Monday, April 27, 2015

Marathon Monday

 Marathon weekend was awesome as usual. It started with the BAA 5K on Saturday. I was really excited for this race and hoped to bust out an awesome time, but that did not happen! I forgot that the race is ridiculously large, that 10,000 people have to squeeze over a tiny start line and skinny course, that people seed themselves, and nobody seeds themselves honestly except me. When it came time to line up, I stood next to the 6:00 minute per mile sign and was amazed at the hundreds of people in front of me. There must be a lot of sub-6 runners.... I stood next to a 10-year-old and an overweight woman, but the optimist in me thought perhaps there was some chance they could actually run a 6-minute mile. Why would anyone want to line up ahead of where they should be??? The gun went off and I passed a gazillion people, dodging in and out for 5,000 meters. Still, my time was not great - 19:21 - not even close to what I wanted. Not even close to 6-minute pace! Next time do I line up at 6:15 pace or just toe the very front no matter what? Anyway, the race was run and I was ready to be a spectator for the rest of the weekend.

I hosted the Annual Pasta Dinner at my place with former BYU runners Carolyn Quebe, Emily and Kristy Barrus, and their families. My high school bestie, Kathy Shell, also came. We chowed on pasta, forgot to take pictures, and caught up on life/kids/running.

On Marathon Monday, we headed to Mile 19. It was cold (in the mid to high 40s) and rainy, so the kids didn't last long. After an hour or so, Scott took them to the car and drove a friend of his to the train station while keeping the kids dry and happier. I stayed in the rain and cheered on my BYU teammates (Carolyn, Emily, Kristy, and Tara), my BAA teammates, and Kathy. Despite the crappy weather, everyone ran well and was happy.
 On Tuesday, we picked up Kathy from her hotel and held her hostage for two days. She has never been to Boston, so we had to do the typical tourist routine: Freedom Trail, Old North Church, Mike's Pastry, etc. At the top, that would be Kathy and Phoebe with Bill Russell at government center (a little detour from the Freedom Trail). Directly above, they posed with a neighborhood firetruck. Kathy was a forest service firefighter a few years ago, so she and Phoebe got along swimmingly. They even independently wore firefighter T-shirts and camo shorts, so Phoebe proclaimed that they were twins and insisted that they hold hands 24 hours a day. They do kindof look alike and one lady even asked Phoebe if she was proud of her mother for finishing the marathon (Kathy also wore her Boston Marathon jacket around town so everyone knew how awesome/ sore she was). Phoebe responded, "no." I had some explaining to do.
 We stopped at the Rose Kennedy Greenway and rode the carousel. Kathy brought the kids Blackhawks hockey jerseys from Chicago, where she lives now. Scott said Oliver would get beat up if he wore this in the North End, but no one messed with him.
On Wednesday, we checked out Harvard to rub John Harvard's toe (it brings good luck), walked around Henry Longfellow's house, went to a local chocolate factory, and went out to dinner. On Thursday, we parted ways - she headed to New York to visit another friend and we headed to New Hampshire to get some relaxing vacation time. More on that soon.

Watching the marathon got me all excited about running marathons again. I think last year's Boston left me a bit burned out. I was constantly tired from breastfeeding every three hours, not getting regular sleep because Oliver was still waking up at night, and running 60-70 miles a week. I was glad I ran it last year, but I'd had my fill of pedestrian paced marathons. I am ready to train hard and get to the starting line rested and ready. I knew that wasn't going to be the case for this Boston, so I ran shorter distances for awhile and survived the winter, Scott's crazy call schedule, and such. I think things will get easier though, so I am signing up for a fall marathon and should be running Boston next year.

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