Can you tell me how to get… How to get to Boylston Street?
Yes, indeed, today I hit my Boston Qualifying time. It may have been the skin of my teeth, but it happened.
The race started at a chilly 37 degrees; I wasn’t too worried about the temperatures as when I left my hotel this morning, there was no wind. What a difference a short drive to a high school on a hilltop can bring! By the time I got out of my car in the student parking lot, the wind chill factor was in full effect.
Fortunately, the race organizers had the high school open for us, so we were able to wait inside until the starting gun. Plus, and this is no small thing, there were actual bathrooms with soap and hot water for hand washing. It’s a luxury to be sure.
I haven’t been inside a high school for a long, long time. So I kept snapping photos which made other runners look at me like I had fallen to earth from some celestial body far, far away. I didn’t care — I was fascinated.
What a tough student body the West Poconos High must have — they have their own in-house probation officer. Maybe this is par for high school now. The facilities at this place were incredible — natatoriums, auxiliary gyms, huge hallways named after streets to aid in directions. It was a massive place, the kind of thing filmmakers would thrill to film inside. I was struck by the Gifted Room that apparently was also just a storage closet. And the art wing featured a creature I swear would have been right at home on the classic Star Trek series of the late 1960s.
And all the Art was way better than I could do, but this speech and debate piece made me think the debaters were arguing over the best type of bicycle helmet.
Because it’s a small world after all, I ran into a veteran of the Mainly Marathons series who I had last seen in New Orleans… And I bumped into an Antarctica Marathon racer to boot. They both were typically up to amazing things – she was building her own house and he was going for his 15th consecutive annual Boston Qualifying time. I’m always blown away by what people can accomplish — ANYBODY who gets up off the couch and does ANY distance — a mile, a 5k, a half, a marathon, an ultra — anything — is impressive to me.
I did tell them my stretch goal for the day was to qualify for Boston. It’s not quite invoking THE SECRET in putting something out into the universe to make it happen, but it was close. I figured the more people I told, the more accountability I would have. I’d think about all the people who I would disappoint by not qualifying. A little bit of pressure isn’t always bad… Albeit had I failed to hit my time, I suspect I’d be cursing myself for so foolishly telling people about my aspiration.
Lining up outside, the wind was strong. I pulled on my puce Track Shack gloves and donned my ear warmers. I was sporting a throwaway Nebraska Cornhuskers long sleeve shirt that originally I had planned on ditching at the start but it was too darn cold for that. I chatted with other people who had similar ideas sublimated by the cold; we all said we were glad to have opted for layers this morning rather than trash bags as the thought of running in a garbage bag for many, many miles was depressing.
I hung around the 3:15 pace group before the start. I needed to break 3:10 to qualify for Boston but didn’t want to go out too fast as people had warned me there were some inclines in the opening 5 miles before we hit the long downhill stretch. When the race started, they ditched their signs so I have no idea where the pace group went — I just ran my race.
There was A LOT of math involved in this race. I kept computing my finish time based on my Garmin’s info of my average mileage pace. I was doing great at the halfway point — 1:33:20 which meant I had about a 4 minute cushion for finishing at 3:10.
But as the miles went by, time slipped away from me. I heard from other runners that the second half was a bigger challenge, that the hills struck back and while it was still a net downhill there were a few more up and downs than might have been apparent upon first glance at the elevation chart.
At mile 17, I finally ditched my Huskers shirt (which people kept cheering for, albeit they kept telling me, “Go Huskies!”). I kept meaning to ditch it sooner but everytime I felt confident that the sun was shining and the shirt was making me too hot, the wind would pick up and cut through me. And in retrospect, perhaps I should NOT have ditched the shirt as within a few footfalls of dropping the layer, the winds not only picked up but a cold front barreled through. This cold front dropped temperatures precipitously and we were met with pelting hail that cut through clothing and chilled me to the core.
There aren’t a lot of photos during this stretch as I pulled on my gloves and proverbially put my shoulder to the wheel to keep things moving. There also were a lot of expletives that perhaps should be deleted from the telling. Somewhere in the early twenties I had a wardrobe malfunction — my shoelace came undone and flapped in the wind and hail. I stopped to retie it, struggling to make the loops for a knot with my water logged gloves, and fretting about the lost seconds that could potentially cost me my Boston qualifying time.
Back on the road, I kept pushing trying to regain any momentum possible, despite the late in the game hills that the course as throwing at us. Calculations and variables ran through my noggin as I pressed onward. It was going to come down to the wire… And while that’s exciting perhaps for storytelling, it was nerve wracking for me personally. And you already know how it ends so there’s really no need for the drama… I certainly could’ve done without cutting it this close!
The sun returned in the final few miles and as I got closer and closer to the finish, there was a very real possibility that I’d make the time. At mile 24.6, a spectator told me it was all downhill from there. I couldn’t process how to phrase the question I wanted answered — did he mean that literally in that the road ahead was all downhill or was he speaking figuratively as in there’s only 1.5 miles to go? Again, shoulder to the wheel, and on I went.
At mile 25.5 we were back at the expo’s location, the Stoudsburg High School. But we had to circle around this equally large school, heading to the back of the property where the track and football stadium were located. Mile 26 was at the stadium entrance and the final 0.2 miles were going to be on the track. I was at 3:06 and change and just kept struggling around that orange track. Rounding the corners, I kept glancing at my watch and seeing the seconds creep closer and closer to the BQ limit for my age group. There was no question I would record a personal record today but the BQ required a timely kick… And I frankly had expended all my kicks long ago. I was running on fumes. I thought of my Mom who has always cheered me on. I thought of my brother, who has an incredible kick at races’ ends. Friends and family. That’s what ultimately powered me home.
This is the finish line as I approached.
This is me at the finish notching a 3:09. A Boston Qualifying 3:09.
Victory. It tasted sweet… Albeit that may have been the Blueberry Muffin they handed me at the finish.