Boston Marathon
Boston, Massachusetts
Monday, April 19, 2004
Introduction
On Monday, April 19, 2004 I competed in the Boston Marathon. The purpose of this paper is to talk about my experiences, mental as well as physical, of the race, including the training period leading up to it and the time following it. I tried to make the recap of the race as entertaining as possible, without making too many assumptions on the reader’s knowledge of running. I’m sure there will be points of confusion. Hopefully they will not interfere with the story.
During the course of the semester, I found that, not being a psychology major, I had more interest in reading books such as our assigned In Pursuit Of Excellence, than in trying to wade through discussions in psychology journals. So the reading that I did was more in this direction, though not all of it was about running. I also made use of things I had read in the past. In very few instances do I quote directly or indirectly from the referenced materials. More often, it was a “feeling” or an “idea” that I picked up from the readings.
There were a couple of quotes from P.H. Mullen’s book that I tried to remember. “Anything can happen if you believe in it.” (Mullen 2001,111) And, “Remember it is all right to be scared, but don’t let fear control you.” (Mullen 2001,259) These sentiments were also expressed by Orlick and Lynch & Scott.
Finally, the book by Amby Burfoot, The Runner’s Guide To The Meaning Of Life had a pretty profound impact on me in general. In fact, I think I’m going to hand it to every member of the Cross Country team in the fall. Being High School kids, they’ll probably turn their noses up and sneer over another “reading assignment”, but if just one of them gets anything from the book, it’ll be worth it.
Training and Preparation
My goal for the race was to break two hours and 45 minutes. This would be a personal record for the marathon distance. I had run the Philadelphia Marathon in 2:48 in November of 2003 and I felt that, with proper focus and commitment, I should be able to run faster in Boston in April of 2004.
I am primarily a triathlete which means I must include workouts in three disciplines – swimming, biking, and running – during the week. This is in addition to some weight training, yoga, and stretching that are necessary for overall fitness and health. My training for the months of January and February was very good. In March I shifted away from being a triathlete to being a runner, and concentrated on running. I wanted to try increasing my weekly mileage to a higher level. To that end, I had weeks of 63, 65, 71 and 67 total miles. More than I’d ever run. Towards the end of March and into April I started to loose some of the wind in my sails. My focus and commitment were starting to wane. I was still not going to change my goal, but maybe I should have.
Heading into race weekend and the travel to Boston, I felt, logically, that I was in good shape and ready to pursue my goals. Part of me questioned where I was. Looking back at my training log, I wasn’t nearly as consistent as I would have liked. My time-management was not where it should have been if I expect to perform to the best of my abilities. And I was not as diligent with my diet. But, as is said somewhere, the hay is in the barn and there’s not much left to do but race.
I should also mention that, as part of my training for Boston, I ran in several shorter races. I wrote about these in two earlier papers.
Pre-Marathon
From a sports psychology point of view, I guess the anxiety kicks in for good when I start to pack. During the weeks leading up to the race, I don’t really think too much about it. Mostly during training runs or when sitting in psych class. And then I’m aware of the race, but not really to the point of any kind of anxiety. The week before the race I’ll start to put my things in order on the bed in the spare room. That generates some twinges. My training is pretty much over and the thoughts of “Did I do enough?” start to bubble up. Then there’s a little more anxiety during the travel phase of the adventure, usually from the time I leave my house until I check into the hotel. And then it peaks for the first time when I go to the race expo to pick up my number and information packet.
For this race, the packing was done Friday night so some level of anxiety is here to stay. Saturday morning is travel time which means just a little bit more. And then that afternoon at the expo it peaks at what is probably the highest point of the entire adventure. A major contributor to this is the sheer number of people at the expo. There are some individuals that revel in the mass of humanity that is present. I can’t stand it and as soon as possible I leave. The anxiety level quickly drops.
For the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday, it’s just there. I know the race is coming, but there’s nothing to be done at this point. Sunday at dinner it starts slowly climbing again. And, at this point, it will, fortunately for me, very slowly build until the race starts. It’s never debilitating and, as I talk about at the end of this paper, it’s more of a cognitive anxiety than a somatic one, more mental anxiety than physical.
The Boston Marathon
Marathon Morning
Sleep the night before a major event is usually not very good. This was no exception. Fortunately, the adrenalin and excitement of race day make this of little consequence. For an Ironman race that starts at 7 AM, I’ll get up at 3:30 AM so that I can consume a fairly large amount of calories. An Ironman race is 10+ hours and it’s important to start off with a full tank. For a marathon race that starts at 8 AM, I’ll get up at 5 AM. I eat a much smaller amount. For this race, I had to be up by 6 AM, but since the race didn’t start until noon, I had to plan a little differently as far as eating went. I ate a protein bar to hold me over until I was ready to eat a more substantial amount.
Another variable in this race is the shuttling out to the race start. It’s a one hour ride and the buses leave regularly between 6:30 AM and 8:30 AM. The suggested schedule had the fastest 20% of the registered runners leaving between 8 and 8:30. I was in that group, but my nature is to get to where I’m going as early as possible. So, I caught a shuttle at 7:15 AM.
I am extremely glad I did this. I read in the paper the next day that there were runners standing in Boston Common for two hours waiting for buses that never came. Some made it to the starting line 15 minutes before the race was to start. And, if they followed the schedule, this would have been runners in the top 20% of the field. I know I never would have recovered from this and my race would have been a washout. According to post-race reports, 400 people picked up their numbers at the race expo, but never started the race. I wonder how many were in the group waiting in Boston. As it was, at times I wasn’t sure the little yellow school bus I was on was going to make it all the way to Hopkinton for the race start. The bus was really struggling to make it up the hills, kind of a pre-cursor for many of us runners. Our spirits were light at this point and it was just good-natured joshing of our little yellow school bus that couldn’t.
By 8:30 AM, I’m sitting comfortably at the Athlete’s Village in Hopkinton. I have 3.5 hours until the race starts. I take a few minutes to plan my morning so that I’m ready to go at the proper time. I read the paper a little bit, but, mostly, I people-watch. And I think a little about the upcoming race. Not too much, since it’s still hours away.
I try to recall some of the things we’ve discussed in class. And I try to recall some of the things I’ve read. I am still not 100% behind my revised goal. At 8:30 AM, it’s still relatively cool, I’m comfortable with my jacket on.
“It’s not going to be that hot today,” I tell myself. “I can still make my original goal.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” my logical side says. “It’s going to be 85°. You’ll do much worse if you try to run a 2:45.”
This mental tennis match occurs, off and on, for most of the morning. About 10:45 AM, after standing in the porta-potty line with still no end in sight, I finally agree with the logical side. It’s getting pretty warm, a 2:50 on a day like today is equal to a 2:45 on a normal day.
And the porta-potty line is really my first negative of the morning. It ends up being 45 minutes of standing around getting frustrated. By time I get finished and back to my stuff it’s 11:00 AM. I’m starting to get into a more frenzied state. I take a deep breath and quiet myself down. I still have plenty of time. (I do forget to take the State Anxiety Test that I had done in class in February and then again before my February 10k. I end up taking it Tuesday morning. Everything is still pretty fresh in my mind.)
I don’t have too much to do to get ready. I ate my “breakfast” at 9:15 AM. I take one of my gel packets to get a few extra carbohydrates into my system. I’ll take another at 11:30 AM. I change into my racing shoes and race shirt with my number. I grab the things I’m going to need for the race – sunglasses, bandana, race fuel – and stuff everything else into the bag to be dropped off at the gear bus. It’ll be waiting for me back in Boston. Just a little extra incentive to get back there.
It’s now about 11:15 AM. The actual start line is about a 15 minute walk away. It’s getting pretty warm out. I get into my assigned corral and sit down in the shade of some of the spectators standing against the barriers. I’m disappointed that the weather is not going to be very conducive to a fast marathon, but I’m now comfortable with my revised goal. I’m relatively calm and I’m picturing the day ahead. There’s some light chatter amongst the runners. The national anthem, a fly-over by a couple of fighter planes, and then we’re off and running.
 |
As can be seen from the course profile, the first few miles are down hill (not nearly as steep as the picture might dictate). The tendency is to try and gain time by running this section too quickly. Down hill running puts it’s own unique strain on the body and trying to run hard only seems to accelerate the deterioration process of the body. This is going to occur naturally over the course of the marathon. No sense in hastening the process. One of the things with the way Boston assigns runners to specific starting corrals is that everyone in a particular group has run a qualifying marathon at about the same finishing time. If I took a look around, all the runners near me have already run a sub 2:50 (as I have). I had resolved before the race that I would not try and keep up with everybody. I would run my own pace and let them run theirs. That was a little bit of a positive breakthrough for me. |
The Marathon – Miles 1 to 5 – “Just A Walk In The Park, Kazanski”
| In the marathons I’ve run in the past, there is usually a fair amount of idle chit-chat amongst the runners during the first few miles. Just kind of passing the time before the serious work begins, I guess. For this race, there was none. Only the sounds of the cheering spectators and of our feet pounding the pavement. Most of the runners, myself included, had a look of deep concentration etched on their brows. We all knew it was going to be a long, hard day. Today was not a day to use precious energy on conversation. |  |
During this section of the race, I’m feeling my body out, taking stock. Things are working well. I’m aware of all the spectators, but I’m pretty much just focusing on my running. I make sure to get some water at each of the aid stations. Generally a cup or so to drink and another cup or two poured on top of my head. I’m feeling relaxed. I note my splits at each mile, but they’re more for a general pace than anything. I know with the terrain that the numbers are going to be a bit inconsistent from one mile to the next. My first target time is 32:05 at the five mile mark. I’m hoping to average 6:25 per mile through the halfway point of the marathon. So, when I get a mile time, I plus or minus from 6:25 to get a general feeling of how I’m doing. The big clock at the five mile mark says 32:03. Spot on! And we’ve just climbed our first sort of hill of the day. Even though my mile times have been all over the place (6:23, 6:18, 6:31, 6:17, 6:34) I’m very happy with how the day is going. It’s hot, but not unbearable. I remind myself that I ran very well in the heat of Hawaii last October.
The Marathon – Miles 6 to 16 – Wellesley College
Now it was time to settle in for the long haul. After starting in Hopkinton and running through Ashland, it was time to visit Framingham, Natick and Wellesley. Wellesley, I was looking forward to. The others, just stepping stones along the road to Boston. The challenge here is to continue the relaxed running. There are still 2+ hours before seeing the finish line.
It was during this long stretch that it would have been good if I had calculated my desired pace per 5k. I was aware of the timing clocks and, looking at the published race statistics afterwards, I ran each of the first six 5k segments (through 30k, 18.6 miles) right around twenty minutes. Had I realized that this was perfect pace for a 2:49 finish, it would have provided more frequent checkpoints, and therefore feedback, than the five mile checkpoints I was using. And, since I was doing so well hitting the 5k target time of twenty minutes, I would have gotten much more positive reaffirmation of how well I was really doing. Finally, since the clock doesn’t reset every time I pass a checkpoint, doing the calculations based on twenty minutes per 5k is much easier than doing them based on 32:05 per five miles. For example, at 10k all I would have been looking for on the clock was 40:00. At ten miles I had to remember that I was looking for 1:04:10.
Let’s get back to the actual race. Somewhere around the seven mile mark, there was a guy re-visiting his lunch. “Way too early for that,” I thought. I tried to recall, and practice, the things I’d read about maintaining focus and avoiding distractions. Lots of runners write their names on their shirts or bodies. Or they wear shirts with a place or club on them. The spectators will yell out “Go so and so.” And the runners, especially if they wrote their names, will have to acknowledge the cheers. Some competitors need and want that extra incentive provided by hearing their name called out. For me, that’s way too distracting. I don’t even care to hear my number. “Go 1234,” they yell. At least I can pretend that I don’t know that. (Although, towards the end of a long, hard race, there’s a decent chance I’ve forgotten my name, as well.) It’s super nice that they are taking time out of their lives, especially if they don’t know anyone specifically in the race, but my preference is for cheers in general, not cheers in specific (unless, of course, they’re from my family and friends).
And this is where the girls of Wellesley College really stand out. Wellesley is an all-girls school, slightly larger than Immaculata – 2300 students vs. 400 – and they are very enthusiastic. For the most part, when I run a race, I’m very anti-social. I stay in the middle of the road and hear, but pretty much ignore the spectators. For the stretch at Wellesley College, I ran right along the barrier separating the runners from the cheering spectators, slapping hands as I ran. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. And the noise was deafening. It was a good feeling right near the halfway point of the marathon.
Which I reached in 1:23:50. My goal, based on a 2:50 finish, was to run the first half in 1:24 and the second half in 1:26. That was based on the course terrain as much as anything. So, when I saw the clock at the halfway point I was pretty happy mentally. Physically, I was about where I expected to be after running 13.1 miles on such a warm day. I felt like I was in good shape to reach my goal. There were still a few miles to go before the toughest segment of the race, so, again, it was a period to maintain focus and control.
The Marathon – Miles 17 to 21 – The Hills Of Newton
According to a story in the Official Program of the Boston Marathon, the course designers “aimed to emulate the Olympic course topographically as well as in distance.” This quote is in reference to the first running of the Boston Marathon in April of 1897 held about a year after the first Olympic marathon of 1896. The Olympic course was from Marathon to Athens in Greece. And, according to the story, the designers of the Boston course wanted a hilly section between the halfway point of the marathon and the finish. The hills in Newton certainly satisfied this requirement.
| The hills in and of themselves are not that tough. The difficulty arises from their placement. After running 16 miles, when the body is beginning to wear out and the mind is starting to question the wisdom of such an adventure as a marathon, dealing with a five mile stretch of mostly uphill running can be considered cruel and unusual punishment. But, it’s one of the things that makes the Boston Marathon one that runners strive to qualify for. |  |
After 15 miles I was still on target for my goal of 2:50. I knew this section would cost me some time, but I expected to be able to recover during the final section, which is mostly downhill. The hills are where many runners struggle. I tried to keep my concentration level high. Again, hearing all the spectators, but not really seeing them. My vision and my focus was on the stretch of road just in front of me. And I tried to take advantage of the misery of my competitors. When I passed someone walking I used that as an inspiration. Some runners will try to boost the energy level of a walking competitor. “Hang in there. You’re doing fine. You can make it to the top.” Not much of that on this run. The walkers were left to their own devices. They could pick up energy from the crowd, but their fellow competitors didn’t have any to spare.
My mile splits for the five miles between 16 and 20 ranged from good to horrible (6:24, 6:47, 6:52, 6:39, 7:02). I was at the bottom of the last hill, Heartbreak Hill. I glanced up to see what was in store. It’s not all that long. It’s not all that steep. It’s just there. And it had to be climbed. I put my head down and started up. Not quickly, just steadily. One foot in front of the other. Lots of encouragement from spectators that I heard only peripherally. A few more walkers, but mostly runners like myself. Just intent on running, slowly, to the top. Finally, the words written in chalk, “Top Of The Hill.”
After cresting Heartbreak Hill, I would have done well to recall Robert Pirsig’s discussion on “gumption traps.”
| “Throughout the process . . . things always come up, low-quality things. These drain off gumption, destroy enthusiasm and leave you so discouraged you want to forget the whole business. I call these things ‘gumption traps’.” (Pirsig 1999, 310-311) |
For me, the low-quality things usually include blisters on my toes and cramps in my legs. Recognizing their existence prior to their actual appearance would have better prepared me mentally for when they inevitably occurred.
The Marathon – Miles 22 to 26 – Boylston Street
| And the gumption trap that snared me was threatened cramping in both my legs. I had been telling myself that the mile splits through the hills were not too important because I would be able to run comfortably, relatively speaking, the last five miles to the finish. After all, it was pretty much all down hill. I hadn’t counted on my legs rebelling to the extreme that they did. I could feel twinges in both my hamstrings. My legs told me that if I tried to run too fast they would stop me in my tracks. I saw it happen to other runners in the last few miles. It has happened to me in other races. It’s not a fun feeling. |  |
I had hoped to be able to run at 6:30 per mile pace for this finishing five mile stretch. Instead I started off with a 7:23 mile and followed that with one at 7:02 and another at 7:14. At this point, I knew my day was over. “Physical discomfort is important only when the mood is wrong. Then you fasten on to whatever thing is uncomfortable and call that the cause. But if the mood is right, then physical discomfort doesn’t mean much.” (Pirsig, 1999). My mood was wrong and I was very uncomfortable.
Miles 24 (7:19) and 25 (8:08) were done mostly in a daze. I had no real idea where I was. I couldn’t tell you how many people were around, runners or spectators. I wasn’t aware of any of the landmarks I was passing. My sole focus was on the stretch of road immediately in front of me. I would regularly lift my head to see if the banner marking the end of the mile was in sight. And I would plod along. It was mostly just survival mode. I knew I was going to finish. I was pretty sure I would break three hours. I had no idea how I would do as far as my placement goals went. I really just wanted the thing to be over with. And, to add to my misery, my right leg cramped completely as I was climbing the last hill of the day, simply an overpass crossing the Massachusetts Turnpike. An overpass! I had to walk to the top. Quite a few of my competitors jogged slowly by. That was an 8:08 mile, my slowest, by far, of the day.
|
Then there was the “One Mile To Go” banner. I had roughly 7:30 left to run. I kept looking at my watch to see if I was having fun. Time was not flying, so I guess I wasn’t. There’s a right turn onto Hereford Street. I become more aware of all the spectators. I’m vaguely aware of them stacked on top of each other. I realize that there must be bleachers. The left turn onto Boylston Street. The first thought that comes to me is “that finish banner is way up there.” I’m very angry. It’s still half a mile to go. There are lots and lots of yelling spectators. Can’t they see I’m not having a good day. Just be quiet and leave me alone. There are runners scattered the whole width of the large city street, but fairly spread out. There’ll be no finish line sprint for me today. I’m going to miss my goal by quite a bit. I will comfortably break three hours, though. Placement, I have no clue. Whoops, it’ll be a little lower. There go a few more runners past me.
Finally I cross the line and stop running. “Wow,” I think, “that was ugly.” I know I used a bad word right before ugly. |
 |
Post-Marathon
I was pretty bummed out when I crossed the finish line. The volunteers were great. All extending their congratulations. I dutifully replied with thank you’s, but at that point I didn’t really feel that congratulations were in order. I wasn’t up to analyzing the race, I was just moving through the area. I had the usual physical ailments that come from pushing my body too hard. Those are almost good. A sign of living on the edge, trying to do more than I’m capable of. Mentally, I was fried. This run, and especially the last ten miles, was an awful lot of work trying to maintain focus and concentration.
Mostly, I think, I was feeling gypped. I had invested quite a bit training and preparing for this marathon. I wanted it to be my fastest ever. I thought I was in shape to reach my goal, even with the bit of inconsistencies toward the end. And to have the temperature be about thirty degrees above normal was not right. I know you “pay your money and you take your chances” and “life is not fair” and all those other hokey sayings apply in this case. And I know in the long run that this will make me stronger, being able to finish something that 6.7% of the starters couldn’t (versus 2.9% DNF last year). That’ll take a bit of time to settle in, though.
I didn’t really think about it at the time, but I believe there were two mistakes I made during the race. The first was a major one. I forgot how well Gatorade had worked for me during the hot marathon in Hawaii for the Ironman race. I should have been aware that all the water I was drinking was diluting the electrolytes in my system and what I was putting back in was not nearly enough on a day as hot as this was. I should have started drinking Gatorade early and continued for the duration. The other mistake was fairly minor. I noted earlier that there were timing mats at the 5k points and that would have made calculations easier and, based on how I was running, would have provided much needed positive feedback. Hopefully I’ll learn from these mistakes and won’t make them in future races. After all, there are lots of new mistakes to be made. That’s how we learn and improve.
Conclusion
As I mentioned earlier, I forgot to take the State Anxiety Test that we had done in class on February 5th. The test measured cognitive, somatic, and self-confidence anxieties. As defined by our text book:
| “Cognitive anxiety is the mental component of anxiety caused by such things as fear of negative social evaluation, fear of failure, and loss of self-esteem. Somatic anxiety is the physical component of anxiety and reflects the perception of such physiological responses as increased heart rate, respiration, and muscular tension.” (Cox 2002, 196). |
When I took the test in class, I visualized being at the Boston Marathon. Three days later I took the test again, 30 minutes before the start of a 10k race. As I wrote in my paper on February 16:
| Comparing the results from the in-class testing to those for this race, there was a slight downward change to the cognitive state anxiety score, from 17 to 13. (The scoring range was from 9 to 36, with a lower number meaning a lower anxiety level.) I attribute this to the fact that in class I was using Boston as my focus and I was much more concerned about that competition than this low-key 10k. The somatic state anxiety rose by four points, from 10 to 14, attributable to actually being at a race as opposed to sitting in a classroom. What surprised me was that my self-confidence anxiety level dropped by six points. In class, again mentally using the Boston Marathon, I had a score of 25 (the same range was in effect, 9 to 36, but this time the higher the score, the lower the anxiety level) while right before this rinky dink little race my self-confidence anxiety increased to 19. It will be interesting to see the numbers at Boston. |
The day after Boston, picturing myself about an hour before the start of the marathon, my cognitive anxiety had soared to 23. (In fact, this would have been much higher. There were two identical statements mentioning concern about losing. This really wasn’t a win-lose situation. I had absolutely no concern about losing so these statements scored low. The other statements for cognitive anxiety were mostly in the moderately to very concerned range.) I had some mild concern about negative social evaluation or a loss of self-esteem, but not too much. I did have a pretty strong fear of failure, though. The somatic anxiety was 18 for Boston. Since the mid-point of the scale is 22-23, I appeared to be in control of my body, if not my mind. For the self-confidence anxiety, I scored at 18. Again, the mid-point is 22-23, but, in this case, the lower the number the less self-confident. Sitting at the race, my self-confidence level had dropped quite a bit from when I visualized the race back in February. But picturing something two months in advance as I had done then, as opposed to right before, this drop is not unexpected.
One of the things that finally made me comfortable with the revised goal was something I picked up from my interview with Ken Glah. Have a goal based on place as opposed to a goal based on time. My original goal of 2:45 would have placed me in the top 125 overall and in the top 30 in my age group during a “normal” Boston Marathon. My revised goal of 2:50 should put me in that same general place range. My final 2:56:04 placed me 212 overall out of 17,950 starters and I ended up 38th out of 4,122 in the male 40-49 age group.
The reader may recall my trip through Wellesley College and the boost I got when I slapped hands with the girls. Could I have gotten that same boost later in the race if I had the same interaction with other spectators? I don’t really think so. The volume and enthusiasm of the Wellesley girls and the energy exchanged was worth the distraction of running alongside the barrier and holding my hand out. Later in the race I had to use all my energy to maintain focus on running. And I don’t think the number of spectators, while large, would have provided the same energy boost.
In the Training and Preparation section of this paper, I mentioned that my focus and commitment had started to deteriorate towards the end of March. Looking back through my training log and thinking about the situation made me realize that I might have built up too quickly too far in advance of the Boston Marathon. Asking myself to maintain such a high level for 16 weeks was just too much. A more gradual build up through January and into February would probably have been a better recipe for overall success.
I’m finishing this paper a week after the race. I’m still disappointed in my performance. The film we watched in class on Thursday, April 22, “Attaining Peak Performance Under Pressure”, defined choking as “poor performance despite high motivation to succeed.” By that definition, I choked. Fortunately, I don’t think so. I view some extraneous factors, not really under my control, as major contributors to end result. Could I have prepared differently? Sure. I could have done some hot-weather simulated runs. Could I have raced differently? Again, yes. I should have taken advantage of the Gatorade. Right now I think I’m mostly frustrated that it will be so long before my next race at this distance. I expect, with everything I’ve learned in class and through my reading, to be better prepared.
References
Burfoot, A. (2000). The Runner’s Guide To The Meaning Of Life. New York: St. Martin’s.
Cox, R.H. (2002). Sport Psychology: Concepts and Applications. New York: McGraw-Hill.
Lynch, J. & Scott, W.A. (1999). Running Within: A guide to mastering the body-mind-spirit connection for ultimate training and racing. Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics.
Mullen, P.H. (2001). Gold In The Water. New York: St. Martin’s.
Orlick, T. (2000). In Pursuit Of Excellence. Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics.
Pirsig, R. M. (1999). Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance. New York: Harper Collins.