'Twas the Night Before Boston...

'Twas the night before Boston, when all through the city,

Not a runner was sleeping, not even the most gritty;

The bib numbers were hung on the singlets with care,

In hopes that the finish line would soon be here;

The volunteers were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Meb and Shalane winning danced in their heads;

And mamma in her altitutde tent, and I in my ice bath,

Had just settled down from a taper nervous breakdown aftermath,

When out on the street there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bath to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Nearly pulled a hammy as I threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the still present snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But novice Joe and his skinny running rear.

With his poor wife as the timer,

I knew in a moment Joe was in it quite thick.

More rapid than eagles Joe tried to cram miles,

His wife whistled, and shouted, and called out his splits;

"Now, Joe! You've got to hit sub 6:00!

On, Boylston, on Hereford,  all the way down Comm Ave!

To the top of heartbreak hill! To the top of the wall!

Keep dashing, dash away, dash all the way!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

Surely Joe must know this cramming is quite mad.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the apartment below,

The whirring and stirring of pots and pans astew.

As I peered down through the heating grate,

I saw poor Mary and Molly with mouths agape.

They were stuffing themselves, from their heads to their feet

With everything from pasta to bread to fine meat!

A track bag of PowerBars and Gels they had taped to their backs,

And no carbohydrate did they lack.

Oh Mary  - oh Molly - what folly!

Carbo loading does not mean glycogen shock!

Their mouths were clenched tight,

Ther eyes wild with fright;

The marathon training articles they held tight in their clutches

And the training DVD's only further augmented their apprehensions;

They had done all the miles

All that was left was a 26.2 trial.

They were pacing and fretting, a total mess,

And I laughed when I saw them, in spite of myself;

I called down below it was all in their head,

They were fully prepared and had nothing to dread;

I spoke not another word, and went straight back to my task,

And decided to take another ice bath;

And laying my flats under my pillow,

I told myself,  I'm relaxed, I'm not like Joe;

In the morning I sprang to my car, gave the family a yell,

And away they all ran, collectively cheering the end of my training he**,

And I heard them exclaim as I drove out of sight

"SHE'S CRAZY AS A LOON, BETTER HOPE SHE GETS THIS BOSTON RIGHT SO WE DON'T HAVE TO PUT UP WITH ALL THIS AGAIN SOON!"

The Happily Ever After...Running Silver Anniversary

Perhaps it's the oxytocin pumping through my body (it may just be old age), but I've been waxing nostalgically this September of my 25th year of running. Gulp.  No, I was not a child prodigy who began running at age 3, so 25 years of running just makes me...well...elderly.

I have began thinking about how fortunate I have been to be a runner, and to have embraced and enjoyed running during it's near infancy.  In that vein, I compiled a list of all that strikes my nostalgic fancy....

1. I miss my college Cross Country Team.  I miss that they could understand how "Bust A Move" could only be about passing opponents on the XC trail....
2. I miss the smell of grapes as we would round the corner for home on the Saint Anselm XC course.  It  indelibly in my mind will signify the finish.
3. I miss Ed Sheehan...dearly.  The first person to use the words "talent" and my name in the same sentence, even though I thought a 200 meter indoor track was a quarter of a mile...
4. I miss Phil Riley and Will Mason (too soon gone), and Tom Carroll jeering me as I tried desperately to hang with them on runs...
5. I miss Tom Hurley and his spiral bound notebook.  Long before the internet, Tom knew every stat on every runner in New England.  What a classy man.
6. I miss Sunday morning runs at "Wang Towers"
7. I miss drinking beer and eating pretzels with Lisa Senatore after she had put me through my paces on the track...
8. I miss working for a running company where I could run with the CEO at lunchtime and he actually cared about my running...
9. I miss the way the John Carson Race was.  Don't get me wrong, I love that it has raised so much money for a scholarship, but there was something so special about those of us that ran it in the beginning purely for bragging rights.  No money - we were all connected to John Carson in some way, and we just wanted to honor him as best we could.  The winner got their choice of a steak or swordfish grilled by the race director, Bob Sullivan.
10. I miss the Cawley 2 mile series.
11. I miss belly dancers at the East End Race.
12.  I miss going for a run, smiling and waving at other runners, and they would smile and wave back.  This pretty much never happens when I run anymore, even though I see so many more runners.
13. I miss the simplicity of races:  run as hard as you can, stay on your feet, and let the cards fall where they may.
14.  I miss the Hockomock Swamp Rat and his complete disregard for popular opinion or political correctness.  Some girls dream of being on the cover of Cosmo - me...the "Rat".  Never was I more flattered to be completely ridiculed.  (I love  #levelrenner, and do appreciate their old school approach)
15. I miss my 2008 running partners.  You know who you are.  We killed each other in a synchronized, single minded goal of a sub 2:48.  I absolutely savored every second of all of it.
16.  I miss my old body.  My feet are riddled with arthritis, hammer toes, and my hammies are just shredded.  I miss bounding out the door, bridled only by lack of time.
17. I miss the innocence of running - before there was the Central Park rapist, and Boston 2013, there was simply...blissful, carefree running.

Tonight as I turned the corner for home, round the power lines, summer's last gasp exuded the essence of grapes on the wane.  I inhaled deeply, and kicked it to the finish line.

This time, though, the finish line was my daughter's precious face, pressed to the glass window, awaiting my arrival.  The past 25 years have been quite a wild and wonderful ride.  I can only hope the next 25 years will be half as wonderful, and that I am here to enjoy them.  I hope my girls know to always be the first to smile, and that they find something that will always fire that light that gets in their eyes.

"Anything in life worth doing is worth overdoing.  Moderation is for cowards". - Navy Seal recitation in "Lone Survivor"

Marathon Monday

Never before and perhaps never again will there be more hoopla surrounding Marathon Monday, April 21, 2014. Seemingly, the entire world was suddenly interested in the storied footrace from Hopkinton to Boston.  This year, in particular, saw more first-time runners jumping on the magic train of Boston.  Boston entries sold out in record time, people scrambled for early and fast qualifiers, and charities benefited like never before.  The entire state of Massachusetts was abuzz for weeks preceding the big dance.  Ever since I could walk, I've either run or attended Marathon Monday and reveled in all it's glory.

This year I spent Marathon Monday in a hospital bed, hooked up to fetal monitoring equipment.  (all is fine with baby - I'm just plain old :) I wasn't sad for myself, but I felt terrible for all of my runner friends I had promised a cheer to out on the course.  So, I cheered from afar and felt the palpable pain, exhilaration, and heartbreak of all of the participants.

Nobody would argue that this winter was one of the toughest to train through in New England.  That is part of the cruelty that is Boston - train all winter in single degree snow-laden streets, and Marathon Monday will dawn warmer than expected.  I have blogged before that running is not for the faint of heart - no guy has ever broken my heart the way the marathon has (maybe I've been lucky in love- I don't know).  Listening to Shalane Flanagan post-race, I surmise she felt that same heartbreak.

The marathon is the all-in poker move.  You dedicate 6-12 months of your life for one race.  That's a huge gamble.  Absolutely everything has to go perfectly right to have the race you've trained for.  Just getting to the starting line healthy is a feat in and of itself.

To those who trained, made it to the starting line, finished...I salute you.

There is a connection between all Boston runners that only comes from the shared experience.  The spectrum of emotions experienced at Boston mirror those of life.  You have given your body, soul, and mind to the race.  Phidippides died attempting such a feat.  Only when you push yourself to places you have never been will you know what you are capable of.

The power of the human spirit.  I know what it's like to train through a tough New England winter and have race day approach 80 degrees. To look down at your skin, white from the salt, your shoes, bloody from heat blisters, and find a way to push on through.

The power of the crowds.  The first time I ran Boston I kept looking for the freight train I was hearing around mile 13.  It was the legendary ladies of Wellesley.  I have never heard such a thunderous noise in all of my life.  It gave me goosebumps.

The power of love.  My first Boston, I was in the elite women's start.  There were less than 50 of us.  The day was very hot, but I was determined to break 3 hours.  With 1.2 miles to go, I could feel the sub 3 slipping away with every painful, delirious step I took.  I heard a loud voice screaming that I needed a sub 6  minute last mile to dip under 3 hours.  I looked up to see my husband sitting in the top of a tree screaming his lungs out at me to get me to my goal.  To this day, I have no idea how he climbed that branch less tree, nor how I found the strength to crank out a 5:40 last mile.

I crossed the line in 2:58:09, 38th female.  If that isn't love, I don't know what is.

The spirituality of the Boston Marathon.  Another year, it was also very hot, and my feet were cramping up on me.  I was becoming delirious, and just wanted to finish.  I prayed to God for a sign that I could finish.  I looked up, at mile 24, and a childhood special needs friend was holding an enormous sign that read "Go Kara" that she had made herself.  I choked back tears and finished strong.

The heartbreak of the marathon when the day just doesn't go as planned.

I know that heartbreak all too well.  On a last ditch effort to qualify for the 2008 Olympic Trials, I joined 30 something other females on the starting line of the Virginia Beach Shamrock Marathon.  It was the absolute last day to qualify.  I contracted bronchitis the week of the race.  A tornado touched down the morning of the race.  Most of the women dropped, with 40 mph winds lashing us along the Virginia Coast.  I actually had bruises on the insides of left calf from the wind whipping my leg in.

The winning women's time that day was high 2:50's.  I know what it is like to know that every element is against you, but your entire family has sacrificed to come cheer you on, and you are finishing, no matter what.  I crossed the line in 3:02, glanced at the huddle of women weeping at the finish line as they saw their dreams get literally blown out to sea (sorry for the pun - humor is necessary in these circumstances!).

It still stings just to think about it, and that is the last marathon I have run.

The sorrow and joy that is the marathon.  In my first attempt to qualify for the Olympic Trials in 2008, I ran Bay State (Chicago was the plan - flight booked, hotel room booked - Chicago was forecast to be in the 90's).  The day was perfect, I had put in 100 mile weeks for 6 months, had a pacer, but I just didn't have it that day.  Knowing I wouldn't run a 2:47, my coach asked at mile 18 if I wanted to drop and save my fitness for another day.  The joy of rounding the warning track at LeLacheur Baseball park, finishing first place female in a marathon is a feeling I will treasure and most likely never experience again.  Yet, the post-race picture of me, sitting on a bench, looking less than thrilled with my performance, shows a hint of sorrow.

Unless I'm passed out in the back of an ambulance, I'll take the finish, thank you.

No matter your time, place, or where you finish in relation to your goal - finishing the marathon is  one of the ultimate human experiences.

I salute all of you, share in your happiness, and wish I could have been there last Monday to bolster the human spirit. And just maybe you've inspired me enough that  I'll wear my heart on my sleeve again and run another marathon.

Well, hello 3rd trimester!

As a runner I have always held the self-delusional notion that I am impervious to "regular" pregnancy afflications.  I floated through the third trimester of my first pregnancy fairly effortlessly (until they put me on bedrest- that wasn't too much fun).  This pregnancy - well - let's just say it hasn't been quite so effortless.

Discomfort is a runners medium - without it - they couldn't break through to the next level.  Pregnancy, too, is about handling various levels of discomfort: some physical, some mental.  For me, the mental is more menacing.  Not that I'm complaining, but if I were to complain (remember - self delusion!) this would be my Top 5 list:

5. Victoria's Secret has conspired against me
to deliver catalogs of scantily clad swimsuit models daily - sometimes two catalogs a day.  Not exactly the ego boost I look for every day when I come home from work, absolutely exhausted, with a 2 year old in tow. Where are the "Big Bellies Rock" catalogs? (hmmm...now that is an idea!)

Where are all the big bellies?

4. Sam Summer also has arrived ridiculously early
this year. Normally, that would be a cause for celebration (it is my all time favorite drink) - but for now, I will just dream about that cold, lemony, taste....

Mmmmm....

3. There are no less than 3 major national running events
from February to March in NEW ENGLAND! THAT NEVER HAPPENS!  (Snowshoe Nationals, Masters Indoor Track Nationals, and the National Masters 10k Road Championships).

Masters Championships...IN NEW ENGLAND!

2. Leg cramps and tiny bladder syndrome.
 The OB says my leg cramps are due to dehydration (well, yeah, I'm a teacher in a tough school who is allotted 2 breaks a day - as much as I would love to drink the recommended amount of water, I simply can't without the luxury of bathroom trips).  So....I live for the that wonderful 2 day period known as the weekend when I can drink all the water I want, and go to the bathroom whenever I please (yeah, it's the little things!)

Yes, I dream about unlimited access to a porta potty

1. Drumroll please......The Boston Marathon.
I will totally admit that I get cranky every year that I am NOT running Boston.  I love everything about the Boston Marathon - the hoopla, the expo, the training, specatating, but most of all...running it!  I'm not complaining, remember, but if  I were to complain, right? The fact that my runs are waddles at this point doesn't help that cranky state (sorry friends and family - the gloom will be over the day after Boston!)

The Grandaddy of all marathons...

When I take a (non-hormonal) look at my "rants", I arrive at the conclusion that what I am merely asking for is a day of: a stellar run at  Boston, while sporting a sexy little number from Victoria's Secret, while simultaneously running SnowShoe Nationals, setting the National 3000 indoor masters record, winning the National 10k Road Championships surrounded by an  unlimited supply of water, Sam Summer, and porta-potties.  Is that too much to ask? An entirely rational request, of course!  Isn't that what every pregnant woman dreams of?

Yes, runners are different indeed.  My rant list is probably not typical of your pregnant third trimester woman.  Perhaps other female runners felt the same during their pregnancies.  I'll try to stay a little more rational.

I also know nothing can bring the happiness that bringing a new little life into this world can bring.

A porta potty in my classroom would be nice, though.

Moments That Define

I observed two races recently that caused two particular runners some angst, but also an opportunity to define their "moment".  The first was the widely publicized "lap short" 2 mile of American middle distance star Jenny Simpson.  The second was a friend of mine - a star on the local scene - who went the wrong way while leading a local race.

Both events resonated strongly with me - as I have had the misfortune of experiencing both at various times during my 25 years of running. (umm....maybe more than once?)  Once at an inter-club Cross Country meet with team money on the line, I led early and went off course.  I think the entire squad of the biggest rival club at that meet called me back on course. (I still hold those ladies - #GBTC - in such high regard!) I get so caught up in the moment when I run that I could be running through Babylonian Gardens or the lost City of Atlantis and I wouldn't notice where I was! (yes, it is always 110% my fault when I go off-course!).  In 2011 I took a stab at the American 40-44 indoor 3000 meter record and asked no less than 3 friends to count laps aloud for me as I was so afraid of stopping a lap early! (been there, done that!)  I managed to complete all laps of the 3000 that day!

Running is a somewhat unique sport in that you can't pin the blame on your team mates, the referee, the crowds, etc.  Ask an NFL player why they lost the game? The answers will probably run the gamut from the QB's passing game to the Referee who needed glasses.  Ask a runner why they stopped a lap short or went the wrong way and they will most likely respond with a shrug, perhaps an "I was caught in the moment" - but very rarely will you hear them blame it on somebody else.  Perhaps because it is such an individual sport, runners place the onus on themselves.

I asked my friend what happened.  Classy response on two counts - he said he went the wrong way (he had been in the lead) and that the second place male called him back on course. What he did not say was that it cost him the win, the series lead, and some cash.  Do I remember who won the race? No.  Will anybody? Probably not.  What people will remember is that he handled the incident with class.

Jenny Simpson was on her way to setting the American Record in the two mile.  Kicking a lap early, she thought she was finished one lap too soon.  She realized her mistake, and gave it all she had to finish the race.  Her post-race interview and the poise with which she handled the mishap probably won her more fans than if she had set the American record.  Do I remember who won? No.

Then there are others, who chose to handle their moment differently.  Nancy Kerrigan notoriously became a household name with her "Why me?".  Mary Decker Slaney and Zola Budd are remembered for their track entanglement, and Slaney ripping off Budd's bib number.  Suzy Favor Hamilton (amongst other things that won't be discussed in this blog) is remembered for falling on purpose when she realized she would not medal at the 2000 Olympics in the 1500.

Character.  Jesse Ownes said, "It all goes so fast, and character makes the difference when it is close".  Running so often mirrors life.  Every day we are faced with major and minor setbacks.  Often times, the lessons learned on the oval carry us through and help us cope.   If we have the character to handle racing mishaps, then the blips that is our daily life are nothing; and vice-versa.  Imagine a society where young people extolled the virtues of Jenny Simpson instead of Kobe Bryant? (yeah, I know...keep dreaming.....)

Until such day, I will hold those purveyors of misfortune in the highest regard, hope they hold their heads up high, and know that in the end, all that matters is how you ran your race...and your life....and not where you finished.

When your moment comes, be it in the sun or in in a thunderstorm, how will you be defined?

Why do you run?

It seems as though the U.S. is experiencing a second "running boom".  Is it the advent of adventure races, color runs, and Spartan races?  Or is it because so many people want to "do something" after Boston 2013 - experience what it is like to be a runner? Whatever the reason, races are selling out well in advance of race day,  everybody wants to qualify for Boston, and running is suddenly something for everyone of every ability to try out and enjoy. (Whatever your opinion on all the new-fangled races, I say anything to get people up and out the door is a good thing!)

When I first started running - gulp - 25 years ago this year - there weren't many races, and the concept of color, bubble, or adventure races wasn't even a twinkle in anybody's eye.  Some of my friends ran to get in shape for other sports; others ran to lose the proverbial "freshman 15".  I was certainly the farthest thing from a runner.  I had been playing basketball since I could walk, and that was my all-consuming passion.

I went to college to play basketball.  However, as we all learn sooner or later, sometimes our dreams don't quite catch up with reality, and I was simply too small nor did I have the skills to make it at the college level.

If you asked me at age 18 to define myself, I was, and always had been a "student athlete".  The phone call home to my parents that I had quit playing basketball was answered with "Molloys don't quit".  I had never quit anything in my life, and I felt like the ultimate failure.

Failure was my demon and haunted me day and night.  To quell the demon, I decided I would try out for  Cross Country my sophomore year. (The fact that I was trying to impress a certain male runner didn't hurt the decision making process....hey, the logic of a teenager is sometimes hazy.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.....)

Our first Cross Country race was an invitational that included some Division 1 teams.  I had been training for 10 days. (apparently I thought that was all you needed to become a leader of the pack runner) My coach advised me to tuck in the middle somewhere, and try to run with some of the Seniors on our team.

I led.

A mile into the race, I think my legs had literally turned to stone with lactic acid buld up. I could taste blood in my mouth, and my lungs were simply on fire.   I had never felt that sort of pain in any other sport before. (Perhaps leading was not one of my brighter ideas....) I begrudgingly made it to the finish line (definitely not in the lead), vowing I would never, ever, ever run again.  I handed my singlet to my Coach, and told him I quit.  Get ready to bring the demons back....

He smiled and said he would see me tomorrow at practice.

I loathed this sport like I loathed nothing else before.  Yet, deep down in places I wouldn't admit to myself yet, I secretly loved that pain.  It was exhilirating.  There was nothing quite like pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion, and then pushing through.  Could I grapple daily with that pain? Did I want to?

I returned at 6 am the next morning for the first workout of the day, then again at 3 pm for the second.  I despised every deliriously wonderful painful second of it.

Running is a relationship.  It is intimate, physical, and complicated.  It will break your heart more times than not.  Every time I talk to a new runner, I am always curious as to why they want to run.  Why put yourself through that?

Why do I run? 25 years later, I don't have the complete answer.  Running has provided me with more than I could ask of any relationship:  career opportunities, friendships, challenges, triumphs...the list goes on and on.   It has also broken my heart in a way that only something you embrace with your entire heart, soul, and body can.  (I ran 4 marathons in 7 months trying to make the Olympic Trials and came up short. Yeah. Major, major heart break).

Running to me has always been about pushing your body to the brink, and no, I have never thought it was easy or fun.  (big asterisk here: except for running while pregnant which I only run for fun and don't train). Perhaps I'm doing it all wrong.  I love runners, the community of running, the mere thought of running, but I loathe the act of running.  And that is why I love it.  For the glimmer of a fraction of a second when your spirit transcends your body and you accomplish the impossible. It is a glimpse of the ethereal realm, and the demons fly.

So when you talk to your co-worker, neighbor or friend who is signing up for their first 5k, give them an extra word of encouragement, and let them know it will get easier.  Running is not for the faint of heart, but the rewards are unmatched.

Why do you run?

New Balance Boston Indoor Games Recap: through the eyes of a 2-year old

What I have always enjoyed most about teaching, coaching,  and being around young children is the refreshing perspective of the world that they have to offer.  Sometimes I think with all of our collective adult experiences and education, we can still learn a lot from a 2 year old.  They haven't developed any filters or biases yet, and see the world through a much clearer lens than we can.

My 2 year old daughter loves to watch any sort of running event (does the poor kid have a choice?). Sippy cup in hand, she grabbed her spot on the couch this past Saturday to cheer on the track athletes at the NB Indoor Games with me.  Her commentary was much better than any ESPN Sportscast (in my very, very biased maternal opinion!):

1. Some boys and girls like to color their bodies before they do a run-run.  Maybe I will color my arms.  (The coolness appeal of tattoos starts young - really young)

2. Don't go until you hear a big boom.

3. Go really fast when you hear people playing bells.

4. That boy doesn't know how to play Red Rover.  I think he wants his Mommy. (Sorry Rupp, she calls 'em like she sees 'em)

5. That girl really wants her Mommy to hold her. (Jenny Simpson probably wanted a lot of comforting things at that moment, I would imagine.)

6. The boys and girls who win Red Rover get prizes.  They get flowers.  I want prizes, too. (living room game of Red Rover ensues for the next 30 minutes and we go through a whole sheet of stickers as prizes).

7. I think next time I will go there and win the flowers.  (give it a few years, honey, but I love the early confidence)

I'll try to carry some of that perspective with me the next time I step onto the oval.  Maybe we are all just playing childhood games on a grander scale.  That attitude would certainly help the nerves factor. Until then, I'll continue to sharpen my elbows and work on that turnover in spirted games of Red Rover and Red Light Green Light.

Ella's First Race - Game Face on