2018 Boston Marathon — through the wind and rain

It finished like it started — with me shivering. Fifteen minutes after finishing the 2018 Boston Marathon, I was laying on the floor of my hotel room shaking. Halfway hypothermic and halfway overcome emotionally. I was rocked by tearless sobs. Nothing left to give. Everything I had emotionally and physically was still out on the Boston course, somewhere between Hopkinton and the finish yards away on Boylston Street.

But there was something else, deep down, on top of my complete exhaustion. I felt waves of joy and satisfaction. The horrendous weather took everything from me, but it didn’t defeat me. I fell short of my overall race goals, and I didn’t care. Every single person who crossed the finish line this Marathon Monday is a story of triumph. I will never forget the 2018 Boston Marathon.

It’s almost comical that last year’s Boston race (my first) was extremely hot. By the time I arrived to Beantown this year, runners were already panicking about the forecasted cold, wet, and windy conditions. I’ve been training through cold and wind in Columbus, Ohio, for months. So I was completely prepared, right?

By Sunday I was in full-on panic mode as well. The forecast called for real feel of 19 degrees at the starting line with driving wind and rain directly out of the East-Northeast, a strong headwind. I had planned on running in a singlet no matter what, but I was starting to doubt my decision. After completing my final shakeout run, I knew I need to make a few wardrobe decisions. My normal race shorts weren’t going to work. The wind cut right through them, and the material flapping in 30+ mph winds was incredibly annoying.

So I set out to find some half tights. It took almost all day to find a pair. I had everyone I knew in the city checking around. None left at the race expo. None at any of the running stores along Boylston (there are quite a few). Finally, late in the afternoon, I checked one last place — Heartbreak Hill Running Company in Cambridge. There, hidden behind some regular shorts, I found the last two pairs of half tights in the entire city (I assume), and both were size medium. I viewed it as a good sign that things were going to work out.

On race morning, my feet were soaking wet from the rain before I even boarded the bus headed to the starting line. Standing in line waiting to board, I realized it was going to be a harsh day. I had been stalking the weather app for hours, so I was expecting rough conditions. But there is a huge difference between looking at numbers on a phone screen and feeling the gusts of 40+ mph wind cut all the way to bone level.

I did my customary one-mile warmup, made a final trip to a port-o-let, and walked to the starting corrals. I still had on a long sleeve shirt and a running jacket. My plan was to ditch both right before taking off, but part of me wanted to keep them both on as long as possible. As soon as we turned East to Boston, the wind and rain intensified. I was drenched through all three layers quickly, and the long sleeve shirt and jacket just felt heavy. So I tossed them and prepared for a rough few hours (I had searched for arm sleeves the day before with no luck).

Starting the race helped tremendously, but I couldn’t get comfortable through the first 5K, which I hit in 18:54. I don’t know if I warmed up a little bit, or if my face became completely numb, but my teeth stopped chattering shortly after that first timing mat.

There are several things that stand out from the first several miles of the race. A man saw my Fleet Feet Columbus singlet and yelled: “Go Fleet Feet … find your rhythm and enjoy the day!” A few miles later, I heard a group of women singing “Livin’ on a Prayer.” They were not on pitch, but the words made me smile. Rounding a corner in Framingham, I heard the opening riffs from the song “Smooth.” I nearly laughed out loud at Rob Thomas’ first words “Man it’s a hot one, like seven inches from the midday sun.”

But after the halfway point of the race, everything became hazy. The wind and rain, which made the real feel temperature dip below 20 degrees for the entire race, never let up. It’s hard to describe how tough it was running through that storm. Desi Linden ran 17 minutes slower than her second place finish at Boston seven years ago … and won the women’s title. You have to go back to 1976 to find a men’s winner with a slower finish time than 2018 champion Yuki Kawauchi’s 2:15:58.

I’m sure everyone I know is tired of hearing me talk about the race conditions. But it’s impossible to convey how bad it was, unless you were on the course experiencing the misery. I was struggling to see by the final miles. My eyes burned, and the wind-whipped rain drops felt like a thousand people were repeatedly shooting me in the face with pellet guns.

By the time I hit the Newton hills, my entire body was completely numb. I had to grab water cups with two hands, because I had lost the ability to open or flex my fingers. Because I couldn’t see, the crowd noise and rain noise faded together into one giant din. I tried several times to relax my shoulders and arms, but I couldn’t get rid of any tension.

By mile 21 I had completely fallen off original goal pace, but I still have a great chance to get under 2:45. I wanted it badly — 2:45 is the cutoff for overseas sub-elite entry into the Tokyo Marathon next spring. By the final mile, I was simply grateful for every step I could take without falling.

In 2017 I felt like I floated through the final miles to the finish line. In 2018 I had the opposite experience. My legs were buried deep in the cement. It was a battle to keep moving forward, and the wind actually started to intensify.

By the time I reached the finish line, I didn’t care about my official numbers. I’ve run a marathon faster than what I did at the 2018 Boston Marathon. But I consider not walking at any point this past Monday my biggest victory. Running my 2:45:01 (yes I missed Tokyo by two seconds) was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I didn’t have another two seconds to give. You could have told me at mile 25 that I was going to be two seconds short and it wouldn’t have mattered. I left every last ounce in Hopkinton, Ashland, Framingham, Natick, Wellesley, Newton, Brookline, and finally right on Hereford, left on Boylston into the heart of Boston.

I grabbed my finisher medal and immediately exited to the side street to head back to my hotel. Shaking and staggering, I’m sure I looked half dead. That’s when the spirit of Boston picked me up. A woman I don’t know, and probably never will, grabbed me and asked if I was OK. My response was yes, but apparently it wasn’t convincing. She immediately grabbed a pedicab driver and paid him $10 to give me a ride back to my hotel. (I heard at least five other people tell similar stories about the kindness of Bostonians paying for their transportation and checking on them postrace.)

That’s when everything hit me. I turned to thank her, and she was already finding another damaged runner to help. My driver (his name is Dan, and yes I hugged him when he dropped me off) avoided all of the potholes and got me back to my hotel quickly.

That’s when I collapsed on the floor and promptly had my breakdown.

Conditions for the 2018 Boston Marathon weren’t ideal (they even cancelled the Red Sox game). But the struggle is was makes us stronger. I salute every single runner who had the courage to step up to the starting line on Monday. And to everyone aiming for Boston: you can do it, and the journey is worth the sacrifice and sweat.

Running helps us clear our minds. It gives us constant new challenges. It’s the universal sport. And on some days, doing it requires everything we have.

The 2018 Boston Marathon changed me forever. It showed me just how deep I can dig. I will remember the incredible volunteers and people braving the weather to encourage all of the runners for the rest of my life.

I’m counting down to April 15, 2019 already.