President Shane Smith’s Vision for 2023

Hello. Thank you for visiting the Good Life City Runners website.  

There is no denying that the last three years have been very challenging.  The Good Life City Runners entered 2020 with a lot of optimism about what the new decade would bring to the running community of Southwest Georgia and the role that we would play in promoting a healthy, running-based lifestyle.  On March 7, 2020, runners from all over the world descended upon Albany to run in the Snickers Marathon or Half Marathon.  No one who ran on that crisp, cool morning knew that the Snickers Marathon would be the last significant running event in Albany for the rest of 2020.  

The Covid-19 pandemic forced the Good Life City Runners into hibernation.  However, the time has come for the Good Life City Runners to emerge from that hibernation and fulfill its mission of promoting running in SW Georgia again.  

How are we going to bring the Good Life City Runners back to life?  

In my vision, I see the Good Life City Runners becoming relevant again in one significant way:  by hosting events.  I am currently trying to assemble an executive board to help me with the particulars, such as dates and locations, but here are the ideas that I have for now:

1. Tuesday Group Runs (Beginning March 14):  Prior to March 2020, Wild Side Running hosted Tuesday night group runs at its location.  However, the responsibility of hosting Tuesday night group runs now falls upon the Good Life City Runners.  I have chosen March 14 as the date to revive the group runs because it is the first Tuesday after everyone sets their clocks ahead for Daylight Savings Time. The group runs will be held at 6 pm at the Veterans Park Amphitheater, next to the Civic Center, starting on March 14.

2. GLCR 5K:  The premise of the GLCR 5K is simple.  Any runner who has already paid his/her yearly dues will not have to pay an entry fee for the race.  Any runner who is not a GLCR member will automatically become one once he/she pays the entry fee for the race.  I envision the GLCR 5K taking place in April.  Time and place TBA.

3. GLCR Summer Series:  I want to revive the Summer Series on Thursday afternoons in June and July.  The Summer Series will be held on the dirt track that circles the softball field at the Albany State University west campus on Gillionville Road.  

4. Beer/Mountain Dew Mile:  The Beer/Mountain Dew Mile has been a very popular summer event. In a Beer/Mountain Dew Mile, runners start the race by drinking a 12 ounce beer or a 12 ounce Mountain Dew product as quickly as possible.  Once the runner has consumed all 12 ounces, he/she must run ¼ mile.  Upon completion of that ¼ mile, the runner must consume a second beer or Mountain Dew before running another ¼ mile.  The runner completes the mile once he/she has consumed four beers or Mountain Dews and then has run a full mile, one quarter mile at a time.  This event will take place in the summer. Time and place TBA.

5. Not Peachtree July 4 Run:  While many runners will be running the Peachtree Road Race in Atlanta on the morning of July 4, Southwest Georgia residents who do not want to make the trip to Atlanta will still be able to get in an early morning Independence Day run by taking part in this event.

6. Guess Your Time 5K:  In this event, all runners will run five kilometers. Prior to running the distance, runners will have to guess how long it will take them to cover the 5K distance.  Runners will not be allowed to pace themselves with smartphones or wrist devices such as Fitbits or Garmins while they are on the course.  I envision this event happening during the fall.

7. Training for Combos Marathon/Half Marathon 2024:  I know that I am not alone in looking at the 2023 Combos Half Marathon with dread because I have not trained properly for it. My goal is that come November 2023, the Good Life City Runners will start training sessions to prepare local runners for the 2024 Combos Marathon/Half Marathon.  

I truly believe that the best way to promote running in Southwest Georgia is to host events that will get people out of their houses and into running environments. Let’s all join together to revive the Good Life City Runners and the Southwest Georgia Running in 2023.

HOW FAST COULD I RUN A 5K IN HIGH SCHOOL?

How I accidentally found a record of my race times over thirty years after I graduated from high school.

By Shane Smith

Yours truly running in the 1984 GHSA 3A State Cross Country meet at the Al Bishop Softball Complex in Marietta, GA

Since I started running again thirty-something years after I ran for my high school cross country team, current high school cross country runners that I help coach during a summer training program have been asking me how fast I ran the 5K as a teenager in the 1980s.  I hadn’t been able to tell them with any accuracy what my 5K and 10K times in high school were, but now, I have learned that I can tell these kids exactly how fast I ran some races when I was their age.

In the 1980s, race results were not posted on the internet almost immediately after a meet ended.  We didn’t wear watches with GPS that mapped out the course that we ran, the pace that we ran, or our finish time.  All we had in the ‘80s was a coach who recorded our times with a stopwatch and a clipboard.  I have long since lost touch with that coach.  He retired and moved out of state.  Even if I could find him, I doubt that he’d still have the notes from those races thirty or thirty-five years ago.

I wasn’t the fastest runner in any cross country meet that I ran in during high school.  I wasn’t even the fastest runner on my team.  To be honest, I only ran cross country and track as a way to stay in shape for wrestling season.  My high school’s cross country team had two runners that were far and away the fastest ones.  I would fluctuate between being the third runner and the seventh runner, depending on how good I was running that day.  I was no slouch though.  The cross country team that I ran on in high school always finished in the top six at the state competition, and our team was good enough that we sometimes scored perfect 15s in dual or tri meets.  We also took the team first place honors in several invitational meets, some of which had ten or fifteen teams.  So while I wasn’t the fastest individual runner on my team, I would like to think that I helped contribute to the team’s overall success during the three years that I ran cross country.

Still, I couldn’t accurately tell anyone what my 5K or 10K times were in high school.

Oh! How I wished that I had kept a record of my times when I was a teenager. 

Recently, I found out that I did keep a record of my race times, and I had forgotten completely about it.

Here’s how I found out.  Over the course of several years, I have left boxes of old stuff at my mother’s house because I always lived in small apartments or in places with roommates, and she had a nice, big shed where I could store all of my old stuff.

Then just two years ago, I bought a home of my own and had a nice, big shed installed in my back yard.  Since I bought that home, my mother has been asking me to take all of my old boxes out of her shed and move them into mine.  When I went to visit her during the Christmas holidays, I finally granted her wish.  I went into her shed and retrieved all of my old boxes of stuff.  There were so many that I needed two trips to get them all.

One-by-one, I went through the boxes. I found an assortment of old stuff—photographs, newspaper clippings of my glory years as a high school wrestler, trophies, worthless baseball cards.  I threw some of the old belongings out.  I donated a lot of stuff to Goodwill.  Still, several of the boxes did make their way into my new shed, where they will likely be stored until I die.

Finally, I was down to my final two or three boxes.  I opened one of them.  I don’t remember everything that was in that box, but there, at the very bottom of it, I found something that I didn’t know I had kept.  There, at the bottom of that box was a folder.  Inside that folder, I found a stack of old race bibs—bibs that I had worn in various 5K and 10K races with my high school cross country team in the 1980s.  I was about to throw them out when one of the bibs fell out of the folder.  It landed face down.  As I went to pick the old bib up, I saw some writing on the back of it.  I looked closely at the writing, and there—in my distinct handwriting—I saw that I had written the date and location of the race.  Even more importantly, I had written down my time!  I couldn’t believe it.  I turned over other bibs, and sure enough, I had recorded the dates, locations, and times of most of those other races as well. 

I cannot explain my excitement at that moment and do it justice.  My hands were holding a record of the 5K and 10K times that I ran in high school!  These pieces of long-forgotten paper were providing me with a record of what times I ran in road races and cross country meets in the 1980s.   These old bibs that had just rested in the bottom of a box in my mother’s shed for over three decades were the answer to a prayer.  Now, I have information that I have always wanted but thought I’d never find.  Now, I know what some of my 5K and 10K times were back when I was a high school harrier. 

For anyone who is curious, I was a much faster runner in high school than I am now.  Since I’m now in my early fifties, and I didn’t run at all for over thirty years, that fact shouldn’t surprise anyone.  Since I started running in road races again just two and a half years ago, my personal best for a 5K is 23:10, and my personal best for a 10K is 50:31.  Sadly, due to injuries, I haven’t come close to running either of those times during the past year.  In high school, my 5K times consistently ranged from 20:50 to 18:23, and my 10K times ranged from 41:50 to 39:23.

Oh! How I would love to be able to reach those run times again!  But even if I don’t, it’s a good feeling to know that once, when I was younger and skinnier, I could run some very respectable times.  And I would never have known what those times were if my mother hadn’t insisted that I clear over thirty years of my stuff out of her shed.

Thanks, Mom.  I owe you.

1984 GHSA 3A State Cross Country Meet. I'm the North Hall Runner

UTE 100 Miler Report

By Hunter Odom

NOTE:  Hunter originally wrote this essay as a post on social media.  It is with his permission that it is being reprinted on our web page.  Thank you, Hunter, for sharing this experience with us.

UTE100 miler report written on my flight back to Atlanta. First of all special thanks to Leslie McLendon Odom for supporting me and for Josh Fix for keeping me going one foot in front of the other and keeping me alive. I love adventures and races so why not mix the two. 

My family was suppose to join me but when I registered for the race we did not know when the kids went back to school. They started last Thursday and Abigail could not miss her first day of Kindergarten. So I came to Moab, solo. 

Josh met me in Moab Thursday morning and we did some sightseeing and took a little ride/hike into the La Sal mountains. Race started Friday Morning at 3am. 

Everything went great thru meeting Josh at aid station 51, where he joined me. We ran a while, power hiked a lot, and enjoyed the scenery until somewhere around mile 74. We were about 10,000 feet above sea level, and I started having a real hard time breathing. I was only able to go uphill in short distances and stop catch my breath and go again. Going down an incline I was ok. Problem was that from mile 73ish thru the early 90s are all around 10,000 feet above sea level. I had a very valid case of pulmonary edema caused by over exertion and high altitude for long period of time. (Hind sight, I made notes on my phone during the race like inputs and outputs. This morning I realized I had mistaken 18.5 liters by mile 61. Way too much my body could not get rid of it fast enough so this compelled the pulmonary edema issue) 

Josh stayed with me the entire time. At no point did I "lose it" according to him; however, according to him I did start talking to a bush at one time. The wheels went flat during my race but I maintained and kept them on for a finish. We had one large climb around mile 90ish that went to 11,000 feet; that was horrible. We made it up slow with the promise of a good downhill (I was looking forward to being able to breathe again). We got to the summit and started the downhill. What Josh, not ,I realized is that I had been moving so slow going up that my legs had given up, and when I tried to go down, it just did not happen. He got me some tree limbs to use a sticks and I made it down.

Every foot we went down, I could breathe better. This descent continued until I saw Jenn running up a road yelling at me at the finish line. (I actually remembered that) 

As I sit on the airplane flying back, my breathing has returned to normal, but my legs have not. It was amazing medically how intense pulmonary edema was and how short of a time it really took to resolve when I decreased altitude. Even a 1000 foot descent made a huge difference in my ability to breathe and move.

I will say that in a 2 hour span I went from running along a scree ridgeline looking into Colorado down through an untouched high alpine valley to aspen groves I’ve seen only in magazines, then by an alpine lake with reflections of scree peaks, then through some beautiful coniferous forest laden single track to a wide open wild flower popping meadow to somehow ending up on a high desert tundra for the most epic sunset I’ve seen. 

This, Sean Blanton, Jenn Edmonds Thomas and Arabelle Romeo, is the best race y'all have. Well organized as always, well marked, great aid stations, and people were there to always help. This topped out as my most favorite race (so far). Thanks to all the people I met along the way and helped me throughout.#doepicshit #runbumslam #runbum #ute100 #ute100miler #wsr #utah#LaSal

Hotlanta Half Marathon Report

(by Jay Elliot)

In the days leading up to the Hotlanta Half Marathon, the race director (Tony with Peak Racing Events – a great guy with a good support team) monitored the weather closely.   With T minus 3 days until they fired the gun, it looked like a storm front had the potential to either ruin the fun or force Tony to cancel the race.   A grim possibility, but in the end, the weather did not confirm our fears.  I showed up at 5:30 AM to find a small sea of volunteers setting up nourishments.  The starting gate was already there.  It was made of a red rubber material, fully inflated, and with the word Hotlanta painted across both sides.  In the green space by the World of Coke, vendors set up their tents and tables in the expo.  I really like the positive atmosphere that races can create. 

I had brought two pairs of shoes to the race.  The first was a ratty old pair of Brooks Ghost 10 that was coming apart at the toe box.  The second was a brand new pair of Mizuno Inspire.  I warmed up in both.  I did not have time to run many miles in the Inspire, and I did not feel that they were broken in properly.   My intuition told me that the old pair was the right one to use on that day. 

I went back to the car with the new shoes.  In the paid parking lot on Williams Street, I noticed that I had situated my vehicle a little outside the diagonal lines that marked the spaces.  There was a young woman parked to my left, and I decided that I would pull forward and straighten up so I would not crowd her passenger door.  I must have had my mind on the race, because the next thing I knew, a lady in the car behind me shouted, “You are hitting my car.  What are you doing?”  That was not what I wanted to hear just then.  The contact was between the flexible plastic of my back bumper and the front of hers.  It was so light that I had no idea it happened.  After a bit of heated (but understandable) frustration on her part, we made peace.  She took a picture of my insurance card.  It was 6:20 AM, and we skipped calling the police.  All that would work out fine in the days to follow. 

So it was with a mild aggravation that I found the 2:00 pace group and put my toe behind the invisible line that divides runners of different speeds.  My goal going into the race was to run the whole way, but I knew that it was possible that I would not be able to go without walking some.  You may have heard that the Hotlanta is a tough course.  I can confirm that.  It was a beast.  When they started us, there were 2,000 runners.  Things thinned out fairly quickly.   I deliberately held back.  We faced the first hill before the mile 1 post.  It was nothing to be trifled with I can tell you, a long upward slant.  I felt my quads engage.

Along the way, I saw some beautiful things.  You pass the ferris wheel at the very beginning.  Then the course goes across the I-75/I-85 overpass.  The campus of Georgia Tech comes after that, and then the wave goes through Piedmont Park.  You basically run right beside the front door of the Cyclorama at mile 10. 

Some of what was beautiful were other living things.  I saw the raw courage of a high school cross county coach cheering one of her runners up a big hill.  There were a few people pushing special needs children up the inclines.  That was pretty inspiring.  One guy was using a hand crank to power his way up.  He had one partner on each side.  I cheered and raved for these good folks.

Now, I must tell you that I started to feel fatigue at mile 6.  It would have been too difficult for me if I had not conserved energy.  I took water at every aid station, and it was not that hot at all, but for some reason, my stomach began to act up at mile 4 and did not stop throughout.  I carried a small pack of trail mix in the pack around my waist.  Nibbling on it may have been a mistake.  I wanted to vomit and relieve the suffering, but I did not have enough on board to make it happen.  What can you do?  I pressed on.

It seems like there is a bit of magic in each race, and for me, it usually comes in the form of someone who is going at the right speed at the correct time.  I fell in sync with a gentleman of about 60 during the pass through Piedmont Park.  It was great between us until he powered up the next hill.  I am a determined runner, but right then, I decided that I could live with myself if I let him cruise on along.

By the top of that hill (past mile 10), my calves were in full arrest.  I gritted my teeth and set my jaw, and tried to calm my breathing and relax while focusing on form.  I’d done physical therapy to stabilize the ankles and hips, and I think that worked to my advantage.  Once the mile 12 hill was behind me, I knew I could make it.  I crossed the line in 1:59 with a huge grin.  I pumped my fist and ran into the arms of a mascot wearing a tutu, grinning broadly, and slapping hands. 

The expo was wonderful.  On a hot day, I can see how it would have looked like an oasis in the desert.  There were two physical therapists giving free injury evaluations.  I was not hurt, but availed myself of that service (and some food) nevertheless.  It felt so good to walk. 

The Hotlanta Half was very well done.  I recommend it as a middle distance training run.  It provided opportunity for both strengthening the legs and conditioning the heart + lung axis.  A young woman won it overall with a time of 5:59 per mile.  I cannot imagine.

Thanks for reading.  I hope to see some of you at the 50^th Annual Peachtree Road Race.  

Jay Elliott

BAA Boston Marathon 2019 (by Patrick Whitehead)

BAA Boston Marathon 2019

BAA Boston Marathon 2019

Everybody knows about the Boston Marathon. I somehow knew about it before I ran my first marathon—Detroit in 2007 (3:40). It was only my fourth road race, but I already knew what time I would need to qualify for Boston, and that I would have no shot of ever running it. I remember quite vividly a conversation I had with a bar patron at the bar I was working at a few months after running Detroit.

            “You run Boston?”

            “Nope.”

            “You should do it. It is unreal.”

            “I get that. I just can’t get in.”

            “You just gotta work at it. It will be worth it.”

            “Yeah… maybe,” I lied. The idea left as quick as it had come to mind. 

I didn’t run another step for 18 months after my first marathon except for an untrained 25K in 2008.

Nearly four years later, I ran a pair of 2:44 marathons, but was no longer interested in Boston. That is, until a friend from graduate school began training with the intention of qualifying. I told him that I would join him in Boston if and when he qualified. Consequently, I have been careful to run at least one BQ every year. Just in case.

            Last year he ran 3:00:xx and qualified by the skin of his teeth, so I punched my own ticket to the 2019 BAA Boston Marathon.

The registration fee was substantial but manageable. The hotel and flight was what made me queasy. I was upset about that expense for… I’m still getting over it. 

Erica and I flew into Boston early Friday afternoon, and used the public transit system to get to our hotel on Harvard Square in Cambridge. It is a neat college town with plenty of restaurants, bars, stores, and parks. We definitely chose the location well.

           

 On Friday, we toured Cambridge. Saturday, we went to the race expo downtown, explored the shops on Newbury Street, and went to an afternoon Red Sox game. 

Vegan 26.2 Boston Cream Donut at VeggieGalaxy

Fenway

I saw Dathan Ritzenhein and Jared Ward out doing their recovery runs with their teammates on Saturday. 

Ritz    Ward

Sunday, we met up with Gary and his family, and visited little Italy. We were in bed by 8pm every night while we were in town.

Tiramisu Gelato in Little Italy

THE MARATHON

Without realizing it, I got a taste of what the marathon experience would be like at the race expo on Saturday. A line extended outside of the conference center nearly a quarter of a mile. Erica knew what it was immediately, but I told her that that was impossible. That it was probably a line to get a photo with Des Linden or Meb Kelflezghi. Nope, she was right. It was for the expo. 

            There was a 30-minute line just to get into the expo. I recognized Amby Burfoot in line (the winner of the 1968 Boston marathon). He looked like he has for 50 years. I geeked out and talked to him for a bit, thanking him for his book A Runner’s Guide to the Meaning of Life.

   

The line continued through security and up two flights of stairs to the bib-pickup, getting the race t-shirt, and finally into the zoo that was the expo. For the entire time we were there, our steps were dictated by the pace of the crowd we were in. This literary device is called "foreshadowing."

We were relieved to finally get out of there and be on with our day.

I had learned that the race would be rainy before we left for Boston. I had done all of my marathon pace stuff and long runs in my running sandals, but decided to leave them home because they would be worthless if there was even a slight drizzle. I brought my beat-up trainers with me instead. They already had around 2000 miles on them.

To prevent chaffing, I wore a pair of compression shorts on the bottom and a lightweight singlet on top. I put my phone in a waist pack to make sure I could reconnect with Erica after the race. I stashed three gels in the pocket. I could wear a jacket or gloves for as long as necessary and discard them when I warmed up. As soon as I stepped outside that morning, I realized that it would be too warm to need sleeves or gloves.

I walked down to the Harvard Station at 6:15am in the rain along with a few other runners in their full-body, dollar-store rain-ponchos. The train came by within a few minutes and before long we had made the switch and arrived at Arlington station, which was right beside the finish-line bag drop-off. 

There I found two full city blocks of buses that were divided by race-number. These were the buses that would hold one bag for each runner until after the race. I didn’t want to get hypothermia after cooling down from the marathon so I had packed a jacket and t-shirt. I regretted my decision to bring a bag almost instantly. It would have been nice to avoid the crowds there. To drop off my bag, I had to navigate a sea of anxious poncho-clad runners milling about before getting to my assigned bus. It was the last one. Then I had to walk back through the sea and towards the buses that would be taking runners to Hopkinton. What had been a slight drizzle turned into a heavy rain. The sea of runners were directed through the park and into roped-off lines for each bus. 

Everything was a queue of people waiting to get somewhere. It was like the series of lines you go through in an airport. Everybody is in a hurry to get to the next line so that they can get to the next line. Repeat.

I boarded a bus at around 7:15am. By now I had already walked a little over a mile. It was nice to be out of the rain for a bit. The bus ride took about an hour, and I listened to runners nervously talk about random topics like whether or not the bus-driver worked for a school district or if she was a volunteer. Whether there would be a tailwind on the course. What their travel plans had been to and from Boston. What the elite runners were doing at that particular moment. Where and with whom they had stayed the night before. And so on.

The rain had mostly stopped by the time we arrived at what they call “Athlete’s Village.” There was about a half-mile walk from the bus stop to the village. Athlete’s village was a high school campus with baseball and football fields where giant tents are set up with bagels, coffee, Gatorade, water, and several hundred port-o-jons. Since it had been raining all morning, it also had about four inches of rain and mud on the grass. It was a mess. Within 30 seconds, my shoes were as sopping wet and muddy as they have ever been after a rainy ultramarathon trail race. 

The race still didn’t start for another 90 minutes. I used the bathroom and found a spot to wait for Gary. We had planned to meet between 8:30-50 at a particular part of the village, and I got there around 8:25. I waited until 9 before giving up and getting back in line to do my business before the race start. He walked by shortly thereafter and was able to get his attention.

At 9:15 they let runners make their way the .7 or so miles to the start line for the Wave 1 start at 10:02am. It seemed like everyone in the village was in wave 1. A herd of runners started walking towards the exit which was about forty feet wide. The bottleneck to exit was 100 yards in every direction. It took 15 minutes to get 30 feet. There were several bottlenecks just to get out of the village, then at each poncho-discarding station where runners could remove excess clothing to be donated. The herd then made its way into the starting line corrals which were organized based on qualifying times. I started at a corral further back in order to run with Gary. It was already jam-packed.

I didn’t even hear the gun go off, but we eventually starting walking forward. We were pretty much forced to go the speed of the people in front of and behind us because of how tightly we were all bunched together. This was a slow walk for 100 yards. Then it became a slow jog. Then we crossed the start line. 

The first half-mile is a steep downhill. I looked at my watch and expected to be running 6-flat. Even on uphills like in the NYC marathon, the first mile is always too fast. Boston’s first mile is downhill. My watch said 7:30. Hmm. There was no real way to open up with that many people around. Within three minutes, Gary was fed up and decided to start zig-zagging his way through the crowd. He had hoped to break 3 hours for the first time, and had a careful pacing plan to follow. Looking down the road I could see another half mile still: it was absolutely full of runners. There was no “opening” to run towards. He would be searching for an opening for 26 miles.

It is strange to run with that many people for an entire mile when I am used to being with very few runners by the first mile marker. In the Albany Marathon (which I’ve run three times now), I could run almost 3 miles without seeing another runner. There it is easy to find a rhythm and stick with it. The first few miles of Boston felt like I was running on a sidewalk through a carnival. Even though we were organized according to qualifying time, which means the paces should have been pretty similar, there was a wide disparity in speed. 

If you wanted to speed up, you had to dodge runners.

If you wanted to stay the same speed, you had to dodge runners.

If you wanted to slow down, you had to dodge runners.

It didn’t help that I do all of my training runs alone on a wide-open country road, and have almost no experience running in a crowd.

            

            I tried to keep up with Gary for a little while but eventually gave up. It took too much extra focus to avoid clipping heels or bumping shoulders with runners. Moreover, those are not the miles of a marathon you want worry about being hyper-focused. They are the miles to find a comfortable rhythm and zone out for a bit. Nothing about the sea of runners was comfortable. Then I heard a voice behind me: “Patrick!”

            It was Jen Perkins, the 3:00:xx marathoner from my running club. She was a few paces behind me. I slowed down a bit and then we ran shoulder to shoulder for the next 12 miles. I explained how I had already been ditched by Gary and that I couldn’t believe that the field hadn’t yet thinned out. She told me that it would thin out by mile 6 or so.

Running with Jen (Photo by Katie Jolie Phillips)

            Mile 6 came and it was the same. But we had found a comfortable rhythm and clicked off a bunch of 6:40s, dodging runners with grace.

            I could tell early on that it was going to be a difficult day for nutrition. I had been a little nauseous the night before and couldn’t eat much for dinner. I also hadn’t been hungry for anything that morning. I tried to eat a muffin but it didn’t sit right. By mile 6, I could tell that I was already sodium and carbohydrate deficient. I was getting light-headed and irritable. I took two cups of Gatorade (about 8 ounces) at the next aid station. It was as much Gatorade as I had ever consumed during a marathon, and I wasn’t even a quarter of the way finished. I perked up a bit after that.

            By the next aid station, I was ready for more. It was only one mile later. Instead of only taking nutrition at 2 aid stations the entire race (like most marathons I have run), there were only 2 stations where I did not get something to drink (and there are about 26 stations on the Boston course).

            Jen and I continued to run together through the screaming tunnel at Wellesley which gave me chills. That many screaming women had a strange and arousing effect on me, but I kept that to myself. I understand why many runners unconsciously accelerate through that section. After the excitement waned, it was onto the charming town of Framingham.

            I felt like I had to use the bathroom and began looking for a race-side jon. The first few I came to were for spectators and were on the other side of the barricades. Jen pointed to one that was accessible through the barricade, but there were only two and both were occupied. I let her go and waited. It opened up in less than a minute and I was in/out of there pretty quickly. I calculated that I had lost maybe 2:30 on that pit stop, and figured that it would take me nearly 10 miles to catch back up with her, so I stepped on the gas. Maybe a bit too much. I caught her inside two miles and before we reached the Newton Hills. Oops. While it felt good to open up, I had had to focus extra hard and run a lot further in order to run around the clumps of people.

            The number of sidelined runners who were nursing leg cramps and abdominal cramps began to increase.

The first Newton hill was nice, and Jen and I ran it together. She was starting to feel the heat and predicted the need to slow down before too long. I thought I could still have a shot at sub-3, but knew that I would have to really elbow my way through the crowd and push people out of the way at water stations in order to make it happen. I decided that it wouldn’t be worth going to the well for no other reason that barely breaking 3—a time that would still be a good 7 minutes slower than my BQ time. So, instead, I began looking for beer. 

“I was told there’d be beer.”

Jen decided to take a break and walk on one of the Newton hills and instructed me to let her go so I kept the pace we had been running which was a low 7. I began scanning the sides of the road in search of free beer. Nothing.

I enjoyed that stretch of jogging the hills. I would get chills every time the crowd roared. The water stations continued to be a gauntlet of elbows and people suddenly stopping in front of you. But now without a time goal, I didn’t mind all the stopping and dodging. 

I realized that I had accidently lost a gel at the toilet which I had tucked in the waistband of my shorts. That was too bad. I had packed one more than I thought I would need, but knew early in the race that I would be needing them all. Fortunately there were plenty of Gu stations on the course.

I found my beer station at the bottom of Heartbreak hill. Not where you want to chug a beer, but I was determined to get my BAA beer. They were handing them out like an aid station in little 4-5 oz pours, so I took two. Thank you Hash House Harriers. May God bless and keep you. May he shine his face upon you. May the wind be always at your back. And so on.

I had a satisfying burp at the top of Heartbreak and enjoyed a nice, warm alcoholic buzz on the way back down. 

After Jen and I split (photo: Katie)

The downhills were really starting to wear out my quads and feet. The downhill sprints I had done were not sufficient preparation. It felt more like a mountain trail race than a road marathon. In a road marathon, you’re running at the edge of your aerobic threshold all day then reach past it over the final 10K. At Boston, and many of the mountain ultra’s I have run, I seldom approached my aerobic threshold except on steep uphills. The limiting factor was the screaming quads and feet.

Sun came out! (photo: Katie)

With 5K to go, I had another gear but no real incentive to go to it. There was no reason to get there 1 minute faster other than to be done, and I was in no hurry to be done. I just kept moving and really trying to soak in the crowds. The sun even came out and made for a nice final stretch.

In the final miles, the field of runners was still as dense as the beginning of the race, except that now there were a lot more people walking. A few were vomiting, and some were being monitored by medical personnel or the police. Many runners fell on the wrong side of the fine-line between working hard and overworking. It was a rough day for that.

I had told Erica to stand on the outside of the second-to-last turn (on Hereford and Commonwealth), and looked for her there. I took that right-hand turn extremely wide, running the inverse tangent along the far left-side in order to see Erica and get a smooch. I was so far left that some blond girls were yelling at me to get back on course, worried that I was about to miss the most obvious turn of the entire race. I was just looking for my lady lumps. She had been on the course about a half-mile earlier and I just hadn't seen or heard her. 

Having missed her, I was bummed going into the final turn, but it was still nice to see the famed Boylston stretch. It was the least exciting finish of a marathon I have ever experienced. I wasn’t happy to be done, and I certainly wasn’t happy to walk through a sea of zombie-fied runners to get water, food, finisher medals, and space-blankets. 

After nearly a mile of being told “keep moving, keep moving” I finally turned to someone and asked “How do I get out of here?”

“Where are you going?”

“Away from people.”

“Keep moving, then.”

I hobbled over the barricades and down an empty alleyway. I ended up at Arlington Station and called Erica. She was a mile away. We met in the middle. I covered about 200 meters of that distance, and she covered the other 1400. 

We sat on a bench for a little bit and caught up on all that had happened. I mostly complained about being in a sea of runners for the last 7 hours. She complained about being a sea of people for the last 3 hours.

“The goat-to-people ratio here is too low” she said. 

I agreed.

We walked back to the station and took it back to our hotel. I showered and we got some burgers before heading back into town so she could do some shopping. Later that night we had some more beers and pizza near the finish-line which had finally emptied of people. Boston had gotten its streets back (and I had gotten my appetite back).

And I shall be telling this with a sigh,
Somewhere ages, ages hence:
I crossed the big one off my list
Ne'er to return and not to be missed.

See you in Al-binny 2020.

                   

Boston

                

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