Wow! What a day. I've never been through such a range of emotions. I'm skipping ahead.
At 5:54am I left to pick up Damon. Secure in the knowledge that I'd had my best summer of training ever. After loading everyone in the van, we headed to Timmy's. We returned 15 minutes later to retrieve Damon's Garmin, and tried again. For an overcast morning in October, I found it pleasantly warm and chose my race gear accordingly.
The plan was to be at the start for 7, load my daughter and her friend in a car at the start at 7:30 so they could work an aid station, then warm up. Ted and Lois apparantly don't know the difference between blue and burgandy, and never picked up the girls. I was panicking. Finally we loaded the girls on a runners bus, and sent them off into the great unknown, hoping they would arrive at their scheduled aid station with no further issues. Not the race prep. I was looking for.
After the gun, I stuck to my game plan, a "slow" first 2 miles, then an increase to slightly above race pace to make back the time gradually. By the half I had a minute in the bank, and was confident in my abilities. I maintained the prescribed pace, "knowing" I had time to spare. My Garmin indicated that I would cut it close, but had time to spare.
Honestly, I remember little of my thoughts or feelings during the race. I know I was continually calculating, and recalculating required pace, base on the GPS indicated distance. Little did I know that .1 miles after 26, would be an extremely important distance to what I knew was my Boston Qualifying time. I suffered up the big hill at 23.3 miles, and gained time on the runners in front of me, and passed them on the way down. I focused on my form, and pace, and muscled up the next hill with ease (really). With an indicated 1.5 miles to go (on my GPS) I mentally prepared for the final push to the finish line. My pace quickened, I chose a runner to chase, and prepared to celebrate both a personal best, and a BQ. I was runnning much quicker than the pace I calculated I needed, but couldn't understand how I had so far to go, and so little time. I dug deeper. I swung around the slight bend on Main street and checked my watch. How could this be? How could I be so far from the line with so little time? I dug deeper as I turned the final corner to race for the finish. My watch ticked 3:15 with 400 meteres to go. How could this be? I'd hit all my marks, suffered through the trails and loneliness of the last 10km (6 miles) and was watching my BQ slip away. 3:16. 3 hours and 16 minutes had passed since I hit start, and I hadn't crossed the line yet. My heart sank. I had 200 meters to go, and would not finish in 3:15:59 or less. I was oblivious to the fact that I had just run more than 11 minutes faster than I had ever completed a marathon. All I saw was 3:17:31. 3:17:31. 3:17:31. I couldn't process the fact that I had come so close the dream I held for the last 5 years, and missed. My legs, though exhuasted to the point of collapse, didn't hurt. My feet, bleeding from the blisters, didn't hurt. I felt no exhaustion, in the traditional sense, that one would expect from a marathon. None of these "trivial" things bothered me now. They were all an expected part of this glorious day. No, what bothered me was the 92 seconds that came between me and my goal.
My GPS read 26.3 miles. .1 miles (about 150 meters) longer than a marathon. I had bet, and lost, because I put my faith in an imperfect technology, or the course was just a little longer than I thought.
I was crushed. Thanks to Sandy (especially) and all her crew at the race finish. I walked, crestfallen, to the massage area, and endured the most painful massage I've ever had (not a reflection on the masseuse), but only my heart felt anything. I ate, socialized, ate, and left. During my long hot soak at home, I decided to carry out the remainder of my day as if nothing had happened. I went to the boy's hockey practice, and decided I'd play hockey myself. Since I obviously didn't work all that hard this morning.
After returning from hockey and starting my 5th meal of the day, I decided to check the finish times on Sportstats. Yes, I'd run 3:17:28 (chip), and I checked my old results to see how much I'd beaten my PB by, I decided to check on Janet's time to see if she had better news, and opened another browser for Boston Athlectics Association to check what she needed to qualify, when I read these words,
Age on April 19, 2010 determines qualifying time.
I read them again, because I was sure that must be wrong.
Age on April 19, 2010 determines qualifying time.
2010 is next year, and April is after February. I'll be 40 by April 19, 2010.
I qualified? I qualified. I qualified!
I QUALIFIED!I'm exhuasted.
Thanks again to everyone who showed so much support when I thought I'd failed. Please join me in celebrating, now that I know I haven't.
Mike
P.S. The kids made it to their staton, and did a wonderful job supplying me and about 1,000 of my closest friends with refreshements at the 10k aid station. Great job girls!
