Me and The Boys

Races, Soccer, Baseball, and Batman

Things are beginning to feel more normal now, three weeks post-Boston. I still cry at times, particularly when I see images from the day of the race. It's the happy images that make me cry, though - the smiling runners and the cheering spectators and all the elated faces. It just breaks my heart to think about how so much was taken away from so many that day.

The past few weeks I had been reading everything I could get my hands on, and watching news clips constantly. I'm trying to back away from that now, though. I know what happened, and I don't need to keep rehashing it. I think it was contributing to the fog I was in, and I'm happy to be coming out of that fog.

Part of my return to reality was standing at the starting line of a race again, which I've done twice now. Two weeks ago, I ran the RI State Police 5K Foot Pursuit in Narragansett. I ran it last year and really enjoyed it, and even though I wouldn't recommend running a 5K two weeks after a marathon, I've now done it two years in a row and felt fine, so.......

It was a beautiful day, and I knew I was just going to go out and run a good effort. I wasn't expecting to run a PR, but I wasn't planning on just running easy, either, so I lined up at the front of the pack. I had my Garmin, but I didn't look at it a single time during the race - just put one foot in front of the other and ran.

It's a great course - pretty flat, and lots of it run along the ocean, and for being just two weeks out from running 26.2, I had a great day. Ran a 21:40, with almost negative splits - 6:52, 6:58, 6:40, 6:25. And I was tired when I finished, but I felt pretty good - except for the itchy hands, which started as I ran the final .1. 

The second I finished, I took a Benadryl and sat down, and I never got the full-blown scary anaphylactic symptoms, which was good - and I think it was because I sat down right away. I never fully broke out in hives, either - just had some itchiness. So although I was a little frustrated, it wasn't anything more than just a nuisance, so I didn't get too down about it, and even stayed for a short while after the race to chat with friends.

And this past Saturday night, I did a Boston Benefit race put on by the running club, and although it was one of the toughest, hilliest courses I've ever run, I was so glad to be there. It was great to run with friends - all the chatting was a nice distraction from the hills. My god, the hills! 

There was even one insanely steep at mile 5 (the friends I was running with had run this course before, and were referring to this particular hill as "the mountain) that was up a dirt road, which was preceeded by a sign that read "Pass at your own risk," and which was littered with potholes. Fun stuff.

We made it up without twisting any ankles, though, and continued on through one rolling hill after another, until we got to the final hill, which I thought was far worse than the mountain at mile 5. But of course, I just wanted to be done at that point, so I ran as fast as my beat-up legs would carry me.

This is my attempt at a smile, which is more of a grimace, which is actually a much more accurate depiction of how I felt.

I do feel proud that I survived such a tough course, though, and am pretty happy with our 8:43 pace. I had no intention of racing this one, and although I probably could have run a little faster, it would have been utterly miserable, and that's not what I was there for, so I'm glad I ran it easy.

And I'm glad that the event raised close to $600 for the One Fund Boston. I've donated through a few other outlets already, but was happy to contribute more, and especially happy that I was able to do so in a way that was meaningful to me - by running.

This coming weekend is the Cox Providence Rhode Races half-marathon - the kickoff fo the United Healthcare Triple Crown Series, which I'm doing again this year. I'm not sure if I can pull off a PR at this half, but I'm going to give it my best shot. Hoping that my marathon fitness will equate to a speedy half-marathon pace.

It's funny, though - I haven't been doing any kind of speedwork or tempo runs or anything, and as I'm out there running my easy, 8:30 pace for most of my weekday runs, it seems impossible that I could ever under a 7-minute pace - but I did just that at the State Police 5K. And as I finish up a 10-mile run on the weekend, I can't believe that I was at the point where 20-mile runs were routine. And I know I'll be back there soon enough. It seems far away now, but the time passes so, so quickly.

Lots more races to come this summer, and after the Providence half, I'll probably start back up with track workouts and occasional tempo runs. I am thoroughly enjoying running just for the fun of it right now, but I can already feel little hints that I'm going to be ready to start working on building some more speed to get me through my summer races and put me in a good position to start marathon training again next winter.

And in the midst of all this, my three crazy little men are keeping us extremely busy, especially now that spring sports are in full swing. We have two weeknight practices, plus games on Saturday and Sunday, and that doesn't leave us with a whole lot of down time.

I'm thrilled that the boys are enjoying their sports, but it always takes some time to get used to the hectic schedules. This is Gabe's first time on a travel/competitive team, and it's definitely been a learning experience. He's rising to the challenge, though, and it's been really great to see him learn more and develop into a stronger player.

His team has yet to win a game, but they still get out there every week and play their little hearts out, and it's so awesome to cheer them on. I do hope they win at least one game, though. They try so hard! I'm glad he has a great coach, too. They work hard, and they're learning a lot of new skills, but the emphasis is always on fun and teamwork, which is how it should be.

Dante is LOVING baseball, and I have to admit, I'm kind of hoping he sticks with it, because I think it's a fun sport to watch. I love watching Gabe's soccer games, too, but there's just something about baseball games in the summer.....   

He's only 7, so the emphasis is definitely way more on the whole 'having fun' aspect of things, but he's learning a lot, too. And for only having played one season of T-ball two years ago, he's caught on quick, and is doing really well. All the kids on the team still have times where they're daydreaming in the outfield, or goofing around in the dugout, but they're only 7 - they're definitely allowed to still do that sometimes : )

Carmine spent a good week and a half wearing a Batman cape everywhere we went, which made for some really interesting outings.

He wore it to the store, he wore it to the gym, he wore it to my doctor's appointments, and he wore it for our walks along the ocean. It all started when he woke up one day declaring that it was Halloween. I didn't feel like arguing, so I grabbed the cape and he put it on, and that was it. I never thought it would last as long as it did, but it was pretty fun and entertaining, so we were all happy to indulge him.

He's pretty much potty trained, and is all registered for preschool in the fall, and I can't believe what a little man he is. He wants to do everything himself, and he flat out refuses to be pushed around by his big brothers, and is not the least bit shy about telling everyone how he feels - usually very, very loudly. 

April was such a strange month, with the pre-Boston buildup, and the post-Boston emotional roller coaster. In some ways it feels like it all happened months ago, but at the same time, I feel like the whole month passed in the blink of an eye, and I can't believe that we're heading down the homestretch of the school season and before we know it, will be spending our days at the beach.

I'm looking forward to the slower pace that summer brings. We'll be plenty busy with camps and day trips and activities, but it's all fun stuff, so it doesn't feel stressful.

Spring and summer also mean a lot less time on the computer and a lot more time outside - which is as it should be. I do my best to keep up with blogging, but I'd rather be out there enjoying the days with my little guys rather than inside writing about it.

There have been times I've thought about giving up the blog entirely, since I post so much of what we do on Facebook, but I still like having this outlet to really write about things, in more than just a couple sentences.

And I've gotten several compliments on my blog over the past few weeks, so I'm happy that I didn't give it up. I enjoy writing it, and I'm glad there are people out there who enjoy reading it - thanks for sticking with me!

Boston, 2013

I usually can't wait to write a race recap, and my recap of Boston was of course going to be no exception. But circumstances have obviously changed.

Despite the emotional turmoil, though, I do want to get these thoughts down, because as time passes, I will forget some of the details - and I don't want to forget them.

I don't want to forget all the awesome and uplifting moments of the day, because that's what Boston is really all about.

Yes, in some ways it feels wrong to be recounting the good stuff when so many are hurting - and will continue to hurt for days and months and years. And I am in no way discounting that, or forgetting it.

I have moments of complete and utter despair, thinking of the tragedy and the lives lost and the hundreds of people so horribly injured. Every time I hear a siren, my heart skips a beat.

But I read this article last week, and I keep coming back to it again and again, and every time I read it, I do so with tears in my eyes. As the author writes, survivor's guilt is not something you'd expect to be experiencing as a marathon runner, but it's a pretty apt description of what I and countless others are feeling right now.

What struck me most, though, was this quote:

"The image of 78-year-old Bill Iffrig, knocked to the ground by the force of the explosion just 15 feet from the finish, has been viewed over and over worldwide. He got up to complete the full 26.2 miles. But will he be able to recover the feeling he had when he was 30 feet away from his goal?"

I sincerely hope he can, because that feeling is what we work toward for days, months, and years. Our pursuit of that feeling is what defines us as runners. It's what drives us to keep moving forward, and to overcome whatever is thrown in our path, and to constantly push to do more and improve ourselves.

It's what unites us at any race, and especially at Boston, where crowds of anonymous spectators feel it right along with you, as if it was their finish line, too.

That feeling envelops the city on Marathon Monday - and that feeling is the light that will shine through this darkness, and lead us to our next run, and our next race, and for many of us, to Boston 2014.

So we do need to remember it - and this is my recollection.

This sunrise was what greeted me as I drove to meet the bus that would bring me to Hopkinton. I saw it as a good omen, but it did little to calm my nerves, which had kicked into high gear Sunday night, as I expected they would.

I spent the bus ride mostly to myself, listening to music and reading all the amazing messages of encouragement and well-wishes I had received from friends far and wide. And it truly made such a difference to have all those positive words and thoughts in mind as I got closer and closer to putting all these months of training to the test.

Arriving to the race start was nothing short of surreal. I'd seen pictures, I'd heard about it, and I had a pretty good idea of what to expect, but there is nothing in the world like finally experiencing it firsthand - and that's basically how I'd describe the entire 26.2 miles.

I got out and walked around the Athlete's Village for a short while, just so that I could take it all in, but I didn't linger too long, because it was still pretty cold, and I was happy to be able to get back to the warm bus and have a comfortable seat to wait in, instead of having to sit on the ground.

I thought the waiting would seem to take forever, but the time flew by, and before I knew it, I was making my final preparations - final trips to the bathroom; applications of sunscreen and Body Glide; checking and re-checking to make sure I had all my Gu and fuel where I could easily grab it; tieing and re-tieing my shoes; and taking lots and LOTS of deep breaths.

I started walking over to the bag check buses around 9:30, dropped my bag, and then made my way down toward the start, shaking the whole way - not from the cold (it had warmed up quite a bit by now), but from nervousness.

After one final stop at the porta-potties just before the start line, I made my way into my corral. I was in the second wave of runners, and the 9th (and final) corral, so the actual start was nowhere in sight. But I knew it was there, and I'd be crossing it within minutes.

It's nearly impossible to describe what it felt like to be standing there. I teared up several times, and just kept thinking how incredible it was that I was actually about to run the Boston Marathon. I was here. I had been thinking about this and imagining this for so, so long, and to finally be there and be in that moment - it's overwhelming.

But as the countdown continued, I became increasingly calm. I remembered all the people who were out there supporting me and cheering me on, both virtually and in real life.

And I remembered all the training - all the track workouts, all the tempo runs, all the 20-milers, all the negative splits, all the hills. I was ready for this. I was prepared. I had put in the work, and now I just had to take my victory lap.

I didn't hear the gun, but I did hear the announcement that our wave was underway, and we slowly started moving forward, and when I finally crossed the start about 5 minutes later, I did so with the hugest grin on my face. It was time to get this done!

As with much of the race, the first few miles are kind of a blur. But I can say with certainty that they were, as promised, lined with spectators. Everyone tells you that there are cheering crowds lining the entire course, but you really can't believe it until you see it. In the early miles, there are a few spots that are a little quieter, but you're never ever out there alone, and the quiet moments are few and far between.

My main focus for the first 7 or 8 miles was to keep my pace conservative. The advice I heard over and over and over and over again when I told people I was running Boston was the same - "Start slow, and save your energy for the hills."

So that's how I trained. I finished every single one of my 20-mile runs with negative splits, even though the last miles of those 20-milers were filled with hills. I knew how to finish strong on tired legs, and I kept telling myself that throughout the day. I knew how to start slow and run smart, and that's what I needed to do.

Miles 1 - 8 were mostly successful - 8:17, 8:14, 7:57, 8:05, 7:58, 7:56, 7:57, 7:56. I worried a tiny bit about the sub-8 miles, but since they were just slightly under 8, I wasn't too nervous. The pace was feeling good and comfortable, and since this part of the course was mostly downhill, I felt keeping it to just slightly under 8 was showing a lot of restraint, so I kept at it. 

And the crowds just continued to increase. I reached out for more high-fives than I ever have before, and smiled more than I thought was possible. I knew I'd reach the point where I was struggling and getting tired, but I also knew that the energy from the crowd would help carry me along at that point the same way it was carrying me along now.

I focused on holding my pace steady through the halfway point, and as we neared Wellesley, I listened. I had been told that you could hear the screams from nearly a mile away, and that was no exaggeration.

As we began running past the infamous scream tunnel, I just laughed out loud in disbelief. It. Was. Amazing. And it just went on and on and on. The screams were so loud it literally hurt my ears. I ran, and I grinned, and I took it all in, and it was like nothing I've ever experienced in a race.

Just after that, I spotted my friend Anna, who took this awesome picture that so perfectly captures the incredible joy I was experiencing at that moment.

I love this picture now more than ever, as it's helping me to hold onto that feeling at a time when it's hard to feel joyful.

And just like that, it seemed, I was at the halfway point. My splits were holding steady, too - 8:01, 8:03, 8:05, 7:59, 8:00.

I was still feeling great, but knew that the worst was still to come, so I just cruised through miles 14 to 16 - 8:01, 7:57, 8:02 - and found myself thinking "hey - only 10 miles to go!" 

And that, honestly, I think is one of the most amazing things about this race for me. The entire time - even through the hills, and even through the final, exhausting, painful few miles - I never really had to fight off negative emotions. They just didn't stand a chance.

I never once thought "I don't want to be doing this." I never once had to give myself a pep talk and chase out the mental demons that usually appear at some point over the course of 26.2 miles. The spirit and energy of this race are unmatched, and it filled me with an optimism that I've never before experienced in a marathon.

I took full advantage of that as I made my way through the infamous Newton hills. They were unquestionably tough - not so much because of how steep or long they were, but because of where they were.

Miles 16 - 21 of a marathon are not the point at which you want to climb one hill after another, but I was ready for this. I had trained for this, and I would get through this. I knew that.

Some of them felt worse than others, and I tried to avoid looking at my watch too much, because I knew my pace was going to be all over the place as we made our way up and down.

On some of them, I felt like I was barely moving, and was so relieved to get to the top. And on others, I felt like I cruised right up.

But I was relieved to see the 20-mile marker, because I knew that meant just one more to go. Heartbreak.

Amazingly, as I ran up that hill, I felt better and better with every step. I found myself dodging and weaving so that I could pass people. I was passing people on Heartbreak Hill! I was almost to the top of Heartbreak Hill. I was conquering Heartbreak Hill.

And as I reached the top, the sense of relief was incredible. That was it. It was, quite literally, all downhill from here.

My pace held up pretty well through the hills - 8:02, 8:13, 8:02, 7:58, 8:07, 8:08 - and I was beginning to attempt the crazy and nearly impossible marathon math, trying to figure out if I was going to make my goal or not.

I thought I was pretty darn close, and I also thought that it was time to let myself go. I was exhausted, and my legs were hurting, but I knew I had it in me to pick up the pace a little and finish strong.

And once I gave myself permission to go, my body completely took over, and I suddenly felt like I was absolutely flying.

The fact that the last 5 miles of the course are mostly downhill definitely helped, but there was also the fact that, after all the downhill miles at the start, my quads were screaming - just as I had been told they would be. So as nice as it was to not be climbing up hills anymore, it was pretty darn painful to be running down them.

But I knew it was going to hurt. Whether uphill, downhill, or flat, the final 5 miles of a marathon ALWAYS hurt. The key is whether or not you embrace that pain or fight it. I chose to embrace it. It wasn't going to go away until I stopped running, and the only way to stop running sooner was to run faster. So that's what I did.

I barely looked at my watch at all those last few miles. I ran fast, and I ran with my heart, because I knew if I was going to reach my goal, that's what would get me there.

I flew into the outskirts of the city, and the crowds were just getting bigger. Miles 22 and 23 - 7:45, 7:47. And I began to see familiar sights (and another friend cheering me on, in Coolidge Corner!), and I ran faster.

Miles 24 and 25 - 7:43, 7:30.

And there I was - one mile away from finishing my first Boston Marathon. I'm smiling just thinking about it.

I had nothing left, but I found more anyway. Mile 26 - 7:31.

And I made that final turn - left on Boylston - and there was a couple running near me, and I heard the man say to the woman as they spotted the finish line "There it is!" And that's what we were all thinking as we moved forward. There it is.

All the work, all the training, all the hopes, the dreams, all the energy that had carried us along all the way from the start line in Hopkinton. It was all right here, and it was a moment like no other.

I scanned the crowd for my friends, and was so glad I was able to spot them, and hear them yelling for me.

I ran that final .2 miles at a 6:31 pace, smiling from ear to ear.

And when it was done, when I had crossed that finish line - the one I've been seeing images of for months and months - I couldn't quite believe it.

I shuffled forward with the mass of runners, collecting my space blanket, and water, and kept walking forward, and all I could think about was how much I wanted that medal.

I had to walk a little further, but then there it was. The volunteer hung it around my neck and he could tell I was about to cry (as I had been doing on and off ever since crossing the finish), and he put an arm on my shoulder and congratulated me. 

I continued shuffling and crying - tears of joy, and relief, and utter amazement - and made my way to the buses to get my bag. Once I had it, I immediately grabbed my phone and turned it on so I could check my official time. (My Garmin said 3:30:20, but there's usually some discrepancy between that and the official clock, and I wanted to know for sure.)

The number of messages, emails, and Facebook posts I had gotten since I turned my phone off earlier that morning was unbelievable. And I didn't even have to check the BAA website to find my time, because some of my friends who had been tracking me had included it in their congratulatory messages. 3:30:19!!! 

I got my 11-minute PR, and I ran an 8-minute pace for 26.2 miles - I. Had. Done. It.  I couldn't stop smiling.

I wanted to jump up and down, but I was in too much pain. So I hobbled over to the changing tent and got some warm clothes on - I was starting to cool down, and the breeze had picked up, so I was getting really cold. Once I was changed, I made my way over to the family meeting area, where my friends were all waiting for me.

We hugged and celebrated and took pictures and as I mentioned in my post the other day, it really was one of the greatest moments of my life.

And then it all changed.

All the images I have of that final stretch down Boylston, all those memories of walking through the chute and thanking the volunteers, who were smiling and so clearly enjoying and reveling in their role in the day's events - when I think about it now, my heart breaks, imagining that same scene 40 minutes later.

I think of the horror, the fear, the confusion - and how those volunteers who had been happily congratulating swarms of exhausted but elated runners, and those spectators who were there lifting all of our spirits and carrying us across that finish line - how their lives were all changed in an instant.

As we stood in the family meeting area talking and laughing, we heard a very loud boom. We all stopped and looked around, and then not even a minute later, we heard a second one.

I don't even really remember what we said to each other, but I think the prevailing sentiment was just "what the hell was that?"  The street had suddenly gotten very quiet, and everyone was looking around and trying to see what was going on. We were a few blocks away, so couldn't see anything - not even smoke - so nobody really knew how bad the situation was.

Then the sirens started. And they never stopped. Ambulances, police cars, fire trucks - speeding past us, and heading in the direction of the finish line we had just left a short while ago.

Two of my friends headed back to their cars to start back for home, and the rest of us decided we'd make our way to the restaurant where we had planned to meet up with the other running club members who had come up on the bus.

The restaurant we planned to meet at was just a few blocks up from the finish line, and as we walked up Boylston Street, the street was a ghost town. The tables lined with water and Gatorade were still there, but there was not a runner in sight.

My already delirious post-marathon brain tried to figure out what was going on. Were we actually on Boylston Street, or had we taken a wrong turn?  I knew the race couldn't be over yet - there had to still be more runners crossing the finish line, but where were they?  Had they moved the finisher's chute for some reason? I couldn't make sense of it.

And now that I look back on it all, I think that there was a small part of my brain that allowed me to consider the possibility that it was some sort of attack, but just as quickly as that thought came into my head, I blocked it out. I didn't want to believe that something like that could have happened, so I didn't let myself believe it.

At this point, Scott called me to see how I was doing - I had called earlier but he hadn't answered, so I'd left him a voicemail. And he hadn't heard anything on the news yet, so he was just calling to talk to me about the race.

We talked briefly, but then I could hear policemen yelling for everyone to get off the street, so I told Scott that we were going to get into the restaurant and find our friends - that there had been two loud noises, and something was going on, but we weren't sure what, and I'd call him back later.

Apparently, after we hung up, his phone began ringing off the hook with people calling to check on me, and I'm so thankful we talked when we did, so that at least he knew that I was ok.

Our time in the restaurant was an odd mix of celebrating and staring at the TV in disbelief. The news trickled in very slowly, and eventually we did learn that the explosions had been bombs, and that people had been injured, and at that point they were saying two had died.

Immediately after running a marathon, your brain is fried. You're physically exahusted, of course, and mentally, you're not all there. It's a very surreal experience, and as much as you're completely drained emotionally, your body is also bursting at the seams with endorphins. It's a very strange state of being, and even under normal post-race circumstances, you experience a kind of disconnect with the world.

And as I watched this story unfolding, I simply couldn't process it. And frankly, I'm still having trouble. My phone was flashing what seemed like every 30 seconds with a new message or email or voicemail from someone wanting to know if I was ok. And yet, I still didn't fully comprehend just how lucky I and my friends had been. None of it seemed real.

Then, as we were getting ready to pay our bill, someone in the restaurant stood up and yelled "Everyone needs to get out now!!" That was the first time all day that I truly felt scared.

We went out the back door and gathered in the alley, and made our way back to the bus, and half an hour later we were on our way out of the city.

As I sit here, a week later, there's still a part of me that is in disbelief, and a part of me that still can't stop asking Why? 

This race is a living, breathing example of the best of humanity - the runners, the spectators, the volunteers - from all over the world and from all different backgrounds - are all in it together. All in for Boston.

The same way my heart breaks when I think about how the day ended, it swells when I think about how it felt to be out there on the course - you feel such an incredible energy as you're running - it becomes a part of you.

I've heard it said that the finish line of a marathon is a magical place, but in Boston, the entire 26.2 miles are magic.

That this year's race ended under such tragic circumstances is just unfathomable, and unforgivable.

But as the week has passed, the outpouring of support and solidarity from the running community has proven to be stronger than that darkness.

There's a lot that I still feel very confused and conflicted about in the wake of all this, but there are a few things that I am 100% certain about. 

We are runners, and we will not quit. We will not back down. We will not let fear stop us.

And we will come through this stronger, and more determined than ever.

Already counting down the days 'til Boston 2014.

All In For Boston

So many emotions swirling through my head yesterday and today, it's tough to sort them all out.

Heartbroken, sad, angry, and confused about why on earth someone would do something like this. And thankful - so, so thankful - that I was out of harm's way, and that my friends, who were standing in the exact spot where one of the bombs went off, were out of the area, as well.

Thankful also for the outpouring of concern and thoughts and messages from friends far and near, and from people who don't even know me personally, but knew that I was there, and checked to make sure I was ok.

And amidst the sadness, I am holding onto the joy and immense pride I felt all day yesterday - standing at the starting line, tears in my eyes, the realization of what I was about to do finally sinking in.

Elation at finally beginning to run, and more happy tears.

Disbelief as I ran the course and finally saw firsthand what everyone had described to me over and over again - the spectators lining nearly every inch of those 26.2 miles - every one of them cheering as if they knew you personally and honestly wanted to see you succeed. Every one of them seeming that they 'got it' - they knew what a big deal this was, and they were thrilled to be able to share it with you.

Utter joy as I saw a familiar face at the halfway point - joy that I'm very thankful was captured by that friend.

Exhaustion and determination as I fought my way through the hills of Newton, feeling like I was barely moving on some of them, and positively flying and passing people on others.

Tremendous relief as I reached the top of Heartbreak Hill, knowing that I had done it - I had conquered the toughest miles, and it was literally all downhill from here.

Tears threatening again as I made my way through the final few miles, getting closer and closer to the city, and to that finish line that has been on my mind for two years. 

A sense of absolute amazement and wonder as I actually stepped across that line, knowing that not only had I just completed the Boston Marathon, but I had achieved my goal - a PR of 11 minutes, an 8:00 pace for 26.2 miles, and negative splits on a course on which it is notoriously difficult to 'run smart,' due to the downhill start and all the uphill miles at such a tough spot.

I had done it, and it felt tremendous.

I made my way through the finisher's chute, crying tears of happiness the whole way, and I met up with my friends, and it was one of the greatest moments of my life. 

And then it all changed.

I'm still trying to process it all, and it still feels wrong to celebrate the day. But I also think it's necessary to remember the triumph and the joy that was present, because that's what enables us to persevere, and to not give in to the fear.

The Boston Marathon has always been much more than 'just a race,' but its significance has now been magnified tenfold. I will absolutely be back at Boston next year, and many of my friends will as well.

Nothing says triumph over adversity quite like the marathon. Fighting through the pain and the negative emotions to come through on the other side with your arms raised high in celebration.

The strength and courage and solidarity of the running community is further proof of that spirit - and it's a spirit that will not be diminished in the face of a cowardly, horrendous act such as this.

This is my Boston Marathon, and this is my triumph, and although it may be difficult to feel celebratory about it right now, I will celebrate, and I will recount my race day, and I will remember it as an amazing day, for so many reasons.

And I will wear my marathon shirt with even more pride than ever, because I am a runner, and I will not be stopped.

Marathon Mania Continues

Usually when you sign up for a marathon, it's many, many months away. Many months before you even begin training. So far away that you can't even imagine being just days away from actually doing it.

So when you get to that point where you are just days away from standing on that starting line, it always feels somewhat surreal.

What's been just an abstract concept for so long - a carrot dangling out so far in front of you that you felt like you'd never reach it - is suddenly staring you in the face, and you realize that it's not an abstraction anymore; it's very real, and it's right around the corner. 

And every time that realization hits you, your heart skips a beat, and you involuntarily smile a little bit, thinking about how exciting it is to know that all the hard work you've done is finally going to pay off, and in just a few days you'll be able to reap the rewards of all those insanely tough workouts, and all those early-morning wakeup calls, and all those hours spent running in the frigid winter mornings, all alone out on the road, or on the treadmill for mile after mind-numbingly boring mile.

So that's where I am at the moment. It's all becoming very, very real, and very, very exciting.

The festivities kick off tonight, when I head down to CT with some friends to go to the "Another Mother Runner" house party to mingle with the fabulous Dimity McDowell Davis and Sarah Bowen Shea, authors of "Run Like a Mother" and "Train Like a Mother."

I am so excited to get the chance to see both of them again (last saw them at Zooma Cape Cod in September), and to hang out with and meet a bunch of other mother runners, too. I went to the house party in Massachussetts last year, and it was a blast, so I was really glad to see they were having one close to me again.

After that, things kick into high gear on Saturday, when I'll be out volunteering at the Gansett Marathon, and as soon as my volunteer assignment is over, will be traversing the course with my running buddies to cheer on our friend Diane who's running. She is a total rock star, and I think she's going to have the race of her life, and I can't wait to watch her do it!

I had so much fun spectating in Philly, and I was really only able to see my friends for a few quick seconds as they headed into the chute - I can't imagine how fun it'll be to be able to drive around to a bunch of different areas on the course and cheer her on the whole way!

And Saturday afternoon is Expo time!!!!  I'll be heading up with friends, and I'm honestly so excited  to see the Boston skyline - just being in the city is going to be amazing, and I will be so happy once I have that race bib in my posession.

Sunday will be a nice, quiet day, though. A day to pack my bag, check and re-check that I have everything I need, pore over the course description one more time, eat more carbs, drink tons of water, and attempt to get to to sleep early.

Today was my final track workout - 6 x 400 - and it felt great! I felt like I could have easily done more. And Friday I'll do my final run - a 3-miler. I can't even remember the last time I ran less than 6 or 7 miles, so 3 is going to feel very, very strange.

But it's all good. It really, truly is. I'm enjoying the down time. I have plenty of pent-up energy, and I'm incredibly distracted and scatter-brained, and I can't focus on anything except you-know-what. But none of that is affecting me in a negative way. I love feeling the energy that's simmering just below the surface, because I know that I just need to keep it bottled up for a few more days, and then I can let it loose when I need it most.

And I love feeling a little bit lazy, and not waking up while it's still dark out. I love having all these hours of free time that would normally be spent running, or at the gym.

Taper is agreeing with me this time around - for now, anyway. I know the nerves will kick in by this weekend, but I'm ok with that, too - all part of the process. 

Someone posted something to a Facebook community the other day about pre-race nerves, and I didn't even really give my response much thought - it just came out - and as I typed it, I realized that it was something I was going to remind myself of before every one of my own races - "Embrace the nervousness. It means you're on the verge of greatness."

That's how I feel right now, because even if I fall short of my ultimate goal, I will know that I have given this everything I've got - through 4 months, through countless training runs, and finally, through 26.2 miles. And that, in my eyes, is pretty great.

But I will be aiming for that 'A' goal of 3 hours and 30 minutes (or anything even a smidgen under that - even 3:29:59!). That's what I've trained for, and I'll be walking on air if I pull it off.

Anything between 3:30 and 3:35 will leave me a little more grounded, but no less ecstatic.

And if it just isn't my day, I'm hoping that I can still at least pull off a teensy little PR, and keep my time under 3:41.

But no matter the time on the clock, there is no doubt in my mind that there will be an enormous smile on my face as I cross the finish line at the Boston Marathon in FIVE days!!!

TEN DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Last weekend's foot pain faded over the course of the day Monday, and figured I'd give my Tuesday workout a try, knowing that if it began to hurt even a little bit, I'd stop immediately. But the foot felt fine, so I got it done.

And the same was true of my tempo run on Thursday. No pain, and no issues at all. So I was very hopeful about my podiatrist appointment that afternoon. And I was so thankful when I found out that I hadn't gotten my hopes up only to have them dashed.

The pain I've been having on and off - seemingly related to the orthotics, since it only hurt when I ran with them in my shoes - is actually related to a bunion, which is causing some wear and tear to the joint in my left big toe.

It's something that I may need to deal with at some point in the future, but for now, I can take a wait-and-see approach and be hopeful that it will not be an issue now that my marathon training is essentially done.

And most importantly, it is not something that is going to keep me from Boston! This news was like having a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. And it also allowed all the excitement - that I had temporarily put on hold - to come rushing back in, to the point that I could barely sleep last night, and if you had told me the race was yesterday at 4pm, I would gladly have put on my shoes and run it!

So now I'm back to being insanely excited and antsy and just generally in hyperdrive, waiting for the next 10 days to pass.

I'll run my final long run on Sunday, at a local 10-mile race. I won't be racing, though - my plan calls for 10 at marathon pace, and that's what I'll do. Maybe with a few faster miles at the end, but nothing crazy, because from this point on, it's all about giving my body a break and letting it absorb the benefits of the last week of taper.

No more 4:30am wakeups, no more intense cardio cross-training, and no weight lifting at all.

I know the lack of tough workouts is going to make me kind of crazy, but at the same time, I know it's what I need at this point, and I'm hoping I can embrace the change of pace and enjoy some down time.

I have so many thoughts bouncing around in my head, I can barely keep them all straight - making plans for going to the Expo, and for race day itself, and beginning to make lists of what I need to pack in my race bag, and what else I need to get done before next Monday.

But what keeps going through my head the most is how incredibly ready I feel for this race. I've never in my life felt so prepared to go out and get something done.

With a few small exceptions (due to blizzards and other minor inconveniences), I've followed my training plan faithfully, and have met or exceeded all of the target paces that were set for me.

I've found just the right combination of fueling and hydration, and practiced it over and over again, and I know that it works.

I've made sure to run all my long runs on a route that was mostly downhill at the beginning, and mostly uphill at the end - not a perfect Boston simulation by any means, but as close as I was able to get while still running locally.

And I've practiced repeatedly one of the most important skills I think I needed to learn this training cycle - starting conservatively and finishing strong. Every single one of my long runs has included several miles of negative splits at the end, despite the uphills.

I know how to pick up the pace with very tired legs, and that is a very valuable skill, and one that will serve me well after the hills of Newton.

And with 5 solo 20-milers under my belt, I know how to stay motivated and fight the mental battles that begin when the going gets tough.

I. Can. Do. This.

I have complete faith and trust in my training, and my confidence is sky-high that I can cross that finish line on Boylston Street in 3 hours and 30 minutes.

I just wish I didn't have to wait 10 more days to actually get out there and do it!!!

Not What I Wanted To Write About

This post was supposed to be about my last 20-miler - the fact that, although it started out with a dark cloud of negative thoughts (I don't want to be doing this again; I've run enough 20-milers; I can't possibly have to pee already; my hands are cold; my legs feel like lead; why do I need this stupid PR in Boston anyway) I was able to turn it around at about the 6- or 7-mile mark, and finished strong. It wasn't quite as awesome as the previous 20, but it was certainly good enough.

It was also supposed to be about how the excitement is building so tremendously at this point, and how all I can think about is Boston. About how distracted I am, and alternately elated and terrified (and by alternately, I mean my brain goes back and forth roughly every 2 minutes).

And it was supposed to be about how happy and how relieved I was to come home from my 13-miler yesterday morning - a great 13 that began with this amazing view of the sunrise over the ocean and that ended with me crossing off the final workout of week 14 of my 16-week plan. A 13 that, once completed, signfied the end of the most intense phase of my training and the beginning of my two-week taper.

It was supposed to be about how, as much as the taper can make you crazy, I am so happy that it's here, because mentally, I'm done with the insanely hard track workouts and the challenging tempo runs. I'm done with the 3-hour-long runs every weekend, and with having to hit a specific pace every single time I go out for a run. I'm done with getting up at 4:30am to be on the treadmill at 5am. Done with all that, and ready to get on to the good stuff and put all this training to the test.

That's what it was supposed to be about.

Instead, it's about my foot.

Several weeks ago, after a long run, I felt a sore spot on the top of my left foot. I've had this happen before as a result of having my shoelaces tied too tight, and I figured that's what it was again. So I didn't freak out.

And I noticed that it only really hurt when I had my running shoes on - not in any other shoes. And since I wear orthotics in my running shoes, I suspected that the added thickness from the orthotics was causing my foot to be more snug in the shoe, and adding to the soreness.

So I decided I'd try my next run without the orthotics, and presto - the soreness was gone.

I did a few runs without them, and all seemed well. Problem solved? If only it were that easy.

The orthotics were prescribed to help alleviate a chronic shin injury that had kept me sidelined for almost the entire summer a few years ago, and as I continued to run without them, the shin started acting up. So back in went the orthotics. And back came the foot pain.

I've gone back and forth like this for the past couple weeks, and it seemed very clear that running without the orthotics resulted in foot soreness after the run - never during the run, and never really sore unless I pressed on the top of my foot.

But then I ran without the orthotics yesterday, and during the last mile of the run, I felt some foot pain. It wasn't a sharp pain, and it came and went, but it was definitely there, despite not having the orthotics in.

So now I'm freaking out. Anyone who's ever googled "top of foot pain" can tell you that almost every single link that comes up contains the words "Stress fracture."

And anyone can also tell you that if you have a stress fracture, you are NOT running a marathon.

I already had an appointment scheduled with my podiatrist for this Thursday, because I wanted him to check the orthotics and see if they need to be adjusted. And yesterday, there was a period of time where I was thinking that I was just going to cancel the appointment and press on with my training and run the race and deal with this afterward - obviously in complete denial that something could be really wrong.

And while I'm still hoping that it isn't something really wrong, I'm also thinking more clearly today. I will go to the podiatrist, and I will get his opinion on this, and I will follow his advice - even if that advice is to not run Boston.

My heart breaks to even think about that possibility. I know that may sound crazy and overly dramatic to some people, but I have poured my heart and soul into these past 14 weeks of training, and I have worked too hard, and come too far, and am running so, so well right now. To have to give up all of that would be devastating.

I know it's just a race. And I know that in the grand scheme of things, this is a minor inconvenience, and there are so many people in the world dealing with true hardship and challenges, and that I need to keep it all in perspective - and believe me, most of the time, I am. But other times I'm not.

Because this also is really not just a race. It's a marathon. And it's not just a marathon - it's BOSTON.

And I'm poised to not only run it, but run it really well, with a really good shot at a huge PR - something that, while not meaningful to some people, is very meaningful to me. It represents months of hard work, and months of going out and completing workouts that I didn't want to do, and months of overcoming obstacles that I didn't think I could overcome, and months of constantly pushing myself to do more and be better than I was the day before, and months of proving to myself that if I work hard, I can achieve goals that once seemed utterly impossible.

And it's all been in anticipation of the big payoff - that finish line on Boylston Street. The finish line that I now worry I may not cross in 2 weeks.

Obviously this is all speculation, and I won't know anything until I get in to see my doctor. But as much as I hope and pray that I'm very, very wrong and that two weeks from now, I'll be proudly wearing my first Boston marathon finisher's medal, I also feel that I need to prepare myself for the possibility that I won't.

So the normal taper crazies, which don't typically set in for me until the end of the first week, have already begun in earnest. And all the excitement and enthusiasm and optimism that's been keeping me going through these last few tough weeks of training have all but evaporated.

I'm going to remain kind of in limbo until Thursday. Limbo's not a fun place to be, but it's where I'm at, and I just have to deal with it the best I can. Think good, healthy foot, non-stress-fracture vibes for me, if you could.

You Never Know Until You Try

I wrote this response to someone on a running Facebook group the other day, and since then it's been running through my head repeatedly, and the more I see/hear it, the more I feel it's kind of become my motto when it comes to running and racing.

There's always plenty of reasons to doubt that you can do something, and plenty of excuses for why you shouldn't do something, but why wouldn't you at least try?

I never thought I'd be able to run a half-marathon, but then I did. I never thought I'd be able to run a full marathon, but then I did. I never though I'd be able to qualify for Boston, but then I did. I never in a million years thought I'd be able to run a sub-21-minute 5K, but then I did.

They weren't all instant successes, and there have been plenty of failed efforts along the way - but I never stopped trying, because if I stopped trying, I'd never know what I was capable of.

That became my motto during this weekend's 20-miler/half-marathon, too.

I set out to run 20 miles at an 8:30 pace. Since I had run 20 at an 8:23 pace a few weeks ago, I wasn't worried about maintaining an 8:30 pace. I was actually worried about going too fast, especially since I was going to be running the final 13.1 miles in the Ocean's Run Half-Marathon.

But I held back - for a good long while. My first 7 miles solo were nice. It was a chilly day, but as soon as I started moving, I warmed up, and felt just right - not too warm, not too cold. And I was doing great sticking with my 8:30 pace. A few miles dipped down to the low 8:20s, but mostly I was being very conservative, and enjoying running easy.

When I joined up with the race, I knew I'd have to really focus to stay at that slower, easier pace, and I intentionally lined up farther back than I normally would. And with the congestion at the race start, it was very easy to run the first mile at 8:24. To go any faster would have required bobbing and weaving, and I wasn't racing, so I had no interest in dealing with all that jockeying for position.

Once I found some open road, though, it was tough to not pick up the pace. There were two turnarounds in the first few miles, and as I saw the groups at the front of the pack going by, I wanted so badly to be up there.

But I reminded myself that I have bigger things waiting for me next month, and this needed to be a training run, not a race.

I did end up running most of the first 6 miles of the half at just under 8:30, though. The course is unbelievably flat and fast, and it was an effort to keep myself in the 8:20s, so I was happy I was able to do that.

Then we got to mile 7, which was mile 14 for me. Six miles to go, and I was feeling better than I have ever felt on a 20-mile run.

And I gave myself permission to have a little fun and push the pace a bit. And I ran mile 14 in 8:18.

And I was still feeling amazing. In awe of how great I felt. So I ran mile 15 in 8:09.

Then I stopped trying to slow down. I didn't really make a conscious decision to run faster - it just kind of happened, and I was no longer preventing it from happening. So I ran mile 16, 17, and 18 in 7:52, 7:53, and 7:51.

As I was running - and smiling, because I honestly felt so awesome, and couldn't believe I was pulling off sub-8-minute miles at the END of a 20-mile run! - I kept thinking that maybe I shouldn't be doing this. Maybe I should slow down to at least an 8-minute pace. Maybe I shouldn't be pushing myself so hard at a race that I wasn't supposed to truly 'race.'

But my legs kept turning over, and I kept checking in with my body to see if it was ok with this pace, and I kept getting a resounding "YES!"

And then I only had two miles to go, so of course I reasoned that I had made it this far, I wasn't going to slow down now. Mile 19 - 7:36.

One mile to go, and finally I was starting to feel a little tired. But that only motivated me to go a little faster, so that I could just get this thing over with. My body was happy to oblige with a 7:19 for Mile 20, and a 6:49 for the final .1 to the finish line.

Crossed the line in 1:45:08. An 8:05 pace for the half, and an 8:11 pace for the full 20 miles. (Sixth in my age group out of 55 - not bad for having run a 7-mile warmup prior to the race!)

A few friends had run the 5K and stayed to cheer me on (especially nice, since I wasn't even really racing), and I hung out at the finish line to see a few of my own friends finish the half, which was awesome, as always.

The sun had come out, and we were in a beautiful spot by the ocean, and I was with friends, all celebrating each others' accomplishments - there wasn't much more I could have asked for at that moment, and I'm really glad I signed up for this race. (have to mention, too, that it was a fantastic race - my first TriMom Productions event, and I was definitely impressed with the overall organization, the volunteers, and the fun - and plentiful - food at the finish line.)

A part of me still wonders if maybe I shouldn't have run so fast in those final miles, but when I finished the race, I still felt great. And usually when I do a long training run in the morning, the adrenaline keeps me buzzing for hours, but then I totally crash late in the afternoon.

But this time, that didn't happen. Later in the afternoon, and even that evening, I was still a bundle of energy - and truly less sore and achy than I've been after all my other 20s.

So it was kind of an accidental progression run, but I'd say it was a very happy - and successful - accident.

As I sit back and process the whole thing, I realize that I am extremely thankful that I decided not to race this one. I was thinking in those early miles about how fast I could have run on such a flat course - I'm fairly certain I would have been guaranteed a half-marathon PR.

But at this point, what I did yesterday was way more valuable to me than a half-marathon PR would be. Because what I did yesterday was prove to myself that I can run really pick up the pace at the end of a long run.

And to know that I can do that - that I can pull off that many miles under an 8-minute pace at the end of a 20-miler - gives me so much confidence that I can pull off the 3:30 I'm shooting for in Boston.

In fact, I've never felt so confident. I'm brimming with confidence. It's put a spring in my step and a smile on my face since I crossed that finish line yesterday morning.

Because I never would have thought I could do that. But then I tried - and now I know : )

The Reason Why

Lots of numbers running around in my head lately.

The countdown to Boston, of course - just over 6 weeks, or 45 days!!!!! 

The temperatures in the 7-day forecast, which are all going to be above 40 : )

The math I had to do (calculating how much farther to run for each interval and rest period) as I completed my speedwork on the treadmill yesterday morning - as if speedwork wasn't challenging enough.......

The paces I've been running - in the 8:20s for my long runs, in the 7:20s for my tempo runs, and 6:35 for this morning's 1200s. It's no wonder I'm feeling tired!

All in all, though, I'd say that (knock on wood) - so far, this training cycle is going pretty darn well. Sure, I'm dealing with some aches and pains, and I've missed some training runs, and I've had a couple bad workouts.

But the good definitely outweighs the bad at this point, which is just how I like it.

And now that the big day is only 6 weeks away, it's starting to feel very real.

I'm beginning to contemplate what I might wear, and what I'm going to need to bring in my gear bag, and how I'll actually get to the starting line, and whether or not Scott's going to be able to make it up to see me at the finish, and when I'm going to go up to the Expo.....

Beginning to actually make those plans is crazy exciting, and has me on the BAA website pretty frequently. My mind is constantly jumping ahead to April 15th, because I am not a patient person, and since I ran my initial BQ back in Hartford in 2011 (improved on that with my 3:41 in Gansett, which is what I actually submitted as my time when I registered), this has been a long time coming.

And there's still a bit longer to wait, and a bit more training to do. But it no longer seems quite as daunting. A few more heavy-duty track workouts, two more 20-milers, and then the real work is done, and I allow the taper to do its job.

I was really nervous about the workout I had to do yesterday, and as I warmed up, I found myself wondering, as I often do, why I couldn't just settle for running Boston for fun, and skip all these crazy speed workouts and tempo runs? 

Why couldn't I just get in the miles I need to be able to go the distance, and not worry about my time?  Because ultimately, nobody else is really invested in how fast I run, or whether or not I PR - I'm really only doing this for me.

And I've come to realize that that's enough. It's actually more than enough. Since I became a mom, there aren't a lot of things in my life that are all for me, but this is one of them.

So if I'm going to do this, and I'm going to take all this time for the training and the recovering and the planning, and if I'm going to subject myself (and my family) to the emotional upheaval that is a 16-week marathon training program, then I'm damn well going to do it right and give it my all.

And when I think about it a little more, I realize that maybe it's not JUST for me.

I sometimes hesitate to post running updates on my Facebook page. I know there are likely people out there who see them and think 'enough is enough.' And there's likely people out there who have taken me off their news feed because they're sick of hearing about how far and how fast I ran, or about what race is next on my schedule.

But for every one of those people, there's another group who tell me they don't ever want me to stop posting. They want to know what I'm working toward, and what my goals are, and what it takes to get there. They tell me it's inspiring and it's motivating, and it helps them get out the door, or to the track, or to the starting line of their next race.

So I'm not going to stop. Because I know that I find it incredibly inspiring to read about other people's accomplishments, and the obstacles they've overcome, and if I can do the same by sharing my story, why wouldn't I?

Because I was a beginner, just like everyone. I started out running 29-minute 5Ks, and ran my first half in 2 hours and 15 minutes, and never imagined I'd be so crazy as to run a FULL marathon!

Then the marathon lured me in, and as I ran my first, I thought about how impossible it seemed that anyone could ever run that distance at a pace fast enough to qualify for Boston. That was something that was a completely unreachable dream, at the time.

And then as another year or two went by, it wasn't so unreachable. It seemed within my grasp, if I reached out as far as I possibly could. And I did just that, and achieved what I had thought was unachievable.

So here I am, preparing to do something that my 2007 - 2010 running self never imagined I'd do.

And I have no intention of stopping there. After this, I'll find another unreachable goal, and I'll get out there and chase it down. Because it means something to me, and I hope, in some way, it means something to all the people I share these dreams with out there in cyberspace (and in real-life!).

What it means to me is pretty simple. If you want something - go out and get it. Work hard, don't give up, and you'll see the results. Quitting may seem like the easy way out, but it's not.

I was absolutely dying during my final repeat on the treadmill yesterday morning. I reluctantly pressed the button, for the sixth time, to increase the speed to 9.1, repeating over and over in my head - less than a mile; just three laps around the track.....

For the first quarter mile, I was ok.

Then I was done. I wanted out. I wanted so badly to press that button again and give myself a little break. But I knew I'd regret it so, so much if I did, and that the disappointment I'd feel would be far worse than the pain I had to endure for a measly half mile.

So I didn't quit. Because, as I constantly tell myself during training - There will be no quitting on race day, so there is no quitting in training.

And I made it that last half mile. Just like I know I'll make it these last 6 weeks. Just like I know I'll make it the full 26.2 from Hopkinton to Boston on April 15, as close to my goal time as I possibly can.

In part because I feel accountable - I want to be able to shout it from the rooftops when I finish that race, and to be an inspiration to someone out there who feels like I did 5 years ago - to show them that something they might think is unattainable is anything but.

But also because the person I'd be letting down the most if I didn't would be me, and I do NOT like to be disappointed!

Desperation

When I started training for Boston, I hoped that we'd have a mild winter like last year. I do ok with running in the cold, but let's be honest - it's much nicer to run in the 40- and 50-degree temps that we enjoyed for much of last winter. Not to mention the almost complete lack of snow.

We are not enjoying those conditions this year. Our arctic blast a few weeks ago was brutal. And there have been a few smaller snowstorms already, which have prompted me to head inside to do a lot of my speedwork on the treadmill, rather than risk slipping and sliding on icy roads.

And this week we got seriously walloped by Blizzard Nemo. I knew it was going to be a big storm, but the predicted snowfall totals kept changing - they started at 10 - 12, and then as Friday approached, they were up to 18 - 24.

Schools were cancelled Friday, but we were able to get out to the gym Friday morning, which was a lifesaver - workout + some alone time for me, and thanks to Kids Gym, a solid hour of running around and bouncing time for the kids. And we were able to get home just before the roads started getting bad.

I was still holding out hope that I'd be able to get my scheduled 13-miler in on Sunday, since the snow was supposed to stop midday Saturday. I figured the main roads would be cleared enough for me to run Sunday afternoon. I figured wrong.

We ended up with just about 2 feet of snow, and that - combined with howling winds - resulted in a lot of downed trees and power lines on top of the snow-covered roads.

We were extremely lucky to only lose our power for a few hours Friday night. In just those few hours, our house had already started to get really cold (and prompted Carmine to ask "Why it is so dark in here?"), and I cannot even imagine the poor people who have been without power for several days - many of them either just getting it back now, or still waiting! 

It's one thing to lose power in the summer or early fall, but at this time of year, when temperatures are in the single digits at night......   Like I said, we are counting ourselves as incredibly fortunate that our power came back last Friday night and stayed on.

But as the day went on Saturday, it became increasingly clear that the roads, although they had been plowed, were still pretty disastrous. And virtually nothing had changed as of Sunday morning.

The run wasn't happening. And I was disappointed - and kicking myself for skipping my long run last weekend to run the 5K, but who knew there would be a blizzard this weekend?  I didn't stay mad too long, though - the situation was out of my control, so I just resigned myself to it and tried to remember that a few missed runs won't completely derail my training.

And more importantly - in the grand scheme of things, a missed run was really nothing to complain about, when so many people were in the dark, freezing, and some even unable to get out of their houses because some roads hadn't been plowed at all. We were incredibly lucky, and a missed run was nothing to whine about, so I quickly put my disappointment aside and focused on the positives.

Three days in the house with three kids is very draining, though, and my sanity was in desperate need of a good old-fashioned endorphin rush, so when Scott generously offered to watch the kids during his lunch break today (he works from home) so I could get out for a run, I quickly agreed, despite the fact that the forecast was predicting rain and 40 degrees. 

We enjoyed some playtime in the snow on Sunday, which actually turned out to be a beautiful day - it warmed up to almost 40, which felt warm after temps in the teens on Saturday. And I did get some exercise clearing the driveway (yes, we have a snowblower, but with the amount of snow we had, even with the snowblower, it was a workout!) and making snow forts with the kids, but by Sunday night I was giddy with anticipation of finally getting out for a run.

The caveat was that I'd have to stay in my neighborhood, because the roads in our area were still pretty messy, and going out onto the main roads (with more traffic to contend with) would have been dangerous. I wasn't thrilled with this, as our neighborhood road is a hilly 1.5-mile loop that I'd have to run again and again and again, but it was either that, or not run at all, so I was more than willing to deal with it.

As eager as I was to get out there, though, when the reality of 40 degrees and rainy was staring me in the face, my enthusiasm waned.

But I knew, that with the gym still closed, this was the only chance I had to get in any sort of workout, so I gathered my resolve (and my water-resistant coat) and headed out.

The first few miles were rough, and initially I was actually trying to avoid the puddles, but then I realized how laughable that was - there was no way my feet were staying dry. The first soaking was a shock, but once I got past that and my feet were drenched, there was no turning back. 

I kept moving, having to stop occasionally to pick my way over huge slabs of ice, and turning off to do loops around the cul-de-sacs in the neighborhood, just to add a little bit of interest to my route.

After I had done about 3.5 miles, I heard a snowplow. This was good news, because it meant the road would be much clearer - but it also meant I had to duck into driveways and snowbanks a few times, to get out of the plow's way! 

The rain was still coming down, my feet were beyond soaked, and I was dripping wet from head to toe. I had traversed the same streets and gone up and down the same hills countless times, and I had run half of the hour that I was allotted.

And surprisingly, I was suddenly having fun! I think in weather like that, the absurdity of it all just makes it hard to do anything other than laugh and just go with it. So that's what I did.

Possibly the strangest map I've ever seen on my Garmin.

 

I continued circling, and splashing, and at times, wading through puddles that were ankle-deep (or deeper). And even though I was literally running in circles, the hour seemed to be going by too quickly.

As I came up to my house 7.75 miles and 1 hour and 3 minutes later, it was very reluctantly that I stopped. The rain, the puddles, the slush - I wanted more of all of it. Crazy how that happens.

I'd never choose conditions like this, but now I know that if I have to run in them again, I'll be just fine. I'll be more than fine - I'll be great. Because a wet, cold, slushy run is way better than no run at all. 

9 weeks to go........

Re-Energized

I think I've hit the sweet spot of marathon training - I'm feeling relatively good, the workouts are hard but not horrendously difficult, and the race is close enough yet far enough away that I can just focus on getting out there and doing what I have to do, without being stressed that there's soooooo many - or soooooo few - weeks left 'til race day.

So my mood is significantly more stable than it was just a week ago, which is a really good thing. And because I'm not feeling down (or schizophrenic), I can allow myself to get completely and crazily excited for April 15 - and I am fully embracing that : )

When I initially qualified, back in Hartford 2 years ago, it was shortly after the insane 8-hour sellout, and since I had qualified by a pretty slim margin (just under 2 minutes), I told myself that just knowing I had qualified was enough, and if I wasn't able to get a spot, I'd be ok with it.

And besides, I had managed to qualify for Gansett, which was, in my eyes, an even more significant accomplishment, so I rode that wave of euphoria for quite a while, and running that race was an experience I'll never forget.

But then when Boston 2013 registration opened, I completely succumbed to the Boston-mania, checking the BAA Facebook page and various message boards to try to get a sense of what they were predicting in terms of how quickly the race would fill up. And I was on pins and needles for a week after sending in my registration, waiting to see whether or not I was officially in.

And now that I'm in, and I'm training, and I'm just 12 weeks away from standing on the starting line in Hopkinton, I visit the BAA website at least once a week, and I get chills every time I look at the starting-line photos. I am beyond excited. I am ecstatic to have the chance to run this race, and I love nothing more than talking about it with people who have been there, done that. By the time I actually get there in April, I'll know every twist and turn and up and down of that course, thanks to the advice and anectdotes of my fellow runners.

This is all amplified, of course, by the fact that not only am I planning to run Boston, but I am planning to kick some serious butt in Boston - aiming for an 11-minute PR and an 8-minute pace, for a 3:30 finish. Along with chills, I also already - 3 months out - get nervous butterflies when I think about race day.

It's all part of the fun, though. After running 70 races, I've learned to embrace the nervousness. As unsettling as it can be, it's also such a rush of adrenaline, and I've gotten pretty good at turning that nervous feeling into determination and resolve, and an intense focus on putting in a 110% effort.

I don't have huge goals for my next race - the Super 5K on Super Bowl Sunday next month - but I'm also not going to just go out and run it for fun. I'll be running as part of a team (with the women I reuglarly run with from the running club), and I want to be a valuable team member - there are some nice prizes : )  

But I also always like to see what marathon training equates to when it comes to running shorter distances. The Run Less, Run Faster plan includes some great weekly speedwork, and even though it's tailored to marathon training, I know it should afford me some extra speed at the 5K distance.

So I'll be nervous and anxious like I always am at the start of a race, but this is such a fun event, too. The size is just right - not too crowded, but a large enough turnout to make it a fun, energized, festive atmosphere. 

And the organization, thanks to it being organized by a running club, is top-notch. The course is nice - starting and finishing along the ocean - and mostly flat, and registration/number pickup always go smoothly.  As if that weren't enough, there's a fabulous post-race pasta buffet - perfect on a chilly winter afternoon.

Last but not least, even if I'm not able to run in a given year, I'll always send in a registration for this one, because the proceeds from the race benefit the amazing Youth Track Series that has become one of our favorite parts of the summer season.

If you haven't registered yet, you should!  Or donate, or sponsor, or just come down and cheer on the runners. I'll be there, hopefully crossing the finish line in just under 21 minutes!