At the hotel. Still not sure.
Ready or not. Maybe not. I don't know.
My alarm went off at 4:30am. I had brought my own coffee machine (learned that lesson the hard way) so I sat and drank and debated for the last time. I was a little scared for obvious reasons. But I was also excited. My gut was telling me to go for it and I decided to trust it.
Trust my gut. And coffee.
I finished my coffee and drove the fifteen minutes to Stanley Park where the race was being held. It was a beautiful morning, nice and cool and not too humid. Granted, it was still dark when I left but when I pulled into the park the sun was coming up and I was feeling cautiously optimistic.
Rise & shine
It was now around 5:15am. I found the race director and registered for the race. That's right, registered. This might be one of the only marathons in the country that you can sign up for on the actual morning of the race. And given all of my uncertainty about doing it, I really appreciated this option. The guy in charge told me to come back to the start about five minutes before 6:00am. This might be one of the only marathons in the country that you can roll out of your car and up to the line five minutes before it starts. The scene was about as mellow as it could get. I used the bathroom, pinned on my bib, got organized and then waited in my car. Around 5:50 I walked over to the start with the other 30 or so runners. I recognized a guy from Lexington, Joe Caruso, who I always see running on the bike path and introduced myself. He told me he'd also blown up at Boston and was there to try and qualify for 2024 as he'd run it for the past 12 years and didn't want to break his streak. He asked me what my time goal was. None. I told him. I just want to enjoy the experience and finish strong. He got it. We wished each other good luck. It was time.
Directions: Follow the flour
The mile markers and arrows along the course had been made with flour. So the race director went over the details one last time in case, you know, it rained or something and the flour faded. You can't make this stuff up. I couldn't help but laugh at myself at this point. It was 6am and I was getting ready to run fourteen 1.84 mile laps around a park. For fun. Not a joke. The race director looked at us and said, Ok, ready? We all laughed as we nodded yes. And with that, we were off. Jon and I had talked about pacing around 7:15 per mile. Not because I wanted to run a specific time but because I was coming off of Boston and I wanted to run smart. The goal was to feel in control. Zero stress. My first mile clicked off at 7:08. And I felt good. So I locked in and let go. No more watch. Just me, my music, the 6 people that were watching and the 30 of us who were racing.
All smiles
The miles ticked by and I just embraced the moment. I pretended like each lap was a mile instead of 1.84 so in my mind, I had 14 miles total to finish. This made those middle miles more digestible. Sort of. My mile paces, which I looked at afterwards, had all been between 7:05 to 7:30 except for my last one which was a 6:54. I'd finished the way I'd hoped; freshly filled with joy and gratitude and with the much needed reminder that I do, in fact, love this distance. The slate, if you will, had been washed clean. Or as Joe put it after the fact, Boston had been expunged. I was now ready to begin again knowing that I do love this sport and that, without question, it's worth it to keep going. The bad races suck. The really bad ones? Those make you wonder. But then the good ones? Those are like the gifts that keep on giving. This was a good one. And time or place had nothing to do with it. I'd told no one what my plan was. I'd run alone. I'd run 14 laps around a park. And I'd honestly loved every minute of it. So, yea. Really good. And now I can't wait to do it again. Oh, and new post-marathon tradition. Ice cream for breakfast. Also really good. Next up, TBD. Stay tuned.
