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Warning: This is a
race report disguised as a blog post. If you’re not a runner, it will undoubtedly bore you to tears. If you're a runner, it will also undoubtedly bore you to tears. You’ve been warned. Proceed if you wish.<<
"How long have you wanted to run Boston?"
I've been asked that a lot lately. I remember sitting on the couch in what was probably the summer or fall of 2008, reading a Runner’s World article about Boston while the ex cooked dinner, and saying aloud "I want to qualify for the Boston Marathon.” Problem was, I had yet to run more than a half marathon. In fact, I had always said I would never, ever run a marathon. I didn't let that stop me though. Over time and a few marathons later, my confidence in my ability to qualify waned a bit (caused in part by the tighter qualifying standards that robbed me of a precious 5:59 that I thought I needed), but my desire and determination did not. Like many marathoners, Boston has been my Holy Grail since that day in 2008, and I planned to spend my running life trying to find it, even if it took me until I was 80. Which I honestly thought it might.
Fast forward four years to the present. This year has been a challenge to be sure. I'm not kidding when I say that running has been my salvation, and training for all the big races I've done has eased me through every rough patch I’ve hit.
So at the end of August, on a whim, Erin and I decided to run the Tunnel Lite Marathon as a training run (for our then-upcoming 50K)/scouting race for the July 2013 version of the race, thinking that in July 2013 we would make our run for Boston. A funny thing happened on the way to that training run. You see, I've met a lot of new runners since I moved to Green Lake, too, a lot of them very dedicated and very fast. They, along with others like my coach, Cheryl, my best friend and running buddy Talena, and my marathon and long-distance trail running buddy Erin, all seemed to think I could take that training run and qualify. These runners started to tell me things, things I wasn't sure I was ready to believe. Things like: “You are fast. You don’t give yourself enough credit. You can run higher mileage. You can run faster. You are already running faster. You can do it. You can qualify for Boston. You should try. You just might qualify at Tunnel Lite. You will qualify. I know you will.” Those runners gave me something I had been missing: not just the confidence that I could run fast enough to qualify, but that I could do it now, not next July. Their confidence in me gave me what I ultimately needed, confidence in myself.
So with that, here’s the actual report. (Sorry, I warned you.)
Tunnel Lite Marathon Race Report
I started off the weekend poorly (race-wise) and great (fun-wise). I had way too much fun Friday night and got only 4 hours of sleep, but it was worth it every lost hour. I tried to sleep in Saturday morning to make up for it but just couldn't, so crossed my fingers that I would sleep well the night before the race. I gathered all my gear together in one place so I wouldn't have to think about anything Sunday morning. They were my Tunnel Lite Marathon secret sauce. My bag of tricks. My dragon-slaying kit.
Saturday evening was the SGLRG Rooftop BBQ Part Deux, so I baked my latest offering, and, promising myself that this time I would only have two beers and actually eat something, I headed up to my roof. Just like last time, it was a ton of fun. I had a great time, savored my two beers and my pre-race meal, and stocked up on all the good race juju people were giving me. Then, like a good runner girl, I toddled home to my apartment at 8 pm, made sure I had everything ready, set four different alarms, and went to sleep. I slept well, no tortured dreams of races gone bad, no waking up every half hour to make sure I hadn't overslept, just a good, restful night’s sleep. (I haven't had a bad pre-race sleep in a while, so perhaps those nervous days are over?! That would be awesome.)
I was awake before all four alarms, had my coffee and chia, applied my sunscreen, packed up my gear, and headed off to the ferry to pick up Erin. We have a designated "spot" at the ferry terminal, and I waited for her there in the dark, cranking my "Happy" mix from iTunes (yes, I have a Happy mix, and yes, it makes me happy). Erin arrived, and we headed for the hills again, this time to conquer 26.2 miles and the Snoqualmie Tunnel.
[I should back up here for a moment. The week before, as part of my taper, a smart, thoughtful, experienced runner gave me a gift by suggesting I run the tunnel so I knew what to expect on race day. So for my taper, I did six miles down, and six miles back, all on the course, and including the tunnel both ways. For that I will always be grateful, because it absolutely took all of the fear of the unknown elements away. I knew what the tunnel would be like, I knew how my Garmin would behave, and I knew that the course was indeed downhill after the tunnel. Someday I will do the same thing for another runner, pay it forward, give a gift like I was given (because I wouldn't have thought of giving this gift to myself).]
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| Look! It's me! And a tunnel! |
We were the first to arrive at the start at Hyak, beating even the race director. Most of the runners were bussed from the finish to the start, so Erin and I had the parking lot and the bathrooms to ourselves. It was pretty cold, definitely in the low 40s, but a clear morning and with little wind and no smoke from the fires east of the mountains. We killed some time before waiting in line for all of 2.5 seconds to pick up our packets. Lars (Erin’s boyfriend, fellow endurance athlete, and our Sherpa for the day) arrived, having run the crazy difficult Volcanic 50K the day before, and took photos and hung out until the start. Erin reminded me we hadn't warmed up as planned, but by then it was too late, and we were sent off down the John Wayne Trail toward the tunnel.
As you enter the tunnel and the daylight fades behind you, you can see, 2.25 miles away, the pinpoint of light that is the exit. It starts as just a tiny speck, growing until finally you return to daylight, coming out from under the entirety of the mountain that makes up the Snoqualmie Pass ski area. (I tried not to think about all that rock weighing down on a 100-year-old drippy, dank tunnel!)
I had my heart rate monitor on, and from my race-pace run the prior Thursday, knew that I needed to keep my heart rate around 176-179 to be hitting the right pace in the tunnel because as soon as you enter, the satellite signal for the Garmin is gone. I made a pace band for a 3:42 marathon, which meant 8:28/miles. Running in the tunnel is deceiving; it feels like you're going much faster than you actually are, but we were hitting the times each mile, and my heart rate was where it needed to be. Even with the cool temperature at the start, the tunnel felt much warmer than the week before during the trial run because they say the temp is a steady 50 degrees year round. It was also much easier to run in the tunnel this time because the many runners with lights made it much brighter than just two runners with two lights. The tunnel miles went by very quickly, but then there were only 2.25 of them!
As we approached the exit I pulled off my extra shirt and my headlamp and put them in the bag provided by the race (to be transported to the finish), tied it up, and tossed in on the pile. I glanced back and saw that Erin was about 20 yards behind. I slowed a bit, hoping she would catch up, but the next time I looked back, she still wasn't with me. We had discussed running our own races if need be, and I had a pretty aggressive plan, so I decided to stick with it and hope she would come up eventually, but it wasn't to be.
Instead, a mile or so down the road, I met Jodi from Moses Lake. Turns out she was trying to qualify for Boston too, and she was in my age group so needed to run 3:45 as well. Her Garmin was acting up, so she decided to hang with me because mine was working and I had a pace band, and we had similar pace goals. We ran well together, though I did try to hold us back a bit because the downhill can lure you into a pace that is impossible to maintain over 26.2 miles. See, e.g., my Winthrop Marathon finishing time. Whoops! Anyway, I felt like I was going a bit faster than I wanted to, but it wasn't anything that seemed too dramatic, and when it was, I always slowed down. Some doubts crept into my mind even before we hit 10 miles, and I started to question whether I could hold the pace for another two hours and twenty minutes. But I kept the doubts to myself, and planned to keep up the pace for as long as I could and let the chips fall where they may. (This, I believe, is the Go Big or Go Home theory of racing.) These doubts revisited me several more times during the race, but every time I chose to stay in the present moment rather than worry about what might happen down the trail.
Around mile 13 we stopped at the aid station and refilled our water. Because this was the "lite" version of the race, the aid stations were unmanned; just folding tables with water and Gatorade and cups and Gu set up on the side of the trail, with a Rubbermaid container a bit down the trail for all the garbage. Because there were few runners, we were the only ones there and were able to quickly fill and go. I had my Chia concoction that morning, so I wasn't taking in much fluid, but when I'm chia-fueled it doesn't seem to matter. If you don't know about it, Chia is the distance-runner's best friend. I also wasn't eating as much as I probably should have been, but again, Chia fills in the gaps and I figured I was fine to eat less, as long as I managed to eat during the last 6 miles when the going was sure to get very tough. Miraculously this didn't come back to bite me in the end.
Just after the aid station at mile 13, there was an access road where Lars was waiting for us. I told him Erin wasn't far behind, and off we went to finish the second half. The course itself was lovely. It passes over at least three very high old train trestles, with beautiful views up to the mountains and down to the valley. The leaves were starting to change, and for the most part, there was a hint of fall in the air. I can see where the fall version of the race is better than the summer version, because a lot of the race would have been in full sun in July, but in September due to the different position of the sun, it wasn't bad, and the overall temp was lower. It really was just about the perfect racing temperature.
Jodi and I continued to run well together, hitting the miles on my pace band pretty close to even (sometimes slow, sometimes fast, but on average, seemingly perfect). She was waiting for her husband to show up by bike for a good portion of the race, and he finally did come up to us about mile 17.5. He rode with us for a while, and Jodi dropped back a bit so he could ride alongside her. From behind me, I heard him tell her what ended up being a great mantra for this race, and something that helped me later on: "Remember, there's only today. There's no tomorrow." Or something like that. So very true for me! While this race was intended as a training run and scouting expedition for a potential BQ in 2013, I was still there to give a 2012 qualifier a try, and in that sense, there really was only today. If I didn’t make it, if I left anything out on the course, I knew I would regret it.
Around mile 19, the sound of Jodi and her husband talking slowly faded behind me. I started passing people. Actually not people, I started passing guys. It's way more satisfying to pass guys at the end of a race. Actually, at any time in a race. Sorry, it’s true.
Though I was still concerned about being able to hold that pace for the rest of the race, I started to get excited. With 7 miles left, I had my coveted BQ within reach (I remember thinking “Oh my God I am on pace to BQ!” and sort of freaking out). At this point I was hitting my miles faster than my pace band pace, which meant that if I kept it up, I should finish faster than 3:42. I told myself to calm down, because a lot of blowing up can still happen with 7 miles to go, and it was too soon to celebrate. My quads were pretty shot by then, and my right IT band was super tight, enough so that I was getting concerned. But I told my legs they were stuck with this so they might as well get used to the pain.
At mile 21, the course turns off the John Wayne Pioneer Trail and onto some local North Bend-area trails. With 5 to go, I started to get excited again, and almost felt like I was flying, but that feeling was short-lived. Suddenly the trail started to feel like it was going uphill, which was a concern because at that point I was really counting on the gradual downhill to last to the finish. I needed it to maintain my overall pace, and a check of my Garmin showed I was definitely getting slower. It did level out and eventually head back down, thank goodness.
Around four miles to go, I was talking (out loud, crazy-lady style) to myself. "Only Today" became my mantra. I said it in time with my breath. I started to figure out how much more time I had to suffer through the pace. Just over 34 minutes. I can do/survive anything for just over 34 minutes.
At three miles, I figured it was just a cruise around Green Lake. I can do that. Just 27 minutes. There's Only Today. My legs were painful, immovable tree trunks. I told them, aloud, that they had to do this. My legs and I, we had a BQ in our grasp, and I wasn't letting it slip away now. They couldn't fail me.
Then there were two miles, and just over 17 minutes. I started to say the minutes aloud. 17 minutes. 17 minutes. 17 minutes. Then 15 15 15 minutes. My legs were so trashed, I felt I could hardly move them anymore.
Finally! One mile to go, just over 8 minutes. And, aloud, "[OMGF] I am going to qualify for the Boston Marathon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" At this point I was far enough ahead of my time that if I had to, I could even walk (briskly, with purpose) and still qualify.
Not long after, I could see bright colors in the distance and realized I was looking at the finish line! I was surprised that I was able to pick up the pace, but I really just wanted to be finished at that point. I looked at my watch for about the 850th time that morning, and saw that it was still under 3:40! Holy crap! I pressed on.
With about 200 yards to go, a runner who had already finished was walking back out along the course. He hollered the usual runnerly encouragement one yells to another runner nearing the finish, and I did a spastic jumping happy dance and yelled to him “I’m going to qualify for the Boston Marathon!!” and he responded “well go, go, and finish strong!”
I hit the cone-lined finish chute, headed toward the most awesome finish line ever (Home Depot buckets, sand, poles with Caution Do No Cross tape, and blue, green, yellow, and white balloons strung between), looked down at my watch, and realized I had done it. It was so surreal, and I couldn’t believe I did it. In fact, I still can’t believe I did it, even with my "Confirmation of Acceptance" card currently hanging on my fridge.
I was thrilled to see Lars, because an accomplishment like that without a friendly face isn’t nearly as fun. After I stopped hollering that I had just qualified for Boston, I commenced my second happy dance/poorly timed high-five:
The nice people around the finish line all congratulated me and seemed to share in my happy spazziness. I realized I hadn’t picked up my medal, so I grabbed that and checked with the race director to make sure he got my time. (Yes, I really did that.) He confirmed that I had finished in 3:39:49. I didn’t even think about it until later when Erin mentioned it, but I am now in the 3:30s! Take that, Paul Ryan! I set my (now-broken) PR of 3:55:46 in June at the Newport Marathon, and managed to beat it by 15 minutes, 17 seconds, and completely bypassed the 3:40s! In the end, I was faster than my needed qualifying time by 5 minutes, 11 seconds. I didn't need any of the 5:59 that the Boston Athletic Association had taken away. And I came in third in my age group. Woot!
A few minutes later, Jodi finished, qualifying with just over a minute to spare. After the hugs and more celebrating, I thanked her, because I’m not sure I could have done it without her. I call Jodi my BQFF. She is such a great person, so encouraging, and so generous, too; she and her husband asked me stay with them in their suite in Boston. Another gift, meeting her on the course that day.
Not long after, we saw Erin coming down the chute at 3:58, beating her most recent marathon time in Newport. We cheered her in, and celebrated some more.
It truly was a great day. Beautiful weather, great course, friendly people, running friends new and old, a PR, and a BQ! Even though I was hopeful at the start and knew I would give that race everything I had, I honestly didn’t know that’s how the day would end.
The following Monday morning, registration for the 2013 Boston Marathon re-opened for all qualified applicants. Because I qualified by more than 5 minutes (BQ -5:11, as the cool kids say), I would have been fast enough to register the prior week. And yes, I got in, and will be toeing the line in Boston on Patriot’s Day, April 15, 2013. I'm already saving up for all my Boston Marathon branded gear, which I will proudly wear all over the damn place.
And now, because this was all so unexpected it looks like I'm going to need a new goal. I think perhaps I'll try to BQ again at Boston. Because, why wouldn't I?
