Boston Marathon 2002:   It's Wicked Hahd

Steve Woo (Palo Alto Run Club Newsletter)

I arrived back in LA from the Paris Marathon on the morning of Tuesday, April 9th. Attended classes all day and again on Wednesday.  Then I packed up the laptop and books, and left for Boston on a Thursday redeye. Arrived in Boston on Friday at 6:30AM, but couldn't check into my hotel until Noon. So after a sleepless flight, I was forced to stay awake and hang out at Starbucks for a couple of hours, then roamed the streets of Boston in a highly caffienated daze. My first impression upon arrival was, "Strange, it's warmer here than in LA." The weather over the entire weekend was excellent, in the 70-something degrees, clear and sunny. Not ideal marathon weather, but things would change. Nothing remarkable happened Friday. Never took a nap, and was going on over 30 hours without sleep. In the afternoon, I went for a sleepy 60 minute run along the Charles River, out past Harvard then back towards downtown. Can’t recall exactly where I was, especially since there was a bit of a stagger in my sleepy strides.

Saturday, went to the expo to pick up my number. The expo was great. However, I'm starting to get wise to the whole BAA merchandising plot that robs runners of at least $100-$300 every year on "official" merchandise that is pretty much identical year after year. The finishers’ shirts and the official jackets don't really change each year, except for a color or two, and the imprinted date. The logos never change, nor do the general designs. Then, on top of the official BAA merchandise, Adidas, the official shoe sponsor of the Boston Marathon, comes in and feels compelled to create nearly identical jackets, caps, polos, sweatshirts, etc. Very unimaginative. Only difference is, they slap a loud, yellow "Adidas" logo on everything. And for some reason, everything from Adidas seemed to be oversized, so if you normally wear size large, then you have to go with a medium, which fits neither like a normal medium nor large. I guess I can’t complain, though, since I exacerbate this cycle by purchasing all this paraphernalia every year. Never again! Next year, I'm steering clear of the merchandise booths.

But kudos to Nike, an UNOFFICIAL sponsor, which means it's not licensed to use the Boston Marathon name or logos for advertising and merchandising. Still, Nike's guerilla marketing tactics demonstrate why it dominates the world. "T-shirt of the marathon" award goes to Nike for a shirt that, on the front, simply read "Boston," and on the back, in full Boston accent, "It's Wicked Hahd." Unfortunately, they sold out quickly so I didn't get my hands on one. They also had several other clever pieces of apparel that made the Adidas booth look like you were shopping at a five and dime. Though Nike couldn't sell licensed marathon products, it appeared as if the company was indeed the "official" sponsor, not Adidas. They had the most creative advertising around town on billboards and the subways, and directly outside of the expo center, they had a big truck with a big screen TV on the side that was continuously playing that great Nike TV commercial--the one that goes on for like a minute and a half, showing athletes doing their thing, with that piano theme in the background. I beg the BAA to hand over sponsorship to Nike next year. No ifs, ands, or buts--"just do it" please.

Went to a seminar given by Alberto Salazar and a sports nutrition scientist at MetRX, the makers of the protein bars that cost an arm and a leg for one bar. Here's the bit of wisdom I took away from Salazar--"Caffeine is GOOD." He said that his times improve by as much as 15 seconds a mile when he pops some caffeine during a run......Things that make you go hmmmmmm. This would later influence my experiment with NoDoz before the marathon on Monday. I also asked him about Mary Decker Slaney and her future running plans. He said he continues to advise her and that she'd like to give the marathon a shot but is having some problems. Let's just hope that Zola Budd doesn't have the same ambitions, or at least has received a shoe contract. Then later in the evening, I walked the Freedom Trail, a 3 mile route through downtown Boston that takes you on a tour of major sites associated with the American Revolution. Aargh, with only two days before the marathon, I had spent over 6 hours worth of energy walking around all day at the expo, the Freedom Trail, and around town.   But it was a beautiful, warm day and still 75 degrees early in the evening.

Sunday morning, I ran the Freedom Run--a 2.6 mile pre-race warmup that started at the marathon finish line, and went out towards the Boston Commons and back. Ended up running with a girl from LA--it was her first Boston and she was pretty excited about it all. After the run, went back to the expo and listed to some seminars featuring Grete Waitz, then did some studying and just tried to stay off my feet and get some rest. Sunday night, I went to bed at 10PM. Slept pretty well, probably because I've been running and traveling so much--I slept, uninterrupted during the night, like a jet-lagged baby.

Monday, woke up at 6:45AM, got dressed in my trusted "USC" shirt, stretched a bit, then hopped on the subway down to the Boston Commons to board the shuttle to Hopkinton. The weather turned out to be cool and foggy, in contrast to the past few days of mild 70-something degree weather--it pretty much stayed like this throughout the entire marathon. On the bus, I sat next to a 50 year old runner from Costa Rica--he was aiming for 3 hours. This guy was a talker and as we approached Hopkinton, I wished he would stop already. My bladder was in dire need of emptying, and engaging in conversation only agitated my bladder, leading me one step closer to losing it all on the bus. But alas, we made it to the Athlete's Village, and the first thing I did after getting off the bus was rush for the first bushes in sight. But then a cop came and started ordering everyone to stop--kinda hard once you've got it going, though. In previous years at the Village, you could always go in the bushes, but with security a major concern this year, they blocked ALL imaginable access points to Mother Nature. Local agents were joined by federal security officials and there were scores of agents who ran in the marathon itself.

Walked around the Village trying to find some PARCers but never sighted them, so I parked myself down by someone who turned out to be from San Francisco, and tried to make use of my high school German with a volunteer from Germany. The cool air and fog felt like being back in SF.  Then I saw a bearded guy walk past me--turned out to be Dave Wibblesmann. Talked to him for awhile, then Darren Marsh passed by. Later got up and went over to the PARCers to say hi. Went back and stretched a little, then recalled the wisdom of Alberto Salazar--"Caffeine, it works." After his seminar on Saturday, I had gone out to buy a bottle of NoDoz, caffeine in its most concentrated form. One pill has 200mg of caffeine, or the equivalent that's in 2 cups of coffee. I decided to give it a shot, but only took 200mg--which is still below the illegal limits sets by the International Olympics Committee, not that this was the Olympics, but I didn't want to feel like I was doing anything illegal. No big deal, because I normally get a Venti coffee at Starbucks anyway, which already packs in the caffeine. However, I had already had a ClifBar and PowerGel with caffeine, so maybe it was all the equivalent of 3 or 4 cups of coffee, only without the extra water wreaking havoc on my bladder. About 5 minutes after I popped the NoDoz, I felt a major buzz and a lightheaded rush that I haven't felt since the last time I took NoDoz, way back in college almost ten years ago. But then I started getting used to this new-found sensation, and was quite excited and ready to rock n rooooollllllllllll.

At the 1 hour warning, people started clearing out of the tents, making last runs to the portapotties, then to the start line. However, I was taking my own sweet time, taking photos along the way to the start, then stopping to stretch, change, drink. What's everyone rushing for?.....Then I heard someone say there were only 8 minutes left. Holy Frijoles! I was still close to the village, so I had to rush and started running down to my corral. Unfortunately, by the time I got to my corral, #2, I missed the national anthem, the wheelchair start, and they had already merged corrals #2 and 3, so I was somewhere at the back of corral 3--no big deal, but it's just nice to be as close as possible to the front to avoid all the pushing and shoving.

Having run the Paris and WDC Marathons one and three weeks earlier, respectively, I wasn't too confident that I could run as best as I could today. But I figured I should at least be able to break 3 hours, so that was my goal, and hopefully faster than my time at Boston last year, 2:58. But then again, in the back of my head, and soon to be at the front of my mind, I wanted to break my 2:54 at DC 3 weeks earlier. Part of me thought that maybe that finishing time was a fluke, that maybe the course was too short or perhaps "too fast" of a course, so I just wanted to repeat it and prove to myself that it was a legitimate time. But then again, if I could break 2:54, maybe there was a fat chance I could squeak by with a 2:49. What was a few minutes faster, spread over 26 miles anyway?

After the gun went off, it took me about one minute to cross the start line. I wanted to get to mile 1 in at least 7 minutes just to get a feel for legs to make sure I could at least maintain a 7 minute pace comfortably for the whole marathon. Made it in about 6:40, chip, and felt decent. Pretty much from there, I maintained that pace for the first half, but was tentative about it all because I was worried about a major crash. Kept telling myself to hold back, but it wasn't working. Though by the time I reached mile 10, I made a concerted effort to restrain myself knowing that Wellesley was coming up and I wanted to be alert for the entertainment there. The first sign of Wellesley was two girls holding up a bed sheet scrawled with, "If they want to kiss me today, I'll let them." "Shoot," I thought. "If this is a Wellesley tradition, for Wellesley seniors to hand out kisses to runners, than who am I to go fight tradition?" Unfortunately for the chick, I gave her a big wet, sweaty one on the cheek. Then as I ran off, I thought about all the other lips and sweat that came in contact with her cheek....."Bleaugh. I hope there's some mouthwash at the next water station." Anyway, continuing down the strip of ladies lining the college, it was incredible as always, and I saw who I believe was the same Asian girl waving a "Go Californians" placard that I saw last year with the same sign. Other notable sights along the course included: A huge sign that read, "103 more miles until finish--distance certified by Arthur Andersen." Lotsa American flags hung throughout the course. Then there was that raunchy looking Transvestite on the course--making it feel more like we were running the SF or LA Marathon, not Beantown.

After passing Wellesley, I was at the lowest point in my run. The rush of adrenaline brought on by the ladies had passed, and the Newton Hills were coming up in 4 miles. Reached the halfway point in about 1:25, which put me right on pace to run a 2:50, assuming I maintained my pace--heh heh, yeah right. This was actually the fastest I've reached the halfway mark in a marathon and I was certain that I was in a for a positive split. But around mile 15, there were major downhill portions of the course, where I found myself making good time and surprisingly, my quads, even giving the beating they were taking, felt relatively decent, though that's not to say I wasn't fatiguing. Then at the first hill of the Newton series, I just decided to go easily and comfortably on the hills, since it was certain that if I pushed it, I'd crash and my run would be over. Topping off Heartbreak Hill at mile 21.5 was a big psychological boost, just because it's all downhill after that. Got some more adrenaline flowing at that point and was cruising down the backside of Heartbreak. I surprisingly found myself still near 2:50 pace, which meant that elusive 2:49 was in reach. But then at around mile 22, I quickly lost it. My dream began to crash with reality. ARRRRGGGGHHH. There was no real pain, just pure, good-old fashioned exhaustion. And then I wondered how much faster and more comfortably I could be running if I hadn't run the Paris Marathon one week earlier. But then I recalled the excellent experience I had in Paris, and had no regrets about it, even if it meant sacrificing any shot at a 2:49 in Boston.

As usual, lotsa great spectators were handing out water, oranges, bananas, licorice, candy, and of course beer. It was alot easier to drink at these "unofficial" water stations between the race's official stations, in order to avoid the "official" pushing and shoving that go on there. Didn't really experience my Gatorade sugar high at this marathon. Probably didn't take in as much water as I should have because the weather was cool.

Mile 24 pretty much marks the "end" of any marathon I run. Once I get to mile 25, it's pretty much a given I'll finish strong, relative to the rest of my run. So it's just a matter of getting to mile 24 so I can run this "last" mile to 25. But here I was stuck at mile 22, with 2 more miles to go. AAAARRRRGGGHHH, I was tired. But as always, those Boston crowds were unbelievable and adrenaline-inducing as usual. As far as the marathon goes, the students at Boston College are the co-ed counterparts to the women at Wellesley. Lotsa sports fans and Greeks from the frats and sororities were out in full force cheering, "Go USC!" and the highlight came when I heard an announcer on the sound system rallying the crowds, "Let's hear it for USC!" The uproar from that was deafening and put a huge grin on my face, with my fist pumping in the air.

Mile 23 was hard...."grin and bear it, grin and bear it, grin and bear it".............Finally, MILE 24!!!!!!! Sweet relief was in reach! By this time, the crowds had ballooned. The Red Sox-Yankees game was over, and the Red-Sox won. Maybe this because of all the anti-Yankees propaganda that had blanketed the town all weekend. Everywhere you went, people were wearing shirts and caps that read, "Yankees Suck" or "Jeter Sucks." Given the events of 9-11, which maintained a subtle theme at the marathon, it's good to see that some things have returned to normal, even if it's at the expense of the Yankees.

In the distance was the gargantuan CITGO sign, which marks mile 25. Unfortunately, it's so big that it appears alot closer than you think it is. AAARRRGGH. That was a hard 0.5 mile prelude to mile 25. But then with one mile left, I picked it up as fast as I could, though there was little reserve left. Did my best to look strong as I finished. Coming up the last gentle hill on Hereford Street, then making the final turn onto Boylston Street, I was just relieved about wrapping up the past four months of training. I reminded myself that after finishing Boston, only a quarter of a mile down the street, I'd be hanging up my shoes for the rest of the year, having completed marathon tours of Huntington Beach, LA, DC, and Paris this year. Squinting down at the finishing clock ahead, I saw I was going to come in with my second fastest marathon time, and better my Boston PR by 6 minutes, with a finishing time of 2:52. I was exhausted, exhilarated, and relieved, but above all, bummed because I'll have to wait another year to run Boston again.

I was fortunate to finish early enough to run to the massage area without having to stand in a long line. It was great--as you wait for your massage, they come around and offer you cups of chicken broth. The woman massaging me had come down to Boston from New York for the day just to volunteer. Interestingly, she told me that alot of the massage therapists had traveled from around the country, and even Canada, to volunteer at the marathon. Incredible how Boston organizes such a huge army of volunteers every year--at the expo, the pasta party, the Athlete's Village, water stations, finish area, and the highly coveted massage therapists!! Kudos to all of those yellow jacketed volunteers for their efforts.

And just when I thought my marathon experience was complete, I ran into a quintessential piece of Boston when I was walking back to my hotel. I had stopped off at Trader Joe's, and when I was coming out of the store, armed with a fat-laden, 16 piece box of Baklava, who would you expect me to see standing in front of the door but one of the singers from Boston's 80s teeny-bop band, New Kids on the Block--it was Joey McIntyre. I stared and pointed at him, smirking and blurting, "Hey, what's up?   Hangin' tough?" in reference to one of their old pop songs. He responded appreciatively, or perhaps unappreciatively, "Eh-heh, Thanks."