Boston Marathon Recap - Miki Version

Lisa's version is coming soon!!!

Training for Boston had been hard.  Many, many 60 mile weeks.
Many, many vomit inducing mile repeats.  I was gunning for 3:24:00. 

Then it started to all fall part.  A quad strain 4 weeks to race, followed by a stress reaction and a tibila strain 2 weeks to the race.  Then 2 days to race, the ultimate sucker punch.  Predicted high of 90F for race day.  Oh, and I had cramped my left hip 1 day before the race on my pre-race “loosen it up” run.

As I sat in the yellow school bus listening to Breaking Benjamin (cuz I don’t talk to strangers), I was reassessing my goal.  Then another punch in the face...an accident on Mass Turnpike.  At this point, I should’ve just read the signs.  I’m not religious or anything, but I am super-duper superstitious. 

When I finally got to Athlete’s Village, it was already way crowded.  I stood in the hot sun for a washroom.  At some point I get the obligatory “MIKI” Sharpied on my arms.  Next thing I know, I’m shuffling towards the start, already sweaty with heat.

I find a bottle of water and I pour it all over myself – and we’re off.

I don’t remember much of the race...nothing funny happened either.  It was all pain and desperation.  

I remember vomiting for the first time somewhere after mile 10.  I was in shock.  This was the first time I had done that in any race and everything I had eaten all came out.  All of my precious calories were gone, spilled out on hot asphalt.  I had two Clif Gels left, so I took one and moved along. 

As I crawl through the course, I remember this part being really cold when I ran the course back in March…But not today.  It felt like a hot cast iron pan.  My shoes getting stuck on parts of sticky asphalt mends. 

I remember the high pitched screaming at Wellesley gave me such a head ache, and by the time I hit mile 14, came vomit number two.  At this point, I hit the medical tent.  I was absolutely horrified that I was uncontrollably vomiting – twice, now.

At the medical tent, the beds were full of “Red Bibs” (these are all the sub elite runners – 2:45 and faster marathoners).  I didn’t feel so bad when I saw that some of the best were dying just like me!  Seeing that the medical tent was full, I helped myself to a bag of ice cubes and took off.  Loss of 3 minutes.

Mile 16.  I turned the corner at the “Firehouse”, facing the first hill out of the three “giant hills” of Newton.  I remember enjoying the water tunnel.  I said to myself, “You can do this!” and ran up the first hill, only to vomit again as I crested. 

I pulled myself together, walked, cried.  Then came hill number two.  I wanted to call it quits.  Later, I will hear that this is where Mutai dropped out of the race due to cramping. 

I had to get to that third hill.  My training partner, who ended up not making the race due to stress fracture injury was going to be at mile 20.  I had to get there.  I’m running for her, I’m running for all those who wanted yet couldn’t. 

As I struggled up the final hill, I curse as 3 weeks ago, I zoomed over it in 40F weather, and declared it “easier than Harlem Hill”.  It’s such a struggle today.  I’m delirious, cursing out loud at everything and everybody.   Cursing up the hill, I see a sign; “GO MIKI PURPLE PEOPLE EATER!!”  I said to myself, “Huh, funny, there’s another Miki in the race”.  Then I realized, it’s for me!!!  I made a U turn, hugged my friend, took a picture, and with renewed energy, I pushed hard over Heartbreak Hill.

Then it happened. My vision narrowed.  I heard nothing but my heart beat.  I vomited again, this time, nothing come out.  I felt someone carry me and say something to me.  It didn’t register.  Next thing I know, I’m in yet another medical tent with iced cloth over me. 

Everything sounded like Charlie Brown – “Wha-wha-wha-whawhawha Support Vehicle”. 

SUPPORT VEHICLE?!?!?!?!

I stood up, and declared, “MY HUSBAND IS AT MILE 22!” I got pushed back down.  A nurse measures my heart rate and body temperature.  As my head got clearer it finally registered what she was saying, “Sweetie, you’re done.  I don’t want you to hurt yourself.  The support vehicle will be here in a few minutes”. 

Then it just came out.  With talk-to-the-hand-motion and all.  “Bitch, please.  Don’t Sweetie me!  I have to finish this fXXker!”  (you can take the girl out of a disco, but you can't take disco out of a girl, even in near death.)

Well this was  a bad idea.  I get held against my will by a fat EMT.  (Note:  Don’t call medical tent nurse a bitch, next time)  I’m so tempted to use my Karate skills on this EMT.  I bet he can’t take an upper cut to the solar plexuses.  I start  plotting my escape; the opportunity strikes in a form of a Red Bib with vomit on his singlet. The fat EMT and the nurse go tend him.  I escape.

I had lost nearly 8 minutes at this tent. 

I curse as I speed down Heartbreak Hill and turn the corner towards Boston.  (I think the street was called Beacon?)  Then I see my husband.  FINALLY!!!!!  I give him a big vomit breath kiss and kick onwards.  This was the first time he had seen me run a race.  I think it might be his last.

At the sight of Citgo sign, I vomit again.  I start laughing.  A nice volunteer man asks me if I’m OK, and I nod and move on.  He shouts, “There’s a medical tent quarter mile up!!”  I give him the finger.  (one day, Karma will get me)

Some point past Fenway, I remember seeing two skinny little things in purple that I decided to pass and succeeded to pass.  I just needed to defend my title, “purple people eater”. 

I finish.  I let a final vomit out for good luck.  I get cat litter on my shoes.  Great.   

Oh, a final icing on the cake.  To my horror, a guy in front of me collapsed, fainted and pooped himself.  I have to jump around this mess in my tired legs. 

I’m over four hours!!  But, hey, I walked a bunch, dry heaved a bunch, vomited a bunch.  My Garmin says my Moving Time was under 4, so I’m OK with that.  AND, I had lost 7lbs that day.  BEST.DIET.EVER.

From start to finish, this race was not worth it.  I’m giving it two big thumbs down.  I don’t know why I even did it.  Oh, yea, cuz of the CURSE (more on this another day).

On my way back, I sent an e-mail out to some friends with below:

Training for Boston Marathon: $400.
Gear, hotel, gas bought to get to Boston Marathon: $1000

Vomiting 5X, finishing, getting a tiny blue-n-yellow medal: Priceless SO F---ING NOT WORTH IT