Monday morning a week before Boston.
Embracing the race
My legs were dead yesterday as Buddy the Wonder Dog and I went through the motions of a 10 mile run with the running club. I hung back with the slower group – something I do more often these days. I wondered why my legs were so beat.
This close to a marathon you’re supposed to have that bouncy-coiled spring look like my friend Mark was showing. That taught, strong stride that comes from letting up off the gas pedal after 5-6 months of hard winter training. He was bouncing. I was plodding.
Logging my miles into BuckeyeOutdoors later in the evening I realized I’d worked out my legs over 8 days straight in my taper. These workouts included a set of 10 hard Yasso 800’s that were not as hard as they were supposed to be and a couple unfamiliar crash sessions in the woods on my new trail bike – the “Mad Dog” express.
It’s ok – with my long history of running and my body’s comfort with the effort of the marathon I’ll recover to be that coiled spring on Patriot’s Day in one week from right now. I’ll run easy this week, stretch, massage and do some core strengthening. I’ll be ready.
Or I won’t. It doesn’t matter. When I start the journey I’ll know what to do. My body will become one with my mind and together – rider and ridden – we will adapt to the flashing lights on the control panels as we navigate our 11th Boston Marathon together.
People were grumpy this morning as the plane rose out of Boston. My metal bird made the great sweeping turn over the Harbor islands and followed the line of the Charles west. Out of my window seat I watched the city illuminated in shiny new day relief in the morning sun. There the harbor, next the bridges of Cambridge, the Hancock building and The Prudential building where next week I would come to a halt, salted, exhausted maybe a little exultant.
Further up the river Fenway Park stood out brightly green like something from a brochure. I gazed westward along the line of the Charles and tried to see where Hopkinton would be. That little old town was out there somewhere; it would allow itself to be violated soon by waves of runners.
I reviewed the picture album of 10 Boston marathons in my head. Various scenes of happy adrenaline, endless pain, grueling death marches shivering in the Boston sea breeze, long waits nauseous in the sun, achy-spent humor in the hotel room with potato chips and beer…and so much more.
The tapestry of this race is great. The Boston Marathon is a living animal. It is a spiritual and corporeal being that comes to life from its constituent parts of heroes, spectators and history. It comes to life next weekend and rises like a Tolkien-esque thing, part land, part time and part spirit brought to life each year to ravage the landscape.
And so my friends I have done my training, I have put in my miles and as importantly I have paid my homage and respect to this great animistic being that transcends my world once a year. All that is left for me to do is to open up my veins and heart to the thing. All that’s left for me to do is to commit my body to the flow of humanity and let the Boston Marathon take me.
Chris Russell lives and trains in suburban Massachusetts with his family and Border collie Buddy. Chris is the author of “The Mid-Packer’s Lament”, and “The Mid-Packer’s Guide to the Galaxy”, short stories on running, racing, and the human comedy of the mid-pack. Chris writes the Runnerati Blog at www.runnerati.com. Chris’ Podcast, RunRunLive is available on iTunes and at www.runrunlive.com. Chris also writes for CoolRunning.com (Active.com) and is a member of the Squannacook River Runners. ChrisRunner@runrunlive.com