Chasing the unicorn

It’s taken me well over a week to sit down and write my official post-marathon entry. I usually write this entry so people near and far can get a taste of what my experience was like on that day. Looking back, I was having trouble separating the first part of the day from the second. And I wasn’t quite sure how to approach it.

The day after the marathon I boarded a flight to California to attend the Coachella music and arts festival with my sister and two friends. The people, the music, and the desert were more than a respite from the confusion of last Monday. Maybe it appears trite and trivial compared to everything that was happening back home in Boston, but I would offer this in response. The positive energy emanating from the last few days has healed my sore muscles and cleared my head. The island atmosphere the festival created showed me how small the world is, but also how happy the majority of people are to be a part of it. Having all my senses over-stimulated for three days straight was exactly the kind of flush I needed to see that in the bigger picture, allowing ourselves to learn from moments is critical, but they can’t be permitted to dictate our course. I think a lot of Bostonians are feeling the same right now. Hell, a lot people everywhere are feeling that way right now.

So I think, while enjoying my last few moments under the palms, I’m ready to gather my traditional marathon highlights list. The highlights extend a little before race day and a little after. They’ve also become a little longer than usual. I guess a year away from this marvelous event has led me to some gushing. Please bear with me. If you know me at all, you know that I only gush about a few things: one is my dog, the other is the marathon. Also, the pure joy of these little marathon moments was buried amidst the tremendous stories that followed later in the day and I want to make sure to pay them the proper respect they still deserve.

·      I head downtown with Maia to pick up my bib Sunday morning. We lock up our bikes and join the throbbing crowds at the Expo. The nice older woman handing out numbers 8,200-8,800 tells me I’m only the 2^nd person from Massachusetts she’s signed in that weekend. I’m reminded of what an international event the marathon is and that people travel from all around the world just to run this particularly grueling course.  Boston feels like the center of the universe on this morning.

·      Sunday night, with the support of so many of you, I hit my $8,000 fundraising goal for Dana Farber. It was a tremendously satisfying feeling to know I’d be heading to the start line the next morning already having achieved one goal for the race.

·      Monday morning Maia picks me up before the sun has risen and drives me through an empty city. As we pass the Public Garden, runners with their bright yellow bags can be spotted everywhere, all streaming towards the same place. We turn onto Park St. and the center of activity comes into view. The endless row of school buses, lines of runners, chipper volunteers, and family and friends wishing everyone luck. I can’t stop smiling as I hug my sister. She tells me she has a good feeling about how fast I’m going to run that day.

·      In Hopkinton, a few minutes before the big Dana Farber Marathon team photo, I get to join about 15 other people for the five-year team picture. I watch a small group gather for the 10-year photo and 15-year photo. Hoping in the future I’ll be posing in both.

·      The Living Proof group. These guys get me every time! These are the DF runners who are either current or former patients. They get a standing ovation from the other 500 DF runners as they have their picture taken. The marathon has always attracted (and this year, created) heroes.

·      I have to admit the Wave One start was a little intimidating. These men and women are serious about running. I slip into the last corral and listen to the old pros compare stats, program their watches, stretch. I look down at my small purple watch that had taken me through my previous four marathons. I hadn’t used it once while training this year. In fact, I dug it up a few days before the race - dead -and rushed to have the battery replaced. On the bus ride to Hopkinton the band broke and I tried to read the sign: either a). I should toss the watch and not worry about my time, or b). fix the watch and break my old PR. When I reach Hopkinton, I find duct tape and tape that bitch together.

·      For the first time I’m in the corrals for the national anthem. The sun feels warm on my face as I look up at one of the many flags hanging from every lamppost. The nervousness leaves my stomach.

·      There are some signs and fans that are along the course every year:

o   The gigantic “Shortcut this way -->” sign around mile 3

o   The bar that blasts the theme song from Rocky over and over and over again.

o   The “Quitters only” tent around mile 6 filled with beer kegs.

o   The Wellesley College girls “kiss me” sign variations: “Kiss me, I’m single,” “Kiss me, I’m a French Studies major,” “Kiss me, I promise I won’t tell your wife,” “Kiss me, I’m Korean,” etc…

o   The BC kids along Heartbreak Hill. Yikes. Some guy scream-slurs “MARRY ME, MARTINA”

Some creative signs that I notice for the first time this year:

o   “You suckers are paying to do this!”

o   “You trained longer than Kim Kardashian’s marriage”

o   “Run like Ryan Gosling is waiting for you at the finish line with a puppy”

And then of course these:

 

·      A guy around mile 22 running up next to me and saying “I think your mom and my dad are looking down on us today.” He runs ahead, his dad’s name on the back of his singlet.

·      Cresting the last small hill going into Kenmore Square. I try desperately to keep some semblance of good running form as I enter the last mile. The largest Dana Farber cheering section goes nuts, kids leaning over the barricades reach for high fives, staff and volunteers screaming that I’m almost there.  And I am. I snap out of it, tell myself “c’mon!” and get my pace up again for the final push. 

·      Maia was right. After over a year of no distance running and a much shortened training season, I achieve a new PR of 3:13.

·      The volunteers at the Boston Marathon are the best. Not only do they give their time and a great deal of energy, they do so with huge smiles on their faces and encouraging words. Every single time I grab a water or Gatorade, I say “thank you” to the volunteer, and almost every single time I get a response back. “Thank YOU, Martina!” or “My pleasure!” or “You’re kicking ass, girl!” After I cross the finish line and collect my bag, I head towards the Arlington T stop. The buses lining that part of Boylston belong to Wave 2 and Wave 3 runners, so only volunteers are milling about and enjoying the sunshine and each other’s company. I walk down the middle of the street slowly, exhausted, trying to dig out my phone from my bag and everyone wearing those bright yellow volunteer jackets stops what they are doing and turn towards me and clap. Some volunteers hang out of school bus windows and cheer. I have to laugh as I wave and say thank you because there is no other day when a normal person is made to feel like a celebrity for over 26.2 miles.

·      While at times people in Boston have to be pried out of their seats when old ladies or pregnant women get on the T, I’m offered my choice of seats (anyone can get old or have a baby, but marathoning takes hard work?).  As I sit down, a tall man outfitted in a bright orange long sleeve asks me in accented English what my time was. We chat and I find out he’s from Holland supporting his wife who is running her first Boston. He has already seen her at mile 15 and now he was heading to Coolidge Corner to cheer her on again. We talk about how there is no other race in the world like the Boston Marathon. He says they can’t wait to come back next year.

·      I reach Coolidge Corner and several complete strangers offer high fives and yell “Congratulations” in my face. I enter the bar and it erupts with cheers (do I even know half these people?). I receive gigantic hugs from family and friends. We make a great team.

·      Every family member and every friend. Safe and sound.

·      I don’t know what to expect going downtown to my office the next morning. I walk out of the doors of the Government Center T stop into the sunshine and the drab expanse of City Hall Plaza is dotted with fluorescent yellow. So many runners and their families quietly enjoying our historic, sarcastic, smart, authentic, resilient, hard-working city. I walk down State Street and every person is either wearing something with the Marathon logo or a Boston team’s logo. Although there are people everywhere, there is a profound, reverential silence and a simple, peaceful enjoyment of the day. The sunshine. A cup of coffee. A wife’s smile.

·      Later in the day, between the T ride to the airport and landing in California I have approximately ten conversations all starting the same way “Love your shirt. How’d the race go?” On the T, I spoke with a Cuban woman from Miami who had finished the race in 3:37, just missing the qualifying time cut-off for her age group. “I don’t care what it takes. I will find a way back here next year.” Her elderly father and two sisters were beaming with pride. In the terminal, I chatted with a tall, clean-shaven guy who came from Hawaii with his mother and girlfriend and ran the race in 3:03. His mother and girlfriend bombard me with questions – my marathon time, how I got into running, what I do for a living, etc – in less than 20 questions we cover almost my entire life and the mother concludes “You’ve had a life! You should be proud of yourself.” And I want so badly for this complete stranger’s mother to hug me. A common thread ties all my conversations together and leaves me uplifted. Every single person vows to return. To run faster. To train harder.

There are definitely times when I want a sign that my mother is still with me. Some people ask for signs from their loved ones lost and they’ll get a physical indication that the ghost, the soul, the energy, however you see it, still surrounds them. I’ve never had those types of experiences when trying to connect with my mom. Maybe this is because she wasn’t a flashy, in-your-face, type of person when she was alive, so why would she be in death?  But looking around at my friends’ stunned faces at the bar as we slowly put our drinks down and watched the aftermath of the bomb explosions on TV, I felt protected by her. I had run fast enough. We had decided to celebrate closer to home. And just as she had gently pushed me down the course on Monday, my mother wrapped me up and sent me to the desert to heal. I was safe and in the midst of warm air, palm trees, mountains, dear friends, my sister, and so much laughter, as confusion and fear gripped Boston.

Things can change in a day. And while Marathon Monday will forever be altered, it was, and will continue to be, a day dedicated to pushing limits, to honoring excellence, and above all, strength.

Thank you and see you next year.