LONDON'S CALLING

My obsession with the Boston Marathon finally seems to have dwindled after four appearances.  The last two years had seen me train on first 6 weeks, then 3, after having an injury seem to always shut me down in January and February.  For some reason my body always calls it quits in December! I decided to take on a bucket list race, the London Marathon, and to fundraise for a great cause, King's College Hospital, who had saved the life of a dear friend a year or two ago with a liver transplant.

So here I was again with a high stakes race a week after Boston, at the end of April, and feeling gung ho about training, and predictably managed to hurt myself in the first two weeks of training by running speed work at 5k not 10k pace - duh. This time I was determined to beat the odds and shut down the training entirely - switching instead to hot yoga and spin class and repeat visits to my always patient and effective chiropractor, the good Dr Rudy while he tried to straighten out the hamstring, IT band and peroneal muddle I had ended up in.

This week saw me attempt my first run, a tentative 4 miler at Castle Rock with Poppy, followed by a flat 6 miler the next day.  As they had gone reasonably well I decided to do book end workouts and repeat the exact same runs.  This was even more encouraging.  It is so easy to be frustrated when you are feeling out of shape, so the slow castle rock run, was replaced by the second one 4 minutes faster, the 6 miler at 9 min pace was now 6 at 8:30 pace.  I took another day off for spin class and then faced the real test; running with Shawna.

Shawna is younger, faster, and despite some metal work in her ankle a great athlete.  So I showed up for our early Wednesday session, and found that although I was puffing and panting like a wilder beast, I hung on to her for four miles and then she drifted away in the last mile, cute pony tail swinging.  On Thursday my heel bursitis was pulsating, angry and red, so I did a very easy day.  Then today saw the start of Friday long runs again.  Prior to the set back I had been up to 14 miles, but I knew it wasn't smart to start right back up where I had been.  Based on the amount of time off I needed around 60% of the mileage for my first week back, so opted to try for 8 miles.

Long runs are always more fun with friends, Shawna was telling me such good stories I made it to the five mile mark before I knew it and managed to pull out my first double digit run in a month! And although my heart rate was ridiculously high, average 165, it felt good to be able to run it at goal marathon pace, even if it meant I had spent about an hour in the orange zone.

Runners only ever think they are as good as their last workout.  Last week I was confident I could handle 0.2 of the race, by a day later the 6.2 came into view.  As of today I know I can make it ten miles, so will get to Rotherhithe and Surrey Quays at least.

As I build up my long run I will be trying to add a couple of miles each week until I have the entire snaking east end figured out, the last bit with Buckingham Palace will run itself, but there is around 20 miles of East End with names as enticing as Shadwell, Mudchute and Poplar to enjoy.  11 weeks to go and all I have to do is stay healthy and I will be way ahead of the marathons I have run for the past two years!

My father has threatened pom poms and a rara skirt with sequins as he cheers, that coupled with the pressure of about 40 friends and relatives, even an Uncle from Australia is going to keep me being diligent about injury; that and being half way to a really big fundraising goal.
see link below:
 https://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/RuthSeabrook1

PAIN IS INEVITABLE. SUFFERING IS OPTIONAL - How to run the Boston Marathon on 3 weeks training!

The Mom of a runner I coach kindly let me a book entitled ' What I Talk About When I Talk About Running' written by a Japanese best selling autho Haruki Marukami.  Tucked in my purse for 'marathon weekend' light reading, one phrase kept resonating with me prior and during the 2017 Boston Marathon, 'pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional'. It sounded like a good mantra to me.

With 12 weeks of total inactivity due to a cluster of injuries, labral tear, bulging disc with nerve impingement, mangled hamstring, it was truly a wonder I was even in Boston, but pain was very much on my mind, how much was OK, what wasn't....  After the MRI revealed the severity of the issues, the only cross training I had done was 30 mins easy walking of the dog.  Then that great medicine commonly referred to as the 'tincture of time' meant that I could run a little, and that first week saw me creep up from 10 X 1 minute to 9.5 miles, the second week I managed a 14 miler, the third saw me test out if I should even attempt Boston with the need to achieve 18 miles. Although not pain free, I was no worse after 18 so made the bold decision to attempt the impossible and see if I could at least finish the race.

Being able to run 18 miles had built some confidence in me, but as the usual pre race momentum built in the city it turned out to be as thin as my training.  On marathon weekend, surrounded by all the buzzing runners in the commemorative royal blue jackets, with thin pink elastoplast like strips on the arms, my confidence started to waiver.  I would not wear that jacket until after the race, I truly wasn't sure I could do it.  It had seemed like a fun and gung ho act to show up and enjoy a 4th Boston experience with no training, now it just seemed foolish.  Like kids before a chemistry test all I was listening to was runner's training plans, how many miles they had run, how many 20 or 22 milers they had put in.  When runners said they had struggled with a week or two, or backed off here on a tempo run, I started thinking about the fact that I hadn't been able to put on socks for two months without it hurting.  What was I thinking?

The only person who didn't seem to think I was crazy was Guy - I guess he realized how miserable I would have been running an easy 5 miler and then showing up to watch the race as I had long considered.  He knew I had to begin......

To compound matters the weather reports started changing from the desired 48f and breezy to 75-79f with the day prior hitting 85f. I redirected my anxiety to the constant scanning of weather. com; although ironically my brain told me it would have much less effect on me than on others.  With no training goal or PR to blow up due to the warm temperatures I should have been comforted, instead I was haunted by the memory of 2012 when I DNF'd in 90f temperatures despite being in the best shape of my life, and now added that to my list of woes.

The loading of buses at Boston Common was hot but friendly - some jostling and good humoured banter.  The bus ride seemed endless, there is a strange sense of foreboding as you realize after 40 mins of driving one way, that at some point you were going to have to get yourself back to that spot without the aid of an engine. Being processed through the endless portapotty lines and eventually walking the 20 mins to the start line saw me sweaty and hot before the race even began, with no sign of those clouds the meteorologists had promised.

Waiting for the 3rd wave of the race to start I glanced up at the two armed snipers poised on the roof top guarding us from harm.  One by one we runners started to wave at them.  The standing sniper, slowly raised an arm, and smiled, then began to wave more and more enthusiastically as the crowd cheered them.  His comrade lay prone on the roof and glared at his smiling officer but chose to stay dead pan behind his dark glasses, alert to all danger.  However, from the moment you start the Boston Marathon to the end it is impossible not to smile or cheer and even the toughest of the marines eventually crack - there it was a  wave from the impassive face, the spirit of this marathon had won out!

After four Boston's I feel I have finally nailed this interesting course.  In 2012 in extreme heat I had strong memories of being suffocated by the 90f weather even in the first five miles, with the heat steaming off all the bodies and concrete over powering me, even at the snail ten minute pace we were running.  Having trained all winter in 34f and being in great shape it was bitterly disappointing to be crawling along that year and anger and disappointed emanated from every hot pore of my skin that year, to the point I had DNF'd at mile 18 along with many others, with an IT band injury aggravated greatly by dehydration.  This year was different, I felt the heat, but no anger or frustration - it is what it is, no suffering about it!  Running with gratitude, excitement and sheer euphoria at the luck of being able to run a 4th Boston on such sketchy training also kept me mindful.  I divided the race into 5 X 5 miles, and had micro goals along the way to keep me interested.

The first five miles are downwhill, here I just wanted to stay controlled and use it for warm up, too fast here and your quads burn out at mile 16.  From 5 - 10 brought us to the hottest part of the race in Natick, where temperatures went from 74-79 f, hard as you are no where near done, and although this is a flat section you still need to be cautious.  At mile ten you are heading towards that wall of sound that is Wellesley - I swear you hear those raucous college kids at mile 11 ten minutes before you see them.  The nicer the weather the happier and drunker they are.  So many signs begging for kisses - so many scantily clad girls enjoying the race atmosphere.  As a fitting tribute to the 50th anniversary of women crashing the race there are also now plenty of good looking guys bearing signs such as 'Kiss me I'm hotter than those two girls either side of me'.  Micro goal for the tough middle section 10 - 15 - stalk your prey at Wellsley, find a cute guy to kiss.  Fortunately this year saw me double my yield as there were more men than ever.....I was ahead of goal!!!

At 15 the race starts to get interesting, all the downhill and flat is over and just before 16 the Newton Hills start to loom.  This section, until mile 21, is a series of not huge, but nonetheless challenging hills.  Starting at the back of the pack and running a 9 minute pace meant there was plenty of carnage by the time the hills began - stronger runners were already walking, their quads trashed by the first aggressive ten miles, and the unforgiving heat.  I felt good and was able to power up the hills without much change in pace.

The spectators are phenomenal throughout - a woman joined me at mile 15 wearing similar coloured clothing and declared she was joining me so she could benefit from my cheer squad.  A single syllable name is a huge advantage in the marathon world - printed in block letters you are greeted throughout the entire race with the chanting drinking game sound of 'ruth ruth ruth ruth' or 'Babe Ruth' 'Baby Ruth' or even 'Ruth, that's my Mom's name'.  Bull horns blare out 'Ruth, Aint that the Truth' one guy even started coaching me at mile 22, 'that's it high knee lift, relaxed shoulders, you'll be there in no time'.  My fastest miles were 22 and 24, getting to 25 was a little harder but I took comfort that for that final fifth of the race the crowd would pull me along through its own will and energy.

Its true that in a marathon you see all of life.  A woman ahead of me who looked around 30 had the following written on her shoulder 'stroke survivor 4/22/16', an amputee picked up his guide and in a tremendous show of strength ran carrying her above him across that finish line - the crowd went wild!  You also see terrible sights, a fit man of around 25 who looked like an incredible runner, doubled over at mile 21 crying, a woman with scarey huge brown splashes all over the back of her aqua shorts seemed to have a lot of room to maneouver through the finish chute....several stretcher cases, even less than a mile from the end.  By the last mile on Hereford and Boyleston, instead of handing you vaseline on lolly pop sticks for your 'boo boo's or chafing they direct their efforts to screaming your name and urging you on as if you are the only one in that race of 27,000 people.  If you have avoided the many offers of coors lite on the way from the college kids, and only taken the ice and swedish fish you have a better chance of making it to that finish line intact.  I pulled over around 8 times and physically stopped for ice and water, it added a whole five minutes to my time, but I was able to avoid the medical tent, which 2,000 runners ended up needing.

My take home on Boston this year - respect Mother Nature, respect the course. Micro goals work - especially if you take a moment to celebrate the five miles you have just achieved and how well you felt at the end of them.  Gratitude works too - being angry and resentful about the weather is a losing game.  But most of all, have a great group of friends ready at the end to help you to that pint of Sam Adams and raise a glass to the best marathon in America!

The 3 Week Boston Training Plan for those Foolish and Fifty

The radiologist used an X-ray to inject the right spot on my hip with dye and with it a lumpy and numb sensation slowly spread into my side.  My feet were firmly bound together with thick white tape to give the radiologist a more open angle on the hip.  My headphones were muffling the industrial noises with loud hip hop (for my hip op lol...) and I found myself descending slowly down that long and clanking tunnel of magnet trying to find out why oh why I had been in so much pain for the past 6 weeks.  My only goal as an older runner had been to do enough training to get to the start line healthy, and my Boston training was derailed just as it should have been starting; I hadn't been able to run since 23rd December.  My back and hip pain had worsened to the point that I couldn't even put on socks, let alone running shoes.   In her white coat the radiologist briskly and cheerfully ordered me to 'hop on down' off the table.   I just looked at her quizzically - this was the perfect metaphor for trying to run over the age of 50 as far as I was concerned.  She laughed and realized I was still firmly bound around the ankles, untaped me and we tried again.

The results showed a labral tear, bulging disc on L1 pressing on a nerve and a hamstring that resembled corn beef hash from so much scar tissue.  Nothing that was operable or could really receive treatment, but certainly no running.   Nothing in particular had caused it....just too much of everything.  Friends and family were sympathetic to my plight but agreed that maybe my running days were over and it was time to find more gentle pursuits, 'I had spent too long in the playground and now it was time to hit the library'.  Without any exercise sleeping was harder, I couldn't eat very much as I was burning no calories and was limited to around 30 mins of walking with the crazy energetic pup.  Poppy barked at me every time we hit the trail with the 'why don't you run', kind of unhelpful yap she specializes in.  It was a hard wet winter to be immobile.

Of course the tincture of time eventually lessened the pain, and trying to find some spot to watch Rose's swim meet in an overcrowded leisure center, I found that 20 mins on an upright exercise bike wasn't too painful.  By the start of March I could cross train at least...cross training then merged into 10 X 1 minute of easy running two weeks ago with only minor pain.

For many of us running is a big question mark that hangs over your head on a daily basis.  Can I run, should I run, how hard, how far, did I do enough, did I do too much?????  The Boston Marathon had been on my calendar all year, and sadly I was committed, non-refundable flights and special friends travelling from the UK just to meet us there and cheer me on.  So whilst I told myself I would be happy if I could only just jog 3-5 miles on Marathon Monday, there was a nagging question, could I do enough to show up on the start line having spent 10 weeks resting, and 3 weeks starting to run.

Torturing myself with this decision the clearest way was to triage my goals and set minimum standards.  So the first week I had to build to ten miles.  After five miles I had a pain in my side that wouldn't go away - so I left the flat canal path and grabbed Poppy and found that after another 4.5 on the trail it had gone away.  Still 9.5 isn't 10, and isn't enough to jog a marathon so I said 'you really have to hit 14 next time'.  A weekend away in Portland saw me manage a slow 14 on the Spring Water Corridor, my legs hurt a day later and I once again shelved any hope of running the race.  Two days later with the legs improving, I am planning an attempt on 18 this weekend.  2 miles warm up then a double loop of 8.  If the first loop sees me still in one piece I will try the second.  So whilst everyone else is in taper mode, I am on an aggressive build up!

The questions are all still there, but I am giving myself answers every day.  If I can't pass the 18 test I am not lining up in Hopkinton, if I do manage 18 I will have to assess how much it hurt and if it rendered me useless for a week later.....am I prepared to DNF and take the bus of shame if injuries start to flare up.

The Runner Passport sits on my desk, a bright and obnxious jolt of blue and gold, and I can't bring myself to open it.  I see friends posting there's on social media and chattering about their corrals and I don't want to join the fun. I am so happy just to be running again, but that crazy obsessive runner inside also needs the day to day reality check.  I am sure my chiropractor thinks I am deranged but come marathon morning I need to know I made the right choice.  So for all those beginning taper - enjoy, bask in all of your hard months of training, but I have a few more tests to take before I know how to make myself happy on Patriot's Day.

Don't Forget the Happy Thoughts...... All You Need is Happy Thoughts....!

Facebook and instagram stream endless, magical, blissed out, affirmational running iconography.  There are posts of podiums, positions, pace times and garmin recorded splits, friends hitting huge PR's, or conquering new distances. So much inspiration, so much aspiration, so much perspiration. No one blogs about the crappy runs, the niggling injuries or how damn hard it is to run when you are looking at the wrong side of 50, or if you are 30 but have to needy toddlers to take care of, or your 40 and have a job with lots of travel.  I finally realized that after 15 years of running, I am no longer going to PR, not unless I pick a totally new distance like 100 miles - and that could be why so many of us transform into crusty Ultra Runners in our dotage.  As you age it gets harder and harder to run anywhere near the kind of workouts you could even a few years ago. I ran a 2 X 2 mile speed workout the other day that was about my marathon pace a few years ago. So at times you think, why bother?  The point is still the same.  You still want to feel accomplished, you still want to enjoy the scenery and the friendships and that feeling of having done something challenging but healthy. Like a cross country team approaching the end of a  long season, its about how deteriorates the least, rather than who improves the most.   Its deciding how much you will concede to Old Father Time and how much you will cave to the inevitable process.  You know your VO2 Max is slowly fading, your fancy watch records it for you every day.  Your percentage of muscle mass is reducing every year, and you have to work harder just to be able to stand still. Yet still you do.  That would be the compulsion part.  Now the creative element is to triage your goals and find some joy in the result as well as the process.

Switching to heart rate training over pace has been helpful.  Frankly I am still delusional about pace and consider my workout goal paces from 5 years ago my current pace, and was ending every workout disappointed. Now, as long as I am doing the work I can focus more on the exertion than the result.  The handy dandy Garmin 325 does a lovely job of setting training zones and I saw immediately that it was getting harder for me to hit the 90% red zone and that I am also running a lot of my recovery and bulk miles too fast - left to my own devices my runs are a blend of orange and green - 150 bpm is my go to.  My runs have been sliding into the homeostasis of being not so hard they would stress me out physically or mentally, neither were they so easy I didn't feel accomplished.  So checking on zones has been helpful, I now know I have to go easy occasionally to be able to get into the red zone at all.  My aerobic capacity is much higher than my leg strength and turnover these days, so anything that helps the legs is now critica thing.  Daily gentle yoga and range of motion seem to be a great solution too and instead of dreading the slow pace of yoga and being frustrated at my lack of flexibility I now look forward to a class like I would a nourishing meal, it feels so good to do something healing and aware for my body.

The ego is  also something that can't be neglected just because your older and wiser.  It is still a tender and fragile creature and so very necessary  to be a successful runner.  I had an experience this weekend that reminded me how important that sense of self esteem is to runners.  I typically do my long run solo as its hard to find runners at the same pace and volume as one self.  This week I joined a fun group run with a breakfast afterwards hosted by a couple who do so much to support all the runners and triathletes in their area. After two days down at Mt SAC with the cross country team I was somewhat sleep deprived and two days of no running and being squished on a bus, sleeping on a lumpy sofa bed hadn't left me in great shape but I figured company is always a boost to effort.  It turned out the crowd running were a pretty talented crew and certainly a lot faster than me.  Fortunately they were in full marathon training, and I am working up to a half marathon, so they needed 20 miles and I only 13 which evened things out a bit.  I decided to draw on them for inspiration and adjusted my expectations to trotting behind them.  The first mile of warm up with the pack was a lot of fun,  the day was shiny and new and I enjoyed being surrounded by the friendly banter of such a large group.  We wondered out loud if the neighbors would think our hosts were throwing an all night rager as there were dozens of cars parked all over the neighborhood for this early morning run.  The next three miles unwound and the group slowly  yet steadily moved ahead.  Although I was so quickly solo, it was kind of fun, I enjoyed the fact that at every major road the group would need to wait for the lights and I played a catch up game of being able to join up during their delay and reconnect and run across the roads with no interruption to my pace.

Then around mile 4 one of the runners from that group began to slow down and jogged back to run with me.  His opening gambit was 'Are you injured or is that your natural running gait?' and followed up  by reminding me that 'you know you really must not run through injury, it is a very bad thing to do as a runner'....for a few moments I was speechless.  I might have some bugs in my running form, I would be the first to agree, but I was currently injury free and was taken aback that one runner would even say that to another.  Without covering up my reaction, I spat out ' that saying that was like asking a woman if she liked wearing lots of make up, or was she just ugly?'.  Well the conversation inevitably improved, and we both laughed about his remarks, as his intentions were only good.  Then we chatted about his own injuries, heel striking issues etc before I politely mentioned that I was going to be sticking in ear buds so I could focus on a slightly faster second half of my run and we parted company on good terms.

It then took me around three more miles to undo the damage I had allowed those harmless words to wreak, and it reminded me how delicate our ego is and how important it is to take care of it.  The inner war in my mind was replaying it as 'are you kidding, call yourself a runner, you clearly look as though you are barely stumbling or hobbling along', then I tried to overlay it with a voice that would sooth a  child to remind myself that 'you have been running for 15 years and have made great progress, up until two years ago you could still PR you repeatedly qualify for the most selective marathon in the US, you are doing just fine, and you are probably a lot faster than many other 50 year old women'....

More often that inner critic comes from ourselves.  Hearing it externally reminded me how important positive self talk is.  If you recorded your own inner dialogue in races and workouts you might would likely hear  helpful comments such as: 'well that was a slow start, you had better pick it up now or you are going to be really off pace' 'shoot, you feel nauseous already, you have gone out too fast your never going to make it', 'is that all you have for a final kick, you clearly have zero fast twitch muscle and should have done much more work on ending your races well' or 'your going to let that man juggling 3 balls wearing a jester suit pass you, you really are slow...'.  Rarely do we give ourselves positive messages, it seems to be so much easier  and more natural to fall down the rabbit tunnel of negativity.  The fact that one off hand comment from another runner could affect me for three miles was demonstration alone that ego is so very delicate and it must be fed and tended to on a regular basis.

That encounter turned out to be very helpful in terms of this realization.  Creating a positive dialogue in your head and changing the message is paramount. As sentient beings we get to choose whatever we listen to and that which we ignore.  So for the second half of my run, I turned off the negative stream and changed the song.  Turns out Chance the Rapper is a fabulous running bud.  Suddenly Blessings were falling in my lap, and I was reminded that I above all ' I should not forget the happy thoughts, as all you need is happy thoughts'. Thank you Chance, I love you too!

BOSTON ROYALTY

In 2012 I had analyzed every weather station a week before the race, each time with an incresingly sinking stomach.  Predictions for record warmth of 75f would make the PR I had trained in 14f degree impossible.  Each day the prediction rose until a day before the charts showed glaring sunshine and an inconceivable 87f at the race start in Hopkinson.  It became known as the Broilerthon of 2012.

This year I watched the weather charts which showed a row of beautiful foggy clouds and 52f, every day.  Every day that is, except for Marathon Monday, where a disgustingly jolly orange sum emoji was firmly placed with 70f slapped over it.  This time heading into the race with only a month's training I could care less.  The sun would shine on everyone the same, the 3 1/2 hours waiting at the Marathon Village would be more fun in the warm, and as there was no time to shoot for, so no disappointment to be had.

Sure enough we sprawled out in early spring sunshine enjoying a nap before our 10:50 am wave.  We had been entertained by all of the characters on the bus.  Bronson Venables who was setting out to run only his second marathon but had planned on running 2:20 and at mile 26 having the flexibility and composure to adopt a runner's lunge and locate the diamond ring he would use to propose to his fiancee Kate, who would then have a maximum of 30 seconds to reply before he hit the finish line.  A man who had paid $10,000 for a charity bib to fulfill his dream of running this race.  The atmosphere was celebratory and marvelous.

As we walked out to the corrals I bumped into many friends from California, it seemed like a giant party of runners.  However this was our first time back since the bombing and some things had changed.  Like in airports we were only allowed a gallon zip lock bag with everything needed prior to the race in terms of food or sun screen.  In 2012 we had deck chairs and back packs!  there was no hopping off the bus and into the bushes to pee, instead security guided us in long lines along a predetermined route so lines to the porta potties were 45 minutes or more.

Gazing up at the rooftops there were military garbed snipers above our heads.  The runners roared a cheer and waved to the gun men working to ensure our safety. I turned to Q-Less and Merciless, easy to pick out in our vintage 2010 shocking pink and reminded them that I was running alone and not to wait for me.  They were trained, I was not, and I firmly believe that you are born alone, die alone and should always race alone. They were good enough friends to respect it and not demure. The air already felt hot and heavy and my two training runs were not enough to really know what my race pace should even be.  My snazzy new Garmin had an attack of the jitters the day before and the heart rate monitor was now defunct and the watch had lost over an hour of time during the night.  Merciless had helped me revive the darn thing the night before in the hotel - but all trust  and love was gone.  My garmin and I were taking a break.   I decided to run entirely by feel, cautioning myself not to go out too hard in the first downhill 5 miles, the watch might record it might not but I wouldn't be able to trust it.

Paradoxically there was no chance of a fast start.  The race was so crowded an energetic elbow from the side turned the watch off completely.  Then my deranged 235 started a .5 mile split - we were officially no longer on speaking terms.  Plus the race clock was not relevant to our  10:50 plus 6 minute wave start even if I could do that much mental math.

At a mile and a half I watched the hot pink shirts of my friends disappear into the throng and instantly relaxed.  In control of the pace and able to stop for drenching water on my head whenever I needed to I felt much calmer.  I heard my training friend Kristin shout out hello, and responded, but almost two seconds later had to head out of the way of the intense traffic of the aid station, losing her immediately.  I wasn't feeling particularly social anyway.

The crowd out in Hopkinton was noisy, the crowds 5 miles in were noisier still.  It is hard not to get excited in this race when you are being willed along by the locals.  It was a day vacation for them, the first day of spring break, the sun was shining and the college kids were well into their 3rd beer of the day.  So many hands to high five, or 'touch here for power' signs - its hard to resist, but resist you must or you could add hours to your running time.  Before I saw it I heard the wall of sound that is Wellesley. The tradition of the all female college students giving kisses to the runners is well entrenched, and there were hoards of young girls with signs and banners inviting the runners to stop and kiss them.  I had been pretty focused until now, but somehow hitting the half way mark and its cacophany of sound required a momentary celebration.  I scanned the side of the street for 100m and there he was.  A cute brunette in his early twenties with a promising sign 'Kiss me I'm a Wellesley Virgin' - I peeled off for a brief moment and landed him a giant smack on the cheek that made him blush.  I heard the 65 year old runner behind me laughing and shout ' you Go Girl' and with that we carried on our way.

For me the race really began at mile 16 when the hills of Newton rose into sight.  My focus was staying in good shape until there.  Keeping an even effort I finally saw the 16 mile sign, and also  right in front of it was the first casualty, a reminder of the caution with which you approach the marathon distance.  A stretcher was whisking away a female runner, prostrate in pain, with sheets drawn up to her chin being delicately carried into the ambulance.  It was starting to get real for a lot of these runners.  The hills are not hard or high, but they do come at a difficult place in the race.  If you have run the downhills too fast, or if you have stuck to your goal training pace despite the spike in temperatures this is where you might start to unravel.  Strewn ahead of me on the road were discarded bags of ibuprofen, dropped head phones, all kinds of detritus that runners decided was no irrelevant to their efforts.

I had been using the side of the road to keep my pace steady, but now the odd walker was using that spot to keep out of the crowds.  There was still ten miles to go.....  At mile 18 I felt happy when I passed the spot that I had dropped out in 2012 due to heat.  I was still doing OK. I hadn't taken the bus yet.  Mentally I kept telling myself all I had to do was get to mile 21 when the last hill, Heartbreak, would end, the race would flatten out and the cooling headwind would bring a drop in temperatures as we moved towards Boston and the coast. I hit 21 and had to double check that I had passed Heartbreak Hill, it felt kind of small - that was a good sign.  The last four miles the cheering was unreal.  There is no way any walker or runner can not finish the race, no wonder 97 percent finish, that 3 per cent were in the medical tent.  My pace held steady and I could hear the crowds rhythmic cheer of 'ruth, ruth, ruth' like a constant drum beat - a single syllable name is a gift for this race if you put it in big letters on your shirt.  I could hear ' Ruth, you look great' then as I passed I heard 'no she really does',  as I was able to stride past without the usual dinosaur heavy legs you get at mile 23.  I finally got close to the Citgo sign and knew I could pick up my pace.  Running down the middle of the road I was reminded of the first time I had run Boston, falling apart with roaring in my ears and dizziness Q-less had grabbed my water bottle, told me to lock step and mentally guided me through the last mile before I truly fell apart.

I was happy to finish alone, and was excited to see my friends at the end, we had agreed to meet by the Westin so I was already thinking how to get to them.  But up ahead I caught a comforting glimpse of hot pink and saw a chink of the back of Merciless's shirt.  I was so happy to see her and knew that we could share the moment of finishing together, that I ran right behind and grabbed her arm in the air.  We took off together and had a touching moment as we cross the finish line in synch.  It doesn't matter how your race has been, sharing the finish is a very emotional moment and the best feeling in the world.

The minute I crossed the line things started to feel less than stellar.  The few guu chomps I had absorbed were feeling very uncertain in my stomach and somebody had inadvertently poured quick setting concrete down the back of both my legs which made my emergency visit to the porta potty wrestling with my silver cloak quite an operation....My dear friend Karen and Robin were a superb support crew wand chauffeured us off to the hotel despite crazy Boston road closures and traffic. Before I knew it I was sitting at the bar with a large Sam Adams, truffle fries and a lobster roll, having enjoyed a soak in a 5 foot deep bath tub in the room.

After a night of celebrations we got up late the next morning and headed to a tiny retro diner around the corner, The South Street Diner, to be warmly greeted by the owner insisting we were all comp'd our eggs benedict and posing us for photos for his facebook page.  Boston is a city that truly loves its race.   In other cities the locals moan about road closures, in Boston they treat you like a rock star.  As we all went our separate ways there was not one of us that didn't feel a foot taller, regardless of our race experience - Boston treats its runners like Royalty.  I can see why for many it is a lifetime goal to run this race.  Whether you fundraise for a charity, buy a bib, train hard and qualify or use it as an opportunity to propose to the love of your life, you should run this race. Boston was beautiful to all of us that day.

Taper Time, Trashcan Quarters and other such stuff

Wandering around in a slightly grubby bathrobe at 11 am after my last long run of my alarmingly brief training cycle, my husband raised an eyebrow as he took in my hunched form slurping from a large tumber of ruby red merlot looking liquid.  I am still not sure he believe me when I assured him it was my special anti-inflammatory sour cherry juice, and was clearly concerned the pyschological effects of too little training and one last terrible long run had finally driven me to day time drinking.

The biggest concern I really had about running Boston on so little training was actually whether I might just stop caring at a certain point.  This was Boston, a big deal, a race I have always loved. however you know the race is going to hurt, that is part of the experience, feeling that pain, but if you are untrained and you are going to run a personal worst, is it still worth the pain? A visiting friend advised me to set a shiny new goal - ie just finishing, but even that seemed a bit hollow.  Then after a Friday practice with the distance runners on the track team I had a more interesting revelation.

I had resurrected a workout I had heard of from Laurence's Middle School Coach back in Pennsylvania.  Coach Bialka was a young enthusiastic collegiate runner who was teaching English and keen to connect the kids to effort over result.  He had let them run 'unlimited 400's' they would begin with one and run at a pre-determined pace solely based on their race times until they added time, although they each had to do 5, they could easily tank the 6th one and be out of the workout,  Several of them did just that, but many went on.  I got an excited email from the Coach that evening telling me that Laurence and another boy had amazed him with their tenacity as they ran 7 seconds ahead of pace for a total of 16 laps, with only a short rest interval. He actually had to pull them in from the rain as practice should have been over half an hour ago and the rest of the watching team was anxious to leave. He wondered if he had been right to stop them, but he was worried about the  backlash if parents came to pick up kids and he still had them out on the track running in the rain in 7th grade.

So five years on I decided to try the same workout.  I had all the runners commit to doing 8 laps at their goal 2 mile pace, which was 15 - 30 seconds faster than their current two mile race time. After that if they were 5 seconds off pace they would have to stop but would stay to cheer on their team mates.  As the workout went on, my expectations kept shifting like quicksand.  I had produced charts to record the splits that had 16 boxes as a maximum - soon the volunteers were adding boxes within boxes as the team continued  far beyond the 16 required.  Suddenly I realized beating 16 was going to be possible for many of them. A few younger runners started to drop off, some that had been injured decided sensibly to bow out.  A freshman girl said she felt unwell so we dramatically dragged over a giant trash can and asked her if she had one more repeat; turns out she had 7 more  One boy fell to the ground in sheer disappointment and punched the ground in frustration as at 19 he was out and he had desperately wanted to get to 20.  The track got quieter as the sprinters and jumpers and hurdlers headed out for their Friday night entertainment.  Still we had 3 girls and 7 varsity boys still keeping pace, the other runners started to take bets on who would be victorious and win the gatorade for the last man or woman standing.  At 25 we started dropping the pace for the boys as we were worried this could go all night; they now had to run 2 seconds below their average pace for the workout, which was in some cases already ahead of pace.  At 20 we did the same for the girls and at 25 laps the girls jointly ground to a halt having completed an impressive 10k of 400m.  At 27 we dropped pace for the boys again by another 2 seconds, still they hung on. Finally at 31 we told the boys they were done; they did not drop out we had to stop them.  Many of those runners reported feeling levels of exhaustion and effort they had never felt before, but they were proud of their accomplishment and felt that they would always remember how tough they had been that day. Perhaps prouder than they had been of any race.

When I asked the team the next day what they would have done if  I had told them they were going to run 31 X 400m at an average of 70 seconds per lap getting increasingly fast they said they would have either thought it was Aprils Fools and laughed, or turned and fled the track.  Not one of them thought they would be capable of such a feat.  So why was it they all achieved such dizzying greatness on the track that night.  They had not considered further than one lap at a time.  They had moved as one large group, in a pack, with the same order repeated almost every time.  They were running not thinking in a hypnotizing, mesmeric moving meditation, without fear of how many more they would have to do.  At any point they could have dropped out or ran so slowly they were eliminated, but they chose to run each time.  There were occasions when one might end the quarter and say they were 'done' and but after the recovery jog of 200m they were back in it again.  Without being aware at the time it turns out they totaled over 13 miles on the track that day.They had eaten the elephant one bite at a time but they had no idea how enormous that elephant would turn out to be.

It made me realize that as runners we often pysch our selves out of races.  We consider too far ahead how much pain we might be in down the road; trying to project ahead instead of focusing on the here and the now.  I decided that was how I would run my most untrained Boston  - one mile at a time, not considering what might come next, nor worrying about how many miles I might or might not get to. Who knows maybe at 26.2  I might throw in a few cool down miles back to the hotel this time for a celebratory glass of cherry juice.

Staying Zen, Calm and Present, but also Cramming!

Facebook's automatic memory sharing function can be wonderful or painful, or just cringeworthy.  This time it popped up previous running blogs, reminding me of my previous tapers for Boston, eagerly anticipated after months of tough training, holding on by my finger nails for that delicious drop in mileage.  This March was way different.  My body was fresh and untested, just slightly out of shape, but fortunately out of injury too.  I had jumped up from 16 miles to 20 successfully in one week with no repercussions for the foot. The cramathon was now on - everyone else on the East Coast was winding down for spring break and a well earned reduction in running; I was trying to suddenly ramp mine up.

Previous training cycles had been 20 weeks, this one was 4 -5! I figured seven to ten days was probably a decent taper.  In previous years I had done well on the traditional three weeks of cutting a third each week.  But with only one long run under my belt, and knowing that it takes ten - fourteen days to convert a work out into any fitness gain that meant I had another twenty to do straight away.  Today would be the day.

Last week's 20 mile run had been tackled with my lovely friend Kristin - and we had a fun time for the first ten miles chatting easily and whiling away the miles. Of course by mile 16 it was getting a little harder to make the effort and we fell silent for a while before the usual end of run delirium set in.  In our ramblings about gu, floating, canal paths and puppies, I made an interesting discovery about that term 'being present', you know the phrase that the yogis keep bandying around.  Just before mile 18 all Kristin could think of was a cold soda and being at home, she was two miles from being finished and desperately wanted to be there.  Struggling with where you want to be and where you actually are is hard, and it made the last two miles tougher as a consequence.  I suddenly realized if we had imagined we were running 22 miles, mile 18 would have been no different to the rest.  Distance running, like acting in front of a crowd of thousands, is often an exercise in learned relaxation.  If you can stay relatively relaxed while very uncomfortable you will do well; struggle at your peril.  I remembered Galen Rupp had run his 20 mile training efforts with his heart rate around 150 and never higher, he didn't stress or push the pace beyond reasonable effort. So much is made of being tough and pushing to your personal best.  However this is not always the case, I don't think you should be striving and straining all the time.  Geting ahead of yourself just makes life harder, marathon running is an exercise in patience and knowing when not to push.

It was better for me not to look back on months of injury when I should have been training, or to think too far ahead over the next couple of weeks, but to see where I was and where my body was on a daily basis. Of course the new spirit animal garmin is not helping in that respect as it seems to respond directly to runner ego, not sense.  Initially the garmin and I were not getting on at all.  We were mostly at odds as it kept telling me to lie down for 72 hours after every run.  I contemplated returning it to the store based on incompatible personalities. Turns out the default settings for heart rate were really wrong, giving me a max heart rate of 170 when its really 197 - no wonder it thought I was going to keel over at any minute.  It also gave me really depressing race predictions - 24 minutes for a 5k 3:55 for a marathon, but its negativity did incentivise me to prove it wrong.  I was actually eager to go and run a fast ten miles the other day to see if it would change its predictions.  True enough it placated me by changing its opinion and telling me 20mins for a 5k and 3:15 for a marathon.  I'm not sure I believe either versions, as the latter must be dependent on actually doing training for those races, but its an interesting conversation to be had nonetheless and it had got me out the door.

Maybe one day we will end up in a virtual world where our electronic running buddies take over from our real ones.  My friend Chris was using an app the other day with a sexy southern drawl called Candace.  Candace's soothing voice kept cooing at her she was doing 'just fine' and that 'she didn't need to run with anyone else, she was better than that...'; we had fun imagining the scenario where the voice continues to encourage you on in its stroking manner as your run right into the car 'without worrying about what anyone else is doing in that ol road'.

20 miles solo later this morning was sounding a little lonely, until I remembered it would be a long conversation with myself, and maybe my new Garmin if we are speaking to each other today.