Jarmans Invitational Marathon (The JIM)

A bit of background on Jaramans Invitational Marathon: In Crozet, Virginia, there is a steep, twisty gravel road calls Jarmans Gap that goes up the side of one of the mountains. It is a kind of notorious badge of honor in the area to run or walk up and down this road because it is just killer. 2.9ish miles and 1500' feet of gain - most in the 2nd mile which is just so steep and killer it makes you wanna cry.

Justin introduced me to Jarmans not long after we started dating. It is his thing - he really loves to conquer it. We have done it quite a few times since. My best Jarman's lap is around 55 minutes - 34 up and 20 minutes down. I have never been able to maintain a run up the whole thing - it is just way too steep. 

The Jarmans Invitational Marathon (JIM) was cooked up by two local ultra runners who also have a love/hate relationship with Jarmans. The story goes that they ran 3 laps of Jarmans one summer day and were sitting around afterwards and said, "Man, we should do a marathon on this thing - do you think anyone is crazy enough to do it with us?"

Thus the JIM was born 6 years ago. They had a lot of fun with it, creating a tongue-in-cheek event whose tagline is "everything about this race sucks." They schedule it for the first Saturday in August and it starts at noon - absolutely guaranteeing misery. The medals are crushed cans, inspired by the litter that is sometimes along the road and the junk yard on it. The road isn't closed to traffic, and when cars go by you get choked with dust. 

Anyway, the JIM has become a real badge of honor among runners in the area. If you can manage to complete the JIM, you get bragging rights forever. Obviously, I had to sign up for the thing so that I can show my face among the Charlottesville Area Trail Runners and earn my street (trail?) cred. 

I'll preface my story about race day by saying I'm in TERRIBLE shape. Just awful. I have barely been running since April. I did hire a run coach and started back at being more disciplined - but that as a week and a half ago. Since April, I haven't run more than 12 miles in one go. The only thing I had going for me at the JIM was that lately I have been running a lot in the heat of day, during lunch and in the evenings - not because I'm cool or anything but because I've been too lazy to get my ass out of bed. Also, I have gained the dreaded quaren-10 so I'm not exactly light on my feet.

And here's the note on COVID: COVID rules were in effect; we had to wear masks at the starting area and at the aid stations; the water was poured into our bottle by one volunteer at the top. Participants brought individually wrapped snacks that were laid out at the aid station at the bottom and the RDs handed us what we wanted so we weren't hovering over it all sweating and breathing heavily. There were also wave starts of 12 runners each and only 50ish of us total. No spectators. 

To say I was anxious about race day is an understatement. Honestly, I went into it saying that if I managed to do 3 laps of the 5, I would be happy. I've never done more than 2 back to back. 

When we showed up, the RD (in his JIM Persona of Jimmie Rhoades) handed us our bib numbers - and mine was 23. AKA the number worn by the GOAT. We literally just watched the Bulls docu on Netflix and I am currently freshly in awe of MJ, Pippen, and the rest. And here I'm getting MJs number. 

So for the rest of this race, I kept thinking... WWMJD.

Weather wise, it was overcast (THANK GOD) at the start, and in the upper 70s. Seems ok right... except that the humidity level was hovering around 100%. 

We started in wave 2. My strategy was built on my familiarity with the road and a combo of walk/run based on landmarks that I knew. Each lap is about 6 miles. Mile 1, you run past the Chiles Peach Orchard, Kelly's Turkey Farm (turkeys scream by the way, which is unnerving), the junk yard, some trailers, and then an abandoned church marks the end of that mile. Of all of them, it is the least gain but the most sun. My goal was always to try to run as much of mile 1 as I could, until the right hand turn after the church where the climb really starts. First lap, I managed this.

Mile 2 is just the worst. It REALLY kicks in at about 2.3. This part is switchbacks and very steep. Just about everyone walk/runs this part of the course. Thankfully it is shaded. It's so steep that there are short portions that are paved because otherwise the gravel road would wash away. New this year was that one of the resident families set up an aid station for us at about 1.3 with lots of individually wrapped items, frozen grapes and peanut butter cups, water, and a mister. They were SO NICE and stayed out all day.

There are tiny parts of mile 2 that aren't as bad that I ran the first time up. 

Mile 3 is also steep as fuck, but not as bad as 2 so you're really fucking grateful when you get there. It's notable features are the cut in the trees where the power lines go up the mountain relatively flat switchback that was marked with NO WALKING ZONE signs, an estate called "counterpoint", and the place I call the "Daffodil House" which is basically a signal that you are done the climb. 

Justin and I hung together and made it to the top in decent time - 40 minutes. One wonderfully volunteer named Deb sat at the top and took photos of us all day and poured water on our heads and into our bottles. We didn't delay, filled up our bottles and started back down. 

At first, going down is a wonderful relief. At the top of the mountain it is cooler and shaded and when you get going, it feels cool and breezy. The grade isn't terribly steep so you just let gravity take you down for about 3/4 of a mile. Then you get to that middle mile - so steep going up and going down sucks almost as much as you fight to keep your feet under you and not pitch forward.

The end of the steep grade is marked by a right hand switchback and a power station. There's just a little over a mile to go and it's very runnable. Justin said to me, "now it's just a road race" and that echoed in my head for the rest of the race.

The only little issue with mile 6 is the small hill next to the turkey farm. Lap 1 it doesn't seem like a big deal. It will be later.

Justin and I finished lap 1 together, in 1:06. Not bad at all. We filled up water, took some gatorade, and I put salt tabs in my pocket. 

The start of lap 2 was rough for me. Justin dropped me pretty quickly - I was having major nausea. I'd eaten an egg, sausage, and cheese biscuit pretty early in the morning and was having major regrets and wished I would just puke. (No such luck.)

One nice thing about the JIM is that because you're doing laps up and down this mountain, you get to see everyone else. The leaders are coming down while you're going up, and there's a lot of encouragement and comradery among the runners. 

Justin was on his way down lap 2 when I was nearing the top. At the bottom, I saw him again as he set out on 3. I was feeling ok but not great at this point. I felt I could finish the 3 laps that I'd pegged as my goal. I drank Gatorade, had a few chips, and took a salt tab with water. 

Lap 2 took 1:17. Again... not terrible. I had anticipated that I would be 5-10 minutes slower each lap.

The sun came out at the beginning of lap three, which made the humidity that much worse. But honestly, the first mile or so of that lap felt better than the previous. My stomach had calmed down and I did a good mix of run/walk until the abandoned church. Then during second half of the middle mile I suddenly was not good anymore. Not at all. Everything hurt, I was tired, I was nauseous, and I just wanted to sit down. I took many pauses and just stood in the middle of the road. At one point, there are a few gravel pull offs/shoulders and I decided to sit down there for a few minutes. 

To better illustrate my crash, here is a comparison of mile 3 times for each lap:

Lap 1 - 15:14

Lap 2 - 18:39

Lap 3 - 23:35

I was still determined that I was going to finish three laps, so I got up and kept going. Justin passed me on his way down as I continued mile 3 up and I told him that this would likely be my last lap. He said he wasn't feeling awesome either and would probably hang it up too. 

As soon as I crested the top of Jarmans, I asked for a plastic bag because the only thought in my head was I need to lay down immediately or I am going to pass out - and I didn't want to lay on the gravel. The great volunteer (Deb, I learned later), gave one to me and I was down immediately. The weakness, dizziness, nausea and exhaustion hit me all at once. Deb, the angel, got a towel from her car and let me lay on that. She asked me if I had been using salt (yes), drinking enough (yes), if I needed anything (no... I just need to lay here). 

I laid flat on my back and closed my eyes. More runners crested, refilled their water, and continued their Jarmans journey. Eventually, some people reached the top on their 4th lap. That is how long I laid there. There was no food at the top, but Deb offered me some pickle juice (I couldn't consume it, even though I tried), a salt pill, and her personal blueberry stash. I listened to the music blasting from her portable speaker and to the comments of the others runners. Apparently I looked a lot like death; many checked on me. I just said I needed a little rest. I dozed in and out, in fact. I kept checking my watch and saying ok... five more minutes and then I'll get up. It was exactly like laying in bed in the morning and repeatedly hitting the sleep button. And honestly, I didn't even feel bad about it. 

However, I knew the only way to be done was to get up and go down the mountain. I was not going to have someone have to drive up to fetch me and then ride down passing the other runners. That would be the ultimate embarrassment. 

About 20 minutes into my naptime, another runner crested and took a short break as well. When he got up and went to start down, I decided I would try to go with him. I didn't want to go down by myself, in case something happened (I passed out or fell or had to sit down and couldn't move anymore), and I figured a 20 minute break was quite enough. I got up and shuffled about 50 yards downhill before I said NOPE and went right back up to the towel and lay down again. I felt far too unsteady on my feet. I told Deb I wasn't sure now if I was going to make it back down. But I wasn't ready to call it quits.

So I laid there a while longer, watching the time tick by on my Garmin and thinking. 

(This is where WWMJD came in)

I lay there thinking about the guy who was doing this walking, with hiking poles, because he had a stroke a few months ago, but was determined to do the JIM.

I thought about the fact that I had #23 pinned to me, and MJ would do whatever necessary to accomplish what he said he would (you know... like take a nap in the gravel at the top of a mountain during a race...).

I ate a pickle. Deb put a cold cloth on my neck. 

I started feeling better and told Deb I was gonna go for it, and would tag along with the next runner who started down. This next runner happened to be two runners - John and Dipak. John was hyped and full of big talk, even at the top of his third lap. He'd done the JIM before and for him, finishing it is a the highpoint and major point of pride in his year. This was Dipak's first and he was not having fun (to put it mildly) but was determined. We set off today at a very slow downhill trot. I told them I just wanted to make it down to the bottom and that three was my goal, so I'd be happy. John was having none of that, while Dipak was supportive. 

During the middle mile the guys started to take walk breaks, but I was getting a second wind in a major way. I pulled away from them and as the downhill continued, I felt better and better. At the point where Justin had told me "it's all a road race from here" I was humming along again and already thinking that I wasn't done after all. Near the abandoned church, I saw Justin coming toward me. He was going out for a 4th after all and said he had also come to check on me because he heard I wasn't doing well. I told him I was feeling better; he said to walk back and turn it in because obviously the humidity was wreaking havoc on me and completing 3 laps was respectable. 

At the Turkey Farm, some of the runners who had seen me laying at the top were starting their fourth laps and many were surprised to see me on my feet. Many of them shouted their support, surprise, and encouragement. One said, "Wow, I'm surprised to see you on your feet - I just told them at the bottom that they might want to send someone up to check on you."

I checked in with the RD at the bottom. He was also shocked to see me, and especially see me coming at him with pep in my step. 

Lap 3 time: 2 hours, 11 minutes. 30(ish) spent taking a break at the top.

At this point, I was a 70/30 split on whether I would continue - really learning toward at least getting 4 done. I sat down on my cooler, drank Gatorade, and ate another bag of chips. 

I mulled what to do. 

I'd come this far, and I was feeling better. Much better. I still had a few hours until the cut off. With any chance of a respectable TIME blown up from my nap at the top of lap 3, there was no pressure to do this fast. I just had to do it. My body, surprisingly, didn't really hurt. I have never DNFd a race. I wanted to proudly and legitimately wear my sweh Jarmans Marathon Shirt (sweh is Jimmie Rhoades speak for sweet... I think). 

I was wearing #23. WWMJD?

MJ wouldn't quit. Neither would Pip. I was thinking about the "Migraine Game" during finals when Pippen had the terrible migraine and kept getting back onto the floor.

I'm not MJ or Pip. But I am Kathryn. And Kathryn does not quit.

So, I did something I never do. I put on my aftershockz, dialed up my really old Run playlist, grabbed a bottle of Gatorade for the road, and started walking. When I passed Jimmie he said "You're going back out??" and I yelled, "I'm not dead yet!" over my shoulder.

I decided that I would finish this thing - and I would do it by walking up as fast as I could, and running back down as much as possible.

And so that's what I did for laps 4 and 5. As Justin passed me on his way down from 4, he was shocked. "What are you doing??" he said. "Why are you still out here?"

"Because I'm no mediocre bitch!" I yelled back (it was the song that happened to be playing on my playlist). But I meant it. 

Walking up Jarmans is not quite as difficult as run/walking up it, but it is still really dreadful. Mainly because it takes so.much.longer. I was encouraged though, by the runners coming down the mountain. I cheered on the leaders who were on their final lap (and envied them). More folks expressed amazement as they saw me coming up and couldn't believe that I had gone out for another lap. Everyone had written me off as a DNF... except me.

Deb was shocked to see me at the top. I thanked her profusely for taking care of me, got some water refilled, and wasted no time starting back down.

Deb took this photo of me at the top of lap 4.

When you're going up Jarmans, the only thing you can think about is how much you would rather be going down Jarmans. 

The same is true for when you're going down Jarmans. At first it is a relief - for about .75 miles. Then you hit that steep section and your quads are screaming and your toes inside your shoes and everything else and you just wish you were trudging up again instead of barreling down/fighting gravity. 

I guess that's just part of the "fun."

With my walk up/run down strategy, lap 4 took 1 hour 35 minutes. At the bottom, Justin asked if I was going to do 5. 

"Uh, yeah!" I said. As if it was even in the realm of possibility that I wouldn't finish this thing. Those who had already finished cheered "UNO MAS!!!!" when they heard me say I was going for the final lap.

This time, I switched up my shoes before heading out again. I restocked on my salt tabs and again took a Gatorade for the road. At first, Justin thought about joining me but decided against it. So off I went again to trudge up one more time and back down.

By now it was around 7pm. The weather was getting nice (nice being relative, of course). It was still humid but the sun was setting and the breeze was kicking in. The main issue for me during lap 5 was the mosquitos. The sun went down and they came out, buzzing around me incessantly. 

The walk up seemed to take forever. I had to stop a few times in the steepest portions to stretch my calves. AT this point my feet were hurting too, but not overly so. The parade of runners coming down the mountain had slowed to a trickle. One named Bill stopped on his way. He is an older dude who had been chugging along the whole time. When I was walking, he passed me and told me "chin up girlie, find that second wind!"

When he stopped on his way down he said, "I have to tell you something young lady. What you did today was BAD.ASS. This is my 5th JIM and I've done about a million ultras and what you did was BADASS - getting up and finishing this." 

I almost cried. I just said, "Thank you so much. It means so much to me to hear you say that." 

It really touched me. 

At the top, Deb greeted me with cheers. She also said she was so impressed with my showing. I thanked her again for all of her encouragement of all of us that day. She took my photo and off I went - down the mountain for the last time.

The way down hurt... but it also was kind of surreal. I couldn't believe I had done it. I was on the last lap of the JIM. And weirdly, though my quads and feet hurt, I felt myself picking up the pace. The music in my ears gave me life as I counted down  to the finish. As I rounded the right turn with the power station, I was full on running. I passed the abandoned church for the last time; the trailers; and could see ahead of me on the little hill by the turkey farm another runner - walking. 

I decided I was going to make sure I passed him. We were probably .25 from the finish. There would be no more walking. 

I passed him, and then around the bend at the peach orchard, I could see another man ahead of me within reach. I passed him too, and went all out to the finish.

Seven Hours. 45 minutes.

Finished.

I couldn't believe I'd done it. I immediately went to my bag and retrieved my towel and laid flat on my back in the grass while Justin took my shoes and socks off. Jimmie came over and handed me a Corona (get it??) which would become my race medal. 

The last honor of the JIM is drinking your beer (I took a few sips to be a good sport - I hate beer) and then stomping the can so that Jimmie can pierce it and put a string through to make it your medal. My legs were so tired I had a hard time stomping mine flat.

In terms of running, this was my worst showing ever. Honestly, per my own philosophy, I am not even sure if I can say I ran this race - unless you run 50% or more of the miles, you didn't run it in my book. I may be able to claim that only because of the running I did on the up of the first lap. The walking was difficult, but it was still walking.

But this was not about running for me. This was about grit. Perseverance. Determination. Finishing the hardest thing I have ever physically done. Getting my shit together after falling apart and finding the will to keep going. Not giving up on myself. 

Honestly, it might be the proudest I've ever been of myself. 

That night I never wanted to lay eyes on Jarmans again... but if I'm honest, I'm already planning to do it again.

I like how you can see my nap at the top of lap 3. Haha.

The Case for the Selfless Race

One of the things you often hear about running is that it is an individual sport and for the most part, I agree. On race day, victory or defeat lies solely in your own legs and mind. There's no pitcher to throw a strike out, no quarterback to rely on for a miracle toss, no goalie to make the amazing save. Just you, your body, and your brain to get it done.

I've spent the better part of 2018 focused on my own running goals: in March, my first trail half; in April, a half marathon PR; and last weekend, a PR and 15 minute BQ at Monumental Marathon. 

All gave me a huge feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment, but none hold a candle to this past weekend when, for the second time, I had the privilege to pace the 2:00:00 group at the Richmond Half Marathon.

You see, while running is indeed an individual sport, there is no denying that along the way, we all get help from others. From training partners, from coaches, from family, from other runners we meet on race day, and from random strangers who we see for 2 seconds on a course as we run by. And many people look to a pacer to help settle their nerves and guide them to a personal best, a Boston Qualifer a first time finish at a certain distance. 

I won't ever forget Stuart - the amazing pacer who helped me to my redemption BQ at Wrightsville Marathon in 2016. It is no exaggeration for me to say that without him, I wouldn't have done it. And in large part, he is the one who inspired me to try my own hand at pacing.

Arriving to the corral wearing a pacer shirt, you feel a huge responsibility to the people around you. These people are pinning their hopes on you and putting their trust in a complete stranger to help them achieve goals that in many cases, they set months and months ago and have been working toward since. 

Corral DA with fellow pacers Kevin and Eric

Weirdly, for me, the weight of responsibility to others is energizing. I can't pace myself worth a damn, but when I know there is a group of runners relying on me, it is a whole different story. It's almost freeing to not be inside my own head, worried about my own performance. My only thoughts are centered around what can I do to make sure these guys achieve what they want to today. How can I help distract them when they're struggling; how can I make sure they keep going; what self-depreciating story can I tell to make them laugh and forget that they're running; what can I say to inspire them to push that much harder in the last two miles? How can I give them the confidence to keep going?

This year, we had a large group of strong runners with us. We spent the first miles setting the comfortable easy pace, telling jokes, learning about the runners with us, handing out advice both serious and silly (serious: look at at the ground right in front of you when you're going up a hill instead of at the top of the hill. silly: alternatively, pick a pace booty in front of you to stare at instead.)

Mile 3 along Broad Street

As we made our way through the course, my fellow pacer Eric and I could sense that we had some really strong runners with us who were capable of picking it up for the last two miles. We conferred with our other two group leaders and they agreed to keep even for the 1:59:30 target while Eric and I would drop the anvil at mile 11 and take whoever was feeling good with us. 

I ended up with a half marathon virgin Jay, who I had been checking on like a mother hen throughout the race, and a group of about 5 more who dropped the pace in a big way. As I did last year I collected more runners as I went, encouraging all those around me to push it to the sub-2:00 - maybe a bit too enthusiastically as I was too busy yelling at everyone else to watch my feet and stepped in a pothole around mile 12 on Grace Street. I nearly bit the pavement, but recovered thank goodness.

As we flew down the 5th Street hill to the finish, nothing was more exhilarating than watching my runners cross that line in 1:56 and change. And nothing better than the sweaty hugs, high fives, and first bumps from dozens who came through as I waited for Eric, Sonja, and Kevin with the main body of the group to come through. So many thrilled as they finished their first, or PRd in a huge way. 

What an honor to play a small part in helping them get there. 

What freedom and joy to get out of my head and run for others.

Post race with fellow pacer Kevin. Success!

Rebooting

2017. What a weird year of unfinished business. Both of my marathons were decided long before I started training for them; holdovers from 2016 that took 18 months to put to bed. 

After the disaster of Boston, it took me a long while to get my groove back. Until Labor Day weekend, to be exact. It was that weekend when the second toenail on my right foot - which had gotten damaged during Boston - finally gave up the ghost and fell off. And with that toenail, a lot of the weird baggage that I'd been carrying around about my failure in Boston seemed to finally take a hike too. 

(Yes, I realize that sounds completely crazy.)

Going into Marine Corps, I felt good. The goal was a 3:35, which based on how the last two months of training went, should have been achievable. Unfortunately, just like in Boston, the day was warm. Things started out ok but everything came apart at mile 20 on the overpass from hell. I submit that the last 10k of MCM is the most miserable 10k in all of marathoning. I held it together better than I had in Boston and finished in 3:52:26. Another disappointing race in 2017. That race is a one and done for me. 

After that, Kit and I toyed with the idea of going to Delaware in early December to run the Rehoboth Beach Seashore Marathon. Neither of us was happy with Marine Corps and wanted redemption. We made a deal that if we could run 18 miles at race pace at the end of November, we'd do Delaware  and we did it. But barely. The thought of running 8 more miles at that pace seemed impossible for both of us and the last thing either of us needed was yet another disappointing marathon in 2017. So we didn't run Delaware and for the next month +, we kind of putzed around aimlessly with no plan. 

No plan meant no motivation. No motivation meant a lot of hitting snooze on the alarm clock and not running. I was burnt out and uninspired.

So, I made the decision that I was not going to run a marathon in the spring of 2018 - the first time I haven't run a spring marathon since I started marathoning. Instead, I decided to focus on the half marathon - tackling my first trail half in March and then focusing on a road half PR in April.

Per usual, Kit joined me in the adventure and we created a blended 14 week training plan that included long runs on the trails until the trail half, gradually building in speed and tempo road work then shifting to all roads in the 5 weeks between the races.

It took me a while to get my groove on the trails. I'm not by nature a great trail runner; I am cautious with my footing and not confident enough to let loose and go, especially on downhills. For the first few miles I am completely a mess and out of my element; by mile 5ish I finally settle in. It took a solid month for me to start to gain confidence and feel like I was making good time on trails. The great thing about the hybrid plan that we were running is that after a weekend on the trails, we felt like we were flying on the roads.

At the beginning of March we ran a small trail race called the Solar 10 Miler. The weather was beautiful, the field was relatively small, and the trails were not terribly technical. After holding back for the first 4 miles, I turned it on and ended up finishing as the first woman, 10th overall. It was a fantastic confidence booster going into the my half marathon - the Pocahontas Trail Fest on March 17. 

The race is held at Pocahontas State Park, which is nearby and where Kit and I had spent most of our trail time. We had done a dress rehearsal of the course a few weeks before, so I knew exactly what to expect. The first four miles are spent running around a lake, with some gentle hills. After a long uphill at 5, the race plateaus essentially until the last mile when you enter a very hilly and more technical single track section. 

My primary goal was to finish in under 2 hours. After the dress rehearsal I realized that that goal was probably a bit too conservative, so in my head I aimed for a 1:50 and a hopefully a top three in my age group. 

What I ended up with was a 1:46:56, 5/79 women, 15th overall, and 3rd in my AG. I was very very happy with that finish and with how I ran the race in general. I learned a lot about myself as a trail runner; primarily that my biggest weakness is downhills and that I can really open up on the flats and make up ground. Typically there aren't many flats in trail running so obviously I need to work on those downhills. 

I also learned that while trails can be fun, I am a road warrior at heart. So, I've been happy to be back on the streets for the past few weeks, really pushing with some tough tempo, speed workouts, and fast long runs. All of the trail training has translated into strength and speed on the roads; I am running faster and with less effort than ever before. For the first time ever, I successfully completed a 3 x 1600 speed workout hitting every single target, and because this is half marathon training, the target was lower than ever before too.

There have been rough weekends when all of my friends are out running marathons, BQing, and setting PRs. Watching all of their achievements makes me itchy to run a marathon. But I don't regret taking the spring off from a marathon training cycle and focusing on new things instead. I needed the break - physically and mentally. 

Now, having just completed the toughest week of the training cycle and with two unofficial training run half marathon PRs under my belt, I'm feeling confident and looking forward to my half marathon PR attempt on April 22. 

You might also I've revamped ye olde blog. I thought maybe a new look and new title would help me get my writing mojo back, much like a new goal has helped me in my running. 

 

Race Report: 2017 Boston Marathon

It's very hard to believe it has been more than a month since I did the Boston Marathon. Most days it feels like 10 months ago, and others it seems like the whole thing was some weird dream.

Or maybe nightmare.

Immediately after the race, I started to write an entry. I didn't finish and when I logged in again and read it back, I ended up deleting the whole thing and starting again. I've done that three times now. The problem is that I still haven't quite been able to sort out my feelings about the race. I still haven't really, but the second problem is that I am already starting to forget things. I imagine that running marathons is a lot like child birth; afterwards, you forget all the details - especially the bad ones - so that you'll be able to trick yourself into doing it again some day.

What I'm going to try to knock out right now is the quick and dirty account of my spectacular, horrible, terrible first Boston Marathon.

Being in Boston was incredible. The energy in the city was amazing and it was awesome to be surrounded by so many other marathon runners. Picking up my bib number felt surreal. So did walking down Boylston and seeing the finish line as we made our way back to the hotel from the expo. Everywhere you looked there was a runner, a run-related slogan, good luck signs. All of the shops on Newbury and Boylston (and every where else) had athletic wear in their front windows; Boston blue and yellow were all over the place. The commercials on the local channels were dominated by Sketchers, with Meb and Kara schilling of course. All of the news reports had some marathon-focused story.

The news reports spent a lot of time talking about the weather. I had been having anxiety about it for about a week, watching as the temperature crept up degree by degree. On Sunday, as we sat at Fenway Park sweating in 85* heat, my panic about the weather continued to build. The BAA sent runners an email with a heat warning and advice as to how to adjust race day plans accordingly. I drank a Gatorade at the game and water for the rest of the day, trying to reach juuuuuust the right level of hydration. In my mind, I adjusted my goal for the day to something between a 3:45 and a 4:15. I told myself I would be fine if I took it easy, but my anxiety continued to grow.

On race morning, my stomach was in knots. It was 70* and sunny when I stepped out of the hotel lobby on to the sidewalk. I've never been as terrified of a marathon in my life. The dread in me was huge. I tried to put on my game face and pump myself up as I was getting ready, but as soon as I boarded the charter bus to Hopkinton, I got into my head and never quite got out again.

Walking into Athlete's Village

At Athelete's Village, I searched for a girl named Nicole, who I know from an online running group. We were assigned to the same wave and corral and were going to try to at least start the race together. The plan was to find each other at the Med tent in Athlete's Village, but it was impossible. I've run big races before - 30,000 person races - but it didn't prepare me for the complete chaos at Athlete's Village. I circled the med tent about a dozen times, taking a break to hit the portie potty one last time before they called us to start walking to our corral. Even as we did that, I stopped on the sidewalk and searched the sea of runners for Nicole's bright pink shorts and blonde hair. A woman came up to me with a huge Sharpie in her hand and asked if I would write her name on her arm for her. I wanted to be like "Are you kidding me? I'm obviously looking for someone right now!" but I didn't want to be rude, so I did it. I have no idea what her name was, by the way. I wasn't going to write my name on my arm but decided at that point to have her return the favor and she scrawled "KATHRYN" on my right arm.

During the walk to the corals, the goosebumps came and reality of what I was about to do set in. I teared up quite a few times and just kept saying to myself, "Oh my God, I'm about to run the Boston Marathon." I tried to ignore the fact that I was already sweating and we hadn't even started running yet. Instead, I tried to revel in the moment and soak it in. All around me, my fellow runners were strangely quiet. I had expected excitement and a lot of energy, but it seemed more like a death march, which didn't help my anxiety.

Being in coral 1 meant that I had the longest walk. As I finally found my gateway into my corral and started to work my way toward the front(ish) area, I heard my name being called. I turned around to find Stuart, the man who was my pacer at Wrightsville and who helped me get my BQ. I was so relieved to see a familiar face that I almost cried. How he found me in that press of people I will never know, but I'm so glad he did because something clicked in me and I suddenly felt more calm than I had for days.

Before I knew it, we were counting down. 5-4-3-2-BAM. We were off. Stuart had run Boston 8 times, so he was giving me course tips and strategies as we quickly made our way through the first 5k. It was hot, but I thought maybe it would be bearable. We were also hot, pace-wise. Everyone warns you to not get swept up in the downhill and adrenaline of the first few miles of this course. EVERYONE. I had told myself over and over that I couldn't allow that to happen and that I needed to try very hard to keep an 8:30/mile pace during those first 5 miles or so, but here I was, running happily next to Stuart at a sub 8:00.

"Stuart, we're going too fast," I warned. He assured me that we'd be ok and our pace would even out when we hit the first hills. I figured that he is a Boston vet, that he was an excellent pacer who got me to the race in the first place, and that I was safe with him. So I stuck by his side, cutting through people to get the best tangents and sailing for the first 10k. I was grateful for his company and knew that he wouldn't lead me astray. We stayed together through mile 7, when I knew that I needed to let him go if I was going to survive this race.

Mile 1 - 8:05
Mile 2 - 7:48
Mile 3 - 7:53
Mile 4 - 7:50
Mile 5 - 8:02
Mile 6 - 8:05
Mile 7 - 8:19

Having consumed an entire Gatorade and a bottle of water at Athlete's Village, I found that I really needed to go to the bathroom. Normally stopping at a portie potty during  a race is not something I would do; I'd just run through it until the feeling went away, which for me it inevitably does. But I knew this wasn't going to be a PR and I didn't see the point in making myself remain uncomfortable, so I stopped during mile 8. Honestly, I don't remember much about miles 9-12. I took a salt tab, probably sometime around 10. In an effort to avoid dehydration, I walked through each water stop to make sure that I actually consumed a full cup of water. I also dumped a cup on my head and neck. The walking started to show in my splits, but again, I knew this wasn't a PR and I was ok with doing everything that I could to have a decent race experience and prevent complete misery.

Faking it early, somewhere around mile 8

Mile 8 - 9:26
Mile 9 - 9:02
Mile 10 - 8:34
Mile 11 - 9:16
Mile 12 - 8:41


During training and in the days leading up to the race, as my anxiety about the weather reached a fevered pitch, I just kept telling Kit (and anyone else who would listen) that all I wanted to do in Boston was enjoy it and not get to the point where I just wanted it to be over. Walking through the aid stations was helping me keep my mental shit together, at least at first. If I walked, I could drink. If I drank enough, I wouldn't dehydrate. If I didn't dehydrate, I'd be ok.

Everyone always says that you hear the famous Wellesley Scream Tunnel before you get to it. I started listening for it during Mile 12 as we entered the town. Even before throwing my time goal out of the window due to the heat, I had planned on kissing at least one of the Wellesley girls. Now, having walked through aid stations and stopped to go to the bathroom, I decided I was going to kiss as many of them as I could.

And I did. So many that I lost count. Probably somewhere between 8-10. Maybe more. I kissed the ones who had funny signs, I kissed the one who had the sign that said she was from Maryland, I kissed the ones who looked like they weren't getting many takers, and the ones who were about to graduate.

I kissed that girl! The one with the Maryland sign.

I was running Boston, dammit, and I was going to do it right.

Despite these antics, I was still pretty much on pace for a 4:00 marathon at the half way mark. My time was 1:52:34 at this point, with an 8:35 average. Pretty much just where I had aimed to be.

But after the adrenaline rush or Wellesley, I completely crashed. In comparing battle stories after the race, it seems that a lot of other people also started to really feel the effects of the heat and sun between miles 13-15. A lot of others told me that they felt ok until that point and then BAM, it hit them all at once.

Yup, pretty much.

Mile 13 - 9:55 (Still a decent pace considering all the kissing)
Mile 14 - 9:21
Mile 15 - 10:01

I kept to my plan of only walking during aid stations until 16, when we hit a pretty steep hill. I walked up it and after that, I never quite got myself moving again. I was completely, utterly miserable. After Wellesley and until mile 21 is pretty much already wiped from my memory. I was taking handfuls of ice from spectators and cold wet paper towels. I put them under my arm pits, on the back of my neck, and down into my sports bra. I ran through every fire hydrant, every hose. Dumping the water over my head at aid stations felt like heaven. In the small town of Woodland, there is a right hand turn (one of only 4 turns in the entire race, which is why I remember it) and on the corner was a fire station that had set up a misting tent. I had been toward the outside of the turn but as soon as I saw that mist tent, I cut across (along with every else) and ran through, summoning the most enthusiasm I'd had since Wellesley as I released a happy "Whoop!!!" I was completely soaked through, head to toe, but I didn't care.

A lot of people around me were in complete misery too. I commiserated with a few of them, but I never really made a friend in the same way that I have at past marathons. As the day wore on, I feel like we all started to retreat into our own personal bubbles of determined misery. Honestly, it was the loneliest race I have ever run. At one point, I was so desperate for some encouragement that thought about stopping and asking a spectator - a nice, kind looking spectator - if I could borrow their phone to call my husband. I just wanted to hear a comforting voice so badly. I even started to toy with the idea of stopping and asking some of the grandmotherly-looking spectators for a hug.

I cried. I don't know when I first broke down, but it was during this stretch.

I started to feel so full that at aid stations I simply couldn't drink any more Gatorade or water. Despite that, I forced myself to take a few sips and dumped the rest over my head.  My mouth got extraordinarily dry - like sand paper.

The hills of Newton barely registered. Don't ask me about Heartbreak Hill... I couldn't tell you which one it was. It seemed like there were 50. There were SO many spectators throughout Newton. I walked a lot and I was downright ASHAMED. One of the few memories I still have of this section is of a woman running past me on my left and as she did, she smacked my butt really hard and said, "Get moving, girl - come on!" I was soaking wet and the sound that her hand made when it connectedly solidly with my backside was almost deafening in my ears and wouldn't you know it - it actually worked. I ran a couple hundred yards up to the top of whatever hill we had been climbing at the time. Don't ask me if it was Heartbreak. I have no idea. But I'm grateful for that woman who literally smacked me out of my stupor for a few minutes.

After Newton and it's hills, we were suddenly in the last 10k and I was becoming aware of the fact that my hands were starting to go numb. It started on the outside, with my pinkies, and was working its way across my fingers toward my thumbs. I also noticed that despite having run through all the hoses, fire hydrants, and dumping water on my head, my top was bone dry. I had stopped sweating.

This is the point where my mental game completely broke down. I had never experienced my hands going numb during a hot race and suddenly the specter of heat stroke entered my brain. I knew if I passed out, they would never let me continue the race and I would DNF.

I had come too far to DNF.

With my fear building - and no doubt causing even more symptoms to manifest as I went in to full on panic mode - I made the decision that I was going to stop at the med tent at mile 21.

I was completely lucid and apparently didn't look too bad, because the staff just asked me if I was dizzy (no), if I was cramping (no), if I needed water (I guess, but I'm having a hard time drinking). They asked me if this was my first marathon. I laughed and said, "Heck no, this is my eighth." Obviously they thought I was a rookie who had no idea what I was doing. That chapped.

I sat in a chair, forcing myself to sip a bottle of water and watching people run by. I have no idea how long I stayed there... from what I can figure out from my cumulative vs moving time in my split breakdown, it looks like I sat there for 5-6 minutes. My mind was gone. I asked, "So how far do I have left to go?" The medic replied, "About 5 miles." I could walk 5 miles if I could. I got up and kept moving.

Mile 16 - 8:55
Mile 17 - 11:06
Mile 18 - 11:17
Mile 19 - 11:51
Mile 20 - 12:11
Mile 21 - 15:39

Aside from the threat of a DNF, the thing that kept me going was knowing that Jason and Kit were up ahead, probably worried to death, waiting for me to come. My muddled brain couldn't remember where Kit said he'd be, but I thankfully was able to remember that he was wearing his bright blue Monument Avenue 10k shirt, so I spent the next few miles desperately searching for him.

When I finally spotted Kit, at the left hand turn (don't ask me what mile it was. I have no clue...22? 23? 24?), I picked up into a run and went straight to him. He had that look on his face - the one where you're trying really hard to smile to offer encouragement, trying not to cry yourself. I knew that look very well because I wore it at Erie for 13 miles, when I was worried sick and waiting for him to run past.

"This is the worst, hardest thing I've ever done," I wailed, and hugged him. If I hadn't been so terribly dehydrated, tears would've been pouring down my cheeks. Kit gave me a big hug and then held me at arms length and just said, "I know, but you're going to finish, ok?"

"I can't!" I wailed again. I was so done.

"But you WILL FINISH."

I suddenly became aware of the fact that immediately to my right, there was a giant TV camera/cameraman, pointed our direction. "Oh GOD this better not ever be on TV!" I cried. The fear of national embarrassment is what got me moving again. Before I left, I begged Kit to call Jason and tell him I was alive and I was coming. Slowly, but coming.

Boston College was next and as I passed through all the drunk college students proffering beer and yelling "16334, you can do it!" embarrassment started to wash over me. As I walked/shuffled I tried to keep my head up and sometimes gave a thumbs up to people who yelled my name or bib number. But I was devastated inside.

During those last five miles I remember little. There was a woman who power walked past me and said, "This is sad for us, yeah? So sad." I could only mumble my agreement. Later on, a man running for Dana-Farber came up next to me and for a little while we walked/ran together. I became a bit jealous of his Dana-Farber status, because the spectators all yelled and cheered for him as we passed. Being with him for a few minutes helped me, though, and when he said he was running the rest and left me, I wanted to run with him but I just couldn't. I was saving my energy for Boylston Street. There was no way in hell I was walking down Boylston.

At some point, I realized that a race photographer station was set up and snapping pictures of me walking. Something I always try to do is fake it for the cameras, but I didn't even do that. You can see the frustration and humiliation all over my face in the photos.

When I saw the Boston Strong sign on the overpass just before the right on Hereford, a surge of emotions washed over me: relief, that I was almost finished; shame, that I hadn't been able to power through and be truly Boston Strong; sadness, that my experience was about to be over and I wanted it to be; and excitement; Jason was just around the corner and so was the most famous stretch of street in the marathon world.

Jason had told me his plan was to be on the outside corner of Hereford and Boylston, so as soon as I turned right on Hereford I had one mission, which was to spot him. I needed him so badly at that point. I was emotionally drained; completely bereft, devastated, and ashamed. My brain could only think of three things: red hat, green shirt, yellow sign. Then there he was. I found my legs again and ran toward him. By some miracle, a friend from a Facebook running group, who I'd just met the day before, was across the street on the opposite corner and somehow managed to record this moment.

I can't tell you how much I needed to be embraced, how I much I needed someone who knew me to comfort me in that moment. Yes, the spectators are all amazing at Boston. But they didn't know the whole story. Jason knows how hard I worked, all that I (we) went through, and just how disappointed I was that this was how things turned out.

Jason gave me the strength I'd needed to finish and as I left him and made the turn onto Boylston, all of the negativity that I had been feeling disappeared as the cheers of the crowds washed over me. Again overwhelmed by emotions, I started to cry. It didn't matter that it had taken me God-only-knows-how-long to get there, but I got there. I was on Boylston Street, about to finish the freaking Boston Marathon. I fixed my eyes on the finish line and ran.

Mile 22 - 17:29
Mile 23 - 14:38
Mile 24 - 12:52
Mile 25 - 15:51
Mile 26 - 17:35
Mile .2 - 5:16

When I was out on the course at my lowest point, I couldn't wait to cross the finish line because as soon as I did, I was going to lay down flat on my back on the pavement and let them carry me off. I just didn't want to have to move anymore. But after I crossed, I didn't do that. Instead I headed directly for the hard earned medal that had been the focus of everything for more than a year. I sobbed as the volunteer put it around my neck and she said, 'Ohhhh we've got another emotional one here!" At that moment, I wanted to punch that lady. OF COURSE I'M EMOTIONAL DO YOU KNOW WHAT I JUST WENT THROUGH???

I didn't punch the lady.

Instead, I shuffled to the mylar sheets. I wasn't cold, but I wanted one to have as a souvenir. I didn't have the wherewithal to put it around my shoulders, but two volunteers tag teamed one with one draping it around me and the other fastening my new super hero cape with a piece of tape. I continued through the chute, gathering a Gatorade and a big bag of food, as I headed toward what I thought was an exit at the end of Boylston. The plan had been to meet Jason, Kit, and Lauren at the Make Way for Ducklings statue in Boston Green. Unfortunately, I couldn't get there by the most direct route and was being forced to go right to walk a few blocks to the family meet up area - which was in the opposite direction of the Ducklings.

I took one look at what seemed like a very long walk to the family meet up area, then at the line of wheelchair-wielding volunteers in red shirts who lined the street, and decided I was going to med. I walked up to the closest volunteer and asked if she would take me to med and before I knew it, I was sitting (blessed sitting!) and moving faster than I had in 3 hours as she wheeled me toward the tent.

To be clear, I didn't go to med just because I was tired. I was also aware that I was bone dry (not sweating), my hands were tingling again, and I figured that given how I'd felt on the course it was probably a good idea to at least get looked at by some medical professionals.

In med, I gratefully laid on a cot while a very nice nurse took my blood pressure (60/90... low, but as she said, "you're a runner so I'm not too worried). She listened to my pulse and heart, asked me how I felt. I really couldn't say anything more than tired. I was just really tired and really NOT sweaty. I asked if they had a phone I could borrow. No doubt Jason was worried about me and wondering where I was. They handed me a little Nokia and my mind was so gone that it took me a few tries to remember how to use it. First I called Jason. He didn't answer. I figured I should try Kit, but I don't have his number memorized. It was written on the back of my bib, but I found that I couldn't sit up to read it. I unfastened the safety pins and when the nurse came back, I asked her to read his number. I called him, he didn't answer either. I was tired, so I gave up and laid back for a little while. I tried again in a little bit and finally got a hold of Jason. I told him the situation and that he needed to come meet me at med.

I felt better so I sat up and asked the nurse if I could be discharged. As she finished my paper work, I looked around me at the other runners - most far worse off than me - and said, "Why on Earth do we do this to ourselves??" The nurse just looked at me, shrugged and said, "I really don't know!"

"It's because we're all f*cking crazy," I said and stood up to leave.

I expected Jason to be outside of the med tent but he wasn't; I figured that maybe they didn't let non-runners into the barricades so I headed toward the family meet up area. On the way, I passed the official finisher portrait area so I stopped to get one. Why the hell not, right? 

Fake it til you make it, right?

Notice the salt on my shorts. That has never happened to me before.

I'll spare you the rest of the details, but it took a while for me to finally find Jason and Kit. By the time we were reunited, my mind was pretty much gone and I was starving. I had accidentally left my bag of food back at the med tent and there was no way in hell I was going back for it.

We walked to the hotel and I insisted on taking a few pictures. I was feeling proud that I had muscled through and finished. I still had no clue what my actual finish time was.

Afterwards, Kit was a dear and walked to get us some pizza. We were all starving. Jason went upstairs to the room with me and I got my shower and got in bed, which is where I ate my pizza.

After lounging in bed for a while, I decided that I wanted ice cream so Jason and I headed out to Boylston for some dessert.

All around me were other runners, all telling similar tales of woe. No one had a great race that day, it seemed. After my initial surge of pride at having finished, I was circling back toward disappointment in my race.

Later, when I was laying in my bed again, I couldn't quiet my mind so I was scrolling through Facebook on my phone when I saw a post show up in the RVA Runners page. It was me, running on the Potterfield Bridge. The caption on the post said, "RVA Represent on the big screen in Fenway!" A friend had tagged the post, "Kathryn isn't that you??"

It was!! I was so confused. What was happening and why was I on the big screen at Fenway?? Then I remembered. We took the video on my birthday run. The BAA had sent out a call for runners to take short videos of them during their training to submit for possible inclusion in a compilation they were putting together. I had been wracking my brain trying to think of where to film a short segment that would get noticed in what I assumed would be a sea of submissions. I settled on the T Pot, with the Richmond skyline in the background. It's a striking and not just another road or sea of trees, so I thought it would have a chance. I had never heard from BAA and assumed it wasn't included. But it was - and it was shown as part of this video at the official BAA after party.

How ironic was it that when I was feeling like a huge failure, there I was running across the big screen at Fenway, with that particular quote under me?

I've continued to struggle with my feelings about the whole experience. Six weeks (!) later, the misery is starting to fade and I have come to terms with it... kind of. I didn't know what my official finish time was until the next day. Jason and Kit knew, but I hadn't been able to summon the courage to look. When they told me, I started to laugh hysterically. It's a cruel kind of joke to have your personal worst race at your first Boston.

Even though my official Boston finish time is 4:49(something) the time I will always associate with my first Boston Marathon is that BQ of 3:30:05. That number is why I was there and that is still what I am most proud of. During the race, when I was walking, I wanted to yell at people, "I am a 3:30 marathoner. I've been injured. I don't walk. This is NOT ME."

Of course I've thought long and hard about what happened. Physically and mentally, I was on the edge of a knife. I knew I was barely trained; not through fault of my own but just due to the foot surgery and longer than expected recovery. Knowing that created the seed of self doubt in my mind, which was then blown out of proportion by the weather forecast.

Everyone asked me, "Was it your foot?" No. It wasn't my foot. My foot didn't hurt afterwards either, though I have a bet with Kit as to whether or not I'm going to lose the 2nd toenail on my right foot (note - I have NEVER lost a toenail from running). The only real pain I experienced was in my mid-back, and it was intense. But it wasn't anything that I could have pushed through and would have pushed through any other time.

No, what happened to me in Boston was simple. I got into my head, I let anxiety take over, and I let it rule my day. The heat scared me. There had been a lot of reports prior to Boston about runners keeling over and dying after finishing races. Those reports scare the crap out of me. I always wonder if I'm next, even though I've gone to my doctor and had my heart looked at, etc. Those thoughts were in the back of my mind in Boston.

Mostly, I am disappointed in myself and the lack of mental strength. I have no doubt that I could have run that marathon in four hours, even with the heat, if I just hadn't given in to all of my fears. But I did. I let my mind win. It's a hard lesson to learn, especially at an iconic race like Boston. But it happened. I can't change it. I won't make the same mistake again. I am also a person who hates excuses. Other people had bad races that day, but not epically bad like mine. I was weak and that's that.

In a way it is kind of fitting that I had to struggle so hard to complete Boston. The twelve months leading to the race were marked by struggle, pain, and determination. The marathon was the same.

Everybody has a blow up race. Mine was my Boston debut. It sucks. But hey... I finished the thing. That's what I hold on to.

I also have to thank everyone who tracked me that day, who wished me well, who congratulated me afterwards. My sweet coworkers who decorated my cube for my return, my family who tracked me the whole time, everyone who hugged me. Knowing you were all watching helped me get through. I only hope I didn't disappoint you.

I have to also thank Jason for believing in me and letting me pursue this insane thing. And of course to Kit, for training with me and never letting me give up.

There's a lot to learn from running.  It taught me ultimate respect for the people who are out there for 5 hours. It taught me to just keep going. That the time on the clock doesn't always define a success.

The day after the race, I visited the Adidas running headquarters on Boylston. They have a cool topographical relief of the course there, surrounded by quotes from Boston greats. This one struck me, hard.

"I have as much respect for those who run and do not finish first

as I have for the ones whose strength, endurance and training brings them first place."

- Roberta 'Bobbi" Gibb, first women to run the Boston Marathon

Boston humbled me. It hurt me, it tried to put me down. But I won't let it. I trained really hard to get there and fought back from an injury that wouldn't quit. I did something big that day, even if it didn' turn out the way I wanted it to.

Onwards and upwards.

What's the Big Deal?

I have a tendency to forget that not everyone in my life is a runner.

Whaaaaaaaaaaat??

It's easy to do when you spend what adds up to weeks, months, and years with other runners, talking endlessly about the ins and outs of our obsession, using our special language or acronyms and silly words (as a runner, I am obligated to now mention the words "fartlek" and "Yasso" as well as the acronyms PR and DOMS).

It's not just runners either. We humans have a tendency to hang out with people who are like us and share our interests and when we interact with people who are outside of that bubble, our lengthy soliloquies about [insert obsession here] are annoying gibberish. We take for granted that everyone knows what we're talking about because well duh... why wouldn't they?

I take for granted that everyone understands why the Boston Marathon is a Big Deal® but the reality is that most of the people in my life have no idea why it means so much. I mean, there are races like every weekend, and anybody can run one, so who cares, right? And I've run a couple marathons before, so woohoo, another one. Big whoop.

So I'm going to tell you why Boston is considered the holy grail of marathons, not just for me, but for thousands of runners from all over the world.

Prestige and History - The Boston Marathon is the oldest marathon in the US, dating all the way back to 1897. This year is the 121st running of the race. Of course things are a heck of a lot different now than they were in 1897, or even in 1967 or 1987. Participation in distance running has skyrocketed over the past twenty years and as that has happened, I think that Boston has become even more iconic to the average runner.

Boston is also one of the six World Marathon Major races. These six are the largest and most renowned marathons in the world. The others are Tokyo, London, Berlin, Chicago, and New York. Running all six is a big goal for some people (don't worry... it's not one of mine). For runners, participating in one of the World Majors is kind of like the NCAA Basketball Tournament or NFL Post-Season.

For these two reasons, Boston attracts some of the world's most elite marathon runners. I, along with around 30,000 other people, will line up with Meb Keflezighi, Galen Rupp, Buzuesh Deba, and Desi Linden to participate in the same event. That's like getting to play on a football team with Tom Brady, or playing doubles with Serena Williams, or fielding for the Red Sox. Obviously I won't be racing side by side with these world class athletes (shoot, I would barely be able to keep up with them if I was on a bike!), but I will be running the same race, following in their footsteps.

Boston is also important to a lot of women this year because it is the 50th anniversary of Kathrine Switzer historic 1967 feat, when she became the first woman to register for and complete the Boston Marathon. Kathrine's accomplishment started to break down the long-held notion that women couldn't participate in distance running and she went on to be a major influence in finally getting the BAA to allow women to officially register for Boston Marathon and later, for the women's marathon to become an Olympic sport. Because of Kathrine, women make up more than half of marathon finishers in the US today.

To mark the occasion, Kathrine will be running the race on Monday. No one has ever run a marathon 50 years after their first, but I have every confidence that Kathrine will be smashing that barrier too.

I was extremely fortunate to have the opportunity to interview and meet her in November 2015. That year I ran with her signature on my bib at the Richmond Marathon and it is so overwhelming to think that I'll be running in Boston with her - the woman who is in no small way responsible for me even being allowed to participate in this race.

From Kathrine to the Wellesley girls to the Citgo Sign to Meb's win in 2014, to Alberto Salazar and David Beardsley's famous "Dual in the Sun" in 1982 to the terrible bombing in 2013 that only made the running community rally stronger... there is so much history and tradition, so many stories and legends surrounding this particular race that it has reached mythic status. As a runner, to feel that I get to participate in and add my own chapter to the Boston Marathon's story is overwhelming.

Not just anyone can run Boston - Let me give you a quick statistic. Annually, only half a percent of Americans completes a marathon. Of that half percent, around 12% qualify for Boston. Of that 12% of half a percent, only 4-5% actually go on to register for and run Boston.

Now, I'm really bad at math so I won't even try to calculate what teeny tiny fraction of a fraction of a percent of the American population that is.

In other words, not many people get to have this experience.

Typically, any old Joe Schmoe can go sign up for a marathon and theoretically, finish one. Most don't require any kind of proof that Joe Schmoe can complete a marathon or has done so successfully. You could go out tomorrow and register for one if you wanted to.

For the bigger and more popular races, there are often race lotteries where you put your name in the pool and hope you are one of the lucky ones who gets chosen (New York, Chicago, and Marine Corps all employ this). You could also guarantee your entry into these races by qualifying. That means you run a marathon in X time and you are automatically in. New York City's qualifying standards, for example, and more difficult than Boston's. Chicago also uses qualifying times (and countless others, I'm sure).

So why is Boston still the be-all-end-all for many amateur runners?

Because Boston has no lottery. If you don't qualify for NYC, you put your name in that hat and you can still get the chance to run it. Not so in Boston. There are only two ways to get the chance to run. You either qualify, or you raise thousands of dollars for a charity as a charity runner. 80% of the field in Boston is for qualifiers only. As a result, it is the fastest marathon in the country and also very difficult to get in to.

Simply put, to run Boston,  for most of us, you have to work hard and you have to really earn it. Earning a Boston Qualifying time alone is a badge of honor. Nowadays, getting in has become so competitive that even just earning that BQ time doesn't mean you're going to get in. My first two BQs were not fast enough and I did not make the cut for the 2016 race. The bar for participation is set higher and higher every year.

People go to crazy lengths to lie, cheat, and steal their way into the race. The problem has gotten so much attention that there is a person who has made it his personal mission to identify and catch cheaters; that my entrant information contains pages of policies and disclaimers about bib transfers or selling and the consequences, along with warnings to not post photos of my bib on social media lest someone use Photoshop to print a fake bib and run with it; that people do try to sell Boston entries for up to $5,000 on message boards and Craigslist.

For honest amateur runners, getting a BQ is a goal that they strive towards for years and years. Anyone can run a marathon... not just anyone can run in Boston. Some are able to achieve it, and some never do. I never thought I would be able to qualify. After the bombing, I even wrote these words:

Ironically, I had never really been much interested in the Boston Marathon before this year. But this year, the bug got me.  Even though I have never run a marathon and am not anywhere fast enough to qualify, the pipe dream of someday, somehow, running Boston entered my head.

I wrote that on April 16, 2013.

Obviously I never imagined that four years later, almost to the day, I would be running the Boston Marathon not as a charity runner but having qualified three times. My mind set changed when my good friend Lauren qualified for Boston at Steamtown in 2014. Lauren and I had trained for our first marathon together and ran much of it side by side. When she achieved that BQ it made me think that maybe someday it could be in my realm of possibility too. My quest for Boston began in earnest in February 2015.

A two year roller coaster of training, injuries, surgery, tears, pain, joy, and of course hundreds of thousands of miles running have brought me here.

For all of us so-called "recreational" runners (a term I kind of hate), Boston is our Super Bowl. It seems like a crazy dream but it is also an achievable dream. We watch friends do it and we think, "Hm, maybe I can too." It's a goal to strive for; something to push for; something to keep us going.

To earn the right to wear that finisher jacket is a big achievement. It's our moment in the sun - our moment of glory. For us average people and average runners, our lives and races are mostly carried out in anonymity.

In Boston, though, we are superstars for a day. We are all elite.

So there you have it. That's why Boston is such a Big Deal®, at least to me. Obviously there are as many reasons to want to run a race as there are runners. A lot of runners will give reasons that are a lot more noble. Some will say it is a bucket list item; that they're raising money for charity; that they're using the race as the summit of getting through some difficult or challenging period in their life; in memory of someone; etc.

Most won't ever admit that one of the reasons they want to run Boston is to join that elite group of qualifiers/finishers. Being competitive is out of style. I don't really care that it is. Yup, I'm competitive. Against myself and against the other runners. Yup, I want to beat you. Yup, I'm proud that I trained hard, ran fast, and am running Boston because I qualified for it. No, I'm not sorry.

I want to run Boston because I want to join that group of runners, add my name to that that long and prestigious list. I want to run it because I earned it. Because I have clawed my way back from injury and worked my butt off to get to this start line. I want to make my husband proud. I want to run it for those who can't. I want to hear the walls of sound coming from 500,000 spectators, see that iconic finish line ahead of me, and cross it. I want to follow in Meb's and Kathrine's footsteps. I want to escape my average life and for a day, I want to feel elite.

4 days.

LR2B - T-minus 11 days

That my last entry was about my no good very bad long run is a great example of how no good and very bad I have become with documenting things.

Since that entry, written at the tail end of February, much has transpired and here I am cruising through Taper Town with my most intense month of training behind me. After that bad run, I was very anxious about how March was going to go and thankfully, 75% of it turned out to be fine. The other 25% was the week after the no good long run, during which I felt exhausted, sore, and completely sluggish. BFF Steve and I chalked it up to a bout with over training syndrome; after all, I had just run my highest volume mileage week in more than a year.

[Never mind that my highest mileage week in a year was a measly 32 miles...]

Taking it easy for a few days and trading roads for trails for my long run the next week seemed to do the trick for my body, but I had still had to work to convince my mind that I really could pull off the rest of the training. Mother nature helped out a little when she got the memo that it was in fact still winter/early spring and NOT early summer. Cooler temps helped immensely as I ticked my way through March, building a bit of confidence with each successful run.

Before I knew it, I was facing down the biggest week of training: a Yasso Test on March 20th; 10 miles on March 22nd, and my one and only 20 miler on March 25. Back when I made my plan, I remember filling in this week and feeling like it was going to be impossible to execute. At the time (waaaaay back in January), I was doing 20 mile weeks and that was hard enough.

[That waaaaaay back thing was sarcasm, by the way]

I tried really hard to weasel my way out of the Yasso test. I was afraid to do it because I had just had a great long run that had done much to restore my confidence in my ability to successfully complete a marathon and the last thing that I wanted to happen was to follow it with a big fat fail of a Yasso test. As every runner knows, the physical aspect of the sport (while difficult) is the easier thing to build up and the real test is whether you can train your brain into believing you can achieve what you need to.

Kit, however, would not allow me to weasel out of the Yasso. I begrudgingly met him at the track on Monday morning.

[If you don't care about the technicalities of running, skip this next part you'll be really bored. It's safe again after the picture.]

If you're not familiar with the Yasso Test, here's a really basic primer. It is named after the Official Mayor of Running, Bart Yasso, whom I've had the pleasure of running and post-run breakfasting with multiple times. He had a habit of running 800s and discovered a pattern that his 800 lap time and his marathon finish time correlated almost exactly; the Yasso Test thus became a marathon finish time predictor.

Here is how it works. Let's say you have a goal of running a 3 hour, 45 minute marathon (3:45). To test whether you are physically prepared, your goal with the Yasso is to complete a track work out that consists of 10 - 800 meter intervals complete in 3 minutes, 45 seconds each, with a rest period of similar duration between each.  So:

Mile warm up
800m in 3:45
Recovery jog for 3:45
800m in 3:45
Recovery jog for 3:45
[repeat until you've done it ten times]

It sounds complicated, but it isn't really.

It doesn't sound very difficult to execute either. For the first few laps, it feels pretty reasonable indeed. The pace is usually slower than speed work and thus you are fooled into thinking that the Yasso Test is easy as pie. But by the time you get to the 8th, 9th, 10th 800, you realize it is no joke.

Though I haven't said it "on the record" before, my goal for Boston is to run a 3 hour, 45 minute marathon. Initially I just wanted to come in under four hours, but based on the paces I have been able to keep during long runs, the 3:45 felt like it fell pretty easily within the realm of possibility. Therefore, I needed to run each of my 800s in 3 minutes, 45 seconds. It felt daunting and impossible but as it turns out, I'm in much better shape than I thought...

Instead of being the confidence basher that I feared, the Yasso turned out to be a huge boost, showing that I'm apparently capable of maybe even a 3 hour, 35 minute marathon. I could hardly believe it.

The Yasso was followed by a really glorious, and more conservatively paced, 10 miler on Wednesday - which also happened to be my birthday. Kit and I did a point to point route that covered pretty much all of our favorite places: Nickel Bridge, Riverside Drive, Belle Isle, Canal Walk, Flood Wall, and new favorite place, the Tyler Potterfield "T-Pot" Memorial Bridge.

I wish I could say that my 20 mile long run was awesome and that I felt fantastic but I didn't. It wasn't as bad as the no good horrible run, but it wasn't great. The last four miles were a real slog; my left adductors were really just done with me starting at mile 16, which made my left knee start to hurt as my gait suffered through loss of control of those left thigh muscles. The left side continued to bother me and on the following Monday, for the first time during this training cycle, I opted to not do my run. With the real work behind me and a slightly wonky knee going on, it wasn't worth the risk to insist on completing those 8 miles. So I didn't. I'm slightly perturbed about it, as I had been perfectly on track until that point, but better safe than sorry. I've worked far too hard to risk it all by being stubborn now.

Just 11 days away now, it still seems completely surreal that I am going to be running the Boston Marathon. Not only because it is Boston, but because 6 months ago, I could hardly complete 30 minutes of run/walk. 9 months ago, I was on crutches and crying multiple times a week out of frustration, pain, and fear that I would never run again.

That I've come so far in so little time is mind-blowing to me. When this started, my only goal was to get to the finish line on my own two feet, and to hopefully not have to walk any part of the marathon. I never imagined that I would feel confident enough to say that I think I can run a 3:45 in Boston. Truly, I believe I could run a 3:35 an re-qualify, but I also think that would be very painful and not fun. I would rather enjoy this experience so I am not aiming for that goal.

I am now allowing myself to get excited about this. I have been holding back because the specter of injury haunted me throughout the training cycle. It felt like this could all be taken away at any second, without rhyme or reason, just like in May.

It could still be... I am become that crazy, 2 weeks out from a marathon, paranoid runner who hand washes constantly to avoid illness, who won't go on the trails for fear of turning an ankle, who won't go for a bike ride for fear of cars/falling off, who won't walk around shoeless in the dark for fear of stubbing and breaking a toe.

[And I might be already obsessively checking the weather forecast, multiple times a day, through  multiple weather services. Right now the weather looks spectacular, by the way. Sunday night low of 40, partly cloudy and high of 54 on race day.]

So while being excessively careful, I am also plotting how we will spend the time in Boston, made pre-race dinner reservations, and lined up entertainment/touristing. I ordered my race day top (Boston Blue of course), and even a new pair of run sunglasses because I decided I did not want my current pair to be documented for all time in my Boston debut photographs. I've read through my passport and race day guide and started my race-day gear pile.

Nope, I wasn't AT ALL excited on the day my passport and guide finally arrived.

I'm trying to suppress talk of the race in every day conversation. I don't speak of it unless someone else brings it up (except in the case of Husband and Kit. Sorry guys...). Obviously this is a big deal for me but not so much for everyone else in my life.

That being said, I probably will post a few more thoughts that I want to get out before I go; in particular, how this training cycle was different than all the others and the full story on the TENEX surgery that I had and what the recovery was truly like from the standpoint of an active person/athlete. Unfortunately, injury - and in particular plantar fasciitis- is such a common experience for runners that I want to share my experience in hopes of helping others who are suffering from it and trying to make decisions about treatment and understand what recovery can look like.