Below is my race report for the 2013 Run to Remember half marathon. Sorry this is so late, but I’ve been away from the computer for the last week and it took me some time to write up.

 

Domingo, 26 Mayo, 2013 – My alarm is set for 4am and yet, somehow, I find myself awake at 3:45. Neglecting the potential 15 minutes of extra sleep, I decide to follow my body’s own natural rhythm and go with the flow, stumbling around our dark apartment, turning lights on as I reached them in an attempt to convince myself that this was, in fact, a reasonable time to begin my day. A cup of coffee and a bagel later, and I’m beginning to believe it.

 

Even so, it is still very much night time. Despite not being able to see outside, I can hear the wind whipping and the rain dripping. Having looked at the weather the day before, this is about what I expected. I try not to freak out and just keep a positive attitude – maybe it’ll get better; maybe 39F won’t feel that cold…

 

I spend the rest of the morning working, keeping myself occupied, distracted. Kyle finally wakes up a little after 5am and somehow, we manage to meet our goal of leaving by 5:30am. Our one stop before heading to the race is to pick up Dan Harper on the other side of Somerville. A bit of background on Dan – once I realized I was going to be running this race and going for a fast time, I started asking around to see if I could find someone to help me as a pace-setter so I didn’t have to run the whole race alone. I know Dan from competing against him in college – we were both New England 10k runners, with him at MIT and me at Tufts. Since graduating a year before me, Dan has continued training and racing at an extremely impressive level for someone also working full time in medical research – running 140+ miles per week, running 30 flat in the 10k at Penn Relays, and placing pretty high up at New Bedford Half Marathon with a 1’08. I was lucky to have him in my corner. We had agreed upon a pace of 5’05 to 5’10 miles, with him leading until around the 10km mark – about halfway through.

 

Dan is waiting for us on the porch and we scoop him up and somehow find our way through the labyrinth of (deserted) East Somerville until finally we end up on 93 heading into the city. As we get out of the tunnel, runners are hopping out of cars everywhere. We avoid the chaos of the surface lots and sneak under the hotel where we stash ourselves and our gear in the slightly warmer garage.  It’s now just after 6am.

 

We walk out of the garage to find a bathroom and finally make our way back to the car, where it’s time to tie the shoes and warm up. Outside, I swear it’s mid-December. The wind coming off Boston Harbor tears through the sweatshirt I had brought and I find myself running quickly on our short warm-up just to keep myself warm. I feel terrible. I’m cold, I’m tired, my legs just don’t feel great; I’m starting to have doubts about this race. The little doubts in my mind say “It’s too cold! You’re not going to like it! You’re not going to run well! You’re past your peak!”

 

I do my best to ignore them. Stay positive. I try to distract myself – joking with Kyle and Dan about taking a visit to the fire-engine museum that we run by on the way back towards the car. Our 15 easy minutes pass before I know it. We’re back in the garage and it’s time.

 

For the first time, I put on my STRIVE singlet and have a moment of deeply bittersweet nostalgia. This is my first race as a college graduate. I had become so used to the black Tufts singlet that I feel like I owe it an apology, an explanation. It’s not you; it’s me.  I still want to be friends. What’ the cliché about how from every end comes a new beginning?

 

And so, I stomach some more emotion.  I try to dress myself for the weather. I wear my racing shorts and singlet and throw on a long sleeve shirt over the top to keep me warm until the start. We jog through the security check-point, past the guards with high-powered machine-guns and German Shepherds and slowly navigate through the crowd of 10,000 people gathering at the start-line. Within a couple minutes, we’re at the front of the race with a few minutes until the gun.

 

It’s cold. I do some drills and strides to try to make sure I stay as warm as possible and don’t tighten up. A few race officials make speeches and I’m jogging in place to keep warm.  And then we’re being told to line up. I ask a cute young lady running one of the sponsorship booths if I can leave my shirt under her table. She says she’s only going to be there for another 2 hours and I tell her that I certainly hope to be back by then..

 

An incredibly loud beeping sound coming from the timing mats makes the “gun” –  which I think was  actually either just the word “go” or an airhorn – almost indistinguishable. And then suddenly, we’re running.

 

I’m surrounded by 4 or 5 guys, one fairly fit looking guy actually heads out in front of me. Interesting. I wonder if I may actually have a race on my hands. Within a minute, Dan and I are in the front. The one fit-looking guy stays with us for about a half mile and then it’s just us.  I tuck in right behind Dan and we become a little unit, moving as one.  I’m almost clipping his heels the first mile, as the pace feels almost unbearably slow. I’m absolutely certain that we’re going to come through the first mile in 5’40 or something and I am thus very pleasantly surprised to see the first split at just over 5’15. I’d told Dan that I’d much rather have the first mile be a bit slow than fast. So far, so good. 12 to go.

 

The first 3 miles of the race wind through down-town Boston. Dan and I fly effortlessly over the asphalt along the empty streets, our only company the platoon of police cars and motorcycles which escort us through the city.  We pass the second mile marker in 10’24, having run the second mile in 5’06 feeling essentially the same. From the 2-mile mark next to the Charles/MGH  T-stop, we continue up and over Longfellow Bridge into Cambridge. We come of the bridge and I feel like the race is really just starting, like the first three miles were just an extended warm-up.

 

Now, we’re running the meat of the race. About 7 miles out and back on Memorial Drive.  We’re running a very even pace of 5’06-5’15, coming through 6 miles in 31’11, an average of 5’12 pace, a bit slower than I wanted. I’m still feeling fantastic, though, and as we turn around shortly after the 6 mile mark, Dan says he thinks he can stay in until 7 or 8 miles, and we begin to work together to push the pace. Suddenly, it feels like we’ve started really running. I’m still in control, but I know that we’ve picked it up and are tapping into a new gear. We pass 7 miles and I see that we had run 5’00. Dan is pushing hard for his last mile and I’m still just latched onto his back, doing everything I can to convince my body that this amount of strain is acceptable at this point in the race. At 8 miles, Dan slaps me on the back and jogs off the course. We’d run another 5’00.

 

And so began the long solo sprint to the finish. By this point, the majority of the race mass is running out on the opposite side of the street and I get a little boost from each and every shout and cheer. This must be what running by Wellesley College is like during the marathon. I know that running by myself without being able to simply focus on the back of Dan’s singlet will be significantly harder, so I’m actively pushing, trying to increase the effort, trying to keep myself focused. Do it. Do it. You’re doing something really amazing right now.

 

The ninth mile is at the bottom of a little under-pass. I see Jon Waldron above me as I duck into the shade and see I’ve run 4’59. I want to turn around and shout out my split to him. I want him to know what I know. To feel the excitement that I start to feel as I start adding up these last 3 or 4 miles in my mind. I had thought before the race that anything in the 1’08 range would be a great day and now not only does  that seem possible – even plausible – I start thinking about what would happen if I kept running 5-flat pace. Suddenly, I’m thinking about 1’07, 1’06. And again, I try to push.

 

I pass 10 miles in 51’19, having run a 5’08. With 5km left, I have to run 15’40 to break 1’07. These last 5km are the most difficult on the course and I feel like I’m just about ready to blow up or just stop running and sit down and take a rest. As I come back into Boston, cruising down the Longfellow Bridge and heading towards the Common, the half marathon course overlaps with the 5-mile course. My police escort hoots and hollers and flashes a path through the hordes of runners, while I stick close and feed off the energy all around me. We may be running different speeds and different races, but I’ve been one of them and I know that they understand the same fire and drive that pushes you through the last mile of a race, whether it’s run in 4 minutes or 8 minutes.

 

My pace stays between 5’00 and 5’10 despite the snaking between joggers on the narrow, hillier streets around the common and downtown crossing. Finally, I see the sign that says 1 mile to go. Some quick mental math gives me my answer: sub 4’40. If I run sub 4’40 I can break 1’07. I start to push immediately but my body says no. The turnover isn’t there. I’m pushing but I don’t have a higher gear other than an all-out sprint. I’m going to have to leave it to the last 400m and hope I can make up enough time. As I round the last corner, I can see the finish line, probably just over 400m away and I make the gearshift.  Toes, toes, toes. Turnover, turnover, turnover. Then I can see it. The line. The clock. The numbers on the clock. Is that a 4 or a 5? It’s going to be close.

 

A few cops try to help me up but I tell them I’m fine. I just don’t want to stand up yet. I stay down, down on the pavement, my legs enjoying the overdue respite. Finally, I’m up and it doesn’t feel too bad. I’m wandering around the finish line area and guy grabs me for an interview.  Halfway through, I notice Kyle cross the line and after, the two of us head away from the finish line into the post-race chaos. Both of us riding the high of a huge performance, we head out to cool down with Dan and Jon for a few very slow miles.

 

Objectively, this was the best race of my life, simply based on the final time – 1’07’02 (a 4’42 last mile and an average pace of 5’06). Moreover, this race served a successful transition into the next phase of my life.  The race was the last race of my “season,” (the training block which really started in early December after cross country and before track), but was also the first race of my post-collegiate career. And there’s a great sense of uncertainty that comes with this “post- collegiate” terminology – both in life and in running. I’ll take a short break from serious training for now, but I know that I can’t stay away for too long. At the latest, I’ll be leading the STRIVE-Peru trip starting in mid-June. If anything can re-ignite the fire – the fire that fuels me, that fuels the STRIVErs, that fuels all the 10,000 other people in the race that day – it’s spending a couple months surrounded by these amazing and passionate young people. I’m done running for now, but I’m already looking forward to being inspired and jumping back in the saddle.