So I’m on sitting a plane somewhere over the northeast/mid-Atlantic crying. It’s 48 hours until the Boston Marathon and it Is finally sinking in that this is happening. That this is happening to me. That I am running the Boston freaking Marathon.

In my last post reporting on the Cherry Blossom Ten Miler I wrote about how blasé I’ve felt for months. How my training isn’t where it was this time last year; how devoid of motivation I’ve felt. Then I got a mental boost from Cherry Blossom, but within a day of that happy surprise I was most of the way back to mehhh. Everyone I know has asked me if I’m excited for Boston. Friends, colleagues, students, teammates, spouses, have all enthusiastically inquired about this upcoming culmination of goals-accomplished, and I’ve tried to muster a smile, a ‘yes,’ but I think it’s been clear that all those good people in my life have been more excited for me than I have been.

I think the problem has been an inability to believe this is really happening. The Boston Marathon is this epic mythical bucket race of all bucket races. It’s an icon. It has a history – good, bad, tragic. It’s a day when even people with 0.0 bumper stickers pay attention to our sport. And I just could not conceive that I was going to get to run it.

Well good news: I believe it now.

Bad news: I’m on an airplane and my belly just started believing it too.

—–Break—-

You were afraid I was going to start talking in depth about my digestive system weren’t you? Lucky for you right as I typed the line above the break our plane started its descent and I had to put my iPad away. Then I cabbed it to my hotel, checked in, changed into tights and sneakers so I’d blend into the sporty crowd, and hoofed it to the expo.

There I endeavored to spend my entire tax refund on gratuitously priced and branded items. And also on flavored beef jerky. The free glass of Sam Adams they hand you when you walk in definitely helped loosen my already loose purse strings Especially since my funky tummy issues this morning kept me from getting a good breakfast in. (Hence the appeal of all the jerky. Also, jerky is delicious. Especially mango jalapeño jerky. Which obviously I bought. [Not to worry Josh: I will not add it to my race day nutrition plan.])

Actual useful note to all who run this race (because I’ve realized most other athletes’ race reports offer much more helpful guides than my indulgent run-on sentences): budget what seems like an extreme amount of time at this expo. I arrived at 10am and the line to get in was down the block. (A long block.) Within ten seconds of my joining the line it had grown so long it disappeared around the corner. Fortunately the line moved pretty quickly, but it took about fifteen minutes just to get in the building.

Once inside the line meandered – and I do mean meandered (it’s crazy how slowly really fast runners can walk!) – two flights up at which point it was another ten minutes on yet another line to get to packet pick-up. The volunteers kept things moving as well as they could but it’s just a massive sea of people so you have to plan to do some waiting. At least that’s the case at 10am Saturday before the race.

Once I picked up my bib (14111) and shirt I made my way into the expo itself and wandered, mouth agape for over an hour. Intermittently buying things I wanted more than needed – the aforementioned jerky, shorts, a tank, a sweatshirt, a jacket, Boston Marathon-branded hair ties for ten freaking dollars, (seriously, how stupid is that?) and a new phone case. That last item probably sounds wacky but it’s the only one I actually did need.

While wandering waves of ‘yes-this-is-real’ washed over me. With them alternating sensations of excitement and apprehension because 26.2 miles is really long, no matter how well the day goes. And this will only be my fourth full marathon. Unless you count Ironman Chattanooga – and I’m asking you nicely not to. (I’ve actually had a fear that those online race sleuths who suss out BQ cheaters were going to find my Ironman stats and turn me over to Boston authorities because how can some who ran a 3:26:41 qualifying time last May have then clocked in at 5:27:30 less than four months later!)

But IM embarrassment and hell be damned, I did earn my bib and the right to be here. And I worked really hard to do so. Eschewing happy hours and sleep and office pastries and so many things normal people think are fun (and that I actually think are fun too!) to run and train and eat well. This time last year I had the fire in my belly (the good kind! Not the three-trips-to-the-porta-potty-plus-Imodium-pre-race kind!) to earn my way to Boston. My head and heart were in the game along with my belly and ultimately my legs.

As I’ve struggled to relocate the (good kind of) fire, finally being here has lit the flame. (Haha! Eww.) I know it’s finally real for me because, like I said earlier, I can’t stop crying at inopportune moments. Places I’ve cried so far today: boarding the plane. On the plane before taking off. On the plane in the air. On the tarmac in Boston. The women’s bathroom in terminal B at Logan International Airport. In the taxi. Boyleston Street walking to the Expo. While being handed my bib. Thirty seconds later as a volunteer took my picture with said bib. At least three times wandering the Expo. Again on Boyleston walking back to my hotel. While eating lunch and writing this blog.

I’m going to try to stop crying now as I dont want to be dehydrated for the race, but I think I can safely say this has finally sunk in. I’m really nervous for Monday, but I’m getting so pumped. And I’m really proud to have gotten here. There is a cool sense of camaraderie that, as a Yankee fan, I’ve never felt in his city before. I’m in awe of being around all these very fast-looking people, but I feel like I’m part of this event and not just watching the community from the outside. Above all I’m very grateful to my family and support team, especially my husband who makes this possible on many levels, (his sherping deserves its own post at some point,) my mama who I insisted come all the way from Mexico to be with me this weekend, and my coach, Josh, who helped get me here physically but who also talks me off a training ledge before every big event. (Also he let me use his Normatec the last two weeks.)

And thanks as well to all my friends who have sent me words of encouragement, who joined me for workouts, and who have let me know that they’ll be on the course or will be tracking me. I will try so hard not to embarrass you. I mean, I will try not to embarrass you with my running. I’m still 100% going to talk about the (bad) fire in my belly and how many times I went/go to the porta potties before/during this and every race to come.

I’ve been winter-neglecting this blog again. This year I didn’t just forget though, I’ve had a rough couple months and training and racing felt really trivial. I couldn’t get it up to care about 2017, and I can’t say that that’s totally changed, but I’m going to make the effort because I love to race and I love to write, and I’ve been really moved by how many people have told me they read all about the pain and perseverance of my Ironman and so here I am again.

I don’t want to get too personal or political here, but suffice it to say I’m a professional Democrat in DC and I work in healthcare policy, so it’s been hard. I thought the world would be very different than it is right now and when I spend the day fighting to keep people insured and to expand access to healthcare – literal life or death issues – I feel a little silly expending energy caring about PRs and Training Peaks data.

That’s all I’ll say politically here. It’s what I do all day, and this is a tri blog, and most of my readers (hi Mom!) are probably hanging on here by a thread. Plus, it’s not the only thing mentally messing up my 2017 season. After a huge 2016 fighting like hell for and achieving big concrete goals – qualify for Boston and complete a full Ironman – it’s been difficult to figure out what this year should be about. In 2016 every pre-BQ run I imagined the thrill of crossing the finish line and knowing I’d be Beantown-bound. All summer during hours upon hours in the saddle, in the pool, on my feet, I heard Mike Reilly’s voice calling my name at the finish line. When training felt like dying and all I wanted was sleep, thirsting for those moments got me through it. I don’t have anything like that going on in 2017 – I think my Ironman was so miserable the m-dot withdrawal is just hitting now – so what on earth do I have to get out of bed that extra hour earlier for? What are my hard (and hopefully fast?) goals to make the effort worth it?

There’s the obvious one of actually running Boston, but with that race looming only two weeks away I haven’t been able to get my run to the place it was when I qualified 10 months ago. I’ve been treating this like, ‘look I qualified, now let me slowly jog in peace!’ But then Boston-bound socialites de media post their fast AF training days and I feel like maybe I’m not approaching this correctly. I’m excited for the race and think it will be inspiring to finally be there, I just wish I could have gotten my heart more into the prep.

I think this seasonal-athletic-affective disorder is starting to reverse itself though. As winter finally slinks away, as I learn to live with my job’s new realities, and as the first race of 2017 gives me a much-needed confidence boost, I’m picking myself up and recommitting to this sport. After all running and triathlon-ing are my (just-as-expensive-as-actually-seeing-a-doctor) therapy, and I need that sanity-saving release.

——————— Cherry Blossom 10 Miler Race Report—————-

So right, yes, the race. Assuming (which I should never do) that you’ve made it this far into my apparent-memoir. After being out of town for the Rock n Roll DC 13.1, which usually kicks off my season, I instead got things started with the Cherry Blossom Ten Miler. And thank the run gods it was pleasant and not a Potomac typhoon this year like it was in 2016 – I don’t know if my race psyche could have handled it this year.

I haven’t been feeling very fast and really wasn’t sure what to expect out of myself for this one. Since I’m two weeks out from Boston I threw a couple warm-up miles on to get to the start line, and figured these would give me a read on how my legs were feeling. They felt slow and heavy and so, in keeping with my stellar attitude this year, I gave up on the race before I even got started.

I got to the start area around 7:05am for a 7:30 start time, which was the perfect amount of time for my first pre-race porta excursion of 2017. (Pro tip: there were three tiers of potties but people only seemed aware of the first row so while those schmucks waited and waited I got right to business! [God I’m gross, sorry.]) I made it to my corral around 7:20am and squeezed into the middle of the crowd.

I was in the red wave, which was the first full wave behind the elite runners and handful of sub-elites in the yellow wave. Normally I would have bobbed and weaved towards the front of the throng but being the debbie downer that I am/was, I found the 8 min/mile pacer and pessimistically waited a few feet back assuming I wouldn’t even be able to hold anything in the 7s. I looked around and misanthropically noted the many people rocking purple and blue bibs, (as well as a tall man whose name I’m pretty sure wasn’t actually “Jennifer,”) and resigned myself to their company.

Just after 7:30am the announcer called our wave to the start. I trudged along passively with the crowd as I cued up my Garmin. Stepping glumly over the sensors I hit start, picked up my feet, and everything changed.

As I got going I felt great! The legs that had weighed so heavy and slow before the race (like immediately before as well as the five months leading up to it) were suddenly turning over they way I wanted them to and my old marathon pace of 7:50 which has been so tough to maintain of late felt easy.

So easy that I wanted to step on the gas. But through my pre-start Eeyore-ing in the corral I’d set myself up very poorly to get anywhere very fast. I moved to the sides but even the people there were slower than I wanted to be, and running onto the grass around the road was much harder work than running on the pavement. Not only had I started too far back (like seriously, grumpy Liz? You had to start behind the 8:00 min/mile crowd?) the corral-jumpers in their pastel bibs were of course running paces that would have been perfect in the waves to which they were assigned. (Sorry [not sorry] but this makes you an asshole.)

As we ran south of the Mall and out and back on Memorial Bridge, I averaged miles in the 7:50s and itched to break free. I wasted plenty of energy and added mileage weaving through the crowd until mile four when space and my pace finally opened up.

The sun came out but the temperature was still damn near perfect in the 40s, and miles 4-7 were truly some of the best I’ve ever run in a race. I kept my pace in the 7:20s minus two water stations, and for stretches I even held onto 7:10/15. Every time I looked at my Garmin and saw those numbers was a little adrenaline shot to my Nikes. I checked my heart rate and it was high but RPE-wise it felt exactly right for a ten mile race.

Running down Hains Point (miles 6-7) someone next to me exclaimed pleasant surprise that the cherry blossoms had miraculously survived the late March freeze. This observation got my head up and eyes off my wrist. I made a point to look around and appreciate the weather, the scenery, the greenery, and these fast and happy people who were helping me hold my pace.

Hains Point-ed (with me?) us back north and into a bit of a head wind around mile eight. I was also developing a small stitch in my right side which has been happening of late, I think a result of the six-week-long sinus infection that has really gotten in the way of my breathing. (Shamless sleeve-nose-blowing now rivals pre-race porta potty parties as my grossest run habit.) I was forced to slow down to around 7:50 for a few minutes as I breathed into my starboard oblique and made nice with the breeze. It was hard to be too aggravated remembering at this Point (still with me?) in 2016 I had to battle sustained 20mph winds to the dome.

When we got to mile nine I dug a little deeper and pushed myself back into the 7:40s for the last two miles and psyched myself up for the climb right before the finish line. When I got to that hill – around 800m from the end – my heart rate was high but I figured I could live in the 180bpm discomfort for 90 seconds. The worst thing is finishing with gas left in the tank, so I was happy to feel like shit as I crossed those final sensors.

My official time was 1:16:50 which is better than I thought I had in me today/this year. But it’s not a PR, and I think it could have been if I hadn’t wallowed in that pre-race pity-party and had instead staked a claim to the front of the corral. (I attacked this race the way I usually attack a swim; which is to say, I did not attack this race but admitted defeat at least twenty minutes before the National Anthem.)

All in all though, a slightly bitter but mostly sweet start to the season. Through 2016 training I felt like I’d made a new home for myself in the 7:30 range where I’d previously lived in the 7:50s. Recently I’ve been questioning that and wondering if at 33 I’d already stopped getting faster. Now I know I can actually hang in the 7:20s and I know I’m still improving. (I mean I’ve got a whole year till I move up to AG 35-39, c’mon!)  And once again Coach Josh has proven that I just need to trust him. (This is not to be read as any sort of promise not to fight him every step of the way.)

Scott and the hounds met me at the finish with a warm coat and kisses all around. We meandered the two miles back home as the sun came all the way up turning the perfect run weather into just plain perfect weather. My cousin Mike had come in from Annapolis to stay with us and run, so we all met up and put the calories back in. (Shhh, don’t tell but carb-free Mike even had some grits at brunch!) He and my cousin, Carol will be racing Boston as well and talking to him this weekend has gotten me more excited for the experience. (Plus maybe his race presence is good luck? I’m going to tell myself that.)

I needed today as a kick in the capris to buck up and be more positive about 2017. I still don’t have any big goals to hang my swim cap on, but I’ve got memories of a great kickoff race and the ego boost that yes, I can still go fast when it’s time. Jury’s still out on whether Boston will be “time” but it will be something and I can honestly say I’m looking forward to that something now.