Hello all (from the still chilly North),
I had already gotten over the disappointment of not being able to "race" long before I toed the line on Monday. Having run a 90-degree marathon in Montreal (record high for that day!) in September, 2003, I knew all too well what we were in for. Mercifully, the BAA and the locals responded magnificently in terms of adding water stops, providing ice, and spraying water, which gave most of us the luxury of actually being able to complete--even enjoy--the doggone thing. I agree with Jim Lynch: once you got over it, this turned out to be one of the better marathon parties.
The misery started, however, in the corrals, which were murder to get to this year for some reason. Lots of cross-traffic and then when you did make it, there was just more time to bake in the sun. That made for a difficult start and as a result, I spent the first third of the race trying to get my core body temperature back under control. I was also grappling with a bout of sciatica, which made for an especially slow opening pace. But finally I drank enough, ate enough, and doused enough water on my body that I started to feel better, especially with the onset of the first cloud cover and breeze.
By the time I reached Wellesley, I had actually perked up and decided to move over towards the line of girls for the first time in the four years I've been running Boston. Well, I may have slapped a few hands in previous races, but it was nothing like this time! I got over there and tried to slap EVERY hand, with energy and appreciation. In no time, those girls were interacting with me in a way that made me feel like I was on the receiving end of pure, mainlined energy. I laughed my head off for the entire length of the line, sometimes screaming just as loud as they did.
All of that set me up very nicely for the hills, and by the time I reached Newton, I was ready to go. The fact that the change in stride actually improved the condition of my legs was an added benefit. From then on in, it was a different race for me. I picked it up as much as I could until mile 23, when the sun reasserted itself and I slowed down a notch. (I always like to have a little left in the tank for the last klic.)
What a sight Boylston Street was this year. I was just about finished--in every sense of the word--but I kicked it in as best I could. Although I crossed the line nowhere near my targeted time, I felt a really wonderful, quite different, sense of accomplishment. Okay, I (we) struggled with the conditions of the day and sort of wrestled them to the ground. But I (we) got a weird sense of pleasure out of it. Isn't that a great way to spend the day?
Barbara Freedman, Bib 11545, Official: 4:01, Net: 3:52
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addendum
Just in case you're wondering--it's getting colder here by the day. Another thing: my son and I drove to Ottawa today to hear the Dalai Lama. Guess what he said? Two people can have the identical injury and although the physical damage is exactly the same, they can have COMPLETETLY different experiences of the pain, depending on their attitudes. Okay, just in case we didn't know. . .
In any case, the real reason I am writing is because, having just finished reading Kevin's story, I realized that almost all of us have mentioned those fabulous Welleseley girls and yet I bet they never hear a word about it. Is there any way we could efficiently bundle up our reports in an e-mail and send it to them? They deserve to hear how wonderful they are.