Chicago Bound

This entire blog started as a way for me to detail how and why I was never going to repeat my 2010 Chicago Marathon performance. That day, 10/10/10, was the day I feel like I really became a runner. Not because it was my best race, but because it was my absolute worst. And it was my fault.

After that day, I took my training, my nutrition and my strategy to a "more-serious-than-not" level. I've PRed since then, but not without injury and a ton of sacrifice. And while I really want to run all of the "Big Five" (Boston, Chicago, New York, London, Berlin), something doesn't seem right about checking Chicago off on that list just yet.

Chicago has become my white whale. And I'm coming back to take it out. 

I am extremely happy to announce that I'll be toeing the start line in the 2015 Chicago Marathon, as a runner for the Best Buddies of Illinois. The funds I raise will be to help BBIL "create opportunities for one-to-one friendships, integrated employment and leadership development" for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities. 

If you're a longtime reader, friend, family member, or just accidentally landed here because you were really trying to find some boots to run in, it would be rad if you could take minute and donate (any amount, seriously):

http://www.bestbuddiesillinois.org/chicagomarathon/aboots

You guys have always been super supportive after some "meh" races, or some great ones, and for that I am eternally grateful. This race and this cause is a pretty big deal in the Bootinelli house, and I could tell you how much it means to me...but I think I have been for the past 3 years. 

My 16 weeks to Chicago starts in 7 days. Let's do this thing. 

To Marielena Carbonell, the Girl Who Stole My Bib Number

Listen, I don't know what you have going on in your life situation to compel you to run a race bandit. I don't know why you intentionally tried to duck out of the entry fee, which benefits Boston community programs and the BPD running club by pinning on your 2014 bib to blend in with the crowd.

I'm guessing you didn't think by using your old bib, that anyone would notice or care. That it was no big deal. Because it's only some half marathon.

You didn't know that I wrote my 2015 fitness goals of "13.1 and 26.6 PR" on the wall at my gym with this race in mind. You had no idea how many classes I did, how many body weight squats, how many dead lifts, how many miles I logged thinking about this race. You probably never even considered that I'd pre-run the course, so that I'd know all the hills and twists and turns downtown, so that I could map out my race strategy. Or all the times I wanted to stay in bed with my husband on the weekends. Or every time I wanted to stay out with my biddies but called it an early night because I didn't want to throw off a workout by being wretchedly hungover.

It probably never occurred to you, since you're 29, that trying to beat a PR from your 20s gets exponentially harder in your 30s, so that every gain I made was just to get back ground I've lost.

When I received the finishers email with your time, 1:44-something, I was pretty bummed that the race didn't get my time right. I knew I left everything I had out on that course; I ran the race I wanted to run, and felt strong and proud about cashing in on over 6 months of work. I decided that could be enough for me.

My watch says I PR'ed by 8 seconds. The race director came back to me and told me I hadn't. I was still a little disappointed, but I knew that I had run my heart out, and if that meant a 2:11:00 and no PR, so be it.

And then I saw your face, Marielena Carbonell, of Malden, MA, in my race pictures. And suddenly, I had a face associated with all that disappointment. And it's yours.

I could lecture you on what a strain bandit runners put on race resources. I could scold you for essentially stealing $100 from the race. But Runner's World does a good enough job of that for me. What I will say is: way to violate the running community. You took something away from every runner there - not just the cups of water or a medal or a post race banana.

Running is about earning your shit.

Running is about challenging yourself to be the best version of yourself, but not at the expense of others. It's about putting in the work and running your hardest on race day to earn that spot. It's the camaraderie of meeting someone new, finding out they're a runner, and instantly understanding something about their personality. But you are not like us. By sneaking in using an old bib, you're telling all of us in the running community who do the work for our spots to go fuck ourselves & our work ethic.

Because a person who runs bandit in some half marathon in the middle of May is definitely a person who would run a much bigger race, like Boston, bandit. Because to you, it's no big deal that you didn't do the necessary things to get into a race.

I doubt you see it as cheating. But that's what you are, Marielena Carbonell. You're a cheater. Go ahead and have your 1:44-something finish time. You robbed me of my PR as an official race time, but at least I can hold my head high knowing I fucking earned my "2:11:00". While you stole my moment in the sun, that pales in comparison with all the shade you're getting as a race-fee-dodger.

And lastly, to Boston's Run to Remember: get your race organizers to spring for an extra tracker code in the chrono strip, so that prior year's bibs don't ping the mats, would ya? That's some serious JV shit right there.


*Update: the race organizer has reached out to me to let me know that generally, races do filter out old bib numbers from the results, but I just have a buggy one. Race on, Run to Remember! Thanks! 

The Accidental Half Marathon

Christ in a canoe, this has been a brutal winter. For some reason, I was completely delusional when plotting out my races, thinking that winter would buck up mid-February, and hang out in the 30s and maybe a couple days of 40s or 50s. Probably another storm or two, but just snow.

But no. As I write this, it's 19-feels-like-fucking-11. In fucking March.

I have run more this winter than I have...probably in my whole life. I strapped on my Yak Trax and trudged through inches of snow. I've had ice-cream headaches from fucking breathing, because the air is so cold. I trekked over ice patches in the sketchiest parts of Pittsburg while on a business trip. I've worn my ski sweater virtually non-stop since...I got back from Florida?

As a runner, you're attune pushing on, especially during times of mental exhaustion and despair. Hitting the wall in a race requires you to focus on your goal and the race at hand, and layering the determination on to power through. I have been at some of my darkest moments during mile 23 of a marathon, knowing that I only had 3.2 miles to go, but wondering how in the everliving fuck I was going to get through those 3.2 miles.

That is how I feel about this winter. As I glance at a 10-day forecast with temps almost never breaking 40, I feel like I'm at the bottom of a hill, mile 23 of a marathon. Where's the winter bitch-out-bus?

To try and keep myself motivated, I signed up for the New Bedford half marathon. When I signed up for it, it was January, and I was fresh off of crushing four races in a weekend. March 16th seemed like light years away. I mean, I ran the Quincy Half on March 17, 2012, and it was like 63 degrees. March 16th was SOooOOoOOoo far away when I signed up in January. I could focus on PR'ing in this race.

Welp, here we sit, with 11 days until the NB half. My peak run was on Sunday - 12 miles at a pace that was about 10 seconds faster than the 12 I ran before Florida. I felt...fine. I felt strong. I felt...really confused. I'm starting to taper again? I barely started training again. Where's the mental anguish about the miles? Where is the feeling of unpreparedness? Is this how other (fast/good) runners feel? Just perennially ready for a half marathon?

The weird thing is...I really could PR in this half. I ran 10 as a tempo run a couple weeks ago, and my pace was 8 seconds faster than my PR pace. Like I said, I ran my peak run faster than I did back in January. I literally have no idea how this has happened, but I am faster. Without actually trying to get faster. It's kind of like that time where I stopped obsessing about losing weight, and dropped 20ish pounds. (Oh, how I wish I could do that again, BTW.)

Can you haphazardly PR? I mean, I'm sure it happens to people. I'm just generally not one of those people. I usually have to set my sights on something, and pursue it with the tenacity of a pit bull. I'm so distracted by everything else going on (wedding planning, work, complaining about the weather - which, at this point, is a full time job) that I've been blindly following my (truncated) training plan without a

With 10 days to go, I guess all I can

Super Sunday Funday: 5 Mile Race Recap

To top off my recovery from the St. Pete's Marathon Challenge, I took on the Super Sunday 5 Miler in Cambridge. I've run this race twice before, and it's always a ton of fun. The host, RaceMenu, always puts a lot of their effort into the post-race party, which are usually on par with a big-city-marathon (lots of beers and food vendors), but for small time distances. They also have my favorite cover band (and my wedding band), Bearfight perform. So I usually a good distance in, and a beer to boot.

This year started off a little ominously, with an email from the organizers telling the 5-miler field that it was recommended if you couldn't keep a sub-9:00 pace, you should switch into the 5K field, for time's sake. 

Now, I've run a lot of races. A handful of those races have had a pace minimum, with either a bus picking up stragglers, or the barriers being broken down & roads reopening while the way-back-of-the-pack finished up. These races are usually big fields, and big races (marathons, halves, and going through a bigger city). Even those time cutoffs live in the double digits - 15:00 min/mi pace, maybe. So to email 1500 people and ask them to run a sub 9 was a little...surprising. I guess I wasn't the only one thought this stipulation was a little...interesting...because my final race email included an apology from the owner, saying they welcome runners of all speeds and abilities. Mmmhmm. 

Gun time was 10 AM, and it was in the mid-40s, which was a big difference from last year, when it was snowing and miserable. It was also exciting, because a cycling friend was running his first race (with this runner girlfriend, too), so it was nice to have a little running posse. 

The course has been the same for the past 3 years - from Kendall Square out to Harvard and back, cutting through Inman on the way back, where there used to be the "bitch out" bus for the 5K-ers. This year there was a different 5K course from the 5 mile course, which I appreciated, mostly because I didn't have to run by people who were already done. 

My first mile was 10 flat, which was surprising, because my 7 miles on Saturday were garbage. My legs hurt, my lungs hurt, and everything was terrible. Sunday, though, had flushed all that. My second mile was a 9:04, which confused me. I mean, I was definitely chugging along, but mile 2 was almost all uphill, which isn't really my strong suit. I figured that it was just short changed, and that I would pay for it on the 3rd mile. I hit that in a 9:35ish, which made a little more sense to me, but was still surprising. 

Then the feeling that I was going to puke came on. This is a relatively new feeling for me - the first time I ever experienced this was this past April when I ran the BAA 5K (and subsequently PR'd). I felt the same thing during the St. Pete 5K - so it really only happens when I'm running hard. I can usually deal with it in the 5K setting, since I can tell myself it's only 3 miles, and by the time it comes on, I'm already half-ish way done with the race. So when it happen at mile 3, I thought two things: 1) Wow, I must be running really hard and 2) Might as well keep it up. 

The 4th mile was 9:12, which again, was weird, since it was primarily hills. The course ends by weaving through the Leachmere section of Cambridge, back into Kendall. Allegedly, I ran this last mile  sub-9. My official time was 46:01, which is 2 full minutes faster than last year, and a 1:41 5M-PR, with a 9:13 min/mi pace. I was stoked, but confused. 

Here's the thing: I know I've been running a lot. I know I've been working harder than I have in a long time. But, coming off of a recovery cycle, with a 9:28-pace 5K, it's kind of hard to believe that I came back and absolutely crushed past times (to put this is perspective, I beat my 2008 5 mile time by almost 10 minutes. Seriously?). Mr. Running Boots pointed out that since it's been the same course for 3 years, that I did PR on for the race, which is nice - but still. I'm having a tough time believing the course was actually USATF certified 5-miles. 

All that skepticism aside, it was a fun race. It was nice to come down the finish with pals cheering (and probably heckling) me! 

My next race on the docket is the New Bedford Half Marathon, St. Patrick's Day weekend! 

How You Like Me Now: St. Pete's Beach Recap

It's so funny how races are just...over. I spent weeks training for the St. Pete Beach Marathon Challenge, worried about double sessions, long runs, and getting enough miles on my legs. And now, it's in my rearview mirror.

I think the most remarkable thing about the Marathon Challenge is how unlike a marathon it actually was. Since the milage was broken up across events, I didn't have to allocate an entire weekend to a long run. I didn't have to wake up early just to eat, to make sure I was fueled for an 18 or 20 miler. No ice baths. I was able to walk immediately following a long run. These are all things that aren't really true when I run an actual marathon.

I was also fresh, mentally. I wasn't running the race "just to get training over with".  Now I'm in my recovery period, and I actually want to run again, rather than being so burnt out that two miles sounds like torture.

The itinerary of events were as follows: Saturday - 10K @ 7:15 AM, 5K @ 9 AM, 3.8 miles @ 5PM, Sunday - Half Marathon @ 7 AM.

10K
So this trip down to Florida was cold. That might sound backwards, since right now it's a balmy 4 degrees in Boston. But 43 with a 12 mph headwind is 43 with a 12 mph wherever you go. It probably didn't help that the expected gun time was in the dark. I had to remind myself that I had run in "feels like 14" and through snow, so 43 would be fine (the natives, however, politely disagreed).

This was my 3rd time running the 10K, and the course was the same as it's always been: out and back, and then you run past the finish line, for about 3/4 of a mile, to a turn around, and come back. Into the wind. That last 3/4 of a mile into the wind is soul-crushing and unforgiving. Knowing all this, and the fact that I an additional 20 miles of racing after that, I decided to dog it a bit.

I spent the first mile, like I do in all personally anticipated races, letting it sink in that it was happening, that my quest had started. And then I took it easy-ish, with 9:45 miles, almost on the dot, every mile. It was the same twists and turns, the same headwind. The most notable difference for me was how strong my legs felt; normally when I run the 10K, I feel the wall at 4 miles. I don't know if it's because of how many more miles I had on my legs, or the fact that I was running about 30 seconds slower than I normally run that race (probably a little of column A, a little of column B), but this was the most unremarkable race of the series for me, with a 1:00:15 finish.

5K
Since it had warmed up to 50-something, I changed into my two power shirts: my 2009 Boston Marathon shirt (easily one of my most prized possessions), and my Next 26 t-shirt.

When the gun went off at 9:30, I felt GOOD. Like...really, really GOOD. This wasn't too weird, since usually the second run of my doubles was always stronger and faster. So as I coasted along miles 1 and 2 around 9:45s (on the dot, again), I knew this was the race I could lay it all out. The beach run was a non-factor to me while I was training, and I knew the half was going to be on trashed legs one way or another, so I might as well.

So I upped my turnover, and I raced. I mean, I RACED. I picked off person after person, closing the gap, passing them, an never looking back. It was the stretch of road I had visualized in my training: the flat, final straightaway that is lined with palm trees and kitchy beach shops. I had literally DREAMED this moment while I prepared for this race. I took over 40 seconds off of my 3rd mile, and then turned the corner to the finish, and "dropped the hammer" for the last tenth. My legs felt a little like jell-o. I kind of felt like I was going to puke a little bit. I felt ALIVE. It was one of my highest runner's highs yet. I forgot what it was like to finish something that strong. Even writing about it right now is bringing the high back...that's how epic that was. I finished in 29:21, which is 44 seconds off of my PR.

3.8 mi Beach Run
Ugh. Oh, this run. The seven hours between the 5K and the 3.8 miles were (as expected) stiffening, achy, and sleepy. Even though I wore my compression pants between the races, and tried to eat and hydrate, my legs were going through some WTF as I laced up for my last race.

Since it was on the beach, the views were better than my morning races:

But that wind from the morning? Yeah, it was still hanging around. With nothing (trees, buildings, anything) to slow its roll, we were looking at a tailwind for 1.9 down the beach, and an in-your-face, holding-you-back, make-your-eyes-water 1.9 back. Sand, also, can be very forgiving on your joints, but murder on your muscles. Luckily at that point, everything hurt pretty much equally, so I couldn't distinguish between my joints or my muscles. 

I got down the beach at my pace of the day, 9:45s. There was a family running together, who were excellent pacers. I stayed in their draft and chugged along until the turnaround. Once I headed back, the wind was too much for my headphones, so I took them out, and tried to listen to the waves on the Gulf. At one point, I felt like I was going to boot, but I knew my family (Ma Boots, Pa Boots, my aunt, my uncle, and my 12 year old cousin) were lurking somewhere on the beach to cheer for me, so I had to talk myself out of booting (lest I look like a wimp). With about 100 feet to go, the packed sand turned into loose sand, and everything in the world sucked. My legs were sore, my lungs were sore, I was so OVER running. But I finished in 37:57, without booting (small victories). 

Half Marathon 

I woke up Sunday in my compression pants. My right knee and hip were pretty pissed at me. Mr. Running Boots decided the Friday before the half that he wanted to run the half, and later on decided he'd run with me, rather than just taking off at the start. As they say: misery loves company.

The wind that demoralized on Saturday was no where to be found on Sunday, which was a blessing, since miles 6-11 would have been into the wind. Gun time was 7 AM, so we started in the dark. I actually had to carry my sunglasses with me, because it was legitimately dark. Like..."I wear my sunglasses at night" dark. 

The first 2 miles were in the soft light right before sunrise. At one point, the moon was over the ocean on our left, and the sun was rising on the inter-coastal waterway on our right. Seriously. At the 5K mark, we were running right into the sunrise, and it was epic. 

Around mile 5, we saw these wild parrots sitting on the power lines. It was so cool! How many times in your life can you say that a half dozen parrots were cheering you on? I was running in the 10:20 neighborhood at this point, my legs were tired, of course, and I was just...kind of done running. But around mile 8, with my no-training-on-his-legs Mr, and my caffeinated gummies, I caught a second wind. One of the volunteers at the start line (that we passed again at mile 8) was wearing a 2009 Boston jacket, and it just felt like a sign. From the depths of my mind, one of my biggest accomplishments was on the sideline, watching me power through another tough race. 

That second wind didn't last too long, though, After mile 8, we started on the 10K course again (which I had run twice the day before. Borrrriiinnng.) and around the 10th mile, my brain decided to join my legs and go on strike. I was hurting. I didn't want to run anymore. I had never straight-up run over 21 miles, and here I was at 23+. I knew this feeling would come, and I had run in fear of it while I was training. The fact that it came with only 5K to go, rather that at the 5K mark was victory enough for me.

I didn't walk. I whimpered a little bit. I never went over 11s in my pace. I finished the half, right next to Mr Running Boots, in 2:18:03. Right in the middle of my cluster of half finishes. 

Overall, I ran the marathon challenge in 4:27:14 (which is about 53 minutes better than my actual marathon PR).  And I got 2 medals at the end of the half. 

Lesson learned: take a nap between the first half and the second half of 26.2, and you'll have a pretty OK time.  Check out that hardware!

I'm glad I did this; it felt good to get back into some high volume running, without the mental anguish. I could probably be coaxed into doing a hat-trick race (5K, 10K, half), but I think I'll stick to running one event at a time for a bit. 

Eighteen

Eighteen runs. That's all that stands between me and the individual marathon weekend. Eighteen.

As I push closer and closer to 30+ miles a week, it's been one of those weeks (or two) where it seems like the world is telling me to say "Fuck it" and sit on the couch. Waking up to temps in the single digits. Snow followed by ice followed by more snow. Holiday frenzy of gift buying, parties and an exponentially growing to-do list.

With four weeks before the race, this is pretty typical. I'm tired of running. I'm tired of getting dressed for running. I'm tried of being tired. This training cycle has been different, since I'm running double sessions once a week. I ran 5 miles at noon yesterday, and then suited up and ran 4 miles right after While I know that mimicking the race structure (particularly the run-rest-run component) is super important...UGH I HAVE TO RUN AGAIN was the only thing on my mind while I rolled out my quads at my desk between runs.

This is where training is its darkest for me. Little voices coax me with "you've done enough". These are the same voices that taunt me in a race with "you didn't train like you were supposed to", while I suffer with undercooked legs. It starts with me missing a run, with "it's no big deal - I'll still run XX miles this week" to missing 3 runs in a row, to me staring down at an abysmal training log with big 0 or 5 or 3s looking back at me. Those 0s and 5s and 3s should be 25s and 27s and 31s.

I am trying to rage against the exhaustion, both mental and physical, by reminding myself how much better this race series will be for me because I ran outside through the snow and the slush and because I forced myself onto the treadmill rather than backing out of my workout. But like all long-term goals, sometimes the payoff seems so far out of reach, the groundwork to it seems bleak, and I start gearing up for a nice existential downward spiral (also see: college 2004-2005).

But 18 runs. That's not that much. That's less than all my fingers and toes! I can cross those bitches off in a nice countdown. But next week is Christmas, and I'll be in Albany. Running any distance over 2 miles is really hard in Albany, since it's all busy suburban road and no sidewalks anywhere. The last time I ran in the winter in Upstate New York, the sweat in my hair froze to my head. Really.

My total mileage this week is already 15 miles - which is usually pretty high for me (but I need to end this week at 27), and how I end up lulling myself into a false sense of preparedness. And then I think about how sore I am this morning after my doubles (but I did run my fastest doubles ever yesterday - pulling a min/mile off my pace for each set), and then I think about how despite this soreness, I'll have to run a half marathon on these screaming-bebe legs. Then the fear I originally had for this race comes back, and lacing up my shoes is suddenly effortless.

This feeling, of fatigue and monotony, is normal for any runner. Just like sometimes you own the workout, and sometimes the workout owns you. Sometimes you're stoked to get out for a run, and other days or weeks, you'd rather shave a cat than get out there. The trick is to learn when it's just the inner demons, versus your body begging for additional time to heal and recoup. Most of running is this type of detailed self-study and self-awareness of when you can drop the hammer and crank it, and when you should take it easy. With only 18 runs to go, it makes it a lot easier to ignore the self-sabotaging impulses, and log these miles, baby!

Don't Bring Around a Cloud to Rain on My Parade

Like any normal runner (or person, for that matter), I check the weather before I head out. During the spring and summer, I tack on 10 degrees to the temperature and then dress for that weather. During the fall and winter, once it drops below 55 degrees, I know I need my gloves (since I already have meh circulation in my hands).

After years of careful calibration, I know which layer combination (or lack thereof) of clothing for every temperature range and weather condition.

It's also how I know when to puss out and run inside on a treadmill.

This past Sunday, it was 22 degrees outside. Weather.com said that felt like 6. With a 23 mph wind coming from the WNW.

Now, I have run races with an 18 mph wind coming off the ocean. I have run them in 90 degrees with crushing humidity, and I have run them in 42 degrees with sheets of rain falling from the sky. I have run when it's so cold that my sweat freezes in my hair.

That's how I know that when it's 22 with a 23 mph wind, my ass is running on a treadmill. But please understand: I hate the treadmill. I can usually top out at 3 miles (4 if I really distract myself). Part of the reason I run is to connect with my surroundings and appreciate the (quiet) sound of my feet hitting whatever ground I'm on. Treadmills are proof that God is vengeful and wants us to suffer. But Mother Nature is worse. Much, much worse. She is malicious and ruthless and takes extreme joy in blowing an arctic blast headwind off of icy water when all you really want to do is stop running and eat a cheeseburger. It's not suffering. It's degradation.

So, I was surprised to see that one of my friends, a newbie-ish runner, actually braved the hellish weather on Sunday and actually ran outside. Didn't she see my posts about avoiding it via the treadmill?! I mean, if someone's like, "Wooo! Seven miles on a treadmill!" aren't you a little suspicious?

Then I remembered that every runner needs to run the gamut of terrible weather (no pun intended). You need to run on the most awful of days, and brave the harshest conditions (within reason - for safety) for a couple reasons:
1. When you're running the race you trained for, and you start to revert back into that dark, internal hole of "Fuck this shit", you can remember that you got up early, got dressed, and ran. Maybe it was raining. Maybe it felt so hot you thought you were running on the goddamned sun. Doesn't matter. You got up and did it. And if you can run on the goddamned sun, you can finish this goddamned race.

2. Until modern science proves otherwise, you can't control the weather on race day. And chances are, the weather conditions you decline to sack-up for will be the exact conditions you have to run in. Period. The summer of 2010 was like, 90 fucking degrees every day. Training was brutal. So I didn't do it. Because my logic was: my marathon is in the midwest, in October. Not a chance in hell it'll be over like, 65 degrees. It's more likely to be 40. And then the weather report in Chicago rolled out, and every day around the marathon was gorgeous, temperate 65, but marathon day was fucking NINETY. NINETY DEGREES. So now, regardless of what season my race is v. what season I'm training in, I run. Because NINETY DEGREES.

3. You need to learn what gear you own that sucks in what conditions, and what gear you better own, or you're going to be one overheated/hypothermic mofo. Lululemon pants make my butt look good, but NEVER run in the rain with them...they weigh about 91039893849 pounds all wet. Learned that at the half marathon in Central Park in a steady, soaking rain. I have 3 different weights of long sleeved shirts.  I know which sports bras I can wear for different distances before they start to chafe.

This morning I woke up to get my run in, and the weather said, "35, feels like 26, 10% chance of precipitation, wind is 14 mph SW". So I put on 2 pairs of tights, 2 heavy long sleeves, gloves, the works. And about 1/2 a mile in, it started snowing. Snowing.

So I trudged on, knowing that during whatever mile of whatever race I'm doing in Florida in 6ish weeks (!!!), when I want to stop and just have a beer instead, I can think back and say, "I fucking ran in snow. I fucking ran 7 miles - IN A ROW - on a treadmill. I can finish this race." And when my newbie friend is in the crushing, evil cold of her February half, she can think back to Sunday, when she wanted to punch the wind in it's face, but she finished nonetheless. And she'll keep on going and finish her race, too. Because let's face it: the miles aren't always that sunny, but they always do make us stronger.

The Individual Marathon. Seriously.

As I write this, I'm rolling out my sore hammy - my nice little "remember those hills during the BAA Half" souvenir. But when faced with memories of soul-crushing races, I did what any normal runner would do: I signed up for more races.

The Gobble Gobble Gobble 4 Miler, on Thanksgiving, is my next race. I love running on Thanksgiving, because it gets a race in on a non-Sunday (so it's like a forced tempo run), and it gives me the ability to absolve my 3rd piece of pie.

I also caved and signed up for the Jingle Bell 5K in December. Even though I despise 5Ks. Despise. I even think one of my 2013 resolutions was "no 5Ks". Or was it "no marathons"? It gets hard to remember this late in the year. But, I have these candy cane socks. And red under amor. Might as well put them to good use.

Then the following is what transpired in my head during one of my post-BAA recovery runs:

"A 4-miler and a 5K to close out 2013. This should be enough.

The past 2 years, I've run that 10K at St. Pete's Beach when I visit Ma 'n' Pa Boots in Florida. The course is flat and fast, and I typically place unusually well for my age/gender because...well...the South.

OK, so a 10K to kick off 2014.

Wait. 2014? I'm getting married in 2014. I also enjoy lounging on the couch/hibernating most of the end of the year...through February or March. How am I going to stay motivated to run through the New England winter? Which is when I'm going through most of my dress fittings...

Doesn't St. Pete's Beach have a half marathon, too? Maybe I'll do the 10K on Saturday and the Half on Sunday. That sounds a little nuts, but I can pop off 6 miles, and if I keep my base, I can probably swing both.

Wait. St Pete's has a 5K on Saturday, too. I think I remember there was something at the expo...maybe a hat trick? A 5K, 10K, Half? Man, that would be fucking hard but really fucking badass. I've never gone for a hat trick before! This should be rad."

So, I went to sign up for the St. Pete's hat-trick, and found out this year, they have upped the ante. Since a 5, 10 and half are so close to totally 26.2, they added a 3.8 mile beach run Saturday night. The "Individual Marathon".

What. The. Fuck.

So now, the schedule looks a little like this:
Sat 8 AM - 5K
Sat 10 AM - 10K
Sat 5 PM - 3.8 mile beach run
Sun 8 AM - Half Marathon

Somehow, 3.8 miles on the beach threw me for a loop. Running on the beach aggravates all my nagging injuries. It'll screw up my rest schedule between the Saturday AM events and the half. After all my years of Ultimate tournaments, I know the worst thing you can do to your legs is give them a bye, let them cool down, and then try to shake the cement out. What the fuck kind of distance is 3.8 miles, anyway (the math makes sense, but, come on.)?

The truth is, I'm scared of the Individual Marathon. And I like it.

I haven't been scared of a race in years. I don't even think I was scared of my first marathon, because I was too naive and excited. I mean - how do I even prepare for this? How do I train? Good luck typing, "multi-race weekend training plan" into Google. I mean, if the internet doesn't even think this is a good idea, what am I even doing?

I finally found a plan that will get me most of the way there (it's designed for the 3 races - I have to take what I can get). It involves double sessions of running (like a 4 mile AM run followed by a 3 mile PM run). I move it closer to my long run day over a span of 8 weeks, until I run my double session Saturday with my long run (10 miler) on Sunday.

So, the girl who can't even drag her sorry ass out of bed in the dark right now and run when it's 30 degrees will not only have to drag her sorry ass out of bed, but then drag her sorry ass out after work, too. Really? Really. The girl who slacks hard on marathon training plans is going to start running marathon volume (35ish miles a week) with 5 runs a week? Really?

The great thing is: I'm scared. Scared of that deep, black pain of racing when you're unprepared for a race. The agony of your brain and your legs battling about when to stop. The fear of running by Ma 'n' Pa Boots and crying out, "What the fuck was I thinking?!" (which will probably happen regardless of how much I train, really).

The fear of that pain consumes all my excuses. Every time I'm on the fence about going out for a run, I think about running 13.1 miles with a day's worth of lactic acid in my muscles because I wasn't prepared for a 10K/5K/4M. And the searing, shooting, gnawing pain, mentally and physically needed to get through this, let alone trying to get through it via half-assery. And then my running shoes are magically tied and ready to go.

I hope this motivation-by-way-of-fear lasts. I hope that my legs can sustain this beating. And I hope that I can bask in the fruits of my labors by crossing 4 finish lines in under 48 hours.

B.A.A.? More like B. Ow. Ow.

Well, here we are. Post-race round up for the final BAA Distance Medley event: the half marathon.

I just read my pledge from my post-10K flop, and chuckled to myself. Oh, how naive I was back in June. A sub-two hour half. Very LOLz worthy.

So, I trained. I actually kept up with 3 or 4 days of running per week. With 3 or 4 weeks to go, I started notching 20+ miles a week again for the first time in over a year. I ran an 11-mile peak run. I even dragged myself out with a cold to make sure I had my 10-miler in last week, so that I had one more long run and more miles on my legs.

But secretly, I knew. All the miles and the spin classes and the core strengthening was merely to hang on, not to PR. The tempo runs, the lead-in-my-legs run was all for the goal of "finishing", which for my  6th (7th? I'm losing track) half marathon, is a pretty paltry goal.

But every time I hit the split time button on my watch, it was another pancake mile behind me. Flat as Ohio. The biggest hill I ran around the Charles was the JFK Bridge near the Harvard boathouse. And THIS is the elevation profile for the BAA Half Marathon:

Maybe you didn't notice THIS:

My glutes and quads just started weeping from the PTSD.
At the information session that the BAA held back in August about the half, some unsuspecting lass asked what the "Heartbreak Hill" was for the half. I scoffed at her question, for two reasons: 1. Heartbreak Hill is so humbling because of where it falls in the race (mile 20) not because you're scaling Everest. In a half marathon, there is no "wall" because you never deplete your glycogen enough. So there is no Heartbreak. 2. THE WHOLE FUCKING COURSE IS HEARTBREAK HILL.

It was a beautiful race day. Fifty degrees, just a little breeze, sunny. The 11.5 to the 20K mark was through the zoo, so I saw some camels and something that kind of looked like Pumba from the Lion King. There was gorgeous foliage around the JP Pond, and spectators throughout the majority of the course.

There were these awful banking curves, unkept paths, and a short section on a trail that everyone slowed down on.

And there was pain. So. Much. Pain.

I know I whine a lot about courses. I've run the Quincy Half twice, and each time I finish, I vow to never run it agin, because of all of the hills. This year was no exception. But, when I ran Quincy this past May, I was completely undertrained (I had peaked back in March, and then the race was postponed due to a blizzard THANKS, NEW ENGLAND). While Quincy is hilly, it's not ruthless. There are shorter, steep hills, but nothing as soul-sucking as rolling hills for 13 miles. The pain I felt in Quincy was lack of miles on my legs.

The pain I felt yesterday was due to pure torture. I had to keep reminding myself that I was prepared for this. That I trained for this. That I was ready for this, even though my hips and glutes were exploding. The hills were ruthless. The bar has been set; all other courses will now be compared to the BAA Half (and they will all probably look like lovely skips through flowery fields).

In the end, the training really did pay off. Regardless of the evil, demoralizing course, I shaved 2 minutes off of my 2013 Quincy time to finish in 2:14:16. Not my sub-two hour goal I was looking for; but I finished - which doesn't seem as paltry now.

Back to School

I guess I’ve been treating running like it’s college: as long as I accumulate miles on my legs, regardless of the frequency, I’ll be able to move to the next level. Cs get degrees. Since I’ve run marathons, my legs will remember that, and I can do any race without preparation.

Unfortunately, running is like most things you learn in school: if you don’t use it, you lose it.

I ran the BAA 10K for the 3^rd year in a row yesterday. The heat was oppressive (but it always is at this race – why would that be any different?). The hills on Comm Ave were rolling (but they always are – how could that change?).

I clocked a 1:02:19. Not my worst, but definitely not my best (especially when, in my head, I was going for a 55:00-er).

I sat at my post-race brunch, perplexed. I said to my running partner/BFFL: “I feel like I’m in better shape than I was for the 2011 10K (when I ran a sub-hour), but for some reason, the clock says otherwise.”

To which Mr. Running Boots kept it real: “I think you were running a lot more back then.”

Ugh.

He’s right.

Ugh.

I got home and looked at my running logs, and the proof of my 1:02:19 stared back at me. Four mile weeks. Six mile weeks. Running twice a week, if that. I can’t believe I even did it as fast as I did. (My legs are also killing me today. After 6 miles. Six miles. I used to run 14, 15 miles at a time. The shame.)

And just like my ability to conjugate –ar verbs in Spanish, I’ve lost it.

The final event of the BAA Medley, the half marathon, is in my crosshairs. I have 16 weeks to train up to that – 12 of formal training, and 4 to ramp me up to avoid blowing out my legs.

I really, really want to run a sub-2 hour half.

But I think I should also focus on something I’ve never really been able to do: stick to the plan. Do all my homework. Ace all my tests. Get an A.

On the syllabus this week: Running four days this week, including a long run of four miles, for a total of 11 miles.

Class is in session. 

For Boston

Today was a hard day. The Boston Marathon is something I hold so close - because this is my city. This my event. My running the Marathon changed my life and the very fabric of my identity. To run Boston restores your faith in humanity - from all the amazing causes people fundraise and run for,  the kindess of strangers who live along the route and pass out food and water to runners, to a generally grumpy and sarcastic city opening their small and mighty city to the world - it is the epitome of the human spirit: resilient, kind, and connected.

The events from today looked to be the antagonist of the Spirt of the Boston Marathon. Whoever is responsible was seeking to shake that spirit and destroy the bond within the global running community, Boston, and beyond.

I've experienced so many injuries from running (as most runners do) - hammies, knees, blisters - the list goes on and on. But as any injured runner knows, it'll heal, and you can get back out and hit the road. The stories of cancer survivors and trauma survivors who turn to running to heal themselves and go on to help others are countless. The running community has learned from running that nothing happens overnight, but that gradually and with support from our fellow runners (and non-runners alike), we can heal, we can accomplish, we can contribute to something bigger than ourselves.

The stories of humanity are already starting to surface: the first responders on the scene, running into the oblivion, to help victims. The nurses and the doctors in the medical tents who triaged patients with grave injuries, even though they thought the worst they'd face today was some dehydration or some chafed nipples. The residents of Boston banding together to offer vistiors anything - a phone charger, a place to stay, a hot shower, food - in a giant Google doc.

Today's events cut me to my very core. My home, my friends, my co-runners, my spiritual center was attacked by someone I don't know for reasons I had no control over. I cried for the victims. I cried for that patch of Boylston St. and my running store. I cried for those runners whose personal victories are now overshadowed by this atrocity. I cried for the runners who were not able to finish the race, after 16+ weeks of training and mental preparation. I cried because I felt like someone had hurt one of my closest friends or family members.

But tomorrow, I will lace up again. I will wear my "Boston Runnah" t-shirt. I will run my quiet 3-mile loop around the Charles River. And I, with my fellow Bostonians and runners, will begin to heal.

My Victory Lap

Miles Run This Week: 3
Days until Newport: 9!

Well, I can count the numbers of days left until Newport on my fingers. While my training hasn't gone exactly how I planned, I'm also uninjured at this point, and able to run the 2 weeks leading up to the race, so I'm pretty stoked about that.

And, I think I finally don't care about my time. I could beat myself up, and worry about breaking 5 hours, but ya know what? Not this one. This is going to be about making good on a challenge I laid out for myself. This is going to be about the friends and the family who have supported me along this marathon of marathons. This is going to be about the views, the toughness of the race itself, and knowing that I have endured through 4, so why not 1 more? I'm looking forward to just running. And not particularly caring what my pace is, who has passed me, or friends who have run faster.

It's just me, my legs, and my 26.2 mile victory lap.

T.O. From Running

Miles Run this Week: 7.6
Days until Newport: 72

I woke up this morning to a shout out from a fellow runner, Amanda (née @RunOnWaffles). Turns out, she's the raddest, and has nominated me for the Beautiful Blogger Award.

Amanda and I found each other by accident: I was helping her as a shopper in distress. (For those of you who don't know, my day time gig is the omnipresent Concierge for Rue La La.) She ID'd herself as a marathoner in her profile, so we started talking, natch. We bonded over our love of peanut butter, the Yankees, and that we were both running bloggers. At the time, I was still planning on running the MCM, and she's in DC, so we were a match made for interwebz heaven. Since that day, we have been tweeting support for each other while we train (she's gunning for Philly this year). As I've said before, I love the community that running has fostered for me, and she's been a huge part of that. 

Part of receiving this nomination includes listing seven things about yourself, and nominating other bloggers. 

Seven thing to know about the Boots

1. I'm as crazy about craft beer as I am about running. I love IPAs, Belgians, porters, stouts...the list goes on and on. I've been on a German kick as of late, since I think I destroyed my pallet with West Coast IPAs for the better part of this decade, and Germans make very balanced, drinkable beers. I subscribe to Beer Advocate, and have even started brewing with my boyfriend. My go-to beers are Narragansett, Harpoon IPA and Pretty Things Jack D'or. Outside of New England, I've been spotted with Saranac or Yuengling (which you can't get in Mass) in my hand. 

2. I was born a city-dweller.  When I was 9, I stepped off a bus, into the middle of Manhattan for a day trip. Literally, at that very moment, I knew I wanted to live in a city. I was hell-bent on getting out of the 'burbs, and at 18, I moved to Boston, happy as a clam, never to return to Upstate for more than 2 weeks at a time. Leaving an urban area causes panic attacks and bewilderment. 

3. I hate the number 3. Seriously. Things in 3s bug the bejeesus out of me. Did you ever try to be part of a friendship of three? Fucking. Nightmare. But triangles are my preferred shape. <Boom> Head explodes. 

4. I played the clarinet in the school band. 5th-9th grade. I made it into an elite band of junior high and high school players, and we were invited to play at the White House. We played songs from different war eras (Civil, WWII and Gulf War...I just realized how awkward that set it...just now). I wore a big hoop skirt made by one of my friend's aunts. Then I quit because band was super nerdy. 

5. My favorite movie is Clueless. Always and forever. I can still manage to quote it at least once a week, if not once a day. 

6. I got the same SAT score on both the math and verbal sections...twice. It drove my mother nuts. For some reason, she thought that the SATs would finally settle which set of subjects I was stronger in (math + science, or art-y-ish things). Sorry. I'm just totally balanced. And brilliant. (And modest.)

7. My best Halloween costume, ever: The ("slutty") Red Stripe Man. 2006. 

Seriously.

Nominations

Some bloggers that rock my internets!

Ms. Meister from Running While Smiling

Miriam from Sometimes I Veg

Geno from Running FTW

New Outlook: Newport

Miles run this week: 7.6
Days until Newport: 79

Another blogging hiatus! I took that rest month in June pretty literally. At the 4-week rest mark, I ran my favorite race: the BAA 10K. It was nice to go out and run this race just to run, rather than gunning for a PR. It also marked my "revival of running" anniversary. My PR last year in this event rekindled my relationship with running; I bought a couple books and started really looking at what it would take to be the runner I want to be.

I didn't PR. But that's OK. I ran the second half of my race faster than the first half. This is the first race I have in memory (or ever) that I successfully ran negative splits (which is a holy grail for me...and is part of the art of racing). It was also nice to be able to run a race with my bestie.





Now I'm back at it for the Newport Marathon.

There's a noticeable change between my mentality before Burlington and my current state of the union. Burlington was a no-holds-bard quest for a sub-5 hour marathon. I didn't miss many workouts, but when I did and had to make them up, I prioritized the hard over the easy. I ran fast. A lot. And then I got hurt.

This time...I don't know. I don't really care if I break 5 hours. I mean, sure, it'd be nice to say that I completed my primary goal (finishing 5 marathons before 10/25/12) and my secondary goal (running sub-five hours). But after I hurt God-knows-what in my right leg, I realized that destroying my body for the sake of an arbitrary goal isn't sustainable or smart. If I want to run until I'm an old lady, I have to be realistic about what my body is capable of, and accept certain truths. This doesn't mean I can't always be pushing for improvement, it just means it might be slower increments of improvement, to allow my body to catch up. I think I can go back to running to be healthy - in all senses of the word - rather than being hung up on a time.

Sometimes I see times that other runners - or even people who don't consider themselves "runners" put up. And I could lie and say that I don't compare myself to them (even though one of the things I love about running is how individual it is). But I do. And that has been fueling these time caps in my head. To be a "real" runner is to BQ. To be a "real" runner, you need to run a sub-25 5K and a sub-45 10K. I know that for the most part, those numbers are so far out of reach for me - so much so, that it doesn't even bother me.

But can't I be proud of myself for merely just setting the goal of running the race, rather than worrying about how long it took me to get to the end? Especially since I tend to gravitate towards events that need at least 2 months of prep work, isn't more of the process just lacing up on days I'd rather sit on the couch? Or prioritizing my schedule to make sure I get a work out in?

I started running because my lifestyle was unhealthy, and I didn't want to have to worry about heart disease, diabetes or other weight-related health complications. But I feel like with Burlington, I swung the pendulum the other way: I became so focused on getting the miles in (without other workouts), that I'm doing damage to my muscles, joints and bones.

My goal for Newport is to finish the race, healthy. Which can be broad, but I'm thinking of it as:
-Enough cross training & strength workouts to balance out all the impacts from running
-Listening to my body, and rather than bagging a workout because it's sore, doing an easy one instead (i.e. not bombing race pace up Summit Ave)
-Carb loading properly, so I'm not just packing in sugar and fat that I have to work off for months to come

My theory for Burlington was: if I stick to the training plan, the minutes will melt off my finish time naturally, which was largely true. I did PR.

My theory for Newport is: if I stick to the training plan and are safe & smart about it, I won't have a 2 week layup before the race, and therefore, I'll probably PR.

But, this is number 5 for me. The last of a crazy trip of self-discovery. I think I'm going to back burner my "PR OR BUST" attitude, and just enjoy the capstone of the challenge I gave myself over 3 years ago.

Burlington: The Final Shakedown

Miles Run this Week: 26.2

Well, it's over.

It's kind of hard to believe. I've been preparing for this race for months and months, to have it all be over in a day.

I got up super early on race day - I'm usually a person who rolls out of bed and cruises to the start line with mere minutes to spare. But this time, be it nerves or knowing what kind of prep it takes to even get to the start line. So I was up at 5:30. I went and grabbed an egg and put it on top of my (cold) rice and ate as much as I could stomach.

I foam rolled my right quad and did the resistance band exercises trainer-coach recommended. When I said goodbye to Joe, I cracked. All I remember is bursting into tears and blubbing, "What if I can't?" It was the final moment of doubt. All I wanted was to go into this with zero uncertainty, to know that I had trained and that I was ready. Joe came back with "Well, we'll cry about it later, not now."

And then I sauntered over to the waiting area for the shuttle bus to the start.

One of my favorite feelings during a whole race is the pre-race silence with your fellow runners. We all sat on the curb in a silent electricity. Maybe all of us were thinking about what we wanted to accomplish. Maybe we were all thinking about our play lists. Maybe we weren't thinking at all.

I got to the start area an unprecedented 50 minutes ahead of time. Gave me a chance to take it all in:

Could have been worse.

I paced around the start area, getting a lay of the land: portos, pace group gatherings, a good place to plop down and get dressed. Since my track days, I don't usually show up to the race in my sneakers and the clothes I'm planning on running in. Usually it's flip flops and a hoodie with some tear away pants. Why mess with a pre-race ritual? 

So eventually,  I got dressed, and I was ready to go!

My best friend and running buddy met me at the start line - which was awesome for a bunch of reasons. One of them was the baggage check line spanned into New York State, so there was no way I was going to be able to store my bag before the gun time. It was also just great to have someone there to help the nerves. She gave me her running hat (white to match). There wasn't a cloud in the sky - perfect for a beach day, FAIL for a long, long run like mine. I needed something to keep the sun off my face (plus, my biggest fear is looking like a raisin before 40). 

Finally, I got into the start corral. I actually ran into the 1 person I knew who was running, right in front of the 4:30 pace group. The chances of that happening seemed so low - but then I got to commiserate while we waited for actual starting gun (and not puke everywhere...because that's how I felt). Finally, the gun went off.

I crossed the mats, and just started running. I mean, what else was I going to do? 

I found the 4:45 pace group and stuck by them, holding my breath, waiting to see what my knee would be able to take. About 2 miles in, I realized how hot it was going to be that day. It was probably only in the 60s at the start, but it was also 8 AM. I had run in the heat in Boston, but there was also a ton of shade around the Charles path, so while it's hot, there is always a lot of relief.

I saw my entourage around mile 3, and then I was off for the first 6+ mile stretch outside Burlington. 

The most striking thing to me about Burlington was the distribution of spectators. While I liked that I came through downtown 3 times before the finish, and the crowd through Burlington was energizing, the other stretches were boring and soul-sucking. 

The 4ish to 8ish mile loop was only saved by the fact that it was an out-and-back turnaround leg, meaning that we eventually were running by the elites (which is always cool - to see people with those strides and that kind of power is always inspiring and humbling all at once) and the other pace groups. Since we were less than 10K in, nerves and spirits were still high, so everyone was cheery and encouraging when we saw each other. 

I cruised past the 5 mile marker, and then went on high alert - waiting for any sign from my knee area that it was about to lock up and that my race would be over. I took at picture of the mile 6 marker to tell my friends that I had at least made it through my first hurdle. Miles 7 through 8 were a long, grinding hill. Like a fool, I spent a ton of energy trying to stay with the 4:45 pace group up this hill, lest I look like a wimp to my friends to be dropped before mile 9. Total idiot. 

So I caught 4:45 and came through downtown Burlington at miles 9 and 10. Bands were rocking. I saw my entourage. Things were looking good.

Miles 10 and 11 were pretty terrible. There were spectators, sure. But we're in this long stretch of warehouses and commercial areas, no shade in sight. And that's when the sun started slowly crushing my will to run/live. Around 12, I lost 4:45 for good. I didn't even really care. Now it wasn't about time. It was about  getting through it. (I ate more GU gummies to help my brain space...being this angry at 13 is not a good way to enter the 51%.) 

So from 12 to 13, there was a gorgeous view of the lake (for about 100m) and a Newfie that was the size of a small bear. I actually asked the owners if I could ride him to the finish line. They politely declined. 

I pushed through to 13.1, where the 2 person relay hand-off was. People were in happy and peppy, mostly because they were either ending or just beginning. I wasn't doing either, so I glared. Don't get me wrong - I'm all for the half and whole race day...but I think splitting the whole into 2 halves and watching fresh legs speed away while you have 13.1 on your legs and need to go 13.1 more is cruel. (And don't EVEN GET ME STARTED on the 5-person relay they had going. More on that around 21.)

But 13 to 14 were easily the best views of Lake Champlain. And there was a breeze which was pretty clutch. Around 13.5, a friend called me. I literally had to pick up (since it was interrupting my tunes!) and answer with "I'm running a marathon...what's up?" This may be the most creative hello I've ever had. 

At 13.7 I stopped to stretch. Another girl stopped with me; all we did was look at each other and laugh. There are no words for the pain, the emotions, the knowing that you're over halfway there, but still have so far to go. 

Thennnn around 13.9, I realized I was going to have to run up the giant-ass hill. OH COME ON. 

At 14ish, I saw my fluorescent entourage again. One of them said, "Amy, you're not even sweating!" thinking it was a compliment. I replied with "Um....that's bad." And I picked up some more food and water. And I looked up at the hill. Welp, this was it. 

There were these AWESOME drums (that you can hear in this video of the race) that literally propelled me up the hill. I also knew that 2 of my best friends were up there, waiting for me. I couldn't look like a pussy! So slowly but surely, I started climbing that hill. You can see how far it was and the incline: 

Allllll the way behind me was my food and water pick up. Ugh, that thing was a beast, but I saw my girls waiting for me at the top and just focused on getting to them. When I got to them, I hugged them like I had just come out of captivity or something. My face pretty much said it all, the perfect mixture of joy and pain:

And then I was on my way for the final 11 miles, with no entourage action until the end.

Miles 15.5 through 19 seem to be a blur in my head. There were people with spraying hoses and a little shade to take the edge off. Somewhere in there I think there was a little kid with a broken arm handing out ice chips with his mom. I stopped and asked "What happened, buddy?" and he replied with, "I broke my arm...but not by running." At some point around there, I saw the 5:00 pace group, and kind of deflated. Especially since they dropped me pretty quickly. It was the nail in the coffin that I would not break 5 hours in this race.

But really, I really, really didn't care. I felt a thousand times stronger than I felt in Chicago. I had trained. I had actually prepared for this race. I guess for some people, that would make the missing the goal time sting more, but for me, it was more comforting. I'd finish when I finished. Regardless of what the time was when I crossed the line, I knew I had succeeded in many other ways.

It was in the middle of that thought process that I hit the wall. At about 19.5. With 6.3 to go. Ugh. So I started running 2 minutes, walking a minute. My pace slowed from the 11ish pace I was carrying to high 13s. Joe texted me that he was waiting for me at mile 24 - which could have been 1000 miles away as far as I was concerned.

When I got onto the bike path - the final 5ish miles, I was just spent. I didn't know where I was, I was so tired that I couldn't even think about what the distance would be at home (which is one of my tricks to getting through stretches of the unknown), and my stomach was grumbling. While I was eating literally anything I had left in my pouch, this girl goes powering by me. Not like...oh, running a couple minutes walking a couple minutes...full on 5-K pace. So here's the thing: I'm a back-of-the-packer. When you're not trying to Boston Qualify, you're hanging out in the 4ish hour and beyond, you are not at 5-K pace at mile 21. (For reference, my 5-K pace is somewhere in the low 9s...and I was running 13:40s at mile 21). 

I think the final straw was the 5-person relay team aspect. I mean, I get it. Marathons take a lot out of you: 18 weeks of training, grueling mileage and speed work, the time commitment, the wear and tear on your legs. But...really? 5 people? That's like...a little over 5 miles a person. That's not even a 10K. So take your fresh legs for the last 5, and get real. I love my fellow runners, and I would never belittle someone whose goal was different than mine...but I was really insulted that these people are flying through this marathon course, picking off all the people who dedicated 18+ weeks to training and really experiencing and appreciating the marathon as a personal accomplishment. I think relay teams are great - just during a relay event. It is what drove me to decide I will never run this race again. [/rant]

The one plus of the bike path was the sporadic views of the lake:

So I kept on. I saw Joe a little after 24, and the first thing he said to me was, "You can still PR." I had been watching my time tick by on my watch, calculating how many minutes I had left to PR (to that point, my best time was 5:18:07 at Baystate in 2009) - dividing that time by the mileage I had left, and then comparing that to what my mile splits were to that point. So yes, I knew I could PR. I was hoping I actually would - but in past races, I have become complacent with only a couple miles to go, thinking I could dog it, and then tacking on unnecessary time onto my finish. So I tried not to think about it. My legs didn't really care, anyway. They were dead and achy. 

After Joe handed me more water bottles, I croaked, "Run with me". I was so lonely on this path. I had no one to talk to, I didn't know where I was, and the finish could have been in New Hampshire for all I knew. So like a champ, he ran-walked with me. He let me run ahead when we saw one of the course photographers, so that it would be a picture of just myself. He stayed with me through about 25.75, and then told me the rest was mine. I moaned and started jogging on without him.

I turned a corner, and someone yells "You only have a quarter mile from here!" I was like A QUARTER MILE?! And my legs forgot about the 25.95 they had gone, and I started to run.  I got onto the sidewalk, that I knew led to the finish line, and I was ready. I started picking people off, one by one (I think I accidentally elbowed an old man - sorry!) and saw the banner that said ALMOST DONE that was attached to 2 hay bales. I knew I had PR'ed - I only had a little bit to go, and I was in the 5:13 zone:

So I cranked. Oh God, it hurt so bad and was so euphoric at the same time. 

They said my name as I crossed the finish line. 5:14:41. I PR'd by 3+ minutes. I felt great. 

I got my medal and met my entourage to give them all the biggest hugs, ever:

I really have to give a shout out to my friends and my sister for making the trek up to Vermont with me, and were my support system - not just on race day, but since I started reevaluating running last May. These guys keep me going through the exhaustion and the pain:

After I finished a large Ben & Jerry's ice cream, I sat down to take my sneakers off. Around mile 7, I had realized I forgot to put the anti-chafe on my feet. I cursed myself, but I never felt any pain, which was a win. So I nonchalantly start peeling off my socks, to find this gem (warning: it's pretty frikken gross):

So after a trip to the med tent to fix it up (thanks to those poor medics who touched my feet AND THEN had to deal with the blister) - we were headed to the bar! I got my celebratory beer (aptly named the Ayinger Celebrator): 

I made it about 5 sips in and then......

All in all, it was a great weekend, and a fun race. I have 136 days until Newport (let the countdown begin!) but for now, I'm focusing on resting and recovering (and reading about how to break through that wall). 

Special thanks to Val and Tim, who documented Burlington awesomely - I swiped a bunch of their pictures for this post. 

The quest for 4:59:59 begins again on July 8th!