BOSTON REPORT (Part 2)
Miles 14 to 20 – 7:40,7:50, 7:30, 8:04, 7:54, 8:37, 8:00
On the course, things are still calm enough for the first bit after halfway – up and down and up again but you’re tipping along. By focusing on constant steady burn, I was slowing down alright - but not too much and every mile under 8:00 pace was putting a few seconds in the bag and holding those precious five minutes. Because of my 6/12/18/22 gels stop plan, I knew I had a stop coming at mile 18 – right in the middle of the Newton Hills. This was a good turnout, as it happens, since it meant I could take the hills in two sections – Hills 1 and 2, then a gel stop, then hills 3 and 4. I passed my mate from Bandon for the last time around mile 15 – he was walking and looked fairly shagged, just not his day and tough hills to come.
As you exit Wellesley and approach mile 16, there is a glorious long descent to the Charles River. It’s the last descent before Newton and man, the crowds are out in force. There’s just a wall of noise as you drop down the hill – the far side has a tough climb out of the valley into Newton and up over a flyover but for now I buzzed away down, high-fiving all over. No hiding from it now though, that bill has arrived, and Boston gets real and as you cross over the river and hit the first climb to Newton manners are put on you immediately. The flyover has no footpath, so it gets quiet again for a short while before you get some respite past the hospital. I did reasonably OK here – going a small bit over 8:00 for the climbing mile, but I could feel that the five minutes were going to be needed alright.
There’s only three 90 degree turns on the Boston route, and the first of these comes at the Newton Fire Station. Again, an absolute wall of noise – I know I keep shiteing on about the support but it’s incredible. Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” booming out on both sides of the road and the screams, whistles, shouting and cacophony lift you into the steepest climb of the day. This one is an absolute bastard with a deep saddle at the top so just when you think you’re done, you’ve a bit more to go. You’re into the “stock market graph” part of the course now with a steep descent to mash the quads as you try to recover before hitting the next pull. A water station at 18.4 and my chance to make the third gel stop – fairly bushed now but two Newton hills done, two to go – race plan still intact. “How’s it going?” say the girls at the water stand. “Fantastic!”, I lied.
On again, past the statue of John Kelley to the next climb. Kelley did over 50 Bostons, winning just once, in 1957. Lads are really cramping up now and a fierce posse are walking. My gel stop delivered the goods though, so I could stick at it. LOL, felt like I was crawling but got up and over and the miles were still close enough to target. Not for long and I knew the final big climb up Heartbreak Hill would definitively soak any remaining joy out of the legs. Mile 20 ticked over in 8 minutes dead and that was fine with me
Miles 21 to Finish – 8:24,8:00, 8:28, 9:08, 8:19, 8:28, 7:01 (last 0.5 miles)
Heartbreak Hill – hell when you’re on it, but it’s the core of marathon running. If there’s one condensed explanation for 16 years of doing marathons, this hill is it. Past 20 miles and not much in the tank now. Thousands of people shouting and roaring on the sidelines, willing you up the climb. I’d done it often enough to know where the top was, but also to know how important it was to soak in the atmosphere and to marvel at the buzz as each runner fought their battle for victory in their own personal race. You go under a big banner at the top, negotiate another saddle and then the big descent starts once more. Nobody wants to run downhill at this point – not even the elites. Your quads are fried, and the pain hits you so hard you accommodate with a kind of duck jog to get moving. It’s mile 22, another fabled landmark at Boston, known as “The Graveyard Mile”, because so many Boston plans come unstuck here and so many podium contenders fall away in the difficult descent. So, a modest 8 minutes and once through the mark, I made the final scheduled gel stop. Jaysus, I was in a heap. There was feck all in the tank now, the knee was complaining hard, and the descending was fairly mashing it. Still, stop included, that mile was 8:28 and I was realising that the 3:30 target was looking good.
As you hit mile 23, you’re in the middle of a 2.5 mile run along Beacon Street, beside the commuter railway line and, as well as the crowds, you have all of the train drivers hooting their horns in support as they go by. The crowds are big here and there are a number of crossing points – breaks in the barriers where stewards can allow people over the road when there are breaks between the runners. I was totally bollixed but was reminding myself to drink it in – the intoxicating buzz of the last few miles of a marathon. You know you’re probably going to make it, and the emotions are strong. Sure, you want to finish, but you want to suffer those last miles to get there.
I had just passed one of the crossings and was contemplating the Nietzschean totality of these feelings - embracing the suffering like – when some unscheduled pain got added to the load. I felt a stiff push into my back and my legs also entangling with whatever was behind me. There was no “sailing through the air” moment – first feeling was my forehead and shoulder hitting the tarmac – smack! The interloping perp seemed defiant. It’s funny, with nothing left, you’d think I’d have been stuck on the ground, but I couldn’t believe how pissed off I was, jumping to my feet, letting a roar at her and declining the medical assistance offered by a volunteer. I knew if a medic looked at me, they’d haul me off the course so, tottering a fair bit at first, I got running again. LOL, I must have looked a sight on the run in with the blood down my face and off my shoulder. Even through the pain of the running I could feel the scald of the road burn on my shoulder, arm and leg. Looking at the splits, I’d say she cost me 40 seconds or so.
mile 25 - the CITGO climb
Sox fans deliver support at Fenway
On we went down Beacon Street, through mile 25 and time for one last highlight, the massed Red Sox fans outside Fenway by the famous climb to the CitGo sign and we could all feel the finish now. Down under the underpass, LOL, struggle up the far side and onto the last climb of Hereford Street before rounding the last corner onto the (downhill!) run-in on Boylston Street. It’s just a wall of noise at this stage but a check of the watch shows we’re good for the sub 3:30 and that’s another Boston medal nailed.
Into the chute, water, foil blanket, medal! Plus, the only negative thing about Boston – the food bag was absolute mank – “low fat” high processed apple chips and the like along with a cellophane-wrapped “bread” roll that will still have the same chemical composition the day of the 10,000th Boston marathon. A cheap option, unfortunately – even a Snickers and a bag of crisps would do the job. No matter, met the buddies, for beers, burgers and a super slow, stiff-legged walk home to bed.
Even though I’ve never run a slower marathon (even a year ago I ran 3:01 in Seville), I’m getting so old that the time is still a solid BQ for next year. Will wait now and try to fix the knees on a more sustainable basis. If I can crack that problem, there’s definitely more marathons to do.
But, as you can probably gather, nothing beats Boston lads.
