Prelude & Training

Hurts veterans may recall how my 2013 Boston experience turned into a nightmare.  A failure to break 3 hours despite posting a PB, and then the well documented events thereafter.  Ever since then I vowed to return one year and make it a more pleasant experience in my favourite city in the United States.  This was the year, the 123rd edition.   I was also keen to lay my Berlin 2017 to bed.  Many millions of runners worldwide would kill for the opportunity to run the Boston marathon once.  Notwithstanding my mediocre pedigree in marathons by Hurts standards, I was in the fortunate position of having run a qualifier (the only way to enter Boston), to participate in arguably the world’s most prestigious marathon for a second time.

This was a very personal mission, so much so I only told one person in Hurts.  No shouting from the rooftops,  no time goal set in concrete.  I just wanted to find the absolute best in myself during training and do the absolute best I could on a challenging course.

Whilst training began inauspiciously (I fainted on Barts’s front lawn after my first long-ish run!), it began gathering momentum quickly.  Long term tendinopathy issues with my left hip and right Achilles, which prevented any marathon last year, seemed to be buried for good.  Training began to take a life of its own.  Record mileage, many structured tempo sessions, never missed a long run, eating hills for breakfast. Executing all my sessions how I planned, infact in many cases better.  Plenty of this on my own. All in stifling heat and humidity.  Pushing myself like I’ve never done before.  Made a few tweaks to my diet and nutrition, and whilst I lost weight, I felt stronger.  Surely this was doing me good?  Whilst it seemed that way on the surface, the long solo sessions got really lonely and I began to dread and detest them. More than once I felt I was on the verge of either a physical or mental meltdown.  When I could join a group or at least someone, my outlook changed significantly and training was fun again.

During the taper phase, my left hip began playing up again.  Still, based on my key sessions and Striders North Head time, I thought 2:48 was a very realistic goal and 2:45 wasn’t out of the question if things really came together.  Those who know me well would hardly be surprised that my competitive instincts took over.  Redemption now took the form of a time goal.

Race Day

Patriots Day in Boston is special. The marathoners are the stars of the show in a city steeped with rich history.  The town and race route is painted in a sea of blue and yellow, the colours of the Boston Athletics Association.  You can feel it through your veins.  So it was with a sense of focused calm yet excitement that I ventured to the baggage check area on my hotel shuttle bus, where I chatted to a runner named Abby from Dallas who was only doing her third marathon.  All good until a downpour of biblical proportions which sent us all scurrying for cover before boarding the buses which took us to Hopkinton, a small pretty town in New England where the race starts.  (For those not in the know, it’s a point to point course in keeping with the original from Marathon to Athens in Greece.)  Keeping dry before race start was challenging, but two pairs of classy airline pyjamas (ha!) and a poncho helped considerably.  Met a guy from rural Canada on the bus whose training consisted mostly of solo trail running in sub zero winter temperatures in snow.  Made me feel soft!  Once we arrived, the rain had stopped but the temperature rose quite quickly and the humidity was high.  Although I trained in somewhat worse conditions in Sydney, I didn’t expect to race 42.195km in the Boston springtime.

The 15 minutes in my starting corral were noteworthy.  Never have I seen so many Nike Vaporfly shoes in one spot in my life.  It’s like I was an outlier with Mizuno Wave Sonics.  An interesting rendition of the Star Spangled Banner, followed by an intense military jet flyover at low altitude (I can still feel the boom from that!) and a blasting of Metallica’s Enter Sandman got us all pumped.  The moment had come for me to give it my absolute best.  Let’s do this Jeet!

The start is relatively narrow, congested and downhill, so the key was to avoid tripping and use the first few kilometres as a kind of extended fast warm up.  Mission accomplished as I went through 5km just under 20 minutes.  With rhythm established, I was feeling good and without sounding flippant, I barely felt like my effort was more than a fast jog, which was ideal, given that energy preservation was essential for the last 10 miles.  My splits were as consistent as humanly possible given the undulating nature of the course and a slight crosswind.  Indeed I’m struggling to recall anything more than a mile stretch of truly flat terrain. Every township we passed (Framingham, Natick etc), the crowd support was magnificent.  But the undoubted highlight of the first half of the race is the wall of noise that emanates from the screaming girls at Wellesley College, which is one of many Boston marathon traditions.  You can literally hear them almost a kilometre away.  Running past the college was something else.  Absolutely incredible.  You run, indeed live, for moments like this.  Even writing about it now with burning quads brings an adrenaline rush!  The only comparison I have is the wall of noise you get when entering Manhattan for the first time in the New York City marathon.  Although I focused on not getting carried away in the moment, I happened to be racing on the right hand part of the course which enabled me to give a couple of the cheering girls high fives.  Shortly thereafter I passed the half way mark in 82:38, body feeling good, mind feeling calm, focused but positive and thought to myself that 2:48 was still very realistic, notwithstanding a challenging second half of the course.

So it continued until around 25km when I felt my pace drop a slight touch, yet a sharp indicator that this was no longer going to feel like a fast jog.  The sun breaks out.  Hardly ideal before the start of the infamous Newton Hills that dominate between 26-33km.  Keep calm Jeet, you’ve trained for these hills.  And there’ll be massive crowd support from the locals who are knowledgeable enough to realise this is where the runners need the most support.  First hill negotiated reasonably ok.  But the second one chews me up and spits me out.  This never happened in training.  Looked around to see whether it was just me suffering.  Turns out not but others are negotiating it better than me.  Used the ensuing downhill to recover and recompose, which meant I lost some pace.  Even at the 30km mark, a 2:48 was realistic but it would require everything to go well from hereon in.  The remaining hills were also challenging but I held on slightly better, and was glad to see a spectator sign saying I had reached the top of Heartbreak Hill which is the final hill.  Pretty much downhill from here to the finish, so surely I can make up a bit of time?

On the first downhill after Heartbreak, I notice pretty much everyone I was with for the last few kilometres surge last me and leave me for dead.  Wake up Jeet, you’re just as good as these runners surely?  Made an attempt to latch onto the back of a sprawling pack but decided the pace was too quick for me and I couldn’t afford to take a massive risk now with the body in an increasingly precarious state.  After 35km, my memory becomes a bit hazy on detail but I remember a few things.  Told myself only a Bay Run to go, let’s do this.  But whatever happens Jeet, do not under any circumstances panic.  Left hip is pinching more and right hammy is starting to play the violin.  Several guys around me are beginning to stop and cramp badly.  The conditions are taking their toll.  I’m not in a pack but I’m not alone either.  By this stage, I resorted to an automatic coping mechanism I developed during solo training of not looking further than 20 metres in front of me.  Didn’t want to see any more undulations on the course, lest it inadvertently precipitated a cramp.  At 37km a sub 2:50 time became highly unlikely but I held to my mantra of not panicking.  Just a parkrun to go Jeet, you’ve done this plenty of times.  Albeit not under this fatigue level.  The crowd atmosphere is simply amazing and I fed off their energy as much as possible.  Didn’t even notice passing Fenway Park, home of the Boston Red Sox.   But once I reached the famous Citgo sign, I knew there was only about a kilometre to go.  Under a tunnel, then another small rise which I needed like a hole in the head.  But I hear the crowd noise lift to epic levels.  Use it Jeet, as it could push you to a PB.  Right on Hereford, left onto Boylston.  The finish line is in the distance and I push as hard as I can, which wasn’t quick at all but just enough to cross the line in 2:52:33, which is a PB by 34 seconds from Melbourne 2014.  That fact alone was probably just enough to stop me from crying at another missed opportunity for a sub 2:50 marathon.

Within seconds, a fellow runner who looked old enough to be my dad put his arm around me, asked me if I was ok and that medical support was just a bit further along.  Goodnesses, I knew I was feeling bad but even in my slightly dazed state I felt enough embarrassment to at least hobble, quite literally, to receive my medal and refreshments from the amazingly enthusiastic volunteers.  There seemed to be a fair bit of carnage around me.  Never seen so many 3 hour marathoners being escorted to medical assistance, plenty in wheelchairs.  Others bent over the railings, unable to move.  At least I was able to hobble. Initial anecdotal evidence I gathered in the baggage collection area, where I had to stop as I was completely stuffed, was that many runners in my starting corral didn’t break 3 hours.

To typify the spirit of the locals, as I made my way back to my hotel from the subway station, all the cars at a major intersection stopped so I could hobble across and they all yelled congratulations.  How awesome!  Needless to say, there were a few beverages consumed and burgers eaten that evening in downtown Boston with a few faces from Sydney who also ran.  Special mention to Maya Borthwick who also ran a PB.  She trained like a demon over the summer and it was the least she deserved, even though a sub 3 eluded her.

Reflections

A few days post race I ask myself, was my quest for redemption was successful?   This needs to be viewed through the prism of me being my own harshest critic, and not being a fan of excuses.  Given my training indicated between 2:45 and 2:48 and given my course specific training, I feel my time is somewhat underwhelming, albeit by no means poor.  In hindsight, it seems there was at least one missing element in my training, namely learning to run hard downhills under fatigue.  Yes it carries injury risk, especially for someone like me with years of issues with my hips, but ultimately my inability to cash in on the downhill sections of the course cost me valuable time.  There are probably other lessons I’ll learn in due course.

That said, allow my self-sympathetic side a small and rare indulgence.  A PB is a PB, on a challenging course in unexpectedly warm and humid conditions.  Six years ago on the same course in better conditions, I ran 14 minutes slower.  In Berlin 18 months ago on the world’s fastest course, I was almost 6 minutes slower.  Of the marathons I’ve run, only New York is arguably tougher and even then not by much.  In Boston, bib numbers are assigned by qualifying time.  When compared with my finishing position, I effectively “overtook” almost 3000 runners with better qualifying times.  Perhaps most importantly, I gave it everything I had on race day both physically and mentally, was disciplined with my pacing, and I never at any stage panicked when the wheels were coming off.  With 12km to go, my finishing time could easily have been a 3:05 or worse but I dug deep when required to salvage something.  And I could be in a relatively rare group of sub 2:55 runners who has a PB at Boston.

Would I recommend Boston?  If you truly love the challenge of the marathon and it’s history, and want to test your credentials on a course where you need to bring multiple facets to the fore, you absolutely must put this on your bucket list to do at least once in your life.  You will gain true respect for doing so.  Definitely the best organised marathon I’ve ever participated in, from the expo to race day.  Hands down, no comparison.  It’s a clockwork operation, but super friendly and enthusiastic at the same time.  Boston is a city where people truly appreciate your efforts as a marathoner like no other.

Finally, thank you to all that helped me throughout, even though you may not have known my plans to race Boston.  Too many to mention, but standouts include the Hurts Tuesday tempo squad, Manly Hardcore led by Tom & Ben (thanks all for letting me join your Sunday runs where possible), Fullers Road locals, Scotty, Anthony Maher,  Wazza and Bronwyn Hager Amy.   But two deserve special mention.

Fiona – same suburb, same age, similar philosophy on running but superior marathon credentials.  Her Auckland build up, which I was a small part of, taught me that I needed to make substantial changes to my training if I wanted any chance of a sub 2:50.  She supported me throughout the months leading up to race day, running with me occasionally at ungodly hours of the morning before work, making me laugh when I was on the verge of meltdowns and providing constant support and encouragement, even when she was in the middle of an injury herself.  Best training partner ever.

Birchy –  being a stereotypical competitive Hurts runner, I am as guilty as many are of being overly obsessed with achieving perfection in my running.  Birchy gave me a more holistic perspective and continually emphasised the need to appreciate how fortunate we are to be part of a squad full of amazing runners, to enjoy the experience of running a major overseas marathon,  not to put pressure on myself and don’t worry about what others were thinking about me.  Like Fiona, he also continually checked on me, especially during periods where I was training solo and not enjoying it.  He was the calm voice of reason whom I leant on a lot.

By Jeet Aich