tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89881759776076908132024-02-19T05:41:20.336-05:00BostonLog.com A Place for Stories of Those Who've Run from Hopkinton to Boston...Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comBlogger105125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-17572772383396222732015-12-31T14:57:00.000-05:002015-12-31T15:27:48.275-05:00We've moved!!!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The senior (in age only) members of the BostonLog staff</td></tr>
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"If you love somebody enough/<br />
You'll follow wherever they go..."<br />
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-Tom T. Hall<br />
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Well, we don't know aboout that, but the big news is we think we've outgrown our old format, so we're taking BostonLog from a blog to a real live website.<br />
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We expect a few growing pains along the way considering the Huge Learning Curve we're up against, but if you liked this old site, we know you'll like the new one even better.<br />
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Come follow us at the new and imporved:<br />
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www.BostonLog.com<br />
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And to paraphrase ole Tom T. himself:<br />
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"That's how I got to Boston/<br />
That's how I got to Boston..."Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-82386486829376878842015-09-29T08:40:00.000-04:002015-10-07T09:19:01.374-04:00Warm Race; Secret Strategy - Jack Mahurin (April 21, 1973)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack Mahurin</td></tr>
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Running marathons, I have never had a great day on a good course in good weather. Of my two fastest races, one was plagued by heat and the other by rain and a sloppy track. But certainly Boston 1973 was my best marathon effort.
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In the late 1960s, I was in the Air Force stationed at Pope Air Force Base. Wanting to continue running competitively, I had written to several nearby North Carolina universities looking for possible running contacts. I thus met up with a small group of fellow post-collegiate runners who trained and raced under the banner of the “North Carolina Track Club.”
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The ‘70s were a great time for amateur racing, and NCTC was right there in the mix, winning three national team titles: the National 30K in 1970 and 1972, and the National One Hour Run in 1971. I ran 2:25:54 at the 1970 Atlanta marathon, then used that time to join four other NCTC sub-2:30 marathoners at the ’72 Olympic Trials. Three teammates finished in the top 21: Eddie Hereford, Gareth Hayes, and Marshall Adams. By 1973, my Ph.D. work in exercise physiology at the University of Maryland carried me to the D.C. area, and I decided it was time to set my sights on Boston. That year I had been consistently training 80 to 90 miles a week. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friendly Rivalry: Practicing German drinking songs<br />
after a North Carolina Track Club - Washington Sports Club race</td></tr>
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Travel expenses were always an issue in those days. Fortunately, guys from the Baltimore running club had worked out a deal for area racers with one of the airlines. Basically, the plane was full of runners who had really cheap seats. I think we got tickets for about half price. <br />
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In 1972, the Boston field had topped 1,000 runners for the first time. Now a year later, those numbers were up another 40%. Joining the mob scene in Hopkinton, I was not on the front row. Instead, I stood just back in a gap between guys on the front row. I had enough gumption not to try to horn in on guys I knew were top runners, guys I had previously run against who had kicked my butt. For example, I recognized track star Jon Anderson, and knew I wasn’t going to take off with him. (A good move on my part, as Jon would be almost ten minutes faster in his impressive ’73 Boston win.) I remember Jack Fultz was one of the guys on the front row. Of course, Jack and I raced against each other in DC. I felt it was pretty much a pitch up, though he probably had the advantage in longer races. <br />
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Waiting for the starting gun, there was no shortage of talent on the front row; plus a number of publicity seeking sprinters of dubious pedigree, ready to take off like scalded dogs. So, I was content to stand a little further back. Then the starter fired his gun, and not only did this row of runners take off down the street, it seemed like everybody who’d been standing nearby on the damn sidewalk joined them! <br />
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One problem with the Boston start back then was a 90-degree right hand turn almost immediately after gun. I purposely set myself over on the left, because I wasn’t going out with those sprinters: No way; I didn’t come here to run eight miles and quit. I figured, way over on the left side, I could stay out of trouble. I swung wide, and took the longer route. After the sharp turn, I was still on my feet, but already fifty yards in the hole distance wise. You just hoped you don’t lose a place at the end by not joining in the sprint at the beginning. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crowded Corner: The tricky first turn in Hopkinton (HCAM)</td></tr>
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After that turn, I’m still surrounded by lots of runners just getting in the way. The first five or six miles, it’s like you’d just run into a maze. Each mile, you probably ran a hundred yards out of the way, just getting around people. The congestion really slowed you down. However, I felt my early pace was quick enough to put me where I wanted to be. <br />
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I wanted to run a good race in a good time at Boston. But that afternoon, I pulled one out of my kazoo. Based on the competition, there’s no way I should have finished 12th. However, as can often happen in Massachusetts in April, this Patriots Day was very hot. And, the thing of it was, I had been assigned of one of those “special projects” where I had researched heat acclimatization. Back then, a lot of research on the subject had been done by the army, and a lot of that stuff was classified “Top Secret.” I’d had access to information on racing in the heat not available to the average runner. <br />
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Most of today’s modern synthetic fabrics were not around. However, those loose fitting, floppy running shirts allowed for ventilation, and I’d gotten several of those. Also, I’d started wearing white running shorts (of course back then, they were so skimpy, they didn’t cover enough of your body to reflect much heat!). <br />
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I’d even gotten a short haircut to help with heat dissipation. In the midst of a hot race, I’d read 13% of heat dissipation came from my head. Guys with mop heads, they took a beating. I knew a guy who’d been involved in the study of football, looking at body core temperatures of football players with burr haircuts versus football players with mop heads, guys trying to look like the Beatles. In warm early season games, the difference was significant. [Ron Hill was an example of a big time racer who understood this tactic: in hot conditions, he always showed up with his head clipped.] <br />
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Even in the sun, I didn’t wear a hat. Again, you wear a hat to keep your head warm. You might wear a visor to keep the sun out of your eyes, but you don’t wear a cap to keep cool. (That was a time before many people ran in caps. Now you see people out at four o’clock in the morning, running in a baseball cap. Turned around backwards. Like a disguise. 47 year old’s, old enough to know better. Why are you wearing a cap in the summer? It’s 87 degrees before daylight. How crazy!) <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In 1972, I honed my hot weather running skills at the national AAU <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">marathon in Rochester.<br /> [Bob Fitts (91) and John Vitale (1) finished 22nd and 9th the following year at Boston.]</span></td></tr>
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The big thing was many guys were intolerant to heat. That’s one reason I was so far back for so long at the beginning of the 1973 race. I started taking water early in the race: Gatorade, Gatorade, Gatorade; water, water, water. And I started taking ice cubes, and carrying them in my hands, to help the circulation. <br />
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In ’73, Boston’s distance check points were another item that hadn’t yet entered the 20th century. Funky splits like 6 ¾, 10 ½, and 13 ¾ miles. Yeah, that made a lot of sense! But I carried a stopwatch at the start, and had done the calculations ahead of time. That was probably the most studied race I ever ran in my life. At the time, I really didn’t know how many years more I’d be running competitively, so I’d really done my homework. I had sort of figured out what I wanted to be at each place. I was pretty close to being on schedule at the half way point, and pleased with my performance so far. <br />
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At ten miles it seemed like I was between 800th and 1,000th place! Because between 10 and 15 miles, I began passing groups, big groups of people, non-stop. You’d have groups and stragglers, groups and stragglers. You’d go by them, and think, “Now we know why you are suffering, because you were sprinting a mile ahead of me at eight miles!” <br />
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By then I’d really started noticing the crowds along the way. They were wall to wall, wall to wall. Some of the places, maybe not that thick, but still, the sidewalk was full, the road was full. <br />
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I’d heard all the horror stories about Heartbreak Hill. Of course, Ed Plowman, NCTC’s local contact during his grad school days at Boston University, had driven us out there to take a look beforehand. We didn’t see anything intimidating. You stop and think about it. Back when Heartbreak Hill got its name, Boston runners were trained with such low mileage, they were going to run out of gas at 17 miles, uphill or downhill. A twelve mile run might have been their long run. They might have gotten in one 20 mile run and then rested for four days afterwards. And that was at a minute or two a mile slower than race pace. <br />
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Anyway, I scampered over all of the Newton Hills. I really didn’t start getting fatigued until after the crest at Boston College. Going down that last hill, that’s when my poor old quads started begging for mercy. (It seems like my best racing distance was under 30K, maybe a half marathon. I tell people, “I got a two hour body and a two hour brain. Beyond that, I’m suffering.”) <br />
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I’m not sure I fully appreciated this fact during the race, but I was fortunate the weather had turned hot. Probably the only person I was seriously concerned about outperforming me in the heat was Jack Fultz. When I saw him at the end of the race, he had this spiffy looking purple outfit. It was nylon, high dollar designer stuff some company had given him. Basically he overheated: that dark outfit probably cost him fifteen minutes. Jack was in better shape than that. I think Jack learned from the experience as he turned around in ’76 and won Boston on another warm day. But in ’73 as I went by, he looked terrible. <br />
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From the top of Heartbreak Hill on in, there were just waves of spectators. Not inching in enough to make you feel claustrophobic, but a continuous large crowd. There were a lot of trees on Commonwealth Avenue, where the course ran from west to east. Running on the right hand side of the road, particularly at that time of the year, the south side provided some shade. I remember purposely running on the right side for the shade, though most of us always trained running on the left side of the road. Sort of an awkward sensation, running too far on the opposite camber of the road, but of course the shade was worth it. <br />
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I didn’t start falling apart until I got over the last hills, at 22 or 23 miles. When I made that right hand turn after the Citgo sign, I was hanging by a damn thread. But nobody passed me. Steve Hoag from Minnesota was right behind me. Afterwards, he said “I had my eyes on you. I kept bearing down on you, but you wouldn’t relent!” Steve finished sixth in 1974 and then ran 2:11:54 behind Bill Rodgers in 1975. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jon Anderson - American winner</td></tr>
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At the end, I wasn’t close enough to see track speedster Anderson or roadrunner Tom Fleming go one-two. Turning on Boylston Street, Germany’s Lutz Philipp (who had posted the world’s best marathon time in 1972) was about 150 yards ahead of me. Before the heat took its toll, Philipp had challenged for the lead, and run through both Natick and Wellesley in first place. Of course, I’d never seen him, so I didn’t recognize him until after we finished. <br />
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Dennis Spencer from the University of Georgia in sixth place had also run much better than expected. Talk about pulling one out of your kazoo! He ran 2:22:31 on Monday and was supposed to run in his conference championship 10,000 the following Saturday. I remember him saying later “Race 10K? I can’t even walk!” <br />
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I finished 12th, and was happy as a clam: just pleased with the time under those conditions, and more than pleased with my finishing position. At the last two turns, I knew I was in the small numbers. I didn’t think I’d be in the top ten, but thought I’d be somewhere close. I got a little medal about an inch tall, tied on a ribbon, presented to me afterwards upstairs at the Prudential Center, after we’d choked down a little beef stew. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2DXdLax4yQ74y_l52ZT6HHVKfaDFY0bikgINYbKng-rCTytVRJILRvmNABRqZfSht-xilKlU1OmgTowKB6TWNqI3NjnQdgg6hZMX1dE_vLbzSBzqjSeJY2-SNjgMIbltB6qBMTaDGV8/s1600/hsh+sq.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2DXdLax4yQ74y_l52ZT6HHVKfaDFY0bikgINYbKng-rCTytVRJILRvmNABRqZfSht-xilKlU1OmgTowKB6TWNqI3NjnQdgg6hZMX1dE_vLbzSBzqjSeJY2-SNjgMIbltB6qBMTaDGV8/s320/hsh+sq.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">NCTC at 1974 Yonkers: Eddie Hereford, Marshall Adams,<br /> Woody Harrell, Jack Mahurin, and Doug McElroy</span></td></tr>
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The next year I skipped Boston to concentrate on the AAU National Championship Marathon at Yonkers. I was trained for another good effort, but once again encountered less than ideal weather conditions. It rained the whole race, and on each of three loops, we had to deal with the slop of the Yonkers Raceway horse track. Running in the mud, it was not what you would describe as a “fast track.” I managed a 2:23:24, which remains my marathon PR. This time around, I was 21 seconds slower than Steve Hoag and right behind him in ninth place. We each finished behind four runners we had bested in Boston the year before: Winner Ron Wayne, Carl Hatfield, Justin Gubbins, and Marty Sudzina. You might say that PR at Yonkers both solidified my reputation as “NOT A MUDDER!” and made me appreciate even more my sole appearance at Boston. <br />
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Jack Mahurin<br />
Greenbelt, Maryland<br />
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Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-26494586184189962852015-09-15T18:03:00.000-04:002015-10-23T14:03:19.698-04:00Six years as “the Flying Parson” – Ed Plowman (April 19, 1967)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ed Plowman</td></tr>
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Although I was more of a plugger and a plodder than a natural speedster, from an early age I always enjoyed long distance running. While in college during the mid 1960s, I ran cross country for North Carolina State University. However, my first experience running in, or even seeing, a marathon was a new event where I served as both Race Director and official time keeper, the inaugural Greensboro to Winston-Salem Marathon in August 1966. I started this race with the help and encouragement of my friend Fred Hurd, who pointed out those two cities were about 26 miles apart. It was just the second marathon held south of the Mason-Dixon Line. I had to scrape together our $100 budget and then personally recruit all of the runners. When participants questioned how I would be able to both run in the race and be the timekeeper, I told them with a smile “Don’t worry, I’ll wait for you at the finish line!” <br />
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<a name='more'></a>My second marathon was five months later, the Durham to Raleigh Marathon in January 1967. Then having done well in my first two long road races, N. C. State sent me up to run the Boston Marathon, paying for my airline ticket there and back. As a college senior, I was already exploring options for graduate school, and I scheduled interviews at the Boston University School of Theology on Tuesday the day after I ran the marathon. The interviews went well and I decided to move to Boston and go to seminary there. I had applied to Duke as well as to Emory and got accepted at all three, but Boston was the place for me to go. I wound up living in Boston for six years while I completed my Masters and Ph.D. degrees.<br />
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My first Boston Marathon was a dream come true. I had read about the Boston Marathon for many years and just simply couldn’t believe it when I arrived. As an elementary school kid, I had read about the Boston Marathon in the “Weekly Reader,” and I’d ask people “What direction from Yadkin County, North Carolina, is Boston?” and they’d point north. And I said “Wow, I wonder if I’ll ever go to Boston?” One of the kids in my class, his family moved to Boston for about two or three years, and when he came back to our elementary school, he reported how exciting it was to live in a big city. I’ve always been an avid baseball fan, and I collected Boston Red Sox baseball cards: Ted Williams, the left fielder, homerun champion, and batting champion. Johnny Pesky, their shortstop. And, oh gosh, Dominic DiMaggio there in center field. (The New York Yankees were my top team, but I also respected the Boston Red Sox greats.)<br />
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So, I get to Boston, and I’m showing up at the Prudential Center building where the buses are taking the athletes out to the start. I’m over there, looking up at the 52th story of the Prudential Tower, looking up in the sky, feeling like a little bit of a country bumpkin from the tobacco fields of North Carolina. And suddenly a guy grabs me by the arm and says “Get your a___ on the bus now!” (and he wasn’t referring to my ankle either!). It was Jock Semple. So, I snapped to, “Yes, sir!” “Kid, are you going to stand there all day?” So I got on the bus and said “Who in the world is that grumpy old man?” It turned out to be Jock Semple. (I thought I recognized him from pictures I’d seen before.)<br />
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So we ride all the way out to Hopkinton, and it’s snowing along the way from Boston. And it’s sleeting, and the wind is blowing, and it’s raining. And here I’ve come from Raleigh, North Carolina, where it’s about 85 degrees, and I’ve just got one little top coat with me. But at least I did bring my sweats along. But when we get to the Hopkinton school gym, you pull off your sweats and put them in a little bag that I had along with me at the time. And then you get to go by a doctor, there checking people’s heart rates, as to whether or not they were healthy enough to run the race. And so I do pass the exam.<br />
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The gym is crowded, but I recognize a few of the competitors. I did meet Johnny Kelley the Younger. I didn’t say anything to him; I just stood around in awe. He had won the Boston Marathon in 1957, so I just stood there, and looked at him there in the dressing room. I had run previously in the national 30 kilometer championships in 1966 and 1967, one in Silver Spring, Maryland, and one in Rockville, Maryland. I recognized a few runners from those races. One of them was Lou Castagnola, who had finished very high, maybe fourth, in the 30 kilometers at Rockville, and I had talked to him before. And Ted Corbitt, I’d seen him there in ’66 and ’67, the great African-American distance runner. And so I’d seen some of them in Washington before, but I couldn’t believe how great it was to be there rubbing elbows with over 700 Boston runners!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/SportImage3.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="SportImage3" class="alignleft size-full wp-image-3258" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/SportImage3.jpg" height="320" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Erich Segal</span></td></tr>
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[Erich Segal was probably there, but I wouldn’t have recognized him until after <strong>Love Story</strong> came out. If my memory serves me correctly, that was in 1970, the movie and the book. I saw him later on, probably about 1971, and got his autograph on my number (borrowing a pen from a fan). Several of us, probably a dozen of us, were surrounding him before the race, and he was signing our race numbers if we wanted them.]<br />
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And then we go outside, about an hour to go before the race start. It’s about eleven o’clock, and we stand around outside, shivering. I’ve got a little t-shirt on and a pair of shorts, and shoes and socks, and the temperature is in the 30’s. And the wind is blowing and I’m standing around shivering, and jumping up and down. I’m trying to keep the blood circulating. And then all of a sudden the gun goes off. Oh, wow, here I am, running the dream of my life, the Boston Marathon. I can’t believe it.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Kurt-Steiner-41.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Kurt Steiner: A frequent fast starter..." class="size-full wp-image-3234" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Kurt-Steiner-41.jpg" height="213" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Kurt Steiner: A frequent fast starter...</span></td></tr>
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Even with no qualifying time and a very cheap entry fee, I remember seeing unofficial runners or “bandits.” And there were people like Kurt Steiner, a big time AAU official. Kurt Steiner used to love to jump up there on the front line and run the first hundred yards all out, so he could get his picture taken at the starting line: Who’s leading the Boston Marathon. It’s Kurt Steiner, that chubby little AAU official from the New York Pioneer Club or the New York Athletic Club. One or the other. (I think I heard Kurt Steiner was a former French Foreign Legionnaire and/or race walker. He was a Boston fixture.)<br />
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<td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/67-video-2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">
<img alt=" Here's a to a video of the 1967 Boston. I can find myself, but I must be in there somewhere!" class="wp-image-3252 size-medium" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/67-video-2-300x234.jpg" height="312" width="400" /></a>
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<td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3 style="text-align: start;">
<hr3>Here's a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GS-YKs1uWsE">link to a video of the 1967 Boston</a>.<br /> I can't find myself in it, but I must be there somewhere!</hr3></h3>
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As for me, I jumped in the pack and started running. And I was really pleased with the pace, although it was very, very cold. I was running along in Wellesley, and I looked at my watch, and found I was like 1:27 for the half way time. And I said, “Wow, that means I’m going to break three hours!” So I pick up the pace there past Wellesley College, and through the town of Wellesley. And I start passing people left and right, and oh, I’m feeling super. I can’t believe how fast my legs are running. And there’s a little downhill part going through the town of Wellesley. And there I’m passing all these runners, and then coming out of town, you’re going through the Wellesley hills, then right before you get to the seventeen mile point, you cross over Route 128, and you get to this very hilly section. I’m starting to get a little bit tired at that point, and right after 17 miles, you turn right off of Highway 135 onto Commonwealth Avenue, and then you hit the series of Newton hills. Four or five, going up and down. About half way through the hills, I get a horrible cramp in my left hamstring. It feels like somebody has shot me with a rifle. And, oh gosh, I grab my left hamstring and try to knead out the cramp. I start rubbing it out, and so I am able to get the cramp to go away.<br />
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Then shortly thereafter, one of the guys comes by me, and he’s picking up the pace. I introduce myself, I say “I’m Ed Plowman. Where are you from?” He says “I’m Silas Wild.” And I say “Silas Wild, from Reynolds High School, Winston-Salem, North Carolina? I can’t believe that, man. Are you in school now?” He says “Yes. I’m going to Wesleyan University. I’m part of the cross country team at Wesleyan.” I said, “Well, I just finished up at N.C. State, and am about to start the Boston University School of Theology.” So we talked for just a few minutes, then he says “I think I’ll pick up the pace.” So, I said “Go ahead. I’m running more moderate today.”<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Paul-Connell-boston-globe.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Overheard Police Chatter: "Hey, Joe! There's a broad in the race!"" class="size-medium wp-image-3236" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Paul-Connell-boston-globe-219x300.jpg" height="400" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Overheard Police Chatter: <br />"Hey, Joe! There's a broad in the race!"</span></td></tr>
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And then another mile up the hills, the cramp hits me again. Doggone it! I grabbed that hamstring, and rubbed it out again. Then I’m running along, and I’m hearing cheering behind me. And I look back behind, and there’s a policeman there on the corner, and he’s on a walkie-talkie, and he says “Hey, Joe. There’s a broad in the race.” And I thought to myself “What a gruff Boston voice that is.”<br />
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So I look behind again, and, sure enough, there is a lady running in the race. She has a long flowing brown hair. And I say to myself, “Gosh, I’ve never been in a race with a woman before.” So, that kind of takes my mind off the cramp I’m getting.<br />
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So as I’m running along, I’m finally reaching Lake Street, which is near Heartbreak Hill and the 20 mile point. And I can see the Prudential Center, as I’m going down the hill. And I say “Wow, you know, that’s the finish line. Only 10K to go. I got it made. Man, how great it is to see that Prudential Center there on the horizon.” Well, I pick up the pace, going down that hill by Boston College. And I start up another hill before you get to Cleveland Circle. And that old cramp hits me again. Doggone it! Go ahead and massage that cramp. And then you’re following the trolley car. And you’ve got to watch the tracks, or else you can easily break an ankle. It’s rainy. It’s slippery. There’s a bit of snow coming down. But as I start down Cleveland Circle, there’s another downhill part. So I start rolling downhill for about half a mile, and then you turn left off of Commonwealth Avenue onto Beacon Street. And I say it feels good running along here, and the crowds are tremendous, even though the weather is horrible.<br />
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So, I go down through there, and I’m looking at all these brownstone houses along the way, and I say “Man, that’s the way I pictured Boston, the Brookline section.” And then the cramp comes back, now about every half a mile, but I stop and rub it out. I say to myself, “By golly, I’m going to finish this race. I ain’t no quitter!”<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/bobbi-gibb-finish-67.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Bobbi Gibb, in 1967, just after completing her second Boston Marathon." class="wp-image-3211 size-medium" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/bobbi-gibb-finish-67-253x300.jpg" height="300" width="253" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Bobbi Gibb, in 1967, just after <br /> completing her second Boston Marathon.</span></td></tr>
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And then I’m heading on down Coolidge Corner, which is within about 5k of the end. And I hear this cheering louder behind me. And I said, “Uh, oh! I bet this lady is gaining on me!” And sure enough, she’s back about 75 yards. It’s Roberta Gibb, and the crowds are going wild. So I said “Hey! They’re cheering for me, too!” So I decided I could pick up my pace a little bit more.<br />
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Even though it’s my first time in Boston, I know a little about the geography of the city, and as we’re going across the Massachusetts Turnpike, you can see the CITGO sign ahead. And I say “Hey, just to the right, that will be Fenway Park, gosh, where Ted Williams played.” So, you got a hill going up over the Massachusetts Turnpike, with lots of concrete there. Man, that is tough! But I go down, past that CITGO sign, and say “That’s great, it’s just a mile to the finish now. Man, I’m going to make it if I have to crawl on my ears. There’s no way I’m dropping out now.”<br />
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So, people are still waving, and I’m still running through there. It’s still very cold, and I’m shivering. Then we turn from Beacon Street, right again onto Commonwealth Avenue; and then you run underneath Massachusetts Avenue overhead, and you’ve got a little downhill section. And then from there you head on up to Hereford Street, where you take a right turn. And I say “Hey, I think this is going to be the next to the last turn,” but doggone it, you’ve got to run UP a hill on Hereford Street until you get to Boylston. So I say “OK, I can do it!” I reach Boylston, and as I turn left on Boylston Street, then I can see the Prudential Center. Oh, what a glorious sight that is!<br />
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So I got this race here in my pocket. I do turn around to see if Roberta Gibb is gaining on me, and at that point she’s nowhere to be seen, because I’ve been running a little faster, and she’s 17 seconds behind. So, I go down Boylston and cross the finish line, and see that clock: three hours and 27 minutes.<br />
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I say to myself “Wow, you know, I could have run three hours today, ‘cause I ran 3:18 in January in the Durham – Raleigh marathon, but those cramps, especially on the downhills, pretty well did me in.” On the other hand, man, I’m so glad to finish this race.<br />
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And then they’ve got these wool blankets down there, and the next thing I know they’re covering me up with these wool blankets and marching me on into the Prudential Center. I get my little duffle bag there with my sweats in it, and then they’re saying “Hey, there’s beef stew up at the top here,” and there’s the place to catch the elevator up to the floor with the beef stew. Well, I get up there, but it’s more like, how shall I say, by that time a lot of the beef is gone. And it’s hot, it’s so doggone hot. I have to wait there a few minutes, and then there is just a little beef, but I’m so tired I can barely chew it. So I just sit there and say again to myself “Man, I did it!”<br />
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That was by first Boston Marathon, 1967. I was 253<sup>rd</sup> out of approximately 800 runners that year. I’m not sure how many were official or un-official. I’m not sure if that estimate includes bandits or just those officially registered. Roberta Gibb finished a little behind me. It was her second Boston finish. Tom Derderian’s Boston Marathon book says she was 266<sup>th</sup> (Tom Derderian had a beard and he would always beat me in Boston Marathon. I later ran races around the Boston area so saw him often. He was a better runner than I was, but he was a friendly guy.)<br />
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Other finishers included the next year’s winner Amby Burfoot, who, after several time consuming pit stops, was 17<sup>th</sup> in 2:28. And at almost sixty years of age, John Kelley the Elder ran an amazing 2:58. Lou Castagnola was the first American, placing fourth in 2:17:48. He had done really super well with the 30K championship race earlier that year. I got to D.C. early for that race, and we got to ride around the course together, helping paint some directional arrows on the pavement. Lou was really a nice guy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/8-April-20-1967.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="In the early going, eventual winner Dave McKenzie (New Zealand) has to contend with a local four-legged bandit." class="size-full wp-image-3222" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/8-April-20-1967.jpg" height="278" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">In the early going, 1967 winner Dave McKenzie (New Zealand) has to contend with <br />a local four-legged bandit.</span></td></tr>
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David McKenzie from New Zealand was the race winner in a course record 2:15:45. In the cafeteria of the Pru after the race, he and Bobbi Gibb were the talk of post race chatter. But today, if you google “Boston Marathon 1967,” the first four dozen articles you find will only mention another runner who was considerably behind both Ms. Gibb and I: Katherine Switzer in about 4:20. When her boyfriend was photographed throwing the body block that knocked Jock Semple away from Katherine Switzer, as Jock was trying to grab her official race number, that picture changed long distance running forever.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Katherine-Nina.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Nina Kuscsik and Katherine Switzer in 1972, after they became official." class="wp-image-3226 size-full" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Katherine-Nina.jpg" height="348" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Nina Kuscsik and Katherine Switzer <br />in 1972, after finally becoming official.</span></td></tr>
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I didn’t get to talk to Katherine Switzer until a few years later, in the early ‘70s. I would talk with her there at the race, and also Sara Mae Berman, from Cambridge. She was another of the early female marathoners. I’d often run against Sara Mae and her husband Larry Berman in several of the local races. I’d be ahead of Sara Mae Berman, but Larry, he was a better runner than me. Sara Mae Berman later became a very good runner, and, of course, Katherine Switzer wound up winning her division of the marathon several years later. She and Nina Kuscsick, from New York, both won it. Later on, I’d go up for the beef stew, and Nina Kuscsick would be up there just laughing and joking, carrying on like she’d just run around the block. Those are good memories.<br />
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I moved to Boston in the fall of 1967, and ran the marathon all six years I was in the theology school at BU. Every year I invited guys to come up from the North Carolina Track Club or N.C. State, and it got to be a regular pipeline. Seems like one year, about a dozen guys came up. I would put them up in rooms there at Boston University. I would get several of the theology students who were working the parishes in Massachusetts and New Hampshire, so they’d go away for the weekend, and I’d say “Hey, Sam, Jerry, Bill, you know, I’ve got these guys coming up to run the marathon. Is it alright for them to stay in your room? I’ll get some fresh laundry down there from Bill. We’ll change the sheets on your bed, and afterwards we’ll put your sheets back on. They’ll sleep on the new sheets Bill’s giving me. We won’t bother your towel; I’ll have a towel for them. So I did that all six years I was there in Boston.<br />
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Marshall Adams came up just about all of those years (He missed 1972, getting ready for the Olympic marathon trial). Marshall ran a 2:29 in 1970 for 30<sup>th</sup> place and a 2:31 for 26<sup>th</sup> place in 1971. Gareth Hayes ran 2:23 for 19<sup>th</sup> in 1972, and Jack Mahurin 2:25 for 12<sup>th</sup> in 1973. Our NC State graduates would get a little upset when the crowd would see their “North Carolina Track Club” jerseys, and yell “Go, Tarheels!” confusing the club with the University of North Carolina.
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I would take the NCTC runners out, and show them around Boston, and take them to different places to eat, like the Durgin-Park Restaurant, where you’d eat upstairs on the red and white checkered tablecloths. You could get the lamb hocks, you could get chicken pot pie, you could get Yankee pot roast, and all those things. In ‘67, ‘68,’ 69, when I’d take guys to lunch, you’d get the Boston baked beans, then you’d get the mashed potatoes, you’d also get the cup of hot tea, and then you’d get the corn bread, and then they’d have these great big pitchers of water on the table, and you also go New England Indian pudding ice cream, all for 95 cents. But by 1970, the price went up to $1.95.<br />
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Durgin-Park was right at the heart of the downtown area, where you might have the mayor of Boston eating at the table, but also a meat packer, or a guy who unloaded fish from the boat in the Boston harbor eating at the same table. You’d have students of Harvard and B.U. and Boston College. You might have a cashier working in Filene’s or Jordan Marsh clothing store. It was fascinating. (When my wife and I ate there in the summer of 2014, when we were back in Boston; we got roast beef for $13.95, and Boston baked beans and mashed potatoes and corn bread, $13.95 and that was a lot of roast beef! That was the luncheon special.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Jock-Semple-Collage1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Two sides of Jock Semple, during the 1967 marathon and before the 1973 race." class="wp-image-3229 size-full" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Jock-Semple-Collage1.jpg" height="250" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Two sides of Jock Semple, during the 1967 marathon and before the 1973 race.</span></td></tr>
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After I moved to Boston for grad school, I got to know Jock Semple quite well. I wanted to sign up to run for Boston Athletic Association. So you had to go down and sign up there with Jock Semple, and I did so with a little bit of fear and trembling. He really was a very nice man. He had a golden heart, even though he was a little bit of a gruff guy. He'd come over in the 1920s from Glasgow, Scotland, and there were not that many opportunities. He came over and became a very good marathon runner and he had different kinds of jobs when he came over. He might have been a ship worker there in Glasgow. Glasgow was the main place for shipbuilding; then ship construction slacked off there through the period of the Depression. But then he became a physical therapist and a very good one. I'm not sure if he was ever professionally trained, but he became the physical therapist and athletic trainer for the Boston Bruins, the ice hockey team, and he became an assistant trainer sometimes for the Boston Celtics basketball team. He had his office there in the Boston Garden down the down the hall from Red Auerbach, coach of the Celtics.<br />
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I was going down to Jock’s office, either on my first or second visit, and I met Red Auerbach in the hallway there in the Boston Garden. I was walking down the hallway he said something like “Son, can I help you?” I say “Yes, sir. I’m going to see Mr. Jock Semple.” And he said “Ah, you’re one of those crazy runners, aren’t you?” And I said “Yes, I am. I run the Boston Marathon.” And he said “Ah, you crazy runners here. Run 26 miles for a bowl of beef stew.” I said “Yeah, I guess I am.” And he kind of cracked a smile. “Well, okay, follow me. I'll take you to Jock's office.” He says “Jock, you’ve got one of those crazy runners here to see you.” Jock said something like “Oh, Red, you know, not all of us are crazy!”<br />
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And so I went in to see Jock and signed up for the BAA. I think it was three dollars for a year’s membership. And so I started talking with him and told him I was a theology student at Boston University. “Oh, theology” he says, “So you're a minister?” I said “Yes, I'm a Methodist minister.”<br />
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“Oh, well, good.” It so happened Walter Brown the owner of the Boston Garden was receiving a massage from Jock at the time and he said “Well, Jock, if you got a Methodist minister here as a member of the BAA, then you’re going to have to watch your language, and stop your cussing so much.”<br />
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Jock said “Awe, I don’t cuss that much. It’s only when I get mad.” So I would go down there in the years afterwards to see Jock. I’d had knee pain, and Jock would say “Okay, let me treat that,” and he had a practice he called diathermy treatment. He had this heat lamp he would place, if you had injuries or whatever, you placed that diathermy treatment there, and that lamp would heat your leg. It had some medicinal qualities of the heat, I guess, similar to what ice would do.<br />
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And then he’d massage your knee or your hamstring, if you had a calf injury, whatever. And so I would ask him, “What do you charge?” he says “Oh, you’re a minister, I'm not going to charge you.”<br />
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Plus there would be races outside of Boston, and as I didn't have a car while I was in Boston, Jock would say “Well, there’s a race in Gardner, Massachusetts, and it’s about an hour west of Boston. Tell you what, meet me down here at the Boston Garden at, uh, I think the race is going to begin at 10 o'clock, meet me down here at eight o'clock Saturday morning, I'll give you a ride.” So sure enough, I’d meet him down there, and he’d give me a ride. On the way back, he’d be going to the Boston Garden, if the Bruins were playing that afternoon, he’d say “Okay, I can drop it off on Storrow Drive,” where there’s a pull over at BU, and he’d drop me off right there at the University.<br />
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And then there'd be a race out at Attleboro, or there’s be a race from Lexington to Cambridge, and Jock would say “Okay, I’ll be coming by my office, and I’ll give you a ride after, if you want one.” So, he was a good man, but if you offended him, or made him mad, he would let loose with a few “expletives deleted.”<br />
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So I was a member of the Boston Athletic Association for all six years in Boston. But I was never a star.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/0417_marathon-amby.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Amby Burfoot and the John Kelleys" class="wp-image-3241 size-medium" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/0417_marathon-amby-300x213.jpg" height="213" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Amby Burfoot and the John Kelleys</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I got to know John Kelley the Younger and John Kelley the Elder. They had the BAA indoor track meet, and the Knights of Columbus indoor track meet, and so I got to know people like Amby Burfoot and Pat McMahon, who finished second to Alvaro Mejia in 1971 by just five seconds. Right after that, Patrick McMahon had a steadily worsening series of injuries and he never raced again.<br />
<br />
So I got to know these top runners. I would enter the races there, but I would never score. I was not on the BAA first team, I was not on the second team, but I would be like maybe on the third or the fourth team, but there were several other guys there like Al Confalone. He was on the fourth team. He had been on the first team for many years, but was probably, oh gosh, 65 years old at the time. Then there was another guy Ray Counihan, he was on fourth team, too.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Al-Confalone.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Al Confalone" class="wp-image-3209 size-medium" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Al-Confalone-300x207.jpg" height="274" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;"> Al Confalone also ran well at the Yonkers Marathon.<br />Here he is placing second ahead of Ted Corbitt.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I remember one time while I was running, I came by to see Jock Semple to get some diathermy treatment, and Walter Brown was in there, and Mr. Brown said “Who’s that guy again, that came by?” (They thought I had left the room, but I was over in the corner dressing.) Jock said “Oh, that’s Reverend Ed Plowman.” Mr. Brown asked “Oh, he's a member of the BAA?” “Yeah, he’s a member of the BAA,” Jock said. “He's not a very good runner, but he likes to run, and he’s a nice guy. He’s the only minister on the team” and Jock said “I call him ‘the Flying Parson’.” [I think Jock copied this after Gil Dodds, the indoor mile record holder back in the 1940s who was also a minister. Dodds would run the Knights of Columbus races and the BAA games].<br />
<br />
So, sure enough, Jock would talk with Jerry Nason who was writing these articles for the Boston Globe, and Nason’s column would say “Well, in the race from Hopkinton to Newton, the 20 mile race on Washington’s Birthday, one of the favorites in the race will be Rev. Ed Plowman, the Flying Parson.” And Jock Semple had told him that, I think, because he liked me, but Nason took it like I was going to win it! “One of the favorites in the race!”<br />
<br />
I would be talking with John Kelley the Younger in the dressing room there, and he’d say “Well, Ed, I saw in the paper here that you are one of the favorites today.” I said “No, I'll be running behind you and old John, as well. Jock was just doing that because he’s a nice guy.”<br />
<br />
So, I did get to see those guys, but I never did beat either Johnny Kelley the Younger or Johnny Kelley the Elder. I thought I had “the elder” in a Lexington race to Cambridge. I was at about six miles, and I said, you know, I haven’t seen old John today. Then about seven miles, here he comes by me. And, gosh, at the time I was about 24 and he was about 64.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/forever-young.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="The "Forever Young" John Kelley" class="size-medium wp-image-3239" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/forever-young-300x224.jpg" height="224" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">The "Forever Young" John Kelley</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I later became such a good friend of the older Johnny Kelley that I visited him at his home in East Dennis, Massachusetts. Then when he was about 80, he and his wife would come to Florida and live at Sun City Center during January and February. I would have him to come up to Lakeland, Florida. I’d go down and get him; it would be about an hour and a half drive. I’d have him come up and speak to my class I was teaching at Florida Southern College on sport, leisure, and society.
<br />
<br />
Of course I would tell the students ahead of time. I would be coaching the college’s cross-country runners, and, man, they couldn’t believe here I am bringing in John Kelley the Elder, who made the Olympic team three times, and who won the Boston Marathon in 1935 and 1945! And forty years later, in 1985, he’s still quite a guy and a legend, and he’s coming to speak to my class! Talk about “Young at heart”!<br />
<br />
For the six times I ran Boston during grad school, my first race in 1967 turned out to be my fastest. My next best time would have been 3:36. Then the last year I ran it during my Ph.D. studies, I ran 3:41 in 1973 on a very hot day.<br />
<br />
While I was in school, the BAA racers formed the core of a nice running community. I remember one time I was running this race with the fourth team of the Boston Athletic Association. There had been a snow storm the day before the race, and it had snowed about eight inches. So we’re running in this race, and we’re not in the front, but we’re in the middle of the pack. There’s a group of us, about eight, going around this corner. Well, there’s a group of about six or eight kids there. The next thing we know, bam! Those snow balls are pelting us, and hitting us, oh gosh, in the head and the chest and everywhere. One of the guys in our pack said, “You know what, let’s go over and beat the crap out of those kids!”<br />
<br />
I said “Hey, guys, cool it here. We’re in this race, we don’t want to go over and beat the crap out of those kids. They’re having fun.” “Awe, some fun you call it! Man, that kid hit me square in the face with a snow ball.” I said “Guys, better keep running!” So there’d be occupational hazards like that.<br />
<br />
Also, while I was in the School of Theology, I learned theology has to do with converting people. So, my first year there, I converted four guys to become runners. I trained all four along with myself as a team, and I entered our group in the Boston University intramural race, which was held every November. We had to have a name. There was a TV program at the time called the Mod Squad, so I said we’re going to be the BU “God Squad.” And the registration form said each team had to have a coach or a director. The assistant to the dean of the theology school was a lady named Dorothy Lord, so I put down the “BU God Squad” with the Lord as the coach. And we won! We beat every one of the fraternities. We beat the BU Law School, the BU School of Education, everybody! There were always a couple of hot dogs who would take off at the start of a race like that, so I told my team, “Listen folks, I went to NC State and we were the wolfpack, so we’re going to run as a pack.” So we did, and we won.<br />
<br />
So here I come in with a pretty substantial trophy from Boston University: Intramural First Place. I come walking into Dean Muelder’s office. I’d gotten to know the dean the year before when he interviewed me about coming to BU. I say “Well, Dean Muelder, you know I’ve been running with some of the guys since I arrived. Well, here is our trophy.” And he says “Ed, this is pretty impressive. We’re going to put this out here in our display case, right outside my office.” It was a nice big glass display case. I say “Dean Muelder, I had to list a coach, too, so I listed Ms. Lord as our coach, so we are the BU God Squad, with Lord as our coach!” And we did that for all three years I was there in the School of Theology. We finished number one. And the Dean had all three of those trophies outside his office.<br />
<br />
I later interviewed Dean Muelder and said to him “Dean, you’ve been around the School of Theology since the 1920s. Now here it’s the 1960s. Either while you were a student in graduate school, or after you came back in 1945 to become the dean, have you had other people from the School of Theology to run the Boston Marathon?” And he said “No, Ed, you’re the first.” He said “We’ve had people go out and run a mile, I was a miler in college, but 26 miles, no. But I’m impressed with that!” And even later on, after I left BU, the dean said there still were no theology students who had run Boston, so I guess I was the lone groundbreaker.<br />
<br />
It’s interesting: in all the years I taught at Florida Southern, none of the religion majors were ever members of our varsity athletic teams. People would say they’re busy reading their Bibles, and they’re praying and concerned with spiritual things. Whereas for me, one time I even thought about writing a book on the theology of running, or religion and meditation, because you always hear talk about the “runner’s high.” People would ask me “Hey, Ed, have you ever thought about praying before you ran a marathon?” I’d say, “Are you kidding me? You think I would go to the starting line and think I was going to run 26 miles without a prayer?” I said, “Boy, I sure do pray!” because I still remember people saying “Hey, you run a whole mile?” How miraculous that was!
Most of the runners in the BAA were Catholic, but as a protestant minister, they accepted me quite well. Sometimes they would want to talk about religion. I’d go out to bars with the guys after a race, or sometimes before the BAA indoor games. I’d have a cup of tea, and they would have either wine or beer, and they’d say “Hey, is it alright if we do that?” and I’d say “Listen guys, I’m satisfied here with tea, and what you all drink, this is your choice.” And they’d say “Well, Okay.”<br />
<br />
I think our common ground was that serious running requires a lot of self discipline, and I think a strong spiritual foundation helps give runners that discipline. It was an interesting experience to be a member of the BAA. I liked the guys.
<br />
<br />
I also got to know several of the guys at the North Medford Club. I believe Tom Derderian was with the North Medford. And then there was a guy, Dave Patrick, a professor at MIT. He would always run the Boston Marathon. I’d see him out training, and we’d run sometimes. I’d train during the lunch time, and he’d be out on a break from teaching physics over at MIT, and we’d run some together.<br />
<br />
The Boston winter weather made for some harsh training conditions, especially for someone from North Carolina, and I always eagerly anticipated the early signs of spring. One of the first big races of the year was in February, the Washington Birthday 20 Miler. A Dodge dealer in Newton sponsored it. That was a great run. I ran it every year I was there in Boston. You would run the first 17 miles of the marathon course in from Hopkinton, then where you turned onto Commonwealth Avenue in the marathon, you’d just continue on three more miles straight. There was a Dodge place, down there on the left, where you’d finish. I didn’t have a car, so to get to the start, I took the subway out to the 17 mile point, and then I walked up to three miles to catch the buses that were taking runners out to the start of the race. Then after the race, after running 20 miles, I’d jog back three miles to the subway. So, actually, I had to cover a full marathon that day, when you count the jog and walk three miles getting to the start, then another jog and walk three miles, back to the subway after the finish. But that race was a good tune-up for Boston.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/6-April-19-1962-2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Wellesley College girls out in force in the early 1960s." class="size-full wp-image-3217" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/6-April-19-1962-2.jpg" height="219" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Wellesley College girls out in force in the early 1960s.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the late ‘60s, Wellesley College co-eds coming out to watch the marathon was already a well established tradition. Maybe not as slick a production as today, but a big deal on race day, because the girls were always there, supporting the marathoners. They make more signs today. All those Wellesley girls you see today holding signs saying “KISS ME!” We never saw that sort of thing while I was running in the late ‘60s.
<br />
<br />
I remember the Wellesley girls handing out orange slices. Things like that. They didn’t have Gatorade until about 1970 or ’71. Then they started handing out Gatorade, but before that they did hand out some water. The race was real hot in 1968, and they were handing out cubes of ice, too. I remember sucking on the ice there some. And then I also carried ice from there in my hands.<br />
<br />
It was real hot in ’68 and real hot in ‘73. Those were the two hottest years I can remember. It was cold in ‘67, freezing. And then in ‘70 it was freezing. In ‘69, ‘71, and ’72, the race temperature was probably in the upper 70’s.<br />
<br />
Today you can follow any runner’s progress on your iPhone. Back in the late ‘60s, they would have an early edition of the newspaper right after the race. By the time I had finished, if the winner was running a 2:22, like Amby Burfoot did in 1968, and I was running over 3:30, by the time I went in and got beef stew, and got back down on the street, the paper would be published, with the results of who had won. But I would hear the results along the way. There would be some guys at about the 20 mile mark, yelling “Hey, so and so won!”<br />
<br />
Boston radio - WBZ 103 - would be there broadcasting the race. They had this guy Johnny Most, the announcer for the Boston Celtics. He was famous for his gravelly tones calling the end of Game 7 in 1965: "Havlicek steals it. Over to Sam Jones. Havlicek stole the ball! It's all over! Johnny Havlicek stole the ball!" He would be announcing the race on the radio.<br />
<br />
In the 1970 race, I had a friend tape record the broadcast on one of these large tape recorders. I still have that tape at home in Lakeland Florida, and every now and then, I’ll listen to it:<br />
<br />
<em>“As the race progresses, Ron Hill of England is still running in first place. And the guy who is running in second, looks like he is from Georgetown University. What is his name? Is there any chance he’ll catch him?” </em>And Johnny Most said<em> “Well, when you’re running in the rain, you get wet shoes. Wet socks. I imagine his feet are going to be very heavy here towards the end of this race… At this particular point his shoes are getting very heavy, and I think he’s not going to be able to catch Ron Hill from England. This weather is type they like there in England, where it’s cold and it’s wet.”</em><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Ron-Hill_boston_1970.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Ron Hill_boston_1970" class="wp-image-3243 size-full" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Ron-Hill_boston_1970.jpg" height="232" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Ron Hill enjoying some English weather in Boston, 1970.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And he was right, although Eamon O’Reilly from Georgetown did take second that year behind Ron Hill in an American record of 2:11:12.<br />
<br />
I ran pretty well in 1970. I don’t remember exactly what my time was, but my knee was hurting me that year. I had knee surgery on November 19, 1970, and I did run the Boston Marathon in 1971. I trained real hard from November on, although the orthopedic surgeon said I’d never run again. I said, “Well, I’m going to give it a try!” So I was able to run it, probably in about 4:30, just five months after the surgery. But I was determined to do it. That was my first year working on my Ph.D. degree.<br />
<br />
I was always glad to see North Carolina Track Club runners come up from the South: Guys coming up speaking the southern accents. I liked to show off Boston, walk down the Freedom Trail, and shock them with a little bit of Northern culture. Especially take them into Durgin-Park restaurant, with the rude waitresses. The waitresses there were a tradition. If you weren’t insulted by the waitresses at least two or three times, you should feel offended, because they were very brusque.<br />
<br />
I remember one time Marshall Adams was there. The waitress barked at him, “Let’s have that order now!” He said “I need to look over the menu a little bit more, I haven’t decided.” She replied “I can’t wait any longer! I can’t wait on you all day! Let’s have that order now!”<br />
<br />
But I’d had the Durgin-Park waitress experience the first time I came to Boston. I had my suitcase there beside the table. The waitress said “Get that suitcase out of the way. I’m not going to trip over that old thing. Move it over there in the corner!” So, you kind of get used to that Boston brusqueness.<br />
<br />
I moved from Boston in 1973 to High Point College, North Carolina, where I taught for five years. I’d completed my course work, but was still working on my doctorial dissertation: “Social Change in the South since the Second World War, as influenced by the Southern Regional Council (headquartered in Atlanta, Georgia).” I taught all day and tried to write in the evening and on the weekends. With enough procrastinating, it took two and a half years to finish. I traveled throughout the south interviewing people, as well as reviewing the literature on how the SRC had effected social change in the South. I finished up in ‘76, and spent a summer studying at Duke University on a Lilly Foundation fellowship. Then I moved to Florida Southern in August of 1978, where I spent the next 37 years.<br />
<br />
Over the years, I ran bunches of marathons, 84 in all, including ten at Boston. I ran both in Florida, and in New England (I ran the Cape Cod marathon, the Holyoke marathon, the Hyannis marathon). I also ran the New Jersey marathon and the Marine Corps marathon a couple of times. The last time I ran Boston was in ’97, the year after the 100<sup>th</sup> one.<br />
<br />
I traveled to England 15 times with my students, and I often incorporated marathons into those trips.<br />
<br />
I ran in the London marathon in ’87. I ran other marathons in England: the Isle of Wight marathon in 1989, near Portsmouth, where the D-Day invasion started. I ran the Plymouth marathon, where the Pilgrims left for America in 1620. I ran in Southampton, where all the passenger ships use to land. That Southampton marathon was cold, rainy, temperature upper 30s. 40 mile an hour wind off the Itchen River, which flows into the English Channel there in Hampshire. I ran the Poole marathon, the Darby marathon. In fact, once I did four marathons within four weeks. So I really enjoyed running marathons there in England.<br />
<br />
There was also the British marathon championship. I did that in ’85, and Ron Hill was there as the guest of honor. So I walked up to Ron Hill at the pasta party the night before the race. I said “Gosh, Mr. Hill, I remember the last time I saw you was fifteen years ago. You won the Boston Marathon in 2:10.” “Yes, that’s right.” He asked “Have you been training much?” I said I’d been training some, that I lived in Florida now.<br />
<br />
He asked would I like to come over to his table, and I jumped at the chance! So I go over to the table and there are these various officials over there with Ron Hill and they started questioning me. “Oh, you’re an American? You’re running in the British national championships?” I said yes. “Well, now, are you one of these lads that’s come over to win? An Australian came over last year and won it. Are you planning on winning the British marathon championship this year?” No, I said, I hope to break four hours tomorrow. “Oh, four hours. You came all the way from America to run four hours?” Well, I said, I’ve got a group of about thirty students I’m teaching, over here from Florida Southern. “Four hours?” they replied. I asked them what they thought was going to win the next day? “Oh, probably 2:17 will win.” Well,” I said, “I’ll just wave at the starting line then!”<br />
<br />
So I was talking to Ron Hill. (He said “Call me Ron, not Mr. Hill.”) I said you’re one of the few PhD’s in the races here. He said “Yes, that’s right.” He has a Ph.D. in textile chemistry. He talked about the company he’d started, Ron Hill Sports. He said he’d developed various kinds of fibers and wicking fabrics. He was promoting the benefits of synthetic materials for runners, including wrap-over shorts, mesh vests, waterproof running jackets and reflective strips. And he talked about running every day. He kept this log, and hadn’t missed a day of running since December 1964. (At that point he was not even half way to achieving his goal of running at least a mile a day for 50 years straight, which he reached on December 20, 2014.) He was a very meticulous kind of guy, and I enjoyed talking with him.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/baa97.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="101 Years of Boston: Poster by artist Andrew Yelenak" class="size-medium wp-image-3246" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/baa97-228x300.jpg" height="400" width="304" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">101 Years of Boston: <br />Poster by artist Andrew Yelenak</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I also ran the Paris marathon in ’85. That was the 40<sup>th</sup> anniversary of end of World War II, so that was a big deal. You run the Paris Marathon, starting off there at the Arc de Triomphe, there on Champs-Élysées, running down towards the Place de la Concorde, oh my goodness, and then you’re going by the Eiffel Tower, and you see Avenue Victor-Hugo, and you’re thinking about all these things. And then when you do the London Marathon, you’re starting out at Greenwich, which we use as the point for measuring time, and you’re running past Buckingham Palace, and you’re finishing up there across from Big Ben. And you have to say, that’s quite a little trip for a guy from the tobacco fields and corn fields of Yadkin County, where I started out at age ten working for 25 cents an hour. So, you say “You’ve come a long way, buster!”<br />
<br />
And then to also have run the Boston Marathon. Those are all good feelings. But Boston is still my favorite marathon of all. In ‘97 the last year I ran it, it was still a great experience, even though I ran it in about five hours. It was still terrific, to be able to do something like that. Running has been very much a part of my life and soul and spirit; and with the passing of time now some of my best memories.<br />
<br />
Ed Plowman<br />
Raleigh, North CarolinaKenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-26417590198547533022015-07-11T11:50:00.000-04:002015-10-23T13:59:01.023-04:00The weather was brutal. I don’t remember ever being so cold. - Mark Davidhizar (April 20, 2015)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqS3u7MexrLIBPjQdfjrgcBx7n7PTfL0W_TH0nt5dL4PjWF2v56uIMVvTjW3uV7wlUbknLXYwESsi8AA584zH7B8TgILbP0tx8dq8O8iFOtFeRpcIj47ZddAH5HUDs2gB9fqvimBGe0BI/s1600/MD+2x3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqS3u7MexrLIBPjQdfjrgcBx7n7PTfL0W_TH0nt5dL4PjWF2v56uIMVvTjW3uV7wlUbknLXYwESsi8AA584zH7B8TgILbP0tx8dq8O8iFOtFeRpcIj47ZddAH5HUDs2gB9fqvimBGe0BI/s200/MD+2x3.jpg" width="134" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark Davidhizar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Weather-wise this was one of the most miserable experiences
of my life; but at the same time, Boston 2015 was one of the best experiences
of my life.<br />
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But before talking about race day, what a great weekend it
was in Boston! So much to do, no doubt about it, though we didn’t do or see it
all. First off, I would like to say “thank you” to Meghan Irvine and her family
for allowing us to stay at their house. Despite the fact we had to stay in a
boy’s room with a bunch of Red Sox/Patriots stuff, it was comfortable and a lot
cheaper than a hotel.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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After a late arriving flight into Boston Friday night, Tina
and I woke up early and drove a little over an hour into Boston for the BAA 5k.
The weather was a perfect day for the 5k. Wish we got the same weather on
Marathon Monday, but that’s another story… I was able to see Tina at a couple
of locations on the course. I also saw
Sean Astin running the 5k. After Tina completed her impressive PR 5k, we made
our way to the expo, stopping on the way for some quick pictures taken at the
finish line.<br />
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYuUF1nLR5X0nSG2ecQ7e4pNMXb3OIZX6Wca2W6mJ97dc2rXBFMx1N5Wv52klcVz0CKCaPVPH8FRjltMW0JrIvzT1atv2oIBrF15zwTWHBfnyR7QaEL9daCl834Q6Jd-W7nvk6ttGcozY/s1600/MC+01+5k+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYuUF1nLR5X0nSG2ecQ7e4pNMXb3OIZX6Wca2W6mJ97dc2rXBFMx1N5Wv52klcVz0CKCaPVPH8FRjltMW0JrIvzT1atv2oIBrF15zwTWHBfnyR7QaEL9daCl834Q6Jd-W7nvk6ttGcozY/s400/MC+01+5k+Collage.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Celebrities spotted in the BAA 5K: My wife Tina and Sean Astin</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_mljoT4lr1fo0LGUYueqhRUgUV5xP8VfjcfxPRW1kIGSDfPhE9nkFMGFiUhrtTsK3EoEYtRCpa78qP2EMBQhcLb-KbYJ_goadGVKZWUBro33iiqAH0aIbWVxx3XEC-3Gd-Rm-HRvvbDE/s1600/MC+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_mljoT4lr1fo0LGUYueqhRUgUV5xP8VfjcfxPRW1kIGSDfPhE9nkFMGFiUhrtTsK3EoEYtRCpa78qP2EMBQhcLb-KbYJ_goadGVKZWUBro33iiqAH0aIbWVxx3XEC-3Gd-Rm-HRvvbDE/s320/MC+04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">With Meb</span></td></tr>
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Up next, probably the thing I was looking forward to most on
this trip was getting to meet my running hero, Meb Keflezighi. Meb won the 2014
Boston Marathon, becoming the first American to do so in 31 years. But as good
of a runner as Meb is, he is a better man. He is a strong Christian, very
personal, and puts others first. Meb spoke on behalf of Generation UCan (think
Gatorade but with a lot less sugar). It’s not a product I use, but I greatly
respect his commitment to the company. Meb started to represent and being
sponsored by Generation UCan five years ago in Boston when he met an eight year
old who had so many dietary issues and needed a lot of help. The dietary
program of Generation UCan helped the boy so much. Meb was so committed to the
products and the family of the eight year old he came to the boy’s birthday
party, not just to make an appearance, but to be there with him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The rest of our day was spent at the expo and a Red Sox
game.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Following all the walking on Saturday, we did our best to
keep me off of my feet on Sunday. After the Duck Tour (a great way to both see
the city and relax), Tina and I met up with Megan, Killi, and Dion (who also
stayed with Meghan for the weekend), and went back to the house for an early
carbo loading dinner and the chance to get ready for the next morning…<o:p></o:p></div>
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You go into events like the Boston Marathon with visions of
what the day will be like. My hope was temperatures in the mid 40s, a tail
wind, and overcast skies; and running my best race ever. Obviously our visions
of what we expect don’t always work out the way we think they should. Race
morning arrived with a temp of 42 degrees, but the real feel was in the mid
30s, windy and rain.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The alarm went off at 3:00 in the morning. Yep, awake at
3:00 for a 10:00 race. As expected, I really didn’t sleep too well the night
before. We needed to leave Meghan’s house early because Meghan and Kelli needed
to board their bus to Athletes’ Village at 5:45.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ZWCm4BDEHgTnWoEyEfC9ImnpaKimeEDnx6HbzcY7QtIL4P9oYktLJkxq7fgb3ovBWlG1Alc1LlUCypwyHtDg4WKpJAz08uGWXALl8l3dTpGOe9RDvapsVnBELNXHoQFnhaYuqg3oCiU/s1600/MD+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ZWCm4BDEHgTnWoEyEfC9ImnpaKimeEDnx6HbzcY7QtIL4P9oYktLJkxq7fgb3ovBWlG1Alc1LlUCypwyHtDg4WKpJAz08uGWXALl8l3dTpGOe9RDvapsVnBELNXHoQFnhaYuqg3oCiU/s400/MD+03.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Pre-race photo with Meghan Irvine and Kelli White.</span></td></tr>
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As you can imagine, the roads into Boston at that time of
morning were empty. After we parked, Tina and I walked with Meghan and Kelli to
the hotel they would leave from. From
there we wished Meghan and Kelli good luck and headed towards Boston Common,
where we’d check our gear and board a bus to Hopkinton.</div>
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The race weather forecast was not very promising, calling
for highs in the mid 40s, winds out of the east at 20 mph (yes, a nasty head
wind), with gusts up to 30mph, and rain.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tina and I arrived early at Boston Common and found a bench
to sit and wait until it was time to load up.
I had made contact with a running friend of mine, Chad Ganger. The plan
was to meet at Boston Common and ride the bus together. Those who know me well,
know I am not very patient. I am the type of person who expects to be early. My
worry started to kick in, for probably no reason at all, and I messaged Chad I
was going to go ahead and get on the bus. In the crowd of 30,000 runners on
this day, I never did see Chad in Boston (sorry guy). Nerves were obviously
starting to get to me as I used the port a potties four times while in Boston
Common.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Impatient me, off to the bus…</span></td></tr>
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I have heard people say they hate the ride to Hopkinton
because they have you go up in an uncomfortable school bus. I actually enjoyed
it. I got the opportunity to talk with runners from all over the country about
running. The common questions were, “How many Boston Marathons have you run before?,
How many marathons have you run?, Where did you qualify?, Where are you from?,
How did your training go? (typically asked when they knew your home had an
awful winter)” And, of course, “What’s your goal for today?” People from all
over the country, all kinds of professions, all with one goal, to run well at
the Boston Marathon.</div>
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Athletes’Village was more of the same. People from all over the
world, talking about running. Really, we didn’t spend as much time in the
Village as I thought we would, maybe an hour and a half. While there you could
get your photo taken beside the famous “It All Starts Here” sign, as well as a
couple other places. I already put my money down to buy my race photos, so I
was taking any opportunity I could to get my picture taken and get my money’s
worth. Also in Athletes’ Village, I used the port a potties three more times
(bringing the total to seven). At 9:05,
the first wave of runners were called to start heading to the starting corrals.</div>
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The walk to the corrals from Athletes’ Village is about a
half mile long. On the way right before the corrals were tons of, you guessed
it, port a potties. I figured I better make one more stop (total of eight at
this point). Once in the corrals, I needed to go again (that’s nine. there is a
reason I am sharing this with you, I promise). We were in the corrals by 9:30
with the race beginning at 10:00. Once again there were more conversations with
runners. One guy was from Chicago, another from Edmonton. The one from Chicago
had about the same goal as me, and I thought I would hang with him for a while.</div>
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My goals for the race were 1) Run under 2:55, a new PR [6:40
average] and if not, 2) Run under 3:00. Goal 3) was Run a BQ time.</div>
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For those who are not familiar with the course, the Boston
Marathon is unusual in that it’s a point to point course with a net elevation
loss.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After introductions of the elite male runners and the
national anthem, the gun went off and we were on our way. At this time, there was no rain and light
wind. There was only one problem at the start, I had to pee again. I swear, I
really didn’t think I drank that much water. Also at the start, I lost contact
with the guy from Chicago I thought I could run with and pace with. I am not
sure if he got ahead of me or behind me. The corrals were so crammed and it was
impossible to move side to side. I was basically going to have to run my own
race.</div>
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I have read and been told many times, when it comes to
Boston, don’t push the opening miles. They will kill you later. All the people
in front of you will slow you down, consider it a blessing. The first four
miles are downhill: a couple of rolling up hills, but noticeably, you lose a
lot of elevation. But I kept it easy, maybe too easy. First mile was 7:01. OK,
that was too slow, but really I couldn’t help it. It was just that crowded so I
couldn’t move faster. Second mile I was able to pick it up and ran a 6:37 mile.
At the end of the second mile, there was some relief, a port a potty. After a
40 second pit stop, I was back running. Probably tried to catch up too much at
once and ended up running the third mile in 6:48. Considering the added pit
stop, where I did not stop my watch, this was way too fast. [Truthfully, I
didn’t look at my splits too closely until I wrote this and now I am kicking
myself.]</div>
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Mile 4 – 6:25, mile 5 – 6:38, mile 6 – 6:23, mile 7 – 6:28,
mile 8 – 6:36, mile 9 – 6:45, and mile 10 – 6:35.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That was far from the plan, especially miles 4, 6, and 7.
They say seconds in the beginning of the race equals minutes at the end. How
would this all play out later? It was also around mile 8 it first started
raining. The rain lasted for a couple miles. At this point, I had already
thrown off my hat and gloves.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I also learned it is very easy to get distracted in Boston
while running the marathon. There are crowds like I have never seen at a race
before: I was giving high fives to the kids along the course, and trying to
move among all the other runners. It became so much of a distraction I forgot
about the fuel I planned on using at mile 8 and remembered it at mile 11. Oops.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Everything you have ever heard about running through
Wellesley is true, although I have been told the volume and crowd was less than
usual due to the rain. But for a first timer like myself, I didn’t care. They
call the course along Wellesley College the “scream tunnel,” and for good
reason. Wellesley College is an all girls school and you can hear them
screaming from a mile away. When I first heard them, I just thought, “You have got
to be kidding me.” You couldn’t see
them, but, man, could you hear them. Wellesley students are also known for
trying to get kisses from runners. For this reason, since they are lined up on
the right side, I stayed left so I wasn’t cut off by some guy trying to get a
kiss. From Wellesley to mile 15 are just small rolling hills.</div>
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Mile 15 probably has the steepest drop on the whole course.
You drop about 100 feet in elevation right before the climbing begins. Mile
splits for miles 11-15: 6:40, 6:32, 6:38, 6:39, and 6:48. Amazingly, the most
loss of elevation in a single mile, and it was a slow mile. By about mile 12
though, I knew things were not going very well and it could be a struggle. At
the halfway point, I was at 1:27:05, 25 seconds ahead of goal pace.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At this point, the rain continued and the cold precipitation
would last until the end. My hands were numb. I was struggling to grab water at
the aid stations and was having trouble seeing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mile 16 starts the infamous Newton Hills, a series of four
hills over miles 16-21. My goal at this point was to relax on the up hills. If
the time slips some, that was fine. Mile splits on the hills were 6:36, 6:57,
6:59, 6:57, and finally 7:27 up Heartbreak Hill. Obviously, Heartbreak Hill was
an ugly mile for me. At this point my legs are dead. It was really only a
matter of how long until I hit the wall. At the top of Heartbreak Hill is
Boston College. Warning to anyone who runs Boston in the future: Don’t take
water from anyone who is not at an official aid station. More than likely, at
least at Boston College, it will be beer. It may not sit too well in your
stomach. No, I didn’t take any, but I could smell it as I ran by.</div>
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Mile 22 was run in 6:50. Then finally, as we entered Brookline, I hit
the wall. During the 23rd mile I walked for probably a quarter of a mile. Whatever
chance there was of breaking 2:55 was gone. My 23rd mile was completed in 8:20.
Usually when I walk, it means the rest of the way will be run/ walk.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I got going again and finished the race running, I didn’t
need to walk. Final mile splits were 7:18, 7:10, 7:15. Nothing fast, but I kept
moving.</div>
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Before getting to mile 26 were the most famous turns of all
of running, Right on Hereford, Left on Boylston. As loud as Wellesley was,
Boylston was unreal, and the elite runners had been finished for almost an
hour. It was nuts. I was looking for Tina as I ran down Boylston, and for some
reason I had it stuck in my head she would be on my right side. Turns out, she
was on the left. Never saw her, but at least she saw me.</div>
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Finishing time was 3:00:43, so I missed out on my first two
goals.</div>
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After crossing the finish line is where the long walk
begins. First came water (thankfully the volunteers had the caps already off,
because I still couldn’t feel my hands. They were still numb). Then they give
you your medal and take some photos.</div>
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Then they give you a poncho to keep you warm (I really wish
this came before the medal). I had to ask the woman for help because I couldn’t
feel anything, and couldn’t get my arms through the arm holes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At this point, I must not have been looking too good because
three or four nurses asked me repeatedly if I was OK.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then it was a long walk back to Boston Common to pick up my
gear and meet Tina. They provided changing tents for all the runners. On an
average day, this would probably go pretty smooth but with the rain and cold,
everyone wanted to change, and it was packed full.</div>
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Tina and I had some time to kill before Meghan and Kelli
finished, so we went and grabbed a late lunch at The Cheesecake Factory.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Can’t think of a better way to celebrate than with Red
Velvet Cheese Cake. While at dinner, we got text alerts of how Meghan and Kelli
were doing. Both of them ran impressive times, especially considering the
conditions. Meghan ran a 3:44:07, and Kelli (first marathon ever) ran a
5:16:14.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">Post-race photo with Meghan Irvine and Kelli White.</span></td></tr>
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Questions I have been asked since finishing the marathon: “Daddy, Did you win?” OK, this one came from our daughters
back at home. Simple answer, no, which was then followed by the question: “Why
not?” Maybe I should stop running the local 5k’s and 10k’s to lower my kids
expectations.</div>
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How did it go? Quiet honestly, it was one of the greatest
weekends of my life. The experience of being in Boston for the longest running
marathon was unreal. Along with that, I got to spend it with my wife, Tina.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But it was also the most miserable time of my life. The
weather was brutal. I don’t remember ever being so cold.</div>
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Are you happy with your time? Yes and no. I didn’t hit my
goal, and weather obviously played a part in that. But also, there were parts I
just didn’t run smart. I believe I was ready to run a 2:55:00, it just didn’t
happen. However, it is hard to be disappointed with running a BQ time in
Boston.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Will I return next year? Well, I do have a qualifying time,
but the answer, unless something drastically changes and we win the lottery
(which we don’t play), the answer is no.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Will you return to run it again at some point? Assuming I
keep up my training and maintain qualifying times, it looks like maybe in five
years for the 2020 marathon would be the most realistic chance of returning.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small; text-align: start;">My mother’s graph</span></td></tr>
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Thank-You’s go to all
those who supported me along the way. First off, thank you very much to all who
said they were stalking me (AKA: getting text updates or following my progress
online). I have heard stories from people I work with, go to church with, and
even my kid’s school teachers. Also, my mom had her students do some sort of
graph of my progress. Truthfully, I think she had them do the graph to give her
a reason to have her cell phone out while teaching. But most of all, a special
thanks to my wife Tina who had to put up with my running schedule and me
constantly talking about this race. She put up with a lot to get me here.</div>
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Mark Davidhizar<br />
Elkhart, Indiana
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-25763666942247502102015-05-29T14:34:00.000-04:002015-10-13T14:39:21.495-04:00Let me tell you, Boston takes no prisoners - Vince Hemingson (April 17, 2006)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8DV442mIcajyfYQuehoxad_a6I8x_TNvGMZ8ByEIco5LQ0rAoxj0VhnA3fchnGKLH94frgavFFivMt2TgMjuwnCwAHtuopHqqiBi0x_C8VVQMfNUAaTxeYVAg2YGS72S-xY76Y2x1B94/s1600/1185283_10151858571221405_1700001562_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8DV442mIcajyfYQuehoxad_a6I8x_TNvGMZ8ByEIco5LQ0rAoxj0VhnA3fchnGKLH94frgavFFivMt2TgMjuwnCwAHtuopHqqiBi0x_C8VVQMfNUAaTxeYVAg2YGS72S-xY76Y2x1B94/s200/1185283_10151858571221405_1700001562_n.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vince Hemingson</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Boston is one tough marathon course. Reading about the route and even driving the course doesn't really prepare you for what it is like to race at Boston. Everybody who struggles with the Boston Beast can take some solace in the fact that even four-time winner Bill Rodgers dropped out of his first Boston race at twenty miles. I often caution people in training for the marathon to remember the saying, "You have to respect the race, you have to respect the distance." This goes double for Boston. After completing my first Patriots Day race, I developed a whole new reverence and respect for the Boston Marathon.
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<br />
<a name='more'></a>My little quest to qualify for the Boston Marathon began as a New Year's Resolution in late 2004. Over the next sixteen months (or sixty-five weeks) (or five hundred plus days), I ran three marathons, a couple of ultra-marathons (plus another half dozen thirty mile training runs) and a dozen shorter-distances races. I lost twenty-five pounds along the way (actually I probably lost more, gained them back, and then lost them again). I went through about fifteen pairs of running shoes, Asics Nimbus'. I ran at least three thousand miles. I consumed gallons of gels and goo’s, sucked back barrels of Gatorade. I ranted and raved, sulked and pouted, strutted and swaggered about, sniveled and whined and shouted my story from the mountain-top by way of a blog entitled <a href="http://vanishingtattoo.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html">“BOSTON OR BUST - One Man's journey to the Mecca of Marathoners.”</a> [Along the way my Blog - all 282 Posts – kept me honest. It kept me motivated and it gave me a place to vent my spleen and exercise my demons. The Blog was been a little bit like being a Pace Group Leader for a really, really, really big running group. I loved getting comments back. They were an interesting mirror to gaze into. I even started getting regulars which was a bit of a surprise. In the end, the Blog took on a life of its own, a cause for occasional friction and hostility in Vince World when I struggled to balance the time requirements for training, working and writing. And the Blog found its own identity, getting noticed in places and venues that rather surprised me.]
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I have to say two of the highlights for me on this Boston journey have had to do with Bill Rodgers. I met Bill in person at the 2005 Las Vegas Marathon. I started out curious and ended up being an admirer and a huge fan. Bill Rodgers is a class act. He autographed my race bib and a copy of his book (my second). He was gracious and sincere and utterly down to earth and speaking with him was just a delight.
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When I told him I had just qualified for Boston, his enthused response took me a little aback. "Wow, that's great! That's tough, you know, to qualify for Boston. I raced at Boston a few times and Boy!, that race... Congratulations! You can't just do Boston once. You need to race it a few times. Boy, that race." And Bill just shook his head and grinned. It took me a second to realize Bill was being perfectly genuine. All this from a four-time winner at Boston. In this moment we were just a pair of runners with a shared passion. I had no sense we were separated by talent, or speed, or achievement. My book inscription reads, "Vince, Run Forever! Have fun in your 1st Boston Marathon! '06-'07 Bill Rodgers." There it was in ink, an invitation, a command no less, from one of Mount Olympus' marathon Gods to run Boston more than once...
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We chatted for a few minutes about running as you get older and how he was coming back from an injury and was running half marathons in favor of marathons, and I couldn't help but think of his incredible string of marathon victories and his equally incredible volume of races and training. And at the end of his string, Bill Rodgers still thinks of and hungers to race.
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<a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/2006Boston15.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="2006Boston15" class="alignright wp-image-2794 size-full" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/2006Boston15.jpg" height="400" width="262" /></a>
Once we arrived in Boston and had secured our rental car at Logan Airport, Hugh, Luisa and I checked into our hotel and immediately made a bee-line to the Bill Rodger's Running Center. If Boston is Mecca, then Bill's store was Holy Ground. The place was filled with memorabilia from his racing career. I had been checking out the marathon gear from Adidas online and knew exactly what I wanted. I shopped for five minutes and admired the decor for an hour. I also picked up some t-shirts for the guys back home, and some for myself. The Bill Rodgers’ quotes on the t-shirts would prove eerily prophetic, "the marathon can humble you" and "If you want to win a race you have to go a little berserk." The first goes without saying, and the second applies just as well to finishing the last 10K strong. If you want a time at Boston, you have to be willing to go a little berserk...
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There is no way to sugar-coat it. I got slapped around in Boston - but good. The sheer numbers of people running and the ever changing grade make it nearly impossible to find a "groove" and stick that pace for any length of time. You always have to be vigilant about your pace. The downhills lure you on and the uphills catch you unawares. "Pace" is almost impossible to achieve.
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<a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/MarathonClinicBostonMarathonApril172006.jpg"><img alt="MarathonClinicBostonMarathonApril172006" class="aligncenter wp-image-2798 size-full" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/MarathonClinicBostonMarathonApril172006.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a>
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I went out "easy", but still reeled off a 24 minute 5K and a 48 minute 10K. If you look at my heart rate chart you will see I actually did start out relatively easy. I did not get my heart rate up for at least the first thirty minutes. I was thrown for a bit of a loop, when in the first two hundred meters I was jostled by someone and one of my Gel bottles squirted from my Fuel Belt and was lost in a nano second in the crowd. There was not even a suggestion I could stop and recover it. In a flash, I had lost half my fuel supply for the race. I was going to have to use my initiative and ingenuity in the field to make up for the loss. Needless, to say, that was going to be a stretch...
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Hugh was not happy with the pace at 10K and passed me, saying as he breezed by me, "This pace is not going to cut it." I didn't have a reply for that and I tried to stick with him, but I finally had to let him go. My heart rate was rapidly leaving the zone I had picked for my race strategy. At several points, he had to be at least a few hundred meters in front of me and I completely lost sight of him. I panicked a little because I have so much respect for Hugh and his experience and ability. But I also knew I had to run my own race.
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The next 10K sped by, water station by water station, mile by mile, and outstretched hand by outstretched hand. I felt good at the Half, and I had reeled Hugh back in - we crossed the timing pads together - but I knew my 1:41 would take a beating in Newton. I had driven the course, seen the Hills and read all the books. Frankly, I was dreading this part of the race. I thought the key for me in Boston was to survive to the top of Heartbreak Hill and not blow my brains out. I usually run a negative split and I am a strong finisher. I knew I had put enough miles in the training bank to - at least in theory - be able to draw down on them at the end of the marathon.
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The hills are insidious and often preceded by a sneaky little downhill. People would gather speed and momentum and try and maintain their speed up the hill. The crowd made it worse by urging everyone on. It was a recipe for disaster in my reckoning. It took a huge amount of discipline on my part to keep my ego and my heart rate in check.
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I heard and watched all kinds of people going anaerobic as they crested the hills. I knew it was going to take a toll as we approached 32K. I had dropped at least five minutes by the top of Heartbreak Hill. And once again, it took everything I had to keep my heart rate in a zone I could maintain. This time it was not a case of me slowing down, but a case of willing myself to keep going.
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At mile twenty-three my muscles cramped so badly I had to walk them out. And this was a whole new kind of pain I had never experienced before. I think even when you are speeding downhill, there must be a momentary quad contraction to maintain your balance. My quads were screaming at this point. Up until Boston, I had only ever encountered cramping and muscle spasms in my calves and hamstrings. Unfortunately, when I went to the training mileage bank to make a withdrawal, the bank was closed! (Perhaps it was the Patriots Day holiday…)
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I abandoned any idea of a 3:20 by about ten miles, and then had my heart set on a Personal Best at Boston (3:29:39) for the next ten miles. From 32K on, my only goal, and a desperate attempt to salvage something for the day, was to re-qualify for Boston IN Boston. I almost didn't make it. I have never suffered muscle cramps before like I did towards the end. You name the muscle group, and it probably seized up on me: quads, calves, hamstrings. Twice I thought seriously about just walking it in.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small; text-align: start;">A little berserk!</span></td></tr>
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Truthfully, knowing Scooter was out there like the Great White Shark in Jaws, and that my running buddies were all glued to a computer screen somewhere, kept me going. In the end, I had to go a little berserk.
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You wanna talk about respect? Boston is DA MAN! I bow down! What a race.
I consider myself incredibly lucky and fortunate to have come away with a 3:30:38 in Boston.
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A highlight - or lowlight - of the trip occurred at the Expo when I picked up my bib and chip. I was going to get my Boston Marathon shirt and as I walked past the “Smalls,” I angled towards the “Mediums,” and “Larges.” A trim elderly man, all five-foot-five and a half of him and a hundred and thirty pounds of him soaking wet, took one look at me and chirped, "The shirts for the football players are at the end," and he pointed to the “Extra Larges.” For the record, a Large fits me like a glove, thank you very much. But I must confess on the day before the marathon, I tipped the medical scale in the hotel Fitness Room at 185-186 pounds. I was fully carb-loaded to say the least.
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Small comfort. I started the race in Corral Ten, proudly wearing Bib Number 10,486. This meant in part I was in the very last starting pen in the First Wave, and, in theory at least, there were ten thousand four hundred and eighty-five runners who had qualified to run in Boston with a quicker qualifying time than me (my Personal Best of 3:29:39). That is, not to put too fine a point on it, I was racing 10,485 runners who were faster than moi. I finished 6,315 Overall, which I take it to mean I passed or finished ahead of 4,171 other runners who qualify as stiff competition. For once, I punched above my weight!
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Glimmer of hope. I was proud of my ability to reassess my goals in mid-race and realize I could snatch victory from the jaws of defeat by re-qualifying in Boston. By the same token, I finished within 59 seconds of my PB on what most would consider a significantly tougher course. I am very happy with my time.
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<a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/2006Boston5-1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="2006Boston5 (1)" class=" size-medium wp-image-2806 alignright" src="http://www.bostonlog.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/2006Boston5-1-199x300.jpg" height="400" width="264" /></a>
There are a large group of people I owe thanks for helping me get to Boston, but I would be remiss if I did not mention Jeff Galloway. I am a staunch proponent of Jeff's training methods and philosophy. He's the closest thing I have to a running guru. I have probably gifted several dozen people with his excellent book, "Marathon" and I am a tremendous disciple of his long run pace theories. Jeff has answered a number of my e-mails personally, and he has been an ongoing source of both inspiration and knowledge. [Check it out at www.jeffgalloway.com]
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And finally, you simply can't say enough about Boston's race organization, the race volunteers, and the people of Boston. The atmosphere and ambience in Boston is amazing. The Expo is incredible and the Marathon itself is a spectacle. It's like going to the circus or a side-show carnival for three straight days. Runners are feted and treated like Kings and Queens. Boston, you Rock!
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If you're a runner who loves the marathon, you owe it to yourself to find a way to get to Boston. Nothing I read nor imagined prepared me in the slightest for running in Boston. You simply have to experience it.
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I would run the Boston Marathon again in a heartbeat!
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Vince Hemingson<br />
Vancouver, Canada
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-79261254693331610792014-10-27T16:59:00.000-04:002015-10-07T09:17:51.993-04:00A Postponement for a By-Pass - Randy Lambert (April 18, 2005)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Randy Lambert</td></tr>
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I ran the Chicago Marathon in 2001. My goal was to complete my first marathon in under four hours, but that day I crossed the finish line at 4:15. I was overwhelmed by such a large race atmosphere and was not prepared for a race of that caliber. A few months later I ran the St. Jude Memphis Marathon where I finished at 3:39. Comparing the two courses, I saw Memphis as the more difficult course. In my mind I knew I could return to Chicago and get the 3:30 BQ time I needed. <br />
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Shortly after the Memphis marathon I began training seriously for my return to Chicago. What I remembered about the Chicago course was it was flat, fast, and there were around 40,000 runners, and well over a million spectators. Over the last quarter of the race, there were bands stationed every mile, with musicians anxious to help push tired runners to the end. Thinking of all this motivated me during my training. On October 12, 2003, I crossed the finish line at 3:30.08 and qualified for the Boston Marathon. Thank God for cushion time! My wife and girls had accompanied me on this trip and were there to celebrate with me. I still get emotional thinking about reuniting with them after I made it through the chute. <br />
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I was on track to run Boston the following April. Two weeks after I came home from Chicago I began training. I returned to Memphis six weeks later to run the half marathon as part of my preparation. During the race I noticed I could not maintain the pace I was used to running, and when I would hit that particular pace I felt a burning feeling in my chest. I knew something was not right, so after the race I consulted my physician, who is a good family friend and fellow runner. He urged me to get this checked out immediately. <br />
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The following week I made an appointment with a cardiologist. I completed a stress test on a treadmill where I was told to run as long as I could. Well, it did not take long till the doctors and nurses started referring to me as “The Marathon Man.” I was told I passed the test with flying colors and there should not be a problem with completing the Boston Marathon in April. I was then instructed to go across the street to eat a hamburger and come back for one more test. It was during this test the doctor saw something suspicious. He ordered a heart cath for the following day as a precautionary measure. However, during the heart cath they found blockage that could not be corrected with a stint and would require open-heart surgery. I had this surgery the next day and returned home after a four-day stay in the hospital on Christmas Eve. I told the nurses Santa was coming and I had to be home for my girls. <br />
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Knowing I had two years eligibility to run the BM and knowing there would be no way I could run that April, I made the decision to run the second year. I guess it was not really a decision, but just what had to happen. Time went on, and even though I had been given the go-ahead by my physician and cardiologist to start training, there was still a part of me that was hesitant to put my running shoes back on. I bumped into Kenneth Williams one night at Walmart, and he asked about how my running was going. After sharing I was not doing any running and hesitant to start training again, Kenneth told me to stay put and he would be right back. Next thing I knew, he comes back with a heart monitor and told me to see if that would give me the peace of mind I needed to start running again. This did in fact provide me the encouragement and confidence I needed to get back on the road. After my hopes began to rise a little more, I got back into running 5Ks and 10Ks nearby until the time came to become serious in my training for Boston. In these races I would wear a shirt that said, “A guy with a by-pass just passed you.” While I was making my comeback, I was still hesitant to complete my long runs out on the road. I found solace with the treadmill at work. It was on the treadmill where I completed every single one of my long runs. Work even bought me a brand new treadmill, and I ultimately burned out the motor by the end of my training!<br />
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April came and it was time for my wife and I to make our way to Boston. We were both so impressed with how organized the expo was, and I loaded up on my Boston Marathon merchandise, unsure if I would ever have the chance to get more. We had a great weekend in Boston. My wife and I ate great food and enjoyed sightseeing. Come race day I soon found out training solely on a treadmill for a marathon was not wise. I vividly remember looking up and realizing I was at the bottom of Heartbreak Hill. I was so discouraged I started walking. I experienced cramps for the first time. I was planning to complete the race in four hours, but finished in just under five. <br />
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Although this was not my best race experience, I was so thankful to have made it to Boston. I know running saved my life. If I had not been running, my doctors told me I would have never felt the burning in my chest that led the doctors to find the blockage that would have led to a fatal heart attack. While I was running the Boston Marathon I focused not on the pain I was in, but how grateful I was to have the opportunity to run. <br />
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Recently I have put my running shoes back on and am training for my first marathon in many years. I am proud to say I will be running with my youngest daughter for her first half marathon with hopes of one day soon returning to Boston for my revenge on Heartbreak Hill. We have a score to settle. <br />
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Randy Lambert<br />
Corinth, Mississippi<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2005 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2005/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-22211935145189472932014-10-20T16:34:00.000-04:002014-10-30T13:58:01.599-04:00April 21, 2014 - Boston on a Five Year Cycle<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4Nx4_eHbvpnOypmeI6crXCpHSR5P7Ft3C08LIUIXHYEkrE-u8IYSLpgI3tkWDLa2YoLcE3i3vfEMp7mlT84L4OmEzn1fMlAuDyeJ4L11BaI-1qrNb51Ia_zRGQtGep8JTFS77okWuV0/s1600/Beate+thumbnail+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4Nx4_eHbvpnOypmeI6crXCpHSR5P7Ft3C08LIUIXHYEkrE-u8IYSLpgI3tkWDLa2YoLcE3i3vfEMp7mlT84L4OmEzn1fMlAuDyeJ4L11BaI-1qrNb51Ia_zRGQtGep8JTFS77okWuV0/s1600/Beate+thumbnail+1.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beate Ritter</td></tr>
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We started running in 2004 and at first never thought of doing a marathon. We just ran because it was fun. However, after a few weeks we signed up for a 10k race - my first - and we really enjoyed it! Then after a while we thought: "New York City Marathon. Wow, that would be the race!" So I started small: I did the Berlin Marathon in 2006 and NYC in 2007. <br />
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Our plans grew bigger and we signed up for our first Boston in 2009. We had a great race (although slow… Especially me!), but we finished and we decided to come back five years later! <br />
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Five years is a good length of time to look forward to something! But how shocking the April 15th bombing news on my birthday back in 2013! However, we decided to stay with our plans, and I was so glad to run my qualification time in Berlin 2013. We signed up early for Boston 2014.<br />
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This year’s Boston was so different from any other race we have done. We had signed up to do a short run just three hours after our plane’s scheduled arrival. We passed immigration very quickly, took a taxi to the hotel, picked up our marathon race-numbers, and made it to the water reservoir to meet up with Bart Yasso and a nice group of runners. <br />
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We quickly realized the warm welcome being given us runners all over the city! When we had breakfast near the hotel, we shared a table with runners from various countries and we all felt this race would be different. On the way back to our hotel, a shop-owner stepped out of his store and asked us if we were in town for the marathon. He started telling his story. His kids were near the explosion: they were fine, but their best friend was killed! <br />
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We enjoyed the expo so much and talked to so many people. We spoke with many race volunteers. We met Katherine Switzer, and also some people from Germany who we had not known before! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Kathrine Switzer</td></tr>
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The next day we joined in our group’s breakfast-run. After we were back we started talking to some runners in the lobby who said they were off for a run with Bart Yasso. It was not too hard to convince us to join in again. Glad we did! On the way we met Bill Rodgers (photostop!) Then something very touching happened: Bart took us to the bridge where many runners were stopped the year before. Three runners in our group could not finish in 2013, so we all followed them to the finish line to complete their last year’s race. What an experience! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another run with Bart Yasso</td></tr>
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Next day was race-day. We got up early, enjoyed the trip to the runner´s village, loved the weather, and were glad to see the army helicopters. We were not afraid at all. <br />
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When I started off I knew I would not think of running a personal best, but instead wanted to enjoy every moment of the race. There was not one meter without people cheering us runners on. I was so busy giving “high fives” to thank the people for being out there. They seemed to be happy to see us in the race! <br />
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Yes, I finished one hour faster than five years before. No surprise as I am more experienced, but for me it was more important to bring back the race to us runners! An unbelievable experience and we will come back in 2019!
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Thank you Boston!<br />
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Beate Ritter<br />
Birkenwerder, Germany<br />
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<br />
For more personal accounts of the 2014 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2014/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-32563375542355155722014-10-06T16:28:00.000-04:002014-10-22T17:13:36.321-04:00April 21, 2014 - This Boston Was Tutu Memorable To Ever Forget<div style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">W. K. Munsey</td></tr>
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Glance at my photos from the 118th Boston Marathon and you might mistake the smiling runner in the frilly outfit for a crazy old man who slipped on the getup as a last-minute stunt to simply gain publicity. But the deafening cheers I received during my 26.2-mile race from the hallowed grounds of Hopkinton to the finish line on Boylston Street reaffirmed the very personal decision I made to wear a tutu to pay tribute to the joy and spirit of the world’s greatest marathon.<br />
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My idea of running the “Super Bowl” of marathons actually was born on April 16, 2012, while watching the 116th Boston Marathon and tracking my friends throughout their journey. I had run four Boston’s prior, with the last being in 2004. Watching the broadcast of the runners and tracking my friends got me thinking about how I would like to go back and experience my favorite marathon again.<br />
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The first problem was getting qualified for 2014. I had drifted into Zen running - no watch, no plan, and not much racing other than fun running events with my friends. Looking at the calendar, I picked Columbus because I had run more marathons there than on any other course and my PR time was accomplished there. I bought a GPS watch, learned how to work it, and trained from May to October, logging more than 1,300 miles and grabbed a Boston qualifying time of 3:33:16.<br />
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Then came the 117th Boston and once again I was tracking my friends. Watching the broadcast of the race made me even more excited, knowing I was going to be there in about a year. I had one more friend just about getting ready to finish when to my shock and horror, the surreal events of the bombing unfolded before me on my Twitter feed and in news reports from the area.<br />
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Suddenly, my relationship with Boston became even more personal. These were my friends in the race I love and they had been attacked by cowards. I spent a frantic couple of hours tracking down all of the Tallman Track Club athletes and making sure they were safe. The help from my friends reaching out to our West Virginia runners was phenomenal, and thankfully all were safe and secure. <br />
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The next four months were spent speculating if there was going to be a 118th marathon. When the BAA announced the race was on, then it was a matter of how fast you had to be to get into the 118th Boston. It turned out you had to be pretty speedy and be faster than your BQ mark by 1 minute and 38 seconds. With my time, I had made it into Boston and was humbled when my official acceptance post card arrived on my birthday in November. I’m not going to lie. It was a bit dusty that evening reading those words in my kitchen.<br />
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I was going back and forth on whether I was going to run Boston 2014 for another BQ attempt or make it a victory lap celebrating my 30 years of running. Mother Nature and Old Man Winter took care of that decision for me by unleashing a winter to remember in the Kanawha Valley and throughout the state of West Virginia. Footing was at a premium and I don’t run on treadmills, so victory lap it was. I had run a marathon in Virginia Beach in 2013 in a tutu pacing a friend of mine and got a lot of attention from the crowd. Tutus in races are nothing new, but being a 57-year-old bald man in a tutu was different. And my decision to wear one at Boston made perfect sense. What better way to send a message that the act of cowards who caused carnage and heartache could not destroy the tradition, love and joy that is the Boston Marathon? <br />
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I have a friend named Laura Casto who offered to make me a tutu especially for Boston. We decided on the Boston Marathon blue and yellow colors, and to work she went, making no doubt about it I would be wearing a tutu to run this marathon. Laura and another friend, John Greenwald, were going to Boston with me to watch the race and enjoy the weekend and be my support crew. However, Laura entered a Twitter contest with Adidas and won an entry into the race. John was left to support two athletes who were running the race.<br />
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There were lots of changes to the security of Boston. I thought they were carried out with as little intrusion as possible, and getting through the expo and to the race village went pretty smoothly for us. I was supposed to start in the second wave, but knowing my training was lacking, I decided to move back and start with Laura in the last wave. It was hot by the time we left the starting line at almost noon on race day, fitting since all my previous Boston Marathons had started at that time. We were at the very back of the wave and were some of the last to cross the start line. We had brought the tutu to the village in a wrapped up old yoga mat and waited until the last second to unleash it before the start. To complete my ensemble, I had a Boston Strong T-shirt, a Boston Marathon hat, and special New Balance 890 shoes commemorating Boston in bright neon green. My ensemble drew immediate attention and prompted a lot of good comments and high fives as we made it down to the start.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With my wardrobe assistant and her creation</td></tr>
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The first mile or two of the Boston route are kind of unpopulated, and the runners haven’t had a chance to stretch out. We kind of hung out on the left side of the road. As we cruised by, the tutu was noticed and drew a lot of positive comments and laughter – the perfect reaction for which we had hoped. At the first water stop, Laura and I got separated, but that was OK – we hadn’t planned on staying together and it gave me a chance to slow my pace down a little.<br />
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Ashland was where I first got the full effect of the crowds shouting at me. I ran and used the “I heart Boston” sign a lot there, and the crowds reacted with wild cheers. Any thought they would be tired of watching the runners parade by went out the window – the crowd was there to support every one of us, and it showed.<br />
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The miles and the towns were going by as I made it through Framingham and Natick. I was wondering if my arm would hold up to the finish as I had set a personal record of giving high fives. The crowds were awesome and inspirational. It was really hard to hold back the pace, but common sense won out and I dialed it back a little more.<br />
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The mile before the Scream Tunnel is sparsely populated, which allows you to hear the women of Wellesley long before you see them. They did not disappoint in the least. I hung out in the not kissing lane just beside the fence. I have never kissed a coed there. When I was younger, I was trying to run fast and had no time. When I got married, it just didn’t feel right. That didn’t let me escape the notice of the coeds, though, and it was a rolling scream fest as I ran through the half marathon split.<br />
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After passing the half marathon point and the town of Wellesley, I was rolling along in the middle of the road to stay away from the camber on either side. Just past Mile 15, I looked up and in the distance could see Laura going up a slight incline. I caught up with her just before the turn by the firehouse. The crowds here were huge and vocal, and the mood amped up considerably. I came to a complete stop and held the “I love Boston” heart over my head. Now the crowds through the Newton Hills were continuous, and it was a rolling wall of sound as I made my way toward Heartbreak Hill.<br />
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After topping Heartbreak Hill, I was rolling down toward the Boston through the Boston College crew and they were doing their best to lift runners’ spirits. I was on the left side of the road and giving high fives all along that stretch until crossing the Green Line trolley tracks, where things quieted somewhat.<br />
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When the crowds were beside me once again, they were loud and urging on runners who were walking to run, and runners running to run faster. The crowds near Fenway were some of the largest and loudest. A friend of mine, Rich Boehm, somehow found me in that mess and we ran a bit together. As I ran underneath Mass Avenue, I stopped and flashed the crowd my “I love Boston” heart and it sent chills through me as the crowds responded.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">The crowd response sent chills through me.</span></td></tr>
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The turn onto Hereford and the final 600 feet to the finish were incredible. As I made my way along Boylston, the experience was awesome – high fives, I heart Boston signs, salutes, and kisses to the crowds got me noticed; and the Boston love given back washed over me like a wave. It was over too soon.<br />
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After four and a half hours of moving along the roads and streets from Hopkinton to Boston in what was my own personal scream tunnel, the silence as we got our blankets, medals and water was noticeable. I didn’t realize until the moment they put a medal around my neck how tired I was, and how sore my left arm and hand were from all the high fives! It wasn’t a long walk back to our hotel, and the people I encountered along the way were very supportive and friendly. With my tutu covered by a space blanket, I became just another runner who finished the Boston Marathon. And I was totally OK with that status.<br />
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It’s been five months since that day, one of the greatest days in my running career. I still can close my eyes and see certain points along the course. If I pause long enough in my mind, I can hear the screams, too. Thank you Boston, you did not disappoint in staging the 118th edition. Your heart, your resilience and your love shined the whole weekend we were among you. It was a perfect day to celebrate running, recovery and remembering, and honoring the victims of last year. Special thanks to the race officials, the volunteers, the first responders, the security personnel, and especially the spectators of The Boston Marathon. You made it a magical day. <br />
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As I write this, I’m getting ready to make another attempt to get in the 120th Boston Marathon by running Houston in January 2015 with my friends, including Laura Casto. No marathon is a given with so many things that can go wrong it’s hard to count them all, but when things go right, it’s a magical feeling. I want to close by thanking my family, my friends and my track club for all the love, support and encouragement you give me. There is no way to let you know how much it means to me and there is no way in the world I could ever pay it back. Thank you all for letting me be a part of this tribe we call running and may you have that perfect day to bask in the glow of a perfect race. <br />
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W.K. Munsey <br />
Charleston, West Virginia<br />
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Tallman Track Club<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2014 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2014/">here</a>.<br />
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All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-25834964369444371292014-09-27T16:40:00.000-04:002014-10-22T17:26:25.690-04:00April 15, 2013 - The sound of the bombs from the news went off in my head all night. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diane Sherer</td></tr>
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It’s been more than a year since I ran in the 2013 Boston Marathon, and I am finally writing my story — before it’s too late and I forget. <br />
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I have been running marathons since 2001, when I ran the White Rock Marathon in Dallas. I have since run more than a dozen or so – I lose track. I ran then because I loved to run. Boston was far from my mind. I had kids and work and life to deal with. I ran because it kept me sane. I ran because I loved to eat. I ran because it was my time to contemplate and talk to God (or running buddies!). <br />
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My first Boston Qualifying time (BQ) was in 2010 and was totally unexpected. My running buddy and co-worker Christy was training for her first Boston Marathon, having qualified the year before. She decided to run the Dallas White Rock Marathon as a training run, and I decided to run it, too. It was a freezing cold day in Dallas, and Christy and I shed our Goodwill throw-away clothes too soon at the start line, having to wait unexpectedly in a staggered start. When I got to the halfway point, I realized I was on track for a BQ and decided to try to keep up the pace. I finished in 3:58:50, ahead of my qualifying time of 4:00, if only by a few seconds per mile!<br />
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I entered the Boston marathon for 2012, eagerly awaiting my e-mail announcing I was officially entered. Instead, the competition for Boston was so fierce that even though I had qualified, I missed getting in by a mere four seconds. An e-mail from the Boston Athletic Association cruelly told me of this fact. I did not think I would qualify again.<br />
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I entered the Dallas White Rock Marathon again in 2011, but soon after realized I could not run it because my son had a very important soccer tournament that same weekend, with major college coaches in the stands recruiting potential players. Knowing my time with him at home was soon coming to an end, I chose to go to the tournament to watch him play, and support him as only a parent can do. My marathon training slacked as I relaxed and enjoyed the season — soccer games and out-of-town tournaments. Unfortunately, my talented soccer-playing son was injured just a week before the big soccer game that would determine his college soccer career. Since Caleb would be unable to play with a rib injury, we canceled the trip to the major soccer tournament. <br />
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At that point, with less than one week before the marathon, I was left with a decision — to run or not? Because Christy had not been training at all, she did not want to enter the race, but she insisted she would meet me at mile 18 and run with me to the end. The morning of the marathon, I awoke to a downpour of rain in Dallas. I had promised another running friend I would give him a ride to the marathon, so although my heart wasn’t in it, I headed to downtown Dallas with my friend in tow. I told Christy under no circumstances should she meet me in the pouring rain at mile 18 just to run with me on a miserable day with nothing to gain. She did not commit one way or the other. <br />
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I was hoping she had made the right decision and stayed in her warm bed. However, although I didn’t expect her to show up in the terrible weather at mile 18, I was desperately hoping she would be there. Just past mile 18, she popped out of the crowd, tearing off her warmup pajamas, encouraged me to keep going, and ran with me almost to the finish line. Totally unexpectedly, I finished with a BQ time of 3:57. Boston would not deny me this time, and I was accepted. The nonrefundable plane tickets were purchased, and hotel reservations were made at the Westin, located at the finish line. <br />
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Unfortunately, I did several foolish things between that day and the Boston Marathon: water skiing (pulled a hamstring), playing sand volleyball (further pulling the hamstring) and running in the Air Force Marathon where I suffered a severe foot/arch injury. (I wouldn’t have missed that one for the world, as my Mom and sister were there to watch me.) Needless to say, my training suffered. <br />
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Then my mom called a week and a half before Boston to say she had to have surgery (she had been fighting cancer for several years). At that moment, all my priorities changed. I immediately called Travelocity to cancel my Boston trip. Running the Boston Marathon had just dropped to the bottom of my priority list. Travelocity would not refund the trip, but I was not going if Mom needed me. I drove to my hometown of Lubbock, Texas, and stayed with her in the hospital after surgery. <br />
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Mom insisted I go run the Boston Marathon because it had been a runner’s dream for me. She said Dad could take care of her. She bragged to all her nurses that I was going to run the Boston Marathon. So I stayed until the last minute with her, drove back to Dallas and got on a plane for Boston. <br />
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<b>Boston 2013</b><br />
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My husband Rusty decided to go with me to Boston. He had never seen me run a marathon, not that I could have blamed him. It’s not really a spectator sport because you have to fight crowds to get to a viewing point to see your runner and then HOPE your runner passes by while you are standing there (about one minute of viewing time, if you’re lucky). <br />
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When we made it to Boston, he was a good sport, and we had a great time going to the Expo on Friday and walking the Freedom Trail on Saturday. We had a wonderful room at the Westin with a view of the area near the finish line. I spotted a massive white tent from hotel our window and, realizing it was the medical tent, jokingly told Rusty to check there if he couldn’t find me at my expected finish time on marathon day. How glad I am he did not have to look there! <br />
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Sunday night was the official Boston Marathon pasta dinner, and we queued up in the massive line wrapped around the building. Directly in front of us in line were a spunky petite Vietnamese woman and a trim gentleman. They immediately began talking to us, and before we even made it to the pasta station, we were laughing as if we had known each other for years. Melinda Morales and David Wingard had met at another marathon years before and were members of the infamous Marathon Maniacs, who run an insane number of marathons a year. <br />
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They were just about the nicest people I have ever met, and we decided to meet the next morning to ride the buses from the Boston Common to the Athletes’ Village, where we’d wait for our wave to be called. We had all been assigned the same wave (based on qualifying time), but different corrals. Melinda wanted to leave her bags in our hotel because it was near the finish line and she needed to catch her flight back home to California as soon as she finished the marathon. The nice people at the Westin agreed to keep her bags in the lobby. <br />
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April 15, 2013, was a beautiful day. Melinda and David met us in the lobby so we could all make the mile walk to the Boston Commons to wait for the buses. When we got there, various lines snaked around the park at different bus stops. We waited and waited, wearing our Goodwill throwaway clothes and chatting with the other runners. David wore his hat, wrapped in a shirt or something, to keep his head warm. Melinda wore her Boston jacket, and I wore an old Texas A&M Aggie sweatshirt Rusty decided he could part with (yes, he’s an Aggie). <br />
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Before I got on the bus, Rusty and I agreed on a meeting spot during the race—he would be waiting about mile 17 with a change of shoes for me. My foot was still injured from the Air Force Marathon, and he was going to bring my lighter running shoes so I could wear heavier, protective shoes at first, and change into them to finish out the race. After that, he planned to go watch me finish. <br />
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When we finally got on a bus, headed to Athletes’ Village and the infamous start line, the mood of the crowd was initially joking but grew steadily quieter as we drove and drove and drove. Realizing we would be running that same distance in reverse was daunting, even though we’d all run the distance before. When the bus finally made it to the Village, we had another good walk to get inside. I remember the weather was great, the sun was shining and it was cool, but not cold. Everyone sat on plastic sheets or trash bags they had brought and broke out the snacks and water. There were several trips to the porta-potties involving line waits, but there were always interesting, fun people from all over the world to meet. <br />
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I am usually very nervous before a race, but Melinda and David calmed my nerves and made me laugh at the same time. When they finally called our wave to head to the start line, we stuffed everything in our respective little yellow bags and headed for a parked bus with our bib number range to hand our bags over. The bags would be transported to the finish line so we could retrieve them at the end of the race. I decided to leave my cell phone in my bag because I carry as little as possible when I run. <br />
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It was a decision I would regret. <br />
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We all headed to our corrals to await the start of our wave. I don’t remember much about the start except I was excited and nervous. I know I turned on my ipod and started my watch, both important. On my ipod, I carry the songs of my friends as well as my favorite Christian songs. When I am about two weeks away from a marathon, I ask my closest friends and relatives to tell me the name of their favorite or most inspiring song. I download the songs onto my ipod and make a mental note of who belongs to what song. When the song comes on during the marathon, I think of that person. It helps to take my mind off my own pain and think of those who mean the most to me. I also listen to songs that bring together body, mind and spirit. <br />
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The marathon is a race that wears you down to your core, and there is no hiding behind a façade (you have no energy for it) and no hiding behind a physical image (you look absolutely terrible near the end). You are your own worst enemy and own your best friend at the same time. The first part of the Boston Marathon was downhill, and I felt decent, probably running too fast. My foot was hurting, but it was bearable and I focused on TRYING not to run too fast because I knew I would pay for it later. <br />
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The spectators on the sidelines were awesome — cheering and waving the entire time. I kept my music loud enough to listen but low enough to hear the crowd. I passed Wellesley College where the students (mostly female), hold up signs to the runners with invitations for a kiss or maybe a marriage proposal. One young man in that crowd of females waved me over and gave me a kiss (on the cheek) and said “run fast.” That gave me a bit of a second wind but it soon faded. By the time I neared mile 17, I was feeling the infamous “wall” coming up. <br />
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I had removed my headphones because I was looking around desperately for Rusty. My eyes swept the crowd continuously until I was convinced I had missed him or he hadn’t made it. I put my headphones back on and at that instant, I saw him standing on the side screaming my name. I ran (actually limped) over to him, never so happy to see a person in my life since I had seen Christy that day in Dallas. He had my light running shoes in his hand and helped me get the heavier ones off. I stopped there for at least five minutes and he assured me he’d meet me at the finish line and that I was holding a great pace. I told him I was slowing drastically, fading fast, and would probably take a while to finish. I hugged him and continued on my way, boosted a tiny bit once again. <br />
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Then I hit the hill. Heartbreak Hill. It wasn’t such a bad little hill, but my foot was refusing to bend correctly. I next remember passing the “one mile to go” sign, and didn’t even care that at this point I was running exceptionally slowly. All I could think about was I was VERY close to finishing the Boston Marathon, something I had dreamed about for years. (I have to admit I was also thinking about what I was going to eat at a fancy restaurant as soon as I got a shower.) So close. One step in front of the other. . . <br />
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Nearing the end of the race, one of my favorite songs came up on the ipod – “Glorious Day” by Casting Crowns. At that point, I felt happy. It was a glorious day. I was healthy, had a wonderful family and friends, and was about to finish the Boston Marathon. I was one-half mile away from the finish line. My body was exhausted, and my mind was cloudy, but I was almost there. I was elated, my foot pain forgotten as my music blared on my ipod. <br />
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Then the spectators had become curiously quiet, and a confusing image confronted me. A young man was running right down the middle of the runners in street clothes yelling at us to stop running. Everyone in front of me was slowing down to a halt, and I could not imagine why we were stopping. Was it a joke? Was it too hot? No, it was only about 50 degrees. I could not imagine why we would be told to stop running so close to the end. I rolled to a stop, questioning the runners around me. Everyone was calm but seemed to be in shock, as I was. Someone with a cell phone received a text that there had been an explosion. All I could imagine was some nut had set off a firecracker, and they were dragging him off to jail so we could continue. <br />
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As the minutes dragged on, we heard a little more news about explosions at the finish line, but nobody knew the extent and we all assumed we’d be restarted momentarily. I started to talk to a woman beside me from Wisconsin — I think her name was Stacy. The young people who lived in the apartments on the course started bringing out pitchers of water and kitchen trash bags to wrap around our shivering shoulders. I think Mr. Galloway and his groupies were around me (I thought I recognized him), but at that point everyone was equal—scared, shocked, exhausted. As time dragged on and we stood in sweaty running clothes in the cool air, we became chilled and most of us were shivering and cramping. <br />
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We heard more rumors of bombs going off at the finish line. There were serious injuries. My mind began to imagine the worst. We then heard sirens, lots of sirens, and helicopters began to fly overhead. A police car came blasting through the crowd of corralled runners and the Boston policeman screamed through the open window for us to clear a path. And then it hit my muddled mind. Rusty was waiting for me at the finish line. What were the odds he was one of the injured? How bad was it really? Another young man came through the crowd with a cell phone and said he could not get a call out but would send a text to a number if we wanted. <br />
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For the life of me, I could not recall Rusty’s cell phone number because I have it programmed into my phone and not memorized. I remembered the cell number of a friend from work, so I had the young man send a simple text to his number saying “Diane is ok.” After about an hour, a young Boston man told us the race was over, we were not going to finish and we should try to make our way back to our hotel if we could. <br />
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At that point, all I could think of was I had to make it to the bag bus to get my cell phone and find out if Rusty was ok. My new friend Stacy from Wisconsin and I got directions from the young man with the cell phone on how to get back to our hotels, maneuvering around all the blocked streets. Panic setting in, Stacy and I began to alternate running with walking, and then stopping from the cramping. I saw as we left the pack of runners that they had finally began to move again, slowly walking the route, but I had no time for slow walking. I tried to stay calm but my overly-tired mind could only imagine the worst—I had brought Rusty to watch me run a race, and he was hurt or worse. <br />
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Various people on the street would point us in the direction of our hotels, and the finish line, when we became disoriented. We turned one corner and what we saw almost brought me to my knees—an entire block filled with waiting ambulances. At that point, I knew whatever awaited me at the finish line was bad, very bad. Stacy and I alternated – she would panic and I would comfort. Then I would panic and she would comfort. We cramped, we cried, we ran. A group of people streamed out of a bar and said they saw news coverage of the finish line—blood was everywhere, and people had died. Helicopters flew overhead continuously and people staggered down the streets like it was a war zone. My marathon wasn’t over yet, the hardest part was yet to come. I had to run as fast as possible to get to the finish line and find Rusty. <br />
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When we finally got close to the Westin Hotel, a young businesswoman gave Stacy, who was shivering uncontrollably, her jacket. She let us use her cell phone, which was finally able to get calls through. The first call I made was to the only number left in my brain at this point: my home phone, my childhood home, my mom. <br />
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Mom answered, not recognizing the caller ID of the Boston phone number, and seemed confused as to who was calling her. When she heard my voice, she began to cry, and I told her I was not hurt but needed to know if Rusty had been injured. Finally she told me the news – Rusty was ok and had not been harmed in the bombing. He had been talking to my mom on his cell phone as he was making his way to the finish line to see my big finish and, being distracted, had made a wrong turn. He decided he would be too late to see me finish and made his way to the bag buses to try to find me there instead. While waiting at my bus, he had heard a loud explosion after which all hell broke loose. <br />
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Upon hearing this news, at that very second, my Boston Marathon was over. I had finished my race and had crossed a virtual finish line that was more important to me than the one marked on the street. I had run well more than 26.2 miles with no medal around my neck, and I did not care. Relief washed over me as Stacy and I made our way quickly to the baggage buses. As soon as we arrived at that street lined with buses, I lost my Boston buddy Stacy as she sprinted away to her bus, and I to mine. Just as I spotted my bus with my bib number range on the side, the Boston police began screaming at us to clear the area because there were additional bomb threats and the street where the bag buses were parked was not safe. I sprinted to my bus and pleaded with the volunteer on it to throw me my bag before she evacuated. She quickly ran to get my bag and threw it out of the open window, after which we both ran to another side-street. Thank you, Boston bag-bus volunteer! <br />
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I instantly found and powered on my cell phone and called Rusty (his number in my address book). We were on edge with both our cell phone batteries running low and hurriedly talked about where we would meet, unfamiliar with the streets of Boston. When I finally saw him standing on a corner in Boston amid police, exhausted runners, panicked spectators and confused businessmen, I was overcome with relief and could only see one face. I was overwhelmed with emotions — relief he was not injured, devastated that people were injured, exhausted beyond belief, totally and completely in shock. <br />
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At that point, I looked at my phone and noticed a flood of text messages. My family and friends were frantic to see if we were safe. Little did I know what had transpired in my little world back home during that time after the bombs went off in Boston. <br />
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I really didn’t think anyone besides Christy and my other running friends much kept up with my marathons, even the famous Boston Marathon. My sister had even asked me the week before when this “Boston Marathon thing” was taking place. She said she had heard very little about it on the news from her home in Ohio. I guess only runners really think it’s a big deal. But unbeknownst to me, while I was standing on the Boston Marathon course after the bombs went off, my family and friends were in motion. <br />
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My co-workers, who were tracking me, heard the breaking news of the Boston bombing on the TV at work. My running buddy Christy immediately dropped what she was doing to call Rusty’s cell phone while another friend/co-worker ran to the computer where they had been tracking my slow-but-sure progress. He saw my blinking “running dot” had stopped, its little legs churning but going nowhere. They were worried. <br />
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My mom and dad were watching the marathon live in Lubbock and saw the bombing news immediately. Mom called my oldest son Trevor, an ICU nurse who works nights, awakening him from sleep. My dad was convinced he had seen a woman covered in blood that must have been me. After all, she was short like me and had blondish hair (who else could it be?). Although the woman was obviously not a runner, Dad could not be convinced the severely injured woman was not his younger daughter. I later learned Rusty’s mom saw the same image and had the same fear. <br />
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Trevor, in the meantime, had swung into action. The medical side of him kicked in as he frantically called every hospital in Boston, asking if they had a short, female runner named Diane from Texas. They asked him if I had any distinguishing marks, such as a tattoo. He could not think of anything unique to identify me, because I am basically ordinary, and possess no tattoos or major birthmarks. (Afterward, he told me I MUST get a tattoo so he can locate me, if there ever IS another time he would need to locate his mother after a marathon bombing.) The hospitals reported none of the injured thus far were runners. <br />
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My sister had just left her classroom in Ohio when she turned on her cell phone and realized the horror that had unfolded, with her younger sister unaccounted for. She was frantic. My youngest son, Caleb, was in a college class at the time of the bombing and was texted by his girlfriend to inform him what had happened. He called his brother to see if his parents were safe. My childhood friend Jean Ann Cantore also had been tracking me in Lubbock and began calling everyone she knew to see if we were safe. Meanwhile back in Boston . . . . <br />
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Still in my running clothes with only my plastic bag, standing on a Boston corner with chaos surrounding me, I was totally devastated. People had been hurt – I had no idea how many or how badly they had been hurt. I felt a pain in my heart which I knew was not physical. How/why would someone do this? What has the world come to? Will we ever feel safe again? We were running/watching a marathon – not protesting, fighting, or hurting anyone. It was basically a celebration of life and the love of the most simple and basic act of human nature – to run. I cannot describe my feelings at that time which had nothing to do with whether I had finished a race or not.<br />
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I sat and cried because although I did not know the full extent of injuries, I knew the lives of so many would be forever changed and possibly destroyed. We sat in shock for a while not knowing where to go. The Westin was closed because, being so close to the finish line, the hotel had received bomb threats. We finally found a small restaurant that was open, surprisingly, and went in, because I had not eaten since 6 a.m., twelve hours earlier. We sat down and ordered quickly from the nervous but kind waiter. We had taken about one sip of wine when the waiter informed us the FBI was closing the restaurant immediately because of more bomb threats. We had to leave — now. Once outside, we sat on the steps of some random building between the little restaurant and the Westin, not knowing where to go since we were in a strange city and our hotel and all public buildings were closed down. We had no real clothes, no food, no shelter, and Boston was not safe. I have never felt homeless or hungry until this moment and realized how very fortunate and blessed I have been. I knew others were, at this moment, fighting for their lives.<br />
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We were finally able to get back into our hotel that night. I saw the news for the first time in my room and felt the pain again in my chest. I looked out our window at the medical tent, realizing how many lives were probably saved there, thankful we had escaped that fate.<br />
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The sound of the bombs from the news went off in my head all night.<br />
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When I returned to Garland, Texas, from Boston, I could not run for a couple of weeks. My heart was just not in it (and my legs were shot). The TV news coverage was continuous, and I had to look away as they re-played the explosions. The pain was just too great. Finally, I decided to go for a short run in the neighborhood. I clipped my ipod shuffle, containing my Boston Marathon playlist, onto my running top, and went for a short five mile jog. <br />
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As I ran, I looked at the beautiful colors of the spring day and thought how it is true what people say – the colors are move vibrant and magnificent after you have experienced and lived through a traumatic event. I was amazed at how they looked— the reds were redder, the blues were bluer, the greens were greener. Then I realized I was wearing the polarized sunglasses I had purchased at the Boston Marathon Expo! Even so, the colors were amazing, and I was happy to be alive. <br />
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The song that blared in my ears brought me to tears on that first post-Boston run – “Forgiveness.” Could I forgive? I want to think the Boston Marathon 2013 has not changed me, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Yes, there is evil in the world that surfaced on that day of the Boston Marathon. But I believe the good outweighed the evil that day and the days that followed. <br />
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The good people of Boston rallied to come to the aid of some crazy marathon runners, giving us water and directions and even the jackets off their backs. Heroes were born that day who risked life and limb to rush in to rescue those who were injured. Medical workers saved countless lives by their quick-thinking actions and skill. Police officers and government teams worked around the clock to solve the case and keep the public safe. <br />
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Family and friends showed how much they cared and searched for us, worried about us, found us. Even the media worked tirelessly to keep the nation informed. My heart will forever feel a sudden pain when I hear the words “Boston Marathon” or see the video coverage of the explosion at the finish line. But I will also remember that good ultimately won over evil.<br />
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One week after returning from Boston, a friend told me the Oklahoma Memorial Marathon committee was offering free entry to all Boston Marathon 2013 runners who could not finish. It wasn’t the free entry that drew me in; it was the opportunity to run to support those who had suffered as those in Boston—the Oklahoma City bombing victims of 1995. Christy agreed — we had to go. I ran the OKC Memorial Marathon approximately two weeks after the Boston bombing. When I say the “one mile to go” marker I shuddered, and cried, and smiled as I passed it. You can read the story <a href="http://espn.go.com/sports/endurance/story/_/id/9221839/from-boston-marathon-oklahoma-city-memorial-marathon-race-finished">here</a> if you want, written by a very talented ESPN reporter who contacted me after getting my name from the OKC Marathon committee. <br />
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The Boston Athletic Association decided to allow all those who had not been able to complete the 2013 Boston Marathon, but who had made it to at least the 13.1 mile mark, to enter the 2014 Boston Marathon without having to qualify again. I was almost hoping they would not come to this decision. I was not sure I wanted to return to Boston again — back to the memories, the site of so much pain and suffering for so many, the place where my passion for running was compromised. I was not in the mood to run and train for a marathon again. But how could I refuse? I had to finish the race, to show that evil would not win, and to remember those who gave so much that day. <br />
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Rusty and I returned to Boston, but on my one condition: he would not go to the finish line. I made him promise to wait for me in the Boston Common instead. <br />
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The day of the 2014 Boston Marathon was similar to the previous year except the city was swamped with news crews, an expanded field of runners, extra police and military, helicopters and a mass of spectators. The weekend was amazing and wonderful and sad and emotional, all at the same time. This time, I had one ear filled with a headphone and the other clear to hear the crowd. The support was amazing, and I smiled during the entire race. <br />
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At exactly the time my foot hit the half marathon mat, my ipod shuffle decided play “Glorious Day” for me – the exact same song playing when I was suddenly stopped on the course one year ago, a half mile from finishing. I felt this must be a message — it won’t happen again. As I neared the end, I knew it wasn’t even near my fastest time, but I didn’t care. When I rounded the corner and saw the finish line, so near yet so far, I cried and smiled at the same time. I instinctively moved to the center of the street when I came to the places where the bombs had exploded. I crossed the finish line tired but extremely happy. I received my medal from a nice volunteer – a man I did not know, much like those strangers in Boston who had helped me almost one year ago. <br />
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My marathon was finally complete. But all I could really think about in that moment was that a true marathon had only just begun for the people who were injured in the blast a year ago, and for the families of those killed. I hope that they will keep running the race, push past the pain, and get to the finish line. After all, runners or not, we’re all Boston marathoners! <br />
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Diane Sherer<br />
Garland, Texas<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2013 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2013/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-22552936400971517792014-09-24T16:12:00.000-04:002014-10-22T17:21:38.165-04:00April 15, 2013 - “Why are they rerouting the course this close to the finish line?”<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vicky King</td></tr>
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I did not start running until I was 48 years old. I decided I would run one marathon, just to see if I could do it. So I ran the Santa Barbara Marathon in 2010 at the age of 54 and finished it in 4:11:10. Not a BQ time (4:00:00), but I was elated with being able to accomplish this feat. I was glad to cross that off my bucket list and never have to run another marathon! But as many runners can testify, something happened, and I found myself registering for the local Surgical Artistry Modesto Marathon in March of 2012 to run alongside my Sole Sisters. <br />
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It just so happened I ran well enough to BQ (I needed to do it under 4:10:00 and my time was 4:04:24). A dream I’d never even had suddenly blossomed and I found myself strongly desiring to go to Boston and run the marathon! As a bonus, I also took first in my age group. What a wonderful and unbelievable surprise!<br />
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Getting the funds to travel and register for the 117th Boston Marathon was a huge obstacle, but as I prayed about it, I kept sensing this was something I should do. About a month after the Modesto marathon, I received a phone call from a race representative informing me I had won the drawing for $1000 to use toward Boston expenses. This confirmed my thoughts and so when September came around, I registered and was accepted! How exciting! I was going to run the Boston Marathon on April 15, 2013, something I had never even contemplated. Now my mind was flabbergasted at what lay before me. Getting this wonderful opportunity to travel back to our great country’s origins and participate in such an iconic event sent my spirit soaring high, and I was eager to start my training!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anticipation at the finish line</td></tr>
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Our son and his girlfriend traveled with my husband and I from California to Boston. My daughter, her husband, and their two year old daughter were also going to go. However, since she was very pregnant (due in May) and had delivered her first child five weeks early, her doctor advised her against it; so they stayed home. We would later be grateful for this mandate. <br />
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My sister from Washington State surprised me when she showed up at my hotel room Sunday morning. None of us had ever been to the New England coast, so we were very excited to take it all in. My family and I decided to make the most of our visit and enjoy all the wonderful richly historical culture in Boston; no pre-race resting for me. Wherever we went, people greeted us and asked if we were there to run the marathon. They were very happy we had come. Some would even share their stories of running or watching the marathon in previous years. This surprised me because I have never been to a place where so many people welcomed and embraced the runners so enthusiastically. There was an instant bonding and feeling of community and family.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blessing of the athletes</td></tr>
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On Monday morning, Patriots Day, I took the shuttle provided by our hotel in Newton, to catch the buses to the Athletes’ Village. I was still suffering with a groin strain I had sustained four weeks prior, so I knew I would be running the marathon dependent upon God’s strength empowering my weakness. I was in Wave 3 and I ran at an easy pace and even walked at times, just enjoying every part of this “Once in a Lifetime” experience (or so I thought). There were so many spectators cheering us on all along the course. It was unbelievable and exhilarating! I had to interact with them and high-five all the kids holding their little hands up, along with blowing kisses, yelling out “thank you” and smiling from ear to ear with indescribable joy! Those feelings of elation were pretty much constant throughout the run, except for small moments when the pain and fatigue from my injury would mount up; and I would just slow down and ask the Lord to help me just keep stepping forward. He enabled to continue on. <br />
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There was one point as I was coming up on mile 8, I could see the marker, where all of a sudden I had a really bad, ominous feeling hit me, enveloping me in a strong sense of fear! Because of my faith, I guessed I was experiencing a personal spiritual attack because I had been thanking, praising and giving glory to God for enabling me to continue to run the marathon in spite of my injury. So I rebuked the enemy (Satan to me) and told him he had no power over me; I would not let him cause me to be afraid or stop me from running that race. I prayed out loud, “Greater is He that is in me (God’s Holy Spirit) than he that is in the world!” and “God has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love and a sound mind.” Immediately a scripture verse came to me I didn’t recall ever hearing or reading. It was Proverbs 18:10, “The name of the Lord is a strong tower. The Godly run to it and are safe.” I remember thinking, well that’s a strange verse but it does have running and God’s strength in it… Okay; so I prayed it out loud and the bad feeling left and I never had another negative thought or concern or fear about anything else until…<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Mile 25 point something</td></tr>
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I had passed the mile 25 marker when I heard someone yelling my name and I looked over and saw my sister, so I went over and gave her a hug and then she encouraged me to get moving and finish my race because I was almost there and she took off running on the sidewalk along Commonwealth Avenue behind the crowd of spectators and I headed under the Mass Ave overpass, made my right on Hereford and as I approached Boylston, the police officers were grabbing barricades to block a left turn onto Boylston and I was thinking, “Why are they rerouting the course this close to the finish line?” Suddenly an officer raised his arms and shouted, “Stop, turn around and run back the way you came!” I don’t ever recall hearing a police officer tell me to “run” anywhere or anytime! I looked down at my Garmin as I pressed the stop button and noticed it showed I had run 26.06 miles in 4:10:01. <br />
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I was jerked back into reality as a woman started yelling she was going to run across that finish line and I was thinking, “Do you see the officer’s face? I don’t think you want to go down there!” Another woman started panicking about her family being down at the finish line and even though I had no clue what was going on or why we were being turned back, I knew it was serious and we needed to comply with the officer’s orders! I wrapped my arm around the shoulders of the lady who was concerned about her family and tried to console her as we walked back down Hereford. Suddenly I felt the need to pray and I threw my arms in the air and shouted, “Father, God, You are above all; You are greater and more powerful than anyone or anything else, You are greater than whatever is going on down Boylston Street, and I ask for Your help right now in Jesus name. Jesus, we need You! Jesus! Jesus! Jesus help us! Amen!” And it was like I felt the protective presence of the Spirit of God come down over us. <br />
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Then I realized I had turned left onto Newbury Street and it was chaotic and people were coming out of cafes and businesses saying they heard explosions and some thought it was an exploded gas line in a restaurant. I was standing against a brick wall to get warm when a woman walked toward me. She was holding a cup of coins so I thought she might be a panhandler. She approached and asked if I was okay and we talked a bit about things going on when she noticed I was shivering; so she took off a hoodie she was wearing and told me to put it on. She had another one on underneath, so I accepted her kind offer. I asked her name; it was Cassie. She needed to leave so I started to give her jacket back, but she told me to keep it. The temp was in the 40s and I was afraid she would be cold, but she told me God would take care of her like He always has and He would take care of me, too. I was very grateful for the warmth. Cassie was one of many angels sent to me that day. <br />
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Next was Paola, who was from Argentina and was visiting her sister who attended Harvard. Paola was out shopping alone prior to the explosions, so she asked if she could stand with me. She actually became my human crutch to help me walk because after standing still for a while, my injured leg would not work. Paola was another angel. It was about 45 minutes later as she and I were standing at the corner of Mass Ave and Newbury when we found out about the bombs and I was reminded of my experience around mile 8. <br />
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All of a sudden tons of emergency vehicles drove by us with sirens blaring and I realized how bad the situation must be. That was the first moment I broke down and feared I might have lost my family who were waiting for me by the finish line. I prayed and told the Lord I needed them to be okay because I couldn’t go on without them, and that my husband needed to meet his granddaughter who was about to be born. That later felt like such a selfish prayer, but it was the cry of my heart right then. It was then I also realized had I not stopped to hug my sister during mile 25, I would have been further down Boylston and in the middle of this unbelievably horrific incident. I was humbled and deeply grateful at the same time, but still afraid for my family and others down Boylston. <br />
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I still did not know any details except bombs had been detonated. We stood there trying to determine what to do, and I thought about taking the T – Green line back to my hotel in Newton, just as the transportation police drove up and closed off the T station on Mass Ave. I had been trying to call my husband on other people’s cell phones because I did not carry mine with me during the race, but I had no luck getting through to him. People said they’d keep trying and if they got through what message should they give? I told them to tell him I would be at the corner of Newbury and Mass Ave. So Paola and I just stood there waiting. Paola did not have cell phone service but she sent an email to her sister at Harvard asking her to get a message to my daughter in California (the only phone # I could remember other than my husband’s, and he didn’t have a smart phone) and let her know I was okay and my whereabouts. We never received a response from Paola’s sister so we had no idea if she got the email or not. <br />
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It seemed as though no one was moving anywhere. I kept looking for my husband’s Disney Goofy hat he said he’d be wearing, but I never saw it. It finally looked like runners were moving north on Commonwealth, so I decided to walk down there and join them. The National Guard informed us runners were being redirected to a new family meeting area at Boston Commons where our families were waiting for us, so I headed in that direction with my newfound companion and wonderful crutch Paola. As we walked, people came out of their homes offering us clothes, snacks and water (more angels) and then we came upon a couple who was offering use of their cell phones. I told them my call would be long distance and they replied with a smile, “Most of them are – no problem!” So I tried calling my husband again but no connection: it would always just ring and ring and ring, and then disconnect. So then I tried calling my daughter in California and she answered. After an emotional cry, she told me she had received a call from a woman saying I was with her sister and we were okay, so my daughter had relayed that information to my husband and son and sister so they were aware I was okay, but they were prevented from getting to me due to the blocked areas. I was so relieved to hear they were alive and waiting at the family meeting area for me. This communication occurred about two hours after the explosions. Hope was restored! <br />
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Paola was also able to call her sister, who was coming to pick her up back at Mass Ave and Newbury, so I told Paola to head back, that I’d be fine walking on my own. I continued hobbling up Commonwealth. A race volunteer handed out Mylar blankets and told us to go to the buses and pick up our gear check bags before moving on to Boston Commons. There were a ton of buses (27,000 runners) and I finally found the one with my bib # and was waiting for the volunteer to find my bag when I heard someone yell behind me, “People, move off this street NOW! Move to the left and move NOW! I am serious – Move now, people!!!” <br />
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I started to head out when the volunteer literally dropped my bag out of the window into my arms. I made it to the Public Gardens, but I didn’t see any area that looked like a family meeting area nor did I see any runners going a certain direction. So I just stood on the sidewalk feeling so lost and confused. A group of college young men (more angels) approached and asked if I was okay and could they help me. They were unaware of any meeting area but one of them asked if I wanted to use his phone. So I tried again to call my husband and this time he answered. He said they were still at the original family meeting area, but when I told him where I was, he knew the spot because we had visited it a few days prior to the race. He told me to stay put and they’d be right there. To see my husband, son, and sister come running into that park was the most awesome sight ever! The HUGE hugs spoke a lot louder than any words ever could. They were surprised to see me with a hoodie because my husband had some post-race warm clothes for me. I put those clothes on and gave the Mylar blanket and hoodie to other runners standing close by who had nothing but their race clothes on. Cassie would be proud to know her hoodie helped more than one person that day! I had also had some hand warmers in my gear bag so I gave those out to waiting cold, runners. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reunited with my family: Boston Public Gardens</td></tr>
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Being reunited with my precious family, finally two hours after bombings felt so good! However, we had no idea how we were going to get back to our hotel in Newton because all public transportation had been shut down. A police officer told us we’d have to get a cab and all of the ones (very few) we saw were full already. I thanked God for the help and protection He had given me all day and then I asked Him to help us find a way back to our hotel. We were standing on the sidewalk in front of a closed Starbucks watching for a cab when a little compact car pulled up and the driver was wearing a race volunteer jacket and he asked if he could give us a ride somewhere. When we told him it was about 12 miles away, he insisted that was no problem. There were five of us, plus John the driver, and so we crammed ourselves like sardines into that compact car (me sitting on top of my sister) and he drove us all the way back to our hotel in Newton. My husband gave him money for gas and we thanked him profusely because he was another angel sent to help us. It wasn’t until I got into our hotel room that I saw what actually happened, the same as everyone else saw it who watched TV. My son and his girlfriend were about 60 feet diagonally across Boylston from the first bomb and they witnessed the worst of the horror and trauma because they were trapped behind the barricade and could not move. But thankfully, none of my family was physically injured, even though they suffered some PTSD later! <br />
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As my family and I exchanged stories, they asked how far I had run and I told them to the corner of Hereford and Boylston, and that my Garmin said I had run 26.06 miles. According to the race course I still had .4 mile to go, but as far as I was concerned, I had finished the race set before me; I had run as far as I was allowed and that was good enough for me. It wasn’t until later feelings of “unfinished business” haunted me. We were at the airport the next day when someone said the BAA might invite those of us who didn’t get to finish to return in 2014 to run again. I was asked if I would come back and run it, and my husband and I both responded, “In a heartbeat!” <br />
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I had already qualified for 2014 at CIM in December of 2012, so I was planning on registering with or without an invitation back. When the invitation came from the BAA, I chose to accept it and register that way. I was afraid I might not get in with so many runners interested in running in 2014. This was a race I had to run again and finish, not just for myself but for those who lost their lives, limbs, family members and more! I needed to let the enemies know they might have destroyed and maimed and murdered precious people, but they could never destroy or even touch or damage our spirit!!!! I (we) needed to reclaim what was lost, especially our freedom over fear, and to celebrate the greater good that always outshines the darkness. There you have my reason, my passionate goal and desire: what compels and fuels me to continue training and come back and run the 118th Boston Marathon. My story continues into 2014……<br />
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Vicky King<br />
Salida, California<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2013 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2013/">here</a>.<br />
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All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-21105032431043950032014-09-11T15:13:00.000-04:002014-10-03T13:34:09.292-04:00April 16, 2007 – My road back to Boston went through Ventura<div style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lauren Padula</td></tr>
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As a college student in the city, I made running the Boston Marathon for a charity team a before-graduation goal. On April 16, 2007, I checked that goal off the list, and in the process caught the marathon bug. 4:25:31. My very first marathon. I remember being in tears. Tears of accomplishment, yes; but mostly of pain. <br />
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Later that year I ran Chicago (4:27:15), and then work and life took me from Boston to San Diego. After taking a few years to settle in, I decided to make a push to qualify for Boston at the 2010 San Diego Rock and Roll Marathon. I had the race every runner has nightmares about: I bonked at mile 16 and never recovered. 4:12:55. I was devastated. Maybe marathons weren't for me. And so I retired from marathon running.<br />
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April 15, 2013. Even living in San Diego, Marathon Monday still held a special place in my heart. Boston is the kind of city that stays with you. The people, the pride, the tradition, the excitement are unforgettable. Marathon Monday is a day unlike any other. Like countless other Bostonians and runners, the effect of that particular Monday tore through me. But the resilience and unity the city and community showed in the days, weeks, and months after inspired me, not only as a runner, but as a person. <br />
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Later that summer I became intrigued with this phenomenon taking over my Facebook newsfeed from Boston, the November Project. The November Project is a free, open-to-the-public exercise group founded in 2011. Started with a couple of Northeastern crew alumni friends meeting for a cross training workout, the movement quickly grew across four time zones. Project November uses a simple sense of accountability to motivate and encourage people of all ages, shapes, sizes, and fitness levels to get out of their beds and get moving. It is a community dedicated to free fitness, but more importantly dedicated to each other. To having fun, to removing people from their cell phones and treadmills, and to encouraging real, live human interaction, mainly through sweat, high fives, hugs, and a few enthusiastic F-yeahs!<br />
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I knew I had to bring this to San Diego. <br />
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Leading and growing November Project has introduced me to countless inspirational and supportive people. Prior to the 2014 Boston Marathon, I wrote a blog post for November Project about my love affair with the city of Boston. And I vowed I would be back in 2015 to run the marathon. The quest to qualify was born. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">November Project - A gathering of the San Diego tribe</td></tr>
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When discussing qualifying for Boston, people always focus on the training, on how many miles and how fast you need to run for all those months leading up to your race. Yes, this is all true and is undeniably important, but never underestimate the importance of a strong support system. In the five months between declaring my BQ goal and running the Ventura Marathon, I have felt the strength of my friends, family, and November Project tribe every step of the way. And knowing they were just as invested in my success as I was carried me through those notoriously difficult last 6.2 miles. <br />
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As I clicked that registration button for Boston 2015 early on Monday morning, thanks to my 3:13:48 marathon on the previous Sunday, I cried again. This time thankful, joyful, excited tears. <br />
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Boston, I'm coming back. <br />
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Lauren Padula<br />
San Diego, California<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2007 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2007/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-6704918212620358512014-09-09T16:07:00.000-04:002014-10-01T06:38:07.519-04:00April 15, 2013 - if I had not stopped to give my daughter a hug, I might have been right there...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michele Keane</td></tr>
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<i>The 117th Boston affected my life in ways I could not imagine would ever happen. And although I'm pretty rational and nothing physically happened to me, I still think about that day and what could have been.<br />
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I am a runner, with 45+ marathons and countless other races - half marathons, 10Ks, 5Ks, 15Ks, 10 milers - you name it. I've run pretty consistently for over 30 years and it is a part of me. I used to be "fast" back in the day but I can still hold my own in my age group. Running defines me to some extent. In fact, I have an ongoing joke with my daughter Shannon. When we travel to a place where I have run a race, I will say to her, "Mom ran here," and it has become our own little inside laugh and bond over the years.<br />
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However, I was not prepared for the events of April 15th, 2013.</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My association with the Boston Marathon began as a two-year-old <br />
watching the race by my mother’s side in downtown Natick. <br />
I have since run Boston 12 times, with a course PR of 3:03:08 in 1986.</td></tr>
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<i>I'm posting my race report from last year, written in the immediate aftermath of the 2013 race. This was posted on a website hosted by a bunch of cool like-minded runner friends many of whom are mentioned and many of whom I ran Boston with last year. Boston 2013 will always be in my heart and in my mind, and regardless of how many times I run my "hometown" race, it will be special:</i><br />
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I'm starting to process a bit better all that happened on Monday. Glad all the people I know are all safe. Someone asked me if I will go back - hell yeah! Like John, I knew I was not nearly 100% going in, and if I had not stopped to give my daughter Shannon a hug and slowed down so much over the hills (they really tore me up this year like I knew they would), I might have been right there, since I was running with Vivian for much of the beginning of the race, and I saw her again around Boston College. My wheels really fell off going down the hill from BC (the hip/ITB issues I've been dealing with), and then the headwind seemed horrific. It doesn't seem like much now. (Interestingly, I ran those same miles back the day before Easter and the headwind was tough on Beacon Street then!) <br />
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My daughter is fine. They were at mile 25 on the bridge that leads to Kenmore Square, with the big Boston University flag. They were starting to leave when the police in Kenmore made everyone go out of the area and not into the T. Luckily, she lives just up Comm Avenue from Kenmore Square, so they were safe. BU locked down the campus as a precaution, but they had school yesterday. Sadly, news had not traveled yet as the third victim was a BU graduate student from China. There was a memorial yesterday at their chapel and now there sadly will be another. No, I am not making my daughter leave BU and Boston and go to school somewhere else. Boston is my home and she loves the city as well. We cannot run scared, we just have to be a bit more cautious again, like after 9/11. <br />
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As many of you know, I was roughly at mile 26.1 (by my watch) when the first explosion occurred. I stopped, as I thought it was someone shooting, but then I saw smoke and someone said they thought it was an electrical fire near the finish. Then the second bomb went off, and I remember smoke and fire and debris flying, and I ducked, turned and ran. <br />
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I then found myself in the parking garage entrance of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel with tons of spectators and runners. I remember looking at Boylston Street and wondering where everyone went and hearing sirens and seeing police and fire trucks. I borrowed a phone from some guy and called my mom, so she could call everyone, and I texted Shannon. A young runner, Julia from Bangor, Maine, was crying, and I gave her a hug as we were shuffled towards Mass Avenue by the cops. She was 24 , so I went into mom mode. None of us really knew what had happened, we were just following instructions from the police. I knew my in-laws had probably heard everything as they were at the corner of Hereford & Comm Avenue, and I had just seen them. I took Julia and we walked to their condo. We were lucky enough to be able to call Julia’s sister from a land line and her sister came to my in-laws to get her. <br />
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By that time, runners in mylar blankets were walking down the Commonwealth Avenue mall, so we went back outside to see what was happening. Granted, I still thought the second explosion was a gas main or a boiler in a building. The runners told me we could get our stuff as the baggage buses were still on the lower end of Boylston waiting for us. I was able then to pick up my gear bag and retrieve my phone and see all the messages, texts, etc., from all of my family and extended running family. Thank you so much! <br />
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I was staying at the Lenox Hotel which is exactly across the street from the second bomb site. The hotel was shut down, but I was lucky that night to receive a phone call from the general manager to see if I had a place to stay, and to say if I was in the area, I could get into the hotel to get my stuff with a police escort either then or the next morning at 9:00 a.m. I walked all the way around from my in-laws to Mass Avenue, and down in back to Huntington to get to the other side of the building.<br />
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A Boston police officer escorted me up to my room so I could pack and leave. The building had been cleared so the elevators were working, but all the room doors were wide open. I was then escorted back down and had to walk all the way back around (it was like a two mile walk to where my in-laws live in one bedroom place on Exeter, really only two blocks away). I was then able to crash on their couch.<br />
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I'm hoping my body can heal enough to run Cleveland and get that BQ minus five minutes. Except for a couple of very small rollers, it is a flat course; but it isn't until May 19th, so the weather can be iffy. I need to get this ITB/hip thing cleared up, but I'm betting with rest, and my continued strengthening, it will get there pretty quickly. I gave up running multiple marathons back in 2010 when I ran myself into a staph infection and literally into the ground. However, I know I can and many of the others here feel that way as well. I was not planning on running Boston next year, but now, I'm hoping I can. Those bastards cannot win. <br />
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As for the race itself, I think Vivian and I did a good job of holding back as best as we could through the first 12 miles. I lost her when I stopped at my mom, and I kept seeing her but couldn't catch back up in the hills. I knew my leg would not handle the hills well, and I slowed down over them. I even walked through several water stops as it seemed real humid to me, and the sun was much warmer than I thought it would be. I guess that is what happens when you run in 30 degree F. temps (or lower) all winter and hardly get any warm weather.<br />
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My leg gave out coming down the hill past BC and if my friend Ken had not caught me at that point, I would have really walked the rest. Ken just ran a 4:01 at the Georgia Marathon which is hillier, so I knew he was going to run well over the hills. He was hurting a bit and the wind was tough, but we stayed together until I stopped to give my daughter and her friends hugs and high fives. Ken finished between the two explosions. I could see him in the distance because of his bright green hat. He is fine too. I think all the walking afterwards served my body well, as I'm not as sore as I expected, especially given the fact my ITB gave out. I think I might even "run" later today as it is supposed to stop raining.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo includes <span style="font-size: 13.3333339691162px;">a singed $20 that flew at me and that <br />I grabbed when running from the site.</span><br />
To me, it is simply a remembrance of a very strange and special day.</td></tr>
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Michele Keane<br />
Bay Village, Ohio<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2013 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2013/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-26347175898892798632014-09-07T15:48:00.000-04:002014-09-25T13:47:37.749-04:00April 21, 2014 - Cashing in on the "Old People Discount"<div style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lynn O'Neal</td></tr>
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I started running at age 46 while living in Fulton, Mississippi. Since then I have been blessed with a great network of running friends who have encouraged me to keep improving.<br />
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I ran Huntsville’s Rocket City Marathon in 2011 and missed qualifying for Boston by about six minutes with a time of 4:01. With more intense training and lots more encouragement, I returned to Rocket City in 2012 and qualified with a time of 3:48:38. I tell people I got the “old people discount” because in between I had crossed over into the 50 year old age bracket. I don’t mind: I will take all the time the BAA will give me!<br />
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My emotions ranged from excitement to trepidation as my husband and I flew up to Boston. This being my first Boston Marathon experience, I was scared, not really knowing what to expect. Fortunately I was with a strong contingent of veteran female runners from Mississippi, and these friends had prepared me as much as they could beforehand. For that I am truly thankful.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A race number four years and several miles in the making...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With the North Mississippi contingent...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS3wN8H1ypZ0cKp_tT_0zytUyeaXLQwOLZCl6UwNW0CD4MShhsBuIRVBi3TK8VYlKM6WXSFgcx0Ooe3momE7oo3Kx3HeLWmyUYo5ucWm7DQ2WDSDeeVxRbTDvgO6eAHaVDcLd9XuJafyg/s1600/10175006_4321718937760_7349497411415744450_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS3wN8H1ypZ0cKp_tT_0zytUyeaXLQwOLZCl6UwNW0CD4MShhsBuIRVBi3TK8VYlKM6WXSFgcx0Ooe3momE7oo3Kx3HeLWmyUYo5ucWm7DQ2WDSDeeVxRbTDvgO6eAHaVDcLd9XuJafyg/s1600/10175006_4321718937760_7349497411415744450_n.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...together, ready to run!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIm45zx6IQwdhpa4sLSMScD7Hw0k5rGGYHdb6eptmHlgrA3Brm1HW9JNzl0mNl_y07bcFq-mz9MQykspzVv6GVNa4NUuJJ3wpppRP5ewMAt0cF8FbkDI5J_pdajBD4Hv7gMVuQ-cjb74/s1600/1620794_4321716297694_6062378876696853749_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIm45zx6IQwdhpa4sLSMScD7Hw0k5rGGYHdb6eptmHlgrA3Brm1HW9JNzl0mNl_y07bcFq-mz9MQykspzVv6GVNa4NUuJJ3wpppRP5ewMAt0cF8FbkDI5J_pdajBD4Hv7gMVuQ-cjb74/s1600/1620794_4321716297694_6062378876696853749_n.jpg" height="400" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for the bus, BigFoot and I are dressed<br />
for Boston's post-Easter parade.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The morning of the marathon we headed out to meet the buses and take the ride to Hopkinton. The Athletes’ Village was packed and the port-o-potty lines went on forever!! Before long we were lining up in our corrals to start the race. I was amazed at the number of people lining the streets and sitting on rooftops. My energy level was high as the race began.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_KnrAc8_BpT6C3CIvzgx61d0ML2ksd0GGsNsmodlk94IlE0ZhiVlDWYTx0qyHvNDI4SdQyqjLlN-Ipz5OEbOMcFGo3G3uwQIVuI2OF9jVxOnQ2EYvNj7KTlKyDb3atjmaPt-Jk4bjN0/s1600/10152610_4321714337645_6450011649025676665_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_KnrAc8_BpT6C3CIvzgx61d0ML2ksd0GGsNsmodlk94IlE0ZhiVlDWYTx0qyHvNDI4SdQyqjLlN-Ipz5OEbOMcFGo3G3uwQIVuI2OF9jVxOnQ2EYvNj7KTlKyDb3atjmaPt-Jk4bjN0/s1600/10152610_4321714337645_6450011649025676665_n.jpg" height="293" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Long lines in Hopkinton allow plenty of time for phone calls...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One of the highlights of this race was the amazing fans. I slapped so many hands along the way. I really tried to slap hands with as many children as possible: their smiles were amazing. The noise level along the route was really loud, and the crowds just pulled me along.<br />
<br />
Due to the down hills, I actually went out faster than I had planned. I passed the half way point at 8:13 pace, well ahead of my qualifying average back in Huntsville. However, by the time I reached the Newton hills, I was starting to have leg cramps. As a result, I was about 15 minutes slower over the second half of the course.<br />
<br />
At one point I was stopped in my tracks and grabbed the railing. The people along the route gently but firmly told me to not stop and to keep going. I had to dig deep but I kept going.<br />
<br />
My running friends had told me to watch for the famous Citgo Sign. When you see that landmark you are almost done. What a relief when it came into view!!<br />
<br />
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I did make a trip to the medical tent after I crossed the finish line. My leg cramps were that bad. Eventually, I was able to walk out, get my medal and find my sweet husband. I needed a hug. But, I had done it: I had completed the 2014 Boston Marathon, and even better, re-qualified for 2015.<br />
<br />
Lynn O’Neal<br />
Fulton, Mississippi<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For more personal accounts of the 2014 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2014/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-35255054185409516142014-09-05T15:17:00.000-04:002014-10-22T17:24:34.832-04:00April 15, 2013 – “NEVER GIVE UP”<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wRib7j79hO4sGX1wZJu7G0Y4rsk0TZeDsjnu2La5yKwHmA132ZmVTSTH9v9F1a69yXgnfTTtlafsrnSDXN7AOXkJQDwGjBW9M5bW4_yr5SHMuMicX7yaBdIh34uj5Tvktorqsq0YZ3U/s1600/1512151_10201166139821092_1866918711_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0wRib7j79hO4sGX1wZJu7G0Y4rsk0TZeDsjnu2La5yKwHmA132ZmVTSTH9v9F1a69yXgnfTTtlafsrnSDXN7AOXkJQDwGjBW9M5bW4_yr5SHMuMicX7yaBdIh34uj5Tvktorqsq0YZ3U/s1600/1512151_10201166139821092_1866918711_o.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lauren Lundy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"<i>You must do the thing you think you cannot do.</i>" -Eleanor Roosevelt<br />
<br />
It was a cool fall morning on the other side of the country in 2011 when I decided I was going to attempt to qualify for the Boston Marathon. I was in California with Team GSF, an amazing group of athletes who race for the Gwendolyn Strong Foundation, to run the Santa Barbara marathon, just six days after running New York City. The Gwendolyn Strong Foundation (
<a href="http://www.thegsf.org/">www.thegsf.org</a>) is a nonprofit organization dedicated to increasing global awareness of Spinal Muscular Atrophy (the #1 genetic killer of young children), accelerating research focused on ending this cruel disease, and supporting families impacted by SMA. As we gathered at the start, another GSF runner asked "So, you going for the BQ today?" I laughed and looked at him like he was crazy. <br />
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My best time at that point was 3:51 and the new Boston qualifying time was 3:35 flat. Like me, my new found running buddy Billy had also just run NYC, and he was determined and close to qualifying for Boston. We chatted more about it and after hearing his "just train faster" advice, while struggling at Mile 18 in Santa Barbara, I decided I was going to go for it. I started running more, and pushing myself over the winter months, I realized I could run faster. Billy went on to qualify in LA 2012, at which point my competitive juices really kicked in, and I was determined to BQ at the Nashville marathon. <br />
<br />
However, Nashville unfortunately had other plans for me, plans involving hills, heat and humidity. At Mile 24, my Garmin flashed 3:35 and I said "forget it, I will never qualify." In my mind I was done with this goal chasing. I had just proved I wasn't good enough.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I was still registered for Ojai 2 Ocean Marathon. Billy had registered for that race because it was listed as a top “Boston Qualifier,” and he was using it as a backup to LA, so I had registered as well. I wasn't going to run it, but I realized I could visit Gwendolyn while out there; and I decided I would just run it. Billy told me the day before the race he was still running it and then to my surprise, while meeting up at the start he said he would be running with me, pacing me to ensure I get that BQ. 26.2 miles and 3:24:24 hours later I finished among the top 20 women as a BOSTON QUALIFIER!!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXZyNZ8VGoACqjvY6zDmu71U20IavgHZjbHhOi9bD_emhbmftab4SnJv3RCNQk5KZk-se6vwF3YqHaawSl-pM3TvAjDx0qxzb-QDAwecMbiXMQ9CTkbTygBb5gsvmgAIq0DS3FFrWCcA/s1600/photo+3+(2)%2BOjai%2Bto%2BOcean%2B2012%2BBilly%2C%2BLundy%2C%2BGwendolyn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXZyNZ8VGoACqjvY6zDmu71U20IavgHZjbHhOi9bD_emhbmftab4SnJv3RCNQk5KZk-se6vwF3YqHaawSl-pM3TvAjDx0qxzb-QDAwecMbiXMQ9CTkbTygBb5gsvmgAIq0DS3FFrWCcA/s1600/photo+3+(2)%2BOjai%2Bto%2BOcean%2B2012%2BBilly%2C%2BLundy%2C%2BGwendolyn.jpg" height="296" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Billy Crader and Gwendolyn Strong after Ojai to Ocean</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMXNC-ptUrfMethVKVmjDMVCq28ZB8l4gaYXZvb869U3xHXz0nY0BiToNpOJ6n7A6tDI3qQf0NslFhn99ulNdmArYuQVdaoI5iXOiS5NWnAYwu4g6O7U9NVVECQKaS7z2N6KCrC-4Chl4/s1600/photo+2+(2)%2BBoston%2B2013%2B(Steve%2C%2B(me)Lundy%2C%2BBill%2B%26%2BBilly).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMXNC-ptUrfMethVKVmjDMVCq28ZB8l4gaYXZvb869U3xHXz0nY0BiToNpOJ6n7A6tDI3qQf0NslFhn99ulNdmArYuQVdaoI5iXOiS5NWnAYwu4g6O7U9NVVECQKaS7z2N6KCrC-4Chl4/s1600/photo+2+(2)%2BBoston%2B2013%2B(Steve%2C%2B(me)Lundy%2C%2BBill%2B%26%2BBilly).jpg" height="320" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boston 2013 - Steve, Lundy (me), Bill, & Billy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Fast forward to Boston 2013... Billy Crader, Gwendolyn's dad - my great friend Bill Strong, another great friend Steve "Vintage" Taylor, and I were all running the 117th Boston marathon, representing Team GSF in our “Never Give Up” jerseys. The excitement at the start made me feel so nervous, but the collective energy was so positive. The boys and I talked about our goals. I just wanted to run 26.2 miles and enjoy it. I worked hard to get there, I didn't want any of my typical grumpy miles.<br />
<br />
This was my Olympics. I wanted to love every mile. <br />
<br />
I covered my Garmin with my Never Give Up bracelet, tied my kicks, said my goodbyes to my friends, shuffled my "Olympics" playlist and ran the Boston Marathon....in 3:17:09!!<br />
<br />
A new PR by seven minutes, and a BQ for 2014 at my OLYMPICS!!! The race I NEVER dared to dream of running. The race I told myself I was a fool for trying and wasn't good enough to qualify! <br />
<br />
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Billy, Bill, and Steve also ran their best races which ended up being a blessing for all four of us. We had all safely crossed the finish line by the time the bombs went off. A dream come true turned nightmare for so many. After dealing with an array of emotions, I realized what Meb Keflezighi said about life was true, "Like the marathon, life can sometimes be difficult, challenging and present obstacles. However, if you believe in your dreams and never ever give up, things will turn out for the best."<br />
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I laced up my kicks again. Never Give Up! <br />
<br />
Lauren Lundy<br />
Nanuet, New York<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For more personal accounts of the 2013 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2013/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-41993126766841733602014-07-16T17:05:00.000-04:002014-09-08T15:54:01.299-04:00April 21, 2014 - America’s Good Luck Charm<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_IC3nkpfT499YBhsyNZdqpsPsL440Doh_y6WA2PI4rUIdpLx37HWsVVXieB0Ho-OYVMFMzdtz1WopipC5_jY7A6z5QcdiMMzUdHoTzfnvhGwDM33Vrvp2b0inGTGgweLwpGKIcEZ330/s1600/IMG_5281+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_IC3nkpfT499YBhsyNZdqpsPsL440Doh_y6WA2PI4rUIdpLx37HWsVVXieB0Ho-OYVMFMzdtz1WopipC5_jY7A6z5QcdiMMzUdHoTzfnvhGwDM33Vrvp2b0inGTGgweLwpGKIcEZ330/s1600/IMG_5281+(2).jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woody Harrell</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In July 1978, I finished third in the Grandfather Mountain Marathon (described as “among the most strenuous marathons in the nation”), just barely reaching my goal of under three hours. As I circled toward the finish line on the track at the Southern Highland Games, I was certain I was in fourth place. However, way up ahead of me, a running buddy of mine had made a wrong turn and was off course by a mile and a half before he discovered his error, a mistake, he was not able to overcome. It was the only time I ever came close to a marathon podium placement, so none the less, I happily accepted the third place trophy.
<br />
<br />
A few months later I read an article in a medical journal stating you lose 10% of your I.Q. every time you run a marathon. At that point my marathon total stood at nine, so I did the math, decided I didn’t have any wiggle room left, and gave up long distance running. Well, that’s what I tell people, anyway. In truth, much earlier I had injured myself while running barefoot on the beach, cutting ligaments, tendons, etc. so badly I can’t bend the toes on my left foot. This initially didn’t seem to be much of a drawback, but as I headed into middle age, my “on the ball of the foot” running style couldn’t handle the resulting ankle instability, and anything over a five mile run became very painful, so much so I had to move on to something with less pounding and abuse, like bicycling. Marathoning had become a thing of the past.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After hiking the Appalachian Trail,<br />
anything seems possible!</td></tr>
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Then upon retirement in 2012, my wife Cynthia and I hiked the full length of the Appalachian Trail, 2184.2 miles from Georgia to Maine. Along the way we averaged over thirteen miles a day, and climbed the equivalent of sea level to the summit of Mt. Everest 17 times. At the end of this five and a half months of walking, I discovered a miraculous occurrence. My foot muscles seemed to have strengthened enough to compensate for that long ago injury. I adjusted my stride to a more heel-toe style, and (although much slower) was able to run again, first ten, then twelve, thirteen, fifteen miles at a time.<br />
<br />
At age 65, my running career had been given a new lease on life, and I added one more item to my bucket list: four decades after running Boston in 1973 and 1975, I wanted to return and run the famous course one more time. After this long hiatus, I found I had a lot of re-educating to do. Unlike the last time I ran, there were now qualifying standards by both age and gender (good), but one did not simply decide to qualify and enter the race less than a month ahead of time, as I did back in ’75 (bad). Then there was the matter of the entrance fee, which had slightly increased from the $2.00 cash I paid back in the day.
<br />
<br />
I was fortunate to have local running friend Kenneth Williams (who had begun a string of ten straight Boston finishes at age 61) available to convince me the training schedule I had used at age 26 would not work all these years later. He provided some more realistic figures as a target. And training with his “Lunatic Fringe” group throughout the winter on some of the tallest hills in Mississippi kept my training moving forward.
<br />
<br />
I would have liked more time to prepare, but I also didn’t want to try to run a fast race in the heat, so I started looking for a flat marathon in early spring. In the end, I settled on Virginia Beach’s Shamrock Marathon, where I had run both their, and my, initial marathon on St. Patrick’s Day 1973, exactly 40 years ago to the day. The possibility of strong wind off the ocean makes the Virginia Beach race a roll of the dice in March, but except for two trips over the Rudee Inlet bridge, the course is flat as a pancake.
<br />
<br />
My wife and I arrived a few days early to visit relatives and get in a run on the beach at Nags Head NC (needless to say, with shoes on). We were blessed with an ideal weather day on the Outer Banks as I got in one last six mile training run: hard flat beach, no wind, cools temps, and just the hint of fog at ocean’s edge. Things were looking up for the weekend!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Ftag7gi-H3BR6qewTEIy0hKGa_2TNACUJDcX1jdBY1XwBnhCj-gWuFGG6Gg1zo1GS4Kz5OAuCCsNqbajgv3bk-D3y2y-DRF9lkty7qluki8P8xbYJ5sgkn7mOvOZcDZrIkuxCjwRMJI/s1600/1015628_1381364912078254_973626115_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Ftag7gi-H3BR6qewTEIy0hKGa_2TNACUJDcX1jdBY1XwBnhCj-gWuFGG6Gg1zo1GS4Kz5OAuCCsNqbajgv3bk-D3y2y-DRF9lkty7qluki8P8xbYJ5sgkn7mOvOZcDZrIkuxCjwRMJI/s1600/1015628_1381364912078254_973626115_o.jpg" height="400" width="395" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marathon training at Nags Head, NC</td></tr>
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However, by race day, the weather had gone to hell in the proverbial hand basket: 25mph northeast winds, cloudy skies, and predicted high temperature in the low forties. It was nothing to write home about. I also quickly discovered the nature of the race had changed in the four decades I had been away, the main change being the race had grown from only 50 runners to 3,000. Unlike in 1973, I was not going to be lonesome out on the course.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5A7hEDKmoaUjusbRRjUZa0GsW4ZjvYFOcd8BTckfGXZuuSDmwpT_Og6CGT3Q2hObWGZTbfijgbi2JGpDGm_YAC4Aox_oYSjawKqD-9xrjqUpF56ebtSNtdbHvqBws5B_D4gHs5M1I6iY/s1600/Picture9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5A7hEDKmoaUjusbRRjUZa0GsW4ZjvYFOcd8BTckfGXZuuSDmwpT_Og6CGT3Q2hObWGZTbfijgbi2JGpDGm_YAC4Aox_oYSjawKqD-9xrjqUpF56ebtSNtdbHvqBws5B_D4gHs5M1I6iY/s1600/Picture9.jpg" height="181" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the half way point, Virginia Beach marathon - 1973</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNjGZt6D-AJ8qzWI9f9dIF5pcFWBv-dnf1GYHO_69_oUPoy2CQ-M0T39NsKSawoWfIudZOqN0dCPUopY3o3Js4SIVW-1ApjexslBi8MfFql_8fxs4qYR-sYHV-qjTacyxku_AQYZHp4E/s1600/Picture5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNjGZt6D-AJ8qzWI9f9dIF5pcFWBv-dnf1GYHO_69_oUPoy2CQ-M0T39NsKSawoWfIudZOqN0dCPUopY3o3Js4SIVW-1ApjexslBi8MfFql_8fxs4qYR-sYHV-qjTacyxku_AQYZHp4E/s1600/Picture5.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the half way point, Virginia Beach marathon - 2013</td></tr>
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At two miles, I found myself running with the four hour pace group, and sure enough I came past the half way point at 1:59:58. Trees protected the course from the worst of the wind up until Mile 20, when the real race began, but at that point we headed back out into the full brunt of the wind off the Atlantic. Mild leg cramps kicked in at Mile 22, but I still had a cushion of time, if I could keep going. I figured I needed 4:05 to insure a Boston entry, and crossed the finish line at 4:04:04. I broke down and cried. And then got very cold. Shivering cold…<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJzl4xjJcszCq1c2eg7DkngAZK4QgyKU4spbiqPDRrGNEuiOe5al_r7VWtMwVc8NLET-1Vbp6LRv2WhO26ECNK2Td6QOvigUHbXwW6oLiGLJHDcpW1yrY4B5K6SJ5uDhfBwny7KbbAik/s1600/VA+Beach+finish.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPJzl4xjJcszCq1c2eg7DkngAZK4QgyKU4spbiqPDRrGNEuiOe5al_r7VWtMwVc8NLET-1Vbp6LRv2WhO26ECNK2Td6QOvigUHbXwW6oLiGLJHDcpW1yrY4B5K6SJ5uDhfBwny7KbbAik/s1600/VA+Beach+finish.JPG" height="220" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Virginia Beach, St. Patrick's Day 2013</td></tr>
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Back in the 70’s nobody referred to this accomplishment as a “BQ,” and it didn’t seem like that big a deal back then. But when you think it’s gone forever, and then out of nowhere you get one more chance, it is very special.<br />
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A month later, we were following Kenneth Williams’s progress at the 117th Boston on line while driving home from Nashville. His split at 40K was a little slower than he’d hoped for, then after that we heard nothing. We refreshed our smartphone again and again, but still no further update. What had happened to Kenneth? It wasn’t until a half hour later we started getting news of the bombing. All of a sudden, next year’s race and my return to Boston were going to be a good bit different…
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One day while running with Kenneth, he got talking about the Bill Rodgers autobiography <b>Marathon Man</b>, and he mentioned Rodgers’ status as conscientious objector. I interrupted and said “No, you mean Jon Anderson,” who famously was washing dishes as alternative service in a Eugene hospital kitchen before his Boston win in 1973. Kenneth replied firmly, “No, Bill Rodgers.” At which point I realized other than his winning a bunch of big time marathons, I didn’t know much about “Boston Billy.” Borrowing Kenneth’s autographed copy, I dug into his life story, discovering that Boston 1973 was Rodgers’ very first marathon, and on that hot, hot day when I staggered to the Prudential Center in very demoralizing 358th place, Bill Rodgers was having an even tougher day, dropping out at 22 miles. All these years, my biggest athletic achievement ever, and I hadn’t even known about it: I had beaten Bill Rodgers in 1973!
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Of course I had to get a t-shirt made to tout this accomplishment, and wearing it while training was a tremendous motivational tool. I was also wearing it when I bumped into Bill before a race in Jackson MS. He was signing books at the expo and happened to glance over my way. I wish you could have seen the expression on his face when he read my shirt! Well, actually you can. It looked just like this:<br />
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I have to admit one of my all time life highlights was when Boston Billy asked if he could take MY picture!<br />
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The twelve months between Boston ‘13 and ’14 were filled with both highs (a hike of the John Muir Trail, my wife’s first marathon) and lows (some Achilles issues that lingered on and on, having a marathon cancelled at the last minute because of an ice storm), but on Good Friday we flew into Boston. The last time I ran Boston, I stayed in a bare dorm room at Boston University. This time we found the downtown Sheraton to be a big improvement. We headed over to the expo, where after several months of grousing about the color, I found myself buying a “Neon Cheeto Dust” official marathon jacket. And lots of other stuff. [I remember on the day after my ’75 Boston, the futile experience of walking the streets looking for any kind of marathon clothing or souvenirs. Times have definitely changed!]<br />
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My favorite expo experience was a session presented by several former Boston Marathon Champions. I had not seen Jacki Hansen since she breezed by me in the closing miles on the way to her 1973 win. It was great to have a chance for a short chat with this women’s running pioneer. Getting a chance to meet 1968 winner Amy Burfoot was like the icing on the cake!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ULI8TuaEH4QfOoRgR8ARdgq-PcWe-RCxZ2OHGDHFpXLzbke698JoQ_qjt7scqp5_PZaoo3U2-rB0iFhPONosOz7vdGimCQoKd4D-3kqrEmMNdsPoJT0ONjBCR3skEaAeqRWOcDe5oBc/s1600/Jacki.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ULI8TuaEH4QfOoRgR8ARdgq-PcWe-RCxZ2OHGDHFpXLzbke698JoQ_qjt7scqp5_PZaoo3U2-rB0iFhPONosOz7vdGimCQoKd4D-3kqrEmMNdsPoJT0ONjBCR3skEaAeqRWOcDe5oBc/s1600/Jacki.JPG" height="203" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">41 years after Jacki Hansen springboarded to fame by passing me at the<br />
end of the 77th Boston Marathon, we finally bury the hatchet.</td></tr>
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Cynthia and I crammed a lot of activities into Marathon Weekend; in hindsight probably too many to allow for adequate race preparation. But looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing. We got to visit with Cynthia’s college roommate. Bernie took us out to Hopkinton on Saturday, and then drove back into town following the course. We took advantage of the Hopkinton police stopping traffic to allow picture taking at the start line. We walked down Hayden Rowe Street, looking for landmarks of the old starting line from my previous two Bostons, with only a little bit of success. Bernie also used her great season tickets to take us to Fenway for a Sox game on Sunday evening.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_N3_wiYT7wHv-wJj9b1oZIGE3ZT9cD_p4LzOtratu6DYmRqnF6wyniS5Pm8PjB7O_yAwpIFpb-NAWQmWh3nLw3lCqOtFpnfNK_yGsZC-QWDVsKx8Ul_5mv-ILJU7kXYNCWaEWW4Rtl6k/s1600/IMG_5224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_N3_wiYT7wHv-wJj9b1oZIGE3ZT9cD_p4LzOtratu6DYmRqnF6wyniS5Pm8PjB7O_yAwpIFpb-NAWQmWh3nLw3lCqOtFpnfNK_yGsZC-QWDVsKx8Ul_5mv-ILJU7kXYNCWaEWW4Rtl6k/s1600/IMG_5224.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hopkinton Officer: "And if cars honk while they are stopped,<br />
I make them wait longer!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiRhKIpeGk6WyNGl4pP6fIx0FXwspz537oiDOW2_IhmXM9FgW7oLkZ59M2Y2Q8KcRqzCcOiEieRpX5VQ8ShDiENh4QRX505wjnECc8xsSI7OohI5EpDnU4aLOLhzI86yxMtmPLp5GztgY/s1600/Hayden+Rowe+Street.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiRhKIpeGk6WyNGl4pP6fIx0FXwspz537oiDOW2_IhmXM9FgW7oLkZ59M2Y2Q8KcRqzCcOiEieRpX5VQ8ShDiENh4QRX505wjnECc8xsSI7OohI5EpDnU4aLOLhzI86yxMtmPLp5GztgY/s1600/Hayden+Rowe+Street.JPG" height="268" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Return to Hayden Rowe Street</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAYXUb_cQ4PtjINW0pO8I-xA60Vfoitcb3N9iuNmgzSl4PfyHcE_LKZQ-u59YJQdsiSDdooluDIU5Nd2bP0X1bOmSDRsAka5XObN2FuFmCBJ90YkLIHGFv_7pNPIKvQ97SiTtecC5TDM/s1600/IMG_3552+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjAYXUb_cQ4PtjINW0pO8I-xA60Vfoitcb3N9iuNmgzSl4PfyHcE_LKZQ-u59YJQdsiSDdooluDIU5Nd2bP0X1bOmSDRsAka5XObN2FuFmCBJ90YkLIHGFv_7pNPIKvQ97SiTtecC5TDM/s1600/IMG_3552+(2).jpg" height="400" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating with the "Forever Young" John Kelley </td></tr>
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On Easter Sunday, the day began with Kenneth Williams’ annual shake-out run along the river for the North Mississippi - Alabama contingent, led by Bart Yasso. Along the way I again ran into Bill Rodgers, and although his Grand Marshall duties were keeping him from running this year’s race, I did get to remind him I beat him in ’73 and still had the t-shirt to prove it!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE33nFFAbSMg1AYNT9RI3ByAA9slbKDcWTW_v3A24KkRNcPq2vB5UVEdbdy_eVgPG9GBKtoZ9avFr85LLrE1DJVlmKp4Ib9jrIRlm-R4cRqU4IsPoNKUYoE5G_xRKBQaF-VRAdhD82pO0/s1600/Picture2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE33nFFAbSMg1AYNT9RI3ByAA9slbKDcWTW_v3A24KkRNcPq2vB5UVEdbdy_eVgPG9GBKtoZ9avFr85LLrE1DJVlmKp4Ib9jrIRlm-R4cRqU4IsPoNKUYoE5G_xRKBQaF-VRAdhD82pO0/s1600/Picture2.jpg" height="400" width="317" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Oh, not you again!" <br />
With Bill Rodgers on his home turf.</td></tr>
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The Blessing of the Athletes at Old South Church was the most moving single moment of the trip. To be a runner wrapped “in love and prayer” with one of 7,000 handmade scarves did indeed “warm your spirit… as you carry the weight of a somber anniversary… and look down 26.2 miles with resolve.” No matter what lay ahead, I knew somehow I was going to finish this race.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dHa_K3C4qRIyRGMFDan92eKeXeeixaV1IsZ0i2WNHhG_nqZ5K-PrgWFxgcnZMn9tp-rBkhqq3OebVsVq_JHHTOV9BkV9WFLOnU4As37pZ49nRzKGOp8tL2FUcOFfWNOXwZmTdhUZ2cY/s1600/Picture16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dHa_K3C4qRIyRGMFDan92eKeXeeixaV1IsZ0i2WNHhG_nqZ5K-PrgWFxgcnZMn9tp-rBkhqq3OebVsVq_JHHTOV9BkV9WFLOnU4As37pZ49nRzKGOp8tL2FUcOFfWNOXwZmTdhUZ2cY/s1600/Picture16.jpg" height="296" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very special Easter at Old South Church</td></tr>
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In the media coverage leading up to this year’s race, I heard Tedy Bruschi (4:47:45 this year) say that on Patriots Day, Boston has five major league teams, with one of them running in a stadium 26.2 miles long. Except for being a little short, I found his description to be accurate. In reality the spectator support began on the walk up from Athletes’ Village, with local residents distributing beer, donuts, and cigarettes. Or maybe they were the 26.2 mile stadium’s concession stand?!?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWWuiU_h9W0glaqbKzwKSh2YiZsZfllABkXieVc81sxIsGQLMJ6bVaS3fukMarn9eQPAJY-Zgp7R-FpF1NK6vyxQBCf6LSiFpUbjDNI9bHnlMPpu9WHV1WEXfO5lRXqZAtlfKWdes-zAI/s1600/J-P+1488126_10152539357391055_2227360795095623960_n+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWWuiU_h9W0glaqbKzwKSh2YiZsZfllABkXieVc81sxIsGQLMJ6bVaS3fukMarn9eQPAJY-Zgp7R-FpF1NK6vyxQBCf6LSiFpUbjDNI9bHnlMPpu9WHV1WEXfO5lRXqZAtlfKWdes-zAI/s1600/J-P+1488126_10152539357391055_2227360795095623960_n+(2).jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where else but Hopkinton!</td></tr>
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An 8:00 a.m. start would have provided the race ideal running conditions, but by the time I crossed the line in Hopkinton, I felt the temperature was already warming up. The last time I ran Boston, hydration in route was hard to come by, especially on a hot day. In 2014, that was certainly not the case, although I learned when you start behind 24,000 runners, the accumulating piles of discarded cups at the water stops can be a safety hazard. A mashed cup on a yellow line can be more slippery and treacherous than a banana peel.<br />
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After 39 years away, Ashland, Framingham, and Natick all looked familiar, if not quite the same. Certainly more people along the route. The sound of the Wellesley College Scream Tunnel may have been negatively impacted by Easter weekend (I actually thought the crowds at Boston College were more boisterous), but the girls more than made up for any diminished numbers with their “creativity.”
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-4PF_5CYfxRNWkFDhnwHx-IfPc1_i7ejIC5lDz5oOa4KGRJJWbAOuLj0fLikVHSlDvArHChWWhZzjtKmjmd_aEnXiUisLK884uM3aTbrkM728G7y45SaboRNcFjp638gPKweIh0lCIQ/s1600/0+761531_1168_0016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-4PF_5CYfxRNWkFDhnwHx-IfPc1_i7ejIC5lDz5oOa4KGRJJWbAOuLj0fLikVHSlDvArHChWWhZzjtKmjmd_aEnXiUisLK884uM3aTbrkM728G7y45SaboRNcFjp638gPKweIh0lCIQ/s1600/0+761531_1168_0016.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still looking like a "Wicked Runnah"!</td></tr>
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At around 15 miles, I was a little slower than I had hoped to be, but was still feeling good about the upcoming hills. Then a runner darted in front of me to avoid a runner darting in front of him. Even with my slow reaction time, I avoided a collision, but just a few steps later, as I tried to get back on form, I was jolted by cramps in my right leg measuring 16.4 on the Richter Scale. My brain tried to send a signal to my legs to start running again, but standing in the road, I literally was unable to move. In church the previous day I had concentrated on the first part of Isaiah 40:31 “May you mount up with wings like eagles. May you run and not grow weary…” Now I was latching onto the end of that well known Bible verse: “May you walk and not grow faint.”
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibnY1eyFT0DNpUNhTSPtpxfO7rBZg4hf2AqtzeeMXcuqiKtO9gLI3YiQdbWIjVM4s2u-K2AdQK1ZJk7fG6Qp4r0vN62KR_ihbakBSIzOAmd7geSQAnJPSUG4zN9YbRSGCCl5tQEEVmoO4/s1600/boston-marathon-signs-2014-24+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibnY1eyFT0DNpUNhTSPtpxfO7rBZg4hf2AqtzeeMXcuqiKtO9gLI3YiQdbWIjVM4s2u-K2AdQK1ZJk7fG6Qp4r0vN62KR_ihbakBSIzOAmd7geSQAnJPSUG4zN9YbRSGCCl5tQEEVmoO4/s1600/boston-marathon-signs-2014-24+(1).jpg" height="400" width="346" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some days, even an encouraging sign just isn't enough...</td></tr>
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Haltingly, I finally got my legs going again. At uneven intervals, the aftershocks continued in both legs over the next eleven miles, but with each stiff step I was still heading towards Boylston. Today my body was saying “no, you won't,” but five deep on either side of the road the huge Boston crowd was yelling “yes, you can!” My thoughts were on yesterday’s Prayer of Blessing: “Reward them for their discipline and perseverance.” I had discipline; I had perseverance. I was in “the most important race of the century,” and I was going to finish.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was not a day for stopping. Not here. Not now...</td></tr>
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I jogged when I could, walked when I couldn’t, and never passed up a water station from there on in. And all the way, I soaked up the energy and passion of a city out to reclaim its marathon. Cynthia and Bernie had staked out a spot at Mile 25 to see the race. As I crested Heartbreak Hill, I called them to say I wasn’t quite on schedule, but I was still heading their way. I told them to be on the lookout for a runner whose appearance resembled “warmed over death” and it would probably be me. Then I stopped twice to ask BAA volunteers to take my picture. Who knew when I might be back!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2b3JquTSDfemyjUvh229q_xocmEHWoSdz40gRgEX5t68IkClh1l8eJTtImS-aOYmTEC9P-u8sRObAFIHK8L8aQAUjLzQZrJVzi_fyJyWY5nZDWtqFRzAN-wV593pUBV4DNWIlLH3P6T0/s1600/Picture15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2b3JquTSDfemyjUvh229q_xocmEHWoSdz40gRgEX5t68IkClh1l8eJTtImS-aOYmTEC9P-u8sRObAFIHK8L8aQAUjLzQZrJVzi_fyJyWY5nZDWtqFRzAN-wV593pUBV4DNWIlLH3P6T0/s1600/Picture15.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heartbreak Hill has good cell service</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCY2JJpVp_MQrVHd2y6EMpS_aphdyKoBaaA4nnehi895F9YgLAe0jQUS3FwdBYkqo3fMIwW34vqWPCQWpZMhbLBD9TpuNUUKQBCuDs5zqYugAaD4NS4Zc_th4zFm2jsjqJynhZ-UPB21U/s1600/IMG_5311.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCY2JJpVp_MQrVHd2y6EMpS_aphdyKoBaaA4nnehi895F9YgLAe0jQUS3FwdBYkqo3fMIwW34vqWPCQWpZMhbLBD9TpuNUUKQBCuDs5zqYugAaD4NS4Zc_th4zFm2jsjqJynhZ-UPB21U/s1600/IMG_5311.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Heartbreaking photo op</td></tr>
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The crowds at Mile 25 were so thick and loud I wondered if I’d be able to spot anyone I knew. But I was able to locate my two fans, and pause for a brief greeting before I headed off to make the last two turns. I wanted to look smooth and limber after I made the “left on Boylston” and I almost got away with looking like a runner, until one last attack of leg cramps hit me in the last 150 yards. But as painful as it probably looked, it was done, and after 39 years I had made it back to the Boston Marathon finish line. When I last ran Boston in ’75, only some ridiculously low number of runners, I want to say 15, were awarded medals; and back then those medals were about the size of a thumbnail. Mine today was much bigger, was given for a placing over 27,000 further back, but was equally, if not more appreciated.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_wLyWooET0VySoJuS22SakCpeyUNspkv3lWeL6SJjxOXGZ7BXdMpPDzUY3Pk_jNQIOZvV73Bg2qyr4-p2GmFe-nXM1nM07Xy2hp4iNaGTdEyQfoX7iP72nt0rX9hqcPpZKZ8jDhqxBw/s1600/Picture13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_wLyWooET0VySoJuS22SakCpeyUNspkv3lWeL6SJjxOXGZ7BXdMpPDzUY3Pk_jNQIOZvV73Bg2qyr4-p2GmFe-nXM1nM07Xy2hp4iNaGTdEyQfoX7iP72nt0rX9hqcPpZKZ8jDhqxBw/s1600/Picture13.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to put up a good front on Boylston.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIC7qrY1wq-a-8F61KH4-fMYRyrHHDmglPB3RrCMqAiMwvMPeDWXGEXHR9xV86aS5fx5OHvOxgnhw7qdnhmFvqe501ijadFA2QT5WincpFKxux7BH1iOOXtmUB3g6l2VMT9JnoXDo7-0/s1600/FL+55-31.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIC7qrY1wq-a-8F61KH4-fMYRyrHHDmglPB3RrCMqAiMwvMPeDWXGEXHR9xV86aS5fx5OHvOxgnhw7qdnhmFvqe501ijadFA2QT5WincpFKxux7BH1iOOXtmUB3g6l2VMT9JnoXDo7-0/s1600/FL+55-31.JPG" height="221" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrgWZpY4qG1pLqm9ap0v7Ivqame6c5Z9IIXq8xMx_YPsfc0BsIn21GxreUocH0ztYrNDkvXFx7NeUPfs5St7AgFdR4dvSrQUGUy0-FR9KpTcTG8_ACBTosRmWcXqk8p59DNn8mMxqv8vE/s1600/Picture12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrgWZpY4qG1pLqm9ap0v7Ivqame6c5Z9IIXq8xMx_YPsfc0BsIn21GxreUocH0ztYrNDkvXFx7NeUPfs5St7AgFdR4dvSrQUGUy0-FR9KpTcTG8_ACBTosRmWcXqk8p59DNn8mMxqv8vE/s1600/Picture12.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlP-xHl8QE2HJufNpHbv1UmxshNkR5j-MdOyVNZ4DL9V_7RtzHXLcr-qmgwEdGD_HRkMLO-HkCmwkt-PLoMg7PWSOzSM6YQTq-N9e01c-jlphBj8qL5pev0ygVeCO4y30NhnfUqMz0jLI/s1600/Picture11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlP-xHl8QE2HJufNpHbv1UmxshNkR5j-MdOyVNZ4DL9V_7RtzHXLcr-qmgwEdGD_HRkMLO-HkCmwkt-PLoMg7PWSOzSM6YQTq-N9e01c-jlphBj8qL5pev0ygVeCO4y30NhnfUqMz0jLI/s1600/Picture11.jpg" height="400" width="391" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Nothing was expected of him, but somehow he managed to do even less."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYH7Re_mGX4qnnrMOPZlK-VaRM6hwXC67Et6TcXDAspFEPVkv7dDjgncEz840uEIEMuUGsLkPhT-pnCgdZHFFcFdzWdNz5NXbLtJA0FVmhYTAb3LHkPlobjVVQ6DLOhS9S6UmFPupNHls/s1600/IMG_5314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYH7Re_mGX4qnnrMOPZlK-VaRM6hwXC67Et6TcXDAspFEPVkv7dDjgncEz840uEIEMuUGsLkPhT-pnCgdZHFFcFdzWdNz5NXbLtJA0FVmhYTAb3LHkPlobjVVQ6DLOhS9S6UmFPupNHls/s1600/IMG_5314.JPG" height="238" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ignominy of being outrun by a football player:<br />
Tedy Bruschi already giving interviews by the time I finish. </td></tr>
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Working my way through the finish area, for the first time I overheard people talking about the day’s results and I thought I heard someone say something about an American winning. The only thing I had heard all day, and that was very early on, was that Ryan Hall had been up in the lead pack. So as unlikely as that sounded, I asked “Did you say Ryan Hall won?” and they replied “No, it’s Meb!” Unbelievable… Meb wasn’t alive when I last ran, but his birthday was then less than a month away! Now he was the oldest Boston winner in over 80 years!
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From World War II until I first ran Boston in 1973, Americans had won only two of 27 races (John Kelley the Younger in 1957 and Amby Burfoot in 1968). However, not only was there an American winner in both previous years I ran (Jon Anderson and Bill Rodgers), there seemed to be a residual effect for my participation, with eight of eleven American wins from ’73 to ’83. However, after that magic wore off, the next 30 years produced no American winners. Now, after 39 years away, I was back and once again we had an American winner. Obviously I am the U.S.A.’s good luck charm. Every single time I run Boston, an American wins. Other than this year’s first timers, I doubt anyone else in the 2014 race can make that claim.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvOm7grcgyXNeECWEl45PXoF3Zpim1bfUJFMZMf-oqo2617tS-U0cBIKGvxtwYDVwxmOtdRsja68zVllojn77FNXR7E_N4LXlsafBNUAVaMOQQGGgR674wboEVAmWnZYnTQP_n9FDYX7s/s1600/Jon+Bill+Meb.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvOm7grcgyXNeECWEl45PXoF3Zpim1bfUJFMZMf-oqo2617tS-U0cBIKGvxtwYDVwxmOtdRsja68zVllojn77FNXR7E_N4LXlsafBNUAVaMOQQGGgR674wboEVAmWnZYnTQP_n9FDYX7s/s1600/Jon+Bill+Meb.JPG" height="250" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">American winners at Boston - I am three for three.</td></tr>
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Sometime in the future, I’d like to do one more Boston, especially if I can run one with my wife. However, I’m not planning on coming back in 2015. But Dave McGillivray’s got my number, and if he really wants another American victor and if he is willing to waive my entry (or just reduce it back to the 1975 rate), I’d be willing to come back sooner. After all, I am America’s Good Luck Charm. My record shows I always make it happen…
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Woody Harrell<br />
Corinth, Mississippi<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2014 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2014/">here</a>.<br />
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All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-46949096958638290972014-07-13T15:55:00.000-04:002014-10-22T17:25:07.396-04:00April 19, 2010 - The joy is in the journey: Boston is the reward. <div style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbBUwDxASKu6D1BXsE9HLJiT6iTCzJQhMl9cCF8zdmcKdqJgZ4rXn9O4VmpJc4YBTdLnY4X_SeGrbWIFv_rLMpnC-zby24_SW5sDDR9DS43X4dDYyUKO6_NQXhbbnxcBOwpwdKHY_MBVU/s1600/425580_10151394745900522_979039619_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbBUwDxASKu6D1BXsE9HLJiT6iTCzJQhMl9cCF8zdmcKdqJgZ4rXn9O4VmpJc4YBTdLnY4X_SeGrbWIFv_rLMpnC-zby24_SW5sDDR9DS43X4dDYyUKO6_NQXhbbnxcBOwpwdKHY_MBVU/s1600/425580_10151394745900522_979039619_n.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joy Gray</td></tr>
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I started running to lose baby weight with a 2001 New Year’s resolution. My goal was to lose the last 10 or 20 pounds from my second pregnancy. I initially used running as a tool to see how ‘small’ I could get. I truly believe running saved me. One day after an eight mile run, I got very confused, and I think it was caused by an extreme low-carb diet. I was that dedicated. In the end, though, I chose running because it provided me much more satisfaction than just a low number on the scale. I was the only one of five children to earn a high school diploma. I found running made me feel special, like I could “be somebody”! <br />
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My friend Harvey Pendergrast coached me through my first 10k, our local Corinth Coca-Cola Classic race; and I ran it well enough to discover I had some natural talent. After the Coke 10k, I joined an online forum, Coolrunning.com. I read every post, and one guy encouraged me to run a marathon. My thought was I would do one marathon and be finished. I graduated directly from a 10k to a full marathon, with no half as a warm-up.<br />
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I decided I would run the Mercedes Marathon in Birmingham, Alabama. I followed a training schedule from that Cool Running Forum. All my training was done alone, or pushing a baby stroller at the city park. I had no support other than the online forum. I recall getting emotional before the race, thinking “I’m going to run a marathon.” I finished my first marathon in 4:35, with no real understanding of how I should train for it. I was so elated finishing, but then on the way home, I really beat myself up. 4:35? Really? Real runners finish at least under four hours for a marathon. I was no longer pleased.<br />
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I knew I needed some support, someone to listen to my concerns and to answer my questions. I emailed a long time local runner named Kenneth Williams (who we all call "Koach") to inquire if he knew of any female runners with whom I might train. His response: “Distance runners are loners by nature… but let me think about some possibilities, and I will get back with you.” So, it was a very short email and not much help.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDHUrRPpOba6SJ90EwGdn1ZJe_sB9Tp6e6e0wD0u4gdrhWTOLi925Y425MeZg2yp78zftQ4gLj9nJEaRFCTsx3CLN1WR0ZqsJU9lwqehzWY1-dGXNFNehJQfUDJz34faYc23h6mEyoq6k/s1600/1936862_1135733592655_2216916_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDHUrRPpOba6SJ90EwGdn1ZJe_sB9Tp6e6e0wD0u4gdrhWTOLi925Y425MeZg2yp78zftQ4gLj9nJEaRFCTsx3CLN1WR0ZqsJU9lwqehzWY1-dGXNFNehJQfUDJz34faYc23h6mEyoq6k/s1600/1936862_1135733592655_2216916_n.jpg" height="318" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stopping for a photo on the Tennessee River Bridge</td></tr>
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However, I didn't have to wait long until another email arrived. This one invited me to join a strange training run, where we started in one town (Savannah TN), ran to another (Adamsville TN, crossing the Tennessee River along the way), and then ran a race (the Buford Pusser Festival 5K Run). It sounded both unusual and intimidating, but I said I was game. After surviving that workout, I felt I was ready to go beyond the goal of my original running resolution.<br />
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I then began training with Koach and John (Big Foot) Aikin on their weekly runs on Highway 350, a route notorious for its heat, humidity, horseflies, and hills! Running with Koach's small crowd of hard core runners was not for the faint of heart, but when I found I could stay with these new friends on Mississippi’s “Highway to Heaven,” then I began doing my long runs there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh842yM83J8fzz1MeVV-U3mbx6QNFmJ4SNWfF9ivCiV0QmJQujTak1H9QVGCJiY4_W1fcEOnQrTlsVFtyFqeLlMkyQa52tyv7WNcEBaog-6jkaVdg36T30J4OvOdex_fOpmtCqsndUKUHU/s1600/1936862_1135736032716_15175_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh842yM83J8fzz1MeVV-U3mbx6QNFmJ4SNWfF9ivCiV0QmJQujTak1H9QVGCJiY4_W1fcEOnQrTlsVFtyFqeLlMkyQa52tyv7WNcEBaog-6jkaVdg36T30J4OvOdex_fOpmtCqsndUKUHU/s1600/1936862_1135736032716_15175_n.jpg" height="318" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Training on Highway 350</td></tr>
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This is where my Boston story likely will be different from most others.<br />
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I didn't set out to qualify for Boston. That year, 2008, I was in nursing school and that, plus a job and family, put a heavy load of stress on me. I looked forward to my runs for relief from that stress. However, to help add structure to those workouts and keep me motivated, I signed up for another marathon. So, each run now had a purpose, I didn’t have the luxury of running for fun anymore.<br />
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By fall and after graduation, I found myself running really well. Three weeks before my chosen race, the St. Jude Marathon in Memphis, Koach looked over at me during a long run and asked what was my goal. I had gotten my marathon time down to 3:52 the year before, but I didn’t really have a goal. Koach told me I needed to break 3:40 in order to qualify. (This was back in the good ole days when you knew the second you crossed the finish line your BQ time would get you in the race). Koach told me I could beat my required time, and I believed him. <br />
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By the time I stepped on the starting line three weeks later, Koach had told about everyone I knew I was going to qualify, which added pressure, for sure. I tried not to worry about it as I was off and running. After a few miles I ran beside a friend, Jackey Wall, and I confided in him I was scared. I was starting out well, but I said I don’t know about the rest of the race. Jackey said “Joy, run how you feel. You may be able to do it, or you may not, but run like you feel, and not by what the GPS says.”<br />
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For the next 20 miles, I never let myself think about Boston. By mile 23, I had passed Big Foot. Or rather I sneaked past him. Big Foot is a running icon and the idea of me passing him was special.<br />
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By mile 24 I had begun a slight fade and I knew I had no time to spare. Just then, I heard my worst nightmare: It was Koach's voice! He was a block behind, and he was screaming at me!! “GO, JOY. THIS IS WHAT YOU HAVE WORKED SO HARD FOR. ALL THE YEARS OF TRAINING COME DOWN TO TWO MILES!” Koach gained on me, as I could hear his screams coming closer. And then there was THE HILL! It actually was not a hill, but rather an up-ramp in a massive cloverleaf. Somehow I made it to the top of the ramp and Koach was calling out the time. “Joy, you have one minute and forty five seconds. You have to sprint!! Don’t stop, and don’t slowdown...” <br />
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About this time I caught up with Jackey Wall again. He was walking and tears were falling. I begged him to run with me… “I won’t make it after seeing you walking.” So, he did. He was limping, hurt and could barely walk, but he jumped in for the last quarter mile. As we entered the stadium with a few hundred yards remaining, Koach was still screaming, his voice clearly heard over the screams of the hundreds of spectators sitting in the stands…. “DON’T STOP”! “DON’T SLOW DOWN.” I crossed the finish line at 3:39:44 and Koach was three seconds behind me….still hollering! I had made it!!! And with 15 whole seconds to spare! <br />
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I had qualified! People looked at us like we were crazy. BOSTON! But, I don’t think the draw of Boston was even close to what it is today, and most people just didn’t understand.<br />
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I remember sitting in a seat at Auto Zone Park, in shock. I had done it! I called my (then) husband, Tony Gray, who had gone to a powerlifting meet, and told him I made it, but there was silence. He had always been supportive of me and my running, but I just don’t think he understood what it meant.<br />
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All through the afternoon I had doubts, and I wasn’t going to get too excited until it was official. That next day, seeing I had officially qualified, I sat in amazement. I had done something few girls I knew had done. I finally felt I really was “somebody.” I had survived nursing school due to running and by following my running mantra “You don’t quit; you keep going no matter what. Runners do not quit, runners do not give up. They push through!” So, I had done it! I was a Licensed Practical Nurse AND I had qualified for Boston, all in the same year!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyB81C253lguFbVJsf_5IFbmRoYHbsrAYklmR6LHdp96FBztG7EuDS8D2Cagn0cCznvVvCGpNyXQBG1fYf4cpXuxyc8bAmPkpd2ES41qZYbxKu0goaInvs75Ab4BIDPhJjsumwRK5chEw/s1600/41043_1402381698691_515756_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyB81C253lguFbVJsf_5IFbmRoYHbsrAYklmR6LHdp96FBztG7EuDS8D2Cagn0cCznvVvCGpNyXQBG1fYf4cpXuxyc8bAmPkpd2ES41qZYbxKu0goaInvs75Ab4BIDPhJjsumwRK5chEw/s1600/41043_1402381698691_515756_n.jpg" height="400" width="343" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LPN & now BQ!</td></tr>
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I had a choice to run Boston in 2009, but I elected to wait until 2010. I needed a savings account and some time to put something in it.<br />
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I had so many obstacles in 2009, mainly injuries that lasted and lasted, and all these setbacks caused me to have a poor year of running. So when I started training for Boston I went over the top. I have never trained like I did for Boston.<br />
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Finally training was over and Boston was close. I had been very concerned about flying. Boston was going to be my first flight and I was really nervous about that. But Koach and his wife, Nancy Ann, took care of me. Nancy Ann led me through all the first time bag checking, and Koach had arranged for me to be seated next to Tanya Collum, who later has become my dearest friend. We made it great, although I had some anxious moments as the flight progressed. Tanya and I shared a room, as well as all our fears, excitement and worries.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Koach and Tanya Collum</td></tr>
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My boss and really great friend, Dr. Erica Noyes, had gotten me a big cake and organized an office party, and she told me she wanted to purchase my Boston jacket. This really made an impression on me as I had only been employed for a few months.<br />
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When the plane landed and I saw “Boston” it was a highly emotional moment for me. I had never been more than five or six hours (by car) from home. The city was beautiful, but so different. I was alone, with no relatives nearby, but my running friends, John, Tom McCabe, and the others, were my family. I purchased a few things at the Expo. We saw the “Team Hoyt” family, and I had my picture taken with Kathrine Switzer. Koach had given me her book after I qualified and now it had come full circle for me. However, on this big stage, I still didn’t feel I “belonged.”<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meeting Katherine Switzer</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finish Line photo op with Tom McCabe</td></tr>
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My favorite part of the whole trip may have been Sunday morning. We attended the service at Old South Church, right on the marathon finish line. When you walked in, runners had the opportunity to put a push pin in their home state, and the map was about full. I had never seen a church as beautiful, and the Runners Prayer given by the pastor had me silently crying. It was overwhelmingly beautiful. We even got to witness an infant baptism. After the service we visited the finish line and took lots of photos. After that we had the best blueberry pancakes and fresh orange juice. I was excited, for sure, and didn’t sleep much that night. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for the bus with the Wildman Tom and Big Foot</td></tr>
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Early on race morning we made our way to the loading area, and after a long wait were finally on a bus and heading for Athletes’ Village. After arrival, my first thought was “Why are all those helicopters flying around?” And there were military or police snipers on the roof tops of the school. I was very confused….and apprehensive. Will I make it home? Will my girls know their Mom left the world doing what she loved? I was freaking out. I had made it through my first experience of flying, but this security was really troubling to me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Temporary residents of the Village</td></tr>
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Finally 10 a.m. came, as well as the gun for our corral, and I was off! And, this is what I remember: Lots of screaming, it felt like 26 miles of non-stop screaming. After Heartbreak Hill, which I really didn’t think was so steep, all my emotions seemed to hit me at once. I walked, and I took cookies and tea, and I wanted silence!<br />
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Soon I was rounding the corner from Hereford onto Boylston and I could see the finish line way in the distance. Tears were running down both cheeks as I was about to finish. But once I crossed the line and had a chance to focus on my finishing time of 3:55, I thought I had failed. I blamed the 60 degree weather for the “slow” time. I thought Boston in April was cold. It took me an hour and a half to get back to my hotel, which was only a few blocks away. I had no idea where I was. I got so many bad directions I finally sat on a curb and cried.<br />
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After a long while, I got back to the hotel and we later met for dinner. I was still very disappointed in myself and in my time. Unfortunately, I let those feelings shape the remainder of the trip.<br />
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It was not until a few months later that I gained peace with my time. I was then able to say “Hey, that was a pretty good time!” Then it hit me how much energy I had wasted on feelings of disappointment. I wish I had listened to the advice from our local Boston veterans, such as Woody Harrell saying “Enjoy the experience.” I wish I had taken that advice.<br />
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The joy is in the journey. Boston is the reward. Who cares how fast you run Boston? You did your homework, you did the training, now enjoy your reward. <br />
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Today I look at my framed Boston Marathon Certificate and medal “Joy Gray - 3:55” and I am very proud. I never realized what it would come to mean to me; how much pride I would feel when I put that jacket on to wear to races or even to work. I don’t wear it often as I rather feel the experience is mine, my secret. I haven’t wanted to share too much with others; I just want to hold the experience in my heart. I almost feel sharing too much makes it less special. <br />
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Running Boston was a “for me” event! I didn't do it to impress anyone, or to flaunt it to others. It was for me to feel I accomplished something BIG: It was about a simple country girl, a non-athlete, one who had really never done anything special. But God gave me this gift. Even though I worked very hard, it was a gift from Him. I get frustrated when people run one marathon and then automatically assume their easy next step will be to "Run Boston.” To me that casual attitude is disrespectful to all those runners who have worked so hard for that Boston Medal. Every one earning that medal has a story of hardship and overcoming obstacles just like mine. They might not have set out to do Boston, but when they do, this one race can be the icing on the cake!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With part of the Alabama - Mississippi delegation</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marathon Weekend in Boston</td></tr>
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I may never go back to Boston - only God knows that. But I do know there will never be another “First Boston” or a “First Qualifier.” That’s one thing I try to pass along to other runner friends that I assist: There won’t be but one “First Marathon.” Enjoy it, embrace it, let it sink in. Live in the moment.<br />
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There is still a lot I want to accomplish and going back to Boston is #1. But I have several items that are equally important. <br />
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I feel an enormous sense of pride being a Boston Marathon finisher and I love the sense of respect members of that club receive, even from strangers. And I really appreciate and love all the people who played such a big part of getting me to the Boston finish line: Kenneth Williams, John Aikin, Jackey Wall, Tom McCabe, Julie Pittman and Ginger Dukes. Thanks so much for believing in me and helping me achieve this life moment. I intend to enjoy it as long as I live.<br />
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Joy Gray Stark<br />
Michie, Tennessee<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2010 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2010/">here</a>.<br />
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All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-42803110212307413792014-07-07T17:11:00.000-04:002014-07-13T16:38:25.430-04:00April 21, 2014 - Thank you, Boston, for your strength, perseverance, beauty, and grace.<div style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Curt Metzger</td></tr>
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Just about anything I say will not do it any justice. But let me try…again.
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Amazing support. The BAA kept in perfect contact with us through the final crazy month and few last weeks. Their information content was right on and they repeated very important items.
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Volunteers realized what they were in for and they were ready: From the loads of service men and women stationed everywhere along the way of our trip out to Hopkinton, in Athletes’ Village, along the course inside and outside the barricades, to all the completely amazing course support. There was always someone there. A splash of water or two. Some lube. A cold rag. They were happy to be there and ready to help. True SERVANT’S HEARTS. Well trained. Thank you.<br />
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Kathy and I spoke with a volunteer in the elevator of our hotel. It was about 4 p.m. on Monday, after my race, and we were headed to dinner. He was part of the Boston Common Team that helped with the loading of buses and the collection of gear bags runners wanted to check and have available for after their run. This man had started his day at 2:00 AM. He was done at 12 noon, and had taken a quick nap. He was headed to Hopkinton to join Race Director Dave McGillivray for his 42nd running of this incredible course. This is what the whole day was about. Sacrifice and togetherness.
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People. Young and old, from places I have no idea where.
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Stories from along the road.
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From what I remember and from my Garmin stats, I stopped two times. Once at about 15 miles, and again at about 24 miles. I think I remember both times and who I spoke with during these stops.
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Stop One was somewhere between Wellesley and Newton. The hills were about to begin. I told Nelly I needed to stop and stretch, just to see if my quads would loosen up. They were screaming and sore and tight and tired. I spotted a park bench and pulled over there to brace myself during stretching. A nice lady saw me and offered advice and encouragement. She smiled at me and truly wanted me to have a good run. She cared. She saw my need and did something. This is what we need to be doing in our lives.
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Stop Two was along Beacon Street in Brookline at about 24 miles. It was just after a water stop and I had grabbed a cup and stopped to drink it along the left side of the course. I leaned on a barricade and talked with a lady. I remember telling her “I’m not thirsty; I just want an excuse to stop.” She smiled and encouraged me to continue and finish strong. She patted my shoulder. She was there for a stranger.
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These interactions all made this experience one to remember. So many others played a part. It was the enthusiastic high-five’s from all the college kids that nearly took my arm off at the elbow. The loving gesture of an orange slice just at the right time. Bottled water early in the race from a young spectator. The Wellesley Girls! Kids asking their mom and dad if they are holding the orange slice right and learning about runners and the love of this sport. Parents showing their kids the legacy of their community. Passing it on. There is something to this.
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While I was struggling, I looked at the faces along the street. They saw me looking and waved or offered their hand to me. They cheered as I waved back or engaged in a high-five. There was a mutual need being met by all of us there. They did not come to watch the marathon and see one person and just leave. They were invested and stuck around to see people and stories and pain and happiness. They wanted to thank the runners and share in the victory of each step. They did not see the finish line, but they all had a part in many finishes. It is a true test of a city and a show of resilience. These people know how to do it and I am so glad each one was there Monday.
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I will cherish these memories and will revisit them often to propel my journey to qualify for Boston 2015. Thank you, Boston, for your strength, perseverance, beauty, and grace. I hope to see you real soon.
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Meanwhile, I want to make a commitment to start paying this back or forward. Our Sunday School Class is batting around a fun little thing....it's called a Wave! Yep, just a simple little wave. Pick up your hand and wave at someone. If you are driving in a school zone, just lift your index finger off the wheel at that crossing guard. Show them you appreciate them. Help them finish. Out for a walk? Wave and smile at that cyclist whizzing past. They might have had a bad day. Wave at the store manager as you are leaving with your groceries. Everyone needs something positive in their life every once in a while.
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Smile and Wave people. We can make every day The Boston Marathon!
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“All in for Boston 2015!!"
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Curt Metzger<br />
Mansfield, Texas<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2014 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2014/">here</a>.<br />
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All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-72895526563470106312014-07-02T17:56:00.000-04:002014-07-08T16:21:07.048-04:00April 18, 2011 - Still paying back for a race just under the wire...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brian Chisholm</td></tr>
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I crossed the finish line at the Boston Marathon in 2013. It wasn't the way I wanted to. I was wearing a white volunteer jacket with blue strips, pushing the yellow stretcher in the top right corner of the picture below, with three other volunteers. We were stopped briefly because the volunteer riding the rail thought he felt a pulse, but it was probably his own. That happens in situations like this where your own heart is pounding and you’re working to save someone’s life.<br />
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We continued our race across the finish line and into Medical Tent A where we were directed to "go all the way down." I knew we were going past empty cots and that didn't seem right. When we got all the way down and reached a second triage station on the right, the doctor said eight words, "hook up a monitor, set up a morgue." Those words were devastating. We lost this race.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finish Line 2013</td></tr>
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Our patient was treated gently and respectfully, as if she should feel no more pain. She had already suffered enough. Even though I only knew her for the last five minutes of her life, I feel like I had lost a family member. I think about her every day, and every night when I can't sleep, which is often. <br />
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I’ve always wanted to run the Boston Marathon. After I graduated High School in 1973, I tried this new fitness fad called running. I lived near the beach and some days I just couldn’t wait to put my shoes on and head out to run along the water. I always watched the coverage of the marathon and always wanted to try it, but had never even run a short race. Then in 1988 I hurt my back and couldn’t run. I was in constant pain for several years. <br />
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In 2006, I was into my 50’s and had a teenage daughter. I wanted to get her more active and I found yet another fitness fad, boot camp workouts. Emily and I started workouts in the morning at Lynn Woods Boot camp. These workouts emphasized core strength exercises and team building exercises. <br />
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During one workout each week we would run in the woods on dirt roads and trails. It took about four weeks to run the first quarter mile, which is all uphill, without stopping. After the second month I found I could run a mile, then two miles and by the next summer I could run just over three miles and I felt pretty good doing it. In November of 2007, I ran my first road race, the Wild Turkey 5 Mile Run in Salem MA. A couple days before the race I drove the route to look for a place to park near the four mile mark. I thought if I couldn’t finish, I would take my bib number off and walk to my car and hopefully nobody would notice. But that wasn’t necessary, I finished the race and was thrilled. <br />
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So after an 18 year absence from doing something I loved, I returned to running. Things were easier in this century though. I met a lot of friends running, joined a couple of running clubs and even got a running coach. By 2011, I found myself at the starting line in Hopkinton, ready to run the Boston Marathon. <br />
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I had a good running summer in 2010. I trained for and ran 26.2 at Stonecat in Ipswich, a trail marathon. I made a lot of mistakes in that race, ones I wouldn’t make again. So after finishing Stonecat I set my sights on Boston. Luckily I had someone at work, Glenn Dunnigan, who wanted me to run it just as much as I did. Then in January of 2011, I got an email confirming my official charity entry. <br />
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My training season for 2011 did not go well. In January we had weekend blizzards four weeks in a row. The few runs I made outside that month could barely be called runs. The snowbanks were so huge I had to stop and turn sideways and lean up against parked cars so drivers could get past me. And then there was sickness. I got a cold in January. It went away but came back in February, then went away and came back as a sinus infection. I went on three different sets of antibiotics and had an allergic reaction to the third one. On March 28th 2011 I sat in my doctor’s office while she prescribed a two week course of prednisone. At this point, three weeks out from the race, I was almost in tears. I said to her, “I guess this pretty much takes me out of the race next month.” She said to me, “No, you should run, it’s good for the soul.” When I left that exam room, I was headed to the finish line. <br />
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Before April 18th 2011, I had only run a few sections of the course. I had never seen the course between Hopkinton and Newton lower falls. I was in corral 6 which I knew was the last corral. I remember looking up what I think was Grove Street and saw thousands of runners. I asked someone close by if there was a corral 7 and was told, no, they were the bandits. I didn’t mind that they were bandits but I didn’t want to get trampled by them. As we shuffled along Main Street, shoulder to shoulder I kept looking for the start line but didn’t see it. I thought I had passed it so I clicked my Garmin but it turned out I was still about 400 feet from the start; but it didn’t matter because I was at the start of a life-long dream, I was running Boston. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">At the half way point</td></tr>
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I remember looking at my watch, seeing I was running an 8:30 pace for the first two miles. I’m an old slow guy and I knew I wouldn’t finish anything if I kept this pace up. So I worked my way over to the side and slowed down. I watched some elite bandits pass by me like they were shot out of cannons then I ran my own race. All I wanted was to finish with an official time, (under six hours) and arrive alive. I wore a 5:30 pacing strip and tried to keep to it. My strategy was to break the race into two parts. If I made it to mile 17, I would see friends from my Wicked Running Club. They were manning the gel stop and one had a bag waiting for me with food, gator and Motrin. If I could continue, then I had two lifelong friends, Ann Smith and Francie Hill, who would wait at the finish line for as long as it took. It’s incredible what you can do when you don’t want to disappoint your good friends.<br />
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I did fine for the first half, made it to mile 17. I didn’t stop to chat because I knew I had to keep moving. By the time I made it up and over Heart Break Hill, I noticed they were closing down the water stops. That got me nervous so I pushed as hard as I could. When I had to walk, I power walked, taking long steps and swinging my arms like a mad man. But that worked out well because when I power walked I actually passed people who were in slow running strides.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making the turn off Hereford Street</td></tr>
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After about five hours, I finally saw the Citgo sign. It got bigger and bigger and then disappeared, I could taste the finish line. Finally I got to turn Right on Hereford Street. When I got to the top at Boylston Street, I found there were still crowds cheering runners on. I turned Left on Boylston and saw the finish line. It seemed like a long ways away. I looked at my Garmin and it said I had about eight minutes to make it across the finish line. I knew I had to sprint the last half mile.<br />
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I thought to myself, I have to lighten the load, so I took a Gator Primer out of my pocket and tossed it to the curb. I took two energy bars and tossed them. My comfort item was a small white washcloth I had refreshed at each water stop. I wiped my face off one last time and tossed that. I had to look good for the cameras! To “lighten the load” even further, I took an inhaler I hadn’t needed, took one puff and tossed it to the curb. This all made sense to someone who hadn’t eaten his energy bars and who’s IQ had dipped to about 30, but it only took seconds and I did start a sprint to the finish line. I felt pretty good on that last stretch down Boylston Street. I could hear the cheering getting louder as I passed. I think people knew I was working really hard and they appreciated that effort. And I knew I was moving right along because just before Exeter Street someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and a guy said, “Hey, I’ve been trying to catch up to you for a mile, you dropped this. Then he handed me my inhaler. I said “thanks,” then turned away and kept running. I felt bad, but I had someplace to be.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just before the finish - my inhaler is back in my pocket!</td></tr>
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I crossed the finish line in 5 hours 56 minutes and 15 seconds. I got my official time. My name is on page 131 of the “Racers Record Book,” the last page, 47th from the bottom. When I got to the medals table, Meg Michaels, a friend who I’ve run other races with, put a finisher’s medal on me. It was one of the best moments of my life, and I got to share it with Ann and Francie. <br />
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A couple things about this race stand out even today. The volunteers were amazing and if I couldn’t run the race again, I wanted to be part of it as a volunteer. The other thing to note is the crowd on Boylston Street. I didn’t know how far off my watch was but I knew it would be close. What helped me along that last stretch were the cheers of the spectators. I wanted to thank those people somehow. I often wonder if Krystle Campbell was there cheering me on, helping me get an official time in 2011 but I couldn’t help her in 2013. That haunts me. I’ll never know if she was there. Maybe if I lead a good life, one day I’ll get to meet her and thank her anyway. <br />
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After such a wonderful experience in 2011, I wanted to give back a little. So for the last three years I’ve volunteered for the BAA as an Emergency Medical Technician, working the medical sweep at the finish line. Our job is to keep finishers walking and to look for any in distress. If we find any in distress we move them out of the flow of runners, provide aid or move them up the medical network. Medical care for this race is second to none, and I've run marathons where the only medical care is two kegs of cold Stonecat Ale at the finish line. <br />
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The 2012 marathon was a hot race. It was a long hot day and it seemed like everyone was sick. I worked that race with Patsy Emberley RN and we both thought it was more painful to work the race then it was to run it, as we had the year before. By the end of the day we both felt we contributed a lot and helped a lot of runners. I remember we agreed we should do this again, because no race could be as bad as 2012. Then came 2013.<br />
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About 9AM on April 15th all the medical volunteers were in the old John Hancock building for a meeting regarding medical protocols for the race. Chris Troyanos, the medical director was at the podium. He told all the rookies to stand up. Then he said, "Look at the volunteers sitting down, they worked one of the hottest races in this marathon’s history last year, we had thousands of sick runners, hundreds were transported to local hospitals, but nobody died. Give them a round of applause." <br />
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It felt good to be thanked for a job well done, but little did we know how the day would end. <br />
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The day started out fine, and then descended into chaos in an instant. There was 20 minutes of chaos and desperation while the bomb sites were cleared. Then race control shut down their radio network apparently thinking it might set off another bomb. Patsy and I drifted up and down Boylston Street helping any runners we could. We wrapped them in foil blankets, gave directions and some we even reunited with their families. <br />
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We knew a friend of ours, Beth O’Grady had crossed the finish line close to when the 1st blast went off but we didn’t know if she was okay until about an hour later. Cell service was sporadic so I had to use Facebook to find out.<br />
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We were dismissed by the BAA but we stayed for four more hours looking for friends and helping whomever we could, all the while hearing sounds like cannon blasts every 15 to 20 minutes. We learned later the bomb squads were blowing up backpacks that had been left behind by innocent spectators. It was nerve wracking to hear those cannon blasts all afternoon especially after what we had just gone through. We left the area about 6:30 and headed over to the Seaport Hotel. We walked most of the way. When we sat at the bar, we were finally able to see a TV and we then realized this was not just a local Boston story but instead, the whole world was watching. Sue Winchester showed up at about 8pm. We knew she was stopped at mile 25 and was okay but it was still good to see her, more Kleenex needed. <br />
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Patsy and I drove home and she dropped me off at about 9:30pm. The next morning she was cleaning out her car and called me right away. She told me to throw out my shoes. I knew instantly, I didn’t have to ask, didn’t have to look, I picked them up by the laces and they went right in the trash. <br />
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Everyone was affected by this attack to some degree. The BAA members were all victims, and all the volunteers, even those who weren’t near the finish line were greatly affected. Then there were the “bloody shoe” types like myself and the staff of medical Tent A. Some nurses there, such as Adrienne Marie Haglin, had an extra burden. Their family members were outside watching the race. As patients were wheeled in, the nurses first checked to see if this victim was their spouse or child. Then they soldiered on and continued to save lives. They did heroic work in that tent. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">With Tom Grilk</span></td></tr>
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It’s 2014 and I had second thoughts about coming back this year. I even thought about going fishing on April 21st but I couldn't stay away. After all, I like helping runners and a lot of friends were running this year. Plus the BAA was very good to us. They knew 1st responders kept the casualty count down to three, and lives were saved by volunteers wearing BAA jackets [as well as Boston Police, Fire and EMS, it was a team effort]. They provided trauma debriefings for “bloody shoe” types like Patsy and me as well as counseling for anyone affected, especially those in Medical Tent A. We were invited out for a turn-around on the USS Constitution with Tom Grilk. That's right, we met the boss and he is the nicest boss one could have. The BAA even gave bib numbers to some 1st responders who wrote an essay on what they did last year. <br />
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So I came back this year. The hype leading up to race day was hard to take. I had to stop watching the news and most TV in general. It helped that we were invited out to several functions prior to the race including the Next 26 fund raisers. There we got to meet victims and other volunteers. We shared stories and learned a lot about what else went on last year; so much of those 20 minutes was a blur when it was happening. We were also invited to the Tribute. That was amazing. So I couldn't stay home, I knew I had to be there. <br />
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It helped that I sat in church on Sunday with Rich and Maureen Tabbut and got scarfed. That was at the Old South Church for the blessing of the runners. This was Easter Sunday, so the Easter service and the Blessing of the Runners ceremony were combined. This was a beautiful ceremony in a beautiful church with a welcoming congregation. There were two runners from out of town sitting beside me. We chatted a little before the ceremony. Then the adolescent in me took the church bulletin and wrote a note on it that said, “Don’t tell anyone but I’m Catholic, I’m just here for the scarf.” I showed it to the runners and got them laughing in church.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blessing of the Runners - Old South Church</td></tr>
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Before the race I walked out to Boylston Street and walked into Med Tent A. I walked all the way down and looked over to the right to an empty area of asphalt. I thought, that's how this section should be. There were a lot of people, doctors, nurses and medics on the other side getting ready for the race. I don't know if anyone noticed me, I was only there for a few seconds. But I thought to myself, I have to get over this. I have to try to forget. So I started walking back through the tent to Boylston St. The tent volunteers have wide screen TVs to watch the race live. When I looked up at the screen, I saw beautiful Krystle with her blue eye shadow, so much for forgetting. <br />
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In the sweep you get to meet runners who have just completed one of the biggest races of their lives. Normally there are a few tears shed at the finish line but this year it seemed everyone was crying, men and women. A couple runners were crying so hard they walked into the barrier set up around the medals table. This year we had a psych team with us in the sweep and we needed them. It was really busy this year. I took about ten runners into the medical tent myself, and there was a line getting in several times. I heard there were more treated this year than in 2012. <br />
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I was lucky this year in that I got to see several friends finish. I got to see two nurses who worked Zone 1 with us last year, Kristy Levorson and Amelia Nelson. They were awarded “essay numbers” by the BAA and they earned them the hard way, saving lives last year. These two girls are my heroes. They both ran their first marathon this year and did great.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiigcRnW-SiHGz37Chq92LagoHL_xVZ6BTl2jgJmHWmDY3V0r3fIjgUvLgMONOVfpEX8wA2DvqbU3WuLPciROwodmds7Ue8CIWsKktgw7B-viwS9IAHmH22mZXE4pdkO3dkntSEmHlovb8/s1600/sweep2014Kristy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiigcRnW-SiHGz37Chq92LagoHL_xVZ6BTl2jgJmHWmDY3V0r3fIjgUvLgMONOVfpEX8wA2DvqbU3WuLPciROwodmds7Ue8CIWsKktgw7B-viwS9IAHmH22mZXE4pdkO3dkntSEmHlovb8/s1600/sweep2014Kristy.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">With Kristy Levorson</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">With Amy Nelson</span></td></tr>
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During a busy part of the race I heard someone yell, “Hey! here’s our friend from church.” I turned to find Holly Hillstrom and Melissa Malinowski from St Paul Minnesota, the two runners I met in church the day before. They were stopped at mile 25 last year and came back to finish this year. What a treat it was to see them again and of course get a selfie.<br />
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It was another difficult year in the medical sweep but it was nice to finish a race, pack up and head to the after parties this year. Will I do it again next year? Not sure yet; might just go fishing.<br />
<br />
Brian Chisholm<br />
Lynn, Massachusetts<br />
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<br />
For more personal accounts of the 2014 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2014/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-72928459969935031322014-06-29T17:29:00.000-04:002014-07-02T21:49:34.301-04:00April 21, 2014 - Third time's the charm!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris Teachout</td></tr>
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My Boston Marathon story starts on January 4th, 2011. That was the day I weighed in for “The Biggest Loser” challenge at work, and I tipped the scale at 300 pounds. That’s the most I have ever weighed in my life. At the time, I could barely walk three miles without stopping.
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I spent the next nine months walking faster and farther, until September of that year, when I signed up for a 10K race. I tied for last place, but I finished, and was bitten by the running bug.
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I then set my sights for Boston. I trained all winter, and when the day finally came to run, the temperature hit 90 degrees. At mile 16, I decided no good was going to come from pushing on, so I decided to “live to run another day”. Completely unsatisfied with the results of my first marathon, I immediately signed up for one in New Hampshire that fall. That marathon I completed, my first ever, in the pouring rain.<br />
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<b>2013</b><br />
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Now I was ready for Boston once again. I spent the fall/winter training like crazy for the race, and was very excited to run. I spent the weekend at the Expo in Boston, walked along Boylston Street, and envisioned crossing the finish that Monday. I couldn’t wait. Monday morning I walked around the Athletes’ Village, and got more and more nervous as the starting time loomed. When the race started I was filled with excitement, and was looking forward to a nice run to Boston.
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I saw friends along the way, and stopped in Wellesley to see my wife and kids as they cheered me on. I remember turning onto Commonwealth Ave and dreading the four miles of hills to get through, but I was so determined to get through it, I pushed on as if it was the last race I’d ever run. As I made it up Heartbreak Hill, I noticed motorcycle police racing up the road, and I thought to myself that something must have happened up ahead, perhaps someone was hurt.
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As I got to Boston College my phone rang (which I use as an Ipod): It was my sister-in-law telling me to stop running and to ask someone what was going on. I saw a spectator on the side of the road who quickly filled me in on what he knew of the situation at the finish line. I had five miles to go, but it was immediately clear that my race was over. I remember being angry I couldn’t finish the race, but that anger quickly disappeared as I got in my wife’s car and listened to the news. I was simply heartbroken over the events of that day.
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This was my second attempt at Boston, to no avail. I did receive a finishing time (estimated on when they assumed I would finish) and a finisher’s medal, but it wasn’t satisfying. I wanted to run the marathon again, more than anything. So, when the BAA sent out an email offering to let me sign up and run again, I jumped at the chance.
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I’ve spent the winter training, and now I’m ready for Boston attempt #3. I feel honored to have been invited back, and excited about being a part of it. I will admit, with all the excitement, I’m still a bit nervous as to how it will all play out. Whereas last year my wife and kids were going to go to the finish line to watch me finish, this year they will not. I will cross the finish line on my own (hopefully!) and take the train home. As much as I’d like them there, I’m not willing to take a chance.
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At this point, it’s about finishing what I started, which is exactly what I’m going to do.
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<b>2014</b>
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Race Day! As with the previous two Boston’s, my father-in-law picked me up at my house and drove me to Hopkinton. This year I had a friend with me, who flew up from Philadelphia after acquiring a number through his employer. As we got dropped off near the starting line, it was immediately apparent that things were different. I can’t remember ever seeing so many police officers and military personnel in one place.
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Just to get into Athletes’ Village we had to go through a metal detector. Once in, however, it was how I remembered it. Thousands of people, all doing their own pre-race rituals. We found a comfy spot on the grass and stretched out. As the time approached to start running, the nerves kicked in yet again. I stayed with my friend at the back of Wave 4, and waited to get started. Once we crossed the starting line, my friend was gone (much faster than me) and it was just me, my tunes, and a never-ending crowd of supporters. I saw a few friends along the route, as I have in the past, and again stopped in Wellesley to see my wife, kids, brother, parents, co-workers.
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Once past Wellesley a reality set in that I had a long way to go before I was done. My slowest time would be through the Newton hills, but I was so focused on finishing this year, I didn’t even realize I was on Heartbreak Hill until I was half way up it. As I got on to Beacon Street, I remember thinking I was really going to finish. At that point I was in my “walk-run-walk-run” mode, which seems to go on forever.
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When I hit Kenmore Square I took out my IPod and started taking a couple pictures: 1 mile to go, 1 KM to go. As I came out of the underpass, about to turn on to Hereford street, I was walking slowly until a crowd to my left starting yelling my name (which was written on my arms) and encouraging me to keep running. I picked up the pace and they went crazy. From there I ran the whole way in, passing the same people I had been running with for miles. Even with the thousands of runners who participate, I found myself surrounded by the same 10-15 people for most of the race, and we had all made it.
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I’ll never forget crossing the finish line and asking a volunteer if that was it. It took a minute to realize I didn’t have to keep running. There was a strange sense of uncertainty when I finished. I didn’t know what to do next, so I just kept walking down the street. I got my finisher’s medal, my hooded cover, a bottle of water, and I just wandered aimlessly, not sure of how far I would make it.<br />
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My wife then called me and told me she was in the family waiting area. A few minutes later, I found her, along with my friend, who had been there for two hours waiting for me to finish. My original goal was to break five hours, but by the time I got to Newton, all I wanted to do was finish. My official time was 5:29:17, which was good enough, because I made it.
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My post-race recovery lasted all of two days, and then I was right back at it. A good friend of mine, who has run countless marathons, once told me that as soon as I finish my first marathon, one of two things will happen: either I won’t ever want to run another marathon again, or I’ll be signing up for my next one right away. Since Boston 2014 was my second completed marathon, I’m signed up for Philadelphia on November 23rd.
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And the training continues...<br />
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Christopher Teachout<br />
Medfield, Massachusetts<br />
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<br />
<br />
For more personal accounts of the 2014 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2014/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-17335467846575613272014-06-26T17:00:00.000-04:002014-06-29T19:09:06.962-04:00April 21, 2014 - In the right place at the right time: How a race I had given up on became a reality.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHUB8Vz76Wcs1fXer1oNdIqyaSPRip_kLLMfSEhgv36XnTCXPLIWgofMSprlLmn_DeHnndWYODs8pmhXfIfQjsBkKCFwZoOTM0G_JB4p17Nymk6LDlGNwjKfNZumUkAqyoKEdUtAyhK78/s1600/Dennis+Lebman+thumbnail+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHUB8Vz76Wcs1fXer1oNdIqyaSPRip_kLLMfSEhgv36XnTCXPLIWgofMSprlLmn_DeHnndWYODs8pmhXfIfQjsBkKCFwZoOTM0G_JB4p17Nymk6LDlGNwjKfNZumUkAqyoKEdUtAyhK78/s200/Dennis+Lebman+thumbnail+2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dennis Lebman</td></tr>
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Running in the Boston Marathon for me was supposed to be a one and done deal: A bucket list item, a goal I set to celebrate turning 50 last year. Boston for long distance runners is the "Super Bowl" of marathons. You have to have a qualifying time on a certified marathon course to gain entry, or raise a lot of money for a charity. I got my qualifier "BQ" for the 2013 Boston Marathon in May of 2012 at the Ojai to Ocean Marathon with a time of 3:29:38 which was a BQ by only :22. Everyone who wanted to run the 2013 Boston Marathon and had a qualifying time was able to register and get accepted within the first few weeks of registration.
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Four weeks before Boston last year I ran the 2013 LA Marathon and I got another BQ I could use for the 2014 Boston Marathon. My time was the exact same - 3:29:38. I hadn't really considered running Boston a second time, as I was focused on my upcoming trip and my first Boston.<br />
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My story from last year is <a href="http://bostonlog.blogspot.com/2014/04/april-15-2013-i-was-overwhelmed-with.html#more">here</a> on BOSTONlog.com.<br />
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I had such an amazing experience before the race, everything was so well organized, from the race staff to the volunteers to the friendly people, I was then thinking how I wanted to come back again. I enjoyed the race, the amazing crowds cheering us on. It was a perfect weekend when I crossed the finish line and I was just past the end of the finishers chute when the unthinkable happened. So yes, I finished, Yes, I was out of harm's way. No, I didn't see anything and no I didn't hear anything. It didn't affect me like it did to those who were still at the finish line. I wasn't injured and I didn't know anyone who was. But the bombing affected me just the same. The running community is a pretty resilient group and we all came together across the country and across the world to run for Boston. Everyone I met and knew who ran last year wanted to come back and run this year: To run for those who couldn't and for the victims and the 5,700 runners were unable to cross the finish line when the race came to a sudden halt.
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The Boston Athletic Association quickly announced they would be able to come back via Guaranteed Entry. Soon after, the BAA also announced that for 2014 an additional 4th wave of 9,000 runners would be added for a total of 36,000 runners. Of that 9,000, 5,000 who didn't get to finish were coming back. They also announced Invitational Entries would be given to those affected by last year’s events, the families of those injured and lost, the first responders, sponsors, charities, etc. When all was said and done only about 500 of those additional 9,000 spots were going to qualified runners.
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When it came time to register in mid-September 2013, I signed up on Monday of the second week and then waited a week. Everyone knew the demand was going to exceed the available slots and the fastest runners would get in until it filled up. I didn't make it in. The cut off for my age group was 3:28:22, which meant I was 1:16 too slow to get in. In October, I entered the PowerBar contest. PowerBar was a sponsor that was giving away four bibs to BQ runnerswho didn't get in. You had to write an essay and get your friends and family to vote for you. The top ten vote getters went on to the finals and the final four were chosen by a panel of judges. I didn't make it into the finals. A few weeks later, the BAA announced they had limited Invitational Entries for those most profoundly affected and you had to write an essay and they would decide who got those. I entered anyway even though I knew there were many more people much more affected than I was. So as expected I wasn't chosen. By this time I was coming to terms with the fact I wouldn't be going back to Boston in 2014. I'd have to watch and root for my friends all around the country, from home.
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I turned my focus to other races to try to get a BQ for 2015. I ran Santa Clarita in November and CIM in December, but was sick the week of CIM and didn't have a great race. Just before CIM I got an offer from a running friend. It was for a bib for the Run Disney Goofy Challenge, which is a half marathon on Saturday and a full marathon on Sunday, at Walt Disney World in Orlando in January 2014. Having run the Disneyland Half Marathon for three years running, it was on my racing bucket list too. The price was too good to pass up so I said OK. It would be "my" Boston for 2014. So here I was doing three marathons in 90 days again like I had earlier in the year when I ran LA in March, Boston in April and Mountains to Beach in May. Sometimes it pays to be at the right place at the right time. It was at the Expo in Orlando in January that I met and became friends with some very special people. It was because of this chance encounter that in late February a couple weeks before the 2014 LA Marathon, I was offered an Invitational Entry into Boston. Something I had given up on just became a reality. I also couldn't turn down the opportunity presented to me. Just to be very clear, I didn't ask for or beg for it, it was offered to me. I lost my Mom to cancer in June 2013 and she knew how much I wanted to return. Maybe it was her looking after me as the date of the Boston Marathon was April 21st, which was also her birthday!
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First up was the LA Marathon on March 9th and on March 12th it became official, my entry into the Boston Marathon was confirmed. I quickly then made all the travel arrangements. Some things I wanted do to the same and other things different. I gave myself an extra day as I wanted to do the Marathon Bus tour on Sunday this time and see the starting line area in Hopkinton. You don't really get a chance to do that on Marathon Monday because it's so crowded. I wanted to go to the Red Sox game again, but had to go on Saturday because the Sunday game was at night and it would end too late to prepare and get a good night's sleep (yeh, right) the night before the marathon. The Hostel I stayed at last year was already sold out so I found another one and booked it. So I was all set to arrive on Friday and leave on Tuesday afternoon.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">3.5 weeks before Boston and I'm in the boot!</span></td></tr>
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On March 23rd during a Sunday training run, I was running in pain in my left foot and instead of stopping I kept running. The pain got so bad that when I stopped, I found I couldn't put any weight on my foot. I went to the doctor and the x-rays were negative, but the MRI showed I had a stress fracture in the heal bone on my left foot. The doctor was very clear if it was a stress fracture, it would take 6-8 weeks to heal and there are no shortcuts, so into a boot I'd go. But I didn't have 6-8 weeks, I only had four weeks till Boston. So I stayed off of it. The Wednesday afternoon before I left and after 3.5 weeks in the boot I wanted to run down my street and back in my running shoes to see how it would feel because I was leaving in two days. I started out OK, but it didn't feel right on the way back. I started to get concerned. My goal at this time was to make it to the starting line and to cross the finish line. So on Thursday afternoon I went to Runners Lane, my local running store, and tried on Hoka's. Hoka's have a thicker sole and cushioning to help the impact on the foot. I tried them by running up and down the sidewalk in front of the store and could tell immediately they made a huge difference. The problem was I was going to have to wear them all the time between Friday and race day on Monday to try and break them in a little bit.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Andrew and Deena Kastor </span></td></tr>
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Gio my friend from Runner's Lane was going to Boston to run the 5K, work at the expo and watch the marathon; and he asked what flight I was on. We were on different AA flights but mine was direct and would allow him to get there hours earlier so he switched to mine. I had an empty seat next to me so we got him that seat. It was nice to have someone to travel with. When we got to the gate to sit and wait for our flight, sitting across from us was Elite Runner Deena Kaster and her husband and coach Andrew Kaster. I met them at the Pasadena RnR half marathon last year, so we went and said hello.<br />
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Once we arrived on Friday afternoon and got our bags we parted ways as we were staying in different parts of town. I headed to North Station which was next to the TD Garden, where the Celtics and Bruins play. I walked a couple blocks to the Hostel on Friend Street.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Gio and I arrive in Boston.</span></td></tr>
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I checked in and wanted to test out my foot, so I jogged slowly heading to the expo before it closed to get my bib number and some marathon gear. My foot felt good. Along the way I soaked it all in. First I headed to the State House Government building and entered Boston Common across the street, where they were setting up and preparing for Saturday's 5K. Normally it's on Sunday the day before the marathon, but this year Sunday was Easter so they moved the 5K to Saturday. From there I headed past the Public Garden to the corner of Arlington Street and Boylston Street. It was here last year the day after the marathon that I took my last pictures on Boylston looking towards Copley Square and the finish line, where a memorial was being started with flowers at the barrier blocking the street. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a little bit emotional being there again, but it was good to see Boylston St. full of life again!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Seeing Boylston St. for the 1st time since last year.</span></td></tr>
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I stopped at Marathon Sports and Forum Restaurant where there were memorials marking the sites of the two explosions, I paused for some reflection of a year ago. This was an emotional moment for me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Site of the 1st explosion.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Site of the 2nd explosion.</span></td></tr>
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Then it was on to the Health and Fitness Expo to get my bib and some 2014 gear.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Meeting Dick Hoyt.</span></td></tr>
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I got my foot taped up at the KT Tape booth and then saw and got a picture with Dick Hoyt who was running his last Boston Marathon with his son Rick. If you don't know Dick and Rick's story you should read up on them. Such an inspirational story! More about them later. I also saw Team MR8 walking together at the expo. In the group was Bill Richard, father of Martin Richard, the eight year old boy who was killed in the second explosion in front of Forum Restaurant. The Richard family was impacted the most. Bill had shrapnel in his leg and had blown ear drums. His wife Denise is blind in one eye from shrapnel and Martin's sister Jane lost a leg. His brother Henry escaped injury, at least physically.<br />
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From there it was time to meet up with some running friends at McGreevy's Sports Bar before we headed over to 5 Napkin Burger for dinner, where I took off my Boston 2013 hat and jacket and put on my new 2014 hat and sweatshirt. It was kinda like a moving on moment, I guess. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Meeting up with the gang at McGreevy's.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Tim and I with our new gear on.<br /> (This dude is "Cheetah Fast"!)</span></td></tr>
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Saturday was a fun packed day. I walked to the BAA 5K at Boston Common to see some of my friends run in it. I got a great spot next to the starting line and then was able to move across the street to the finish line and saw my friends finish.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Gio after he finished the 5K</span></td></tr>
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After the 5K, I got to meet Heather for the first time. I met her last year via facebook and have chatted occasionally about running and Boston. It was cool to finally meet her! We were both headed to the expo so we walked together and stopped at the Old South Church near the Boston Marathon Finish Line, as they were handing out scarves to the runners. It was called the Marathon Scarf Project 2014. 7,000 scarves were knitted by people all over the world in Boston Marathon colors. They each have a note attached to them. Mine says "This scarf is interwoven with love and courage." and is signed by the person who made it, with he hometown listed. They were being handed out by volunteers who took time to learn about each runner receiving the scarf and telling us each the scarf was made with love for us and to wear it with pride and to carrying that love with us. After we got our scarfs. She offered to swap with me as blue is my favorite color and I liked the ribbon on it.<br />
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Next we stopped at Marathon Sports and checked out and bought some more gear. There I met Shane the store manager who was one of the first responders last year.<br />
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I had some time to kill before the Red Sox game, so we walked to the expo and waited in line to see Elite runners Kara Goucher and Lauren Fleshman and I got a selfie with them...probably one of my favorite pictures of the weekend. They were both so cool!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">With Lauren Fleshman and Kara Goucher.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Next to the Green Monster!</span></td></tr>
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I said goodbye to Heather and headed over to Fenway Park for the Red Sox game. Tim and Joe and I were going to walk to Fenway but they wanted to wait in line to meet Ryan Hall. I met Ryan last year and it was camera day on the field and I didn't want to miss out. It was pretty cool to be on the field at Fenway and walk around the warning track.<br />
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I got some great pictures before heading back to my seat. The cool breeze was blocked inside Fenway and it got pretty warm out there in the bleachers. Just as the game was about to start, I looked behind me and there were Tim and Joe. It was a great game and the crowd was fun. I got to see David Ortiz, Big Papi, hit a home run and the Red Sox beat the Orioles 4-2.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Selfie with Red Sox Manager John Farrell. </span></td></tr>
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Tim, Joe and I walked back to their hotel for a few and then back to Boylston Street and the finish line area, where it was closed to traffic and opened up to visitors on foot. Here we got our first pictures at the finish line.<br />
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Then it was off to dinner at Whiskey's Steakhouse to meet up with some other running friends. Julie Weiss the "Marathon Goddess" joined us. Julie was a featured runner in the movie Spirit of the Marathon II and completed 52 marathons in 52 weeks in 2013.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Tim, Julie Weiss and I at Whiskey's Steakhouse</span></td></tr>
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Sunday morning I met Tim and Joe in front of Cheer's for a three mile run along the Charles River, then we ran the "right on Hereford left on Boylston" and saw Bart Yasso of Runner's World Magazine running with his group, then we finished at the finish line for more pictures.<br />
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I left Tim and Joe, and ran back to the Hostel to shower and change before heading back to meet up for the Marathon Route Bus tour. This was something I wanted to do last year, but there was no time in my schedule, so I added a day to my trip for this. On the way back to meet them, I noticed how quiet Boston was except for runners in the streets and the Boston Common. I looked up and saw Deena Kaster running by on the Boston Common and she said “hi” as she ran by. As I entered the Public Garden, I remembered it was Easter Sunday and saw the bronze ducks with their Easter Bonnets and Marathon bibs on.<br />
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I headed over to the Sheraton to meet up with Joe and Tim for the Marathon Route Bus tour but they were on a bus that left early so I missed them, but I found Heather and her husband and son and sat with them. On the way to Hopkinton and a stop at the Starting Line there was a Boston Marathon Trivia contest and I won a cool Boston Marathon Backpack. We got out at Hopkinton for some great pictures! Then we drove the route to get a preview of the course while the tour guide gave us information and history of the course. It was a pretty drive through Hopkinton, Ashland, Framingham, Natick, Wellesley, Newton, Brookline and Boston.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Jeff Bauman</td></tr>
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Once the tour was over, I said goodbye to Heather and her family and met up with Joe so we could walk back to Fenway and the Red Sox team store to meet Jeff Bauman at his book signing.<br />
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I had just finished Jeff's book the week before I left. Jeff lost both of his legs at the first explosion in front of Marathon Sports while waiting for his girlfriend Erin to finish the marathon. Jeff arrived to the area at 2:00 pm last year and I crossed the finish line at 2:01, so it was reading his journey from the moment I crossed the finish line. Jeff was helped by the guy in the cowboy hat, Carlos Arredondo in the famous picture shown all over the world. Joe bought his book and got it signed and we both got pictures and chatted with Jeff.<br />
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We left Fenway and walked back towards the Expo as I wanted to walk through it one more time and Joe went back to the hotel. We would meet up in an hour to walk to the Pasta Dinner at City Hall. I met up with Julie at the expo so she could sign my Spirit of the Marathon II DVD. I saw Dick Hoyt again this time with his son Rick. I also said hi to Jeff Galloway.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Rick and Dick Hoyt.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;"> Selfie with Jeff Galloway.</span></td></tr>
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Joe and I got to City Hall and waited in the long line that wrapped around the building outside. The line went fast and the food and atmosphere was great as there was excitement in the air and the volunteers were having fun and making sure we were too!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">City Hall all decorated for the pasta dinner.</span></td></tr>
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Some of my friends from my running club back home, the Santa Clarita Runners Club, were having their pre-race dinner at Pagliuca's Ristorante Italiano nearby in the North End. So after I finished up at City Hall, I walked over to say hi as they were just finishing up. Outside we took a few pictures, and a few of us took a selfie! From there it was time to go back to the Hostel a few blocks away to get ready for Marathon Monday!<br />
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<b>Marathon Monday!</b>
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I got up early and walked over to Boston Common for gear check and waited for my wave's time to board the bus to Hopkington. I met up with Heather and we got on the bus and we were on our way. It was nice to have someone to chat with to make the nervousness go away and time pass quicker. It was a nice clear day and cool but warm on the bus. Since we had to check bags back in Boston, anything you brought to wear to keep warm could be discarded for charity. During the time at the Athletes’ Village the weather started to warm up a little and would be nice for the start. I wandered around and saw a few people I knew and said hi.<br />
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Heather had gone to meet up with some friends on their heated bus, but we met up again to walk to the start since our starting times were about the same as she was in Corral 7 and I was in Corral 8 of the second wave. When they finally let us go, we got excited as we took the long walk to the corrals. Heather had one of those small external batteries to charge her iPhone and cable. She was going to discard both, but I offered to put her cable in my spibelt so she wouldn't have to lose her expensive cable. We said goodbye as we got to the corrals.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">The long walk from the Athlete's Village to the corrals</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Looking towards the starting line as I enter the corral.</span></td></tr>
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Last year the corrals were tight and we all were squeezed pretty tight. The road in Hopkinton is just a two lane road so it's not very wide. This year it felt so different as once in the corral there was no waiting and we continued walking to the starting line. It seemed so light of people. I started to jog but just before the starting line, I remembered I needed to get my GPS ready so I stopped to the right side. What was weird and so different from last year was I felt like I was almost by myself at the line. It wasn't elbow to elbow being careful not to step on any other runners. I actually got to see and enjoy the excitement of the spectators all lined up at the starting line. Once my watch was ready I took off across the line. I couldn't get over the feeling of all the elbow room, it seriously felt so different than last year!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Runners taking off at the start in Hopkinton. [Not a Selfie]</span></td></tr>
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As I took off, my foot felt pretty good and I was at a pretty good pace...until mile 3 where it started to get to the point I could feel it. It wasn't sore or painful, but it was there to remind me to take it easy. I started out fast for the initial downhill. My first three miles were 7:08, 8:33, 8:27 before I started to slow down a little bit.<br />
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My 1st half was still a respectable 2:10:47 but I had slowed down considerably to a 9:58 average pace. The crowds were unbelievable and several rows deep in most of the town centers. When I got to Natik Town Common at mile 10, I felt like I was still alone out there. There was a guy on stage singing Sweet Caroline. As I got closer to the crowd I waved both arms up in the air to encourage the crowd and they started cheering loud and I started singing along with the guy and pumping my fists in the air to "BUM, BUM, BUM...SO GOOD SO GOOD".<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh305FxPIxkzZLDk6nogRp_BZWBzNB5rSXy3GDZXSvwy-enMGfPBCOXAigUiomu-Gq-kzlDyKsK21yFPO9-nFGFbwVWHmiEq_4DWY-B6ksceA4bmYXvPuVnhferarXui2NO_RSC8Ix98LA/s1600/62.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh305FxPIxkzZLDk6nogRp_BZWBzNB5rSXy3GDZXSvwy-enMGfPBCOXAigUiomu-Gq-kzlDyKsK21yFPO9-nFGFbwVWHmiEq_4DWY-B6ksceA4bmYXvPuVnhferarXui2NO_RSC8Ix98LA/s1600/62.jpg" height="400" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet Caroline in Natick</td></tr>
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I was starting to slow down a bit. I think four weeks off had hurt my endurance a bit, but I was starting to feel a bit sore. As we approached mile 12 we hit the scream tunnel of the Wellesley Girls at Wellesley College. This is where the all girls college students scream and hold up “kiss me” signs. Last year I just gave a few high fives as I ran by as I was running for time. This year I enjoyed the moment and stopped for a few kisses and gave high fives. Once I passed the half way point in Wellesley I needed to stop running and walk a little bit. I moved over to the right side of the street and alternated running and walking. I'd get going again till the next water station and walk through the water station taking in water and Gatorade. It started to feel hot and every once in a while I'd pour a cup of water over my head to cool off. I'd run until I felt sore and then walking felt better, then when that felt sore I'd run again because that felt better. I did this throughout the Newton Hills. During a period of walking I noticed in the peripheral vision of my left eye a bike tire and a looked over and there was Rick Hoyt being pushed by his father Dick Hoyt. I walked along with them for a few minutes and gave Dick a pat on the shoulder and they slowed down as I kept going. That was a pretty cool moment as this was their last Boston Marathon together. Along the way the crowds were getting larger and louder. I just soaked it all in and gave as many high fives to kids, adults and even the cops along the route...all the way into Boston! I saw someone holding a sign that said Meb won the marathon! How awesome and perfect that Meb was the first American to win the Boston Marathon since 1983, 31 years!
Meb wins the Boston Marathon!!!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Finish Line before I got there...</td></tr>
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As I was climbing the hills the waves behind me began to catch up, first the blue bibs of wave 3, then the yellow bibs of wave 4. My pace had dropped to a low of 15:02 for mile 15.<br />
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I picked it up a bit and continued on through Heartbreak Hill past mile 20. As we headed past Brookline and the long stretch into Boston I tried to walk less and run more. Once I got to the Citgo sign on the left and Fenway Park on the right I was at mile 25.2...one mile to go.<br />
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No more walking, this was the home stretch. I pushed it as hard as I could along Commonwealth Avenue and under the bridge at Massachusetts Avenue with the 1K to go banner, I knew the final two turns were just ahead. After checking my watch I calculated in my head that if I pushed it a little harder, maybe I could beat 5:00:00.
1K to go on Commonwealth Avenue under the Massachusetts Ave bridge.<br />
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I gave it all I had, using the screaming crowd for the last burst of energy. It was loud and amazing and it all went by too fast as I made the right on Hereford and the left onto Boylston and the finish line in sight! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYXemBnlciJWZWBW6MW4SfHBzFftdjwg-49mBkoxR1HzTnzjss7bcoH_48udfkqrtTsHE0rIwvGufUQ1mTsD6AFVzOxJ7l-QWa_I9frsTPTIyf0n-0PyA_y6q9etawZpcEMH9r6MCnnI/s1600/65.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYXemBnlciJWZWBW6MW4SfHBzFftdjwg-49mBkoxR1HzTnzjss7bcoH_48udfkqrtTsHE0rIwvGufUQ1mTsD6AFVzOxJ7l-QWa_I9frsTPTIyf0n-0PyA_y6q9etawZpcEMH9r6MCnnI/s1600/65.jpg" height="400" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Right on Hereford!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Left on Boylston....a sprint to the finish!</span></td></tr>
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I just sprinted on in trying to beat 5:00:00, soaking in all the excitement at the finish line. I finished in 5:00:12.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Crossing the finish line!</span></td></tr>
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I made it through the finishers chute and collected my medal and mylar blanket and food and drinks. My foot was starting to bother me and medical volunteers asked a couple times if I was OK before I went ahead and asked for a wheel chair so I could be brought over to the medical tent to ice my foot and get it wrapped.<br />
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After I left the Medical Tent, I slowly made my way back to Boston Common to pick up my checked bag. I put on my sweats and met up with Heather and her family as they were eating at a restaurant nearby. I wanted to get her cable back to her. I was going to go back and shower and change but they asked me to sit down and eat with them, so I did.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">With Heather after we ate. Both exhausted!</span></td></tr>
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I made it back to the Hostel to shower and change and rest for a few before heading back to Fenway and the House of Blues for the after party. I was too late for the Fenway Open House and was at the House of Blues around 9:00 pm and there wasn't a whole lot going on and didn't see anybody I knew, so I took the shuttle bus back near the finish line area and met up with Julie Weiss who joined me to watch Boston Marathon Race Director Dave McGillivray finish his race. He was running his 42nd consecutive Boston Marathon. Since becoming Race Director he has started after everyone else has finished. Last year as he was in Hopkinton ready to start his race, he got word about the explosions and rushed back to Boston. He ran his race eleven days later. This year he was running for Team R8 in honor of Martin Richard and began around 7:00 pm and was expected to finish just after 11:00 pm. So we got to see him finish and I got a couple pictures for him and got a picture with him. We chatted for a few minutes and then I headed back to the hostel.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Julie and I at the finish line with our medals.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Dave McGillivray finishes his race! #42 Boston Marathon!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Dave and I at the finish line.</span></td></tr>
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My flight out on Tuesday wasn't until late afternoon so I wanted to do a few more things. First up was a visit to the Boston Marathon Marker in Copley Square. It's a stone marker in the sidewalk that has a profile of the course and the names of the winners of the Boston Marathon.<br />
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Then across the street to the Boston Public Library to see the Boston Marathon Memorial Exhibit. The exhibit had items left at the makeshift memorial from last year. It was a little bit emotional for me as I walked through it. I met up with Gio and walked through it with him as well.<br />
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Gio left to Quincy Market to eat lunch and go to Mike's Pastry and I told him I'd catch up with him as I walked across the street to Marathon Sports where outside they were engraving runners’ finisher medals for free.<br />
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I headed over to Quincy Market and had lunch while waiting for Gio to meet me. We walked around a little bit and walked into Cheer's where I saw my facebook friend Jill for the first time. We ran in the same corral and finished seconds apart last year but I never saw her except for the race photos. She recognized me and said hello and we got a picture.<br />
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Gio and I still had some time to kill before heading to the airport so we wandered around a little bit more and saw the site of the Boston Massacre and the Paul Revere House. Then I got my bag from the hostel and we took the train back to the airport for my flight home.<br />
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It was such an amazing trip and amazing weekend spent with some amazing friends! I thought it would be more emotional for me than it was. I think that was because I was always enjoying myself not alone but with fellow runners and friends. I did have some emotional moments when I was alone seeing things that reminded me of the sadness of last year, but those moments were few and the weekend was full of new happy memories of 2014.<br />
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I got the closure I was hoping for and I won't be back next year, but hope to return to enjoy another Boston Marathon weekend sometime in the future, although it may have to wait until I jump into another age group.<br />
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Thank you BOSTON! #BostonStrong #WeRunTogether
Thank you Boston!<br />
<br />
Dennis Lebman<br />
Saugus, California<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2014 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2014/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.<br />
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Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-17398313728678597532014-06-25T16:56:00.000-04:002014-07-02T13:47:11.523-04:00April 16, 2012 - One Red Grape<div style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kenneth Williams</td></tr>
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You could see it coming: An early spring heat wave, making its way from the Great Plains eastward across the central United States. The unseasonable weather spared neither north nor south as it baked its way across the country. With only a week to go before the start of the 116th Boston Marathon, BAA warnings began arriving for registered runners. Faced with an ominous forecast, race officials warned: “Only the fittest runners should attempt the marathon,” causing me to introspect, at age 70 and just weeks removed from Melanoma surgery, how I could possibly be in that ‘fittest’ group. However, the chance to lengthen my streak of consecutive Boston Marathon finishes to ten overrode any conservative decision to defer or postpone. So, at 10:40 a.m. on Patriots Day, when the gun went off in Hopkinton for my starting wave, once again, I struck out on foot for Boston.<br />
<a name='more'></a>Conditions were brutal and everyone was suffering, me included. To survive, I purposely slowed my speed, determined to finish, even if it meant a much slower pace than usual. By 20 miles, the heat was nearly unbearable, and I was running up the longest and tallest of the infamous Newton hills climbs, Heartbreak Hill. I was on the verge of quitting; deciding to give up before I died from heatstroke.<br />
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I had been trying to snag a half banana or an ice-pop from a helpful spectator, but to no avail. Suddenly the grubby, dirty hand of an eight year old unfurled just in front of me, over on the edge of the crowd. Even now, I can still see the little hand, fist opening as if in slow motion, to reveal the offering he had for me: a single red grape.
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Ignoring the filthy palm, and with the reaction time of a coiled snake, I struck at the tiny fruit, grabbing the grape from the grimy hand. A slight smile was visible on the kid’s face, before my slow stride carried me past his view. Considering my need, I was disappointed to receive only a single grape. Why not a bigger prize; say a snack offering more energy-producing nutrition, more refreshment, more good taste.
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I immediately popped the dirty grape into my mouth. It was not what I expected! This wasn’t just a red grape. This was a FROZEN red grape, one of the most comforting, soothing and satisfying treats imaginable, and it came at a time when I was about to hit the invisible, though very real marathon runner’s wall. By the time I finished feasting on the lone red grape, I had reached the top of Heartbreak Hill, revived and invigorated, perhaps more emotionally than physically. The boost was not just from the grape, but from the gesture of the kid, the realization his meager gift to me had turned out to be far more than he, or I, would ever have dreamed possible.
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That single grape was enough to take me over the crest of the hill, and from there on to complete the remaining miles to the finish line in downtown Boston. I had achieved a significant milestone, one not claimed by many: ten consecutive Boston Marathon finishes.
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Many times a day, God unfurls his hand to us to offer us one red grape. It’s up to us to grab the prize he offers. It’s not necessarily the huge, extravagant, showy gift we think we need that makes the most difference. Many times the lone red grape he provides does far more for us than simply take us to the top of our next hill.
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<br />
Kenneth Williams<br />
Corinth, Mississippi<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2012 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2012/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-18554364147542086962014-06-23T14:51:00.000-04:002014-06-26T17:52:41.678-04:00April 21, 2014 - A Day to Run Through the Cramps after Shaking the Winner’s Hand<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Juan Martinez</td></tr>
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I am an avid runner who normally trains 75 miles per week when not in marathon training phase. I’ve been running consistently for eight years, after seven years of no running while serving in the U.S. Navy. Prior to the Navy, I ran in high school for three years from 1994-1997, seeing lot of the New York City marathon being televised in my backyard, since I am a Jersey kid. <br />
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I was always intrigued about racing in a marathon, but I was more intrigued about racing the Boston Marathon. I ran three marathons prior to the 2014 Boston marathon. My debut was the 2010 Suntrust Richmond (Virginia) Marathon. I took 11th place with a time of 2:39:09. That time qualified me for Boston, but not the 2011 race since registration closed out the preceding September. My BQ was good for 2012. Good thing I was not motivated to race the 2012 Boston Marathon, since it was an oven that year!<br />
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Well, my second marathon was again the Richmond Marathon one year later. This time I ran a 2:37:14 personal best and, of course, another BQ (again this time was good for the following year - the 2013 Boston Marathon). I decided to put Boston off for another year. In the fall of 2012, I decided to run the Toronto Waterfront Marathon as my third marathon. I chose this one since Toronto is only three hours from Syracuse, NY. In that marathon I came in 26th place overall with a time of 2:38:41 and first overall from the U.S.A. Another BQ, this time for the 2014 Boston Marathon.<br />
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On Patriots Day of 2013, I watched the entire Boston Marathon race online, as I have done in the past. About two hours after the race was over, I turned on the news and saw what I could not imagine happening in a marathon race! Especially in the most prestigious marathon in the world (I’m holding back tears as I am typing this). From that day I have decided to go ahead and throw my name in the hat to be one of the runners who would be participating in the 2014 Boston Marathon and to taking our marathon back. <br />
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My Boston Marathon training phase began back in December of 2013. I was exposed to the worst and one of the most brutally cold winters Syracuse has experienced. I was logging in 90 miles per week and touched 100 miles twice during this four month cycle. My training was going great! There were days when I had a bad run or I just wanted to give up because of the negative wind chills, but what kept me motivated was the “Boston Strong” wristband I wore throughout the training cycle. <br />
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Leading up to Boston, I was in the best shape of my life, setting a personal best on the indoor track (5,000 meters, 16:18). In February, I headed down to Virginia Beach for a week vacation to take a break from the winter. I raced the “Virginia is for Lovers” 14k (8.7 miles), and took second overall with another personal best in 47:46. I was very happy with that effort since all I had was two months left until the Boston Marathon. <br />
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I ran my tune-up race at the New Bedford (MA) Half Marathon, and ran a personal best of 1:13:43 with no taper. I knew then that leading to Boston I would be able to destroy my personal best of 2:37:14 at the most prestigious marathon in the world. Two weeks after the New Bedford half, I decided to meet up with a group of runners to run the first 22 miles of the Boston marathon course. I must’ve arrived at perfect timing since I ran into Lanni Marchant, the Canadian women’s marathon record holder. We ended up running together and chatting about the course and about the Toronto and Boston Marathons while we were clipping away 6:07 pace per mile. After that 22 mile run (last one before Boston), I was very confident I would destroy my personal best come race day. <br />
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Then it’s Saturday of Boston Marathon weekend, and my family and I arrived in Boston. We went straight to the expo. I grabbed my bib number with a breeze, bib # 464. As we walked around, I met a couple of friends and saw the legendary Bill Rodgers giving autographs and taking pictures. Next all I wanted to do was purchase the bright work zone cone color Boston jacket. I did not stay long in the expo: it was the most congested expo I have ever seen in my life! I can understand why. I took some family pictures at the legendary finish line and we headed over to our hotel in Waltham, MA. <br />
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Race day! I get dropped off at a friend’s place who owns a home approximately 400 meters from the start of the Boston marathon. At around 9:30 I jog over to the start. While I am waiting for the race to take off, I feel very privileged to be right behind the elites! Among others, I shake Meb’s hand, not knowing he is going to be the winner of the 118th marathon.<br />
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Then it is 10:00 am and we are off! The first couple of miles, I go out at a conservative 5:55 pace per mile, but at mile 2, I feel this is going to be a long day for me, since I already start pouring water over me. It feels unusually hot to me, I guess because of the brutally cold winter I trained through. I am so amazed how many spectators Boston has on this day! It gives me chills in a good way and I feel very patriotic! I click along at 5:50-5:55 with no problem at the 10k mark. Still I keep pouring water over me at each water stop and drink lot of fluids. I hit the half way mark in 1:17. Perfect pacing. I tell myself this will be a PR day if I keep this up.<br />
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Well, around mile 18, I started to cramp. Instead of easing up to shake off the cramp, I decided to speed up past mile 18 until mile 19. I kept cramping up bad. Mile 20 at two hours: good, I am still with striking distance of my PR and for sure another sub 2:40 marathon. But I cramped so bad I was forced to stop and stretch on top of Heartbreak Hill. I gave it a go after stretching the cramp out, but around mile 23, I cramped again.<br />
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At this point I wanted to drop out but I glanced down at my wristband which states “2013 Boston Strong.” I decided to just complete the race by jogging the rest of the way. I lost my momentum, but put my pride away and ran for Boston! For the people who were injured and for those who lost their lives the previous year, and to prove as runners and Americans we are not quitters.<br />
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I do not remember much of the finish line. All I remember is crossing the line and being happy I got to know the real meaning of Boston Marathon. The reason why I entered the race back in September was not about me; it was about America and the city of Boston and about the runners.<br />
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I covered the last 10k in 51:42, crossing the line in 2:51:42, the slowest marathon of my four, but the one that made me appreciate what it is to run for a cause (in this case the 2013 Boston), and made me appreciate my previous faster times. Had this been any other marathon, I would have taken a DNF, but no, this was Boston!!!<br />
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I am looking forward to registering in September to chase the unicorn next April, and also to race a fall marathon to better my personal best.<br />
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Juan Martinez<br />
Syracuse, New York<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2014 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2014/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-57550240044733698082014-06-18T17:57:00.000-04:002014-06-23T17:24:57.852-04:00April 21, 2014 - At the finish line, nothing left but pure joy and pride<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kelly Swan Taylor</td></tr>
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Looking back at this year’s Boston Marathon, I can honestly say it was both the easiest and most difficult thing I have ever done. The love and support from the crowd, volunteers, and fellow runners, especially while approaching the Finish Line, certainly made this race easy. And at the same time, completing the Boston Marathon is truly a difficult endeavor. <br />
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This year’s race started out a little more organized and, much later in the morning thanks to our decision to drive to Hopkinton, instead of venturing into Boston for the long bus excursion to Athletes’ Village (allowing me more sleep and a good breakfast of a bagel and banana). The ride went pretty smoothly until we encountered an accident around Hopkinton, which cleared up fairly quickly. Unfortunately, by that time my marathon hydration preparation started to get to me and I had to stop by a bathroom. Of course, my family was more interested in finding parking and was totally ignoring my requests. I had to explain I certainly could not wait until Athletes’ Village, seeing I probably would have to wait another 45 minutes just for the port-a-potty line. But, we turned around and finally found a Dunkin’ Donuts (like that is a tough thing in Massachusetts!). The funny thing was that I still ended up waiting in line behind -you guessed it - six other runners!<br />
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This year, in addition to my regular race bib, and in honor of last year’s events, on my back I also wore last year’s bib and some writing dedicated to some special people (Jon “Blazeman” Blais, Celeste Corcoran, and Meg Cross Menzies). After some photos and good wishes (and a quick frisk by the security personnel), I loaded a bus and was off to the Village! The ride was so much better than last year, and I felt more relaxed. Of course, my concerned thoughts focused on those Newton Hills and Heartbreak. It really is the toughest part of the course, and I hoped my training was enough to make it through.<br />
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The excitement started as I entered Athletes’ Village, under the large blue banners. I tried to take more photos this year, although this would prove to be difficult with the strong sun blocking my view of my phone. I could barely move as I entered the Village and I could not believe how much more crowded it seemed this year. I had trouble finding food and water, but found a small spot to relax and stretch. I did find I was anxious to start and, with very little room to move, this became more apparent as time progressed. But, finally, after a phone call from my Newton friends who helped me last year, some texts from my husband, and a bathroom break, we took the long walk to the start line. <br />
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For those who have never run Boston, I cannot reiterate enough how long the walk is to the starting line. The joke is that Boston actually is 27 miles, because of this distance. As you are walking to the Start you feel like you are five years old again on a road trip asking “Are we there yet?” But, the crowds were so supportive and I tried to push aside my impatience to enjoy the whole trip. Along the way I did see some strange things, including some spectators passing out donuts and even beer (which one guy in front of me pounded like a frat boy, and even crushed the can). I knew this was going to be quite a day. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meg's Shoe Tree</td></tr>
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When we got close to the Starting Line, the volunteers on the sidelines, collecting clothes and directing traffic, looked excited and wished us all good luck. I was making sure to stay to the left side of the course because I had a special task on Mile 1. I was going to stop, view, and take photos of the shoe tree memorial, set up and dedicated to a high school classmate of mine, Meg Cross Menzies, who was tragically killed by a drunk driver, while training for this race. Her husband was running in her honor, with her bib tucked under his shirt. <br />
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As we crossed the Starting Line, it was exciting to see the crowds, as I was stuffed into the pack and could not see them last year. My family was taking great pictures and saw me start off. I did make one mistake with my Garmin, and in the excitement of the start, forgot to set it for “satellite search” and ended up looking for one for a good part of a mile. That proved to be tough for the rest of the race. But, at Mile 1, I saw it, the shoe tree memorial erected in the honor of Meg. I stopped running, pulled off to the side, and starting taking photographs. Trying to get back on the course was tough and even though I waited for an opening, a foreign runner probably did not understand my apologies as he almost ran over me.<br />
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I progressed through the first couple of miles, and eventually knew the heat was going to slow me down and I would not get the time I had hoped. So, instead, I decided to enjoy the race and just get to the finish strong. I remembered from last year that Boston really is an interactive race. You interact with the people of Massachusetts and they love it. So, I tried to high-five as many people as I could, especially the children. I remember one child giving me a high-five and saying "thank you for running today." That chocked me up a bit. This race does mean as much to them as it does to the runners, and they really appreciate what we are doing. Of course there were signs throughout the race, although because of the expanse of the crowds, some of them were difficult to see. I enjoyed the “Channing Tatum is At the Finish” sign (too bad it wasn’t true). And I really needed those signs that say “Push for Energy Button.” But, the sign that meant the most to me was one that said "Today, You Are A Hero." <br />
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I was looking forward to the girls at the Wellesley Scream Tunnel and hoped they were louder and greater in numbers than last year. Well, they did not disappoint. They were amazing with more signs than I had ever seen! It went on and on and I again tried to high-five all of them. Everyone knows the Wellesley girls especially appreciate the female runners, so I love this section of the course. My run turned into a walk as I wanted to interact with all the girls and finally told them "You are making me forget I am running a marathon, thank you." I saw an older man kiss a younger Wellesley girl, and her face was priceless. It is a cautionary tale for those holding the “Kiss Me” signs. It was a great part of the course, especially since I really was getting tired at this point. <br />
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I felt this twinge of anxiety as we started to enter the Newton Hills (I knew what was coming). The sun and the heat really were beating down on us. I saw many runners step to the side, bend over, and just rest for a bit. A girl in front of me quickly grabbed her leg and hobbled to the side. I asked if she was okay, but medical personnel had already gotten to her. I wonder if she was able to finish. <br />
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Unfortunately, you could tell who was new to the course by how they adapted to Newton. I knew what was coming and that this was the tough part, but some runners looked, frankly, pretty bad off at this point. I tried to keep my pace, slow down on the hills, and speed up on the downhills. At this point, the crowds screamed for you if they simply saw you running at all. I worried about taking in too much water and keeping my salt intake intact. Heartbreak Hill is every bit as tough as people say (and I did remember that from last year). <br />
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But, I knew I just had to hold out a bit until Mile 20, which would gave me a chance to see Lauryl, who helped me last year when I was stranded on the course after the bombing. I am now friends with her and her husband and son. She had a sign made for me and we took a great picture, as she asked me how I was doing and said she knew I would finish. She handed me a banana that, with her water bottle, gave me the strength to get through the rest of Heartbreak Hill. This was especially important because, due to the heat and the amount of runners, some water stations simply were out of water. At the top of Heartbreak Hill, a woman said to me, “only four more blocks,” (or something like that) and I thanked her for that information. I did remember passing by the Mile 21 medical tent, where we were stopped last year. It was FULL of runners, and part of me wanted to join them! But, the stronger part of me knew the worst was over. I think some guy around Boston College wanted to give me some champagne in my water bottle, but I knew it was premature to celebrate and that was not a good hydration plan. <br />
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Seeing the Citgo sign was what gave me the energy to move through the last few miles. I stopped and kept taking photos, still really unable to see my phone well. I could barely move my feet, one in front of the other, but made sure to text my husband when I was on Mile 23. At this point in the race, I was dealing with an unexpected side stich. I knew it would only go away when I reached the Finish, so it was tough going. Even though the crowds did not seem to care either way, I wanted to tell them I wanted to run faster, but just could not. But, when I saw the sign for “1K To Go” I said to the guy next to me “Is that for real?” I just could not believe it. <br />
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Again, the crowds were amazing through the whole course, but the last two turns onto Boylston came fast and the finish gave me goose-bumps. My family actually was at the corner of Hereford and saw me make the turn. The hill up to Boylston almost was more than I could take (no more hills!). I could barely move my legs anymore, but the huge crowds pushed me to keep running the whole stretch. As we closed-in on the Finish, I saw a group in a fundraising team waiting for each other and looking behind us for their other members, so they could finish together. That stuck with me. It was not about a particular race time for them; they were there to finish together. Even though I could see the Finish for the entire stretch, I knew Boylston well, and it is a long street. As marathoners know, the race is not over until you finish. There is no easy part of the race. <br />
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As I crossed the Finish Line, I reached up to the sky and touched my heart, thinking about others who could not finish with me: Jon the "Blazeman," Celeste (my hairdresser, injured last year but who did cross earlier, with her family), and Meg (my high school classmate). All of them helped me finish this race. As I crossed the line, despite doubts, last year’s events, the hard winter training, injuries, and even Newton, I understood why people do this race year after year, even for decades. Once you cross that line, you forget all the pain and sacrifice. Nothing is left but pure joy and pride. <br />
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After I received my medal, the sound of the crowds finally dissipated and I realized I still was listening to my IPOD. The crowds were so loud along that last stretch that their cheers were all I could hear. As it grew quiet in the finishing area, I could hear the song that was playing in my ears. It was “Best Day of My Life.” Wow, I could not think of a better accompaniment to this special occasion. <br />
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Kelly Swan Taylor<br />
Providence, Rhode Island<br />
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<br />
For more personal accounts of the 2014 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2014/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-50647460287564858182014-06-16T02:48:00.000-04:002014-06-18T22:58:10.917-04:00April 21, 2014 - #863 at the Start, # 865 at the End<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grant Stieglitz</td></tr>
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The first time I ran Boston was back in 2013, and I was 28 at the time. I had a qualifying time of 2:46:46 when I ran the Kona Marathon on June 24, 2012. I then ran a marathon on October 7th in Findlay, Ohio, called Red, White, and Blue 26.2, which I also won with a new best time of 2:45:31. I used that improved time to qualify for Boston. My goals are usually to not only improve my times, but also run a marathon under three hours in all 50 States plus the District of Columbia. Massachusetts became State #8 for me on my marathon journey.<br />
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I was a bit nervous as we were getting ready to start, but I told myself, “Stay calm, take one mile at a time, and to use your head.” As soon as the gun went off and I crossed the starting line, I told myself the same exact quote over and over again so my nerves won’t act up. After crossing the first few miles, I felt pretty good and kept my rhythm going. I even told myself to be patient; this wasn’t a sprint, this was a marathon.<br />
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At the halfway point I was sub 1:20, which was pretty good. The second half had the hills, so I knew I had to play it smart. Many of the other runners were picking up speed and passing me, but I didn’t let that bother me, especially when it came to those hills, even Heartbreak Hill. As we approached the hills, I told myself to take it easy because there were more hills ahead. Some of the other runners passed me as they were sprinting up the hills, and as a result, I see them further ahead slowing down or even walking. I knew I made the right choice as I passed them, and I continued on and approached Heartbreak Hill with no problem.<br />
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After getting over all the hills at Mile 20, I had about a 10K to go left in the race. I asked myself, do I make a move, and my brain told me not yet. My legs began feeling tired the next three miles and my mile splits were slowing down a bit. By the time I hit mile 23, I told myself I only have a 5K left, and that is when my brain and I agreed to make a move and pick up the speed. Even though the legs were about ready to give out on me, the cheers from the crowds gave me motivation to run harder and stronger in the last three miles. By the time I reached the final turn and saw the finish line, I started to sprint and finish as fast as I could. I finished with a time of 2:44:21, which is a new PR for me, and I found out I was ranked 448th overall.<br />
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After finishing, I met up with my folks and we went back to the Sheraton Hotel, about a half mile away from where we were staying. Afterwards, my folks went to the Prudential Mall to look around as I stayed in the hotel room to get an ice bath and freshen up. About 30-45 minutes later, I heard the door open and was surprised to hear them back early. A minute later, I heard the television being turned on, and that’s when I heard what happened down near the finish line.<br />
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I asked my folks what was happening and they told me there were explosions down near the finish line. At first I thought this was some sort of a joke, but it wasn’t. As soon as I finished freshening up, I immediately went straight to the television to see this, and I was in complete shock. I then went straight to my phone and tried to call family and friends back in Fort Wayne, Indiana, but the phone lines were down in Boston.<br />
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I had texts/voicemails from friends, some crying, asking if I was okay. Luckily, I was able to get service and started calling and texting people back as quickly as I could. Luckily, my sister called my folks and we told her we were okay and safe. I immediately told her to tell everyone we are okay by calling people, texting, and posting something on Facebook to report we are okay. After talking with her, my phone was already blowing up with text messages. I even had phone calls from different television and radio stations back in Indiana, asking me what happened. My folks let me have time for myself to take these calls.<br />
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After a few calls, I saw the aftermath on television being replayed over and over again. I then heard the first victim was an 8-year old boy. At that point I totally lost it. I cried for several minutes, thinking to myself this could have been me or anyone in my family. I started to think of my niece, who was also eight, and my nephew who was 10 at the time. I saw myself in the mirror crying and my sadness switched to anger. My reflection showed that anger and I quietly started letting my anger out by punching a few pillows and even the bed, until I got tired. I prayed to God asking Him why this is happening.<br />
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After I cooled off and regained composure, I continued to take more phone call interviews, and was able to text/call a couple of my friends who also ran it to make sure they were okay, which they were, Thank you God. As I finished up with all the interviews, my folks asked if I want to go for a walk around the mall with them. I agreed, I needed it. I didn’t wear my medal throughout our time in Boston, because even though I finished and earned it, there were about 7,500 other people who weren’t able to finish due to what happened.<br />
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On our last day in Boston, I was anxious to leave and go back home. As my folks and I packed up and headed straight to the airport, I kept the medal in my new Boston Marathon jacket. When we arrived at the airport and waited for our flight, I bought the Boston Globe and read all the articles about what happened that Monday, as well as the results on how many finished. By the time we boarded our plane and took off , I then took out my medal and put it around my neck. To me, after hearing what happened, it didn’t seem right to wear it until we were out of Boston. I wanted to be respectful of all the victims, which is why I did that. <br />
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The biggest question for so many was “will I run it again?” After a few months of thinking it over, I knew I had to because I knew it will become even bigger and better in 2014. My folks, a friend of ours, and I went this year, we even got the same hotel. This year’s Boston was a bit more nerve-racking for me, because for so many, there were always those “what if” questions. Many were concerned if something like that was going to happen again, plus there was tight security throughout the marathon, expo, and throughout the entire city. <br />
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I was more nervous this year than last year because there were a lot more runners, especially many fast elites, and I tried to calm myself down. Luckily, a few of my running buddies were in the same corral as me so that relieved some tension. I told myself to repeat what I did last year, but it was more challenging this year. The other runners and I were going at a faster pace, a pace I usually will do in a 5K, or 10K. <br />
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After reaching the 5K point, I quickly tried to get back in pace mode because I didn’t want to pay as we reach the halfway point and/or the second half. I had another sub 1:20 pace at the half, so I was right on target. The second half was tougher this year for me; not just because of the sun being out and getting warmer, but I knew I took off fast in the beginning. Therefore, I told myself to forget a PR, run your race, and finish Boston Strong, because this race is for all the people. I did get sunburnt and was a bit dehydrated, but the cheering of the crowds again helped me pull through to finish hard. Even though my legs and body were tired, I told myself over and over to finish “Boston Strong.” I repeated that over in my head, one mile at a time. When I reached the last turn to head to the finish line, I tried my best to pick up the speed as much as my legs and body would allow as they were ready to give out on me. I finished with a time of 2:48:55 and finished 865th overall, almost matching my bib number. In addition, Boston 2014 was my 29th marathon overall, and I was 29 years old when I ran it. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Op with Bill Rodgers and the BOSTONlog.com staff</td></tr>
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Boston 2014 may have not been my best marathon overall, but it was definitely one I will never forget. No matter what, whether finishing first or last, getting a PR or not, the important thing was to finish strong, which is what I plan to do for any other marathon, or any other race. Throughout the years, I have learned a lot from running. It’s not just running fast and winning, but it also knowing about how to be a true sport. It takes a true sport to know when and how to accept defeat, and also learn and grow from the mistakes we encounter. I am still continuing what I love doing, and I plan to continue my journey on reaching all 50 States and D.C. When that is accomplished, what will be my next goal? Perhaps running a marathon in all seven continents; I will have to figure that one out myself.<br />
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Grant Stieglitz<br />
Fort Wayne, Indiana<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2014 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2014/">here</a>.<br />
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All our most recently posted stories can be found on the <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/">BOSTONLOG homepage</a>.
Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8988175977607690813.post-64470337928510494252014-06-14T15:40:00.000-04:002014-06-16T19:52:10.930-04:00April 20, 2004 - Nine years apart, tears for Boston<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emilio Romero</td></tr>
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My wife had died four years earlier – just one month before the marathon which would have been our first. I had trained like crazy for about a year. A dearly loved aunt had flown to Houston to be with my three little kids while I ran the marathon. The very few stars in my then film-thin firmament were starting to align; but my children (10, 8 and 6 then) didn’t want to go to the Expo, they wanted to see the Aquarium. <br />
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In the aftermath of any defining moment in our lives, we often try – for good or bad —to make sense in retrospect and pinpoint when and how it all started. And while I say I had trained my butt off for almost a year, the most persistent memory of those months, which ultimately were supposed to qualify me for the Boston Marathon, takes me back to the track at my youngest son’s high school. Early in the morning, the familiar lyrics started whispering the music in my ears, saying first there's nothing, but a slow glowing dream your fear seems to hide deep inside your mind; and then the speedwork started: 13 x 1600 with 90 seconds rest in between.<br />
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Months later, in Houston, I eventually convinced my kids (or bribed them, I just can’t remember – there’s an image of the Aquarium embedded there somewhere) to go to the Expo to get my bib.<br />
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My older daughter was understandably concerned. I had told her a couple of times before that on rare occasions people die while running marathons; and having lost her mother a few years back, her face was lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw me (alive) at the last stretch of the marathon. And that is the only thing I remember about that race. <br />
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Although I clocked better times in two marathons (3:04 in San Francisco 2004 and 3:02 in Chicago two months later), when I crossed the finish line in Houston as the clock marked 3:11, I felt my life had changed at some level. I had qualified for Boston. <br />
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I think in all honesty there are very few equalizers in life (truly equalizers): death, faith, sex and the Boston Marathon qualifying times. We are all the same when we are filtered through those unforgiving concepts. <br />
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By the time I qualified, I had been running for seven years and had run my first marathon in 2001. And by then I thought I had grasped the mystique of Boston. After all, I had qualified. <br />
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But I was wrong. <br />
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That thought was shattered the moment I stepped out of Boston’s Logan Airport after a long trip from Ecuador; and the cab driver took a look at me and said “You came to run the marathon.” Surely, it was then I knew I had grasped the mystique. But, guess what, I was wrong again. <br />
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It wasn’t at the Expo either. Although it was then I had to fight back the tears for the first time. <br />
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The second time I had to fight back the tears was at the starting line, a couple of days later, conscious of the privilege. But it was easier then not to hold them back too much, since I was not the only one in such endeavor. <br />
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It was a very hot day. That is a heavy statement, mind you, coming from someone who lives in Ecuador and runs almost all the time in temperatures over 90 degrees and in humidity over 90%. There is a small snippet of how hot it was, in a story I wrote years later as a tribute to the race after the tragedy of the bombs. <br />
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The race was glorious: hot, but glorious. I wasn’t going to set a PR, I didn’t want to. Prepared as I was, I just wanted to enjoy the journey (the girls from Wellesley were a fantastic distraction). As I was running, suddenly, I started to feel a change in the atmosphere People around me were talking to themselves, saying things like “here we go,” “this is what you trained for,” “this is it,” and I was utterly confused Had I missed something? I had no idea what was coming. Then I saw it, just past the fire station: the start of the hills. <br />
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I was so subdued by the idea of Heartbreak Hill that I lowered my pace and hoped for the best. There was no way this race was going to break me after everything I had done to win the right and the privilege to run it. Fearful, a few miles later, I asked another runner where was Heartbreak Hill. “We just passed it,” he said. <br />
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But the heat and my wet shoes from the water of the firemen hoses – yes, it was hot; I believe I’ve said that before—took its toll. I had blisters on both my feet for the first time in my running career. <br />
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But I was not going to break down.<br />
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Wrong again. <br />
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That was the moment (not during training, not when I qualified, not at the airport, not at the Expo, not even later when I lived for years knowing my marathon times were well within qualification standards), that was the precise moment when I understood, when I finally grasped the mystique, the allure, the je ne sais quoi that imbues the race. <br />
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It was mile 24 and I started walking. The crowd was delirious, the Red Sox were playing the Yankees a few blocks away (or was the game over by then?) and I veered towards the sidewalk and sat down. I wanted to be at Fenway, I wanted to be singing <i>Sweet Caroline</i> and drinking a cold one (marathons will do that to you eventually). <br />
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Bad move, but a very, very good move in hindsight. <br />
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The roar of the crowd was deafening, and it was directed to me! Oh my God, I thought, these people are yelling at me. I thought I had done something wrong (as a matter of fact, I did something wrong, but – as things tend to go in life — I wouldn’t understand it until later). When I finally navigated through the noise and focused on words and gestures I understood everyone was telling me to get up and run. Particularly one fellow – who now has become a mantra of my running days, whoever he is — who looking me in the eye, pointed at me and ordered “You are going to get up, and you are going to run to that finish line.” <br />
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Of course, there was no other option in the universe but obedience. <br />
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And I did just that. <br />
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And when I crossed the finish line on Boylston there was no longer a reason to hold back the tears. <br />
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Nine years later, I cried again during the 2013 Boston Marathon, but miles away and for a whole different set of reasons. Let me share my thoughts and reaction to the bombing tragedy: <br />
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<i>Being from Ecuador, I was probably one of the few among the approximately 20,000 people toeing the line at the Boston Marathon in April 2004 who was not worried about the heat. But when I sat down on the asphalt to wait for the starting gun, I had to get up immediately because I burned my ass. So much so that this morning, nine years later (after donning the same pair of shorts in which I ran the Boston Marathon in 2004), if you know where to look, you can still find the black stain of melted asphalt at the rear end. <br /><br />
I have been running for over 16 years, and in that journey of discipline and dedication, I have found catharsis, joy, pain, disappointment, frustration, triumph, bitterness, failure, and every once in a while, blood in the urine. I have run in the sun and in the rain, I’ve run with snow, with wind, and in such cold weather my water bottle froze after 20 minutes. <br /><br />
I have run alone more times than with company. I have run laughing, singing, while sick, with nausea, bleeding, and I have run crying. I have run for the living and I have run for the dead. In my runs I’ve made friends, and also found out those who were not my friends. I’ve chartered professional strategies, I’ve reached agreements with lawyers of the other party, I’ve bought – and eaten while running— many a hamburger, I’ve listened to dozens of books (but no more than 40 songs), I’ve urinated in public – even next to a police patrol car in Detroit — and every once in a while I’ve thought to have found the formula to fix the world; and rarely have I been so wrong. <br /><br />
Today I ran ten miles with the same pair of shorts that have the asphalt stain at the rear end. I ran in memory and solidarity of those affected by the catastrophe at this year’s Boston Marathon. Today I ran for Boston. <br /><br />
Since 2006 (when I started logging my runs) I’ve found I have run enough to circle around the world twice, and then some. I have run weeks of 120 miles and weeks of 20 miles. I have run 15 marathons. I have trained endless hours with the only goal of qualifying to Boston. I’ve had unbelievable speed sessions at dawn at the track of my son’s school, with 13×1,600 repeats @7:20 average pace and 90 seconds rest in between. The total of all these miles has allowed me to qualify for Boston only five times, and of those five opportunities – for matters to be blamed on the calendar or travel issues — I have only run that illustrious race once. <br /><br />
Boston is the Holy Grail for runners. The Olympics aside, it is the only race that admits only runners who have previously qualified in another certified marathon, achieving extraordinarily demanding times for their age group and gender. <br /><br />
Some time ago, a retired engineer, who was also a runner, analyzed the results of 227 marathons in the U.S., and came to the conclusion only 10% of runners achieved their qualifying standard for Boston. <br /><br />
Only a non-elite runner can understand how challenging the qualifying requirements are, but it is their challenge that gives Boston its mythical and mystical aura. Runners even joke the only benefit of getting older is that every five years your qualifying time decreases by five minutes. <br /><br />
It is true that in the Boston Marathon there are some slots for people who want to run for charity – without the need of qualifying, but having to raise large amounts of money — but the purist runner, though fully supporting these initiatives, does not talk too often about that. <br /><br />
That which makes the Boston marathon so emblematic cannot be explained, it has to be lived, experienced, felt; and time and again, for the Boston runner, that feeling is accompanied by emotional tears of conquest which one stoically fights to repress in public, until the moment one realizes he is not the only one in tears. <br /><br />
Because of that and so much more, it is excruciating for me to bear witness to what happened at the Boston Marathon in 2013, a result of evil and cowardice. It is deeply painful that Martin Richard, just eight years old, lost his life, as well as the other deaths, and the wounds to over 100 people. <br /><br />
As a man and as a runner, as a member of the subculture of those of us who rise early, sweat and sacrifice ourselves (and believe that if we train hard enough for eight to ten months, maybe we will qualify for the next Boston Marathon) I remember the words of the poet John Donne: “No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” <br /><br />
Today I ran for Boston.</i>
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Emilio Romero<br />
Guayaquil, Ecuador<br />
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For more personal accounts of the 2004 Boston marathon, click <a href="http://www.bostonlog.com/search/label/2004/">here</a>.<br />
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Kenneth Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11856706468232529033noreply@blogger.com