Right on Hereford, left on Boylston

Happy Marathon Monday, runners!

The following is a recap if the 128th Boston Marathon (2024) written by my brother after he finished last year. I loved his story about his experience and wanted to share it. 💙💛

Start line of the 128th Boston Marathon

Written by my brother, Mike:

My Boston recap… The day started with a couple of shuttle rides, security, and about an hour and half sitting around the athletes village waiting to be called to the start. I had slept  an hour and half the night before and felt a little woozy but was also excited. I messaged Tracey, Chase, and my running friend Andy and joked that I was ready to rumble. Using the bathroom was the task of the hour and people looked a bit lost and dazed in their pyjamas and thrift store clothing.

Many of us were slumped under a large tent near the village’s exit, gathering our reserves for what was to come. We rose for a woman singing the national anthem. It wasn’t our time to go but getting antsy, I packed my gels, phone, and salt tablets, donated my extra clothes, and walked toward a group of blue bibbed runners that was beginning to form near the exit. When the professional race started military jets flew over marking the beginning of the 128th running of the race.

When my wave was called about 8,000 of us began the 3/4 mile walk to the start. There were good vibes in the air and lots of positivity from the friendly volunteers. I jogged ahead, used the bathroom, and continued the walk to a staging area where they loaded our corrals. I managed to get in the front of my corral and took a spot by the side so I’d have a little more room when we started running. There were national guard officers and a helicopter hovered over the course, a reminder of 2013.

I couldn’t see the starting line. It was hard to believe this was happening. I thought back to the years of complex health issues that caused severe symptoms related to exercise or even mild exertion and the 15 months of intensive treatment that ended this. I thought of how running came to me in the darkest of days and gave me joy and a sense of accomplishment.  I thought of the 5 years of training through winters in the northeast and the solo half marathon time trials through the pandemic. I remembered the breakthrough moment I could walk for 20 minutes without it triggering symptoms for days, and how I inexplicably started to research the qualification process for the race. From the fog of my sleep deprivation I looked around and realized that it really was happening. Everyone had a story and we were about to do this thing.

Training hadn’t gone well with an ankle injury, missed training, followed by overtraining, and a lack of heat preparation. I had always arrived at starting lines confident and prepared but this time I had no idea how it would go. It would get up to 72 degrees with a “feels like” of 75, which is quite warm for running and the slight tailwind removed any cooling effect from the wind. The course in spring is mostly exposed leaving one to slowly bake for 3-6 hours. I was coming from months of training in sub 20-40 degree temperatures and the rising heat would certainly slow me down.   

People hopped in their corrals and excitement grew as the race official counted down the start and then we were off and into the steep rolling downhills. The sun was bright and there were a small number of spectators lining the roads of the early miles. We were tightly packed on a narrow rural road floating over the New England hills as a single mass. English road racing commentators like to say “you could throw a blanket over them,” referring to forming packs. We were a pack because we were of similar ability but even at mile 4 there were signs of struggle. I heard one runner breathing heavy in the early miles and knew they would be in for a rough day as many of us would. I had gone out conservatively but my heart rate was already higher than it should have been from the heat.

At about mile 6, I noticed that my quads were a little sore from the downhill and this would worsen over the course of the race. Downhill running causes micro tears in the muscles, which is part of what makes Boston so difficult. This compounds the challenge of four big climbs late in the race. At 10 miles, a point where I normally feel fresh, I couldn’t quite imagine running another 16 miles. The heat, leaden legs, and increasing fatigue slowed my pace as we chugged along. Far in front of us in Wave 1 was a very fast runner in a banana suit leading the way. I later learned that he set the banana suit world record.

The Wellesley Scream Tunnel lived up to the hype. The students went nuts cheering, holding funny signs with offers of kisses to passing runners. You have to consciously not speed up, as at the screams prime the nervous system for faster running. Further into Wellesley I found Tracey and Chase and had a fun moment with them as I spun around and tried to collect myself for the Newton hills. I felt my race goals slipping away and decided to switch my focus to enjoying/surviving the race and soaking it all in.

If you took the time to reflect you could feel the history of the place in the roads under your feet. Olympian John Kelley’s 61 Boston Marathons. Kathrine Switzer’s historic scuffle with an angry race director who tried but failed to pull her off the course for being a woman. Alberto Salazar and Dick Beardsley’s storied “Duel in the Sun” in the 1970s. Ryan Hall’s 2011 American record. Yuki Kawauchi’s wire to wire win in 2018 despite naysayers and freezing conditions. Des Lindon’s victory the same year, the first American woman to win in decades.    

As we made our way through each of the seven cities leading to Boston, it got warmer, the crowds grew bigger, and the cheering louder. Some runners had shirts made with their names and spectators cheered for total strangers by name. There was water and gels on the course and locals were also handing out orange slices, watermelon, popsicles, pickle juice, and more. To keep cool, I grabbed an orange slice and later an otter pop that I held to my forehead. I drank from every aid station, and poured water down the back of my neck. When a volunteer saw me pouring water down the back of my neck he dumped a pitcher of water down my back. Townspeople squirted hoses onto the course and we continued on. The Rocky theme boomed from someone’s driveway.      

At mile 15, as the muscles in my legs seized, I began to walk through water stations for 30 seconds or so. A steep descent led to the beginning of the Newton hills  The four Newton hills were challenging but also refreshing in a way as I could use different muscle groups. With each hill there was a downhill or flat section afterward to partially recover on. I had chills up Heartbreak Hill with screaming spectators and thumping music. Up the hills, I would count to 60 distracting myself from the discomfort, and then pick a landmark to run to, count to 60 again and so on until I reached the top. At the top of the last hill a banner across the road read “Congrats on Summiting Heartbreak Hill! Newton’s Heart is with you!”

The Boston College students rioted for a young man being pushed in a wheelchair, chanting “Youseff, Youseff, Youseff!” He and his runner were on a mission and were about to benefit greatly from the downhills. The rest of us in various states of disrepair pushed on. Mercifully, as one’s mental status deteriorates, the cognitive load of racing also lessens. No more math, analysis, or strategy, there is only the binary decision of whether or not to continue. There is only “now” and in this now I am going to fling my left foot forward and see what happens.

I had been running for quite awhile at a heart rate that causes a large build up of lactate in the bloodstream leading to a deadened sensation and compromised muscle function. As the course turned to mostly downhill for the final 5 miles, my legs felt like bricks, my stride shortened more, and it started to get quite painful. After the race I would discover signs of dehydration, explaining some of the leg pain I was experiencing. At mile 22 a man in front of me had the “ultra lean” a severe lean with staggering sometimes seen in ultra runners. Nine percent of runners ended up receiving medical assistance including 126 hospitalizations and 40 cases of heat stroke.

I felt pretty out of it and that familiar bleak feeling that I have felt at the end of my other marathons began to seep into my consciousness. There is a simple truism in ultrarunning that “if you feel sad, begin to have dark existential thoughts, or start to hate running you probably just need a snack” (low blood sugar). Taking gels with high carbs helped but it didn’t totally reverse it. What helped to lift me from this throbbing haze was the deafening raw voiced screaming from spectators. The wheels had come off, but I was still moving.

We were getting closer, colonial architecture from the eighteenth century marked the final miles of the race as we entered the heart of Boston. At this point it was really just suffering but it was made more meaningful by the felt history of the race, throngs of people cheering wildly, people being pushed in wheelchairs, a bloodied woman who kept. on. going. after being picked up by fellow runners…. But most of all the fact that this was the Boston Marathon. The spirit of this race held people up and pulled us through. Because of the heat and difficulty of the course most people fell short of their goals but a high percentage finished. Someone wrote something titled Love and War at the 128th Boston Marathon that in a few words seemed to capture it all.

Picture from The Wineglass marathon 2022

Usually, late in the marathon, time begins to drag in the cruelest way but in this case time was going so slowly and the pain was so bad that it sort of stopped for awhile. I was no longer tracking mileage. I was simply enduring the moment.  And then it came, the turn that inspired the famous phrase “Right on Hereford, left on Boylston”— and with that final left it all comes crashing in on you—the roar of the crowd, the years of winter training on icy roads, the injuries, the sacrifice of family and supporters, and the emotion. Everything comes up at once and you realize that the dream of the last 26.2 miles is over and you are a Boston Marathon finisher.

They say that Boston changes you. In the days that have followed I have walked gingerly down stairs, taken involuntary naps, and had a rather fuzzy head. The emotion I mentioned above came to me a few days later and caught me quite by surprise. All a reminder of that beautiful and difficult afternoon. I can’t help but think that it does change you. Not just the few hours on race day but the years of preparation. It’s the giving of yourself wholly to something that changes you. It’s losing yourself in something you love and never giving up that leads to new strength and greater depth. The body has its ebbs and flows but these experiences stay with you. If you’ve ever lost faith in humanity, go to the Boston Marathon and listen to a half a million people cheering their heads off for everyday people they don’t even know. And remember that if things ever fall apart and get impossibly hard you can always just keep going and see what happens.

Thanks for reading. The nap gods are calling :)