The Baystate Marathon - Recap

The alarm was set for 5am, but I was lying awake in the dark of my hotel room at 4:18am.  The anticipation of my first marathon was too much for my mind to allow me to go back to sleep.  This was the day marked on the calendar long before I'd even begun to actually train for it.  When I signed up for the race many months ago, I could have hardly imagined the personal significance it would hold.  And while I tried to block out the forecasted Nor'easter, I couldn't help but wonder how the weather would impact my long awaited marathon debut.

For many years I toyed with the idea of running a marathon.  Through running with the North Shore Striders I'd often been party to conversations about those long training miles and challenging race conditions.  In the training for previous half marathons, I'd contemplate doing a marathon, but by mile 12 of that race I'd summarily dismiss the notion as insanity.  After my wife and I adopted our son (at birth), Max, in late 2007 my running routines went out with the proverbial bath water for basically all of 2008.  Tired from waking up early every day, I'd opt to stay in bed, play with Max, or really do anything but commit myself to a running regimen.  As the weeks became months I fell into worse and worse shape such that the prospect of getting back into shape became all the more daunting.  Every couple of months I'd go running for a few painful miles, be reminded of how far I'd fallen out of shape, and I'd hang my sneakers up until guilt induced time came.  Running a marathon seemed an ever vanishing mirage.

In late 2008, my wife and I found out that we were pregnant.  It was a magnificent surprise as we hadn't had any success in that regard, despite numerous fertility treatments in the past.  Our inability to get pregnant led us to adoption, but because there was no medical reason found why we weren't getting pregnant, we hoped that one day it would happen for us.  We were of course elated and were excited to grow our family. The dormant runner in me also feared that with a new baby my running would be permanently relegated to best intentions.  But because running was really the only exercise I could both do easily and enjoy, I vowed to change the status quo.  My wife bought me a Garmin Forerunner on the condition that I make ample use of it.  In December 2008, just after Christmas, I took a short and slow jog in San Antonio with my wife and sister.  It would mark the beginning of my comeback.

I knew myself well enough to know that I needed a race - a date on the calendar - to focus my attention on running, to keep me honest.  Fear of a painful run is a great motivator for me.  And knowing that I also needed some specific goals to keep me motivated continuously throughout the year, I elected to attempt the US Track and Field New England Grand Prix, a series of seven races beginning in February with a 10 miler in Amherst, MA and culminating with the Baystate Marathon in Lowell.  If one completed all the races, he or she earned the title Ironrunner and got a jacket to prove it!  I was in no shape to run that first 10-miler, but I knew if I didn't participate in that race, I wouldn't be motivated to do the others.  I slogged my way through the hills of Amherst, slipped on the icy dirt roads, and was thankful just to finish.  As each race came and went, I grew stronger and more confident.  I ran three or four days a week without fail (save a 3-week stint on injury reserve).  In the spring, I joined my fellow North Shore Striders on the Peabody High School Track for weekly workouts with Coach Fernando Braz.  Coach Braz surveyed our running past, goals, and amount of running we could commit to.  Based on our answers he assigned us to workout groups and for those of us planning on running a marathon, wrote up a detailed week by week training plan.  I was at the track nearly every Thursday evening and on the days I couldn't make it I got the workout from Coach Braz and completed it on my own.

On a warm June day, I traveled to Rhode Island for the Rhody 5K.  We looped around the Twin Rivers Casino grounds on what was to be the last Grand Prix Race of the summer.  The next race in the series wasn't until early September.  My training was going well and I was looking forward to having several summer weeks off from racing to just enjoy my runs without having to focus on a race.  There were a lot of other things going on in my life, too, that were keeping me busy.  I'd been unemployed since December and planning for our family's financial stability was proving to be a challenge.  We were also edging closer to committing to moving from Salem, MA to Connecticut and there was much to think about and plan for if it was to happen.  And of course, we were expecting a baby in August.  We were taking weekly birthing classes and making plans to welcome a younger brother or sister for Max.  In July, we looked forward to the arrival of my sister and family who come up for several weeks from Texas each summer.  I was also searching the North Shore for a 'new' used car.  We were busy, burdened even, but happy.  Happiness can be all to fleeting....

In late July the worst thing that could ever happened to us did. On July 17th my wife grew nervous as she hadn't felt the baby move for what she thought was a day.  She thought she'd go into the hospital where they would check on the baby, tell her everything was okay and send her on her way.  She thought she was just being paranoid and didn't even mention to me that she was going in before she went. Everything wasn't okay.  Everything was far from okay.  I got a call from her.  She told me to come to the hospital, that something was wrong with the baby.  I insisted that she tell me what was the matter.  "They can't find the heartbeat."  The cliché is to say that you can't imagine what that was like, but I disagree.  I think most anyone can imagine what it's like and it's not far from what you would think.  It's the most awful, sinking, horrible, and incomprehensible feeling you can envision.  For the next three days we not only had to deal with this news, but with the practical and mind numbing realities. We had to stay in the hospital for the baby to be induced and that took several days.  And while we waited for the inevitable, we had to face the facts that THIS was now our new world.  On July 20th, we delivered Leonardo Mathewson Ring.  We were able to spend several hours with him and share him with our families. A few long days later we found ourselves going to the funeral home to retrieve his ashes.  I share this with you not to engender your sympathy (though I know I likely have), but to frame the context in which I completed the remainder of my marathon training.  What had begun as a way to stay fit and to achieve a near 40th birthday milestone was now a primary and necessary source of healing solace.  Running became my escape, my meditation, and my therapy.

I obviously had taken a few days off from running in late July, but as much as I had wanted to run before our baby was to be born, I now knew that if I didn't have some kind of running routine, I'd go stir crazy.  I went to track practice the very next week and I scrupulously followed Coach Braz's marathon training schedule.  I told some of my fellow runners about Leo in advance of seeing them; I received their heartfelt condolences, but quickly changed the subject back toward running.  For those hours, on the track or on the quiet roads of the North Shore, I didn't have to do anything but put one foot in front of the other.  I didn't have to think about anything much more complicated than pace times and miles to completion.  I improved my fitness, lost a few more pounds, and cleared my head.

I went on to complete the next two USTAF races, The Ollie 5 Miler in South Boston and the Lone Gull 10K in Gloucester.  Now all that was left to become a US Track and Field Ironrunner was the looming Baystate Marathon.  Throughout late August and September, I'd increased my long runs from 12 miles to 14 to 16 to 18 to 20, and 22+.  They didn't all go smoothly. On a very hot and humid day in August, I failed in my first attempt to run 16, which would have been my longest run to date.  But a few weeks later, on a cooler, rainy day in September I surpassed 20 with comparative 'ease.'  After moving to Connecticut I was further challenged by the far more hilly terrain and had both success (22 miles) and failures (a scheduled 16 miles that ended depressingly at 14).  I was also developing some needling injuries that didn't preclude running but did make it far more uncomfortable.  My right hip hurt pretty much all the time; indeed my whole right leg often felt out of sorts, from the shin, through the IT band, the hamstrings, and up to the butt.  I iced after runs, took plenty of ibuprofen, and resolved to endure.  I needed to to complete this race and I desperately yearned to finish the Grand Prix series.  It had now long ceased to be about personal fitness goals.  I was striving for some kind of purgatorial release. On my longer training runs, especially when I began to run them alone, I often used the time to think.  I thought a lot about our lost son Leo.  I often said his name, sometimes in my head, sometimes out loud on my exhalations.  "Leo.  Leo.  Leo." I imagined his presence in the nature that surrounded me.  And I often sought to gain strength and energy from him.  In the weeks preceding the marathon I thought about writing his name on my shirt, to hear people say "Go Leo," but in the end, I opted not, preferring instead to invoke his name only when I felt the need.

All this and more flitted in my head as I lay in that Lowell Marriott hotel room in the pre-dawn hours before the marathon.  I had much more than just the race in my head.  And though that was the case, I did still need to mentally prepare for the most physically challenging effort of my life.  I tried to keep the weather forecast out of my mind, but there were practical considerations.  The weather forecast said low 40s, rain, and wind - a goddamn Nor'easter!  I had solicited input from experienced marathoners in the Striders and from the internet about appropriate attire.  There was no consensus, people given to their own unique running predilections.  And I had my own, too.  I elected to run in a technical long sleeve shirt and our Striders singlet on over it, shorts, a baseball style running hat (with a UConn "C"), and gloves.  I thought that as I warmed up, I'd lose the gloves and unzip the long sleeve shirt.  Warming up was to be short lived.  At 5:15am I rose from my cozy bed; I got changed, had a cup of coffee and a toasted bagel with jelly - my traditional pre long run meal.  I gathered my things, went to the lobby to wait with the other solemn (or maybe just sleepy) runners and took a 6am shuttle from the hotel to the Tsongas Arena.  We hotel shuttlers were amongst the first to arrive and worked our way past the assembling volunteers (hats off the them!).  I had about an hour and a half to kill until the 8am start.  I filled the time by walking circles inside the arena, going the bathroom (several times), stretching, and watching the Zamboni clean the ice rink.  Finally as 745am approached I donned a trash bag in hopes of staying dry until the last possible moment.

Just as I headed out the arena doors to walk the several blocks to the start the rain began to sprinkle.  It wasn't freezing cold just yet, but the thick clouds and increasing breeze made it clear it would be.  At 7:55, I stood in line at the port-a-potties for one last pre-race pee.  Though nervous about the waning minutes until the start, I was more eager to empty the bladder so as to not have to stop during the race.  I exited the port-a-potty at 7:59 and made it to the rear of the marathon start chute which was right next to the half marathon start chute.  I actually had to scale the metal fence to get in to my start area.  After some thank yous from the race organizers (to the volunteers, sponsors, the mayor) they played the National Anthem; we all took off our hats.  The start was upon us. But just before the start -  and despite the fact we were tucked between two tall brick buildings, a cold, stiff gust of wind knifed through us as if to say, "are you sure you're really ready?"  It didn't matter because before I had a moment to consider the question we were off.

The first mile, typical of any large race, was slow.  The combined mass of both the half and full marathoners - several thousand of us - were packed in tight and more than running, one is really just making sure that you don't trip on the feet in front of you.  My goal was to run the first few miles between a 9:40-9:20 per mile pace.  I was hoping to run this marathon in something under 4 hours and 20 minutes, which meant running 26.2 miles at under an average 9:55 per mile pace.  In all my long training runs, I generally settled in at a 9:45ish pace, but didn't know how the race adrenalin, weather, and extra few miles of a marathon would effect me.  After the first couple of miles, I found some running room and tried to relax and just see what felt right.  It usually takes me three or four miles to iron out the stiffness, but I was so distracted during those miles that I barely noticed myself warming up.  The rain drops were falling a bit more frequently, but it wasn't raining hard - yet.  By the 5th or 6th mile, I found that I was running closer to a 9:15 pace and it felt easy.  And while this would have put me far ahead of my goal, I was also nervous about what this pace might mean for my pace at mile 15 or mile 25.  There was a long way to go.  I tried to dial it back a bit, but without thinking would drift back to the faster pace.  I ran into my fellow North Shore Strider and training mate, Tom, somewhere around this time.  Amongst the thousands of runners, I was happy to finally see one familiar face.  But we were each running our own race strategy so after a few pleasantries, we drifted apart and ran the course on our own.   As I neared the 8 mile mark, where we cross the Merrimack River at Rt. 113 in Tyngsboro, the rain began in earnest and with it, the more acute sensation of it being cold.  And though I'd warmed up prior to that, it was from this point forward that the weather began to impose its will.  Instead of thawing out more as the race wore on, I ran the rest in a clothes-soaking, bone-chilling, hand-numbing, wind-driven rain.  My extremities chilled by mile by mile.

Marathon Route Map

I ran east back toward Lowell on the north side of the river along Pawtucket Blvd. and despite the chill, I still felt strong.  I even began to run somewhat faster - under a 9 minute/mile pace.  I tried not to look at my pace watch and just go by how I felt, but I couldn't help but fear that it might be a painful mistake.  Around mile 9, I heard someone calling my name.  Without my glasses and with my iPod in my ears, it was hard to tell, but I was almost certain it was Coach Braz cheering me on (I later confirmed it was).  He was the first - and only person - I'd see who I knew until the finish approached.  I leaned up the slight, but long incline to mile 13 where we crossed the Merrimack at the Rourke Bridge and retraced about 5 miles west back toward our first crossing point.  By this point it was raining quite steadily and it felt as if the temperature was dropping  (And I was right - see the weather here).  Instead of my hands growing warmer as the race wore on, they grew ever colder.  My gloves had helped me at the outset, but now they seemed to isolate the chill around my fingers; I didn't dare remove them for fear of it being worse without them.  I let my arms hang lower in hopes of draining some blood into my fingers.  I opened and closed my fists to stimulate circulation; if it helped, I couldn't feel enough to tell.  I was taking my Gu gel supplements beginning at mile 13, every 3 miles, but by mile 16, it was already becoming difficult to pull the packets out, let alone manipulate them to my mouth.  By mile 19, I could hold the packet in my hand, but couldn't squeeze the Gu out (after having to have used my teeth to tear the packet open).  I shoved the whole pack in my mouth and tried to chew the Gu out.  It worked enough.  By mile 22, I really felt as though I had two frozen blocks on the ends of my arms.  On the plus side, my right hip and leg were posing none of the anticipated aches I'd feared.   As I ran the last 8 miles fatigue began to creep into my stride.   My average pace crept up from 9:14 for mile 18 to 9:34 for mile 19.  The cold and the distance were beginning to make themselves felt.  It didn't help that while the overall course was flat, there was a steady incline on these last miles which were further complicated by a headwind.  It wasn't the 20 MPH winds forecasted, but it was consistent.  I lowered my head and chest into it.  On Coach Braz's training schedule the only thing he had written for October 18th was "Tunnel Vision."  I now knew what he meant; I took it to heart and zeroed in on the road in front of me.

Around mile 20, I began to feel that I was really going to be able to finish the race.  I knew there were very challenging miles ahead, but I knew in my core that there was no doubt that I would make it - that we would make it.  It wasn't especially graceful running, but it was determined forward progress.  Sometimes a stiff breeze or bit of uneven road would tilt me to one side or the other and I noticed that my legs didn't right me as quickly as they otherwise might have.  I kept running.  I began to pass people that were truly laboring.  They were wet, cold, massaging cramped muscles, or just needed to walk for a bit.  Few - if any - looked happy.  I trudged on.  Indeed the only time I walked at all during the race was to focus on opening the second to last Gu at around mile 22.5.  I simply had to concentrate all my dexterity into opening that tiny packet of carbohydrate energy.  By around mile 24 I'd slowed to that 9:55 pace and my 25th mile was really hard work, slowing to a 10:34 pace.  But I was almost there and my Garmin was telling me that my overall average pace was still excellent and several minutes ahead of my goal.  I picked up the pace again and willed myself toward the finish.  I crossed the river one last time at Aiken Street and made my way around the final bend that led into Lelacheur Park, home to the Lowell Spinners baseball team and the race's finish.  I heard my name and was deeply heartened to see my wife and son as well as my best friend and his daughter.  I finished strong, running the uneven outfield perimeter to the finish chute.  As I approached the end my friend and training partner, Linda, yelled my name and gave me a high five (due to injury she was unable to run the race).

I looked ahead to the last few steps to the sign that said, "Finish."  A very brief, but intense wave of cathartic emotion passed quickly through me - a quick shudder that somehow encompassed everything this meant to me.  This race began as a notion to keep fit.  It became something that sustained me through the most difficult months of my life.  The weather for the race, as inhospitable as it was, seemed apropos and was an almost welcome symbolic representation of the challenges I felt I faced all year long.  I finished in 4 hours, 8 minutes, and 3 seconds - well ahead of my goal.  I know the conditions were not ideal, but to me, it was the most beautiful day I've had in a long time.

I want to append a few special thank yous to this note.  To my fellow North Shore Striders, and in particular my regular North Shore Striders running partners: Linda, Dennis, Vicky, Giuseppe, Tom, Annajean, and President Mike Pelletier -  thank you for your companionship, encouragement, and friendship.  To Coach Braz, I couldn't have been more pleased with your training regimen, constant support, and running expertise. And most importantly, I offer my humble and heartfelt gratitude to my amazing wife, Linda.  Thank you, my dear, for supporting me in this effort, for trailing after our tireless toddler during all those long hours I ran, and for diagnosing all the aches and pains along the way.  I want to acknowledge the many sacrifices you made in order to help me complete this race.  My finishing is most definitely our achievement.

Official Results