Chasing Boston

Chasing Boston

      The benevolent tone of my phone’s alarm was no consolation at 4:45 AM.  I was in downtown Sacramento and was about to join a mob. 

      I gathered my things and quietly left.  I was hoping Mom and Dad would be able to sleep-in.  They had agreed to travel with me and support my efforts.  After grabbing coffee and a banana, I followed two others out the door, into the darkness and down the block. A half a mile from the hotel, we found 200 shiny school busses neatly lined up waiting to transport us down the road to Folsom (think Johnny Cash’s Folsom Prison Blues…I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die.).  The prison would have to wait today because I was here for the start of a marathon. 

     “Bathrooms to the right, starting line to the left”.  A man volunteering in a bright green vest repeated his instructions in a loud voice as hundreds and then thousands of runners made their way past him to the starting area.  

        As I made my way around the corner I discovered a straight-line row of what must have been 500 port-a-potties.   Set back 30 feet from each group of potties was a cone holding back a line of runners 30 deep.  The scene made me nervous (because I had to go and time was running out), but I got in line and soon enough I was at the front of the line.  The timing couldn’t have been better, I had fifteen minutes before start time.

      Big marathons are often set-up with pacers who are tasked with running a certain pace and finishing in a certain time.  I made my way towards the starting line and passed the 4 hour pacer sign, then the 3:45 and 3:30.  Then I saw it; My magic number was 3:25.  If I could run 3:25 or faster, I would hit my qualifying time for the prestigious and celebrated Boston Marathon.  This has been a goal of mine for over 12 years and it was exciting to think that maybe, just maybe this would be the day!  “Settle down Steve.”, I told myself.

     The crowd was thick like a rock concert but I made my way as close to the sign as I could.  It always amazes me that these pacers can run 26.2 miles while holding a sign attached to a stick.  They provide a valuable service that allows runners to accurately pace themselves over the course of the race. 

     The energy at the starting line was electric; We were all spring-loaded, waiting for the gun to release our energy and shoot us forward towards the finish line 26.2 miles away.  I was sure that after the start of the race it would take an act of God to stop this running mob.  The guy in front of me had a shirt that read “We are all mad” on his back.  He might be right. 

     And then it began;  9,000 runners surged towards the starting line and then down the road setting into motion the start of the 2021 California International Marathon (CIM). 

     The course was filled with long rolling hills for the first half and then settled into a slight downhill.  I passed cheering crowds, high school bands, and hundreds of sign-holding spectators holding signs like KICK ASS-PHALT, and YOU WILL ALL HAVE GREAT BUTTS!, and YOU’RE GOING TO BE A MARATHONER GERRY!

    I was feeling great and running fast. I tried to not get too excited as the miles ticked-off and tried to just think about running smooth and steady.   I passed a large family who had set up lawn chairs in their driveway to watch.  They had a fire pit going, their golden retriever was on a leash. Mom and Dad were drinking wine.  The youngest little girl held up a sign that said “BELIEVE!”

      At mile 20 though I felt the first electric stab of pain pulse into the belly of my right calf.  “Oh no”, I thought.   The last 5 miles of a marathon are always painful but when your body isn’t working right, it can be especially grueling. My pace slowed as a result as the problem got worse. “I gotta hold on!”, I thought.       

     This is not a new problem for me.   The last two marathons I ran-in have also been problematic for my calves at the same stage of the race, right around mile 20.  What starts out as periodic sharp pain, turns into frequent flare-ups followed by full-on lock-up cramping by the end.  

     For this race I was sure I had it figured out. I had been taking salt chews along the way, and I was wearing compression sleeves on my calves.  Additionally I had spent months incorporating calf strength training into my workouts.  The internet can’t be wrong can it?

    Anyone that has experienced calf cramps inevitably learn two undeniable facts: 1) They are extremely painful, and # 2) pointing your toe is a recipe for a complete seizure of the calf which usually ends up with the recipient on the ground writhing in pain speaking French. 

     “Keep your toes up”, was my mantra.  This is not a natural running gait for anyone and it caused me to hunch over and do  weird things with my hands.  I was able to ward off the stinging cramps for short periods but my success was limited and short-lived. 

     Imagine my disappointment as I watched the guy holding the 3:25 sign slowly pass me at mile 25.  By then my calves were both cramping hard. 

     “Maybe I can keep up with this weird gait, it’s only one more mile!”, I thought. “Maybe I can catch him”  I couldn’t believe how close I was to qualifying for Boston.  It was so tangible, I could see it right in front of my eyes....it was right there! “Why is this happening to me?”

     So there I was hobbling along like some kind of cross between Quasimodo and the Tinman of OZ chasing some guy holding a sign with desperation in my heart and shooting pain in my legs.  The 3:25 sign was getting smaller and further away.  An onlooker held up a poster that said “PAIN IS WEAKNESS LEAVING THE BODY”

    Eventually, I had to let go and realized that today wasn’t the day.  Just as I began to delve into my own pool of self-pity, I glanced at my watch and knew that the day wasn’t entirely lost. 

      As quickly as I could, I hobbled around the final corner wincing and sometimes yelping.  Mom and dad were there cheering me on along with hundreds of others as I crossed the finish line 3 minutes faster than I have ever ran before. 

Nearing the finish line

Dream team