The 2015 Boston Marathon

[Eco Ellen]

The Boston Marathon
April 20, 2015
 
It rained in Hopkinton.  Standing at the start, getting very wet, I questioned my last minute decision to leave my hat and wear sunglasses.  All around me runners wore trash bags, hats, and long sleeves, while I had opted for a tank top, shorts, and arm warmers.   I did have a long sleeved shirt on top of my race clothes and a ratty old pair of Ben’s socks for my hands, both which I planned to toss after warming up a few miles.  What are your goals, girl?  In six years you’ve raised $46,560 for the Massachusetts Association for the Blind.  What needs to happen today?  Under perfect conditions, I’d look for a 4:30-4:45 marathon.  Today’s conditions are anything but perfect - temps in the 40s, steady rain, 20 mph headwind.  Most of all, though, I hope to stay in control throughout, not give up my race too early, not run too fast in the first half, run evenly and strong to the finish.  What good does it do to be afraid?

Mile 1, 2, 3:  10:51, 10:51, 11:00.

Mile 4:  10:41.  I say goodbye to Ben’s socks, toss them in a trash can as I pass a water station.

Mile 5:  I dash into the bushes to avoid a portapotty line, 11:21.  The rain comes heavy.  I thought my sunglasses might keep the rain and wind out of my eyes; instead, they fog and smear.  I jam them into my spibelt, force the zipper closed.

Mile 6:  10:43.  I ditch the warmup shirt.  Without the heavy wet cotton, I feel exuberant and light, like I might have taken off too much.

Mile 7:  10:52.  A bit of cramping on my right side, a bit of a stomach pain.  I fret.  Am I OK? Will I make it? When do I see my kids – mile 16.5?  What’s before then?  Wellesley.  Make it to Wellesley.  Slow down, stay in control; there are many more miles to run before you let yourself feel strong.

Miles 8, 9, 10, 11:  11:17, 11:01, 11:13, 11:24.  I wonder:  what makes you strong?   Bystanders call my name, tell me I’m strong, to run fastah! You got this!  They hold signs – touch here for power, and run now, poop later, and be strong.  I lose them in my head, chatter through the emails from this past week:  this is Boston, be strong; be brave; have fun; kick some ass.  I spot a parked car and make another dash to avoid the portapotty lines, say in my most commanding voice to the two men already there, Don’t turn around, guys.

I am afraid.   I know that getting from the start to the finish of the Boston Marathon is not really a straight line, and is not guaranteed.  I take small bites of a salted caramel GU, think, get to Wellesley now, they’re waiting.

And they are.  I hear them a half mile before I see them, and choke at the sound of it, the steady roar of women, a background din that gets louder until I am upon them, running downhill, touching them, smiling wide, filling with power, feeling their strength carry me, and even now after six years I am still grateful for them continuing to be there, over and over.

Mile 12, 13, 14:  11:16, 11:16, 10:54.  I have a friend manning the Mile 15 clock and now I need to see him, and worry that might be my right foot cramping.  Have you listened? Have you been holding back? Have you been sufficiently afraid? Keep control, don’t get ahead of the finish before it’s time, and there he is, there’s Arnie, I call his name and before he can do anything I launch into him, hold him hello, and he has me stand in front of the mile marker for a photo, makes me get moving, can’t stand here too long, what’s next?  My kids – my kids at mile 16.5.

Mile 15:  11:11.  The rain is steady, the wind colder and strong.  I scan the ground for discarded hats, see none that I can use.

Mile 16:  11:43.  Another ten miles to go, into the wind and rain, my hands are curled with cold.  My kids are coming up soon, and to my surprise I start whimpering out loud – little puppy noises, thinking, when can I see them? Are they here yet? They’ll be here? I’ll see them soon, right?  And I talk back to myself and say, girl, they’ll be here, they’re always here, hush now, you’re afraid, but you’re strong, you’ll see them, and I think, I’m not strong without them, and I stop whimpering because there they are, there’s Karen’s orange and black Princeton umbrella, there are Ben and Sarah and I rush to grab them, and cry, and hiccough, and hold them, and when they look at me funny and ask why I’m crying I say, be…cause…I’m…so…happy…to.. SEE..youuu and Karen takes pictures and they give me water and more GU which I stuff into my bra and say sadly,  I have to go back now and I will see them again at mile 24.

Mile 17:  13:29.  But it’s just what I needed, to see them, and I set my lower jaw forward, I’ve got more miles to go now.  What’s next?  Hills are what’s next, Newton, the Newton Hills.  I will eat them.

Mile 18:  11:25.  How much longer to stay in control?  When can you see what you have to give?

Mile 19, 20:   11:12, 11:34.  Was it Heartbreak Hill yet?  The rain is hard, my hair slick, my shirt stuck to me, and the built in briefs in my shorts are rubbing my thighs.  I remember a long training run where my eyelashes developed icicles.  Quit? After mile 20? I did not drill hex-head sheet metal screws to the soles of my running shoes in the middle of February to quit today after mile 20.

Mile 21:  Heartbreak is upon us, 12:05.  It had to be Heartbreak because here is Boston College, they’ve been waiting for me, want me near them, all of them yell my name and touch my outstretched hand and I run, for them.  They push me forward, where I need to go.

What do you have left?  Give it back now; it doesn’t belong to you.

Mile 22, 23:  10:53, 11:14.  It’s almost time, my kids again, and there they all are, I hear Mom! And then Ellen! Ben calls me by my first name to get my attention, runs down Beacon Street to let them know I’m coming, and I see them all - Ben, Sarah, Michael, Karen - I throw my arms high, run to the barrier, drag Sarah into a puddle to hug her close, tell them I feel good, kiss them goodbye, I’m almost there, now.

Mile 24, 25:  11:09, 11:29.  The Citgo Sign is covered in fog.  The wind in my face, now I am strong, and running faster.  I hear my name over and over and out of hundreds I spot Mimi and Lisa, smile and wave, run faster, what good does it do to be afraid?  What are you holding onto?  When I tired during training I would check my posture, and pretend two strong hands would straighten my torso, give my lungs more air, make me run taller.  Now, in the final mile, I feel two strong hands, I think those words, two strong hands.  I ask myself, I’m talking to a child, I’m asking her, whatever you have left, what are you saving it for? Now is the time to give it up, it belongs to Boston.  I run strong.  Mile 26?  My fastest mile, 10:36.

And there it is again, just like last year, just like next year, the turn onto Hereford, I’m passing people, I’ve got two strong hands and I smile, take the left on Boylston, can I see the finish through the rain?  The noise now is all around me, maybe even inside me.

It does no good to be afraid.  Be brave.  Take what you need.  Give what you have.  Run faster.  Be strong.  Cry when you’re happy.  Hold those who matter.  It is pouring on Boylston Street.

Mile 26.2:  4:54:40.

In Boston, you are asked for a piece of yourself. 

When you give it, you get a brighter soul.
 

Ellen S. Goldberg
Nahant, MA

[radial]

I did not drill hex-head sheet metal screws to the soles of my running shoes in the middle of February to quit today after mile 20.

  And what a great report!

[siamesedream]

Well done!

[rocketgirl]

   even If you make me tear up

[Beer Gut]

Damn you Ellen.



That's probably the best race report I have ever read.


I could feel every mile with you.  And the cold.  And the rain.



Damn you.

[cherietree]

 

You are one of a kind

[JBM]

Congrats on a great race in truly awful conditions. I'm all teary as you were so strong. I don't know if I could have been so strong in that weather. Good job.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

[Ice Cream]

 Nice report.

[onawhim]

Great job and lovely report as always 

[Suesquatch]

[MoCo]

is it dusty in here?

*sniff*

I'm sad I didn't see you (we were right after the mile 18 water stop on runner's left) but holy crap woman, you ran an amazing, strong race.

[ctjim]

 

[Richard21142]

 

[seattlegirl]

Way to go, Ellen!   

Thanks for sharing your race report with us.

[RunSusanRun]

Wow!  You inspire me

[Arrojo]

Ellen, you are an inspiration and a great writer to boot.  I feel obligated to repost the picture:

[i am party]

Very solid race in awful conditions!  Good work.

[ihop]

Awesome.

Now I need to find a kleenex.   

[moroccangirl]

Ellen that's amazing! I'm in tears!

[junette]

That was beautiful, Ellen. Congratulations!