I Am The Storm

On Monday, April 16, 2018, amidst torrential rain, freezing temperatures, and a 30 mile per hour headwind… I was the storm. 3:39:46.

My third marathon. Those feel like strange words… it feels like just yesterday I was riding on that BQ high from my first ever marathon in Providence, RI. Two Boston Marathons later, and here I am.

Last year was not my year. The combination of oppressive temperatures and overtraining got to me, and I crumbled on the course. It was incredibly disappointing for my first Boston experience, but it lit a fire in me to come back stronger next time. Heartbreak hill broke my heart, and I wanted redemption. More than redemption, I wanted something more. Last year was about my own goals, and when I couldn’t reach them… I felt empty. I needed something else to grab onto. I was so moved by the crowds, but I still felt like I had failed. Realistically, I ran a sub-four hour marathon in 2017 and I still wasn’t happy, because I knew I could do better. I did do better in 2016. Yes, I realize how absolutely insane I sound. We are all our own worst enemy, this is nothing new. I had let myself down. I felt like there was nothing left at that point. I finished the greatest marathon in the world, and had finally accomplished my true dream of running it. I smiled through the disappointment, but it hurt. It really, truly hurt. There was a void. I needed to fill it.

This year was different. 2018 was bigger than my own personal goals. It was about giving back, about spreading love, and about running for a purpose. I was lucky enough to run for Team MR8 this year, on behalf of The Martin Richard Foundation. Martin Richard was the 8-year-old boy killed at the finish line during the Marathon bombings in 2013. I will never forget how I felt that day, as the news broke of the senseless attack on our beloved city; of the lives lost and forever changed. April 15, 2013, along with the last few years, have shown us just how scary this world can be. Martin was an innocent boy, celebrating the greatest sport in the world in the greatest city in the world, just trying to watch a marathon. In the days after his death, a photo was shared of Martin holding a poster that read “No more hurting people. Peace.” Martin’s view of peace went well beyond simply wanting to prevent violence. To Martin, peace meant togetherness, teamwork, fairness, sportsmanship, inclusion, and kindness. During Martin’s short life, he was diligent in sharing his own view of how the world should be. And I agree with him.

Over the course of the last few months, I surpassed my fundraising goal of $7,600 and raised over $8,300 for The Martin Richard Foundation. There were times when fundraising was incredibly hard; where I cried, yelled, and thought, “how am I ever going to meet this goal”. It was in those moments that I found my purpose – and got some subtle reminders as to exactly why I was chosen to represent Martin. These were the moments where I got cards in the mail, handwritten by Martin’s older brother, Henry, with a picture drawn by his little sister, Jane. These were the moments where Denise and Bill shared little moments of Martin’s life with us. These were the moments where complete strangers asked if they could support this cause. I was constantly being reminded of the kindness that exists in this world, the exact type of kindness Martin tried to spread to every life he touched.

I have spent the last 16 weeks giving up my Friday nights and Saturday mornings to drive to the city and force my feet to become familiar with the Boston Marathon course. Balancing fundraising, Marathon training, a full time job, grad school, and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life has been the biggest challenge that I have faced in my entire life (and I thought that running a marathon was hard!). There were many days where my workload seemed so overwhelming that I had no idea how I was going to get everything done. Life has been work, run, homework, sleep (sort of), repeat. Times like these bring out both the best and worst in us. The stress got to me – it made me want to throw my hands in the air and just give up. But in those fleeting moments where I was alone with the pavement hitting a 6:30 pace, saw the donations pouring in, or aced an exam…my mind always went back to Martin. I can do this. I will do this. For him.

My number one goal for this year’s training cycle, aside from never losing sight of that little boy, was to not over-train. Last year, I was so focused on mileage. I NEED to run 50 miles this week. Even if I run them at one in the morning, at a 10:00 pace, or am injured… I NEED to run these miles to be prepared come race day. Boy, did I have it all wrong. When I got to marathon day last year, I hated running. I could not wait for the race to be over so that I could never run again (obviously this feeling was temporary, but it’s true). I worked my body way too hard last year. Rest days? What are those? I didn’t let myself have any. Miles, miles, miles. The last few weeks of training, after falling on my face (literally), seeing my paces and the quality of my runs suffer, and feeling downright exhausted… I was dreading the marathon. I did not want to go into 2018 with these same thoughts.

I worked so hard this training cycle. I hit paces I have never seen in my life, I grew stronger and faster, and I learned some very important lessons about myself. A few days before the race, once the forecast was starting to look particularly dreadful, I panicked. Last year I learned a hard lesson that sometimes there are things that are out of your control; that you could be the best/strongest runner in the world… but if it’s eighty degrees, it’s eighty degrees. You can’t change the weather. This was important for me to learn, but also worked against me this year. I freaked out and started to sell myself short, “All this hard work down the drain because of 30 mile per hour winds and rain.” I took a step back. Why Amanda? Why does it all have to be down the drain? You did the hard work. You spent the last 16 weeks training. You know that you can do this. So what does a little rain matter? I have had some of the best races of my life in the rain. With a few days to go, I realized that in order to conquer the day, I needed to change my attitude. I needed to make the best of what I was given. Unfortunately, I was given rain and wind, but I wasn’t going to change the forecast. The meteorologists weren’t going to change the forecast. As badly as I had hoped that they were wrong, I knew Mother Nature (that b*t#!) wasn’t planning on changing her dang forecast.

On the Bus - 6am!

As the days rolled by, the weather seemed more and more daunting. I tried to tune out the media and commentary from everyone around me, and to just focus on what I was going to do out there. I had to make some last minute purchases for some pricey waterproof gear (thanks, Lulu Lemon), but my priority was to get through the race safely – aka without hypothermia. I duct taped my shoes (hoping to keep the water out – pro-tip… it didn’t). All of my electronics were in plastic bags, and I gave my family extra shoes, socks, and clothes for me in case I was miserable by the time they saw me at mile 17. I had my normal pre-race jitters. The excitement, anticipation, and nerves always get to me. I was going to make the best of it, though.

I was dropped off to my team’s bus on Clarendon Street at 6am. I boarded the bus with other members of my team, who quickly became my friends in the 4 hours that we spent waiting for our turn to toe the line. We drove to Hopkinton, where we were luckily able to stay warm and dry on the bus until it was time to walk to the start (and we had our own bathroom!!!!!). We laughed, we talked about Martin, and we made connections. I am so happy that I got to spend those four hours (the hardest part of marathon day, in my opinion) together. I began putting on my layers, filling up my pockets with my fuel, and waterproofing everything that was coming with me. We looked outside, and it was barely raining. HA! Suck it Mother Nature! It was going to hold out for us! 

This was passed around on the Team MR8 bus first thing in the morning.

These sticks were passed around at the beginning. I carried this and Martin's photo with me the whole race. I pinned Martin's picture to my singlet right over my heart.

At 10:30am, it was time to head to the starting line. What they don’t tell you as a first time marathoner is that the starting line is about a 0.7 mile walk from the bus parking lot. Given that I ran last year, I knew this… so I bought a $9 head to toe painter’s suit from Home Depot that I wore over my clothes to walk to the start. I put two plastic grocery bags over my feet, secured with two elastic bands. I looked like a complete moron, but I was going to stay dry as long as possible! Naturally, as soon as we stepped off the bus, it turned into a monsoon. Pouring buckets, wind sloshing the rain in every direction. I began my trek to the starting line in hopes of catching Kara (my cousin) and Hannah (training partner) and starting with them. Needless to say, by the time I got close enough, the B.A.A. had made the decision to ditch the waves and corrals. They said that due to weather, they were not waiting until the 11:15 start time for Wave 4, and that runners should just go. I was scrambling to turn on my tracking app and my Garmin and get out of my painter man outfit, and was basically shoved across the starting line. I felt a little frazzled to say the least. It was raining SO hard when I started. Within seconds of stepping over the starting line, my shoes were filled with water sloshing around everywhere from the massive puddles that had developed all over the road. There was no way around them, so I toughed it out. I wasn’t even 0.1 mile in. It would have been a long 26.2 miles trying to step around puddles. Embrace it, I must.

The rain didn’t stop the crowds. Sure, there were less people… but they were diehards. They were so happy to be standing in the pouring rain, cheering us on. I loved it. Last year, I was so focused on running (and then once the race turned bad for me around mile 3, finishing) that I did not take enough time to enjoy the crowds. I wanted to have a blast this year, so that’s exactly what I did. I was running so strong – slightly faster than my race plan but I felt incredible. It was almost like the wind and rain fueled me. Running with a bright yellow MR8 Martin Richard singlet was unreal. Everyone was so, SO excited to see me run by. I was screaming, smiling, yelling, and waving my hands in the air! It was like a giant party! Spectators yelled things like MR8 Looking Good! Team MR8 you are the hero, thank you for running today! Run for Martin! You got this MR8! There was so much love and support from complete strangers. At mile 7 in Framingham, the crowds were so loud that I got SO pumped up. I was screaming, “WHAT STORM? I AM THE STORM!!!” as loud as I possibly could. These incredible people made the first half of the race fly by for me.

At 13, I saw my aunt, uncle, and cousin. A few minutes later, I caught up to Hannah and Kara who had started before me as they pushed people across the start before 11:15. I was happy to see them. While I was with them, I caught my family just before the Newton fire station at mile 17. I was on cloud 9, still having the time of my life. I was so happy to see them, and continued to scream “I AM THE STORM!!!” (see video below). I still felt so strong, and my paces were right on. First win of the race right there. I knew I had the hardest part ahead of me, but I had prepared for this by running the course every week. I tackled heartbreak this year feeling strong. I slowed down a bit, but I ran through them. Last year I walked every hill. I was at mile 20 and still running, running strong. Second win of the race.

Mile 21 got to me. My legs were starting to feel the hills, and I was about to go downhill for four miles. I remembered that last year, my quads were screaming at this point. I had to bargain with myself a little bit to finish the race – I did this by allowing 10 seconds of walking every few minutes to try to recover. The crowds were still so supportive, carrying me all the way to Hereford screaming for both me and Martin. I saw my orange shirts (I should clarify that given the weather conditions, they couldn’t wear their orange shirts this year… but that is what they are to me) again on the corner of Hereford and Boylston. I rounded the corner and could see the end. That last .4 miles to the finish was so painful. But the crowds, oh, the crowds. If you want to be inspired, go freaking run down Boylston Street. I could see the finish line and I needed to get there. That’s it, Amanda. Get to the finish line. You can see it. People everywhere screaming MR8 and MARTIN RICHARD and GO GO GO! I heard my name within steps of the finish line, and I turned to find my kick-ass, 26.2 weeks (!!!) pregnant coach screaming for me, with the biggest smile on her face. I did it. We did it. I crossed the finish line with PURE joy, grasping for the picture of Martin that I had pinned to my heart for the entire race. We did it, Martin. You and me. My guiding light.

I was shooting and training for a 3:30:00 marathon. Although I missed it, I know that I have it in me. I know that I am trained to run it and that someday, I will. I missed qualifying by 4 minutes and 46 seconds. Last year, I would have walked away in tears and feeling like a failure. This year, I know that I am a winner. Running a marathon is hard enough, but running a marathon in a category 1 hurricane (LOL) is that much harder. I toughed it out, braved those conditions, and had the time of my life. I walked away from 26.2 miles of pure partying with an even bigger love for running, and with Martin’s name on my chest. I carried him across the finish line. This year was bigger than a BQ for me. It was about Martin and honoring his life. If that is not a win, I don’t know what is.

The first picture of me after I crossed the finish line.

Rachel, you brought my love for running back. I lost it for a while there, and I was afraid that I would never find it again or love running the way I have for so long. You made that your number one priority and you made sure that I never lost sight of why I run. I run because I love it. I run because it makes me happy, it makes me feel strong, and it is where I find my peace. Day after day, run after run, you made sure that I still felt this way. Even three days before the marathon, you asked me how I felt about running and the race, and you would not have settled if my answer was anything but great. Thank you for teaching me a very important lesson in quality over quantity; it’s not about the number of miles, but the quality of those miles. You told me that every run should have a purpose. This training season, every mile did. Thank you for allowing me to understand the importance of rest and recovery. You showed me that I can both crush workouts and long runs AND have days off. This was a critical lesson for me. More importantly, thank you for being a great friend. To call you a coach would be an understatement. You have been a sounding board, a cheerleader, a confidant, and a friend. You are a truly wonderful soul and I am so lucky to know you. A wise coach of mine (ahem, Rachel) once said, “take the time, be patient and find a support team that knows their sh*t and believes in you.” There were days when a crappy run made me feel inadequate and weak... but you never once gave up on me. You always reminded me to never forget my greatness “because of one bad workout or a tough training cycle”. And you constantly told me “remember - have the same faith in yourself that I have in you.” After yesterday, I can say that I do. I ran a marathon in a borderline freakin’ hurricane and I cut 15 minutes off of my 2017 Boston time. You’ve made me into a stronger runner than I could have ever imagined and I couldn’t have done this without you. 

Thank you to my family and my boyfriend for putting up with my crazy schedule these last few months; between full time work and grad school, training and fundraising... there have been a lot of “I can’t, I have to run/do homework”’s and a lot of sacrifices made... each of them with never ending support from all of you. You dried my tears when I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders, you celebrated with me when I reached major milestones, and you constantly reminded me that all of my hard work would be worth it. It was worth it. It absolutely freaking was. Thank you for standing outside in the pouring rain and wind just to see me for .3 seconds as I ran by you – you guys are my biggest fans and I would be lost without your love. As always, thanks for being my bright orange shirts just when I need a little bit of light. 

Thank you to my running soulmates – Hannah and Kara for letting me lay on the ground after a bad workout and celebrating with me after a good one; and to Kate & Steve for constantly pushing me to find greatness, dragging my ass up Deerhaven, and for the in-run swears, pet names, and entertainment. 

One final thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who donated and helped me raise over $8,300 for The Martin Richard Foundation. I could not have gotten to this point without each and every one of you! This has been an incredible experience that I will always cherish.

And last, but not least... thank you to Martin Richard. As many of you know, for the last few years I have poured my heart and soul into running. I’ve had highs and lows, but this year was different. This year, I ran for Martin. I ran for the innocent little boy who’s life was cut short because of hate. I ran for everyone who could not. Thank you, Martin, for teaching me a lesson about hope and peace over the last 3 months. Although I never got to meet you, you have changed my life in so many ways. You are a light in this dark world, and you are loved and cherished by so many. I’m honored to have worn your name across my chest and carried you with me for those 26.2 miles, and I hope that I made you proud today.

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