photog-fu

thanks to hsandhol for her exceptional photography of my boston experience. check this. my favorites:
3 - these were hung from a building undergoing construction near the finish line
7 - this was right out in front of our hotel
12 - you can see me smiling a mile away. this was at mile 25.2 and i think i'm the only one that's actually happy at this point.
16 - striking a pose for the camera. "got your tickets to the gun show?"

The first life goal - check.

Boston was my first race where I've had to travel. For chicago, I can tell you what i'll be doing down to the very minute up until the time of the gun. Boston was odd. I had no idea what to expect.

5:30am - get up, cram down a powerbar, get dressed.
6am - head out the door. it's pouring rain and REALLY windy. I get scared.
6:30am - get on bus and head to Hopkinton, the starting point.
7:30 - get to the school gymnasium where I claim some floor space, put down my stuff. Fall asleep for an hour. This is all backwards. Normally, I've got no nervous energy until race morning. I guess I spent it all the week before.
8:30 - break out ballpoint pen and write motivation on my left arm. Cram down shot blocks and another powerbar. Suck down a bottle of gatorade.
9:30 - change my mind for the 10th time about what i'm going to wear to keep from freezing and getting soaked. head to start corral and thanks to the garbage bag, only my head gets soaked.
10 - gun goes off and here we go.

i won't bore you with the mile by mile except to highlight a few sections of the race. I'd heard rumors of the Wellesly girls and how loud these ladies can be for the racers. at mile 12, i heard the cheering. what i didn't realize was that they were more than a half mile away. when we got to them, it was deafening. I think I high-fived every one of them on my way through.

at mile 16 was the first of 4 hills. It was bad, but my legs are surprisingly accustomed to them. On all 4 of them, i blew by boatloads of people. Mile 20 was Heartbreak Hill, the final hill. This was the start of my going mental. I started singing to myself. "heartbreak's gonna be my bitch to-day, do dah, do dah" (to the tune of camptown races).

Mile 21 was downhill and my legs and feet were really hurting from the lack of training. It is, however, quite amazing what a good dose of crazy can do for you.

Mile 22 comes around and I catch my first glimpse of the Prudential Building. I smile. Big. Dumb. Grin. A mid 40's lady sees me as I run by and cheers me on "22 miles and still smiling! Go 4433!" Bigger. Dumb. Grin.

Mile 23 and the crowds are getting big. Strangely enough, most of the crowds are quite young. My age or younger. I witness a 50 year old runner chug a beer offered to him by one of the fans. Amazing...and stupid. Even I'm not that crazy. But I start high fiving tons and tons of fans. Every time I hit a hand, my feet get lighter.

Mile 25 - As I'm doling out the high fives, I pass a girl holding up a sign. "25 kisses for 25 miles". I get 4 steps past her. I stop. I turn around. I go back. I lay one on her. The crowd goes nuts! I laugh like crazy and do my "rocky conquering the stairs" act and jog away from her with my arms raised in the air.

Mile 25.2 - I spot Tim's jacket and see Holly ready and waiting with the camera. I slow down. I slow way down. I walk. I strike a pose. I do a runway walk. I strike another pose. "i'm too sexy for this race, too sexy for this race..." I strike a third pose. i take off.

1/2 mile left. We round the corner and I can see the finish line. I start my natural look-for-people-to-pick-off routine but my eyes keep returning to the finish line. My grin gets bigger and my pace gets quick. I admit that I had a tear or two in my eyes knowing that I was about to conquer a huge milestone. Normally, I get angry at the end of a race trying to pick people off. This was very different. I felt...greed. I looked at the finish line with more desire than for any of Playboy's centerfolds. No, I'm not gay. Now shut your face.

1/4 mile left and my legs are no longer tired. nothing hurts. my feet are light and flying over the ground. i bet my last 1/4 was less than 1:20. other runners seem like they're standing still.

finish line - biggest. dumb. grin. ever. oh yea, and all the pain returns.

nerves

I never get nervous before races. I've lacked confidence in some but with the exception of one half-ironman, i've slept like a baby the nights before every race. I usually don't even get the pre-race jitters until an hour or two before the gun goes off.

Last night, I could not sleep at all. Simply out of stubborness, i know i'll finish the race, so it's not a confidence issue. The problem is trying to get myself mentally ready for how badly i know this one is going to hurt. Between not being able to run more than 16 miles and jacking up my right ankle during the ski trip, i'm concerned with my pain tolerance level.

I think I'm obsessing about this a bit too much. it's now 2:30am and it's still all i'm thinking about.

ski trip post is coming as soon as i get the video footage back of my spectacular fall.

shuffling along

This morning was my favorite 5-miler, the shamrock shuffle. i ran a respectable 32:06. this was 28 seconds away from my PR set last year with a 31:38. last year, only 12 girls beat me, this year, 28. dammit!!

two ego boosters:
after my legs started to really start complaining around mile 2, i spotted a guy in a shirt that had the word "hard" written on the back of it. he immediately became a target. i tracked him through mile 4 where i finally overtook him.

after i had passed "hard" i located my next target, Mr. Yellow Brooks Jersey. with about .5 mile to go, i waited for the angry juices to take over. they were nowhere to be found. i gutted out passing Mr. YBJ and started selecting my next victim...navy blue. still not angry. very strange. Around .2 left in the race, I started gunning for him. no angry juice. wtf! .1 left and who do i see 10 steps ahead of me on the right hand side of the street. noneother than the late Mr. YBJ.

you will not get away with this motherfucker.

Time for the hammer to drop. I let the legs go and with the vomit coming as we crossed the finish line, I managed to catch him. I knew it was close but upon checking the results tonight, bib 1135 and I have the same clock time, but my bib number is on top. My foot hit the timing mat first. ha!

in other running news, congrats to Mr. Zschiel on his second (and hellish) 26.2. Despite dangerously hot conditions and crappy aid stations, he knocked 8 minutes off his marathon best!!! Excellent job!!

boston!

yesterday was the chicago marathon. 22 miles of fun. 4.2 miles of absolute torture. not only was it insanely cold (never topped 40 while i was running), but the wind didn't make it any easier.

i started out with the 3:10 pace crew to try to get my to my boston qualifying time. we started out doing 6:55ish miles. the pace crew backed off and i decided that, as i was feeling good, i'd try to keep going. i knew i would fall off at the end but wasn't sure that if i were to start hurting at mile 16 or 17, if i'd be able to mentally push through for the final 10 miles. if i could stay ahead of the pace crew until 22 or 23, i could force myself to get dragged along by them for the final 3 miles or so. i'm stubborn enough for 3, but 10...i'm not so sure.

so the miles come and go and up until about 18, i'm completely checked out of reality. i'm just running...no thoughts...no feelings...just running. around 18, reality starts to come back. i start to get some twinges in my legs but nothing severe. mile 20 comes around and the calves start to get upset. still nothing i can't deal with but my pace is noticeably slowing. mile 20.5 the 3:10 pace crew arrives on my right shoulder. oh shit...not good. i needed another couple miles before this. i pull a 'steelhead triathlon' and drop in 40 feet behind them. as i try to hold their pace i notice that they are going significantly faster (~20 seconds per mile) than i was.

ok...so this might hurt a little bit.

we reach mile 21 and things are starting to hurt. still nothing that is going to stop me, but nonetheless, the wheels are getting a little loose. at mile 22, my head is down, my shoulders are hunched over, and satan himself has jabbed me in the right calf with his pitchfork.

before each race, i prepare a list of distractions/motivators for when the wall comes. here was my list:
1. hold your form. hold your pace. you'll be fine.
2. you command your legs. not the other way around.
3. you do lots of things in life simply because they're hard. this is hard. quit being a pussy.
4. i'm going to leave this one blank...just suffice it to say that it existed and would embarass me greatly if i were to make it public.
5. it's a lifegoal. if you miss it because you weren't mentally strong enough, you will always regret it.

all of these flew out the window around 22.5 miles just before the turn across lake shore drive. i know this because that's when i first thought of giving up.

i can see the red, white, and blue hat that the pace leader is wearing 40 feet ahead of me. his sign is down, but i know it's him. it seems as though he is picking up the pace...or i'm slowing down. ok, so 3 miles to go. 21 minutes. i can handle this. i can handle this. just 21 minutes. god will that finish line feel good. i can finally stop. see mom and dad. timmy. succubus. wow a massage would feel good right now. hawkins. zschiel. aw crap...i have to get back here for him. that's gonna sting a little. i wonder how he's doing. ammie. hawaii? wrong sport. 18 minutes. how many people came out for this? damn. 12 minutes. if i go spouting off my mouth about how badly i want boston and fail here in the last 2 miles, all these people who came out will just pat me on the back and say 'good job' knowing full well that i hate myself for not sticking it out. it will feel worse than what my legs feel like now.

fuck that. you will not fail in the last 2 miles. not for anything. now run motherfucker. 10 minutes. you sonofabitch. wow...14th street...this is where i'm to pick up zschiel. not much further. 1200 meters. 800 meters. just a quarter mile to go!! this must be the final corner! What the?! WHO THE FUCK PUT THIS GODDAMN HILL ON ROOSEVELT?!? GODDAMN ASS-MOTHER-BITCH-COCKWHORE! GAAAHH!!! FUCK THIS! FUCK YOU! FUCK!

chick in pink. pass by the lightpole. done. dude in tanktop. take him at the corner. final 400. goddammit. 400 is a quarter mile...not 800. retard. tanktop guy. done. final 200. Clock check. Can't see it. Dude in white. you're celebrating too early. you've been passed. Funny-right-foot-kick guy, your turn. Hawkins! Hi-five! 50 meters. Funny-right-foot-kick guy eats my dust. Clock check. I'M GOING TO MAKE IT! Empty out the tanks. Hands up in the air and smile for the cameras! Slow down. Stop. Clock check. yea bitches. hells yea. ouch.

5 days

5 days until the marathon. am i nervous? i keep telling myself i'm not...but yea, i guess i am. to be honest, i've never really taken the marathon seriously. my first one, i just wanted to finish and i knew i eventually would. my second one, i just wanted to be faster. no set time, just faster. my third, i just wanted to finish next to my brother.

none of those races worried me. there really wasn't anything huge riding on it. yes, if i don't BQ, there's always next year. but honestly, i think this is the best shot at it that i've ever had.

3:09:59.

i will qualify.