My First Boston Marathon - Race Day

5:15am my alarm goes off…the day that has been on my mind for the past year has finally arrived.

In about 5 hours I will be running the 26.2 miles from Hopkinton all the way into Boston in the 128th Boston Marathon.

I flip on the light and start to get ready. I grab the outfit that I laid out the night before and start to get dressed. I carefully pin my bib to the front of my tank, making sure it’s perfectly positioned. 13325 – that’s me.

It takes me longer than I expect to get ready, and I call my ride late. My boyfriend and I are staying in Quincy which is about 30 minutes outside Boston Common where the buses to Hopkinton load at 7:30.

The ride arrives and I get in the car, hoping for the best. The current eta is 7:25…cutting it CLOSE.  I stare out the window, nervously shaking my leg the whole ride.

We are almost there – just under a mile away when - BAM - we get stuck in stand still traffic. My heart sinks. I can’t be late. I hastily thank the driver and hop out of the car. I start to jog. And then I start to run. Before I know it, I’m absolutely sprinting to Boston Common.

Finally, I see the enormous crowd – hundreds of runners waiting outside a seemingly endless line of buses.

7:29am. Made it…just in time.

I eagerly load onto the bus with the other runners in Wave 2. We are packed in tight and the whole bus seems to vibrate with our shared anticipation. Just what are we getting ourselves into?

I put in my boyfriend’s headphones (I couldn’t find my own in this morning’s panic) and before I know it, we arrive in Athlete’s Village. We unload out of the bus and walk into the enormous field, already packed with thousands of runners. My first thought is, I have never seen so many Port-a-Potty’s in my life. The time is 8:10am, about another hour and a half before my wave is called to begin the walk to the start line.

I have time to kill so I walk around and look at the runners that arrived before me. There are people from all over the world here. Some are laying out on blankets with their eyes closed. I wonder if they are visualizing their race…or maybe a pre-race nap? Others are massaging their legs, trying to work out any last-minute knots, I guess. About half of them are just standing in line waiting for the bathroom. Many of them look nervous – will they have enough time to empty the tank before the race start?

I wander around until, finally, I hear: “Wave 2 to the corrals!”

I take in one last swig of water and make my way over to the designated area for corrals 5 & 6. I pull off my toss-away clothes and stuff them into one of the donation bags on the way. Earlier there was a chill in the air, but I can already feel the temperature climbing. It makes me nervous, and I try to ignore it.

I arrive in my bay with the other runners. We all stand both anxiously and excitedly, waiting to begin our near one mile walk to the start line. I check my phone one last time and smile at the “good luck!” messages from my boyfriend and friends. After several minutes, we are released, and we start walking.

I don’t mind the walk to the start. It gives me time to collect my thoughts and feel the energy of the other athletes around me. I pick up bits of conversation. Some are introducing themselves to the people walking next to them, learning about their fellow racers. Others are asking around to see what people’s goal times are – undoubtedly hoping to find someone to pace with. I overhear a group of women in front of me discussing their goal for the race.

“I’ve run lots of marathons. My PB is a 3:03 but today I am going for a 3:15. I just want to enjoy the day,” one says. The other agrees and they plan to run together.

3:15 would be a crazy good time for me on this course, I think to myself.

3:15 is a push goal, my “A” goal. I trained for my B goal, a 3:20, given the difficulty of Boston’s course.

I know these girls are seasoned runners and probably know what they are doing. I have my own race plan, but as I listen to them talk, I consider the idea of pacing with them during the race.

We are almost at the start line and making our way into our specific corrals. The sun is beating down now and I’m already starting to sweat. PERFECT.

Volunteers push us along, urging us to keep moving up. Eventually, I spot a tiny blue sign up ahead with a golden “6” on it and I make my way over.

There’s no indication of the start of the race. No announcement. No gun. At some point everyone starts to pick it up into a shuffle. Then a jog. And then, all of a sudden, I’m running. I spot the start line under my feet.

The race has begun.

I know I have to be conservative the first half of the race. I am tailing the girls from earlier, maintaining a comfortable pace behind them. Just don’t lose sight of them. Manage your breath. You are in control. You feel good.

The first five miles fly by. I am pacing between 5-10 seconds faster than my target, but I feel in control. Suddenly, the girls ahead of me pick up their pace. Significantly. I am forced to decide – do I trust their years of experience and try to stay with them, or do I stick to my plan? As they pull further and further away from me the pressure to decide intensifies.

Trust yourself.

The command echoes loud and clear through my mind. I pull back and let them go.

I maintain a comfortable pace the next few miles. I become increasingly more aware of the temperature rising. I’ve been grabbing water at every aid station and dumping some on my head to regulate my body heat, but it’s not enough. I am starting to get dizzy, and my mouth and fingers start to prick with tingles. I need to stay hydrated. Luckily, Boston’s course is heavily aided with stations every mile serving both water and Gatorade.

As I approach Mile 10, I weave my way over to the volunteers on the right. I grab several cups of Gatorade and chug them all. I pour more water on my head. I reach into my running belt, grab the fruity snacks I packed, pop a couple in my mouth, and hope for the best.

Eventually, I see the Wellesley sign. I smile, knowing I’m about to pass Wellesley College and the infamous “scream tunnel.” Located just prior to the halfway point, this is one of the loudest parts of the course with spectators screaming on both sides. As I pass through, it does NOT disappoint. I feel a surge of power just from their enthusiasm alone. Almost halfway. Almost halfway.

I start to feel better, and the dizziness fades away. Thank GOD. My wrist vibrates as I receive texts from my friends:

“7:26 pace. CMON!”

“GET IT QUEEN UR CRUSHING THE PACE”

“You’re killing it!!! Keep moving fast, queen.”

I smile and keep going. Approaching the halfway point, I feel the first signs of fatigue. Slight heaviness in my legs. Shallow, quicker breaths. It’s minor, but it’s there. I take a few controlled breaths. You trained for this. You didn’t train for it to be easy, you trained so that you could do it when it gets hard.

“HALFWAY BABY & the negative split queen is SHOWING UP”

“You are THAT b*tch let’s goooo”

I smile at my watch. I got this.

I manage my pace the next couple miles, staying within 5-10 seconds of my target. As I pass through Mile 15, I get a text from my boyfriend:

“ALMOST AT ME”

Hold this pace. Get to him. Get to him. Get to him. I pump my arms and repeat it in my head. I am painfully aware of every small, rolling hill I encounter. The course is hillier in the first half than I expected, but I try not to let it faze me.

Approaching Mile 16, I start to scan the left side of course, looking for my boyfriend. He’s coming up and I don’t want to miss him. He’s wearing a bright red hat and I hope it will catch my eye.

I hear him before I see him: “LET’S GO, LIZ!!!!!”

I whip my head around and we lock eyes. I smile broadly and slap his outreached hand as I pass by. JUST the power-up I needed before the notorious Newton Hills - four rolling hills, inconveniently located towards the back end of the race.

I get a text from my best friend:

“Doing amazing! Stay strong for these last 10”

I take a deep breath. It’s coming.

I see the sign: “Entering Newton”

I inhale deeply again. Time to see if these hills live up to their reputation. I trained for the hills the best I could, but there was no doubt I was nervous. Especially in this heat, I knew this was NOT going to be easy.

Four hills. I start to count them. One…two…three…So far, I have managed okay, pushing up the hills steadily and recovering on the descents. I grab water at every opportunity and douse myself to try to stay somewhat cool as the sun beats down on me relentlessly. The final hill is coming: Heartbreak Hill

I feel my legs start to weaken right at the start of the ascent and, before long, they are absolutely screaming at me to stop. The hill isn’t steep, but it’s LONG. I climb for what feels like an eternity. My quads are twitching in pain, resisting me every step. I start to get angry at them. Why are you failing me? Why do you want to stop? We have come so far! I didn’t come this far to fail!

I back off the pace. You WILL make up the time later, pull back for now, I tell myself. It pains me to see my pace jump up to 8:00/mi but I force myself to trust that I will recover. I know that if I push too hard now, my legs will not be able to carry me to the finish.

FINALLY, I clear the hill. I am drenched and gasping, but I made it. I will my legs forward, one step at a time. Faster, faster, faster, I command them. I have a couple friends coming up soon. Get to them. I am able to pick the pace back up.

I notice the group of girls that I had been tailing earlier on. They look completely defeated by the heat and the hills. I pass them. Good thing I trusted my plan and didn’t pace with them.

Soon enough, I pass through Mile 21 and I see my friends. I smile excitedly and wave – I’m so grateful they are here. I am struggling significantly at this point. My whole body is hurting and my resolve is the only thing keeping me going. I get a couple more texts:

A “You got this!” from my mom and another from my friend:

“Under 6 left!!!! The only option.”

That’s right. The ONLY option. I didn’t work this hard to not give it everything I have left. I’ve already run 21 miles. What’s 5 more?

My body is on autopilot, just trying to survive. I pass through Mile 23. Only 5k left.

It’s time to go hunting.

I start selecting people to pass, one at a time. Girl in the yellow sports bra. Pass her. Now guy in the blue hat. Pass him. I will do this until I pass the finish line. How many bodies can I get?

I maintain pace until Mile 25. I feel a knot in my stomach as I process what’s in front of me. There is a hill. I can’t believe it – I wasn’t prepared for this. My quads immediately start screaming at me again. I am deep in the pain cave now and feel totally cheated. How did I not know there was a hill at Mile 25?? I’m gritting my teeth, just trying to get my legs to keep moving. I slam my eyes shut for a second. Last mile, last mile, LAST MILE.

I’m passing the last aid station. I desperately want water, but there’s too many people in the way. I can’t afford to take the extra steps around them or to stop. I have to skip it. I finally get over the hill and there is less than half a mile left. I’m known to have a very powerful kick at the end of races but today is different. The pain is agonizing, but I manage to pick up my pace a bit.

I make a turn and then another turn and there it is. Boylston Street. The signature blue archway signifying the finish is in sight. The course opens up wide, allowing for plenty of space between runners. I feel like it’s just me and the road. Both sides are flanked with hundreds of spectators all waving and screaming at the top of their lungs. Time seems to slow down as I take it all in.

This is my moment.

I close in on the finish line and force my legs to move faster. As fast as they can. Bigger strides. Pump the arms. Everything I have left. I can’t stop smiling despite being in so much pain. I throw my hands up in the air as I take my final leap over the finish line.

Stumbling into some form of a walk, I open the B.A.A app and check my official time.

3:15:23.

A personal best. At the Boston Marathon.

It was all worth it. As I continue stumbling along with my fellow runners, I embrace every second. This feeling, I say to myself. This is why I do it.

A volunteer places the blue and gold medal around my neck.

I did it. Like it was the only option.