22 April: Afternoon: 7 miles at APG (50 minutes), Evening: 6 miles in Baltimore (45 minutes)
23-24 April: off
25 April: Afternoon: 10 miles (70 minutes) at APG, Evening: 6 miles (45 minutes) Baltimore
26 April: 5 miles (40 minutes) shake-out in Louisville, Kentucky
27 April: Morning: 26.2 miles, Kentucky Derby Marathon, 3:10 pace group leader, in 3:09:17 (gun; 3:09:16 chip), Evening: 5 miles (40 minutes), over the Second Street Bridge to Indiana and back.
Total Time: 585 minutes
Total Distance: 80.2 miles
It's been a wordless sort of past couple of weeks for the world in general, and for this blog in particular. That's not a coincidence. Originally, when I left for a two-week vacation in Costa Rica, I thought that I would post about all of the awesome adventures that I was having there. But Internet access was sporadic, and by the time I was about to post something, it was April 15th, and Boston happened. For the first time in eight years, I wasn't running Boston, and, being relatively isolated in a hostel at the foot of Mount Chirripo, Costa Rica's highest mountain, I didn't find out about it until about 5 hours after the event. At that point, dozens of people had already tried to contact me to see if I was okay, and I used what limited Internet access that I had to let everybody know that I was safe, and to try to figure out if everybody that I knew who was there was safe.
From my far-away mountain-view, the scene, based on words alone, was vivid, yet surreal and senseless. I've run down Boylston Street towards that finish line eight times now. There was the sweet relief of my first finish in 2005, my heartbreaking blow-up in 2006, the numb struggle in the cold drizzle of 2007, more heartbreak in 2008, and finally sub-3-hour redemption in 2009. A sub-3-hour repeat in 2010, a strong sub-2:50 in 2011 followed by a happy surprise visit from my parents, and a just-glad-to-finish in the heat of 2012. I've seen a lot at that finish line, and felt what seemed to cover the range of conceivable emotions that could be felt at a marathon finish line. I never would have guessed that in 2013, the first time in eight years that I didn't cross that finish line on Patriot's Day, I would feel a new emotion: survivor's guilt.
I spent the rest of the week with these nagging feelings that I should have been there, to help in some way. Logically, things happened the way that they happened, there's no changing that, and there's no guarantee that being there would have made any difference. For all I know, I could have wandered back to the finish line at the wrong time and been injured or killed. But the idea that so many people were hurting as a result of something that I had once been so close to, and now was so far away from, and so powerless to affect, was truly nagging at me. Especially considering that I was on vacation, having fun, my situation seemed completely incongruent with that of the victims, and that bothered me even more. (My cat Ash died just before I left for Costa Rica, on top of all of that, so that really wasn't helping my mental state either.) And I really didn't have words for it until that paragraph that I just wrote.
But physically, I've been getting stronger, training better, recovering faster, and feeling better overall. So while I was I was in Costa Rica, and Dan sent me a Facebook message saying that he wouldn't be able to pace 3:10 at the Kentucky Derby Marathon, I strongly considered it, as, schedule willing, it seemed like something I could do without killing myself too much (even though it would be risking a Boston-Qualifying attempt at New Jersey the following weekend). But after more thought, I felt as though there was no way that I couldn't do it, for the sake of all of those affected at Boston.
So at 6 a.m. on Friday, I hopped in the van at the Hagerstown Park-And-Ride for the 8+ hour drive to Louisville, Kentucky. As usual, these road trips yield amusing sights - a tanning shack next to a gas station in West Virginia? Wild and Wonderful, indeed. Otherwise, it was an uneventful drive, followed by a shake-out run along the Louisville waterfront (the highlight of which was running up and down a pyramid in a playground), standard pasta dinner at the expo, pace team meeting, and early bedtime.
Race morning was cool (mid-50s) and overcast, with very light winds. Take away the Harlem Shake playing at the starting line, and you had perfect weather for the race. I stood there in my bright orange shorts and singlet, holding up my 3:10 pace sign, while people crowded around me, most hesitant to outright commit to the group. After a country-singer rendition of the national anthem, and an awkward exchange between the male and female announcer, in which the female announcer unabashedly proclaimed her gratitude for runners' work on their bodies, while the male announcer tried to steer her away from the topic as quickly as possible, we were off.
In contrast to 2010, I was allowed to line up much closer to the starting line, and didn't have to fight through a slow crowd to get on pace. I was over-prepared for a fight, though, and we went through the first mile at 6:40 - oops, 35 seconds in the bank already. I backed off, although not too much, too rapidly, and after our run through Churchill Downs at 8 miles, we were about a minute fast, which is about what we would maintain for the remainder of the race. We were right on pace through the hills in Iroquois Park; maybe seeing the leaders coming out of the park when we were going in, in a very close race, made us run a little tougher. Even at the mile 21 turn-off into the wind and the industrial area, I still had a group of five people with me, all hanging tough. Two would go on ahead to finish just ahead of me, pushing each other to the finish in their first marathon, two would finish just behind me, and one sadly fell back a bit and came in at 3:10:24 . . . just short of a Boston Qualifying time. I spent some time reassuring him that it was his first marathon, and he would have another shot at it in the fall, until his girlfriend dragged him away from the finish line (at which point I was too cold to keep standing there anyway).
I finished 43 seconds on the happy side of par, which was important, since Boston Qualifying times now no longer have a 59-second grace period past the mark, and the people you're pacing would prefer not to miss a qualifying time by sticking with you and running just a little too slowly as a result. But even more importantly, I had a good group of runners with me, and, considering that a lot of people in faster pace groups tend to drop at around 20 miles, it was a good feeling to not just be finishing by myself.
Later that evening, after general hanging out at the hotel, where (as if life needed to be more strange) both a prom and a bodybuilding competition were happening (spray tan on the third floor!), I went for a run with Emily (the only person that I could drag with me after all the food and drink) over the bridge to Indiana. We were serenaded with the sounds of the Uncle Kracker concert as we crossed over the Second Street bridge, under a light drizzle, traffic flying past us and kicking up spray from the concrete. The waterfront park on the Indiana side was cozily lit and serene, and the downtown Louisville lights glowed across the Ohio River. As we hit our turnaround point and headed back, I thought about Boston again. Being on the mountain when Boston happened, just like being on the Indiana side of the bridge, felt uncomfortably worlds away. But as runners, we're not always running away from things, as funny folks on the street like to jokingly suggest at times when we pass. As reports were indicating about the response to what happened in Boston, we're more often running towards things - to better things, and to make things better. Stepping in to pace at the Kentucky Derby Marathon, pacing well, and bringing people to the finish line on time, although a small thing in the vast world of running, was one small step in the giant human race towards healing from the tragedy and making things better.
As we turned right off of the bridge and headed back for the hotel, in spite of many miles on my legs, I felt comfortable, I felt strong, and I felt fast. I finally felt like I was moving forward from Boston 2013. Once again, my heart goes out to everybody that was affected by the tragedy. Stay strong; the way everybody has moved so far forward already is truly inspiring.
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