In honor of Susie Q's triumphant Boston Marathon earlier this week, I'm taking the liberty of posting my dear friend Jodi's husband Rocketman's 2006 race report. He is normally a man of few words but Boston made him eloquent. Enjoy!
~~~~~
The general understanding of why people run marathons equates to the general understanding of U.F.O's. Some believe they truly understand, others don't even believe. This email acts both as a thank-you for your support as well as an inside view to competing in the world's most prestigious marathon - Boston. I've likened it to a heavyweight boxing match with the defending champion Boston vs. Rocketman - the challenger with only 2 previous fights (Chicago 02' & 04'). Some people are still asking whether I won or not. Well, to put the speed at which the winner would run into perspective, I would gladly wager $10,000 (weak - but I don't have much of a line of credit) that anyone receiving this email would not be able to run from a rested state at mile 26 and beat the lead runner to the finish line! I'll make the same offer for beating Rocketman but need to lower the wager to a case of beer.
BOSTON vs. ROCKETMAN
My journey to the 06' Boston marathon involved various training stages including 2 previous marathons to qualify, 4 years of consistent running, 100 day training program involving 6 out of 7 days a week, core strength classes, yoga, swimming, cycling including a single 237km ride, hill training, cold weather running peaking at -34C and a " on the wagon" commitment for 4 months.(sort of on the wagon) The respect I gave this one event seemed to be honourable. On April 17th at 3:12 pm, I realized it wasn't enough. This marathon is often called the Superbowl of running.(or Master's - Daytona 500 - World Series - Stanley Cup etc.) The following is a summary of emotions I would experience over the 26.2 mile course.
The day started with a breakfast at 7am consisting of oatmeal,fresh berries and juice. The noon start necessitated two meals of approx. 500 calories each with the second meal consisting of a power bar, banana and coffee. My body must have known of the upcoming punishment for it was all I could do to force this food into my stomach. Fellow participants(approx. 21,000) scattered the field like ants. Posturing, posing, sizing up the competition was part of many a pre-race routine. After all, every runner had earned the right of passage. Skill and a competitive spirit was a common thread. It was all about your time. As the bid numbers advertised your seating in the race, every number meant something. Similar to wearing your net worth or total sales on your chest at a business convention. No gloating, just mutual respect. Vane to the uninitiated, a measure of skill or success to others.
A national anthem, followed by 3 to 4 minutes of calm....... then a single gun shot! The race had started. I expected more hoop-la. Although I wasn't able to drive the course, I had studied its trigger points. The first portion was designed to lure the undisciplined out too fast. Taboo in distance running. For marathon running is all about managing your physical & mental resources to the best of your ability. The clock is each competitors opposition - even the eventual winner cares less about fellow competitors than he does about the clock.
The spectators were amazing - down-home apple pie type people - children at the forefront looking for a high 5 from a runner; similar to the way a kid would look for an autograph from an NHL hockey player. For the whole city of Boston knew of the race - every cab driver, doorman, waiter. I avoided all initial contact from spectators since two Elvis impersonators were grabbing the crowd's enthusiasm. An easy run with Elvis for the first mile (7:46) was just the distraction I needed to calm my nerves. At mile 2 (7:05) I spotted a solitary 4 year old boy in a wheelchair. He leaned towards me as far as he could with his hand - a high 5 for him translated to a low 5 for me. We both benefited. It relaxed me and brought new perspective to the race. I thought back to the fellow runner met earlier on the subway. His '05 Boston jacket caught my attention to ask the usual, "How was it? What was your time?" I couldn't get my second question in for he proceeded into "his" story immediately. He ran a 3:01 - wanted to run another marathon in a sub 3 hour time immediately after Boston but was diagnosed with leukemia. He was still taking a form of chemo (pills) while entering this year's race. He knew all too well of the importance of what time and the clock meant to runners at his level. But one of his last words to me would be "I'm just glad to be walking." Good perspective. I thanked him - he thanked me - for I sensed he enjoyed telling the story as much as I enjoyed hearing it.
The course would continue on a downward slope. Mile 3 (7:03). Mile 4 (6:58). My game plan from here was to turn it up a notch for the next 10 miles were relatively flat. Looking back now, I guess I started to speed up a little early. Tip - you can't make up downhill what you lose uphill - focus on the flats. Like a tachometer in a car, I knew my red-line: 4:20 mins/km or 7:00/mile pace. Like a car, exceeding red-line has its consequences. However, you achieve optimum performance at red-line - operate under red-line, you waste potential - over red-line, engine wear & fatigue are sacrificed. I figured I was due for a re-build anyway, as I would pull red-line for the next number of miles. Mile 5 (6:58). Mile 6 (6:53). Mile 7 (6:20). Mile 8 (6:20). Mile 9 (6:56). Mile 10 (7:00). Mile 11 (7:04). Mile 12 (7:05). Mile 13 (7:07). The hills would begin around mile 14 with only three memorable inclines that would necessitate me to gear-down. I felt if anywhere in the course, here I would have an advantage. I likened myself to a diesel motor compared to most gas powered runners. For the torque of a diesel is beneficial in towing & climbing long inclines. My larger body size, however, would not be beneficial at this point.
I stared down the first imposing incline daring it to rise up and challenge me, for in my mind, there were only two imposing inclines left. The top of the first hill came quickly, I utilized arm-pump, thought of my football days of weight lifting which instilled much needed confidence. At the top of the second hill, something wasn't right. According to my elevation charts, the second hill seemed too short - that's because there was a third hill. Heartbreak Hill. Remove this hill and place it on its own, like a biker removed from his gang, Heartbreak Hill isn't that tough. But put the biker in the middle of his gang- so is the placement of Heartbreak Hill at this point in the race. I pulled, I pushed, I looked down at my ribbon on behalf of my friend Sharon who fought cancer courageously for 5 years. I made it to the top with decent form but the six miles left were the beginning of what runners call the second half of the marathon. That's right, I was half way. I had asked Jodi to be somewhere around mile 22 as I knew I would require some type of smelling-salt-boost. I figured the next mile would give me an opportunity to get it together. Like two heavy weight boxers leaning on each in the late rounds of their match, it was Boston vs. Rocketman. A few jabs, the odd body shot, was all that Rocketman seemed to have left. The course would be relatively downhill for the next 5 miles. They said your quads would be punished here - they were right. My quads felt like seized brakes on a vehicle - I wanted to rip them off & toss them aside. Step by step was my focus. I was being passed but still passing others. The casualties were starting to mount. Some had given into Heartbreak, others seemed to make the grade but were unable to deal with the mental anguish of the "second half of the marathon."
I looked up to find Jodi on the left side. I pointed at her to catch her attention. I caught her off guard by stopping for a hug, as she was focusing to take a picture. I needed something....anything. My bag of inspiration was empty. She asked me if I was OK. I said I was. But as I turned to leave she knew Boston was starting to land a few punches. No tears, no emotion. It was a little scary. I would try a few times to get it going. I wrote "Quick Feet" on my hand prior to the race. I followed other runners closely for 1-2 minutes but only to fall off my desired pace. Negative thoughts were invading every corner of my mind. My mid-section felt rock hard, a hot knife had been slowly pushing its way into my right shoulder but a new knife was making its way through the middle of my chest. The stretchers were now coming out as - Red Cross staff were running out onto the course. Anyone walking at this point could not walk a straight line. I stayed clear to avoid collisions.
The intensity of the crowd was mounting - cheering was replaced by screaming. One spectator screamed "Only 3 miles left!" Half a mile later, I saw the Mile 23 marker. That wasn't nice - I had been down to calculating by steps - I didn't need someone to be off by half a mile. I remembered a change of course was somewhere in the last 2 miles which added another couple of slopes (highway underpass). I couldn't feel whether I was running uphill or downhill. One last left hand turn. I searched for the time clock. In the fight, I knew Rocketman had lost points in the last few rounds but I still had hoped for victory. The clock read 3:15 as I approached. I had started approx. 3 mins. after the gun had gone off. So my unofficial time of 3:12 fell short of beating my PR of 3:11. The boxing match was over. A split decision went in favour of Boston.
I would labour to gather my silver blanket, food bag, medal, water and have my timing chip removed. I needed the usual down-time. Unfortunately the meeting area was a street & sidewalk area. I couldn't drink or eat. Jodi would trip over someone accidentally only to recognize that curled up body in a ball to be her husband. She was worried. I was worried.
It was only after a long embrace when the emotions of defeat would finally surface. Defeated, beaten, dejected. I wept not out of pain but of falling short. A Red Cross assistant would see if I needed help. He wasn't reassured by my comments. But as a fellow runner would collapse behind me, he became occupied elsewhere & left me. Jodi's parents & sister merely stood over me, preventing others from stepping on me. They were confused as their once strong son-on-law lay helpless. They whispered back & forth. Slowly I regained strength, drank water & ate some potato chips (good for the salt intake). Rejection & despair were soon pushed aside by my family's love & support. Thanks.
Pre-race posing & posturing was now replaced by humility and respect by virtually every competitor. Boston is to be respected. It's got my respect. I am proud of this day in my life. I have learned to respect those standards set out before me by previous generations. Respect the past. Challenge the future. Stay positive. Reject the negative. Surround yourself with love & success. My learned advice for everyone to share.
My stats...
Official time: 3:12:28
Placement: 2560 out of 19,300 finishers
Age ranking: 724th
Average pace per mile: 7:21
Team Black (Bruce & Judy) beat Team Red (Andrew & Stephanie) by 51 seconds...not that time matters! After the experience, we all know we are winners!
BOSTON vs. ROCKETMAN
My journey to the 06' Boston marathon involved various training stages including 2 previous marathons to qualify, 4 years of consistent running, 100 day training program involving 6 out of 7 days a week, core strength classes, yoga, swimming, cycling including a single 237km ride, hill training, cold weather running peaking at -34C and a " on the wagon" commitment for 4 months.(sort of on the wagon) The respect I gave this one event seemed to be honourable. On April 17th at 3:12 pm, I realized it wasn't enough. This marathon is often called the Superbowl of running.(or Master's - Daytona 500 - World Series - Stanley Cup etc.) The following is a summary of emotions I would experience over the 26.2 mile course.
The day started with a breakfast at 7am consisting of oatmeal,fresh berries and juice. The noon start necessitated two meals of approx. 500 calories each with the second meal consisting of a power bar, banana and coffee. My body must have known of the upcoming punishment for it was all I could do to force this food into my stomach. Fellow participants(approx. 21,000) scattered the field like ants. Posturing, posing, sizing up the competition was part of many a pre-race routine. After all, every runner had earned the right of passage. Skill and a competitive spirit was a common thread. It was all about your time. As the bid numbers advertised your seating in the race, every number meant something. Similar to wearing your net worth or total sales on your chest at a business convention. No gloating, just mutual respect. Vane to the uninitiated, a measure of skill or success to others.
A national anthem, followed by 3 to 4 minutes of calm....... then a single gun shot! The race had started. I expected more hoop-la. Although I wasn't able to drive the course, I had studied its trigger points. The first portion was designed to lure the undisciplined out too fast. Taboo in distance running. For marathon running is all about managing your physical & mental resources to the best of your ability. The clock is each competitors opposition - even the eventual winner cares less about fellow competitors than he does about the clock.
The spectators were amazing - down-home apple pie type people - children at the forefront looking for a high 5 from a runner; similar to the way a kid would look for an autograph from an NHL hockey player. For the whole city of Boston knew of the race - every cab driver, doorman, waiter. I avoided all initial contact from spectators since two Elvis impersonators were grabbing the crowd's enthusiasm. An easy run with Elvis for the first mile (7:46) was just the distraction I needed to calm my nerves. At mile 2 (7:05) I spotted a solitary 4 year old boy in a wheelchair. He leaned towards me as far as he could with his hand - a high 5 for him translated to a low 5 for me. We both benefited. It relaxed me and brought new perspective to the race. I thought back to the fellow runner met earlier on the subway. His '05 Boston jacket caught my attention to ask the usual, "How was it? What was your time?" I couldn't get my second question in for he proceeded into "his" story immediately. He ran a 3:01 - wanted to run another marathon in a sub 3 hour time immediately after Boston but was diagnosed with leukemia. He was still taking a form of chemo (pills) while entering this year's race. He knew all too well of the importance of what time and the clock meant to runners at his level. But one of his last words to me would be "I'm just glad to be walking." Good perspective. I thanked him - he thanked me - for I sensed he enjoyed telling the story as much as I enjoyed hearing it.
The course would continue on a downward slope. Mile 3 (7:03). Mile 4 (6:58). My game plan from here was to turn it up a notch for the next 10 miles were relatively flat. Looking back now, I guess I started to speed up a little early. Tip - you can't make up downhill what you lose uphill - focus on the flats. Like a tachometer in a car, I knew my red-line: 4:20 mins/km or 7:00/mile pace. Like a car, exceeding red-line has its consequences. However, you achieve optimum performance at red-line - operate under red-line, you waste potential - over red-line, engine wear & fatigue are sacrificed. I figured I was due for a re-build anyway, as I would pull red-line for the next number of miles. Mile 5 (6:58). Mile 6 (6:53). Mile 7 (6:20). Mile 8 (6:20). Mile 9 (6:56). Mile 10 (7:00). Mile 11 (7:04). Mile 12 (7:05). Mile 13 (7:07). The hills would begin around mile 14 with only three memorable inclines that would necessitate me to gear-down. I felt if anywhere in the course, here I would have an advantage. I likened myself to a diesel motor compared to most gas powered runners. For the torque of a diesel is beneficial in towing & climbing long inclines. My larger body size, however, would not be beneficial at this point.
I stared down the first imposing incline daring it to rise up and challenge me, for in my mind, there were only two imposing inclines left. The top of the first hill came quickly, I utilized arm-pump, thought of my football days of weight lifting which instilled much needed confidence. At the top of the second hill, something wasn't right. According to my elevation charts, the second hill seemed too short - that's because there was a third hill. Heartbreak Hill. Remove this hill and place it on its own, like a biker removed from his gang, Heartbreak Hill isn't that tough. But put the biker in the middle of his gang- so is the placement of Heartbreak Hill at this point in the race. I pulled, I pushed, I looked down at my ribbon on behalf of my friend Sharon who fought cancer courageously for 5 years. I made it to the top with decent form but the six miles left were the beginning of what runners call the second half of the marathon. That's right, I was half way. I had asked Jodi to be somewhere around mile 22 as I knew I would require some type of smelling-salt-boost. I figured the next mile would give me an opportunity to get it together. Like two heavy weight boxers leaning on each in the late rounds of their match, it was Boston vs. Rocketman. A few jabs, the odd body shot, was all that Rocketman seemed to have left. The course would be relatively downhill for the next 5 miles. They said your quads would be punished here - they were right. My quads felt like seized brakes on a vehicle - I wanted to rip them off & toss them aside. Step by step was my focus. I was being passed but still passing others. The casualties were starting to mount. Some had given into Heartbreak, others seemed to make the grade but were unable to deal with the mental anguish of the "second half of the marathon."
I looked up to find Jodi on the left side. I pointed at her to catch her attention. I caught her off guard by stopping for a hug, as she was focusing to take a picture. I needed something....anything. My bag of inspiration was empty. She asked me if I was OK. I said I was. But as I turned to leave she knew Boston was starting to land a few punches. No tears, no emotion. It was a little scary. I would try a few times to get it going. I wrote "Quick Feet" on my hand prior to the race. I followed other runners closely for 1-2 minutes but only to fall off my desired pace. Negative thoughts were invading every corner of my mind. My mid-section felt rock hard, a hot knife had been slowly pushing its way into my right shoulder but a new knife was making its way through the middle of my chest. The stretchers were now coming out as - Red Cross staff were running out onto the course. Anyone walking at this point could not walk a straight line. I stayed clear to avoid collisions.
The intensity of the crowd was mounting - cheering was replaced by screaming. One spectator screamed "Only 3 miles left!" Half a mile later, I saw the Mile 23 marker. That wasn't nice - I had been down to calculating by steps - I didn't need someone to be off by half a mile. I remembered a change of course was somewhere in the last 2 miles which added another couple of slopes (highway underpass). I couldn't feel whether I was running uphill or downhill. One last left hand turn. I searched for the time clock. In the fight, I knew Rocketman had lost points in the last few rounds but I still had hoped for victory. The clock read 3:15 as I approached. I had started approx. 3 mins. after the gun had gone off. So my unofficial time of 3:12 fell short of beating my PR of 3:11. The boxing match was over. A split decision went in favour of Boston.
I would labour to gather my silver blanket, food bag, medal, water and have my timing chip removed. I needed the usual down-time. Unfortunately the meeting area was a street & sidewalk area. I couldn't drink or eat. Jodi would trip over someone accidentally only to recognize that curled up body in a ball to be her husband. She was worried. I was worried.
It was only after a long embrace when the emotions of defeat would finally surface. Defeated, beaten, dejected. I wept not out of pain but of falling short. A Red Cross assistant would see if I needed help. He wasn't reassured by my comments. But as a fellow runner would collapse behind me, he became occupied elsewhere & left me. Jodi's parents & sister merely stood over me, preventing others from stepping on me. They were confused as their once strong son-on-law lay helpless. They whispered back & forth. Slowly I regained strength, drank water & ate some potato chips (good for the salt intake). Rejection & despair were soon pushed aside by my family's love & support. Thanks.
Pre-race posing & posturing was now replaced by humility and respect by virtually every competitor. Boston is to be respected. It's got my respect. I am proud of this day in my life. I have learned to respect those standards set out before me by previous generations. Respect the past. Challenge the future. Stay positive. Reject the negative. Surround yourself with love & success. My learned advice for everyone to share.
My stats...
Official time: 3:12:28
Placement: 2560 out of 19,300 finishers
Age ranking: 724th
Average pace per mile: 7:21
Team Black (Bruce & Judy) beat Team Red (Andrew & Stephanie) by 51 seconds...not that time matters! After the experience, we all know we are winners!
2 comments:
Thanks for posting...my fingers are slipping off the keys for all the tears....love you...jodi
Wow - your buddy smoked that course!
xo
sq
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