I have to admit, finding energy to recap this past week is a bit tough. Over the last week I experienced such a hodgepodge of emotion that really writing about my week of training just seems like such, well, so small in the grand scheme of things. Jotting my thoughts out has always helped a bit and adding an Instagram post just doesn’t seem right for the moment or topic so I’ll just use this. Seeing as I paid another year of subscription for this domain, I better keep using it.
This past week began with a bit of an outline for what the remaining block was to be. After setbacks over this past month and issues with what feels like my entire right leg, this block would be much more cautious than previous blocks. 60 miles on the week. I would be traveling to Boston on Thursday after work so this would be a welcomed week to be a little bit down in milage.
The week kicked off on a high note with some early miles with Ian. The morning was a bit chilly but I’d highly welcome a real feel of 19 than -10 like we had the previous week. Chats around shoes, the state of running culture, and of course running influencers. It was an hour or yapping. The adjustment to my social media intake and these weekly checkins have seemed to be a bit of a help for just my general energy surrounding all things running in this day and age.
Wednesday would be my first workout where I’d try to scrape some of the rust off. It was a modified fatigued miles type of workout. 4 miles at marathon pace + ~30 seconds, half mile jog, then 5x 3 minutes at 5:00 mile pace with 1 minute jog recovery. Max joined me without hesitation. I continued to still have issues with my left leg, lingering tightness around the knee following it locking up before Christmas break, but the uptempo miles weren’t too tough. We tried not to get too carried away with ourselves there:
5:49-5:47-5:49-5:47
Knowing the state of my left leg, I decided it was probably best that I took these next reps off the road and hit the track. I ran out of time with the half mile jog and started my first rep on the roads just as parents were dropping their kids off at school. I successfully made it to the track without being run down but my pace took a hit. No worries, we’d get on it. I was almost right on with the next four but man did it feel like I was doing a lot of work to get myself into rhythm. Aerobically, not horrible but this leg was not having it.
Double at Hoof Hearted went fairly well compared to the previous week. Great chats and another great crowd for our gnarly squad program. Closed Wednesday off with 16 miles on the day.
No matter how often I do it, trying to fit a run in on a travel day is always a shitshow. Thursday was no different. Knowing I had a long run on Sunday and was out of GU, I decided to round my loop out to Columbus Running Company, grab a couple to get me through Sunday and then place an order for a case to get me through the block. Knocked it out during the lunch break but jumped right back into work and didn’t have enough time to eat before getting to the airport. A sandwich and a beer thankfully helped. We were off to Boston.
Landed in Boston with no issues thankfully. Made it in time to meet one one of the team members, Ashley, who greeted me with a cool tote bag that included socks, a hat, a nice note, notepad, and a new pair of 880’s. Truthfully, I didn’t know what to expect beyond the Grand Prix on Sunday but I was really excited for what was sure to be a weekend to remember. I made it in time to grab dinner with some of the other members of the group and got to chat a little bit about our respective run clubs, Val representing Good Boys Denver, Hanna and Carolyn representing Hoboken Track Club, Mak & Yves representing Society Track Club, and Zach an artist/designer based out of SF. The night ended fairly early for me as I was tired and was going to be working a half day prior to the first event that afternoon.
The next morning a group of us met up for some coffee and then a run. There I was formally introduced to Matt, Tim, and Tom before we got to running. We got a chance to tell our stories of how we ended up in the cities we were and I got to tell how I ended up in Ohio by accident. Tom, Matt, and Aidan were working out this morning and Tom was all good with joining me for some easy miles. We talked a bunch about our respective running journeys, clubs, and scenes. It was a refreshing conversation.
I got back to the hotel just in time to clock into work for a couple hours. Knocked everything out and got out there just in time for lunch. And what a lunch it was. Tasty apps and a lobster roll for me. Man, I love the east coast.
This kicked off what could only be described as a running nerd’s dream weekend. We kicked off the afternoon with a tour through the New Balance Sports Research lab. As someone who was a massive shoe nerd starting from his college days, I was locked in here. All the details and tools used in shoe and apparel technology were showcased to our group. It was the first tour of the weekend and I was already so blown away. We spoke with a team from merchandizing/apparel and had a feedback session with some of the more east coast members of our group. Hearing the feedback from the other members of our group and current needs and wants from their respective communities was incredibly insightful, especially as I look to see what the future of Ope Athletic Club is to be in 2025.
The night ended with some duckpin bowling/dinner and a nightcap of live music with a smaller group of us. I was surprised (well I shouldn’t have been at this point), that a lot of us had one degree of separation with each other without even knowing it. Whether it was racing against mutual friends or even unknowingly racing each other in college, it was pretty cool to see how small this community could be.
The next morning I awoke to a missed call from my mom at 2:30AM EST. My mom is not known to call me very late and a chill went through my body knowing there could be some bad news coming. With it still being early morning I went off to our morning run with a larger group that were here with run specialty businesses. I got back to a couple missed calls and text messages. A quick glance to a message preview told me everything.
My condolences for your Grandmother’s passing.
I immediately called my mother. My grandmother had lived at our home for about the last 20 or so years. She saw me through my formative years and much of the years I’m not proud of. From an angry, insecure, high schooler looking for his way to the man I am today. I was a very angry kid for many of those years, and then distant as I left to find myself in college and then ultimately in Ohio. I can’t say I was ever really that close to my family in those years. Language barriers made it tough for me to have full conversations or express myself to her. But there was a love and patience that transcended language barriers that was unwavering, even when I didn’t want it for all of those years. I came to appreciate it all as our family came together to celebrate her 90th birthday almost 3 years ago. I caught up with the cousins I grew up with that were now adults with families and careers of their own. It was a reminder of the importance of family and almost a homecoming of the self if that makes any sense at all. The happiness that came with that weekend is something that will stick with me for a lifetime. Many of us who had not seen each other for almost a decade, gathered around and celebrated a kind, selfless human being that gave so much love for all around her. It had a lasting impact on me, even years later.
The rest of the weekend could’ve been a tailspin of emotions. I worked on trying to adjust my flight on Monday to surprise my mother while also trying to be present in such a once in a lifetime opportunity. Things eventually worked out where I would fly home to California instead of Ohio, so in a weird sort of way I was lucky. As I try to unpack it all over a week later, the thing that sticks with me is how life can have a way of providing experiences that are hard to fully categorize in column A or column B. The entire weekend provided me with an experience that I can confidently say was one of the best of my life. The incredible individuals that were involved with this program made me incredibly thankful to still be involved with this sport almost 2 decades later.
I completely blew up in my long run workout that Sunday but part of me wanted to run with others moreso than getting after it in chilly/icy conditions. I spent most of it running with friends new and old and while the workout portion itself went poorly, I had to be realistic as to how much energy I had in me. I was emotionally drained from the weekend.
I capped the weekend off watching some of the best athletes in the world compete while I enjoyed some wine and chowder with fellow track nerds. Then we all sang our hearts out in karaoke. A much needed escape from what was sure to be a tough week ahead.
As you can probably tell, this was written in two parts. I put it off for a bit after writing most of it early last week. Sitting here, in my childhood living room, it’s still hard to really express out this week. But that’s life I guess. I’m thankful for one of the best experiences a track nerd like me could have ever had and found myself refreshed about community again. I’m grateful for the life I’ve had the opportunity to have and the kindness of others around me. We were in for a tough time, but I didn’t feel alone in that. I often find myself so caught up in small annoyances or issues and this was one of those reminders of just how inconsequential most of it can be.
It’s a fitting title for the current moment and this past week. As I sit on my flight to Boston I have some time to catch up on how last week went and well, hopefully line this blog up with the current week that I had just finished. Or this beer I had will make me sleepy and I’ll push this off til Sunday. Let’s try this out.
Last week continued a shit week of weather in Columbus, Ohio. The dip in temps had iced over any snow that had landed over the previous couple days. Cold? Well, we were in for worse. Welcome to freeze hell, the worst week of the year for the Midwest.
Tuesday. 10 degrees. Real feel of 0. How in the world you can find comfort running in this beyond me but dammit we found a way. Enough layers and some coverage from the wind did enough to make this feel okay. Heck it was just as fast a nice day. Things are looking up! I even started doing strength training. We’re back police? Hey. It’s Cris calling.
But the temperatures continue to drop. How about -6 and a real feel of -10. But three of us showed up to jog. This is far too cold to work out and too dark and icy to trust moving fast, so a shakeout it was. Again, enough layers and the help from some handwarmers was enough to make 5 miles in this faux tundra bearable.
While I’m known my friends as someone with a habit of getting to things fashionably late, I do a reasonably good job at planning out my workout days. This wasn’t one of those days.
I ran out of time before run club and decided to push the workout to Thursday. Tonight would be an easy 8 to get me 13 on the day. I was overwhelmed, frustrated, and just in a foul mood as I tried to get two miles in before I got around to doing announcements for the club. 3 miles solo after would be on the schedule. Great. Funny enough I thought to myself during the run that being upset during runs typically didn’t go well for me. It was distracting and it was an easy way for me to…
*pop*
I rolled it. I fucking rolled my bad foot again. I’m 3/4 of the way back to bar. I can hobble home. Bad step. I almost go down from the pain. It’s fucked again. Dammit. Just what I needed. I just had a great week for myself. Everything was supposed to be looking brighter.
I limped back to the brewery grabbed my stuff and went home. It was hard to hide just how upset I was and I felt like I didn’t need to be that kind of person in a place that is genuinely a place to relax and enjoy the company of others. I vented to my best friends about it and they pulled me out of it. I took the next two days off and focused on pulling myself back together mentally and physically. It was a little stumble but nothing that was any different than things I’ve experienced.
By Saturday I was back to running. No pain, thanks to an ankle brace that I put on to stabilize my foot as I walked throughout the day. It was strange to have something hurt so bad and then just go away but then again I haven’t been able to really understand what the hell is up with this foot since I first rolled it two years ago.
By Sunday I was good to long run again as though nothing happened. I tossed on some alphaflys and focused on a strong long run with some uptempo. 16 miles at 6:21 average with a couple miles rocking at 5:40s. We’re back police? You have another incoming call.
In all seriousness though, while this week was frustrating and a small setback in multiple aspects, it was a reminder that it’s not always a straightforward path despite all the work we put into it. Sometimes the universe likes to toss a random hurdle in there to make sure you’re awake. And well it’s a wake up call. This block isn’t gonna be as simple as just getting out there and doing it. You gotta be ready for some turbulence along the route. But we’ve beat the worst two weeks of the year weatherwise so hey, we’ll take our wins where we can.
That’s it for now. I’m sure this weekend will provide a lot for me to talk about.
Sliding in on Sunday to make sure I keep this streak alive. Sorry, had to finish Twin Peaks so I can get on with my life.
Last week I completed my first 70 mile week of the block. Now some would say that jumping from 29 miles to 70 is probably a bad move but considering the 10 days prior were basically a wash due to sickness, I’d say this isn’t that crazy of a move.
Now, Columbus experiences a couple choice bad weeks. 365 days around makes you forget about that until the realization hits you like a truck. Last week, well that was the start of one of them. The city had been smacked around by snow and the temperatures dropped. Snow isn’t bad. Ice? Yeah, that’s where it get’s a little hairy. That’s the thing, most of these runs aren’t going to be the vision of excitement of fun that you see plastered around social media. Sometimes it’s gonna just be you, and what’s gonna get you out there where there is nothing exciting about the next hour. And when there’s a solid chance that there will be very few runnable areas to cross in this hour? Well, anything helps.
22 degrees, real feel of 13. 10 on the schedule. Yuck.
I grabbed my headphones and put on a go to playlist I would listen to when I had to run at 5:30am before work years ago. This was one of the better Tuesday runs I’ve had in recent months. I felt in control for miles as I trotted through the city, one step after another, no pain, just a calmness as I ran through a quiet bike path into the downtown strip. I made the turn for home as the unforgiving wind blew directly into my face. On different days I’d probably be hoping to be anywhere but here but in that moment I felt good. It’s awful out yes, but that punch of cold air was enough to make a man feel alive. I didn’t mind being there. This was dare I say, enjoyable.
I just wish the rest of the run was enjoyable too.
A couple miles later as the sun started to set I saw my first person on the bike path. We gave each other a head nod before I dipped under the over pass. Hmm, wonder who he runs for I thought to myself before my body went into panic mode as my foot lost traction. Crash. I’m on the ground. I pause my watch and lay there for a bit while I try to survey the damage. If it was a little warmer I’d lay there for a second and just take a breather but every minute seemed to be getting colder.
I dusted myself off and kept going. A little banged up but stride didn’t seem too affected. Just about 400 meters til I got out of the bike path and got onto safer streets. Just one quick left up the roundabout and I’m home free.
I didn’t even have time to think. Crash. On the ground again.
I looked over to my left as commuters slowly drove on the highway next to the trail. Well I hope my fall at least entertained them on that shit drive. This one hurt a bit more. I slid a bit and now the opposite side was now evened out. Dust off and head home. Just about 2 miles to go. Stay on your feet and don’t kill yourself out there. Can’t say I shed a tear from those falls but I may have shed a tear when What Sarah Said came on. We got home safely thankfully.
That was cold? How about 5 degrees at 6am.
Yeah. I didn’t want to workout. I was just gonna go out and do a shakeout. I had an hour progression. But the other boys were working out and I didn’t want to workout after a day in the office so he we go, loops alone in temperatures cold enough to shut off your mp3 player. My face hurt. I kept worrying my contacted lenses would freeze. I oscillated between feelings of numbness and rhythm. I figured I had to be going slower with each passing mile but with each passing beep I was pleasantly surprised to see the paces go down ever so slightly. I bargained to myself that I would continue to go until the next mile seemed like it was just a little too much. These paces had no business being difficult but being layers and freezing made this a bit of a challenge. It wasn’t difficult by any means but 6 minute pace is typically fairly easy nowadays. I got to 45 minutes. From 6:39 down to 5:46. I jogged home to my warm apartment and got ready for work. Was this a character builder? It was something…
The next two days were days where you just bargain with yourself to get out there. Just 6 you tell yourself. Next thing you know you’re 5 miles in on an out and back and it’s another 10 miles in the bank. Theres a feeling in the back of my head that knows that I’ll get the miles in. I just need the loud voice to lie to myself a little bit to get over the lazy thoughts of watching another episode of the show I’m binging and staying warm. 2 days. 20 miles. 70 was in play.
I joined Breydon and Jamey for their run before jumping into my long run. 16 miles with 4 miles uptempo somewhere after 10. I put on some beater Vaporfly 2’s and hit some uptempo. I was quickly reminded just how stiff these shoes could be. Eventually I found rhythm again. 5:59-5:40-5:34-5:28. Just one more run ahead of me.
The cold and my laziness proved to be my enemy on this Sunday run. I pushed my run until after an event I had to go to in the early afternoon. Before I knew it, it was 4:15, I hadn’t ate since 11am and I was 30 minutes from home. 10 miles ain’t much anymore but I know that it’s enough to make the body feel crazy after not eating for a bit. So I called an audible. 10 piece wendys nuggets and a double stack, an hour to let it settle and then out the door at 6.
I hit the road at 6:10 and was greeted by about 30-40 minutes of snow flurries. The snow was consistent enough to stick. Every step was a gamble with the hope that whatever was underneath the next step was concrete and not ice. Pace was not going to be the focus tonight. It was going to be staying upright. This wasn’t gonna be a fast one but I’d also rather not be a speedbump for some innocent bystander driving down Goodale Boulevard that night. Nothing felt particularly bad thank god and I stayed on my feet. 10 miles at 8:21 average. But it was 70. It was a step forward.
Outside of running, this was a step forward mentally. For the last 6+ months I haven’t really been able to go through a day without the desire to take a nap and have had a lingering fatigue and brain fog as I went through my days. Running for some reason didn’t feel that fatigued. I didn’t feel like I was overtraining. I just felt a general feeling of apathy as I went through my daily life. The beginning of the year I decided to take a better look at my social media consumption. I realized that a lot of the things I saw on social media, whether it be running or otherwise, tended to bring on a negative reaction from me. I felt like a worse person in this past year because of it. So I actively avoided and unfollowed and well, last week was a massive difference. This series may be a way of me expressing myself now since Instagram just seems like it sucks the creativity out of me with copy paste like posts.
But here’s to another week. I’ll try to get this current week updated during the middle of the week so I can get things written out closer to when it happens. But for now, this is what we got. Another week down.
Scrolling through Instagram last Saturday, that realization hit me like a bucket of ice water.
The last couple days had me piecing myself together following a week stuck in bed with whatever the hell this virus that had been going around. Speaking of a bucket of ice water? Well’s hows about a real feel of 16° for my run back after a week in Phoenix. Maybe it was the prior days of fighting off a burning fever but man was that first run shocking.
5 miles at 8:34 pace, slipping and sliding on ice as I battled a cough that just wouldn’t quit. The first run back following a couple unplanned “rest days” is something not unfamiliar with me.
Testing testing, is this thing on?
That first one is just checking in. Outside of sickness, my IT-Band/knee had been a lingering issue from before I went on vacation. Cold and limiting movement from long tights seemed to aggravate the problem. Toss in some ice and hard snow? Well, talk about a recipe for a setback. So this first one was as cautious as I needed to be. Run club provides that opportunity. Running solo is too much temptation to get away from control, especially if I’m in conditions I’d rather not be in. A pack just takin’ it easy and chattin’ makes me not worry too much about the time on feet.
Result? A little rusty from lack of movement but we should be back to consistency fairly quickly.
While the result of the first run back was solid, there continued to be a lingering voice in the back of my head to get back immediately to the milage I had been doing. But I knew that a couple more days doing “just enough” was necessary to survey any potential damage that a 5 mile run wouldn’t tell me. If that meant scrapping the long run for the week and just 7-9ish miles easy, so be it.
The reality of race day looming triggered a feeling I hadn’t felt since college. I was running out of time here. Before I knew it, it would be March and I’d be lining up for Project 13.1. While others are knocking out good long runs, I was out here trotting and not getting any work done.
I started to look at old training logs from 2023/24 to see what kind of mileage I had been at. I basically wanted to see what kind of hole I was in. To my surprise, I was at about 60ish for the week ahead of me in the last two years. That was a relief for me until I dug deeper into 2023. That 60 was a down week after I ran 8:33 for 3k and had been stacking 70 mile weeks. Welp. Not ideal.
These unplanned rest days present a mental challenge. It’s fairly easy to head down a spiral that leads to you feeling like your back is against the wall and you need to claw at any sort of fitness to get yourself back on track. Years of setbacks has taught me that sort of thought process is what inevitably leads to you being back on the shelf again. I just need to remind myself, I’ll be back to it quicker than I think I will be at this current moment. It’s not a mountain to climb, it’s just a little hill to stay composed through.
I was in the best shape of my life in that NYC Block, it’s there. I know it’s there. Time’s a tickin’ but I’m confident that in less than 100 days I’ll be ready to get after it. I just need to make sure I don’t get in my own way.
Kind of defeats the purpose to be writing a prologue for 2025 when it’s already 2025 right? Well I’m not really known for doing things on time so here we are. It’s January 9th, 2025 and I’m currently killing time before I start my first run in over a week. Not ideal. But we’ll get there.
So I guess I’ll start with the purpose of all this.
Why am I doing this? Well, I used to write a lot years ago. A decade ago I was blogging fairly consistently. I had time to do it as a kid with nothing but time on his hands until graduate school started. I’ve gone back and looked at that stuff from time to time. Mostly to chuckle a bit at the stupid ideas I had for training myself and how I was my own worse enemy. The former has changed for the better, the latter, well, what do you want me to say…
Anyways.
Honestly? I’ve had a pretty tough time finding that spark to be creative again. Not just creative, but even just the spark to commit myself to anything aside from most things outside of my career, running, a few choice relationships. Over the last couple of months I’ve realized that I haven’t really done a good job executing on things that I really want to do. I’ve found a lot of enjoyment with cataloging my experience trying this running thing again and the successes I’ve found through it. The medium of social media has really taken much of my motivation to do it though. The last year felt like everything was just a photocopy of whatever was popular/getting likes. Another new Runnerinstagram and the same reel reposted week by week. It’s not a knock on particular people but the combination of all of it has made that entire platform feel formulaic and unimaginative. And well, frustrating.
Enough ranting for now.
This year I want to get back to writing again. And I’m going to use the medium I pay a yearly fee for to do it. My goal is to try and post once a week, recapping how running has gone in the lead up to the California International Marathon 2025.
So let’s do a quick intro of where I’ve been. 2023 was the best year of my life. I set personal bests across every distance I toed the line at. The second half of it featured my most impressive performance of my running career thus far by a pretty good amount, a 2:19:13 Marathon in early December. That block left me pretty emotionally exhausted as I battled a training block with a nagging injury and what I thought was a challenge with a binary result, pass or fail. I wondered whether this was still an enjoyable endeavor as I limped through each run. Ultimately I found some rhythm when it mattered and while I did technically fail, the result was significantly better than I ever could’ve dreamed I could attain just a couple years ago.
2024. Well. It was a year of disappointments. I won my 50K in April but came 10 minutes short of a goal I thought was realistic. Cratering alone for the last hour plus in the freezing cold was about as humbling experience as I could’ve had. New York? Well, I still haven’t found the time or energy to finish that recap… From aiming for a top 40 finish to sprinting with all I had to get 100th. Disappointing is an understatement for 2024. But that’s running for ya. You can be fit but sometimes you just need the day to be right and I definitely didn’t expect anything that could go wrong go wrong in the span of two hours and thirty minutes. But that’s why we race. I’ve been lucky enough to be on the other side of that for so long. I’d rather the gods even the score a bit in a year that doesn’t matter than when it does again.
When is it again? Well I hope it’ll be at CIM? That’s if the USATF actually decides to announce an Olympic Trials Standard for 2028. What will that be? Who knows. Will it stay at 2:18? Will it move down to 2:17? Faster? Beats me. Regardless, I need to get my ass in gear to put myself in position to try.
2025 starts on a back step. I started to shake off an IT band issues while I was on vacation out west and then bang, sickness. I don’t know what kind of bug I got but it took me down from Thursday to now. I’m finally feeling like myself again. We’ll see how this goes.
That’s it for now. I’ll add more if I feel like it this week. If not? I’ll catch you next week.
In Greek Mythology, Icarus was the son of a master craftsman, Daedelus. Imprisoned in the labyrinth by King Minos, Daedelus fashioned two sets of wings made from feathers, threads from blankets, clothes, and beeswax to escape the island.
The plans for the day ahead of me began four years ago. Riding a high from my first breakthrough at the marathon distance at the Columbus Marathon, I thought to myself, Maybe it’s possible to get down to 2:18:xx by 2023. At that point I had been fairly active on Letsrun, mostly in the Sub 2:30: Chase for Amateur Glory thread. One day I found a thread that lit the spark and started the chapter that I will close this weekend.
D3 Runners who OTQ.
At that point in time the list had to have been less than about 100 if I remember correctly. Once I saw it, I couldn’t shake it. After failing to qualify for the National Championships, I told myself this would be my redemption. This would be the next chapter of the 4:52/10:26 HS kid finding his way in this crazy sport.
The Master Craftsman? An old internet pal from my Dyestat message board days.
I can’t say that I ever shared my intentions this far out to many in those early days. Even being a rookie at the distance, I knew from my share of heartbreaks over the previous thirteen years that absolutely nothing was guaranteed. I’ve had a HS school record slip through my fingertips as I let off the gas with less than 800 meters to go after running what I thought was the race of my life for those first 2.5 miles. I’ve missed out on almost every major goal I’ve had for myself in this sport either by sheer bad luck or injury.
My teammate at the time, Sam, was probably the only person that I had let know what my long term goal was here.
I’m not sure if Zach had much thought of me growing into this position that I am now. When he took me on as an athlete I had just run my second marathon, a 2:34 at Boston where I came to a crashing halt 22 miles in. Maybe after Columbus those thoughts may have started for him too. Negative splitting a 2:30:25 in October after missing almost all of August due to injury? Maybe this kid can fly like I can.
He would let his belief known the morning of the 2020 Olympic Trials.
I had just finished a 16 mile run with 8 miles average about 5:30’s along a bike path in Atlanta. An early workout before I would get ready to cheer Zach on as he competed at his first Olympic Trials Marathon. I sent my splits to him as I always did, figuring he’d get to it in a couple days after combing through what was probably hundreds of messages from friends and family.
But my phone would buzz short thereafter.
I’ll see you here with me in four years.
And now four years later I sit here preparing for my chance to try and make my end of the bargain.
Nothing has been particularly flashy over the last couple of years. These wings haven’t been fashioned by altitude or training groups filled with people that have been there before. I train in Columbus, Ohio with a training group made up of great friends. Talented friends, yes, but not training partners because of their ability levels. I have a career that I work my mileage around; making sure that I don’t get myself too carried away in this running thing that I begin to have a negative effect in the things that actually matter. I’m not a professional runner, nor will I ever reference myself as such. And thankfully, I have a circle of pals there to remind me should I ever need it. A large amount of this endeavor has been funded on my own. Trainers? Find discounted pairs of old models and stock up. I haven’t had a marathon paid for by another entity. All out of pocket.
Of the 83 men and 81 women toeing the line this weekend in Sacramento, many of us will share a very similar story. ~150 of us with personal bests within 8 minutes of 2:18:00 and 2:37:00 have spent the last few years carving our own journey to this very starting line. Each having that moment that led us to believe: I can fly too.
Before escaping the Island Daedelus warned his son not to fly too close to the sun or too close to the sea.
To truly fly tomorrow involves taking a massive risk. Many of us will line up with personal bests that on paper do not inspire confidence for the task ahead. 2:23:28 seems like lightyears away from 2:18:00. But as Zach once said: We’re not going to CIM to run 2:21. You can run 2:21 anywhere.
The window for the 2024 Olympic Trials Marathon closes on Dec 5th. Why not give it a shot. Why not fly. Dozens of us will affix our wings and take flight tomorrow. Runners from all walks of life, the distance doesn’t discriminate. We’ll pack up stride for stride as we roll up and down the roller coaster ride from Folsom to Sacramento, all in good spirits, with bright eyes and hopeful hearts. We’ll attempt to settle into cruising altitude; riding the boundary between comfort and redlining.
As our journey continues to the promised land the upbeat and lively group will begin to disassemble; runner by runner falling off the pack. Packs will splinter and choices will be made that will decide the fates of each runner.
Overcome with giddiness while flying, Icarus soars higher and higher into the sky. As he soars, the heat from the sun begins to melt the beeswax. The wings begin to fall apart as Icarus valiantly attempts to stay in flight. But alas, his attempts prove futile as he slams into the sea and ultimately drowns.
Most of us in these packs will drown tomorrow. Some will hold on and be rewarded with consolation prizes of personal bests while others will drag themselves across the line, pulling themselves out the deepest pool of fatigue they’ve ever experienced. But so comes the risk with the challenge. No risk, no reward.
There will be carnage tomorrow, but there will also be celebrations to be had. Many will achieve dreams they never thought was possible. Regardless of the result, all of us can hold our heads up high. We all will fly, just some of us will fly the full 26.2.
A similar spot. Boston morning. A dark hotel room.
The weekend had gone exactly how I wanted it to go.
Unlike the last two trips, I came into this weekend without any hiccups. Following a disappointing Boston outing in October, I was determined to give it my best shot for this third outing.
I left Boston last time, in short, disappointed. For over two and a half years Boston had been my sole motivation. The race that broke me. The race that made me walk for the first time since my first year of running back in 2006. The race that reignited my love for running through an event I swore I had no interest in ever running. I came back to Boston in October in the best shape of my life. Everything had gone to plan, until a snag in the final stretch of that block. Despite what I figured was just a minor setback, I came confident that I could still crack 2:30. I was two years stronger. But as it does for so many, Boston made me eat my words. I lost it over the last five miles. Every lingering issue that I’d been nursing came back to haunt me as the wheels came off. My hamstrings tightened up. I winced in pain with each stride as my thigh muscles stung. Then my hip started to go with two miles to go. It was almost cartoonish how everything started to go so quickly. A sub 2:30 and a hope to make it first to the Track House was gone as I hobbled home. 2:32. That stung. But I’d be back.
After taking some time to reflect on the race and what went wrong, I started planning for April. My focus would be on working out the issues that led to me faltering in those final miles. Since my muscles quickly backfired when it was time for the real racing to start, I incorporated some strength training to my routine. I was confident enough in my hill running ability already from my early years in Southern California. I reached out to my friend Ben Wach for a strength training routine and started adding it twice a week to my training schedule. I found huge success in a block that was as unorthodox as any marathon build that I’ve ever done. I ran three track races and a half marathon during this training block. No twenty mile long run. Heck, the longest run of this block was just a little over sixteen. Making up for that was consistency. No major setbacks. I ran personal bests in every distance and knocked out post race workouts that made me feel like I could take on the world.
This year, I made the decision to travel alone. I would make my usual trip to Portland Maine, enjoy visiting some of my favorite breweries and of course, eat all the lobster I could get my hands on. But unlike the last two trips, I made running a priority. I ran both days, made sure to get to bed at a reasonable time, and for once, didn’t enjoy too many Portland brews. Again, a little bit unorthodox but I’ve always found that an escape from the hustle and bustle of race weekend helps. I love Boston weekend, but for once I wanted to come in with the race is full focus. I can celebrate later. I’m only going to think about the race when I need to. I’ve spent all training block focusing on it. Now was not the time to overwhelm myself just days away from the thing.
I arrived in Boston early Saturday afternoon lugging around five bags with me filled with various cans and bottles of beers I picked up across Portland. Some things don’t change I guess. I definitely underestimated the amount of beer I had acquired over the previous day’s shenanigans and found myself moving all of my bags in trips. Walk a couple feet. Drop my bags. Walk back to the bags I left. Walk them a couple feet. Repeat. After what seemed like a full days work, I tossed my bags in my room, and set off for convention center to grab my bib before the expo closed.
Enough beer?
In my experience, the atmosphere of race day doesn’t really hit until you go to the expo. Thousands of people walk the streets in race gear. Runners everywhere you see, some snagging in afternoon miles, others proudly showing their Boston Jackets of years past excitedly waiting to add yet another jacket to their collection and a marathon to their streak. For some it’s the culmination of years of training. This is their weekend. This is the weekend they’ve dreamt about. There’s a beauty in that. Regardless of what time we’re hitting the start line we will all be making our journey to Boylston in less than 48 hours.
Packet pickup goes off without an issue as it tends to. Grab my bib, buy the jacket and patch, take the picture with my bib for the Instagram. The usual. I tour through the expo booths looking for familiar faces and brands, greeting some friends and getting some swag from my ambassadorship. Today, I told myself, would be the day where I’d do all of my walking, visit the places I really wanted to check out, and take in the craziness that is Boston weekend. I make my way through some of the shops I wanted to see and caught up with my fellow Ope teammate Blake for some Pizza and brews for dinner. An early night in for Saturday, the most important night of sleep before the race.
Bib Secured.
With Saturday being the day of adventure, Sunday was calm in comparison. I made my way just in time to catch the shakeout at Heartbreak Running Co with Keira D’Amato. It was the first time I’d been to these shakeout events at Boston. Excitement and nervousness was very apparent in the atmosphere of the group as we did our shakeout. To me, this run served one purpose, a slow jog to just shake the muscles out. Nothing fast, nothing crazy, just movement. I caught up with Keira and her husband for a quick second and tossed them some beers from back home. Another Ope teammate Gabby joined me as we stopped by Tracksmith to pick up some gear and then to catch the Bakline team for the end of their shakeout. Countless shakeout groups filled the area as it seemed like every brand had created their own event for it. It was truly a sight to see. After catching up with the Bakline team I was dropped off at my hotel. I caught a nice lunch with my buddy Scotty then and ventured off to have a beer and try to finally snag a Boston Marathon glass at Sam Adams. No dice. Can’t win them all I guess.
I made my way back to the hotel before four and relaxed in my room until dinner time. This being Boston Marathon weekend I figured the options for a great pasta dinner would either be booked for the evening or have a multiple hour wait. I decided to try my luck and thankfully, after striking out a couple times, I found an open seat at the bar at a nice Italian restaurant. No wait. The perks of traveling alone I guess.
I finalized my race plan for the following morning while I enjoyed spaghetti and a local lager. My original race plan was to go out in 5:40 for the first 10 miles and shift gears from there. Coach had other plans for me. 5:45-5:50 for the first 10 miles and then find a comfortable 5:40-5:45 pace over the next 10 before ripping the last 10K. I had already reached out to someone from Letsrun, Chris, who was running Boston for his first time about my original plan earlier that weekend. After some back and forth with coach we decided on sticking to his plan for the first 10 miles and dipping under 5:40 from there if things were going well.
I think A+ day tomorrow is 2:28:xx. Boston eats alive the people who have bad race plans.
Point taken.
I relayed the plan to Chris and decided to make a last minute attempt to arrange a group. I had been beat up by this course enough and unlike the last sub 2:30 group I went out with last year, I wanted to lead this one. I was confident enough in my ability to stay calm in the early stages and figured a pack tearing it up over the final 10K would be a sight to see. Taking notes from the That’s Fine Track Club guys my first year here, I’ve learned there’s strength in numbers. So I posted my intentions on Instagram, Strava, and various Facebook groups. If they wanted to join, meet us at 6:15 outside the bag drop for the early 1000 bus.
As I walked out of the restaurant I came across a group of three merry gentlemen in Boston Marathon expo gear. I wished them luck and asked where they were coming from and if they had travelled together. To my surprise, these men were complete strangers to each other before this weekend. Each had come from different countries, one from the UK, the other from India, and the final one from a country I cannot remember off the top of my head. They had just met at the hotel and decided to grab dinner together. It gave me fond memories of traveling with friend Sig from Mexico on my first journey here. The kindness of strangers during Boston Marathon weekend is truly understated. It’s a weekend where friends are made through the common journey that is this event. It’s a community that crosses all borders, all walks of life, and brings people together.
I made my way back to the hotel, packed my gear for the following day and while I struggled to get some shuteye at first, finally went to bed just after 10.
The journey to Boston Common by subway was thankfully made much easier due to the runners packing the trains so early in the morning. I figured we couldn’t all be going the wrong way and trusted that we’d all end up at the right place. Thankfully, that proved to be a good plan. I made my way to the first couple of buses for bag drop, then over to the early 1000 bus where I found Chris and my buddy Jamey from Columbus who had also agreed to join our group. Since the buses tended to be a bit of a crapshoot I figured it was best to find each other first then take the same busses to athletes village to prevent us getting split up.
We made our way to the busses and we were off to athletes village. As we entered the town I thought to myself that we were going a weird direction that I didn’t remember heading to in 2019. The busses dropped us off and I could hear a bit of commotion happening between the volunteers and the bus drivers. The bus drivers had dropped us off in the area a quarter mile from the start instead of Athletes Village. We were in a spot that could only be accessed after they opened up corrals almost an hour later. This meant easy access to portapottys and water and saved us about a half a mile of walking to the start. We sat on a curb and relaxed until it was time for us to warm up. While we waited, we added another member to the group, Liam, a fellow from Ohio that trained with a buddy of mine.
Here’s the kicker though, two of our four were in corral two. While we would all be starting technically at the same time, corral two would start hundreds of people behind the beginning of corral one. Knowing that corral one ranged between about 2:18 and 2:41 and that sub 2:30 would most likely finish in the top 100 I knew our best shot would be to try and sneak them into corral one with us. I knew these guys were fit enough to run under 2:30 and I would rather run with a group than take it solo. If all else failed I let them know I would make the decision to start at the back of corral one to make sure we didn’t lose each other. We had agreed on a plan and I was not about to leave people behind. As we moved through each corral my confidence in this plan increased. Up through corral 6, 5. *A quick stop to squat and pee a bit.* Corral 4. Corral 3. Corral 2.
Okay we’re basically there.
We jog through the center of two walls of volunteers checking numbers. I make my way into the corral and look back. Jamey’s made it through. But where is Chris and Liam.
Shit.
Unfortunately they were stopped before they could make it through. The plan had failed. I stood there nervously pacing around in the large space between corral one and the rope that held corral two. Chris and Liam would have to shove their way up through hundreds of people to get to the front of that corral and we had less than five minutes until race time. I felt absolutely terrible. With time ticking down I kept hoping they’d managed to make their way up.
I take another look back and I am greeted with a yell from corral two. Chris and Liam had made their way to the front just as the volunteers holding the rope for corral two were moving our corrals together. Jamey, Chris, Liam, and I quickly agreed on a direction we felt would be easiest to try and pass people and waited for the gun to start.
Bang!
Quickly the masses surrounding us start to move. One thing that I’ve come to learn about Boston is there really no Goldilocks zone over that first mile, people are either going out like it’s the opening stretch of a 10K or looking like they are trying to stop themselves from falling down a mountain. Knowing this, Jamey and I took the lead of our quartet to kick things off. We were all on high alert. We sought out gaps in the masses, asked for permission for some space and led our pack through. Quick callouts and check-ins were constant to make sure we didn’t lose each other. It brought back memories of running college cross country with the boys, making moves together and moving up, pack by pack. We continued to move forward through the corral one, finding openings, gesturing to people next to us to get room, and yelling for the rest of our group to follow. If that meant jumping out on sidewalks to get around, so be it. Anything that would keep us from stomping our feet in those opening miles.
Unlike past years this lateral movement of snaking through people didn’t hurt. That was a good sign. While snaking through these crowds was done with relative ease, a slow opening mile was expected. With 25.2 to go, a couple seconds slow was negligible. We’d make those antsy in the opening stretch pay eventually. The focus for now was being mindful of my pace. I was passing a ton of people but I should be. Starting just ahead of Corral Two meant I was starting with people that were seeded 10 minutes slower than I was planning to run. The key here was to not get overwhelmed by the masses. Pass, a couple quick steps, settle, pass, repeat.
First mile: 5:51. Eh not bad.
The reaction of a runner following the opening mile is a tell tale sign of their experience. The shock of a slow mile creates almost an instantaneous injection of pace as they attempt to get back on pace by making up the difference in the second mile. The net downhill over these first couple miles make it easy to jump from 5:50 to 5:30 as people try to settle themselves into a rhythm. I’m reminded of the last two outings as this mile goes by. Jamey and I are running side by side with Chris and Liam just ahead within sight.
Settle in, we’ll get there. Nothing happens in these opening miles. Everything is fine.
Everything’s not fine though.
What’s this?! I need to pee again. How?! I just went!
I keep telling myself I can hold it. We’ll hold on until mile eight. Far enough to get out from the masses in this corral, settle into a rhythm, and hopefully not have to go again. If I go now, I run the risk of having to go again and pulling over when the real racing was happening. But sometimes the body makes the decision. I needed to go now. I saw a break, no spectators and some trees for me to jump out to.
Jamey, I need to go to the bathroom bad. I’m going to surge up ahead and go. I’ll catch up to you guys. Go on without me.
No matter how many times this has happened to me in races, it sure doesn’t get any less nerve racking. As I jumped off the course to relieve myself I could feel precious time ticking as people passed me. Oh hate to be that guy, I heard as another group passed me. But we were back. At most this was about fifteen seconds. I jumped back on the course, tossed in a couple quick steps to get back into rhythm and scanned the crowds ahead to see how far they had gone. They were within eyesight but I could not gauge just how far they were ahead. I was moving quickly and my pace was dropping fast but I was not making up any ground. I started moving past people trying to make sure I made up some ground without completely throwing away my race plan. My watch buzzed for my second mile.
5:46. I guess that 5:30 effort did come after all.
It was at this point that I realized that my plan to have a pack to run with was gone. Even with a 5:46, I had not made any ground on my original pack so I made the decision to stick with my race plan and see where it went from there. This was a familiar position for me. I had to make this decision in October. To keep the pack within striking distance, or run my own race, alone. I chose the former last year and memories of those heartbreaking miles helped make my decision. It would be a lonely one but I was not going to deviate from the plan and start running 5:30’s like I did the year prior.
As I settled into my race, the next couple miles were tough without anyone else to key off of. Running felt effortless but I had to consistently pull back and remind myself that it was supposed to feel like this. I wanted to take advantage of the downhill sections which were at odds with my plan of being conservative. I had some close calls in those early miles as I almost crept into the 5:30’s but thankfully I was able to settle down and get closer to the goal of 5:45’s. As I approached mile five, I finally settled into a groove.
Mile 5, take that first Gu. Okay now water. Good.
I’ve had fairly fond memories of the stretch between miles five to ten from past years. Posing for the camera, throwing my hands up to pump the crowd, giving out high fives. This section was always one that I enjoyed the most. As the group started to be more consistent I began to start keying in on those around me. By this point I knew that this would be the group I would be traveling with for the next couple miles before my next move at mile ten. I keyed in immediately on what I assumed was a coach and his athlete. The coach, wearing a Bowerman TC jersey was audibly giving tips to the guy he was running with, and encouraging the group as a whole.
This is the sub 2:30 group he said. I was in the right place.
These miles felt strange to me this time around. I was so used to getting really into the crowd, looking around at everyone and taking in the atmosphere. This felt different. The only two things I was focused on was my pace and the next group ahead of me. Memories of the feeling of racing cross country came as our pack began to move past those already having a tough time. With each passing person I began to get antsy. We were at mile eight and I was so close to the next stage of this race and as I was nearing the end of the downhill section I knew I was in good shape. The test would be over these next two miles.
How patient could I stay with the real race coming quickly? I wasn’t scared about banking time or losing time. I just wanted to start racing. I was comfortable enough after the last couple months of racing that I knew I could make moves and stick with them without too much of an issue. Now was not the time to get greedy. So the next game was to try and hit these next two miles right on the money. Right on 5:45 and then it was time to have some fun.
Mile 9: 5:44. Okay we’re closer. Just one more.
Mile 10: 5:45. Money. Time to take another GU and a drink.
It’s time for the real racing to start, I said aloud.
I pressed on the gas, slowly. I knew the energy of this next stage would make it easy to make the mistake of shifting into a gear that I wasn’t just quite ready for. I would start it at 5:40 and make sure that no miles would be under 5:35 at least until at least mile sixteen.
Mile 11: 5:40
Mile 12: 5:35
Everything was going right to plan as I approached my next challenge, The Wellesley Scream Tunnel.
Located just before the half way mark, ladies of Wellesley College’s all female student body line the streets cheering, high fiving, and kissing strangers as they run by. The scream tunnel is truly aptly named as you can hear the cheers from the crowd almost a half mile away. The energy of this stage of the course is contagious. I was guilty of it the last two times around. In both 2019 and 2021 I abandoned my race plan due to the hype from the crowd. The cheers. The high fives. The attention. It’s easy to get lost in it. The 5:33 mile in 2021 heading through this section of the course was the beginning of a very tough finish for me and the reminders of it kept me grounded.
I still made sure to toss out some high fives and despite the temptations once again no kisses. But this time there was no surging or shenanigans. It was not time to try to impress anyone by making a move during the tunnel because obviously the crowd can tell the difference between 5:40 and 5:30 right? My patience rewarded me as I passed the 13th miles. 5:40. A job well done.
Shortly after I arrived to the half marathon mark. 75:11. It was slower than I went out in October but I felt completely fresh. It was like the first 13 miles didn’t happen. In my head the we had just lined up for a new race after warming up for 13.1. Boston was now a half marathon and I had two more challenges to come.
While Boston is known for the first ten miles of gradual downhill, the aggressive drop at mile fifteen is the one that I had been mentally preparing myself for months. As I approached that mile, memories flowed back of years past. This section had sealed my fate on the last two attempts. If the ten miles of gradual downhill had not destroyed you, this little section would seal your fate. That 100+ foot drop destroyed my muscles and turned my dreams into nightmares not once, but twice.
Mile fifteen. Take another GU. Another sip of water.
This would be the crucial point for me. If there were any issues to come they would be exposed in this short section. If I felt any pain now I knew I was in for a rough finish. This mile would be fast just due to the drop and I just needed to maintain a comfortable form, not chop my stride, and we’d make it through this section safe and sound. As I cruised down the drop I was pleasantly surprised. No shocks. No aches. No pains. Nothing. I made it through this section. 10 miles out now and I felt great.
As I crossed sixteen miles I immediately remembered my Burks recounting his story about what Ben yelled at him on the day he ran his 2:16.
YOU ARE ACTUALIZING!
Less than an hour until I was done. It would be up to me just how much under that hour I would be. I was overcome with happiness knowing that this was the furthest I’ve already gone through this course without issues. Best of all I was still having a blast racing.
As I left Wellesley I knew over the next couple miles I would find out if this strategy would play in my favor. I bet on being conservative, confident that I was strong enough to run hard over the Newton Hills and eventually Heartbreak. And it was time to finally find out.
The way that people tend to talk about this stretch of the course would make you think we were climbing mountains. The hills on their own aren’t tough. It’s your typical gradual hills, nothing particularly special to them. Heartbreak is tough but it isn’t any harder than anything I had encountered growing up in Southern California. The killer here is the positioning of the hills. They just happen to be exactly where most tend to blow up in a typical marathon. From miles seventeen to twenty one you face multiple climbs on already tired legs. Toss in the culminating effect of ten miles of your legs pounding during those opening miles, it’s not surprising that these tend to be the toughest section for most.
This felt different. What had seemed like mountains in previous years felt like speed bumps on a typical weekend long run. I was comfortable and maintained form on the uphills and pressed slightly to keep moving on any downhills that came immediately after.
Pass with authority, I told myself. This was the moment I was waiting for. All the patience in those opening miles had now begun to pay off. I approached mile nineteen and recognized some singlets. Jamey and Liam were just ahead. I moved up, gave the boys some encouragement and kept moving. Regardless of how the race had turned out we had agreed that we would run our own races in the later miles. My race felt like it was just starting and I was in the zone. People were now coming back much quicker as I started running some of my faster miles in the race. I locked into the singlets I recognized and just kept striking. I didn’t slow. It was on to the next one. And so came my final challenge.
Heartbreak Hill.
Heartbreak Hill comes at the crucial point of the race, right at mile twenty. Just when the sting of the miles have begun to take hold you start your half mile climb to the top. While not the toughest hill, it’s definitely got some sting to it no matter how good you are feeling. As I approached the bottom of Heartbreak I saw the final person of our pack, Chris, in high spirits and looking strong going up the hill. Seeing him gave me more confidence. I was excited to get up there to really rock it over the final miles after Heartbreak. I caught up, gave some encouragement and began to charge up the hill. I zoned in to the next key moment, and at this point nothing else. No one else mattered to me. This was the final challenge that I needed to cross before heading into no mans land and seeing just what I can put my body through. If I was to have company, fantastic, but at this point I was zoned into the true mark that broke my heart. Not Heartbreak, not even the crest of the hill. It was that damn mile after. That mile that broke me and caused me to walk in a race for the first time since 2006. I had made it past that mark in October but by that point I was already broken. This was my moment to finally slay the beast and come out stronger.
At 21 something clicked.
It’s 8K. You’ve done 8K. Let’s race.
I pressed on the gas again. Every person ahead of me was now a target I was determined to break. Mile after mile I had focused on staying calm and not letting my emotions overwhelm me but at this point I found it hard to do so. I was actualizing. This was happening. I was passing people and in each I found memories of my own self fighting to stay on. I was in control of my own race and for once my body was holding on. I approached mile twenty two with vivid memories that I had replayed in my head over the last couple years. Three years prior I had contemplated dropping out, and now…
Now I had broken through.
Instead of breaking, I found my fastest mile of the race, a 5:28. I was filled with excitement and emotion but I knew well enough you can never count your chickens before they hatch in a marathon, especially at Boston. While most think of the last couple miles of Boston as a straight downhill due to the elevation profile, it has a couple of bumps that will catch you off guard if you’re not ready. Anything can happen in the last four miles. Many have thrown races away because their confidence has led them to believe that it wouldn’t get any harder than this. It was time to ride the line. Twenty two was a great checkpoint to feel good but it meant nothing if I crashed at twenty four because I got too ahead of myself.
I stayed calm. Let’s stay consistent. A sub 27:30 would be a nice finish. Let’s be conservative here and aim for that and if you feel great let’s really rip that last mile.
I was not at a point in the course that I hadn’t prepared too much for. Unlike the other segments of the course, in past attempts I was more focused on survival rather than the course itself. I always remembered it to be a bit tricky, not the easy downhill that the elevation charts lead you to believe but I didn’t have enough confidence in this section to charge hard here, especially knowing that at this point I was now in a place I’d never been in.
Mile 23 came and went and I clicked off another mile under 5:30. This time a 5:29 and now the feeling of being on my feet for over two hours had now begun to take its effects. My breathing was comfortable. The pace itself wasn’t an issue here. My legs just felt a little tired, particularly my feet. The laces had now began to constrict my inflamed feet.
Just 3 miles to go. Let’s see a sub 16:30. That’s nothing. You can do it.
Every step felt like its own challenge of self preservation. At this point the only thing that would end this race for me was a misstep. All the strength training I had done in the early season had kept me strong through the race. Foot pain wasn’t expected but something I had experienced before. If I could handle it in a 50K race, I could take it for three more damn miles.
Mile 24: 5:31. No. We’re not doing this. We’re not slowing down now. We’ve committed. You made the decision to run this pace. Now you have to live with it. We’ve gone way too far to falter now.
That mile was just what I needed to get myself back into this mentally. I was going to run under 5:30’s, no ifs ands or buts. The self talk at this point was as loud as it had ever been. As I came through familiar streets again I kept pushing. We were so close. I had become emotional at this point. This time I was actualizing. All these years being haunted by this course. That chip on my shoulder. And we were still attacking. I wanted to cry. It was the only reaction I could muster at this point. I still had something.
Mile 25: 5:26. 2K to go. 2K to go! Time to hammer this out!
But first, a dip under an underpass and Wait. Another hill. Crap I forgot about this one.
I had completely forgot about this one. It was Boston’s last gut punch and it caught me off guard. For the first time all day I felt some cracks and I tried to not let it shake me. I crested the hill and tried to get back into rhythm, trying to pull any energy from the crowd or familiar signs to keep me strong. And I found one, that light at the end of the tunnel.
1 mile to go.
I pressed. And pressed. Right on Hereford. I threw my arms up to get the crowd going. This was uncharted waters for me. I wasn’t just trying to finish at this point. I was trying to see how much time I could chip off. Left on Boylston. Hit that damn tangent and go!
The finish was in sight. As was a familiar singlet. The reminder of rejection I needed at a crucial time. It lit that final fire I needed to charge down Boylston trying to pass as many people as I could over the final stretch. I could see the clock now, 2:28**. I lost it. I pumped my fist and yelled as I crossed the finish line.
2:28:23. A 2 minute PR, and almost a 2 minute negative split.
I quickly recollected myself after crossing the finish line. First to the Trackhouse is one of Tracksmith’s Boston Marathon traditions. The rules are simple, first male and female to finish the race and get to the Tracksmith bar wins. Last October I has abandoned my my attempt to be first after finishing over 2:30. I figured this time out I had a shot. So I saved my watch’s activity and made the decision to start it again and make the attempt. I started jogging but my legs had now decided to shut down a bit. I crashed into some poor soul who abruptly stopped walking in front of me. What the hell!? He yelled and after a quick sorry I jogged by to get my medal as people remarked He’s still running!
I made my way to the bag check area quickly, tossed on my Tracksmith fleece and hobbled my way over to Newbury, yelling over at volunteers to help me find the easiest way to get off of the barricaded area. Thankfully I was not blocked off by security and that jog down Newbury felt tougher than the marathon itself. I started running, then walking, then running again. This was much longer than I remembered it being. Or maybe it was the couple pounds of gear I was struggling to carry.
Streets passed and I kept run walking carrying my gear bag in both hands. I slowly moved past people until I finally saw a familiar building.
There it was. I finally made it. Did I do it!?
I saw a camera crew there. I was sure I did!
I make my way up the stairs and ask Lou
Was I first?
Second. He smiled.
And I just couldn’t help but laugh. Completely exhausted by the day. Better luck next time I thought.
I ended up being third to the Trackhouse. As I enjoyed my beer I had come to find out that I had just snuck into the top 100. 93rd overall. It was that final kick down Boylston that ended up sealing that up. Had that not happened there was no way I would’ve finished where I did.
The afternoon was filled with new friends and old, celebrating the day, regardless of the result. We shared stories of our own journeys from Hopkinton to Boylston, our successes, our failures, but all just happy to be there. Because regardless of how things went, this was the marathon community at its purest form.
Boston. I don’t know what else to say. I’ve said multiple times that once I finally conquered you I’d move on. But here I am already setting plans for next year. You made me fall in love with running again. And here I am ready to challenge you again.
Running is a solitary endeavor post collegiately. It doesn’t typically lend itself to a very long shelf life. I am not a professional runner nor will I ever be. I’ve never been the fastest person on my team. I’ve never qualified for a national championship. I’ve never won a race that “mattered”. Running will never be my source of income.
With each passing mile, the voice that was once muted becomes louder. There are no teammates to lean on. No season to look forward to. Priorities change. Running is no longer an acceptable excuse to avoid your responsibilities. Countless hours of training for a seemingly arbitrary number that only makes sense to you. Those winter months trying to regain the feeling in your hands after an easy hour. Those early summer mornings where it’s somehow still over 70 degrees before 6AM. Why do we do this?
There’s no money to be made. Heck you may not even make it to the line in one shape. Your investment in this endeavor is a net loss financially. You’re literally paying money to run now. And for what?
I’ve given a lot of thought about my relationship with running, specifically my choice to dedicate myself to training at a high level again post-college. I, like many others, had a toxic relationship with this sport for much of my career. I’d obsess over let it completely engulf my sense of being and self-worth. Without it I was a wreck. When it wasn’t going well I was a horror to be around. Time away and a shift in priorities have provided me a fresh perspective that has made me a happier person. Running and my mental health are no longer intertwined like they once were. I have a bad run or workout? That’s all it is. It doesn’t ruin my day like it once did. Every day that I’m able to continue to do this is worth it in itself. It’s a hobby. Well I guess hobby would be an understatement if my end goal is to qualify for the trials… But I guess I mean that running is no longer something that has complete control over my life. I dedicate more time to it than more things, outside of my career of course, but it’s under my own terms.
Two weeks ago I raced again for the first time in over a year in a distance that I have not run a personal best in almost 9 years. It was more of time trail than anything. 5 of us on an empty dimly lit indoor track on a random Saturday morning. Everything in the lead up to it was not ideal to say the least. I had an awful night of sleep and awoke with a slight headache. On our drive to the track my buddy has a tire blow out on the highway. By dumb luck I somehow made it to the track. I was completely dehydrated with my only source of water left in my buddy’s car on the side of the road. I stood in the middle of the track nervous and a bit overwhelmed. I was flustered and unprepared.
Then something just clicked, Why are you letting this bother you? This is supposed to be fun, remember?
So I shrugged it off. At this point in a year without major events, there are not many opportunities to race. Why was I going to let myself ruin it because a couple things didn’t go my way. Whether it was a success of not, I was just going to go out there and just enjoy running fast and if things went right, PR.. That’s it, nothing else.
And so it went. I ran without panic. For those 15 minutes, my only concern was the next quarter mile. And the next. And the next. And as I started to labor I found comfort in the realization that I still had that competitive fire, but it manifested itself differently. Instead of ever passing second making me anxious; it brought an almost fun challenge. I was falling off a bit but if I just continued running at my current pace I would just sneak under. The question was just by how much.
This is not how I imagined this would happen when I ran my PR in 2012. For one, that it would take this long, and that it would happen in such an anti-climactic fashion. No crowd. Just a friend with a stopwatch and a couple of us hitting the track hard for no reason other than we had an open track to do it. And in some ways I’m glad it happened that way. As the years went by I’d be lying if I worried that I’d never run any faster. That particular personal best represented a different me, a different point in my life, and I am relieved to finally close that chapter on my own terms.
Running at this point isn’t very flashy anymore. We create small victories for ourselves now. Little highlights that remind us why this is all worth it. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
It’s not exactly the time I wanted, but 11 seconds faster than my personal best is more than enough to make me happy.
This August will mark 15 years in this crazy endeavor. I remind myself each day that regardless of the result, as long as I continue to have a good relationship with running, it’s worth it to me. And for now I still do.
Beers and Miles 