episode 3: spectator

Took me long enough… but the saga continues! (Thank you for the nagging, thou self-proclaimed “fans.”) =)

Also, as an extra effort to make this post useful for future marathoners who may read this (and less wholly narcissistic--wink!), I've made a few of the tips Coach Rick provided that I found the very most useful larger than the rest of the text. If you're planning to run a race of any length, I pass these on with my personal hearty seal of approval--as a novice, I would have been lost without this advice!

Without further ado, the continuation:


Bozeman, Montana (home of my college years) is approximately 2,000 miles from Boston, Massachusetts. To have a spectator from there watch me run my first ever race is--to say the least--a pretty big frickin’ hairy deal.

But being anything close to a decent host is not an easy task the weekend of your first marathon.

Coach Rick’s first piece of advise for the Boston Marathon:
“On Sunday--the day before the marathon--stay off your feet as much as you possibly can. You’re going to spend enough time on them Monday.”

I knew this wasn’t entirely possible for me. I had returned from NYC a day before my spectator would--mostly to pick up my number, but also to unpack, prepare my apartment for my first ever Boston visitor, and make the obligatory trip to the grocery store before company arrives. Little did I know a simple trip to the grocery store would tax my muscles more than it should have.

Knowing I had more to buy than I could comfortably carry home myself, I intentionally bought much more than I could carry, resolving to pay the extra $5 and take my culinary treasures home in a cab. By the time I was done accumulating items in Shaw’s, it was raining. Rain = suddenly no cabs. And since I had been busy cleaning up until the last moment before I could go shopping, procrastination = no time to wait for cabs before it was time to meet Brian at the bus terminal. All factors considered = panic!

With few choices, I loaded all of my groceries onto my arms as best I could and headed home. I truly had too much to do it anywhere near comfortably (and remember, it is now raining!)--I had no choice but to stop several times to give my arms a break. All that training of my legs over the past few months had done very little for my spaghetti arms... but at least a few particularly wet training runs had mostly immunized my psyche to rain.

Enter the first of much support from kind strangers that weekend. A man walked past me seemingly content in his iPod isolation--only to stop, turn around, and ask if I needed help carrying my bags. He carried most of the load (and informed me of the benefits of peapod.com) just short of a few blocks to my house, where I was able to lug my heavy load the remaining yards. Little did I know just how much similar support would await me en route from Hopkinton to Boston the following day.

I hurriedly unpacked groceries and hurried off to meet Brian on the red line--resolving to stay off my feet from thenceforth.

Good for me; less good for him. My unfortunate visitor’s first ever night in Boston was spent watching movies on the couch in my apartment.

“Don’t try anything new in the days leading up to the marathon. Specifically, whatever foods you’ve found work for you the night before long runs--stick with them.”

Once again (are you sensing a theme here?)--my poor guest! I took Coach Rick’s second piece of advice to heart and stuck with my usual pre-long run dinner: what Scrubs terms “brinner.” Brian joined me for French toast, eggs over-easy, and a strawberry-yogurt smoothie with traces of amusement but no trace of complaint.

Full of energy--partially from the arrival of my friend and partially from the pending madness that was to follow the next day--I had no desire to sleep for several hours after we supped. Luckily, Coach Rick had again wisely prepared me for that very scenario:
“Saturday night is your most important night of sleep. You don’t even have to go to bed early on Saturday--just make sure to sleep in Sunday morning. One thing is for sure: you’re not going to sleep very well the night before the marathon.”

I doubt I need to keep saying it at this point--but again, Coach was right. I didn’t bother even attempting to hit the hay early, knowing I would lay awake with anxious insomnia anyway. Futurama happened to appear on Comedy Central, so Brian and I stayed up into the wee hours of Monday A.M. killing time with Leela and Bender, and keeping my mind from the monumental task that loomed before me.

I was somehow so successful not thinking about the marathon, in fact, that when I finally decided the time had come to retire to dreamland, I realized I hadn’t given my out-of-town spectator a single useful instruction about making his way around Boston for his first time the following day. Hallelujah for having a visitor far better with directions than I am--I provided little more information than “I’m told there’s a good sushi place by Back Bay,” and “Stay away from the Copley T-stop because it’s closed,” and he somehow entertained himself without getting lost the entire day on Monday, as I ran my brains out.

But I’m getting ahead of myself...