Running down a dream

Flashback to 2003:
I am in Evil Twin #2's apartment on Newbury Street in Boston. We are hammered. In our drunken state, we list all the things we are going to do in Boston before we leave. 1) See a Red Sox game 2)Do a Duck Tour 3) Run the Boston Marathon 4) Buy a wedding dress at the basement.

Foward to late 2005:
ET#2 has long left the state, having graduated to an adult job in the big apple. However, I am still in Boston in school and that does not seem to be going that well. I realize that I am going to be 30 soon. Thus, begins my one third-life crisis. 1) Spend money to supe up my bicycle. (Can't afford a sports car) 2) I make out with a 22-year old in the back of the Gypsy Bar. (Although he was nice enough to believe I was 25) 3) Decide to run the Boston Marathon.

Let's be serious. I am a weekend warrior at best. So what is a novice to do? Why look to the internet, of course. I google "marathon training" and download an excel spreadsheet with training milage on it. I get a membership to a local gym. I buy new shoes, socks, and sports bras. I am ready to train during New England's mild winter.

April 17th, 2006

The start
I am ridiculously nervous. Why am I anxious about an extracurricular activity? I can't sleep due to a strange combination of restless leg syndrome, insomnia, and overhydration. I get out of bed at about 7:30am. I putz around my room trying to make sure that I have nothing to do when I get back. I make breakfast: three packets of McCann's instant apple cinnamon oatmeal, a glass of orange juice and a mug of chamomille tea. I eat while watching Good Morning America.

D picks me up at 9:50am. He drives me and his sister to the start line at Hopkinton. D's sister, also a D, is a very experienced marathon runner, and qualifies for this event year after year. She is eating "Peeps" in the back of the car. She is not anxious.

We part ways after taking a shuttle bus from the drop off location to the start line. People crowd the street in every which direction. I walk a mile up a hill towards the athlete's village with my plastic red Adidas bag. I sit down on the ground and eat a banana as I watch all the people around me stretch, jump up and down, and talk about race strategy. The people around me make me more nervous with their heightened level of energy. I use one of the 400 Port-o-Johns and leave my bag and fleece on the bag delivery bus.

The microphone calls the second wave of starters to the start line. The not-so-tight security let me through the barricadeswithout checking to see whether I had a number. They corral the runners by number. My number being 21189 meant that I was close the end of the packs. The official start for the second wave is at 12:30pm. We walk towards the start. I step on the rubber Champion Chip pad about ten minutes later.

Miles 1-3
The first part of the race is fairly residential and wooded. We pass under trees with no leaves. On the side of the road are lines of men urinating. The women take a more modest approach and hike into the woods. In my head, I keep thinking Coach M told me to take it slow, so I try my best not to try to keep up with the pace of the crowd. This feat is very difficult when the people passing you are men and women who went grey long into the last millennia. We pass by a biker bar in Ashland. They are playing ACDC. I make the “head banger’s ball” gesture with my hands. It gets applause.

Miles 4-8
I have finally found a comfortable pace. I throw away my gloves. It is not the only article of clothing disposed by a runner. The gutter is lined with t-shirts, gloves, and hats. All the nervous feelings have left me. Along the way, I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Evil-twin #1? Evil twin #1!”

It is G, the boy I dated last year, the one whose friendship ended after big brouhaha in December. “Holy guacamole.” I say, “What are the chances?”

“About 1 in 30 some thousand,” he said “So how is it going?”

We chat for a while. Awkward small talk, the kind you do when you have things to say, but choose to be nice instead. Eventually, we are just running alongside each other in silence. I hate to admit it, but it is nice having someone run beside you. It passes the time away, and at least he has a watch so I get the occasional time update. He takes off after a few miles. I will learn later that he ends up burning out, and finishes less than a minute ahead of me.

Miles 9-20
As I am running, I realize I am getting a little bored. Perhaps training on the treadmill in front of a television was not a good idea. By this time the novelty of watching the crowds and making stories about the other runners has completely has dissipated. I notice that I have been running at the same pace as a blonde haired woman in a fluorescent lime jersey for a mile.

“Sorry, I know this sounds weird, but can I run alongside you? I am kind of lonely,” I say.

“Oh that is not weird. Of course, you can,” she says.

This marathon is the 6th Boston she has run, and the 3rd marathon she has run this year. She is from Idaho, and has three grown children (I am surprised to find out she is in her fifties). One daughter lives in Utah, the other in Baltimore, and her youngest son, the one that just got married, lives in Texas. She tells me her strategy for the race and shows me the GPS device on her left wrist.

Time goes by quickly with my new friend J. I tell her about school and all of our loyal Evil Twins’ readers. We discuss politics. She is Republican, but thinks there is not enough debate in this country so she is fine with the fact that I am a lefty communist pinko.

I ask her if we have hit Heartbreak Hill yet. She says we just went over it. Talking with her distracted me so that I did not even realize the incline. She says the hill kind of left her spent and that she was slowing down a bit. I say okay and keep going. Who knows when I will start cramp up? It was best not to slow down just yet.

Mile 21 to 26.1
I am on my own again. The drunken boys and girls of Boston College are out in force. I cannot even hear myself think over the cheering. I know that soon I will hit Beacon Street and see my friends.

A little past Cleveland Circle, I see my friends at their designated spot. Unfortunately, they are looking in the opposite direction. So I start waving my hands and yell, “Hey guys!” S sees me and tells everyone else. I take some water from them. My legs are burning so I do not stop for too long.

Further down, I see another group of friends and I give them a wave. I am really glad to have all these people out here. It gives me an incentive to keep running. I tell myself I can walk when I see the next group, and then to the next group and so on until I finally make it to Kenmore Square.

The finish
When I cross the blue finish line, I am disoriented by the sea of silver blanketed people ahead of me. Volunteers corral us into lines to hand out water and aid. Runners are on the side lines some of them staggering along the police barricades.

The whole thing seems anti-climatic. I am not out of breath and my legs have crossed over from pain to numb so I feel physically alright. I pick up my bag and got to the meeting area to find Coach M.

Coach M and my roommate B drive me home. At the apartment, I shower. 30 minutes later, B, S, D, and Evil Twin #2 walk through the door with two large orders of fries. (Having given fried potato products for Lent, it was the only thing I wanted to eat.) I ate one large order and listen to them talk.

Epilogue
Now that I have had a week to reflect back onto the experience, I realized that it was really much more than the race itself. Yes, there was some training involved, but more importantly it was a real team effort. (Sorry, for my Disney moment.) I had five coaches, B, S, D, N and Coach M. I had my cheerleading section of Evil Twin #2, V, Isa and my sister who patiently listened to the endless jabber about running. My friends who came out to Beacon, my friends who donated money, my friends who think nothing I do is too ridiculous. And of course, I would like to give a very special shout out to Wyeth and Bayer, the makers of Advil and Aleve.