Prelude – Boston 2019
Thoughts on my upcoming 21st run of the Boston Marathon.
At this point it’s a bit of a tradition for me to sketch my thoughts prior to the race. I do it every year. It is inevitably hopeful and optimistic. I guess that’s just my makeup. Even those years where I’m injured or somehow displaced, I find a way to dance with this race. A happy dance.
It’s not all smiles, unicorns and rainbows. I still know what a cruel bitch this race can be. ¾ of the time we’ve tangled the race has won. It beats me. Physically and mentally. But even those beatings are things to be remembered fondly, things to be treasured by old men on long summer evenings.
I remember writing my thoughts before that first race. I was filled with so much hubris. I was so sure of myself. I thought I deserved to be there. I did not. Boston bent me over its knee and spanked me like spoiled child that time as it has many times since.
But I learned my lesson from that instructive race and was inspired. Inspired in the true sense – filled with spirit – the spirit of the marathon. I transformed myself into a deserving athlete and the next year, on a drizzly April afternoon Boston patted me on the head, nodded approvingly and gave me my PR.
I had done the work. I had made myself worthy of the great race filled with the ghosts of great men and women. Like even the most beneficent gods, the Boston Marathon requires its sacrifices, its supplication and its devotions. Grace is not bestowed on the unworthy or the unbelievers.
What the youngsters don’t understand is that over time the sacrifices cease to be sacrifices. They become physical prayers and meditations that hone our spirits. They marathon and its training become our access point to the divine.
This year I am, as usual, confident and hopeful. I have taken my training to a new level. Not the physical volume or quality of training, although there has been that, no, I have used a more holistic approach.
After my DNF at Baystate I reevaluated my old methods. I realized that I needed to do more. In the old ways ‘more’ was always more miles or more effort, but as a, let us kindly say, veteran, or out-of-warranty athlete that way has become increasingly closed off to me. I can’t work harder.
Instead I focused on the avenues left to me and focused on nutrition and flexibility. If I was to be able to handle the volume and quality, not get injured, and take 10-15 seconds off my pace I had to lose some weight and make my body leaner, more flexible and more resilient.
This is what I have done. We will see how this manifests in the race. The training under this new strategy was excellent. I was able to hit faster paces, execute all the hard workouts and bounce back. It was a good learning experience. I managed to sharpen another tool in my bag. After 20 years I can still learn and adapt.
All of this with the realization, or should we say ‘acceptance’ that this is a finite journey of the physical and at some point will com a reckoning. In this context, in this year, I am quite happy to sit and enjoy my training and fitness for what it is now and not think ahead to some future race or reminisce back to some faster time. I’m enjoying it more. I’m in the bonus time, and I know it.
It’s been 7 – 8 years since the plantar fasciitis sidelined me for 18 months and almost ended my Boston adventures.
It’s been 6 years since the bombings that caused me to run a marathon a month for a year – to clear my head and expunge that evil from my soul.
It’s been as much time since my Dad died. He wasn’t much for unconditional love, but I think he did get some joy from my exploits.
It’s been 4 years since they stuck a catheter in me to freeze the AFib out of my old heart.
I am a lucky guy. The difference now is that I know it. I appreciate it. I’m thankful.
As we come up to race day I spent the week on the road at a conference and I gave myself permission to not think about the race. To not worry about counting calories or obsessing on the weather. To be in the moment of the conference and wait for the race to come to me.
Now I’m flying back with too little sleep, too much time on my feet and perhaps too many good beers, to the City, the Hub, the parochial town of Boston. I’m going to jump on the T and wend my way over to the Hynes to walk the expo, say hi to the people, smile much, pick up my bib and pack it all away for Monday. From one tradeshow floor to another. I probably walked 20 miles this week.
I did get out in Chicago for a couple tune up runs. At first as I broke the hard shell of jet lag and the fog of business travel I felt sluggish and slow. But soon enough as I accelerated into some small pickups to race pace on those hard cement sidewalks I felt the stirring. The strength in my heart and lungs. The pop in my legs. The peace of fitness, that will not be blunted by four days of business excess.
I like to quote Tennyson in these preludes every year – “Once more into the breach!” from his martial poem “the charge of the light brigade” about a battle in the Crimea where the British cavalry charged straight at the Russian guns to turn the tide of battle.
Sometimes we humans choose the hard path because it is the shortest path to victory. It’s not because we’re smart. It’s because we are impatient. This is what we’ve been training for, for over 6 months and the test is upon us. It’s going to be hard, and probably cruel but I am running towards that test with all my heart and all my soul.