What Exit?

Part Two, can you say, Exit 16W?

It's funny, in Jersey, most people ask you, what exit? I'm from 16W for example. It let's people know what part of the state you are from, although, sometimes, the accent alone is a give away.

Back to Boston...

I get the salt tablet in me, but not without some awkward hand off and assurance that I wouldn't drop it again. I feel like an idiot now and I know my errors are adding up.

I hang to left of the course because, well, I thought there would be less crowds and my Gazelle friend M Woo told me, pick a side and stay there. But, I have never really practiced water stops from the left and this proves to be a huge issue.

First, I cannot grab and drink from my left hand. On a water stop, I try and hit, one, two, three cups down. Lorenzo is behind me (oh so briefly) and he'd be dehydrated if he'd stayed there. Mistake Six, not practicing left side water stops.

Then I start grabbing water with my right hand. So, I bascially have to reach over, grab, drink and toss. Ugh! I secure the cup, try to drink and take the rest and pour it on myself. I am starting to heat up too much and I feel the reddness in my face.

Lorenzo looks over at one point and I almost can sense that he knows I'm overheated, but I just continue on. He has no idea at this point that I am in so much pain. I say nothing about how I am feeling, just hoping this will go away and shake itself out.

We continue to move through the miles, but the pace is never comfortable. I feel it's too fast, too slow, to up and down. My foot is killing me and I am trying to push down the panic. I hear a guy behind me plodding and grunting with every mile. I want him to go away; he's so loud and annoying and he's draining me.

At mile 12, I'm looking for the exit. I seriously can't stand the pain and I'm ready to DNF. I'm not sure what's wrong, but I need a consult with LB. Lorenzo pulls away and I make the cardinal error of the day...."Lorenzo..." I say, with a pathetic plea that sounds so much like someone hanging by their nails off a cliff. I'm whimpering, I'm desperate, I'm confused. I'm at the Boston Freakin' Marathon; not even at the 1/2 way mark and completely falling apart. I try not to panic. I realize that the moment I utter LB's name, that I shouldn't have.

He's ahead of me and turns slightly to see; but he can't see me. In slow motion, he turns his head back to the front of the race and the crowd swallows him up. He's gone. And he should be and I know he should. I would never want him to slow down for me.

Oh My God! I think. Never in my life did I think I would feather back from LB so early; it's mile 12. I mean, I thought I would lose him at mile 18 or 19, but 12! That's it, I'm out I think to myself. The next medical tent and I'm leaving tossing in the towel. I'm so upset that I try to process it all. I see my name: Alicia Sankar, DNF, 2010 Boston Marathon. I can't believe it. As I continue to run, all this is going through my head. I trained so hard. My foot hurt, but not this bad on long runs. What is going on? How can I keep the pace without LB? Goal A and B at this point are gone. I try to change my stride, lift my legs, anything to shake the pain and detract from the knowledge of the pain.

Then, suddenly, it's the 1/2 marathon point. I realize that I am only 1/2 way there and that the worst part of the race is still to come....the hills from 17-21.

TO BE CONTINUED....