Boston Marathon 2018 Race Report

[Arrojo]

Long before race day, I knew this would be my last Boston Marathon.  I feel lucky enough to have done 7 previously, but they get harder and harder to train for each time, and at age 59, I realize that life is short and there are better ways to spend my winters than training for a marathon.
 
Like all marathoners I watched the forecast closely.  Ten days out, they called for a 30% chance of showers, high in the 50’s with a tailwind.  Not bad!  Plenty of time for the forecasted rain to change to cloudy.  But every day when I checked the update, the chances of rain grew:  50%.  Then 60%, Then 80%.  Four days out it went to 100%.  And the predicted tailwind had become a 20-30mph ENE headwind.  Two days out, the only change in the forecast was that the predicted temps had dropped to the low 40’s.
 
I went through all of the stages with the forecast:  First, denial (Oh, BS!  They are always wrong, it’s not going to rain).  Then anger (WTF?!  Grrr. I train my ass off all winter and this is what happens??!!)  Then grief (<sniff>;  waaaaah!).  Finally, acceptance.  Bring it on.  I can’t change it.  Deal with it.  Embrace it.
 
I consider myself a very experienced runner (even if not a fast distance runner any more).  I’ve been racing for over 40 years.  I’ve run in everything imaginable, and yes even torrential downpours.  But the longest race in a downpour I’ve ever done was a 10K.  No runner would ever dream of training in 26.2 miles of this – a required long training run on a day like this would be switched to another day (or for a different kind of torture, done on a treadmill).
 
My running club had a healthy debate on its FB page about what to wear.  Lots of great experience there but one bit of advice from a respected friend (and amazing runner, Mike S.) got my attention: “I’m a fan of including a water-repellent running vest (instead of the full sleeves on a jacket) as part of the ensemble as I feel like it is far more breathable due to the armholes.  Then I try to get the right amount of warmth from other items like hat, gloves, and/or paired with a long-sleeved breathable fabric shirt.  Many jackets can get quite heavy when they get wet to try to run in.” A light bulb went off.  I am always hot when I run (which would serve me well on this race day), and my trusty winter running jacket (which is always too hot for me when it’s in the 40’s anyway) would not serve any purpose for me here.  Other advice included wearing thin wool blend socks since heavier normal marathon cushion socks would just get soaked anyway.
 
The day before the race, I had seriously considered going to the CH meetup in Boston, but I needed to do some shopping.  I bought waterproof gloves, and light wool wicking socks and looked for a running vest.  The local running store directed me to the local bicycle store, where I bought a great tech wind/water resistant vest.  It wasn’t waterproof, but it was quite windproof.
 
Race day.  Living one town over from the starting line has benefits.  I slept in, and stayed warm at home.  Looking outside, it was a steady rain – but not a total downpour!  You take what you can get.  As usual, my wonderful wife, Robin, was crewing me and would see me at the start, in Natick, in Newton and at the finish.  We took the back roads into Hopkinton, and I got on one of the very last runner shuttle buses.  By the time the bus got to the drop off area, I simply had to walk (in a giant crowd) to the starting line.  Because of the rain, it was a rolling start – no standing around in corrals.  Just before I reached the starting line, I said goodbye to my old too-tight running pants so I could run in shorts; my waist was immediately thankful.  Despite the predicted windchills, my legs are never cold when I run, and I figured any pants would just get soaked and heavy and uncomfortable and I was happy with my shorts decision.
 
Mile 1 – 10:48  Slightly too fast (shooting for 11’s until halfway then pick up the pace for a negative split). And my breathing is a struggle.  I have asthma so the first few miles of any race or long run are always tough for me until my breathing settles down.
 
Mile 2 – 10:58.  Good pace, still struggling with breathing.  It’s raining steadily there’s wind in my face and I’m also getting hot.  (Am I the only runner who said that on this day)?
 
Mile 3 – 13:16  Our running club is responsible for manning all the clocks for the BAA (which I have done many times myself).  I see my club friends Derek and Helen manning the 3-mile clock and I ask them to help me shed a layer, a t-shirt under my outer plastic poncho, my old  Framingham South high school track singlet and my new windproof vest.  We all struggle for a couple of minutes trying to figure out how to get the poncho back on as the winds are whipping it around.  I realize a good time (for me) is likely out the window.
 
Mile 4 – 10:38 too fast and my breathing is still not right.  Is the vest too tight?  I unzip it a little.
 
Mile 5 – 11:55.  Howling winds slow me down.  The rain picks up.  My “waterproof” gloves are completely saturated.  I stop and ask a volunteer to please dig out my hand warmers from my back vest pocket.
 
Mile 6 – 11:34  Framingham!  As usual, the crowd loves me (or loves my old Framingham South HS singlet anyway) and is a nice pick-up.  My breathing finally under control, I am smiling and except for my hands, feel pretty good.
 
Mille 7 – 11:33  I learn that handwarmers are completely useless when they are thoroughly soaked.  I studiously try to avoid puddles, but some of them are hidden in manhole covers (who knew?) and I step in a giant one. I still try to avoid them but it’s impossible.  My knee starts to hurt a little, but I see running club friends at each clock and I yell and say hi.
 
Mile 8 – 11:54 I shouldn’t be this slow – not this early – but it can’t be helped.  The wind is hard to run against.  I turn to a runner next to me and say “this isn’t so bad,” and we share a laugh.  I thanked the volunteers handing out water.  Having volunteered for this race approximately 44 times (beginning in 1967 when I handed out oranges to the runners), I know it can be much harder for them to be standing out here (up to 8 hours or more) in these conditions than to run in it.  I was actually thankful I was running and not volunteering this year.
 
Mile 9 – 15:43  Robin is waiting for me at our usual spot.  She says I look good.  She told me I was one of the few people wearing shorts.  But my legs felt fine and I didn’t need anything in the large bag of stuff (running pants, jacket, socks, long-sleeved tech shirt, bandaids, vaseline) we’d prepared.  I told her the ‘waterproof’ gloves and handwarmers were useless and my hands were frozen.  She offers me the old ski gloves she is wearing.  I had considered wearing these pre-race, but they are always very hot – I only wear them for runs < 20 degrees.  But they’re waterproof and I want them now.  I kiss her goodbye and say “see you in Newton”   As I turn to run away, I realize I cannot get the gloves on.  I am not able to squeeze my soaked and cold hands into the gloves at all, nor do I have enough dexterity to force them on.  I ask a volunteer for help and she can’t do it either.  Finally, two volunteers, plus my teeth, are enough to get these gloves on my hands.  Its comical actually, and I thank them profusely.   I also stop to pee.
 
Mile 10  – 11:51.  I greet Eric and Jeff at the 15K clock.  Eric, usually taking pictures, says his camera phone is too cold to work.  But my friend Deede takes this great picture of me near Natick Center (picture 1 below).   



My knee still hurts a little more, but the rain is actually distracting from any leg pain.  I smile and thank all the volunteers for standing out there in this.  I see the immortal Rich Busa at the mile 11 clock and we are both laughing.
 
Mile 11 – 11:50.  The skies completely open up.  It’s an extreme downpour.  The rain is actually bouncing off the ground.  I’ve never seen this before.  It looks like sleet – it isn’t – but it is acting like sleet.  A gung ho spectator is cheering us on, I high five him and say “this isn’t so bad” and we both laugh heartily.
 
Mile 12 -   12:51  It’s the Wellesley women!  They were out in full force with Kiss Me and Free Hugs signs.  I high fived and hugged and kissed them, and I was tearing up.  I knew it was my last trip through here, and these women were so awesome, lifting my spirits.  “Thank you! Thank you!”  I repeated over and over.  My tears were unexpected (picture 2 below).


 
Mile 13 – 12:16 I need a Gu. My ski gloves, which were warm and  mostly dry for a few miles are not anymore.  My fingers are numb.  I ask a volunteer if she wouldn’t mind digging in my shorts pocket to find my Gu. Marathons make us do odd things.  She digs it out and with little prompting, opens it for me.  I thank her profusely. Many runners are running with heads down, trying to get through it. But except for my hands, I’m not cold at all.  The vest is working!  I pump my fists at the spectators, and we share the love with each other.
 
Mile 14 – 11:55.  I always shoot for a negative split in any race and have done so in Boston four previous times.  I figured I was record-breakingly (for me) slow in the first half so maybe I can pull it off here.  I pick up my pace slightly.
 
Mile 15 – 12:37   I believe that happiness is a choice.  Of course there are some times when it’s inappropriate – the death of a friend or family member, people living in some parts of the world… but this?  Ridiculous marathon conditions?  It’s a first world problem.  Some suffering and pain, yes, but it’s of limited duration.  Our attitude won’t change the weather conditions.  We can choose to be miserable or happy.  For this, my last Boston Marathon, I chose happiness and laughter.  Because the other option is to cry, and it’s more fun to laugh.
 
Mile 16 – 13:52  I saw Ed at the mile 16 clock.  “Hey Ed!”  “Hey Arnie!”  We both laughed no other words necessary.  I had to pee again.    I ducked into a porta potty.  My ski gloves by now were thoroughly saturated, like a sponge, and my fingers were numb.  I fumbled trying to pull up my layers up top with one hand while trying to pull my shorts down with the other.  Let’s face it, generally speaking women have it much worse than men when it comes to public urination.  The world is our urinal, and women’s lines are invariably longer than men’s lines.  But here, the tables are turned.   I faced a dilemma.  Without getting too graphic, I had to somehow aim Mr. Happy where he needed to be aimed.  Normally a task taken for granted without a second thought became an ordeal with heavy wet gloves and fingers that could not be felt.  I laughed at the predicament.  I guess some help here would be a little too much to ask of a volunteer.  Somehow, after an eternity, I figured it out and rejoined the race.
 
Mile 17 – 13:07  I saw Marie at the clock, and she said I looked great!  Thank you, Marie.  I told her she looked great too and thanked her for being out there.  My knee no longer hurt because I couldn’t feel it.  The skies opened up again with another heavy deluge.
 
Mile 18 – 13:58  Robin was waiting for me.  She told me I looked good.  I told her I loved her.  I asked her how she was doing.  She said she was thankful we weren’t volunteering this year.  She had the bag o’ stuff, but all I needed from it was a Cliff bar.  She said “you probably need me to open it for you.”   I walked up the hill eating the Cliff bar quickly, I didn’t want to walk too much.
 
Mile 19 – 14:32 Alison greeted me at the clock with a big “hi”.  She looked like she was having a great time cheering on all the runners.  Shortly after, my legs suddenly stopped running.  They just stopped.  It surprised me.  Other than water stops (or Cliff bar eating), I’ve never stopped to walk in the middle of a race. A slow death jog?  If necessary, sure, but this was a first.  I looked down at my legs.  I tried reasoning with them.  “Dudes.  What’s up?”  “No mas” came the answer. I trained very hard for this and was in shape.  But after 20 miles of running into strong headwinds, these 59-year-old legs were fried.  OK, my brain’s still in charge here.  When we get to that telephone pole, I told my legs, we’ll run again.  And so we did.
 
Mile 20 – 14:05    Judy was with the volunteers handing out water.  I thanked them for being out there.  They said “thank you for running!”  The steady rain became another deluge.  Heavy rain into a headwind as I made my way up Heartbreak Hill.  Of course.  This was work, the smile was gone.
 
Mile 21 – 13:56   My legs stopped again.  I knew better than to argue.  OK, at that no parking sign up ahead, we’ll start running again.  And so we did.  I never doubted I’d finish, but my brain and my legs replayed this dance quite a few more times.  And I still wasn’t cold (other than my hands) – the fact that I am always hot when I run – plus the sage running gear advice served me well on this day.
 
Mile 22 – 12:22  Downhill, and my fastest split since 14.  I was laughing in the rain, high fiving the BC kids.   At Cleveland Circle, turning toward Beacon St., the road was a river.  Avoiding puddles was no longer an option.  I splashed and smiled and shook my head.  What can you do?
 
Mile 23-26.2  53:50. (12:49 avg) I do not own a Garmin or other GPS watch.  Old school Timex Triathlon for me.  You just push the button at every mile to record your split. How cold and numb do your fingers have to be before you can no longer push a button on your running watch?  This cold, apparently.  No more splits for me.
 
My gloves had become a burden.  Finally, near Coolidge Corner, I threw them off.  Goodbye old ski gloves!  Suddenly, my hands were 5 pounds lighter.  If I had realized how heavy they were I would have ditched them earlier.  And my hands and fingers were already useless so there was little impact.   I also ditched my plastic poncho.  Gotta look good for the finish cameras.
 
Mile 24 – Oh no, I had to pee again!  WTF?  I‘ve never had to pee more than once in a marathon (usually just after the start because I am so hydrated).  But today although I duly took fluids at every water stop, I guess I wasn’t really sweating it off.  And no I wasn’t going to hold it in for 2+ miles.  Inside the port-o-john, I used my newly learned frozen fingered methodology.  I was also aware of the pelting rain on the roof.
 
Mile 25 – Kenmore Square.  What a sight.  The crowds were still cheering us.  Take it in, this is the last time.  Kenmore Square, for me, is the best part of the course.  I teared up again.  I raised my arms and smiled and looked at both sides of the road and yelled back at the fans.
 
Mile 26 - Usually, my last mile is my fastest.  But I’d been doing the brain vs legs argument for the past few miles and was astonished to find myself walking again under the Mass Ave overpass just before Hereford St.  I slapped myself on the side of my face and started running again.  I turned onto Boylston and could see the finish line.  It may not have been my fastest mile of the day, but the end was my fastest 400 of the day, anyway.  A sprinter at heart.  I crossed the line and stopped.  And for the first time all day, I felt cold.  But the smile never left my face.
 
My time was 5:31.  An hour slower than my previous slowest marathon.  But I’ve never run 26.2 miles in a deluge with 20-30 mph sustained headwinds in 40 degree temps. Nor have the 25,821 other runners who finished this race, I am certain.  I’m very happy to have finished.  On to Fargo for my marathon swan song in 5 weeks.
 

[nadra's babydaddy]

YESYESYES!!!

[BonitaApplebum]

Really fantastic, Arnie! I love how you stayed so positive. I couldn't do that. Congrats.

[Coyote Mas Loco]

Hey great report Arrojo! Very interesting to see your gear discussion, seems like yours worked pretty well--the best innovation I noticed was a guy wearing an inverted bubble wrap bag with holes cut out for his head and arms. Simple, water proof, and maybe even insulated. Figured he had to be an engineer or something.

Have a good recovery and enjoy your final marathon next month, but no doubt you'll be on the sprint circuit for years ahead.   

[JBM]

Great job!

[Rochey]

Nice report!!!  Congrats!

[Eco Ellen]

Bad.  Ass.

[Fast Eddie]

Terrific race report.  Congrats to you.  You did awesome in brutal conditions.   

[cherietree]

I laughed out loud at some of the pictures you painted. Thank you so much for sharing...you're just what Ellen said. Bad. Ass.

[Arrojo]

Hey great report Arrojo! Very interesting to see your gear discussion, seems like yours worked pretty well--the best innovation I noticed was a guy wearing an inverted bubble wrap bag with holes cut out for his head and arms. Simple, water proof, and maybe even insulated. Figured he had to be an engineer or something.

Have a good recovery and enjoy your final marathon next month, but no doubt you'll be on the sprint circuit for years ahead.   

Thanks Coyote!  It doesn't take much analyses to see that cold weather runners fared much better in this race than others - from the elites all the way down to riff raff like me. Which makes Texas Rochey's race even more impressive. 

Bad.  Ass.

Takes one to know one. 

[SnarlyMarly]

Congratulation sir!!!

[Richard21142]

 

[diablita]

good job Arrojo

[chqm8]

Fuckin-A man.  That was awesome!  Great job.  5+ hours in that slop.  "First world problem" maybe, but bad-ass definitely!