Standing waiting to start the 2024 Boston Marathon, I felt a drop of sweat slide down my left arm. I should have known in that moment that it was going to be a rough day.
I had moved back to corral seven to run with a group I knew only from Strava interactions. But they were targeting my goal pace.
It would have taken a Marathon-Monday miracle for me to keep up.
Two miles in, with my body instantly redlining, I listened to the warning signals my brain was sending. I dropped pace. Then I dropped pace more. And I still felt like the pace was too aggressive.
Very quickly I powered down from goal pace to more than a minute slower per mile. My immediate thoughts were all negative. I felt frustration from the previous months of failed training goals. Deep down I knew going into my 2024 Boston Marathon that I wasn’t ready to run the paces I expect.
I hadn’t covered 25 percent of the course, and I wanted to sit down and quit.
It’s crazy how quickly our brains will tell us that we are complete failures. So much of my identity is wrapped around running — a choice I’ve made for the past 14 years as I’ve dedicated time and effort into training and racing.
I went into the 2024 Boston Marathon without a qualifying time for 2025. In the first 10K, when I realized and accepted that there would be no BQ that day, I felt dejected and defeated.
Boston means everything to me. It was my unreachable goal for years. Then when I finally made it and raced from Hopkinton to Copley Square, I wanted to do it again. And again.
The thought of failing to qualify for 2025 crushed me. Even though I have until September, my lack of quality training and inability to race well in the summer months means that it will be a long shot.
As I worked through my emotions and racing thoughts, I made a choice. Because I started back in corral seven of wave one, and slowed down considerably, I ended up nearly alone. I had the course of the Boston Marathon, the oldest marathon in the world and one of the most prestigious, to myself. I cruised along between Framingham and Natick as wave one left me behind and wave two slowly caught up.
In those miles I decided to enjoy every painful step for the rest of my journey into the heart of Boston. If I don’t qualify for 2025, and if I never run Boston again, I wanted my memories of the 2024 Boston Marathon to be positive. Not about the race being a failure.
So I smiled at everyone. I thanked each volunteer and police officer along the route. And I high-fived more people than I could count.
The warm conditions were rough, and my left foot and leg (which have been giving me trouble) felt awful. But my goals became to finish, get my eighth straight medal (one for the virtual race in 2020), not end up in the medical tent, and enjoy it all.
The Boston Marathon is special. It can be magical, and it can crush dreams.
This year, I decided to control which one of those options I ended up with.
As I worked my way slowly through the Newton hills, I soaked up all of the atmosphere. I’ve had good and rough days on the Boston course. And the fans are there screaming the runners through all of it.
Multiple times I took walking breaks, but the spectators cheer so loudly that I started running again. Or, I guess more accurately, shuffling again.
By the time I reached the Boston College cheering section at the top of the final significant hill, I was truly happy.
My instinct has always been to be unhappy with my race performances. In the 2018 California International Marathon, I was angry at myself after running 2:49. That’s a time I would be elated to run now. I remember finishing that race and obsessing about how I had failed as I drove back to Las Vegas.
For the 2024 edition of Marathon Monday, I chose to be content. I crawled through Kenmore Square, past the Citgo sign at a mile to go, and enjoyed every second turning right on Hereford and left on Boylston.
I finished in 3:56:34, by far my slowest Boston. It was my worst finish time since I ran through an injury and barely squeaked under four hours in Montana in 2019.
And I’m not angry about it. My 2024 Boston Marathon wasn’t a failure.
Marathons are difficult, and my legs carried me 26.2 miles from Hopkinton to Boston. I didn’t quit. And I didn’t let my insecurities and fears crush my spirit.
Tracksmith on Newbury street hands out finisher posters for free to anyone who shows up in the results and shows up at the store after the race. In the past, I’ve only gotten mine if I was under a three hour finish time. Anything slower felt like failure. There were three of those posters displayed on a wall in my basement, so three of my Boston finishes from past years felt like failures to me.
This year I chose to get my 3:56:34 finish time poster, and I’m displaying it proudly.
Seeing my 2024 Boston Marathon time will remind me to enjoy the steps I get, while maybe providing motivation for me to get in gear for a ’25 BQ.
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