Run happy: my journey to Boston
I wasnāt athletic at school. Like many introverts, I didnāt thrive in the competitive team-sports environment. But where I faltered through school, I found some confidence and enjoyment in sports in my 20s and 30s, to the extent that it became an essential part of my lifeās routine.
I started running in my 40s. At first to distract me from a painful divorce. Then it became more about me; I felt strong, I enjoyed the relaxed chatter of social runs, trees on trails, long solo runs. I especially liked that my mind, trained for persistence in research, was as important as my body to maintaining pace.
My running stepped up a notch when I joined an awesome social running group having run solo for a couple of years. I enjoyed the camaraderie among the group and learned much about the sport from the more experienced members. I started running regular tempo and threshold training sessions twice a week. These sessions are designed to increase pace and to improve endurance. I joined Strava, a social fitness network used to track and map runs. The Strava community of runners were supportive and encouraging. My tempo pace improved.
I ran my first marathon at Rottnest Island in 2017. It was a tough first marathon. The race was four laps of an undulating course; the section between the islandās pink salt lakes was beautiful but the lack of vegetation made it especially hot in the early morning sun. My friend Lee and son Tasman were great support crew, plying me with gels, drinks and much-needed encouragement at every lap. The heat and effort eventually got to me and I became unstuck on the fourth lap. I walked through drink stations, downing as many cups of water and electrolytes that my gel-filled tummy could handle. While I was hot and desperate to stop running altogether, I was also determined to finish. I ran the race in a time of 4 hours 37 minutes and 34 seconds. I enjoyed the hugs from Tasman and Lee, the weight of a marathon medal about my neck, and most of all, the sensation of having delved deep to achieve a significant goal. As I hobbled bare-foot into the ocean after the race, I knew my first marathon would not be my last. Ā
I picked a flat course for my second marathon. I followed a training schedule I had found on the internet, running five times a week with two recovery days. I ran a 32 km event one month before the marathon, my longest training run, even managing to pick up the pace in the last few kilometers. My legs were shaky with the effort as I crossed the finish line but I felt strong. I ran the 2018 Perth Marathon in under four hours (3:51:38). Buoyed by my slow but steady improvement between marathons, and curious about what my body might do if pushed, I enlisted Coach Andrea to help me get to Boston.
I was 2 years old when women were invited to compete in the Boston Marathon for the first time in history. Until then, the worldās oldest annual marathon events had been open only to men. So, it seemed like a worthy aspirational goal for me as a female runner, some 40 years later, to compete in this event.
2019 was a big year for me. I ran a personal-best time at half-marathon race in May. I came 4th among females in the Motherās Day Classic, an 8 km flat run near to the Swan River. Unusually, I did not dissect either race, I was happy that I had stuck to a plan in both. I was especially pleased I had finally trained myself not to stop for water, but to gulp it on the go. The personal-best (sub 1:40) qualified me to join Perthās elite runners for hard training once a week. I felt like an impostor but knew the experience would improve my running.
I averaged 60 to 70 km per week July through September of 2019. I ran long on Sundays with Amy, Richard or Tim. Luckily my partner Jonathan was away as a large chunk of my life was devoted to running and recovery. I managed a dull pain in my right hip flexor with therapeutic massage and rolling. Work became busy and I willed my body to hold out for race day.
Race day arrived and the weather was perfect. Still, cool. I felt strong and well prepared. Determined not to go out too fast, I maintained a planned and steady pace of 4:50ā4:55 per km for the first half. I braced myself at 26 km, the stretch most likely to include a head wind and where I had become unstuck the year before, but I was fine. Amy cheered me on at 28 km, sheād had to pull out of the race due to injury. So I felt lucky to be running and that feeling kept me going for a few kilometers. I was holding pace at 4:50ā4:55 per km.
I joined the 3:30 pacer and his subdued group of runners at 30 km. It was a relief not to have to track my pace. But I couldnāt hold their pace and I lost sight of the group at about 34 km. My legs were sore and I couldnāt conjure a satisfactory answer to the question of why I was punishing my body in this way. My tendency to over-think things was not helping! Despite telling myself not to, I walked through the water station at 40 km. Cried out in anguish as I ran down the Windan Bridge off ramp. My friend David, on his bike, guided me along the path to the stadium, to the finish. A short sprint across the spongy board and it was done! A new personal best of 3:34:01, almost 18 minutes faster than my previous race. Hugs from Andrea and Tasman, flowers from Jonathan. Feeling delirious from the effort. The last 8 km would haunt me in the weeks to come, and then eruditely subside, leaving triumph to prevail. I had qualified for Boston.