Friday, April 22, 2005 at 12:01AM The 109th Boston Marathon
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The phone rang piercing the silence at 5:00 AM, “Mr. Strain, this is your wake up call.” I mustered a response, “OK, thank you.” The day was Monday, April 18, 2005. In New England it was Patriots Day, commemorating the ride of Paul Revere and the first military exchange between the colonists and the British Army. It was also Marathon day; the reason I was there.
I got up and began my ritual. Making coffee, stretching, shaving, getting dressed, and making sure other bodily functions were to take place before the race. Unlike a normal marathon, this race would not begin until noon, but I still had to board a bus at 7:00 AM to ride to Hopkinton and await the start at the staging area known as “Athlete’s Village.”
I flipped on the TV and news coverage had already started about the marathon. The weatherman was adjusting his forecast warmer – not good news. News crews reported from Hopkinton and the finish line area on Boylston Street. Excitement was building and it was just now becoming daylight.
I drank my coffee and ate an orange. Everything I could do at the hotel was done, so I headed out the door to catch the bus at Boston Common. I was wearing a running suit and long sleeved shirt over my race clothes. The morning in Boston was cool and a gusty breeze put a chill in the air. Entrants are given a bag for their outerwear. Prior to the race, they are loaded on numbered busses. It is a well-organized operation and my things would be waiting for me at the finish line.
Right outside my hotel, busses were backed up to take 20,000 people from Boston, west to Hopkinton for the start. As I neared the boarding area, I got into a line, which moved quickly. Volunteers counted out just the right number of people, then herded them onto an awaiting bus. “Alright, everyone from you to the guy in the yellow hat come with me,” a lady barked. The organizers did well and we marathoners submitted to them like sheep.
I talked to a couple of people in line waiting to get on the bus. We asked each other the usual questions. Where are you staying? Is this your first Boston? Where are you from? Do you want to have sex with me? What do you think the weather will do?
Once on the bus, I talked to Elizabeth from Seattle. She was 48 just like me. We talked all the way commenting on scenery and talking about the race. The ride to Hopkinton seemed long. Whenever I am in a race where I am bussed to the start, I always think, “Man, this is a long way.”
Eventually, the bus pulled up to Hopkinton High School and we were let out. Volunteers directed us to a corner of the parking lot where a big archway of balloons was moving with the breeze. A line of people wound to the balloons; a procession of dreamers who were waking up to find out their long awaited dream was coming true.
Athletes Village was a large fenced area that took in the ball field and some parking lots. Tents dotted the area. One of the tents was for cover and it was already filled with runners laying and sitting all over the ground. Other tents housed food and first aid stations. Port-o-pottys ringed the perimeter and lines had already formed at them. I heard Hopkinton had some 485 port-o-pottys to handle the crowd.
I followed the smell of coffee, which was at the end of a bagel line. I nabbed a bagel, but the coffee ran out just when I got to it. The Bob Marley looking volunteer said, “We will have more coffee in 20 minutes man.” After that, I looked for a patch of grass to sit on and wait the four hours until the start, time was now just after 8:00 AM.
I was alone in my thoughts when two younger guys sat near me. One pulled a towel from his bag and spread it on the ground. He laid down with his hands clasped behind his head and using his bag for a pillow. Then he said, “Life is good, life is very good.” He was right you know. I was sitting in a field in beautiful weather, surrounded by 20,000 fit, intelligent, and interesting people. I was about to realize a dream. He was right, life is good.
A stage was set up and during the wait music acts entertained us. It all had the feel of a rock concert or jazz festival. As more busses arrived, it became more crowded. A couple of guys sat near me and we eventually began talking. One was from Minneapolis and the other was from Denver. They were nice guys and we talked until we had to strike out to the start.
We noticed one of the female runners was wearing a Wonder Woman costume. One male runner was wearing ballerina garb. I didn’t do it, but volunteers had markers to write runner’s names on their arms so spectators could call their name during the race.
At 11:15 AM the announcer began instructing us to move toward the start. Runners are assigned corrals according to their bib number. There were 21 corrals and mine was the 9th. The purpose of this is to have the fastest people in front and the slower people in the back. This method is to ensure a smooth start and avoid the accordion affect.
One last pee, a sip of Gatorade, a final stretch, and putting everything in my bag, I was headed toward my corral – seven tenths of a mile away. As I walked, I talked to a couple of people on the cell phone. Barbara was back at the hotel waiting for my brother George, my Mom, and Rocky to arrive. They would all go together to the finish line and wait for me to arrive.
I finally got to my corral with about 20 minutes to go until the start. Loud speakers were conveying information and the mass movements and herding gave the whole thing a kind of Orwellian feel to it.
Then a lady sang the National Anthem and two military jets flew over. The hairs stood on the back of my neck and chills ran down my spine. It was really happening. I was about to run in the Boston Marathon. All of the training, planning, and working had led me to this moment; under a bright sunny sky in New England along with 20,000 others – it was still hard to believe.
When the race started, there was no movement in corral number 9. I would not reach the starting line for 7 minutes and 19 seconds. It was very crowded and we were running slowly in all of the traffic. Controlled chaos would be a good term for it, but no one stepped on me or pushed me, it all went well. There was a lot of energy and excitement at the start. The cheering was very loud and the crowd was enthusiastic. Finally getting to run and seeing all of the people cheering for us touched me and I felt a lump in my throat. It was everything I was told about and then some.
The start is downhill and I was going easy as is the conventional wisdom. Some fools blaze down the hills and come up way short with a lot of race to go. It is a lonely feeling when you are spent and there are 10 miles or so to go. I would experience that lonely feeling myself later on unbeknownst to me.
I ran the way I planned. I started out slow, my first 5K was at an 8:47 pace. Then I gradually picked up speed. I ran a 7:59 5K at the 15.5 mile / 25K mark. From there I began to slow. The next 5K was an 8:46, the next was a 10:23, and the last one was a 10:04. I fell victim to a noon start, heat, and a really tough course, but I finished.
What an event, imagine running along and hearing the sound of cheering the whole way. There are the intermittent smells of BBQ grills and groups of neighborhood girls chanting rehearsed cheers. Little kids are offering you fruit and drinks. People have hoses awaiting a nod from an overheated runner to spray a cooling mist, signs are waving, and everyone is having fun. There is an interaction and at times I got the sense the crowd felt responsible for us. It was their job to pull us through and they took it seriously.
The loudest section by far is at the halfway point, Wellesley College. Those girls lined the road and screamed so loud fine crystal would not endure the vibrations. I heard one runner say after running by all of those screaming coeds, “OK, I can go home now.” Some wanted to run that leg again. The female runners just shook their heads.
I began running out of gas. I heard that being in the sun is like adding 10 degrees to the temperature. I don’t know about the science of it all, but I was hot. With the temperature, the sun and the wind, I was dehydrating even though I was drinking at every water stop.
When this happens, you just do the best you can. I got over heartbreak hill and still had 5.5 miles to go. Even though it was mostly downhill, the way I was feeling, it could have been 55.5 miles.
The crowds helped. They cheered and yelled encouragements. One mile gave way to the next and before I knew it, I was looking at the Citgo sign at Fenway Park. With only a mile to go, I found another gear and ran the rest of the way. I passed a lot of people in that mile and when I made the turn onto Boylston Street, the finish line was in sight. I drank it all in and ran over the line.
It really feels good to finish a marathon. The suffering is over and you can now rest. I started feeling dizzy and nauseous. After hard exertion, the blood is in the extremities. This coupled with the heat and the body starts rebelling. I grabbed a couple of waters and kept walking.
I heard my mother call my name. George and Barbara missed me at the finish line, but my mother spotted me walking in the finish area. Mothers have that knack to find their offspring in any crowd. My cell phone was ringing, but I did not have the strength to take it out of my fanny pack and answer it. We did call Barbara and George and gave them directions so we could hook up. Faye, a friend in Covington, had called Barbara to tell her I had finished the race. She knew before Barbara did.
Once united, we took a few photos, and I was still dying a slow death. I finally sat down and a volunteer came over to check on me. He gave me some more water and poured a bottle of water over my head. It helped. After about 10 minutes I was up and raring to go. I took the chip off of my shoe and gave it to a race official in exchange for my finisher’s medal. I ate a banana and a smoothie on my way to get my clothes from the baggage bus and I was feeling better and better.
We all walked back to the hotel, about a mile. After drinking a cold beer and taking a shower, we went for some pizza. What a day. I accomplished a goal I had worked for, for a long time and had my family there to see it.
Like the guy back at athlete’s village said earlier in the day: "Life is good, life is very good."
Until the next time
John Strain
The Boston Marathon was everything I thought it would be and more. A four-time winner of the race, Bill Rodgers, once said, "The Marathon can humble you." This marathon not only humbled me, but it kicked my ass, took my lunch money, and gave me a wedgy.
It's been a long road to Boston, but it is downhill from here. Last May I decided to make a serious attempt at qualifying for the Boston Marathon. I prepared for the Baton Rouge Beach Marathon in December 04 to qualify and made the cut.