Just the Finish the Thing, will ya?

Ok, Ok, I know it's been over a week. I'm trying to get back in to the demands of life and, in the meantime, my husband headed out for China and Malaysia for 2 weeks, so I'm chasing my tail.

Back to the middle of the race. The irony here is that I was ACTUALLY on target at the 1/2 marathon mark -- 1:41. I had planned for between 1:39 and 1:43, so I hadn't really fallen back at all. But, that's not what it felt like to me. I had decided to stop looking at my watch (already) because I was very scared of how far off the mark I was. At the time, my perception was completely incorrect.

On the course, the clocks that you see record the time from the official start (when the elites take off) YOu have to keep track yourself on your watch or be able to subtract out the time it takes for you to cross the start line and the time on the official clock. When you are tired and sinking, it's very hard to calculate (without your watch) where you really are...this is what was happening to me at this point in the race.

Because Lorenzo had continued on (as he should have) and he was the one telling me if we were above or below pace, I was now lost. This is a HUGE mistake in a marathon -- to not be responsible for yourself and keep your own time. I rely heavily on Lorenzo in training, but I should take care of myself in the marathon. And, here I was, losing him at mile 12, not knowing what my plan was...my plans just ran ahead of me.

I know in my mind and in my heart that I have made a very critical error here and along with the pain in my foot I begin to struggle mentally. Here comes the devil on the shoulder; the internal tape that keeps playing over and over.

And, to top it all off, as I mentioned, the worst part of the Boston Marathon awaits me. I fight myself and try so hard not to think about miles 17-21 because I wonder how I will ever make it the next mile. I think of Gilbert telling me, just one mile at a time.

At this point, I decide I will not look at my watch again. This is devastating to me as I had several doable goals in this race (ok, maybe two completely crazy ones) and I feel them falling away.

I begin to listen to internal voice that says: What were you thinking? This is the big time -- I mean look at these people, they know what they are doing. I am not a marathoner, I tell myself (a little late) I'm just not a person who can run this distance at all. The thoughts just come at me with increasing speed and I feel myself again, looking for medical. I just can't do it, I decide. I should never have come here; I'm not prepared, this is insane.

I have never experienced the crowds like they are at Boston. They are immense, constant, noisy and knowledgeable. At one point, someone from the side sees my bib number and says, Wow, she's really behind, she's tanking. I think, screw you and keep it to yourself, but I realize he's right. I start to freak about giving out my number to people at home as I imagine them watching me tank as my time gets slower and slower. I imagine I can hear the "Wow, Red started too fast, she was doing ok, but look at her now."

All of this self-inflicted mental punishment is taking it's toll but it has passed the time. Suddenly, mile 17 is upon me, Hill number one. I'm actually surprised that I am still running and decide that something new that will engage different muscle groups will at least be interesting. I start to lean forward and stride out. My quads are shot now and they have replaced the pain in my foot that seems to have subsided. I dig and try to mentally turn it around.

I realize now that I am completely removed from the race...that I have disassociated. Lorenzo had mentioned this to me many times and it was in the article that he shared with me on the bus. STay in the race, it said, don't disassociate, take inventory of the body, take fluids, take gu, take salt.

Something inside of me changes. I can't really explain it. But, at that moment, while I have struggled and wasted time beating myself up; I decide to get back in it. I don't really know how to do it physically, but I start to re-engage. Remember the training, you have done this before. This is just like Exposition, it's not even that steep, dig in, you can do it.

People pass me left and right. Not my plan at this point, but I let it go. This is a totally new phenomenon for me in a race at this point. This is one of the many changes that happened to me on April 19th. I let them go. I don't let them take my energy, I don't let it irritate me. I realize anger at this point is not going to save me; there are many more miles to go.

I shake my arms out, I breathe deeply and I hit the secret weapon with vigor. "Hail Mary, full of Grace...." over and over I say it. I hadn't planned on hitting the secret weapon so early, but I do and it helps me focus. I take water, I take more salt; I change my stride and relax some. Suddenly, ahead I see Team Hoyt and I am humbled again. Stop complaining I say, this man pushes his son with Cerebal Palsy in races all over the world; not just here, but in Iron Man's. He's not bitching. I am in awe at these two. I have watched them on TV over and over and cried at the sheer love and dedication this father has for his son. I actually, without thinking, reach over and touch the dad and say, thank you, you both are so amazing, great job!

And off I go. Digging, tearing at it, the negative voices have stopped -- again, stunning at this point.

Again, another gift, my friend Paul King comes up behind me! A Gazelle! I want to stop and hug him. He says, Good work Alicia, you are putting in really good work here. Thanks Paul, I say, and off he goes. For a minute, I am in a time warp and back in Austin, Texas running a regular old training run with Paul. It's a weird feeling, but we are in Boston! I try to stay focused but I am so happy for his words and encouraged that I keep working.

In short order Beth W and Yetik come up beside me. Fantastic! I am so happy to see them. I cannot believe in ths huge race I am EVEN seeing Gazelles. Hi guys, I say. You look great, you look so strong. They look super strong as they glide up the hill. I'm truly happy that they are having a good day.

Off they go as well.

Heartbreak hill is tough and loud, and I actually walk for a bit. But, I soon talk myself out of it realizing that I will really slow down and possibly cramp if I keep walking.

At the top of Heartbreak, it's a miracle and the noise is deafening. I try to remember what David Vance said, the race is not over at Heartbreak; it's just begun. I think, well, on any other day, that may be true, but I am just struggling to hang on and hoping just run mile by mile.

I start to really give myself a pep talk. First, other people have sacrificed a lot for me to be here...namely my husband and my kids. I need to put in a good race for them. And, how can I possibly look my kids in the eye and tell them never give up if I give up. I just can't do it. I tell myself that quitting is now off the table unless I pull my Achille's and can't even walk. Then I hone in on some families and I find myself really wishing my own family was out in that crowd somewhere. I have to put that aside for now and get the job done or I will totally start crying.

Next, I tell myself, the worst is over. You are up and over Heartbreak, you have run all this way in pain; I mean, really,if you quit now, that would be crazy. I see Mile Marker 21 and keep pushing. Less than a 10K to go. I feel a surge coming.

AND, you bought the jacket. THE JACKET. You can't possibly wear that jacket if you don't finish the race -- it's just not done. You have to finish if you plan on wearing the jacket.

AND, don't you want to see the finish line? to just cross it? It doesn't really matter now; just get under 4 hours, you will requalify for next year and you can come back and learn from all of this.

Mile 23; just a little over a 5K to go. I push harder. You can do this I tell myself; you are almost there.

There's a guy in front of me who keeps stopping and starting and he has two friends, women, with him on each side trying to encourage him to finish. This is Boston, they say, you can't stop, you have to finish. They start up again and pass me. This happens a few times and each time, the women fan to each side so it's impossible for me to get around. I am so pissed, (first time this race, shocking) I am too tired and sore to get around them and I am in a groove. This stopping they are doing could cause me to misstep and I am just hanging on to my left foot this point.

I soon realize that they are NOT in the race...they are support for him. At this point in the race, it's dangerous for them to be in amongst the other runners and frankly, it's really pissing me off. They will not get out of the way. Normally, I would say something, but again, I'm saving energy. Then, I just let it go. I think, you know what, he may not cross the line if they don't help him, I will have to find a way around them that doesn't cost me time or steps.

I actually now start to pass a few people, not many, but some. I hang on to two women who have their names on their shirts and people are calling their names. Mile 24 now....the crowds are getting louder.

One of the ladies is named Patty. She's wearing a pink running skirt and a white tank. Her hair is blonde and perfectly coifed. I am so not kidding. I'm like, where did she come from? Did she just fix herself up and jump in here at mile 23? Seriously, she gives the crowd the Princess Diana wave and looks like she's barely run a minute. I have my mark...the old Alicia is back in the game.

I hang close to Patty and absorb the cheers, we turn left out of the tunnel and I stay tight on her. We turn right, I cut the tangent (Lorenzo's advice); I stay to the left to cut the next corner...I'm gaining.

What happens next takes my breathe away...we turn the corner and there it is, the finish line of the Boston Marathon. I feel like I have just woken up out of a fog. It's Boylston Street...both sides of the street, barricades, crowds many, many people deep and the roar of the people; it's amazing; awesome; I cannot believe I am here. I am really doing this. The guy next to me actually stops and takes a picture! I wonder if he's carried the camera the whole way.

I look back down for Patty and there she is; it's so close now, I can't give way. I pump my arms. I pull my son's gloves out of my shirt and tuck them in my shorts (for the photo of course) and dig as hard as I can. I gain on Patty, I'm next to Patty, I pass Patty and throw my hands in the air and cross that beautiful, amazing finish line of the Boston Marathon and smile!

A volunteer hands me water, and runners move forward in the chute. I lean over and begin to cry; wracking sobs from my chest. I'm just so stunned that I actually made it. Paul King spots me and throws his arm around me. It's ok, he says, (he knows I had ambitious goals) you did great, you finished. He's right, I finished. I don't care that I didn't hit my time goals. I'm just so happy I made it in under 4hours; that I requalified for next year. I'm not ashamed of my time at all. I'm so happy that I didn't give in at mile 4 and 12 and 15 and 18. I'm here. I get a medal and stare, we get our thermo wraps and see Beth W and Yetik who had a great day.

I hobble to the bus to get my drop bag. I realize that Lorenzo is probably long finished and I head to the hotel.

Someone shouts my name and it's Lorenzo and his wife. I cross the street. It wasn't my day, I said, but I'm happy. I'm coming back next year. I know what I did wrong. I learned so much out there on my own. I know he must be surprised since I had told him after San Antonio that I would NEVER do another marathon, but Boston is different. It's the Super Bowl.

I hobble to my room and I just feel so much joy even though I am in pain. I cannot get my foot on the ground at all and my quads are completely shredded. My foot begins to swell and I hobble for the ice.

I call my husband, who has already left me messages. He screams in the phone. Honey, you did it! I'm so proud of you; it's awesome. I know he knows I didn't make at least three of my time goals. Thank you, I say. I wish you could have been here, It's amazing. I think I really messed up my foot, but honey, can I come back next year? I just loved it! Of course, he says, and next year, we're coming with you!

Post Script: I headed to Pieter and Troy a few days later to learn that I had torn my plantar fascia about midway from the big toe to the heel. Check this out, Troy said, and other therapists gathered to feel my foot. Wow, I said to Troy, I think I did that about mile 4! That explains a lot! I've never seen anyone so excited by an injury. I'm not happy to be injured, but I couldn't figure out why I was in so much pain; now it all makes sense. Um, how long will it be before I can run again? I say. Troy, being Troy, just shakes his head. I'm going back next year Troy, really. But no marathons until then!