| May 2002 Newsletter |
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The "Estah Pahspective"
I laid the foundation for the Boston Marathon by running about 30 miles a week during my 8 months in El Salvador. I completed countless figure 8s around the soccer fields in Colima, dodging the horse poop, chickens, guinea fowl, ducks,horses, and dogs, and ignoring the little kids shouting "Gringa! gringa!" In San Salvador I ingested diesel fumes on humid, hot, hilly runs, including a few 2-hour runs with a friend. Weekly speedwork and 13 to 23 mile long runs-rain or shine, feel like it or not-with running partners in Ithaca completed the training. By April 15, I was ready.
By some miracle, Monday the 15th in Boston was overcast and 56 degrees, despite forecasts of 70+. Sunday had reached 75 and Tuesday was in the 80s. It was so overcast that, except for a few renegades, helicopters couldn't even get live coverage of the marathon. My High Noon teammates and I gathered at our usual spot at the Hopkinton High School to pass the hours before the noon start, along with 14,800+ other runners (including 5,443 women). This year I was the sole High Noon female runner. I was thankful for lessons I learned from my previous 3 Bostons: wear many more layers during the 3-hour wait than you think you'll need and bring a trash bag to keep you warm after you shed your layers and before the gun goes off.
Two teammates and I-each with numbers in the 7000s, based on our qualifying times-donned our trash bags and walked over to the 7th corral, passing a couple in wedding/running garb who had just tied the knot. We squeezed into a space between the nearly 1000 runners in our corral and tried to shake off nerves as we waited for the gun to go off. I felt a lot of pressure because my times had dropped 3 to 10 minutes in every previous marathon and I didn't know how much longer I could keep that up. My strategy was to go out conservatively, run even splits (7:27 miles, 23:04 5Ks) & maintain that pace through the grueling 2nd half. But this time I really meant it!
Nearly 5 minutes after the gun went off, the computer chip on my shoe chirped as I crossed the start. As eager runners flew down the downhill start, I reminded myself that just like boomerangs, they would eventually come back to me in the hilly 2nd half. Fans encouraged me with cheers of "Go Estah!!" (Bostonians don't pronounce the "r") as they read my name on my singlet. One spectator cheered for me and displayed his biblical literacy by making a comment about Haman. (Queen Esther in the Bible discovered Haman^Òs plot to destroy the Jewish people. Thanks to her brave intervention with King Xerxes, the plot was foiled and Haman was hanged on his own gallows. The Jewish feast of Purim celebrates Esther's courageous action.)
Since the newness of Boston has worn off, I've become less attentive to details, but I do remember the Viking-esque male spectator dressed in a red sequin dress, heels, and blonde wig standing at the same spot as last year. Then there was the group of guys who yelled, "Go Estah! si-esta!" (Get it? See-Estah!)
I went through the first 5K in 22:51 and slowed up a bit to stay on pace at just over 23 minute 5Ks. As I neared Wellesley College I could hear the female co-eds' familiar, deafening screams. Hmm, why did so many male runners drift over to the right at this point? Was it the sign that said, "If you try to kiss us at Wellesley, we'll let you?" This is always the best part of the race for me because they're so incredibly enthusiastic and I always think about how women weren't allowed to run Boston till the '70s. After Wellesley I began looking for Leland and my friend Kate. I eagerly scanned the crowds for a mile or more, but couldn't find them. (They had been on the other side of the street and cheered for me, but I didn't see them.) I was disappointed, but kept on going and crossed the ??? in 1:37:07-right on pace. My quads had already begun to tire, so I knew I was in for a long haul as I approached the Newton hills.
As I climbed the three long hills in the several miles before Heartbreak Hill, I reminded myself that I do hills much worse than these all the time, like Elm Street, a ridiculously steep 2.5 mile hill in Ithaca. My 5Ks in the hills slowed to 24:04 and 24:18. And then came the last 7K, which is always the worst because my quads convert to lead. The miles crept by. I stayed on a 7:46 pace for km 35 to 40 and somehow picked it up to a 7:36 pace as I neared the Citgo landmark that signals the last interminable mile to the finish.
Surrounded by thousands of cheering fans (including Leland, Kate, and two other friends), I passed a number of other runners as we zig-zagged from Comm Ave. to Hereford and made the final turn onto Boylston, greeted with the familiar yellow and blue "Boston Marathon" banner in the distance.
After a two or three minute eternity, I crossed the finish in 3:18:27--1:11 faster than last year. (I was the 260th woman under 40 to cross the finish; if you go by chip time, I was probably in the 230s or 240s.)
I had little time to celebrate, since I promptly got sick. Medical volunteers surrounded me, whisked me into a wheelchair, wheeled me into the medical tent, and laid me down on a cot. I assured them that this is par for the course for me and that really, I'll be fine after I drink some water. What's all this talk about an IV? After all, I was in a lot better shape than the guy two cots over who was shaking uncontrollably. A few minutes later (no IV), I went to find Leland and Kate in the family meeting area, feeling glad that another Boston was behind me and satisfied that all the training had paid off.
--Esther Prins
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