Boston Marathon Recap

Before Boston, I had won them all.

Monday changed that.

Before this race, I had always experienced tangible success in all of my marathons. In Lake Placid, my first one, I had completed it while also winning my age group. In Philadelphia the first, I had finally qualified for Boston, a feat I feared I would never achieve. The Vermont City Marathon brought me under the 3-hour mark for the first time in my marathon career, even after taking 2 weeks off with a severely sprained ankle. And, Philadelphia the second engendered a belief where I could consider myself a legitimate marathon competitor with my PR of 2:42:52.

Going into Boston, my training was of higher volume, quality and intensity than ever before. While I knew that breaking 2:40 would be no run around the park (pun intended), I didn't come close to worrying about accomplishing my goal until about 3 weeks out when I mangled my hand (see previous post). While I only missed one day of training due to my wounded hand, the trauma my body endured likely set me back a bit. Yet, being the naive 21-year-old I am I felt that I didn't lose too much.

The morning of the race saw me rushing to get to the bus drop off. No, I wasn't running late; the hotel I was staying in encountered a customer, or, somebody that I'd now like to strangle, pull the fire alarm in my hotel at promptly 5 a.m. I, in a borderline zombie-like state, gathered my necessities as expediently as possible and exited the hotel earlier than expected to head to downtown Boston. Once there I realized that, in attempt to collect my racing requirements in the most whirling of dervishes, my gels were still in the hotel room. Sans a cell phone (for fear of losing it), I had no way to call my parents to get the gels so I could refuel during the race.

Marathoners of any type, be they fledglings to the sport, first-timers or even seasoned vets know not to run a marathon on no fuel. It's a death sentence. The key is to begin refueling early in the race so that it helps offset that wall that makes so many runners irascible on the course. Part of the reason why I had such a breakout performance at Philadelphia in November was that of my sage coach, Pete Colaizzo, and I conceived a plan to refuel earlier in the race. Instead of refueling at mile 18 when it's too late to have any meaningful impact, I'd start taking gels at around mile 13 and every 3 miles or so until the finish. On Monday I had no option. All I could rely on to get me to Boylston St. under 2:40 were some water, Gatorade and pure guts.

Through the half I arrived in 1:19:20 and felt so strong. Too strong almost. While my first 5K was an unheard of 18:34 (to put that into perspective, I ran a 5k in cross country in September in 18:30) I slowed down into a solid rhythm that saw me run even splits effortlessly. It's that area that all runners yearn to get to during a marathon. I was truly "in the zone."

This lasted until mile 19, where I instantaneously felt my lull I usually encounter in this area. My strategy going into the race was to start out aggressive, refuel properly, fight the lull between miles 18-21, then use my second wind I always experience until mile 24 and combine that with using the advantageous downhills and sail home.

Yet, that's not quite how things panned out.

Mile 19 saw me at an overall 6:07 pace per mile which would have yielded a 2:40 finish. I felt tired but totally in control. Once I got to mile 22, the combination of over 100,000 feet run and a lack of hydration and refueling set in, essentially having me run in torture until the finish, where I ended up running 2:44.

My family and close friends who were there with me saw the complete feeling of dishevelment branded on my face. I was wholeheartedly devastated with how I did not even PR for the first time, but I also failed to complete a goal in a marathon for the first time. Initially, I was clueless with how to deal with the disappointment.

Disappointment led to thinking, and thinking, and thinking for days, trying to decipher what went wrong, how it didn't go to plan and why I failed. After hours of laboring over the result, I have come to the forthcoming conclusion:

Me running 2:44 is like the venerable Ryan Hall running 2:08. Both are exceptional times, but not quite personal best times. Ryan Hall doesn't PR every time he runs a marathon. Not even Haile Gebrselassie, recognized world record holder at 2:03:59, breaks his own record every time he competes. To think you can do so every time you go out is flat out asinine.

I'll never make an excuse for my performances, Monday included. Sure, my body endeavored into some trauma the past three weeks, I was without gels and that likely affected me mentally. For whatever reason, it wasn't meant to be on Monday.

While this certainly doesn't alleviate the sheer disappointment of not accomplishing what I yearned, I've learned more from this race than almost any other race. I know now to be more prepared before race day and to not be so mentally malleable, to rely on a mental focus that, I must reluctantly admit, wasn't fully there on race day.

The anger and frustration of not attaining what I sought to yields all the motivation I'll ever need to go back and break 2:40 at Boston next year. I know the course. I know what I'm up against. I know who you really are, Newton Hills, and you too, downhills. I know what it takes, mentally and physically, to get up at 5:30 a.m., take an hour bus ride to Hopkinton, wait 2 hours at the athlete's village, then line up to race. I know it all now.

On April 16, 2012, be ready Boston. This time, it's personal.