Boston Marathon 2018 - Lisa

Boston 2018. Sometimes reaching the start line is the biggest battle. Since March of 2017, when I was in my last long run before Boston, I’d been dealing with knee injuries. In mile 15 of my final 20 miler last year I stepped down with my left leg and felt a sharp pain shoot up from my knee. I tried, but running through it was impossible. I knew it was bad. I yelled, cried, threw things, and made a fool of myself in rock creek park. Thankfully a dear friend was with me to corral me out of the park and towards a cocktail. My Boston 2017 and all the goals I had for it (on post it’s around my apartment) were in the garbage can. I still “ran”, but it was more of a 26 mile pain management project than a race, and i vowed that I would never allow that to happen to me again. I started PT, and the process of figuring out what was going on with my legs.

5 months ago I was once again accepted onto the MS Society team for Boston, and I started fresh after the move to NYC. I began working with Coach Audra and with Jason at Finishline PT.  I learned that I hadn’t been engaging my glutes when I run, and overusing my quads in the process. I spent months learning how to mentally activate both my hamstrings and glutes and change the way I run. It wasn’t a linear process. There were many weeks of pain and setbacks, and as little as two months prior to Boston I could barely run a few easy miles without knee pain. And then, somehow about 6 weeks before race day it all just came together. I was running without pain, and faster. A good amount faster. And I couldn’t make myself run at the paces I used to. My legs just wanted to go. Truthfully I am not sure what flipped the switch, but by the time the long weekend miles rolled around I felt like I was flying. Every single day I woke up and did at-home PT in the morning, and sometimes again at night. I went to see Jason at Finishline twice a week. I sat in the Normatec boots religiously, and I ran myself until I thought I was going to throw up. Every run that Coach Audra had paces listed, I wanted to beat them. It wasn’t just redemption for last year that I wanted, I wanted to go out there and do something I could be proud of, to toss myself at this beast of a course full throttle and see what happened. I wanted to show up in Hopkinton on race day and know that I collected every single piece of hay there was to put in my barn. And then I wanted to burn it the f*ck down.

Race weekend was lovely. I wasn’t too stressed about the Monday weather because generally I like it cold and even a bit rainy when I run. I’d packed lots of clothing options and largely ignored the forecast outside of maybe one check a day. I did my usual hanging out, seeing friends, having some wine with dinner, and waited until Sunday to really start thinking about race day. As for the plan, let’s just say I laughed in Audra’s face when she told me how fast she thought I was capable of running. Literally laughed, in her face. Told her she was insane and should get her head checked. But sure, ok let’s go for it. Why not, right?

From the moment I got up at 5am on race day it was pouring outside. Not a drizzle, not a light rain, but pouring. Sideways. I told myself I was made for this weather, that I like it chilly and rainy and tough, so suck it up buttercup. I got dressed and over to the busses on the common and onto the very first bus so I could make the TV standup at 7:30am. My wave wouldn’t go off until 11:15, so that meant 4 hours out in the cold, muddy slosh that was runner’s village in Hopkinton. I found a little space under one of the tents, wrapped my feet in trash bags, found a piece of plastic to sit on and just hunkered down for a few hours. I forced my way through the rest of the food I’d brought with me and made myself down two bottles of water. All I wanted was to be dry and warm, but I kept thinking about all of the work I did to get there, the thousands of people with MS and other issues who would gladly trade places with me and have that opportunity, and I told myself to be grateful. It works.

I started to strip off the outer layers as I trudged to the start line. Race officials told us in wave 4 that they weren’t going to hold us for our usual start time, that we’d be released just on the heels of wave 3 so that we didn’t have to stand in the downpour longer than absolutely necessary. I wiggled my way up towards the front of the wave 4 pack and got all of my layers situated. I’d never anticipated running in two shirts and a jacket, so it felt bulky but appropriate.

The first 4-5 miles felt pretty good despite the weather. My plan had me running mid 9’s, but as I started to tick off miles I realized that the 9:30’s didn’t feel as easy as they should. It was hard to seperate the wind from the rain, but I knew I must be using more effort than normal. I pulled my head back to the present and tried to enjoy the fact that I was finally running.

From about mile 6 to the half I was still feeling fine, but my feet were now soaked through and the rain was somehow even worse. I was on pace, but could feel that my effort was too high for the relative pace. I reminded myself to stay in the moment and deal with the mile I’m in. I hit the half and was right on target for the paces in my plan. I knew the real work was ahead of me, so I tried to put my head down and stay focused.

In miles 14-17 I started to get very cold, and could feel my hips tightening. I’ve never had this happen, so focused on engaging my glutes and my form and tried to loosen up. For about a mile I thought it was working well. I got my stride back and felt good on the available flats and downhill sections. Overall effort was still much more at each pace than normally required. 

By mile 17 my hips felt completely locked up. I couldn’t get my legs under me the way I wanted and the uphills were especially hard. The rain had lightened a little bit at the midway point but came back with gusto just as I was trudging up firehouse hill. With that right turn the wind was now directly in our faces. I can honestly say I never thought about quitting. I felt cold, and stiff, and frustrated, but I knew I was in the middle of my hardest work, and I wanted to push myself. I was resigned to the weather by this point, and if you’d given me one wish it would be to loosen my hips up so I could hit the paces I wanted to. 

All through the Newton hills I was off pace. I knew it. I was mad. And there truly wasn’t anything more I could do. Every single part of my body from the waist down hurt, and what didn’t hurt was frozen. I started to do math, and in doing math I sometimes find ways to let myself slow down, to ease up and quit fighting. I know this about myself. So I banned math. I turned my watch around and decided to just do the f*cking work. Just take every step knowing I took it as hard as I possibly could, and leave no doubts. It’s all I wanted out of this race anyway. I was there to burn the barn down, so I started saying to myself “Just burn it down.” I made sure to eat more than I normally would, and drink, and do what I needed to do. I zoned out so hard that I completely missed people screaming at me on the sidelines. 

Before too long I was at heartbreak, and I said a little prayer to my legs to please come back to me for the last 5 miles. They didn’t. They wanted to, so badly, but my hips were in a vice. I tried forcing my stride, and it felt like two frozen rubber bands that would snap. I tried shortening my steps and being quick and light, and mostly just distracted myself as long as I could to tick off the remaining miles. This was not the finish I wanted. It was not at all the final 10K I had envisioned so many times as I dreamt of my Boston comeback, and I was pissed. I was pissed that the goal time Audra gave me, that I had laughed at her for, I knew now was absolutely in reach, and that effort-wise I’d probably run it. I was pissed that those final miles I knew so well were more of a shuffle and not the gazelle like victory lap I’d day dreamed about. But I also knew that I’d done it. I thought about my mom, and how proud she probably was, and how proud I am of her. 

I pushed my sleeve up and my totally soaked glove down and looked at my new tattoo a lot the last couple of miles. Water was streaming off my hat (ok, Steph’s hat) and down my arms, and there was a small lake in each of my shoes. The wind coming over the mass pike smacked me in the face so hard I thought I might fall. The turn onto Hereford was a carnage of discarded ponchos and outer layers from runners before me prepping for their glorious finish on Boylston. I took my headphones out, and scrunched my sleeve up again, and reminded myself that no matter what, this was the best half mile in the running world, and I get to enjoy it. I turned my watch back around and realized I was going to hit the time I had put on post it notes all over my apartment a year ago. Sometimes we don’t get the results we want in the way we want them, but this past year has taught me that if I put my trust in good people, and the process, and most of all myself, the results will come. Having a great coach in a unicorn onesie waiting to hug you at the end helps too. Here's to a 17 minute PR! #ontothenextone