Holy soreness! My quads are so spent that I'm hobbling around like someone's grandmother. In order to get around, I've had to adopt a stiff-legged, Tin-Man style of walking. I can barely make it down any form of stairs. Embarrassingly, even the slightest downward slope makes my knees buckle. I'm pretty sure that, to an outside observer, I must look ridiculous. Apparently, the "net downhill" of the Utah Valley Marathon was much harder on my body than I anticipated.All pain aside, I am a very happy girl right now. The course my have been tougher than I planned, but I still managed to qualify for Boston. If you had asked me five years ago whether or not this was an attainable goal, I would have emphatically replied "no". I never thought I would be fast enough. But, here I am, at the ripe old age of thirty-four, and quite possibly the best shape of my life, and I qualified for Boston. I am so giddy that I could jump around the room and squeal with delight.
I realize that I'm just one of approximately tens of thousands of runners who qualifies for the Boston Marathon every years, but that can't kill my buzz. I'm proud of myself. I really am. I trained hard. I raced hard. And the Utah Valley Marathon was nowhere as easy as I thought it would be. It turns out that even a "net downhill" course can still be incredibly painful. Seriously painful.
Oddly enough, despite the constant stress on my quads, the first twenty miles felt great. I might even go as far as to describe them as being pleasant. It was a beautiful day. The morning started out nice and cool. And I had the fortune to be running alongside one of my best friends. It was the ideal start to any race.
But then I hit Mile 21, and Mile 21 blindsided me with a ruthless vengeance that I couldn't have seen coming. I thought I had been racing smart. I thought I had been conserving energy. But then the coarse flattened out, the temperature started to rise, and all of my energy evaporated in a matter of minutes. My legs, which had been working so hard to stabilize me down the canyon road, now felt like rubber, utterly confused by the sudden change in grade. It was painful and frustrating. My pace immediately slowed. I saw my goal of finishing in 3:35 slipping away from me. My confidence began to wane, and my spirits sank. I seriously considered stopping to walk.
But then I heard the boisterous cheers of a very spirited runner just behind me, loudly encouraging everyone around her to dig deep and run through the pain. It was the 3:40 pacer, and her emphatic support was exactly what I needed. That little bit of encouragement was all I needed to not give up, to not ease up on my pace. At that moment, I resolved to erase all of the frustration from my mind and take the remainder of the race mile by mile. And that is exactly what I did. I ate my peanut-butter GU, focussed on my breathing, and tried to match my pace to the music on my iPod. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, I saw the finish line. And then I crossed it.
I didn't make my original goal of 3:35, but I did finish in 3:37:14, which was a PR by three minutes, and a fast enough time to qualify me for Boston in the 35-40 age division, which is where I fall next April. So, even though I may be a little disappointed, I am also elated. My hard work paid off. I'm going to Boston. (I hope.) Now it's time to rest up, recover, and keep on training for Ironman.
