This is the first installment of Running on Empty, a four-part series chronicling a runner’s quest to compete in the Boston Marathon for a charitable cause.
At 46 years-old, I had decided to run another marathon. It had been ten very long years since my first one and it dawned on me that if I didn’t run another one now, I’d probably never run another one again.
Perhaps it was a mid-life crisis thing, but I never thought I’d be seduced by the runner’s high and bitten by the running bug as I had all but given up on competitive running years earlier after my college track career was cut short by a broken pelvis suffered in an automobile accident. It was apparent something was missing in my life. It was the competition I needed. Being young, I wasn’t able to temper my expectations and the high standards I set for myself, so running was out of the question.
I doubted myself and felt my ability to run at a certain level had diminished. So I turned to competitive cycling. As a Category 4 cyclist on the USCF (United States Cycling Federation) Southern California circuit, I soon rose to team leader, competing in various criteriums and road races. But that endeavor was cut short by injury as well.
Flash forward and now the opportunity to train for and compete in the Honolulu Marathon as part of the APLA (Aids Project Los Angeles) training program had presented itself. What could be better I asked myself than to compete in my first marathon in ten years and do so for a worthy charitable cause? I had competed in charity driven events before. That is until I injured my sciatic nerve during a two day, 150-mile stage race which took a full two years to heal and rendered my cycling as strictly recreational. But years later, something was missing still. I yearned for the adrenaline rush on race day, the need to push myself beyond exhaustion, through all physical boundaries towards the mental ones. So I decided to forgo the past and give it another go.
Then on November 30, 2010, after five months of long and arduous training and less than two weeks from race day, I received word the cancerous tumor that had just been removed from my sister was categorized as “most invasive”. She was to undergo chemotherapy for six – seven months followed by a series of radiation therapy treatments. See nobody really knows how to respond to someone getting cancer until a family member or close one is diagnosed with some form of cancer. Then you really don’t know. This was real. I didn’t know what to do, how to act because one can’t run from this. My godmother, a woman whom I was very close to growing up had herself suffered though breast cancer and subsequent Mastectomy surgery. She is an incredibly strong woman who just lost a son whom I had grown up with as our families were close. I wore his initials on my singlet in this race.
While rejoicing in the euphoric feeling of finishing 26.2 miles while ascending Diamondhead twice, I ran the Honolulu Marathon with a heavy heart and tempered expectations. 3,699 days after my first, my official chip time was a somewhat mediocre 4:41:02, but good enough to finish in the top 19 percent overall. OK then I thought to myself. My sights were now set on a sub-4 hour marathon and the Mecca of them all, Boston.
In part II, the cause begins to fuel the fire. Being selected to the Dana Farber Marathon Challenge team and the realization I’ll be running in the 116th Boston Marathon is a dream come true for a weary runner.
Fueling the grind
This is the second installment of Running on Empty, a four-part series chronicling a runner’s quest to compete in the Boston Marathon for a charitable cause.
One thing that makes the Boston Marathon such a prestigious race, perhaps the most prestigious of all marathons, is that runners must qualify to have the honor of competing in this event. Qualifying times are determined by age category and must be achieved in an officially sanctioned race. Now, in my age category (45-49), I’d have to run a 3:30:00 or a 3½ hour marathon. Since my PR (Personal Record) in a Boston qualifying marathon is 4:25:01 (2011 Honolulu), I’d have to shave 55 minutes off my time. And that ain’t happening anytime soon! Or I simply wait until I’m 70-years-old and I’ll qualify. That’s if I’m a.) still alive and b.) I can still run a marathon in that time.
Last year, a fraternity brother of mine ran the Boston Marathon for a charitable cause and I knew the B.A.A. (Boston Athletic Association) grants a limited number of non-qualifying entries to a select number of non-profit groups and charities, so I thought I’d try taking that route since waiting another 20+ years was out of the question. Patience just isn’t in my DNA and I suppose that’s why I’m a runner. I was very familiar with the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute and their various programs including The Jimmy Fund, a cancer treatment program embraced by the Boston Red Sox. In fact, the immortal Ted Williams championed this cause for years.
Every year, a Dana Farber Marathon Challenge team is assembled from various categories of runners and individuals, which competes in the Boston Marathon in the name of cancer research. This presented a whole new set of qualifying criteria. I had to apply. An application and even an essay had to be submitted disclosing how cancer has affected me. And finally, a fundraising plan had to be drafted and submitted for consideration.
Then the waiting. And more waiting. Uggh, patience.
I remember the day I received the email, October 19, 2011, informing me I had been selected to the team. It was official. From New England to all continents, from college students to CEOs to retirees, this team encompasses DFMC’s “invitational” marathon roster of runners who are not time-qualified for Boston, yet want to compete for all those afflicted by all forms of this dreadful disease.
I must admit, when I read the email here at the News Enterprise office, a tear came to my eye. Does this mean I’m dying? Because this is definitely on the bucket list. No, but my sister may be.
So many thoughts run through my head now as I train for this race. An especially poignant memory was listening to my sister explain to her two young daughters what’s wrong with mommy; telling them both what was going to happen, the medicine she needed to take, and hopefully a positive outcome that’ll leave mommy feeling a lot better. Although bittersweet, it’s a welcomed distraction from my barking knee.
And now weeks later, so many miles have passed. I try leaving her be as I’d want to be left alone if it were me enduring the ill effects of chemo treatments and the constant thought of uncertainty. I lay on the couch after logging 20+ miles one Saturday, icing my left knee and both shins. I run with damaged ligaments behind one knee, left there from a previous injury and two very sore shins. Shin splints are my physical demons that have periodically emerged since my high school cross country days. I do what I can to keep them at bay.
“Be careful what you wish for,” I tell myself as a nice ice bath silences the barking. But again I think, did my sister wish for breast cancer? Did my godmother ever wish for a double Mastectomy?
This is why I am not only running, but competing, competing against cancer while championing the quest for a cure. I know with each stride I take and dollar I raise, we get closer to the finish. This is why I run for Dana-Farber.
I look at each race I compete in like it’s a battle. I wage war for 26.2 miles, not against other runners, but against myself, against my physical limitations, and perhaps more so than anything else, against my mental limitations. In five days, I’ll be waging war against cancer.
In part III, the enormity of running in the 116th Boston Marathon hits close to home. Trying to temper so many emotions and not burn any energy becomes essential to running a good race.
If it’s a war I wanted
This is the third installment of Running on Empty, a four-part series chronicling a runner’s quest to compete in the Boston Marathon for a charitable cause.
BOSTON – It was the best of marathons. It was the worst of marathons. That’s probably the best way of describing my experience running the Boston Marathon.
From the minute I arrived here, it was apparent this wasn’t like any other marathon. Its enormity was present everywhere throughout the city and especially Copley Square, the location of its historic finish line on Boylston St. From the caliber of runners present to the sheer amount of media covering this event of which I was one, this was the World Series of marathons.
It did appear as such, but by the morning of the race, 4,000 runners had dropped out, adhering to the health warnings of the race’s medical director. But the masses still poured out into the Boston Common, a sea of runners all waiting to be shuttled out to Hokinton, MA, the little town where this historic race starts. The night before the race, the Boston Athletic Association and its medical director issued several advisories to participating runners due to the unseasonably hot temperatures in the greater Boston area this race weekend. While race time temperatures were forecasted to be in the high 80s, perhaps even in the low 90s, event organizers implored some competitors to drop out, promising to defer their hefty entry fees to the 2013 Marathon. But I hadn’t come 3,000 miles to sit this one out. And if I quit before the race had even started, what would that be saying to those battling cancer, whom I was there to represent?
What’s the worse that could happen? I asked myself. After all, I’m from Southern California where heat is the norm for the most part. Besides, our team’s coach was Jack Fultz, the winner of the infamous 1976 Boston Marathon dubbed the “Run for the Hoses.” Jack had given us lengthy advice on hydration and how we should execute our race pace at our pre-race meal the night before. All is good I thought.
Now I’m no veteran to marathon racing, but I’m not a newbie either. But being this is my fifth marathon, I no longer start a race near the back of the pack. In fact, I’ve never started a race in corral 6 of any marathon, half or full. But today, I had to yield to the “qualifiers” of the race and wait for my time. The Boston Athletic Association puts all the charity runners in corrals 6 – 9. So I waited and waited. And waited some more. After 3-plus hours of waiting, our start time was finally here. As the event organizers escorted the Dana Farber Marathon Challenge team into our starting corral, I was able to see the enormous amount of runners and teams representing other charities. And this is what it was all about.
10:45 a.m. Start time. Temperature: 76 degrees and climbing.
As my team neared the starting line, we ran across an electronic mat that initiated the timing chip embedded in one’s race bib. Fighting back the tears, I reached down and pressed start on the watch I use to gauge time, distance, and pace. It had begun.
I’m the type of runner who takes these competitions seriously. I put my game face on and go to work, executing a game plan for 26-plus miles. This is the Boston-bleeping Marathon, after all. But this race was different from the get-go.
The little town of Hokinton, MA has the privilege of being where the Mecca of all marathons starts. And it was obvious this quiet, little New England suburb takes serious pride in that, being out in full force and making a lot of noise! They lined the first five kilometers similar to the way they do in the Tour de France. A two-lane highway road runs through the town back into the woods before the next town, Framingham.
There are no sidewalks, no barriers, nothing to hold the spectators back. So they create a sort of human chute, lined up on both sides of the road, cheering you on as loud as they possibly can.
It was heating up quickly and by the 10K mark (6.2 miles), my pace was already off by 15 seconds per mile. As I made adjustments to my pace to get back on plan, it seemed I was spending twice as much energy as usual. I had been hydrating all week and especially the last 24-hours, but felt it quickly evaporating from my body. My pace slowed.
By the 20K marker (just short of the 13.1 mile mark), the temperature was 83 degrees and I was struggling like never before. The writing was on the wall. The course and the elements had attacked me before I could I could settle into a pace and attack first. If it was a war I wanted, it was a war I got.
In part IV, over 1,400 runners seek medical attention as the temperature rises. And the race becomes purely mental as I battle over the second half of the course.
Hoisting the cup
This is the final installment of Running on Empty, a four-part series chronicling a runner’s quest to compete in the Boston Marathon for a charitable cause.
BOSTON – I love otter pops. I mean I really love them on a hot, sunny day. But by the time the local kids ran out onto the course and graciously handed them to the runners passing the half way mark, they had melted. But their strength was in the gesture. This was merely one example of the enormous support and encouragement people bestowed upon us as we navigated the course through their towns.
12:57 p.m. 13.1 mile marker. Temperature: 87 degrees. 97 on the course.
When all your electrolytes go, consciousness soon follows. At the very least, delirium is on your wheel, pursuing you stride for stride. Needless to say, the Gatorade stations set up every mile were welcome relief even if that relief lasted only a kilometer or less. That’s when I started seeing the medic tents set up along the entire course filling up with runners seeking medical attention. Over 4,000 runners had decided not to compete this day, taking the deferment offered them by race officials. And those who lay in those tents being attended to by EMTs and other medical personnel had come to understand why.
But my own tools of ignorance remained laced to my feet as I battled onwards. Stop thinking, I told myself. One step, one stride at a time. By now my game plan had gone from a methodical analysis of the course broken down into 5k splits designed to carry me to a sub-4 hour marathon, to survival mode, not only physically, but mentally as well. At the 30k mark (about 19 miles), every physical resource I had was nearly exhausted. I knew I was running on fumes and in order to close this beast out, I’d need every mental faculty I could muster. It was time to cowboy up.
As I approached the infamous heartbreak hill portion of this race (21 miles), defeating thoughts kept creeping into my head. But every time I thought about quitting or my injured knee barked louder, or I just felt broken realizing sub-4 hours was gone, inevitably a spectator was there to yell out and remind me why I was on that course still competing. “Finish strong Dana Farber!” or “Thank you, Dana Farber and everything you do!” And if not them, then there’d be a spectator spraying us with his garden hose as we ran by. Townspeople were rigging hoses or power washers to telephone poles or posts of various sizes, creating makeshift sprays or mists to cool us down as we passed by. At one point in Newton while walking through a Gatorade/water station refueling and trying to charge my batteries a bit, a little girl walked up to me and handed me a handful of crushed ice. I mustered up a smile and thank you, and put the crushed ice in my baseball cap. That moment carried me another mile.
Through the college towns of Wellesley, Newton, and Boston, the crowds were particularly rowdy. With about two miles left and approaching Kenmore Square, the Boston University students were out in full support of us who decided to brave the elements that day. The noise was so loud at times, it was deafening. I couldn’t hear a thing as I passed through. In fact, it was so rowdy, barriers to hold back the crowd were obviously necessary. And I loved every minute.
By now I knew I was going to finish, so I took in as much of it as I could. When I’d hear a shout or a cheer directed towards me, no matter how fatigued I was, I’d turn to acknowledge it, raising a fist in victory. And those who cheered went nuts when I did so.
With the Prudential building in sight, I made the final turn onto Boylston St. the finish line about 300 yards away. I was spent. A final, hard kick was not to be. Grandstands had been erected on both sides of the street, forming a canyon of cheering spectators. But as the cheers of encouragement grew louder, it became more silent. That was my moment. Nothing else around me mattered. I had done it. I had finished the second hottest Boston Marathon on record.
Official time: 4:42:56. My slowest time ever in a marathon, but the best marathon I ever ran.
I look back now at the finish times of all those runners who “qualified” for the Boston Marathon. After battling for 26.2 miles in blistering heat, I feel those of us who ran for charitable causes are every bit deserving of that medal, even more. The Dana Farber Marathon team is not one of elite runners, but elite people who sacrificed a lot to train and raise funds for an amazing charity. All the qualifying runners did was run another race a little faster than we did. While they are “qualified” runners, they should finish the Boston Marathon. In heat, in a Nor’easter, in any adverse conditions, they are the “better” athletes. We were the exception to the rule. We were the runners the media and race directors not only worried about, but encouraged us to defer. But we are the runners that fought the battle and the heat when over 6,000 other runners, many of whom qualified, opted to defer their entry until next year. We didn’t defer. We ran. We competed. And we finished.
For comments regarding this series, email me directly at: publisher@newsenterprise.net or for more information on the Dana Farber Cancer Institute and how to donate to this cause, see www.runDFMC.org/2012/lonw.
