Because of the Easter conflict, the BAA 5K, which Mike was running, was on Saturday instead of Sunday, as was the afternoon weekend Red Sox game. So Mike, my mom, David, and I loaded up the car and headed to Boston on Friday morning, giving us an entire extra day of Boston Marathon weekend fun.
Friday was no more than travel, quick run from the hotel, and dinner. Saturday morning we headed into the city bright and early, cheered on Mike in the 5K, picked up my bib number and packet, and hit the expo. First of many "marathon travel with an infant" reality check moments: infants and world major marathon expos are a bad mix. Someone had the bright idea (it was me) to take the stroller. "Oh the stroller will make it SO much easier!..." as mom and Mike look more than skeptical. It turned into an in, buy gu, out, experience. And fine by me, it was crazy town.
We exchanged our expo allotted time for a quick trip through the Prudential Center mall, where I found a Crumbs bakery kiosk and bought a four pack of gourmet cupcakes (which would become my post marathon meal of champions) and got a Pizzeria Regina single slice with mushrooms - a marathon weekend lunch staple. And then we let the bright bulb whose idea it was to bring the jogging stroller (still me) jog it, sans baby, back to the parking garage seven miles away (slight exaggeration) before we headed to Fenway.
I must have insisted to Mike a minimum of 15 times that the game started at 1:05. We found our seats, and noted that for 1pm on the dot, attendance was pretty sparse. We were in the shade and the wind made the sunny, pleasant day, a relatively chilly, unpleasant one. Flashback to Friday morning as we packed the car to leave: "Rachel, are ALL of these blankets going with us?" "Yes." "Really? FOUR baby blankets?" "Yes." Back to Saturday. "Mike, I didn't bring a blanket and it's really too cold for him." We came home from Boston $40 poorer and with FIVE baby blankets and not so much as one deep sigh or eye roll. If you've ever wondered whether or not Mike is a big softie.... :)
That is not to say, however, that we made it out of Fenway without a deep sigh or eye roll. That came in its own time when Mike checked his phone at 1:10 (why are they not playing ball?) to find that the game started at 1:35pm. Jogging stroller, blanket fiasco, keeping a baby in the wind and cold for an unnecessary 30 minutes - fair to say it wasn't my finest day. But we were all smiling and happy, and it turns out that there isn't much in life that a baseball game, ice cream, peanuts, clam chowder, and a baby who decides to nap in your lap, can't fix.
Sunday was David's first Easter, and if Mike wasn't already there with the baby blankets I may have come close to pushing him over the edge when I insisted the Easter basket fit into the car for the trip. Packing for this marathon was really a new mom experience - I could have forgotten my running shoes and 10 miles down the road gone "eh, I'll pick up a pair in Boston", but I'd be darned if we were pulling out of the driveway without that Easter basket.
As I wasn't batting a thousand on Saturday, it's only logical that I would have also forgotten something at bib pick up Saturday morning, forcing us to make an Easter day trip (30 miles each way) back to Boston. Getting my things around for race morning I realized I hadn't picked up my medical check bag which was the only way I would be allowed to take my breast pump to the start with me. Knowing I'd be away from David for a minimum of six hours from drop off to marathon finish, (and who knows if he'd nurse right at drop off or how long it would take me to run, it had the potential to be far longer), there was no choice but to head back to Boston.
My mom and Mike took it all in stride and after picking up the bag we had an Easter brunch at Legal Seafood. Lobster roll, check.
Marathon morning David decided to sleep in (hooray) allowing me to pack up our room and get myself ready. We had breakfast, packed the car, and headed to the drop off point just outside of Hopkinton. Like packing for the weekend at home, my morning was David-centric. "Use this milk first, he likes this book best, sunblock is here, don't forget his hat, please don't forget him in the car in the parking garage I keep having nightmares about that, if he won't drink milk he might take this juice, this is his favorite taggy, his gloves and hat are here if it's chilly, his sun hat is here, I packed two extra outfits is that enough?, try this bottle first and then the sippy cup, call me if he won't eat and I'll take the nearest T to the finish..." as mom and Mike (mom's seen him nearly every day of his life and Mike is his dad and lives with him and knows as much, if not more because he's less fruit loopy, than I do about parenting) just smile and nod. The 5 1/2 month old who I was sure would take a bottle by then and who I was sure I'd be comfortable leaving by then? I don't leave him and he doesn't take bottles. Oops. I was a mess.
Not only was I a mommy mess, but in other news I was definitely not at my old weight, and was definitely not running my old times. I was wearing my old shorts, but I was prepared for the wrath of chafe that my post baby thigh chub brings after every run over 10 miles. Thankfully I went with our running club shorts and singlet in black - it was as flattering as it was going to get.
We pulled into the parking lot where I'd take a bus to the start, and David nursed like a champ. I always swear that kid knows what's going on and does what he can to make life easier for everyone. He's a super baby, not that I'm biased or anything. And then I had to get out of the car. And buckle him back in his car seat. And shut the door. And watch them drive off. And I cried.
In fifteen marathons I've yet to NOT make a friend, and this year's friend was met not 100 crying steps from the car. Jen, mom of six (yes, SIX!), the youngest of whom is just eighteen months, gave me a big hug when I told her about my sad mommy morning and the two of us chatted literally until the gun went off in Hopkinton. We rode the bus together, waited in line for a porta jon, got a bagel and water. She was even allowed in the BAA operations tent with me while I pumped (with three other crazy bf'ing running moms) as "moral support".
I crossed the start line in Hopkinton with no idea what I could do for 26.2, but figured I'd find out in the next few hours. My training looked a lot like the training of someone with a five month old would I guess - pretty rough. Just two weeks over 40 miles, a pile of 30ish mile weeks, and a long run list that was anything but long - 14, 15, 17, 19, 21. The 21, two weeks before race day, was the only run that wasn't interrupted at some point for a meal for myself or David. The 19 was the most interesting - 8 miles, nurse and eat pancakes, 6 miles, nurse and eat a granola bar, 5 miles. That one 21 miler didn't leave me certain I could even finish a marathon without feeding myself or the baby.
The run was great. Better than I could have ever imagined. I kept thinking "these have got to be the greatest, loudest crowds I have ever seen at Boston." Turns out they were as spectators were double the usual for this year's race. I ran at a really comfortable pace, that turned out to be in the 8:05 to 8:08 average range all the way to mile 20, when I got really thirsty. It's happened to me before in marathons - sometimes no matter how much I drink in a race (it was sunny and warm - 60ish - and I was taking a water and a gatorade at every station, every mile, though drinking while running you really only get one good gulp), I'm still just incredibly thirsty. I decided to walk at the mile 20 aid station in an effort to get more of the fluid in, and was horrified when I stopped running at just how bad my legs were. I wasn't sure they'd hold me up for 6 steps, much less 6.2 miles.
I called Mike to let him know I was walking, it was bad (out of nowhere!) and that I didn't know how long it'd take me to finish. Mile 21 was 11:48, and I decided I should at least try to make the motion of running. Running felt better than walking and with the exception of a rogue 9:44 mile at 24, I kept the other four of the last five miles all sub 9.
I have no better adjective for the right hand turn onto Hereford than awesome. Spine tingling, tear inducing, awesome. I've never heard volume like that, and could have never imagined that many people packed onto one such small street. And the left on Boylston I have no adjective for. I'm not sure there's ever been a descriptive word fitting for that experience - one of the greatest in running in my humble opinion - and there certainly wasn't this year.
I hit the banner at 3:45:23. I had figured I was in the 3:40ish range of fitness, and "knew" in my gut before the race I'd run between 3:35 and 3:50. But something about accomplishing it this time just filled me up with pride. Sometimes in life I think it's okay to pat yourself on the back. Important to do so even. Boston 2014 was one of those days for me. I know everyone who is a parent has a shared experience, but I'm just in awe of life and what the body, mind, and spirit are capable of. I know what I went through five months and two weeks before April 21st, 2014. As does Mike, and, as David Chesley was intent on making his entrance into the world an incredibly stubborn one, so do a whole host of medical professionals who were in the room. To look down at the feet that carried an extra fifty pounds of me and baby in October, legs that have carried the burden of the extra 40, then 30, then 20, then 10, and now still 7 extra pounds of weight as I got back into running. A body that's been deprived sleep for months and that can pound out miles and miles of training and not only still keep me ticking, but can create and deliver absolutely everything David has needed to survive thus far. All that, and it can still run a 3:45 marathon. 3:45 doesn't re-qualify me for the 2015 race, it's a full 36 minutes slower than my PR, and it wasn't accomplished after already swimming 2.4 miles and biking 112, but this 26.2 takes the cake in the pride department.
I crossed the finish line and made haste through the water, mylar, medals, and food stations, eager, panicked almost, to get to David, Mike, my mom, and Mike's dad. Mike found me first and led me to them, and David, being held by my mom, gave me the biggest, most beautiful smile I've ever seen. I plopped down right there in the Boston Commons park, fed the baby, changed my clothes under the mylar robe they handed out this year, and we headed to the car to start the long drive home.
And so, six Bostons down and I'm in the pickle (for the first time in all of those years) of not having a qualifying time for number seven yet. I contemplated for about 5 minutes just giving it up for a year. Nah, crazy thoughts! I'm registered for an August 17th race in Pa in hopes of running a sub 3:35 to make that right on Hereford left on Boylston in 2015. Wish me luck!
We pulled into the parking lot where I'd take a bus to the start, and David nursed like a champ. I always swear that kid knows what's going on and does what he can to make life easier for everyone. He's a super baby, not that I'm biased or anything. And then I had to get out of the car. And buckle him back in his car seat. And shut the door. And watch them drive off. And I cried.
In fifteen marathons I've yet to NOT make a friend, and this year's friend was met not 100 crying steps from the car. Jen, mom of six (yes, SIX!), the youngest of whom is just eighteen months, gave me a big hug when I told her about my sad mommy morning and the two of us chatted literally until the gun went off in Hopkinton. We rode the bus together, waited in line for a porta jon, got a bagel and water. She was even allowed in the BAA operations tent with me while I pumped (with three other crazy bf'ing running moms) as "moral support".
I crossed the start line in Hopkinton with no idea what I could do for 26.2, but figured I'd find out in the next few hours. My training looked a lot like the training of someone with a five month old would I guess - pretty rough. Just two weeks over 40 miles, a pile of 30ish mile weeks, and a long run list that was anything but long - 14, 15, 17, 19, 21. The 21, two weeks before race day, was the only run that wasn't interrupted at some point for a meal for myself or David. The 19 was the most interesting - 8 miles, nurse and eat pancakes, 6 miles, nurse and eat a granola bar, 5 miles. That one 21 miler didn't leave me certain I could even finish a marathon without feeding myself or the baby.
The run was great. Better than I could have ever imagined. I kept thinking "these have got to be the greatest, loudest crowds I have ever seen at Boston." Turns out they were as spectators were double the usual for this year's race. I ran at a really comfortable pace, that turned out to be in the 8:05 to 8:08 average range all the way to mile 20, when I got really thirsty. It's happened to me before in marathons - sometimes no matter how much I drink in a race (it was sunny and warm - 60ish - and I was taking a water and a gatorade at every station, every mile, though drinking while running you really only get one good gulp), I'm still just incredibly thirsty. I decided to walk at the mile 20 aid station in an effort to get more of the fluid in, and was horrified when I stopped running at just how bad my legs were. I wasn't sure they'd hold me up for 6 steps, much less 6.2 miles.
I called Mike to let him know I was walking, it was bad (out of nowhere!) and that I didn't know how long it'd take me to finish. Mile 21 was 11:48, and I decided I should at least try to make the motion of running. Running felt better than walking and with the exception of a rogue 9:44 mile at 24, I kept the other four of the last five miles all sub 9.
I have no better adjective for the right hand turn onto Hereford than awesome. Spine tingling, tear inducing, awesome. I've never heard volume like that, and could have never imagined that many people packed onto one such small street. And the left on Boylston I have no adjective for. I'm not sure there's ever been a descriptive word fitting for that experience - one of the greatest in running in my humble opinion - and there certainly wasn't this year.
I hit the banner at 3:45:23. I had figured I was in the 3:40ish range of fitness, and "knew" in my gut before the race I'd run between 3:35 and 3:50. But something about accomplishing it this time just filled me up with pride. Sometimes in life I think it's okay to pat yourself on the back. Important to do so even. Boston 2014 was one of those days for me. I know everyone who is a parent has a shared experience, but I'm just in awe of life and what the body, mind, and spirit are capable of. I know what I went through five months and two weeks before April 21st, 2014. As does Mike, and, as David Chesley was intent on making his entrance into the world an incredibly stubborn one, so do a whole host of medical professionals who were in the room. To look down at the feet that carried an extra fifty pounds of me and baby in October, legs that have carried the burden of the extra 40, then 30, then 20, then 10, and now still 7 extra pounds of weight as I got back into running. A body that's been deprived sleep for months and that can pound out miles and miles of training and not only still keep me ticking, but can create and deliver absolutely everything David has needed to survive thus far. All that, and it can still run a 3:45 marathon. 3:45 doesn't re-qualify me for the 2015 race, it's a full 36 minutes slower than my PR, and it wasn't accomplished after already swimming 2.4 miles and biking 112, but this 26.2 takes the cake in the pride department.
I crossed the finish line and made haste through the water, mylar, medals, and food stations, eager, panicked almost, to get to David, Mike, my mom, and Mike's dad. Mike found me first and led me to them, and David, being held by my mom, gave me the biggest, most beautiful smile I've ever seen. I plopped down right there in the Boston Commons park, fed the baby, changed my clothes under the mylar robe they handed out this year, and we headed to the car to start the long drive home.
And so, six Bostons down and I'm in the pickle (for the first time in all of those years) of not having a qualifying time for number seven yet. I contemplated for about 5 minutes just giving it up for a year. Nah, crazy thoughts! I'm registered for an August 17th race in Pa in hopes of running a sub 3:35 to make that right on Hereford left on Boylston in 2015. Wish me luck!
