Second Stab at Boston

Two years ago I came away from Boston with a bitter taste of failure. I made the classic mistake of running a very fast first half and be defeated by the hills in Newton. This time around I came back not really looking for revenge, but rather for redemption.

Already in the train to Boston there were loads of runners who seemed ready to race on Monday. Naturally once we arrived in town all you could see were runners, a sea of them floating all over town. This also meant that the race I had been training for 3 months was fast approaching. I was getting anxious.

Going with Robert, meeting up with his buddy Hans the day before and then former running partner Sarah at the Athlete's Village was a good distraction. We did, of course, talk about running goals, expectations, strategies, but it was also about catching up and trying to get relaxed.

The walk to my corral seemed slow and long, which in a way was good for I did not have much time to brood around for long. The elite men actually passed by my corral as they were presented and got a glimpse of Meb and even got a high five from Ryan Hall, who really seemed psyched behaving almost like a boxer ready for a fight.

In no time the race stars. My strategy going on was to run in the upper 6.30s till the hills and make a go of it once they were over. But the strategy went down the drain very quickly. Again I got caught by the excitement -- other runners and the public's alike -- and was registering low 6.20s for the first 10 miles. But just as we approached Wellesley my quads were starting to burn. I was weary of what happened in 2008, so I started slowing down the pace to mid-6:30s.

Then the hills arrived. I might not have been in the shape I wanted to tackle them, but had no time to think of `what ifs`. First hill, not too bad. 6.38. Second hill, still doing ok. 6.42. Third hill, getting tired. 6.48. Heartbreak Hill, knees high, body perpendicular to elevation, move those arms. 7.04, a struggle, but I was done. No stops, no walking. Phew.

5 miles to Boston. I was not out of the woods yet; you never are till you actually cross the finish line. It is one big decline from here on, but I paid the price for going fast the first half. Actually I was not the only one who did.  I was passing others that were at this point going very slowly, walking or even stretching. It reminded me of myself in 2008. I took the remainder of the race mile by mile, averaging 6.40s and making sure I was not about to cramp. A turn here, a turn there and I was on Boylston Street. I could see the finish line looming. One more gasp, an attempt of a sprint, and I crossed the line in 2:53.16.


I wanted to finish the cross line stronger, but it did not happen. While unhappy with the way I raced, I was glad I was experienced enough to be able to salvage it and still come out with a solid time.