When To Write It Off

You picked your event months ago. Booked the hotel, the airfare, put in for vacation days from your job. Invested in all the right equipment.

You've trained long hours. You took your event seriously. You might have even raised money through a charitable organization such as World Vision, gaining the support of friends, family and co-workers along the way.

You skipped the late night parties. Eschewed indulgent behaviour on vacation. Maybe you skipped the vacation altogether to focus on your training. You got up when everyone was asleep to get in your workouts.

You were the only one standing around a Saturday afternoon picnic having run more than a dozen miles that day. Every Saturday for the third month in a row.

You passed up the bacon, fried chicken and ice cream.

You dreamed of acceptable, achievable--and dared to hope for the loftiest goals possible. Every workout was a measuring stick against your goal.

And now, you are either forced with a difficult decision; or, quite possibly, it's being made for you. You can't--or shouldn't--show up at the starting line of your event.

For awhile, you might bargain with yourself. OK, well, let's skip Goal A and Goal B, and still be happy with a reasonably dialed down goal C.

As I write this, I struggle with that very decision. Chicago is four weeks from today.

A mere two months ago, diagnosed with a stress fracture, I was so very determined to overcome it for a great race in Chicago. I worked twice as hard, aqua-jogging, cycling, strength training. I put in more hours of training than I would have if I weren't injured. Miraculously, I healed very well and was back to running in five weeks ever hopeful to be there in Chicago. It was harder than I thought to stay fit during this time. Coming back gave me more muscle aches than I expected. It was grueling, but worth it, and I learned a lot about myself in the process. It even led me to my first Century.

I've put in the time. Skipped the parties. Gone to bed early. Prioritized my workouts despite a highly demanding schedule. I've sacrificed to be there on 10-10-10. I want it. I earned it.

My friends are going to be there. Some running buddies are going to be there. My coach, Vince, is even going to do his debut marathon.

My right leg (where I had the tibial stress fracture) is absolutely fine; I had a story-book recovery. But now, faced with an odd and painful tendonitis on the top of my left foot, I have to make a decision. At the very time I must be peaking in mileage and intensity. In one mere week, there is little I can do to improve my fitness.

My foot tells me not to run. But, oh, how important being in Chicago is to me! I'm perfectly OK with dialing down my goals--to a point. I toyed with the idea of starting anyway, and taking a DNF if I just couldn't do it. But after trying that on for a few hours as a fall-back strategy, I realized that I couldn't really live with the mental burden of not at least finishing a race.

Sadly, my foot looks fine. No swelling. No discoloration. No heat. In fact, many movements of stretching and flexing are completely pain free. Simply looking at my foot, you'd have no idea there was something amiss. How can something so ... apparently minor be causing me such problems?

In this self-exploration I also realized there were personal limits in my own mind where I wasn't OK even if I did finish. These limits are different for everyone; and for different reasons. But there were pretty hard set finishing times that were simply not going to be acceptable to me. I decided not to mention what mine were, because I don't want to offend anyone with how slow or fast my cut-off time might seem. The point is, we all have them. And to me, there are certain times that are simply not worth running, and that's a very personal benchmark for myself.

When do you decide not to run in that key event? After you've given everything? The problem for many of us who have been running seriously for a few years is that we actually can run through quite a bit of pain. The most obvious answer to this question is if running is going to seriously aggravate your injury to the point you will have an extended outage from running. Instead of weeks, you are out for months. In some cases (such as stress fractures), running through the pain can actually permanently damage you if the bone breaks all the way through (which can and does happen--see photo to the left--Ouch!).

Another key time not to run is when you find you've altered your gait in pain-avoidance. Running miles and miles like that invites yet another injury cycle to go through. If you find yourself doing this, it's time to consider throwing in the towel.

Sometimes you are willing to take on that risk because a single event is so important to you to complete. You'd take two months off just to be there and finish. And that's where I am right now. My foot says, "don't run." My soul say, "run, you must run." It's a watershed event for me for more reasons than one. I'm at the point if I thought I could finish at my personal minimum goal level, I'd be OK if I had to be carted off the finish line and not run for the rest of the year.

Within the next couple of days, I will be making that decision. I'm either going to run Chicago, or I'm not. Probably by the time you are reading this; it will have been made. But, I am avoiding it just yet. Hanging on to the most tenuous of threads of hope that somehow, by some miracle, my foot will settle down and I can be there in the marathon that I love and for which I have prepared so hard and sacrificed so much.

Coming Back From The Stress Fracture, Again...

My leg hurt for nine days. And then it stopped. I didn't run a step for five weeks.

In fact, I could honestly say... I hardly missed running at all in those five weeks. Now, for those of you who know me, that sounds unimaginable. I am an addict after all. But, the first week was spent on vacation in Florida with my father and daughter, and after that, my next four weeks were filled with very consistent, endurance-type cross training. My sixth week introduced short runs after my cross training workouts.

Not a day went by that I wasn't doing a workout of some kind for over an hour. And then I picked up road biking, which held an interesting allure for me--allowing me to go for four hours or more. I'd never gone more than 20 miles on a bike. Ever. For the heck of it, I went 35 miles one day, and the next thing I knew, I'd signed up for a century. Between water workouts, biking (and a few other things, like kayaking), I collapsed into bed each night satisfactorily spent. I simply wasn't full of jittery energy wanting to burn it off with a good run.

This Sunday, I will attempt to complete my first biking century (starting from Longview Lake in Missouri). I don't really know what to expect, but I did manage a 74 mile ride without any issues two weeks ago. I'm oddly excited about it--happily nowhere near as stressed as my first marathon, but edgy and wondering, will I make it? Will it be too hot? What will it be like? Did they HAVE to put the bulk of the hills in the last third of the ride? Will peanut butter and jelly sandwiches taste good at mile 80?

And, of course, Chicago is still on the map in six weeks.

Like Ali In The Jungle

It's, not, how you start, it's how you finish,

One-and-two-and-three-and, I grunted out my core exercises and thought about my low point. It wasn't when I actually got the news I had another stress fracture; it was hours later, sitting in my hot parked car, in my hot garage, choking back hot tears hearing all the things I didn't want to hear from Vince about Chicago.. and any other high-mileage plans pretty much for the rest of my natural, running life. One stress fracture, you move on. Two, things have to change.

And it's, not, where you're from, it's where you're at,

It didn't seem to matter I'd done everything right. I've been there. Practically an expert on stress fractures, what to do, what not to do. It's almost embarrassing I did it again. But, I guess it doesn't matter. Here I am now. Tibial stress fracture. In the exact. Same. Spot.

Everybody gets knocked down,
Everybody gets knocked down,
How quick are you gonna' get up?
How quick are you gonna' get up?

Well, sometimes it doesn't seem like everybody. There's no normalizing boxing glove to make sure everyone gets a sucker punch every once in a while. But, that's not the point. What am I going to do about it? Recovery is no big deal, I know the drill. I want this to mean something. Ultimately, my stress fracture in 2008 ended up being such a positive experience, I wouldn't take it back. Even if I could.

Like Ali in the jungle,
Like Nelson in jail,
Like Simpson on the mountain,
With odds like that, they were bound to fail

I actually wanted to spend some time feeling sorry for myself. I waited until evening to have a good cry; I earned it. But it never came. I've had worse odds against me.

Like Hannah in the darkness,
Like Adam's in the dark,
Like Ludwig Van, how I loved that man, well the guy went deaf and didn't give a d---, no...

Twenty-three and, twenty-four and, twenty-five and, yes. I have something to prove. This can be ordinary, or I can try to do something highly improbable. Or anything in between. But, it excites me to think.. maybe I can do something extraordinary here. Maybe this.. could be an example of how to get through a serious injury, without laying down and giving up.

It's, not, where you are, It's where you're going,
Where are you going?

Sensible people would take the time off, come back in a few months and consider a 2011 marathon. Or maybe no more marathon training at all. And, no, I haven't run in fifteen days--don't think I'm doing anything stupid here. Chicago is a mere eleven weeks away. But, I have hit a "maintain fitness" routine that is as challenging--or more so--than my running was going. And I am determined--as if lit by fire--to give this my all: Come out across the finish line in Chicago with a PR, a New York qualifying time, and a healed tibia. My own hat trick through sheer determination.

And it's, not, about the things you've done, it's what you're doing, now,
What are you doing, now?

It's a very, very long shot. Mission impossible, really. But what if I can do it?

Expectations -or- Why Don't I Run More Races?

It's a funny thing.. there was a time when I signed up for and ran races just for the thrill of it. I didn't care how I did, it didn't mean anything to me. I cherished the experience of a newbie runner, trotting along side 600 or 6,000 other runners somewhere in the middle.. just soaking in the experience, and treasuring the fact that I felt "normal." If someone handed out a flyer at a race for another one next weekend... I'd seriously consider going. "Why not? This running thing is a blast!

Now, races must be carefully planned out. Goals set. Training executed. Race plans carefully crafted. Strategies read and re-read. Past winners' times reviewed. A race is now an "Event!"

Now, sadly I see these signs for local 5Ks or 4 milers, or whatever popping up all over the place. Midnight races, firecracker races, you name it. My kids see the signs, too. "Why don't you run in this race?" And I realize, that if I haven't trained for the event, then, I can't live up to some "personal expectations." So, the race comes and goes. And I don't run in it. And I suddenly think maybe I'm missing out on something. When exactly did this happen?

Wouldn't it be fun if you could register as running a "training run" or a "pacer" or some other designee other than "competitive?" I don't know why it bothers me, but I always think, well, if I just run xyz race in the middle of training for something else, then, it will just be a run. And then I'd be worried when people looked up my time they'd say, "Oh, wow, she was two minutes off her 5K time from last year." Even though they probably wouldn't and this is all in my head...

Somehow, I feel like doing a race "for fun" is just largely out of the question. I'm imprisoned by the fact that every race must have a purpose; a goal. But I do realize worrying about my expectations--or everyone else's (which probably don't even exist)--is really superfluous. I just need to let go of my competitiveness sometimes.

Do any of you who have raced for awhile get hung up on just running in some local races for fun?

20 Things To Make Your Running Better Right Now!

There are times as runner we may reach a plateau or place of indifference in our running--or at least some of our fresh motivation might wane. I've struggled with that myself off and on over the past training season, I thought about ideas to share to help you refresh, renew.. and run better.. right now!

1. Run with someone a little slower. Make a personal connection with someone who was where you once were. You just might make a difference in your life in sharing some of your successes and how you got there. Besides, running is the coolest hobby on the planet, right? Share it. You just might learn something too.

2. Take Vitamin D. Lately it seems every other health article I read debunks taking vitamin supplements. But yet every one of them seem to conclude that if there is one vitamin worth taking (and I wrote about it a few months ago), it's Vitamin D.

3. Run with someone a little faster. Rather obvious, but don't discount a little pushing of yourself with a slightly faster runner once in a while. I owe several of my running pals for dragging me a bit faster than I wanted to go. Just enough that I could. And I became a better, stronger runner as a result.

4. Record your runs. If you don't write down a little bit about each run, it's hard to know your progress and make decisions about your training. Not every run will be great, and not every run will feel terrible. Write down anything significant: where you ran, the terrain, who you ran with, any important diet changes, time of day, energy level, weather. If you have a lousy run or streak of lousy runs, go back 21 days and read what you've been doing. If you've been pushing too hard, it may be why you are out of energy. If you had a sore throat last week, your body might be fighting something. Most of your "why me" running questions can be answered in your 21-day look-back.

5. Encourage an injured runner. Very few of us have risen to our current running status without a few hard bumps along the way. Injuries, sickness, some preventable, some not, are all part of growing up as a runner. If you know a faithful runner who is injured, they could probably use a boost. Offer to go for a bike ride or coffee or lunch. There's really nothing worse than not being able to run if you are a runner. (See #20.)

6. Fuel your runs. Eat a healthy breakfast with some carbs and some protein. I've been running a few years, and I still sometimes slip out for a run without eating. I just forget to eat, and then at the last minute I'm almost out of time, and so I head out anyway. More often than not, I end up bonking and having a crappy run. Have something quick on hand, but a bagel with peanut butter, or instant oatmeal with some fruit are good, quick choices. If you're struggling with a few extra pounds, pick up Eat This and Not That for some simple swap outs to help you eat better on the run.

7. Read a good book about running. Find a highly motivating book about running. My all time favorite is Once A Runner by John L. Parker. If you've read it recently, give Bart Yasso's My Life On The Run, Christopher McDougall's Born to Run, or Dean Karnazes' 50/50: Secrets I learned Running 50 Marathons in 50 Days a try. Stimulating your mind about inspiring running stories can give you positive reflections while you run.

8. Race a new distance. My first "race" was a 5K, where I became absolutely hooked on running. But, to be fair, my first several 5Ks were taken in with the amazement I could actually run 3.1 miles without stopping and were all about completing the event and surviving the finish line--not dead last. Eventually, I worked my way up to the marathon, where I spend most of my training focus now. Last year, I took on the 5K with some aggressive (for me) goals to actually race this distance as hard as I could and train for it specifically. It broke up my training, made running fiercely interesting again (the training is so different) and ultimately made me a better marathoner.

9. Run at a different time. Always an early morning runner? Give a nice run at sunset a try. Watching the sun slip behind the trees and possibly even the moon rise and feel the heat of the day melt away can be a beautiful experience. Always running when you get home from work? Set out at dawn and watch the sun rise.

10. Skip the Garmin. As disciplined runners, we like to record and measure every step. How fast did I run that loop this time? But sometimes, it's better to just let go. The Garmin (or other training watch / footpod) can be a ruler with which you end up beating yourself. For your easy and recovery days, just go out there and run a familiar route and distance, but don't bring the Garmin. Don't even try to fool yourself that you'll only show elapsed distance, because later you will go and judge yourself on the pace. Remember what got you into running the first time. Enjoy the freedom a couple of times per week.

11. Lose the headphones. Amazing I'd come out with this one, as I am an avid iPod user for most of my training runs. I used to avoid races that didn't allow them. But now, you'd never catch me racing with an iPod, it disrupts my concentration and dilutes the racing and social experience. But every once in a while, go hit a trail in the early morning, or some other interesting route and just listen to the beauty of nature. Hear yourself breathe; your footfalls hit the ground; the birds singing; the breeze whispering. It can not only enrich your run, but enrich your life.

12. Striders. Not to be missed, striders are a great way to introduce some fast running into your training program. As noted in this article from Running Times, "By doing striders, you’ll tend to improve your running technique and posture at all speeds and may improve your running economy." Striders are 20 seconds or so of relaxed running at about 90% speed. Tack them onto the end of an easy run a couple of times per week.

13. Find a new trail. Trails abound in the U.S., and chances are, there's one within driving distance of you. During a recent visit to a Nature Conservatory near my home, I picked up a hiking trails book in the gift shop. I instantly discovered four brand new trails that I never knew existed within a 30 minute drive. I now frequent one of the loops. If you've already scouted out every trail nearby, expand your net. Put together a couple of your best running buds, and go for a longer drive some weekend or Holiday.

14. Run your easy days easy. This is a less obvious fact that I struggled with when I first became serious about running. This Running Tips site said it better than I could: "make your hard days as hard as possible and your easy days as easy as possible." The idea is that if your easy days are taking away from your hard days, you will merely run mediocre every day and not do the work necessary to become faster. It is the hard workouts that make you a faster runner, not the easy ones.

15. Sponsor a charity runner. Surely, one of your running buddies, co-workers, family members or friends will be running a race on behalf of a charity. This is a great opportunity to encourage another runner, and make you feel good about running in the process. Don't just write a check, be interactive. Ask about their training progress. Find out how they did when they finished. Share in their joy when you congratulate them for sticking to a goal, finishing it, and benefiting others in the process.

16. Run More. While this may not apply to everyone, if you are running more than forty percent of your weekly mileage in your long run, or if you are running less than forty miles per week, you could well benefit from running more miles. I am barraged on a daily basis with "run less, run faster" dogma, but as a general rule, if you want to be better at something, you do more of it (to a point of course). Running more miles can increase your fitness and efficiency and improve your form. Pete Pfitzinger covers this topic well, along with some tempered advice on how to safely increase your mileage. Greg McMillan writes about how increasing mileage strategically can help you by Fixing the [Late Marathon] Fade.

17. Volunteer at a local race. Face it--races wouldn't happen if it weren't for volunteers. What better way to stay motivated and get excited about running than handing water, sports drink, etc. out to hundreds if not thousands of runners in a local race? Fast or slow, it's inspiring to watch and help others. And bring your child with you--get them excited about running too.

18. Train Core. OK, I admit it. I'm a runner and I hate strength training. It's just a chore to me, and often find it hard to get motivated to do anything besides run. However, one area I never neglect is my core. I even have a secret sign [maybe some day I'll confess to what it says] printed above my ab bench to remind me how important core is. "The stronger your core, the more solid you are as you hit the ground," explains Jack Daniels, Ph.D., former exercise physiologist for the Nike Farm Team and now with Run SMART (where I train under Vince Sherry). "That reduces your need for unnecessary stabilization, and allows you to be a more economical runner." Check out the rest of this Runner's World article about core strengthening for runners.

19. Listen to your body. Last weekend, I had seven miles on my schedule but within two I found myself distracted, feeling lousy, stressed about finishing in time for my next appointment and generally having a really crappy run. I decided to end the run and go for seven the next day. I was rewarded the following day with one of the best runs I've had in a while--I felt great and celebrated the choice I'd made to listen. Know your body as a runner; trust it. Know the difference between when to push hard--and when to back off. Don't insist on finishing a terrible run just because you are a robot and it's on your schedule.

20. Give thanks that you can run. I saved this one for last because it's all too often we get so hung up on our goals, that we simply forget what a blessing it is to be able to get out there and run. Many of us run because we overcame something else. There's quite possibly a good reason you are a runner, because if you weren't, you'd be something else. Something less. For me, running gave me a new, healthy life I never expected. There was a time when I couldn't read a bed time story to my kids from a chair without being out of breath. And in the past twelve months, I qualified for and completed the Boston Marathon. So, if your running isn't perfect, and you feel like you are in a rut, wondering why you are doing this day after day--stop for a minute. Rejoice that you can run.

114th Boston Marathon Race Report

When I crossed the finish line of my first marathon in March 2007, I began to dream of someday qualifying for Boston. Nearly three years and many obstacles later, I arrived in Boston as a qualified marathoner for the 114th running of the Boston Marathon.

I endured three days of miserable, dreary, windy, cold rain. I thought it would never end. My hotel room did not have a window, and the last sight I had the night before Marathon Monday was more rain. I couldn't imagine Boston had any other weather, and expected it to be gloomy and raining again in the morning.

But I woke exactly one minute before my alarm, arousing from a dream that I was looking at the downtown Boston skyline with the bluest of skies. I checked the weather online; my prescient dream had come true: it would be bright and sunny at the start. I slathered on sunscreen well before 6 AM. Odd that I have to be up so early for a 10:30 AM race start.

Packing a few snacks and hand warmers tucked in my gloves, I arrived in Boston Common, to begin the trek to the starting line. Conveniently, Patriots' Day is a school holiday in Boston, availing the B.A.A. the use of 500 school busses for this important shuttling of all of the athletes to the start in Hopkinton. Shortly after 6:30 AM, I'd boarded a bus and became part of a magnificent, slow caravan of buses filled with marathon stories of past and present. I looked down at cars, and they looked up at us. They knew why we were there. My anticipation began to build.

I stepped off the bus in Athletes Village at precisely 8:30 AM. I found my way to a large tent providing some cover from the bitter cold. It was evident this was a race favoring the wisdom of past Boston participants. The experienced (or at least well-advised) runners were sitting comfortably on plastic blankets, sleeping bags and blow up pool rafts. I huddled up on the cold wet ground, snacked on a bagel and chips and shivered bitterly.

It was announced there would be an F-15 flyover at 9:50 AM, 10 minutes before the Wave 1 start scheduled for 10 AM. I was in the second corral.. err.. I was supposed to be in the second corral for Wave 2 at 10:30, but we'll get to that in a minute :-). We heard them first, and sure enough, two F-15s zoomed over and it was worth bracing myself outside the tent for even more intense shivering for the few minutes to see them roar by. They crossed the finish line in Boston in four minutes.

I delayed my departure from Athletes Village as long as I thought practical, as I was miserably cold. I didn't want to stand unprotected in the starting corral. So, at 10:05 AM, with a 0.7 mile walk, I joined the traffic flow and headed for the starting line. I consumed my first vanilla Hammergel along the way. Although we were not moving quickly, at first I was not too concerned until I started hearing the countdown to the starting gun. The four last corrals were to the left and mine was to be the second from the front… many corrals down and to the right. Before I'd barely turned the corner I heard 30 seconds to go. I would never make it, I wasn't even close. I quickly darted into the corral on my immediate left, missing the corral seeding that I had earned. I'd had this pre-race nightmare before, my second actual dream to come true for the day. But as I'd rationalized in my dreams past, this was chip timing, so the worst that would happen is I'd have to work my way through the slower runners.

We had run for what seemed like awhile before we finally crossed the start line, and immediately I was struck by how warm it was and I was thirsty. I tossed my gloves and peeled off my arm-warmers. It was well-published that there would be water and Gatorade at every mile and at the finish. I was on the far left of the queue, having weaved through many, many slower runners and waited for the first mile mark, eager for a cool sip. I was simply parched. The first mile came and went, a steep downhill for most of it, and then our first hill. No water. The second mile came and went, again, no water. I began to panic. Then, at last up and beyond, there was water! But, of course, it was on the far right. I began to work my way over, but unlike Chicago where the tables went on forever, these tables were short and by the time I'd gotten to the right, I was past the water station. Uh-oh. I was really, really thirsty. I didn't know what to do, but I figured I was an expert on running dry, so I'd tough it out and hang in there for another two miles. Then, up ahead, there was another table. Oh, if only I'd known somehow it was going to be on both sides! I weaved to the left again, and this time got a huge cup of Gatorade.

I crossed the first 5K, and saw that my Garmin was already way ahead of the mile markers in elapsed distance. I was paying the price in distance for so much weaving. This was my own fault; for missing the start and not knowing in advance about the placement of the water stations. I'll know better next time.

The miles were clicking by easily, and I felt very good. I'd missed most of my splits, and still don't know what they were, but I'd seen a few around the low 8s, which seemed comfy and fine. Since I didn't have a pace band or any particular goal in mind (except, seemingly, break 4 hours and maybe break 3:58 if things went really, really well), I didn't really know what the elapsed time and the mile marks meant. So, I pressed on happily. I planned to do only one thing today: My Best. Whatever that was. I knew I'd "feel" what that was, even if i couldn't define it. I would carefully spend everything I had, and I wouldn't quit.

I took the second gel around the 10K mark in Framingham. That would be my last gel. (I carried three more with me, but they were never to be touched.) I was feeling fantastic. Really, ridiculously good. It was freeing to not worry about my pace and just run what felt right.

At mile 12, I could hear the beginning of the girls of Wellesley College. They delivered as promised! I kept to the left, but soaked in the energy. Majors in kissing were boasted, shrieks abounded in good fun. I saw no evidence of actual marathon-runner kissing, but this section indeed was a highlight of the course.

My half way point time was 1:48:15 I have been told, and I was still feeling really, really good--excited that the first half was behind me, and getting concerned, knowing that in a little over three miles, Newton waited.

Just before mile 15 I felt my stomach churn and cramp. The lower not-so-good kind. I looked urgently for porta-potty, saw two and took a detour. I stopped, but there were already a couple of people standing there and the toilets were occupied. Why, I do not know, but I turned back to running and hoped to find some other porta-potty. Which didn't turn up very quickly, much to my disappointment. This was going to have to be addressed. Soon.

We then began the steep descent into Newton Falls, and for the first time my quads started to hurt and really feel the downhill. As I reach the very bottom, there were four porta-potties to the left and I had no choice. I stopped. And waited. It wasn't too long, they were in a hurry to get back to running, but this whole thing definitely cost me at least two to three minutes.

The door slammed behind me and I took off running the first hill of Newton. Actual bathroom emergency or convenient excuse to rest before the Newton Hills, you decide ;-). The hill begins on a bridge, and it was here the wind really picked up. I could hear it whistling over the river and over the bridge. The gust was so strong, I felt buffeted by it, and even though I'd taken care of business, I was never quite right from here on. I was slightly nauseated, my stomach cramped off and on and I was feeling my quads. I was concerned that the wind would be with us for the rest of the race. More or less it was, but not as bad as it was on that bridge.

The next stretch was hard for me as I kept expecting to see the Fire Station and make the sharp right turn and start up the second hill. It was a longer stretch with a few teaser inclines and I was fooled more than once about the start of the second hill. As a result, with two more major hills to go, this hill was mentally the hardest for me. I took it lightly up the hill, maintaining my foot turnover, but keeping my stride light and easy. I reminded myself not to charge the hills. Many people were walking or going too slow. I passed and was passed on the hills, but my pace was steady and the effort as even as I could make it.

When I had eight miles to go I told myself I could briskly walk it in and make it to the finish in roughly two hours. This was a tempting prospect. I considered it here, and then again at four miles to go.

The third and penultimate hill in Newton was unremarkable. I was waiting for the crown jewel. I hoped my stomach wasn't going to blow. It seemed to be hanging on ok, not great. I saw a few runners off to the side throwing up or stretching out a cramp. I was happy not to be among them and hoped to keep it that way. A real case of "There but for the grace of God go I..."

Mile 20 was demoralizing. My watch read 20.3 at this point and I knew I still had 10K and Heartbreak Hill to go. I wanted to stop. Really. But I knew that wouldn't be "My Best."

And then, there it was. I crossed over Read Street and Heartbreak Hill was waiting for me. A female news reporter about a 100 yards up the hill made a move towards me with her microphone and expectantly asked, "How's it feeling out there today?" What could I say? I lied, feigning more energy than I had, flashed a smile, "It's Awesome!" What would you have said? Somehow, that actually gave me a bit of energy. It was what I needed.

There is only one way to climb Heartbreak Hill… one light running step at a time. I used a little assist from the arms. Altogether, it's really not that bad of a hill. Its location is what makes it unfortunate. I've run steeper hills. I've run longer hills. This hill is cruelly located, seemingly crafted to make it appear and feel three times its actual size. At last, this was behind me and I had not walked one step. The descent into Boston College began and I was overjoyed. I slipped in behind a male runner with a black T-Shirt declaring, "Life Is Simple." I thought, yes, at this moment, life has boiled down to its simplest. Keep going. Don't give up. Do. Your. Best.

By now, though, my quads were done. I never thought I'd actually say this… but I begged for mercy: no more downhills--I pleaded in earnest. Flat was most preferable but up actually hurt less than down at this point. Before the race was over, I'd be granted plenty of all three.

I waited and waited to see the Citgo sign. It had to be coming up soon. Every little rise and fall, I thought it would peek out somewhere. Eventually, it did and I knew it really wasn't that much farther to go.

Somewhere around this point I heard my name shouted, "Alex, Alex!" And I turned and looked. I thought, "Are they calling for me? Or some other Alex?" At last I recognized my co-worker from the Boston Office, Mike, his wife and possibly one other person. I was slightly delirious so forgive me if I don't the third person nailed! What a treat that was!

There is a little hill around the 25 mile point. I was pleased to have it behind me. From the "Mile to go" sign, I began counting backwards from 100 and was sure to spend every penny I had left in my body. I was surprised how much I really had and I poured it out. I looked down at my watch for the first time since the half way point, and it read 3:40. I was shocked. I seriously had no idea this was the kind of pace I was on. I had kissed any hope of a decent time away back in Newton Falls.

The final half mile of the marathon came after a right and left turn, and I could see the finish line and the bleachers up ahead. I remember this finishing charge more than any marathon (or race) I've ever done. My emotions overwhelmed me, as many years of cumulative training and many obstacles overcome came down to this one moment. "You've [expletive deleted] done it. You've earned it, and you've done it." I surged to the finish line, and crossed both mats before I stopped and punched my watch. My chest swelled and I fought back tears. I've heard my final official finishing time was 3:46:34. I haven't looked online yet, but I will soon! I will also post pictures as soon as they are available.

Thanks so much to everyone who has encouraged me through this journey. And if you are reading this, and thinking about trying to qualify for Boston and run it--let me tell you two things: 1) Do it. 2) It's worth it!