The Day My Dreams Came True

Monday, April 17^th, 2017 – The 121^st Boston Marathon

It’s 3:37 am. My mind is racing and the nerves have kicked in big-time. I know I need to sleep, but my body is fighting it. My alarm is set to go off in just one hour and 23 minutes… the start to the day that I’ve been waiting for for so long. Today, I will run the Boston Marathon.

After a relatively restless night, I was up before the sun getting ready for the race. Outfit: check. Shoes: check. Energy chews: check. Water bottles: check. Glide: DOUBLE check. Bib: check. I must have checked all of these items at least a hundred times. I was terrified I was going to forget something. I loaded up my allotted gallon-size start bag (again, checked it at least a hundred times) – banana/oatmeal, peanut butter sandwich, picky bar, water, nuun, sunscreen. My start time was 10:50am, still SO FAR away. At 5:30am we were out the door on our way to Hopkinton.

I arrived in Athlete’s Village in Hopkinton at 6:04 am. I was the first and only runner there. The vendors were all set up and ready to hand out water, Gatorade, bagels, bananas, clif bars and chews to the 27,000 people that would soon fill the field. There were hundreds of port-o-potties, but at that hour, just one runner. Me. I spread out the trash bag I had brought to sit on, ate my oatmeal, and tried to catch a few deep breaths and a few moments of peace before the crazy set in.

the first runner at Athlete's Village

The meteorologists were calling for sunny/partly sunny skies, around 70 degrees, with a tailwind. Many of you reading this probably have the same thoughts floating through your head that I did at first. 70 degrees? Perfect! Sunny/partly sunny? Perfect! The closer we got to Monday, the more concerned that those meteorologists and the Boston Athletic Association were getting about the dangerously high temps and runners staying hydrated. That’s when I began to worry, big time. I’ve been lucky enough to train this season down in Charlotte, NC. I figured I had these conditions in the bag, because Charlotte tends to be warmer… what I failed to consider was the difference in the mileage I put in on 70 degree days in Charlotte than on say, 40 degree days. A five mile run in 70 degrees and sunshine in Charlotte is much, much different than a 26.2 mile run in 70 degrees in Boston.

Promptly at 7:00am, the busses began to arrive in Hopkinton, bringing with them tens of thousands of anxious runners. It was at that point that I was able to meet up with the rest of the Nashua Orangetheory runners, which was just what I needed. I got my few moments of peace, but I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting by myself for the next 4 hours. We had a few great picture opportunities, some good, solid laughs, and some killer dance moves. Although we were all big balls of nerves, we had a blast and made sure no one got too lost in their own heads.

Athlete's Village - Hopkinton

I ate my peanut butter sandwich, drank a good amount of water and nuun, and took a salt tablet. Around 10:00am, we made our way from the bus parking lot to the start line. The entire walk there (which, was surprisingly long), I was nervous, but I felt a wave of calm come over me. I was so excited, and itching to get out on the course and experience the magic of Boston that I’d heard about for so long. This was my dream. It was coming true with every step. We got to the start line (wave 3, corral 2) with about 8 minutes until start time. I took some deep breaths, and before we knew it, we were off.

walking to the start line

The crowds were incredibly thick until about mile three. The OTF crew all went out together, but gradually broke apart as time went on. I was worried about the heat as soon as I took my first steps. I could already feel the sun beating on me, and I was sweating within seconds. That’s when I realized how tough of a race this would really be for me. I made it a point to take water each time there was a stop – my main goal was to finish the race healthy and as hydrated as I could manage. Though, I did still want to qualify again. Miles 1 and 2 were okay. I didn’t necessarily feel like I was running 8 minute miles, because the crowd was so dense. I was hot already, but pretty comfortable. Right from the start line, there were thousands of people lining the streets. They were going wild; screaming words of encouragement, cheering, blasting music. It was like a giant party! The energy right from the beginning was unreal. I took water at the first two water stops, and it was a little after mile 4 that I knew I was in trouble. I can’t remember the last time I got a cramp on a run. I used to be the cramp queen, holding my side to try to get through it… but it hadn’t happened to me in over a year. I started getting a sharp pain in my side, and that’s when I knew it was time to pull back. Did I go out too fast? I didn’t think so – just 3 weeks before I was able to run a steady 8:05-8:15 pace for twenty miles. That’s the pace I was trained for. Was it the heat? Did I drink too fast or take too big of sips? It could have been a combination. All I knew was that I had to get ahold of it before it got worse. I slowed my pace, where I separated from the other runners I started with. I didn’t want to hold anyone back, but also didn’t want to push myself this soon. I focused on taking deep breaths, and eventually the cramp moved from my left side to my right shoulder blade in the back. After about 3 miles of trying to run through the cramp, it finally subsided.

I started to approach mile 8 – between Framingham and Natick. I kept looking at my watch, thinking, oh my god. I’m only at mile 8. I’ve never been this tired this early in a race before. I was able to pick my pace back up a bit; and I tried to channel my energy into the crowds. The energy from the crowd was more and more present with every mile. I ran back into Kate, one of the runners I started with, and we ran together for a few minutes. I needed a boost at that point and she was it. We shared a little water bottle and I pressed on. I ran through Natick, where the crowds picked up and transferred some of their energy to me. Around the ten mile mark, I was feeling better, with a little more energy. I was still taking water and Gatorade at every stop, but I was trying to drink it slower. I had three really good miles from 10-13. After the discouragement I felt from miles 8-10, I really needed this boost. I reached the halfway point at 1:46:20, with an 8:26 pace and still clinging to a possibility of a re-qualifying time. If I could just keep this pace…

Somewhere in mile 13 in Wellesley, I saw my aunt, uncle, cousin, and cousin’s girlfriend. They threw me a water bottle that I nursed for about another 2 miles. This is where everything started to go downhill. The sun was so hot and wouldn’t let up. I felt like my skin was 1,000 degrees, and I realized that I wasn’t sweating anymore which scared the crap out of me. I found myself grabbing baby wipes, wet paper towels, and ice cubes from anyone who was giving them out. I was dumping water bottles over my head and down my back after taking a few sips, trying anything and everything to bring my body temperature down at least a little bit. I knew my family was trying to see me somewhere in Wellesley, and I started to get discouraged when I didn’t see them. I was panicking that I missed them along the way, and right in that moment I wanted to quit so bad. I was already in pain, with over ten miles to go. I already felt this way, and hadn’t even reached Heartbreak Hill? How on earth was I going to get up those hills? I started to realize at this point that I wasn’t going to re-qualify. My goal shifted from re-qualifying to just simply finishing. Crossing the finish line in one piece, healthy. I promised myself I wouldn’t kill myself to qualify because I wanted to enjoy this ride. I worked so hard for it and I didn’t want to get to the end with regrets… or worse, not make it to the finish line.

I reached a hill at mile 16, and I was so completely discouraged… but still looking for orange shirts. Do you know how many people had the same idea as my family? THERE WERE SO MANY ORANGE SHIRTS. Then, after I had myself convinced that I missed them in the Wellesley crowds, I could see someone up ahead, in bright orange, standing on a median high above everyone else with a phone ready for a video. That’s when I realized it was Pat. And that’s when I started crying. I merged over to the right side of the road and threw my hands up in the air to signal that it was me. I was close enough that they could see someone throwing their hands up, but with the number of runners going by, I knew they’d have a hard time determining if it was me. But once I put my hands up, so did every one of them. They were screaming for me, and I owe the push up that hill completely to them. If they weren’t there, I probably would have walked a lot sooner. I was so happy to see them exactly when I needed them. I cried for a few minutes after I passed them, knowing it would be a while before I saw them again. I composed myself and did a mental check. I knew the hardest few miles of this race were just ahead and I had some serious work to do.

mile 16 - when orange shirts spotted me

The hills are kind of a blur. I have never walked in a race, but that changed during this one. I started my first walk shortly after passing my family. I tried so hard to delay it as long as possible, but I was running on fumes. My pace had gone out the window. I lost sight of the 8’s and found myself in the 9’s, even 10’s. I tried to set small goals; if you run for 1 mile, you can walk for one minute. I found myself needing to walk much more frequently, but tried to limit my walking time to 20-40 seconds to just get my heart rate to settle. Between the hills and the heat, I felt like I hadn’t trained at all. Almost 600 miles of training, how was this so difficult? I think what is important to remember – and what I didn’t really accept until after I finished, is that not every race can be a PR. Not every mile can come easy, and not every hill can be climbed without a little help. I worked my ass off during training, and hell, I ran a qualifying time to get here. I don’t think that the fact that I had to walk some parts of the hills has any reflection on my preparation. It just wasn’t my race. It wasn’t my day. And that’s okay – because it was still a GREAT day. It wasn’t about the pace. It was about the experience.

Each time I slowed to walk, strangers were grabbing me and telling me “YOU CAN DO THIS”. They were incredible. “YOU ARE BIGGER THAN THIS HILL”, “YOU GOT THIS, AMANDA”, “YOU’RE ALMOST THERE”. Each person I passed made me more and more determined to just conquer those hills. I always picked up and ran again, fueled by the words of millions of complete strangers. These crowds are literally what pulled me up Heartbreak Hill.

Then there was Boston College. Dead in the middle of the steepest part of the hills. The crowd was absolutely insane. I stopped to walk at one point when I heard a stranger from the opposite site of the road scream, “AMANDA! WHAT DO YOU NEED? GATORADE? WATER?” I managed a muffled “Gatorade” and he reached down and gave me a baby bottle of orange Gatorade that I felt like saved my life (not really, but, you know). Miles 21-24. What goes up, must come down. The downhills were shredding my quads; so much work done on the way up that I felt like my legs were going to give out on the declines. I was desperately trying to stay in control, but I even had to stop and walk a few times going downhill to prevent my legs from straight up collapsing underneath me.

Boston College

Miles 24-26. Magic. At this point, the course started to look like a warzone. There were runners pulled off to the side, throwing up on the curbs at the feet of bystanders, getting their backs rubbed by complete strangers. There were people trying to run through their injuries, hobbling on swollen knees, inflamed muscles, screaming in pain. I was in rough shape and I knew it, but I also knew I could have been worse. Although I felt nauseous, I kept everything down. My entire lower half was on fire, but I didn’t have a specific isolated injury like some of the runners around me. I just wanted to cross that damn finish line. This is where the crowds carried the runners.  The screams were deafening. I heard “I COULD NEVER DO WHAT YOU’RE DOING”, “YOU’RE ALL HEROES”, “YOU ARE A BADASS”. As runners, this is the stuff that we were all clinging to. With empty tanks, we had nothing left but the energy from the crowd. I will never forget what it was like to be brought back to life on Beacon Street - huge shout out to the woman who gave me a bright purple sponge soaked in ice water at mile 25. Then Kenmore. When I reached the Citgo sign, I caught sight of my college roommates screaming for me, which brought me to tears again. I managed a raspy yell back to them, “I’M ALMOST DONE”. I was SO close. For the last 9 miles, I felt like this moment  would never arrive. Through all those miles, I kept picturing the finish line, but still felt so far away. When I crossed over the “one mile to go” sign painted on the road, I cried again. I needed to dig deep and find that last mile. I knew it was in me somewhere.

Right on Hereford. 25.8 – there they were again. The orange shirts. Screaming for me. Almost ten miles from the last point I had seen them. I couldn’t believe I was still upright. I channeled all my energy into making sure that my feet kept moving underneath me. Those orange shirts. Like finding water in a desert. They saved me.

Left Turn onto Boylston

Left on Boylston. I could see it. The blue and yellow banner hanging across the road. It was still a decent clip away, but I could see it. I COULD FINALLY FREAKIN SEE IT. I gave Boylston Street everything I had. The crowds were going wild and I just went. I focused on right, left, right, left. As I got closer, it set in. This was the moment I had been dreaming of. I was running down Boylston street, steps from the finish line. And then I did it. I did the only thing I know how to do when crossing a finish line; throw my hands in the air and cry. It was the hardest run of my life. And it was over. I was a freaking Boston Marathoner.

crossing the finish line



crossing the finish line

after crossing

There is nothing in this world like the 26.2 miles from Hopkinton to Boston. Words do not do it justice. I am still so emotional thinking about those crowds, and those complete strangers whom I could not have crossed that finish line without. They probably don’t even remember me or what they said to me, but I will never forget it. I have one million strangers to thank for getting me to that finish line. From the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU.

On Monday, I accomplished the goal that I have spent the last five years working towards. The countless hours spent training; the good runs and the bad runs, the Friday nights given up to go to bed early to be up at the crack of dawn for Saturday training runs… all worth it. Over the last 3.5 months of training, I’ve put 565 miles on my feet. That’s 94 runs. It’s 80 hours and 49 minutes spent chasing pavement. It’s  6,870 ft of elevation gained (this is higher than Mt. Washington – the highest peak in the Northeastern United States…WHAT?). I fell, I bled, I cried. But I wouldn’t trade one ounce of all of the grit I put in to getting me to Boston for anything in the world. Running 26.2 miles through the streets of Boston with 27,000 other runners and over 1 million spectators was truly a life changing experience. To my friends and family, both along the route and from afar cheering for me, to those who tracked me, and to everyone who reached out to me via text, social media, or phone call, thank you SO MUCH. I have such an amazing support system and couldn’t have gotten through the day without you.  Seeing my family and boyfriend along the course, decked out in bright orange shirts (#teamwalkerbutrunner) made me so emotional. They have all supported me every throughout every single step of my journey. They’ve always been in my corner and always encourage me to reach for the stars and chase my dreams, no matter how crazy they are. And to every complete stranger on the course who encouraged me through the heat and Heartbreak Hill when I absolutely wanted to quit, I sure as hell couldn’t have done it without you. Though this was not the pace I was trained for or my best run, I made a decision to embrace every second and finish smart. Running through those crowds was absolutely amazing and uplifting, and I am honored and proud to say that I am OFFICIALLY a BOSTON MARATHONER.  As I sit here and reflect, I am still on a complete high from crossing that finish line. My wildest dreams finally came true and I am overjoyed. I really can’t put this feeling into words. Monday was hard, one of the hardest days of my life, and by far the hardest race. But I did it. I am BOSTON STRONG. My legs are sore, but my heart is so, so full.

My body is tired, and it’s letting me know. I fully intend on listening to it and giving it a generous little break. Those of you that know me well know that I won’t be able to rest for too long… running is my passion. It’s what I breathe and it’s what I bleed. So, what’s next? I’m not positive yet – but I’m already looking. Heartbreak Hill, I WILL see you again for my redemption round. I’m not done with you yet, Boston.

See you again soon, Boylston.

my roommates from the Citgo sign

The Orange Shirt Crew - #teamwalkerbutrunner

Boylston St. Saturday, 4/15 #onebostonday

bib pickup at the Expo