It’s been 2 months since the Boston Marathon, and I meant to post this right after finishing, but life got ahead of me. So here it is, the story of a day that almost never happened:

Before this year, Boston was my least favorite marathon. I thought it was a boring and sometimes ugly course and the way nature designed those 26.2 miles from Hopkinton to Boston also happens to make it hard as hell.

Don’t believe anyone who tells you Boston’s not hard. It’s deceptively difficult, with a mostly downhill course for 17 miles, followed by 4 miles uphill (one of the hills named “Heartbreak” for good reason.) The final 5 miles are a gut to the finish, giving it everything you have, or dragging your body along the pavement, like I did the first time I ran the Boston Marathon, three years ago.

I told myself after that miserable experience that I would never run Boston again until and unless I could run for lung cancer, and Team Lung Love. Somewhat unexpectedly, I got my chance this year, and with such an opportunity – I couldn’t say no.

Like everyone else planning to run Boston, I started training in December, running with the Fitcorp Marathon program as I had in the past as well as CharityTeams.org, who let me tag along with them. My previous best Boston time was 4:43, but I’d gotten faster in 3 years. Last October, I did Marine Corps in 4:04. Breaking 4 hours in Boston was a definite possibility, it seemed, and so it became a goal.

So, I did every hill workout, added some track training, did tempo runs, did a 20 and a 21 mile run. I ran some of the most notoriously challenging “pre-Boston” races around, including what some people say is the most difficult race on the east coast: The Boston Prep 16-miler.

I schlepped to “the islands” to run the Martha’s Vineyard 20-miler in February, took a trip to Clinton Mass for Stu's 30K hill-fest in March, ran the Hyannis Half Marathon AND the New Bedford Half Marathon, besting my previous times in each race with 8:30 average half marathon pace. In the crazy long runs, I averaged a 9-minute mile. I was READY to break that 4-hour barrier.

Weather-wise, we couldn’t have asked for a better winter. Hardly any snow, temperatures rarely below 30, just perfect. But as we got closer to April 16th, the forecast started to look ominously hot… and predictions for 70’s, 80’s and even 90’s started to roll in.

For those of us in New England, we hadn’t run in weather hotter than 60 since October. Hadn’t felt 80 degrees since the summer. We were well trained, but we weren’t trained for heat. And heat is a runner’s kryptonite. As thousands would soon find out.

As you can imagine, after 5 months of training, waking up at 5:30am in the dead of winter, running hills before work, traveling to races on weekends, the idea of NOT running this race was almost inconceivable.

But one thing you learn as a seasoned marathoner is that you can’t control what happens on race day. You can’t control your stomach, a random leg cramp, inexplicable exhaustion, and you most certainly can’t control the weather. All you can do is your best under the circumstances.

By Sunday afternoon, with temperatures predicted for 87 degrees on Monday, I had decided that I would head to the start line and let my body decide whether I could finish or not. I re-set all expectations. It was no longer about making a time. It was about finishing in one piece.

Sunday night, the BAA sent us a terrifying email. It said if you weren’t an elite runner or didn’t meet your qualifying time in a previous marathon (I was off by 25 minutes), you should not run the marathon. I was so close to bowing out, deferring to next year. I didn’t want to let my pride, my ego, my will and stubbornness be the cause of injury, or worse. I didn’t want to be a jerk just to prove I could do it. I REALLY wanted to run the race, but I was so torn, using all of my brain cells to try and make the right decision.

 I emailed my coach at Fitcorp, who’s gotten to know me over the past few years to see what he thought. He said, “You’ll be fine. Just run a minute to minute and a half slower per mile.”

John Furey, Fitcorp Marathon Coach

 Hmm. He seemed confident. I looked at what my other runner friends were saying on Facebook and it seemed like everyone was going ahead, no questions asked.

Everyone seemed unfazed the day before.

 


Well, if they’re doing it…

 I went to carb load at Paolo’s Restaurant, even though I wasn’t sure I was going to run.

The first thing I saw was a table of Charlestown running friends from Revolutionary Running Club, two of whom coach charity teams. I asked, “Are you guys running?” And they all said “Hell yeah!”

 I had asked God to give me a sign, and this seemed to be it. I was running the race.

Next, I had to decorate the back of my shirt. I had promised 30 people that I would run in honor or memory of them or a loved one and I would add their name to my shirt. I’ve done it before, but this time, it was a logistical nightmare. I won’t bore you with the details, but I ended up finally figuring it out at 10pm the night before the race, after literally spending a day and a half wrestling with computers and printers, etc.

It's not pretty, but I got everyone's name on the shirt.

 Race morning, I woke up rested and ready, despite the drama – and so excited. Unlike most marathons, where I’ve had to travel, I was in my own house – and even took the same bus I take to work every day in order to get to Boston Common, where the official buses load up for the to drive to Hopkinton. Being a point-to-point course, they bus everyone out to the start line and we run back to Boston.

Our glamorous chariots await

There were hundreds of yellow school buses and thousands of runners buzzing with excitement, nervousness, anticipation. Last time, there was a sense of competitive smugness mixed with that nervousness, because this is one of the most elite marathons in the world. If you're there, it's because you're good. You've “qualified.” It’s only the charity runners like me who are “unqualified” and considered by some to be a nuisance. But this year, that smugness was gone, replaced with a giddy fear, a camaraderie, a “what now?" feeling shared by all, regardless of speed.

In that ominous email from the BAA, they had warned us not to look at the marathon as a race, but as an experience. That's how it felt, like we were heading to an experience. I imagine it might be how my mother felt when she headed to Woodstock back in 1969. She didn’t really know what she was getting herself in for, but she knew it was going to be something she’d never forget.

I lucked out and met a new friend right away while waiting in line for the bus. Her name is Scottie and she’s from Maryland, where in addition to running very fast marathons, she is the mother of 5 kids!  She’s super-friendly and has tons of energy, so it was a total blast sitting with her on the bus, getting to hear her whole life story and then sticking together before the start line.

My new friend Scottie, a serious powerhouse!

 


We were in different waves (she’s faster than me) so we parted ways at the wave, split , but just before that we met another runner from Nova Scotia in her 50’s who had that typical competitive spirit of a Boston qualifier. She told us that she’d run 2 hours the previous week in full winter gear (hat, gloves, everything) even though it was 70 degrees out, just to see if she could acclimate to the heat faster. Yes, we runners are a little crazy.

New friends all attempting to do the craziest thing. 

 The gun went off, and everyone was already sweating. It was probably about 77 degrees at that point, but we had our water, we had our game plans and we were ready. I knew I had to slow everything down, and I tried to keep it at an easy 9:30 pace for the first couple of miles. Looking at my time later, it sseems like I did that.

 It got warm fast – and so I needed to pour water on top of my head by mile 3. That, plus drinking a cup of Gatorade, became a ritual at every single mile. I walked the aid stations, grabbed a cup of water, cup of Gartorade and hydrated both inside and out. I think that ritual is what made it possible for me to finish.

Not me. But I did this.

I didn’t know anyone who was planning to spectate until Natick, so I really just enjoyed the first 10 miles, trying extra hard to conserve energy and stay as cool as possible. After Natick, the next milestone was Wellesley, where those famous screaming girls would give us a boost. (and maybe a kiss.) I was also looking forward to seeing the sign they made for Team Lung Love.

I requested a sign on their Facebook page and they actually did it!

 When I got there, they were indeed screaming, but I think I was distracted by trying to read all of the signs, so I didn’t enjoy the girls as much as I could have. Sadly, I never saw my sign. It must have been torn down by the thousands of runners who’d passed through before me.

The only really memorably “bad” moment of the race happened around mile 14. I was super conscious of my overall health during this race in ways I am not usually.  I never worry about things like heart problems, but given this extraordinary heat, I was paying close attention. I had checked my ego at the door and was prepared to stop if I felt weird.

I felt slightly odd at mile 14, a mild tightness in my chest, so I started to walk for a few minutes, cooled down, had some food and salt and kept going. It was only a momentary blip, but I’m glad I listened and slowed things down.

Wellesley (the town) wasn’t as interminably long as I had remembered it being before, and there were SO MANY spectators. That’s something that has to be mentioned. This time, the crowds were JUST incredible. Bigger, better, louder, stronger, more supportive, just AWESOME. Wellesley was pretty fun.

Last time, I kept looking for my Aunt Susan in Wellesley and she wasn’t able to make it. This time, I knew she wasn't there and I just enjoyed it. That’s another lesson learned. It’s not always great to have a million people that you’re looking for while running. The disappointment of not seeing them can really affect your mood. I didn’t have that many people. and the ones that were there were AWESOME, so it worked out well this year.

This is Janice cheering her friend on. She also cheered for me. :)

One unexpected and fun surprise was seeing an old high school friend Janice Cutler. She yelled my name and seeing her gave me a little lift as I was leaving Wellesley.

Just after Wellesley, somewhere around the Newton Lower Falls, I ran into a CharityTeams friend, Josefina, running ahead of me with bunny ears on. I had actually stopped to walk for a minute and was losing energy, but when I saw her, I perked up and caught up with her. That helped me get my mojo back at a key moment!

I don't know where Josefina's bunny ears went, but I was so happy to see her (and them) at mile 17.

I rounded the corner onto Comm. Ave where the Newton Hills begin and told myself that I would run those hills as long as I could but that I would walk Heartbreak no matter what. This is because, after Heartbreak, were the hardest 5 miles in the race and I wanted to be able to do them. Also, running that hill at mile 20 of that kind of race, in that kind of heat, was almost stupid.

My co-worker Kenny Renard took this. The view from the bottom of the Newton Hills. Awesome.

So… I walked heartbreak. As it turns out, about 90% of everyone else around me did too. (except one bumble bee who was photographed just ahead of me… and who I incidentally beat… ahem).

Yeah, I'm walking. But ... you know the old story of the tortoise and the bumble bee?

Again, the crowds were awesome.. no one made you feel bad for walking.. everyone was so supportive.

At the top of the hill, I started to run again, determined to finish this damn thing, knowing that the worst part from 3 years ago was ahead of me, but hoping it would be better this time. And it was. SO MUCH BETTER.

First of all, I can’t say ENOUGH about the kids at Boston College. They lifted me, carried me, for mile 21 and beyond. They were cheering like their lives depended on it, screaming and chanting my name for what felt like 10 minutes. It was UN-believable. I felt like Madonna. I really want to send them an email or something. They were that good.

These kids were AMAZING. As a BU grad, it's sacrilege to say it but, Go Eagles!

After I passed them, I felt kind of invincible. I knew those last 4 miles would be hard, but they were just 4 miles! I’ve GOT this! I must have looked strong because EVERYONE, it seemed, was screaming my name, cheering me on, from Washington Square to Coolidge Corner.

My aunts and cousin were somewhere around mile 24 and I couldn’t wait to see them. I saw my Aunt Sally who’d flown in from Atlanta first, waving her arms and yelling my name and all three of them were jumping up and down, so excited to see me. And I was so excited to see them!

From there, the only hurdle to cross was Kenmore square, where this small blip of a hill at mile 25 feels like Mt Everest. I pushed myself up that hill, knowing I had one more person waiting for me at the finish line: my Dad.

There’s a famous t-shirt you’ll see runners wearing that says “Right on Hereford. Left on Boylston.” It’s the best Boston Marathon shirt ever. That’s the last leg of Boston, and even though it would be virtually impossible to get lost, your brain cells can usually only come up with two sentences as you barrel (or lurch) towards the finish: Right on Hereford. Left on Boylston.”

The words on this shirt are emblazoned on your brain forever once you've run Boston. 

 I turned right on Hereford, and as I was approaching Boylston, there on the left was my dad, with a sign that read: “Julia. High Five”

My step-mother holding this awesome sign they made before Dad got on the train toBoston. 

 I high fived my dad, turned the corner and saw the finish line and ran in, only half believing it was actually over.

Almost done!

 The feeling at the end was the same as it always is at the end of a marathon: relief, followed by a rush of pain to the legs which lasts about 20 minutes. And then, bliss.

Made it!

I always say that marathons are a metaphor for life, and this was no exception. Just like no one expected April 16th to be the hottest day of the year so far (it’s June 19th), no one expected my mother to get lung cancer.

Just like I did everything right with my training and was ready to achieve my best time ever, so did she. Three months before diagnosis, she got a “perfect” bill of health from her primary care physician. She had quit smoking 20 years earlier. She didn’t drink, she ate healthily, was at an ideal weight, exercised regularly, volunteered often. She did everything right and she still got this disease.

My beautiful mom.

 Lung cancer does NOT discriminate. You don’t have to smoke, you don’t have to have a family history, you don’t have to work with or near pollutants. Besides, why a person gets lung cancer is irrelevant once they start their fight. It’s how they beat it that counts.

When I was faced with extra-ordinarily challenging conditions on April 16th, I used all of the tools at my disposal. I slowed down. I drank Gatorade. I used electrolytes (Power Bar gels). I poured water on my head. I dug deep. I rode the wave of a supportive crowd.

Lung cancer patients might have the will, but they don’t have the tools. Not enough of them, not by a long shot. That’s why Team Lung Love was created. We’re raising money to fund better treatments for this disease, so that when someone is hit with a diagnosis they didn’t deserve, no matter what they did before they got it, they have a fighting chance.

Lung cancer kills 160,000 Americans every year. That’s like a jumbo jet crashing every single day. We need your help in this fight. Whether you run or walk or volunteer, you CAN make a difference. Click below to learn more or email me at jgaynor@lungcanceralliance.org

 www.teamlunglove.org