After having snow less than two weeks before, on race day the time and temperature on a bank sign in Hopkinton said 75 degrees as I was waiting to start.  For obvious reasons, all charity runners start in the last wave of the marathon, and as a late registration, I was in the last corral of the last wave.  When I got to the starting line, there were only about 50 or 100 people behind me… we were truly the back of the back of the pack.  Of course, once I started, I ran directly into a the backs of the 30,000 people who had started ahead of me.  It was like a solid wall of people, so congested that I couldn’t settle into a truly comfortable pace until the Framingham train station, probably 10K in.

For the next several miles after that, things went pretty well.  I never quite hit my target pace, but I was feeling good.  My best stretch was probably roughly mile 10-17 or so, where I was holding a comfortable pace, had some room to run, and my legs were feeling okay.  I probably high-fived 700 or more children, and (with Nikki’s permission in advance) I smooched a Wellesley girl (‘scuse me, Wellesley woman) on my way through.  By the time I passed the halfway point, I was getting warning signals from my legs, but I carried on pretty well into the Newton hills.  As I crossed the Charles river and headed up the first big hill, a fresh breeze brought some welcome cool air.  I did well in the first two hills, and slowed down a lot on the third hill (by the Johnny Kelley statue) and on Heartbreak Hill itself.

But, man, once I hit the top of Heartbreak Hill, my legs were just shot.  As soon as I started down the back side of Heartbreak, I started getting crippling cramps in my legs.  First one side would lock up, and I’d limp on for a few steps, and then the other side would lock up.  I’d stop and grab the fence for a minute and try to stretch and flex my legs enough to take a few steps, then get running again.

Luckily, I was running when I passed my friends and coworkers… well most of them.  As long as I was running, I could still hold a decent (not great, not good, but decent) pace, but the intervals between cramps kept getting shorter and shorter as I went down Beacon Street.  Once I let go of any semblance of a time goal, it was just comical.  I’d be standing there, holding onto the barrier that keeps spectators off the course, punching myself in the quad, and shouting “Come on, legs!  Work, goddammit!”  I’m sure people thought I was a madman.

We took the train home from Back Bay station after the race.  Luckily, there was an escalator to get me to the train, but when we got to our station, I definitely backed down the stairs off of the platform.  Yesterday and this morning, I scooted downstairs from our bedroom on my backside, because there’s no way I’m walking down a flight of stairs anytime soon.  Somehow, my legs are even more sore today than they were yesterday!