Sacramento Running News

The author running at wet Boston Marathon (Photo courtesy of Daniel Weintraub)

By Daniel Weintraub

Three days post-Boston, and my shoes are finally dry. I can walk down stairs without much trouble. I am feeling mostly recovered from the Marathon. But I am still not quite recovered  from the post-Marathon partying. I had not trained for that. I partied hard Monday night (i.e. four or five drinks — that’s hard for me) with Jenny Hitchings, Galen Farris, Abe Weintraub, Stephanie Ward, and Angel and Steve Simpson, friends of mine from Michigan.

Most of what happens in Boston stays in Boston, but I can say I enjoyed watching Galen announcing Jenny’s first place age group triumph to everyone we met in the bars and then seeing the normally modest Jenny take selfies with her new fans and tell her story over and over. She was doing everything but signing autographs on people’s calves. I was proud of her.

I had no such hopes for glory in Boston this year. But I was on a mission of my own. A year ago I ran my first Boston Marathon in 3:01:15, narrowly missing my goal of breaking three hours. I was on track to break three last year until my quads, thrashed by the course’s persistent but underrated down hills, locked up in the final few miles and my pace slowed to a relative crawl.

I decided then to return this year, strengthen my quads and make another go at that elusive benchmark. It may seem odd to focus a year of training and planning on shaving about three seconds per mile off your time, but that goal kept me focused. Besides, I was sick of near misses. Entering this race I had finished three of my seven marathons in just over three hours, ending each of the three within 6 seconds of the same time: 3:01:15. I needed to break out of that rut.

But while I was confident that my training was sufficient when I reached Boston this year, I was a little apprehensive as a good weather forecast turned ugly in the days before the race and it became evident that we would be running on a cold, wet, and windy New England morning.

With Jenny having left us for a VIP bus and sitting warm in a school building near the start, Kevin Yamamura, Galen and I were greeted by a cold, light rain as we stepped off a marathon bus in Hopkinton that morning.  The open-air waiting tents in the Athletes Village were already packed with runners, and we had about 90 minutes to kill before heading to the starting line three-quarters of a mile away. We stood under the dripping “eaves” at the edge of a tent for about half an hour before snagging some floor space when some other runners left to use the bathrooms.

With the temperatures in the low 40s I was shivering as I lay on the cold ground, despite wearing a sweatshirt and warm-up pants that I had bought at Goodwill the day before and intended to toss at the start. In search of warmth, I snuggled up to Galen from behind at one point, but he quickly shifted his body away from me, assuming, I guess, that I’d been nudged into him by the person laying next to me. But he graciously shared his heat once I told him my move was deliberate. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

After a time Galen left in search of an empty porta-potty but Kevin and I stayed in the tent, trying to delay our departure as long as possible to avoid getting too cold while we stood in the starting corral. Finally we couldn’t put it off any longer and we headed that way.

The rain had paused at that point, but for some of us in Corral 5 in Hopkinton, the liquid started flowing again even before the gun went off. I had brought an empty Gatorade bottle to the start as an emergency urinal, but after stripping off all my throwaway clothes, standing there in my tight tri shorts and a body-fitting compression shirt I bought as a hedge against the rain, I was a little shy about using the bottle without any baggy clothes to camouflage the procedure. Besides, I really didn’t need to go that badly. So I was about to throw the bottle to the side of the corral, but just before I did, the guy standing a few inches in front of me shifted his stance and I noticed a stream of liquid flowing to the pavement between his feet. The dude was peeing on the ground! After that I was not so bashful about slipping my bottle up the leg of my tri shorts and relieving myself with relative discretion. Yeah, I briefly looked like one of those 70s rock stars with a sausage in his pants, but hey, it did the job, with no hands required.

With the pressure off, the race started and I executed my plan with discipline. My first goal was to find another guy named Dan who had, unlike me, remembered to write his name on his bib for the benefit of the spectators. Last year I ran about 12 miles with a random Dan and soaked up all the cheers of “Go Dan!” he attracted from the sidelines. This year I found myself next to a “Daniel” around mile 3 and we ran together for at least 15 miles. Perfect. Thanks for your support, Greater Boston!

My real goal was to run the first half of the race slightly slower than last year in order to preserve my quads. I had worked to strengthen them with more downhill running and gym work, but I wanted a more conservative pace just in case. I hoped I’d reach the final five miles with just enough spring in my step to avoid the fade and finish faster than last year.

The real rain started around mile 10, but the wind was not too bad, at least where I was, tucked into the pack behind the taller guys whenever I could find them to shield me from the elements. My pace averaged around 6:45 and I felt pretty good, with only an occasional twinge in the quads to hint at what might be in store later in the morning. The rain and the wind seemed worse whenever we crossed a river bridge or an open gorge, and my shoes grew soggy. But my tight clothing kept me feeling sleek instead of weighted down by the water, and I was mostly able to ignore the weather. I never felt cold.

Despite the rain, the streets were jammed with spectators in every village along the way, sometimes three and four deep along the sidewalks. And they were loud. Boston has always come out for this race, but since the bombings in 2013 it has become an even bigger event. It’s a world class race, a civic gathering and a party all rolled into one. There’s nothing else like it. The highlight as usual was the “Scream Tunnel” of Wellesley College co-eds and their “Kiss Me” signs beckoning runners to pause for a smooch around the 13-mile mark of the course. My favorite this year: “Kiss me, I’m easier than a marathon!” But I didn’t stop, even for her.

Although I knew everything seemed to be going according to plan, I didn’t know how true that was until I saw my data afterward. According to Strava, I reached the top of Heartbreak Hill, 21 miles into the race, in 2:21:23, two seconds slower than I had last year. But I reached that same point in a different way. I ran the first 16 miles — mostly down hill — about 35 seconds slower than 2014. Then I ran the next five miles — the climb up the Newton Hills — 30 seconds faster than last year. So while my quads were beginning to bark a little on the steep descent into Newton, they felt better on the climbs and I got to the top of Heartbreak feeling pretty good.

Sure enough, I powered through the next five miles toward the finish a minute faster than last year. I didn’t bonk and my pace slowed only a little. This was the best I have felt at the end of a marathon in a long time.

So why didn’t I break three hours?

Because I’m an idiot.

First, I didn’t put the race time on my Garmin screen. I was using lap pace and average pace instead, and the Garmin was telling me (incorrectly it turned out) that I was safely under my 6:51 goal pace all the way to the end. Based on that I was holding back a little in miles 22 and 23 so I wouldn’t blow up before the finish. But by that point I should have been racing with everything I had, especially since this was the rare marathon where I actually still felt strong at mile 22. I am pretty sure I could have run a bit faster had I known my total race time as I ran down Beacon Street toward Fenway Park and downtown Boston.

But I still might have broken 3:00 if I had simply run a straight line on Boylston Street for the final 2/10 of a mile to the finish. As I turned the corner onto one of the most famous finish stretches in the sport, I got caught up in the excitement and ran along the rail high-fiving the screaming fans on my way to the finish. I felt like I was still running hard, but I ran that final 1000 feet 8 seconds slower than last year, when my legs felt like telephone poles and I was trudging to the finish, or, as Abe said at the time, riding on board the “Struggle Bus.” Given how much better I felt this year, I should have been running a lot quicker than last year. If I had done that, I might have finished the race 15 seconds faster.

My final time was 3:00:14.

Doh!

But no worries. It was another fantastic Boston experience, with friends, family and nearly a million strangers to share it with. I improved from 101st to 76th in my age group, and ran my fastest marathon since 2010, despite challenging conditions. The big picture was so bright that I am not really miffed at missing the 3-hour mark yet again.

Besides, the result just gives me an excuse to come back for another try in 2016.

Boston after-party (l to r) Stephanie Ward, Dan Weintraub, Jenny Hitchings and Galen Farris

Daniel Weintraub, a Sacramento journalist, has been running since 2005. His marathon personal record was 2:47:20 at the Calfornia International Marathon.