3:20:56

Two and a half weeks later, I can finally bring myself to write about the marathon. I apologize for the delay.

The race started well. I was full of nervous energy and raring to go when we were finally released at 5:35 AM. Chuck thought I started too fast but I did not back off much and we were well ahead of our 7:15 target pace by the time we reached the Golden Gate Bridge. As we crossed it, the sun was starting to peek through the clouds over the Bay to the east. In the dim pink and orangle glow, we could see Alcatraz and the Bay Bridge---it was perfect. We stayed strong, confident, and even chatty. My spirits were soaring from the adrenaline and the friends and family on the course and then further uplifted as we came back across the bridge, spotting fellow Mudd alumns Ricky Lim and Andy Niedermaier on their way out.

Chuck and I kept cruising through the hills leading to the Golden Gate Park, past the Bison Paddock, and were startled to catch sight of the 3:10 pace group, which had started at least three minutes ahead of us. We approached within 10 seconds of the group and clocked a 1:34 half marathon. We were right on course and relaxed the pace just a bit, seeking to maintain steady distance from the pace runner.

At this point, almost halfway through the second half, I truly believed I would break 3:10. In high school cross country, I had always finished with a kick, always able to find a reserve to power me through the end. If I could maintain my present pace, I thought, I'd be able to speed in at the end and blow 3:10 away. Such a finish was not to be.

With less than seven miles to go, all that remained were some downhills and flats to the finish. Chuck threw himself down the slopes with abandon and I foolishly tried to keep up. My knees are simply not built for such punishment and by mile 22 I knew something was wrong. My legs started feeling unbelievably heavy. I could not stride normally and my quads, hips, and hamstrings started to tighten and cramp. Chuck looked back with concern a few times but soldiered on as I fell back.

The last four miles were incredibly demoralizing as I was passed again and again. I willed my legs to work, to move faster, but they had had enough of my input. My hamstrings had begun to spasm violently, seeming to jump out the back of my legs, and I was forced to frequent walking breaks. At 3:00, with just over two miles to go, I knew the finish would not come quickly enough.

I did not complete my primary goal. I did not finish 3:10 to qualify for the Boston Marathon. I finished, emotionally destroyed, at 3:20:56, not even out of breath or tired, but simply unable to will my muscles to work as they had been trained for the last eighteen weeks.

My mother walked me through the snacks and drinks and we found Whit, Emlyn, and Yoxall. I eventually found a moment alone with my cell phone and called Trina and released a torrent of tears and emotion, only stopping when I saw a dazed Chuck looking for me. He had finished at 3:09:30 and then spent the next half hour or more in the medical tent dealing with completely spent legs. We hugged and congratulated each other and I likely started crying again. What an incredible journey.

My running shoes, and the afternoon breeze, beckon. More thoughts, and many thanks, are to come.