Boston, 4-15-13

I made it through the SLC airport security check without any major hassle, and arrived at the gate with an hour to spare. When it was my turn to board, I noticed a number of other people with running shoes, clothing, and body types who I guessed were on their way to Boston also.

 

*(Note to self:  If you make it back to Boston, arrive at least two days before race day, so you don’t feel so rushed!)  I took the subway from the airport to the station closest to the Runner’s Expo. As I walked up to street level, I paused to soak in all the sights, sounds and smells of Boston, still in disbelief that I had actually made it here!

I identified the cross street leading to the Hynes Convention Center, and once safely on the other side, paused to take some pictures of the obviously old, historic buildings, which had been nicely restored.  

      Suddenly I heard a fire alarm, and the garage doors of a fire station began to open.  Two large, hook and ladder fire trucks pulled out with lights and sirens, with firemen in full attire riding on the back, obviously en route to an emergency.  In retrospect, I feel a bit guilty that I did not give a second thought of gratitude for those who serve and protect…

 
Uncertain of exactly where to go, I joined in the steady stream of runners going up the escalators in the convention center, and then saw a sign directing me to the bib and packet pickup.  My excitement built, as signs everywhere welcomed the world – and ME to Boston!  I found the line leading to my assigned bib number and did my best to patiently wait my turn,

 
watching the excitement of each person ahead of me. Finally, after showing my picture ID, I was handed the Holy Grail, of Golden Tickets - my runner’s packet and bib! I suppose that if this were not your first time running Boston, it might not be that big of a deal, but I had to pinch myself to make sure I was not dreaming!

After trying on my shirt and taking more pictures, I began walking through the expo, determined to see all of the over 200 exhibits, taking in over two huge exhibit halls.  I found the Nordic Track booth, and talked with the employees there, who know my neighbor.  It was nice to make a connection in such a big city.  I found the Adidas official clothing area, and started by trying on the official running jacket.  I was willing to shell out $100 for this prized piece of clothing, because I did not know if I would ever return again, and there would only be one “first time.”  I realized that I would need a size medium, but it became apparent that I was too late, as that size was sold out.  I thought about buying a large, but decided to wait, and check at the other Adidas booth on the other side of the expo.  I asked there if they had any medium jackets left, and they said they had just sold the last one.  Just then, a runner came up and asked if he could exchange a medium for a large – 

 

 I was in luck! I was worried about spending too much time on my feet the day before the race, so after a couple hours, I left the expo and found a restaurant in the mall with pasta on the menu to load up on some spaghetti.  (My assigned ticket time for the Boston Marathon dinner was not until 7 pm, and I did not want to get to my host home too late.)  

I made my way back to the “T” subway, and took the Red Line southbound past Ashmont to Mattapan Station. 

 

Here I made the connection to the Mattapan Trolley, which was like a step back in time!  I made it to the correct stop, and then walked a few short blocks to my host’s home, proud of myself for not even getting lost.

After chatting with my gracious host for a while, I prepared my pre-race breakfast, retired to my room, opened up my runner’s packet, pinned my bib to my shirt, and laid out my clothing for race day. I checked and double-checked my race drop bag, making sure I had everything I would need.  I included my subway pass, but did not pack my wallet or cell phone, as I did not want to risk losing either of these. I did include an older de-activated cell phone to take a few pictures on race morning, which I would put in my drop bag before starting the race.

 

After saying goodnight to my wife and family back in Utah, then setting two wake up alarms, I laid in bed for a couple of hours, before finally drifting off to sleep.  I awoke before either of my alarms went off, but any more attempts at sleep were pointless, as my mind was already racing in anticipation of race day at Boston!  My head was formulating questions quicker than I could possibly answer – “What if the Mattapan Trolley is late?  What if the buses to the start are all full?  Do I have enough warm up clothing?  What is a runner “corral” anyway?! How will I ever keep from tripping over someone at the start? What if I get hurt? What if it is too hot, since Wave 2 starts at 10:20? What if I can’t finish? Did I really wake up, or am I just dreaming? Do I really deserve to be running in the Boston Marathon?!, what if...”

The only way to silence the incessant questions in my head was to get up and get going. I jumped into my running and warm up clothes, brushed my teeth, grabbed my race day breakfast, and left the house. I knew I would have to wait a few minutes for the first trolley, but I was just glad to be walking the short distance to the stop in the cool, humid morning darkness.  I only had to wait about 10 minutes before boarding as the first passenger on the very first northbound Mattapan trolley of the day.   

Although it was a number of hours before start time, I nervously nibbled on a bagel with cream cheese to pass the time on the ride into the city.  Even with the transfer to the subway, I made it to the bus loading area about 20 minutes ahead of my assigned boarding time.

I walked along the long line of double and triple-parked buses along Tremont Street, which seemed to extend for many blocks. By now the sky was beginning to lighten above the leafless trees on the Boston Common.  As I neared the front of the sea of yellow, one of countless volunteers waved me into a bus, strategically loading each one to capacity.

I don’t remember much about the bus ride to Hopkinton, other than it took for-ev-er, seemingly traveling much farther than 26.2 miles!  The din of runner-speak seemed to gradually increase in volume the closer we got to the drop off area by the athletes’ village. 

 
When the bus finally came to a stop and the air brakes were set with a "psssssshhhhff," my eyes were no doubt, as big as saucers as I stepped onto the street and saw hundreds of volunteers and thousands of runners, the huge tents,

 

and signs that said “Welcome to Hopkinton!” As I paused to take some pictures, I noticed a runner off to the side who had actually stopped for a smoke! I did a double take, thinking that maybe he was a volunteer, but he had an official runner’s bib on his shirt!

The athletes’ village covered an area the size of at least two football fields, included a number of huge white tents over tables of food and drinks, and had blue porta-potties lining a majority of the perimeter.  Small vehicles were hauling off trash and debris from the first wave of runners, while other vehicles were bringing in more food and supplies for the second wave.  It was a logistical marvel of organized chaos, as there was adequate room, food and supplies for over 10,000 athletes at a time!

I walked through the tables and selected a bagel, banana and some hot cocoa to add to my breakfast, and then found a spot on the damp grass against the fence to relax and eat, using some scrap cardboard to insulate myself from the cool ground.  The weather seemed perfect for running, cool with no wind, and the sun peeking over the trees felt good on my face.  

  

 I found it hard to relax or meditate, as I was in awe that I was part of this spectacle 117 years in the making.   

 

A line started to form leading to a large sign, so I walked in that direction for the photo opp.  

 

I marveled at how, for the most part, Boston Marathon runners came in all different ages, shapes, sizes and nationalities, and did not look superhuman, but for the most part appeared “normal.”

As the time for the start of the first wave approached, the announcer asked for a moment of silence from the thousands of runners and hundreds of volunteers in the village, in memory of the victims of the recent tragic Sandy Hook school shootings in Newtown, Connecticut.  After this quiet time for reflection, he began blaring his “welcome to Hopkinton” over the loudspeakers, and started providing the designated times for each assigned corral in wave one to start walking toward the starting area.

I passed the time trying to relax, gently stretching, people watching, and making conversation with whoever happened to be next to me at the time. 

 I found myself reflecting on my running journey of 34 marathons leading up to this day. Feelings of intense gratitude swelled inside of me – not only to be a part of Boston today, but also for the many life lessons learned from all of the miles, races and new friends. I thought about everyone who has been such a great support through challenges along the way, including family, friends - and especially God – who has given me the desire and strength to keep running.  I also thought about how each person running today had their own story, each with their own set of struggles to overcome, but all united in the goal of the Boston Marathon finish line.

As time for the start of the second wave neared, I could no longer stay sitting down. I made a last bathroom stop, packed my extra clothing into my drop bag and gave it to a volunteer at the truck waiting to haul them to the finish area. I then began following the steady parade of runners, walking between nearby school buildings and through the quaint streets of Hopkinton.  Finally, the runner corrals came into view, which were actually roped off areas in the street from sidewalk to sidewalk, each one marked with an assigned number.  I searched for my assigned corral, but it wasn’t until I found it that I began to question why they were all empty!  I realized that I had somehow miscalculated the amount of time it would take to walk the .7 mile from the athletes’ village to the start, as I looked beyond the starting line and saw the tail end of the second wave of runners already underway.  I hurried to the starting line, knowing that I should not panic, because the chip timing would recognize when I actually began the race. 

 

Although I was a bit flustered by my tardy start, it actually worked out well, as the mass of runners had already begun to disperse, and I did not have to worry so much about tripping as the race began. As I settled into a conservative pace, a huge grin came across my face. The Boston Marathon mystique began to unfold before my eyes in the form of people lining both sides of the street, cheering for the steady stream of runners – one of whom was me!  Yes, this really was happening!  Committed to enjoying every minute of every mile, I soaked in all of the sights, sounds and ambiance from the start. I began looking for landmarks and signs that I had seen only in pictures or on the internet, now that I was personally running the course for the first time. Because I had taken the Winter months off from running, I did not set any time goal for today, but mainly wanted to finish healthy, with a focus on just taking it all in, mile after mile. Having realized my goal of running the Boston Marathon, I planned to take a break from racing this year, to allow for other areas of focus.

 
When I saw these missionaries showing their community support, cheering the runners on, I made it a point to high-five each one of them, thinking about my missionaries out in the field too! As the miles gradually ticked away through each of the small towns, such as Ashland, Framingham and Natick, I was impressed with the incredible spirit of volunteerism, service and support of people lining the entire route.  

 
I could have literally given high fives the entire distance, if I had wanted! There were banners and signs of encouragement all along the way. I even saw a banner for the Big Cottonwood Marathon later this year in Utah! Aid stations were plentiful, with an official one at every mile, and many impromptu food and drink stands set up by families along the way – some with very interesting and creative offerings! As the race and day progressed, the roadside celebrations seemed to get more pronounced – front yard barbecues, picnics, family reunions, and some resembling frat house parties!

Nearly a mile before Wellesley I could hear the building roar of the “scream tunnel,” and before I knew it, I passed the halfway point at mile 13.1. Up to this point, I had maintained about an 8:15 minute per mile pace, knowing that I would need to conserve enough energy for the later miles, after my Winter running hiatus. The rolling hills seemed to bottom out near mile 16 as the course approaches the community of Newton.  After cresting the first hill at mile 16.5, I thought, “Is that it?” But my rhetorical question was soon answered with another hill at mile 17.5, another at 19, and the actual “Heartbreak Hill” just past mile 20. 

 

Although I had run steeper hills with more elevation gain on training runs or in other races, my lapse in conditioning had become obvious.  Although I could now see the general downhill grade going into Boston, my legs had turned to Jell-O, and my pace slowed to a shuffle.  The crowds lining the course at Boston College gave me the push I needed to get running again, but the irresistible urge to walk soon seemed to consume me. Walking the last 4 miles just did not seem like an option, but I was physically spent. As I contemplated my situation, the thought came to me, “just run!” I laughed out loud, and said, “yeah, right!” – only to have the thought return, “just run.” I was too tired to argue, so, as painful as it was, I ran. Before long the groups of people lining the streets continued to grow, and the cheering seemed to intensify. 

 

 I turned off my music, and felt the mojo and energy of the crowds somehow flow into me. It seemed to give me just enough strength to put one foot in front of the other, and just keep running toward the finish. A cool breeze from the Boston Harbor became apparent, as I saw the Citgo sign, and knew the final mile was not far away.  I wanted so badly to finish, but I didn’t want it to end!

Soon the course turned onto Boylston, and the finishing chute came into view.  

 

 As I focused on crossing the finish line, the surreal scene was nothing and everything like I had imagined.  I was physically spent and emotionally drained, as a volunteer placed a finisher’s medal around my neck and congratulated me, and another wrapped a mylar blanket around me to help prevent hypothermia. 

 

The reality of the moment suddenly collided with emotions of gratitude, joy and incredulity, and stopped me in my tracks, as the tears began to flow freely. Another finisher beside me seemed to be having a similar experience, so I congratulated her as we instinctively hugged. My Boston dream had been realized, reminding me, that if you want something bad enough, and if you are willing to put in the work, and IF it is God’s will, you can achieve it! Never Give Up!..