of the race. I’d already met some lovely people on the bus and in the marshalling areas; locals were setting up front yard barbecues, some with gazebos and music, fellow brits were saying ‘hello’ and the Union Jack shorts were getting me lots of introductions.
Finally start time came, applause for Yuki Kawauchi last year’s winner, and we were off. As expected we were immediately thrown downhill. Shortly afterwards a brace of F-15’s thundered spectacularly overhead and the Boston Marathon was really on. Believe it or not, regardless of what my splits say, I was actively holding myself back for the first eleven miles. It was already warm and I made sure to take Gatorade and/or water from all of the aid stations, partly as a way of slowing myself down as well as good sense. I shook hands with and had a couple of chats early on, first with a Stubbington Green runner (aiming for sub 3.10) and a Salisbury runner (aiming for sub 3) and I accepted a drinks cup from a kind chap only to then notice his “Oregon Project” singlet. Is there “anything in this” I asked, to which he laughed and said “you’re all good.” It tickled me.
I wear a pace band to help me keep a rough track of pacing when roadside clocks are available so I knew I was about 1 minute ahead of schedule from as early as 5-6 miles. I put this down to the downhills and didn’t stress. I’d already been on the edge of ‘over-braking’ which was less comfortable on the quads than relaxing and just letting gravity do its thing. I found it incredibly difficult to find my “easy” pace. The trickiness of this course is not exaggerated.
The welcome in the towns that the marathon passed through became ever more vocal as the alcohol levels rose at the kerbside parties and the support from the ladies of Wellesley College and the good people of Framingham were highlights. Marathon running had never been this easy. So far, so enjoyable, but at the back of your mind you know that you’ve done nothing yet.
Mile 15 is shocking. Fortunately the bus had ground its way up this fecker on the way to the start so I was partly prepared for it but the pitch of the downhill, as you make your way to the undulations prior to the first proper uphill, ensures that your quads are comfortably up to near 98% tension as you begin to take on real strain for the first time at around mile 17.
Try to relax, rest on the uphills by settling into your “run forever” pace. Try to preserve some muscle integrity for the battle to come when the “top of Heartbreak, top of the world” eventually comes. Easier said than done. The heat of the day was rising, humidity was rising, my body temperature was rising. The winds came from everywhere so headwinds and crosswinds were a blessed relief from the heat. This was getting tough.
And it gets worse. The downhills from mile 21 were as painful as the previous uphills were energy sapping. I was expecting it and it didn’t disappoint. The slight inclines on the 4 miles to Kenmore Square turned my legs to lead. My reconnaissance runs had taken in the “Citgo” sign which marks 25 miles and I’d checked out the “right on Hereford, left on Boylston” section which revealed a short, spiteful kicker at the top of Hereford which would have stopped me in my tracks if I hadn’t known it was there.
But that’s the thing about having people supporting you: Your running mates understand, they wish they were there; your non-running mates always want you to succeed; your family loves you and will be proud whatever happens, wearing my Dad’s old gloves and shedding a tear on the bus on the way to the start; it kept me going.
Other than someone having swapped my legs for strips of pasta for the last couple of miles, I was relishing the closing stages. The crowds were noisy and soooooo encouraging, they were yelling and screaming us home. I tried to push on again in the last 2 miles but every time I pushed my calves and thighs started dancing with cramps. Accepting this I plodded up “Mount Hereford” to try to save some style for the Boylston Street finish. I loved it. Halfway down Boylston Street a lady runner emerged from a medical station and got going again, to wild cheers from the crowds and happily, I used that energy for the final 100 yards. Oh that sweet, sweet finish line. All the normal feelings: first relief that it’s over, then shock that it’s over, then a building euphoria and satisfaction that the challenge has been met and that it’s really over.
After the finish line
Security meant a little delay in meeting up with Claire but it was probably just as well - it allowed me to get most of my cramps out of my legs. As always, meeting up afterwards was lovely. Although I had done the running, we share the challenge and that’s the moment that it really feels like it’s done. Claire then led me to The Four Seasons hotel where they had an enthusiastic “Marathoners Welcoming Squad” who applauded and cheered each runner as they entered the bar (sounds cheesy but it was terrific) and a barman that didn’t stop replenishing your supply of “26.2” beer (as good as it sounds). It was the perfect environment to celebrate an amazing day. I was as high as a kite.
The bones
Finish time: 03.15.03 First Half: 01.34.01 Second Half: 01.41.02 Position Overall: 5395
I’m not into the notion of a personal ‘bucket list’. I have found that the events and experiences that have had the most powerful impact on me tend to be unplanned and unexpected. Things that I’ve dreamed of from a remote perspective of time or distance have often not been able to live up to the pictures painted in my imagination. Up until a couple of years ago I had never imagined that I would ever run in the Boston Marathon, but if I had had a running bucket list, Boston would have been on it.
As a football-mad kid growing up in the sixties there wasn’t much room for any other sports in my life, but my first memory of athletics is from the 1968 Olympic Games in Mexico. As a seven year old I was pretty shocked that the Great Britain team wasn’t winning all of the gold medals so, when David Hemery won gold in the 400m hurdles, in a new world record, it made a big impression on me. Hemery’s father’s work in the USA meant that young David went to school and then university in Boston.
Fast forward a couple of years to 1970 and Ron Hill became the first British runner to win the Boston Marathon, shattering the course record by three minutes, with a time of 2:10:30. I remember reading this in The Evening Standard with my Dad: The marathon, an unimaginable distance to run, in a country a long way away, won by a Brit!! Just a small piece in the paper, part of a column of news in a sports section otherwise dominated by football, but there it was again: Boston.
Now, more than 50 years later, having finally got into running, I am very conscious of the Boston Marathon. Its status as the world's oldest annual marathon, first held in 1897, the year after the birth of the ‘Modern Olympics’. Its unusual course. The challenge of qualifying. The unpredictable weather. And, unfortunately, the shocking and tragic bombings in 2013.
Since 2013 “Boston Strong” signs are prominent in shop and business windows and it seems that overseas visitors are given a particularly warm welcome. The city is hugely proud of its marathon, its history and the way that the event and its people have continued undaunted. Locals are ready to talk about it, in lifts, bars, restaurants and even at the immigration desks. Crucially, The Samuel Adams Brewing Company produces a special beer to commemorate the marathon: “26.2” and it’s a pleasant distraction from the pain that you know is coming your way on race day.
My log tells me that I ran 840 miles 18 weeks training for this marathon. Slightly more than London last year and slightly less than my two quickest marathons, Valencia and Birmingham. Was it enough? Will it ever be enough?
Then there’s the weather. In 2018 it was appalling, with snow and sleet at the start, driving sleet and rain throughout and a headwind of up to 45mph. A week before the race, the forecast wasn’t looking good, but would we get lucky this year?
No point worrying about it. You can only do your best with the training that you’ve done, on the race day that you’re given. Plenty of runners (and ‘normal’ people too!) would gladly swap places with you, so just get on with it.
Race Day
Rain and thunderstorms were forecast from 0600 until around 1000, to be followed by an increasingly clear day with temperatures and humidity levels rising. I had a two mile walk to get to the classic yellow school buses, hundreds of which are used to transport runners from Boston to the race start in the little town of Hopkinton, 26.2 miles away.
As I left the hotel the first heavy drops of rain started to fall. Within 2 minutes lightning was forking the sky all around me and thunder crashed overhead. The rain very quickly became a deluge of biblical proportions.
Always well-prepared(!) I popped a bin liner over my head and plastic bags over my feet (inside my trainers) and sloshed merrily onwards towards Boston Common. It was humid and warm and all vaguely hilarious. Runners were appearing from every direction like rats emerging from sewers and everyone was already in a party mood with lots of laughing and whooping. I took shelter in a doorway during a particularly severe downburst and killed time for as long as I could before wading down to the buses. The volunteers/marshals were all in high spirits too and whenever you thanked them, they immediately thanked you back for running “their” marathon. The atmosphere was already electric (literally) and it was only 0715.
Thankfully the organisers had decided to hold the buses’ departures back as long as possible to avoid runners being spat out into the storm near the starting area and to minimise the inevitable mudbath at the Athletes’ Village - imagine the Gosport Half Marathon at Bayside school, but catering for around 33,000 runners.
After a disconcertingly long drive (“is it really that far back to Boston?”) just as we arrived at our destination, the rain stopped! The logistics and admin were truly first class as the sequence of start waves were processed and we were ushered towards the start line.
Race Tactics
My primary objective was to enjoy this iconic race. Such a simple statement but so difficult to work out how to achieve it on this unique course: The point-to-point route runs from Hopkinton to Boston, roughly south of west to north of east. My homework suggested roughly 11 downhill miles (including some short flat sections and slight inclines) followed by 4 flattish miles, then a ridiculous downhill at mile 15 before undulations to around mile 17 and the first of 4 significant hills, culminating with “Heartbreak Hill” starting at around mile 20. Despite the summit being referred to as the “top of the world” it’s not all downhill from there. There are a couple of inclines and a short, sharp bump at the top of Hereford Street before the sacred “left on Boylston” and 385 yards to finish line sanctuary.
Although I’m a believer that ‘even splits’ are the best chance of achieving one’s best time on a flat course, that approach seemed unworkable with such front-loaded downhills and back-loaded inclines. Consequently I set myself a different plan. I accepted that I’d cover the first half quicker than normal, in around 1.35ish, and, unless there was a substantial tailwind, endure a significant slow down in the tougher second half, maybe 1:40+ for something around 3.20ish. Given that I don’t wear a watch this approach was unlikely to end perfectly and so it proved.
Most runners in the Boston Marathon have earned their place through qualification. Your starting position is determined by your qualifying time and your bib number reflects your ‘seeding’. My number was #9450 so another race target was to finish higher than 9450 overall.
How it felt
I can’t overstate the happy ambience at the start of the race. I’d already met some lovely people on the bus and in the marshalling areas; locals were setting up front yard barbecues, some with gazebos and music, fellow brits were saying ‘hello’ and the Union Jack shorts were getting me lots of introductions.
Finally start time came, applause for Yuki Kawauchi last year’s winner, and we were off. As expected we were immediately thrown downhill. Shortly afterwards a brace of F-15’s thundered spectacularly overhead and the Boston Marathon was really on. Believe it or not, regardless of what my splits say, I was actively holding myself back for the first eleven miles. It was already warm and I made sure to take Gatorade and/or water from all of the aid stations, partly as a way of slowing myself down as well as good sense. I shook hands with and had a couple of chats early on, first with a Stubbington Green runner (aiming for sub 3.10) and a Salisbury runner (aiming for sub 3) and I accepted a drinks cup from a kind chap only to then notice his “Oregon Project” singlet. Is there “anything in this” I asked, to which he laughed and said “you’re all good.” It tickled me.
I wear a pace band to help me keep a rough track of pacing when roadside clocks are available so I knew I was about 1 minute ahead of schedule from as early as 5-6 miles. I put this down to the downhills and didn’t stress. I’d already been on the edge of ‘over-braking’ which was less comfortable on the quads than relaxing and just letting gravity do its thing. I found it incredibly difficult to find my “easy” pace. The trickiness of this course is not exaggerated.
The welcome in the towns that the marathon passed through became ever more vocal as the alcohol levels rose at the kerbside parties and the support from the ladies of Wellesley College and the good people of Framingham were highlights. Marathon running had never been this easy. So far, so enjoyable, but at the back of your mind you know that you’ve done nothing yet.
Mile 15 is shocking. Fortunately the bus had ground its way up this fecker on the way to the start so I was partly prepared for it but the pitch of the downhill, as you make your way to the undulations prior to the first proper uphill, ensures that your quads are comfortably up to near 98% tension as you begin to take on real strain for the first time at around mile 17.
Try to relax, rest on the uphills by settling into your “run forever” pace. Try to preserve some muscle integrity for the battle to come when the “top of Heartbreak, top of the world” eventually comes. Easier said than done. The heat of the day was rising, humidity was rising, my body temperature was rising. The winds came from everywhere so headwinds and crosswinds were a blessed relief from the heat. This was getting tough.
And it gets worse. The downhills from mile 21 were as painful as the previous uphills were energy sapping. I was expecting it and it didn’t disappoint. The slight inclines on the 4 miles to Kenmore Square turned my legs to lead. My reconnaissance runs had taken in the “Citgo” sign which marks 25 miles and I’d checked out the “right on Hereford, left on Boylston” section which revealed a short, spiteful kicker at the top of Hereford which would have stopped me in my tracks if I hadn’t known it was there.
But that’s the thing about having people supporting you: Your running mates understand, they wish they were there; your non-running mates always want you to succeed; your family loves you and will be proud whatever happens, wearing my Dad’s old gloves and shedding a tear on the bus on the way to the start; it kept me going.
Other than someone having swapped my legs for strips of pasta for the last couple of miles, I was relishing the closing stages. The crowds were noisy and soooooo encouraging, they were yelling and screaming us home. I tried to push on again in the last 2 miles but every time I pushed my calves and thighs started dancing with cramps. Accepting this I plodded up “Mount Hereford” to try to save some style for the Boylston Street finish. I loved it. Halfway down Boylston Street a lady runner emerged from a medical station and got going again, to wild cheers from the crowds and happily, I used that energy for the final 100 yards. Oh that sweet, sweet finish line. All the normal feelings: first relief that it’s over, then shock that it’s over, then a building euphoria and satisfaction that the challenge has been met and that it’s really over.
After the finish line
Security meant a little delay in meeting up with Claire but it was probably just as well - it allowed me to get most of my cramps out of my legs. As always, meeting up afterwards was lovely. Although I had done the running, we share the challenge and that’s the moment that it really feels like it’s done. Claire then led me to The Four Seasons hotel where they had an enthusiastic “Marathoners Welcoming Squad” who applauded and cheered each runner as they entered the bar (sounds cheesy but it was terrific) and a barman that didn’t stop replenishing your supply of “26.2” beer (as good as it sounds). It was the perfect environment to celebrate an amazing day. I was as high as a kite.
The bones
Finish time: 03.15.03 First Half: 01.34.01 Second Half: 01.41.02 Position Overall: 5395
Got something to say?
To see the comments on this blog, or to add a comment yourself, you need to either sign in or register as a user.