The 19th Annual
West Indies Lab/V.I.Pace Runners
5 Mile Road Race...
Saturday October 18, 6am
A
Tribute to
Betsy & Bill Gladfelter...
You can join in paying tribute to Bill and Betsy by showing up and running the race on Saturday of course...you can also send your thoughts to them on the web page set-up just for that...have a photo of them you would like to share? send it to: isv@mf.iaaf.org for Photo gallery...
Boston 2002
by Betsy
Gladfelter
22/23 April
2002--Woods Hole,
Massachusetts--As I pass the building with
mirrored walls, I recall last year when I wondered if I looked as bad as I
felt. I had been shuffling my way along the shadowed canyons, clutching my
space blanket as protection against the late afternoon chill, in my
desperate attempt to return to our hotel room after the finish of the Boston
Marathon. This year I am an old hat at this post-marathon ritual, but more
importantly -- it is a warmer day, I am smart enough to put on a sweatshirt,
and although my legs may cramp up at any moment, I actually feel better.
Much, much better. A little disappointed, perhaps, as yet again the hills
took their toll and I slowed significantly in the last 10K. But when I
found another runner heading back to the Backbay Hilton as I was, we chatted
along the way.
He was a tall, handsome fellow, who asked me how I had done. I gave my ritual answer, "Fine; not as fast as I had hoped; but, OK. Yes, definitely OK." When I asked him the same, he replied, "I did just great! I finished!" No talk of time, projected time, nothing. He went on, "I have dreamed of doing the Boston Marathon for 25 years. I've always been a runner, but never these kinds of distances. I'm from South Africa. I went to college here, then med school and rotations and then worked at Harvard Med School on the faculty for several years, before returning to work at the University of Cape Town. When I lived here, I used to watch the Boston Marathon and think about running it someday. Now I've done it. I am very happy."
I was reminded once again that the Boston Marathon is not merely one story. It is a rich tapestry woven from the stories of each of the more than 15,000 runners, the many thousands of gracious, warm, enthusiastic and helpful volunteers and the million and a half cheering spectators. Their lives intersected on April 15, 2002, somewhere along this historic 26.2 mile journey, inspiring many of them to continue to hope and dream, work and train, in running and in other parts of their lives. Perhaps, most importantly of all, however, many of us came to appreciate the good things we have been fortunate to have experienced in our lifetimes, including health, passionate interests, friends and concerned companions, even if we had never met them before.
When I asked, my South African friend told me he was an Ob-Gyn, concentrating in AIDS research, actually. I expressed my view (which I feel, unfortunately, is not shared by many in the general public) that AIDS and the rapidly declining number of fish in the sea are "tips of the iceberg", two environmental issues that will explode in importance and impact in the near future. He nodded his agreement, but said that he has chosen to devote his efforts to helping with the first, and guessed correctly, that I was somehow involved in the second. We continued our hobbling march against the flow of spectators leaving the finishing stretch along Boylston Street. Many of them looked at us (especially at me, with my silver mane) in respect, and they wished us hearty congratulations. And, still the runners continued to flow by. I commented that I was certainly glad I was done, but I too was in awe of those participants still out on the course, almost 5 hours after the start, working their way to the finish line. [They would continue for another hour, at least, as the official close of the course is at 1800.]
Their day and that of all the other runners had begun much earlier. My husband, Bill and I again enjoyed the luxury of a hotel, and had had a delightful pre-race dinner at what our niece Susannah pointed out was "the spot" for "the beautiful people" on Newberry Street. I can pick 'em, and, of course, Bill and I fit right in. In fact, Susannah was really amazed to learn that we had been offered a table right in front, where we could be "seen." I suggested that it was, perhaps, because we were a novelty (come to think of it, I didn't see any other runner-types there), but nevertheless, the point was moot, as we preferred an inner table.
Race morning promised the hint of rain, but the temperature looked reasonable, as indeed it turned out to be. After in-room coffee, we opted for another cup and some juice in the hotel restaurant. At 0600, it was filled with runners preparing to head out to Hopkinton. We grabbed a cab to the busses to the start. Our driver told us he was from Haiti when we asked. Once we told him we were from St. Croix and had visited Haiti a couple of times, there followed a steady stream of stories about Haiti. Caribbean islanders feel close to one another. The busses were filling rapidly, all very organized. We sat in front. The motorcycle police, lights flashing, led our group of busses through intersections to Route 90. The tallest buildings had their heads in the clouds and mists swirled through the city streets. I looked across the aisle and said to the woman seated there, "Your first Boston?" She looked shocked and tense, as she answered, "Is it so obvious?" I tried to reassure her that I was nervous last year, too, when it had been my first, but I was sure she would do well today. [I just looked her up. She did do well, but is disappointed I am sure, as she failed to qualify for next year by less that 2 min]. Her seat-mate was quite loquacious (we wished his voice hadn't been quite so penetrating), but she and I did manage to chat quietly. Bill and I were delighted with the early spring tree assemblages so reminiscent of an Impressionist's painting. Our trip to the Athlete's Village took an honest 50 min.
Once there, Bill staked out a spot for us, and I got us some boxes to lie on (along with bagels and coffee). I really enjoyed talking with the people near us, a grad student in environmental science from UVA, a woman from MI, and an older man (even older than Bill and I) from Ottawa, who had the best comment of the day. When we all looked out of the tent at the hundreds of porta-potties on the perimeter of the field, he pointed out, "At New York, the lines were so long that when you'd take a leak, you'd just head back to the end of the line to wait again!" Again, as I stood in line (longest wait less than 10 min, even at prime time 1100), I heard many of the stories about how people "got to" this day. Canadians, Germans. Englishman, people from Wyoming, Iowa, Florida, California…all looking healthy, a bit gaunt, eager, excited, some nervous, all wide-eyed.
I headed to the start before Bill, and actually almost didn't make it on time (the national anthem was played before I got in my corral). The temperature was perfect, the sky still overcast. I peeled off my sweatshirt, stuck it into the bag and handed it onto the right seat on the right bus (with a Garfield on the door!). Then down the side street to the chutes, a quick trip to the "ladies" woods, then working against spectator traffic to reach the opening to the #13 corral. Once in my shoot, I chatted with a Texan (about running in the heat) until we began to move. He had hoped to run with his daughter, but an injury prevented her participation this year. I hear a familiar voice. Sharon and then Trish, my Falmouth running buddies! Then, Judy and Ed, Maggie! So nice to see familiar faces.
Beep across the starting line and the race begins. Sharon disappears in a cloud of people ahead, but Trish and I run together for about a mile. I worked my way around a few people and Trish was gone. A little later Kris Tholke, another FTCer calls and we give each other a brief hug. That is the last I see of her! Then Bill runs along with me for a while. That's fun. He ventures I am probably running too fast (sub-9s; but not much sub, but you'll see that he was probably right, actually!). We chat a bit and then he moves on.
At this point I'm thinking, maybe this isn't quite as exciting as last year. But then I realize, I am having a good time. I am having a very good time. In fact, I feel great. Mile after mile slip by and my pace stays the same. I remember when Sharon and I were together last year at mile 7 and I felt lousy. But I don't feel lousy, now. I feel good. And, I am not slowing mile by mile. I am staying the same speed. Maybe today is my day!
This fantasy persisted through the half marathon point. One note. At Wellesley, the boys in the race love the attention they get from the women and I, as last year, float through that half-mile section with no pain. The noise in my ears just overwhelms any other sensation. Amazing. I head to the left of the road. It is empty, as all the action is with the throng of cheering students on the right. I pull up next to a women about my age and say, "Quite something, isn't it?" She replies, "When do we get to a wall of cheering men for us? Really, I don't care how old they are!"
The day is really perfect for running. It is not too cold, not too warm. It is heartwarming to hear the cheers for many individuals, especially the thanks called out to those running for the Dana Farber or Leukemia and Lymphoma teams. A man dressed in high hat and tails seems to be going at just my pace. I grab water and/or gartorade every mile or every other mile, rarely stopping, but slowing just long enough to have a good swallow. My strategy is to start eating a Powergel at mile 12 (which I do and swallow it down with water), then again at 14, pick up some refills at 17 (all went to plan). I start slowing a bit, though and walk to make sure I get the water down. I lose a minute and then 2, slowing my average race pace from a 9 to a 9:10, then to 9:20. But I still feel OK. At some point here, I distinctly hear my name and think it must really be someone calling out to me. But who? It's Fred Keller from the Falmouth track Club! That's a nice pick-me-up.
Then at mile 18.6 (30K), I expect to see some familiar faces, as the FTC is the volunteer unit here. Yes. There is Fred again! And then Carolyn; and, is it Mike? And of course, loudest and clearest of all, Doris Beatty. Due to a ski injury, she isn't in this with the rest of us this year, but she is certainly doing her part on the sideline! I still feel pretty good, although I know I've slowed down considerably. But, as someone told me at mile 16 of the Cape Cod Marathon, now is the time to maintain. Just maintain! "When the going gets tough, the tough get going!" And all that stuff.
On to the Newton Hills. Definitely maintenance time. My muscles are saying, "We might cramp!" My "gait" is reduced to a shuffle, but I keep moving forward. I got tricked this year, thinking I had reached the top of Heartbreak. When I looked around (as opposed to the road ahead of my feet) I expected to see the buildings of downtown Boston. All I saw, though, was a flat stretch around a bend, and then I saw another rise. Aha! Maybe that's why they call it Heartbreak Hill? It didn't really matter to me in the long run as my current pace slipped from 9:30 to well over 10:30 at this point. Up, down or on the flat. None of it mattered. I just shuffled along. In contrast, Bill and our friend Theresa from the VI, both had to walk stretches after they crested the final hill. When they could run, they kept up their 8:30 and 8 min paces, respectively. But, they couldn't always run, especially on downhill stretches, which is the majority of the final 5 miles. Sometimes they had to walk and, of course, that affected their finishing times.
Bill and I talk a lot about the different physiological limits to these endurance events. I have always had pretty good endurance, but I seem to go a certain pace for so long, and then shift to a steady but slower pace for the rest of the event. The really successful runner can maintain the same pace throughout. Then there are the people who need to walk part of the time. Their endurance seems to be OK, but their leg muscles say no. Very interesting.
As I pass by BC and past the mile 21 marker, I am definitely into maintenance mode. Mary Etta, Peggy, Susannah and John are with a big crowd around mile 23. I acknowledge them, but try not to waste an infinitesimal amount of energy doing so, figuring I might need it in the next half hour before the finish. Mary Etta's face turns from excitement to a look of concern, as she realizes I am "on the edge." I feel bad, as I think I am OK, just very focused to finish, but I can't explain all this just then. John runs along side offering a coke. I tell him to "Go away! But, thanks."
Oh. The Citgo sign [about a mile from the finish] looks a long way away. I think I better not look at it. Then I peek again. Closer. Much closer. My goal now is to not plow into the back of people ahead, who stop suddenly -- why, I am not certain. Onto Hereford and then the turn onto Boylston and the finishing stretch. There are still lots of people in my part of the pack (although I am definitely toward the back of the pack, but still in the pack as I finish in the 80th percentile of runners, i.e. 20% are to finish behind me today.)
Only 0.2 mi to go. Would you believe it, a woman stops dead in front of me! The distance between us closes rapidly (or so I perceive, although my brain is functioning so slowly, it can barely process this information). Now, this is an interesting case, because I have seen this woman for many, many miles. How can I pick her out of this immense crowd, you ask? She has been ahead of me. She has red shorts and a singlet with the words "Jesus Saves" on her back. Now, I must admit, I have a problem with people who proselytize (about religion, health, exercise, I'm not picky, I just don't like people suggesting to me how to live my life). So, when I first saw this sign, I was annoyed. As I was a long way from the finish, maybe 20 miles, I had lots of time to analyze this reaction. I concluded that it was really a waste of energy to be annoyed and what did I care anyway? So as I saw "Jesus Saves" again and again, I was quite mellow and thought, "Hmm, same pace as me." But, stopping in front of me 0.2 mi from the finish was the ultimate, beyond the beyond. I managed to avoid the collision, but was annoyed again. But then (as I was moving very slowly at this point, remember, and 0.2 mi translates into more than 2 min) I had time to regain my equilibrium before crossing the finish line. Was I upset? No. I was happy. Very happy, very appreciative of the contributions of many people to my quite excellent day!
The white clad crew were there again. All along the course, the volunteers were dressed in yellow, but this finishing crew has a more ominous and menacing appearance. They were looking for the frail among us. One approached me with a smile. "How are you doing?" she cheerfully asks. "I'm OK. Why? Don't I look OK?" I suspiciously reply. "Oh yes, " she says, "You look fine. Congratulations. A wonderful run!" "In that case," I wonder, "why are you asking me how I feel?" "Because you are walking as if your legs might suddenly cramp up and you'll keel over!" "Well, that may be so," I conclude, "but we are hoping that won't be the case, aren't we?" She laughs and moves on to the next patient. I hobbled on down the road: getting a juice (kindly opened by a volunteer); forcing down part of a protein bar; stopping to have my timing chip removed and my medal placed around my neck (almost succumb to cramps at this point!); getting wrapped and taped into a spaced blanket; finding the Garfield bus and my clothes bag (the very last bus in a long line). I ask a man with a camera to hold my bag, so I can put on my sweatshirt. (You see, if I had put my bag on the ground, I could not have bent down to pick it up). Four separate times during this half-hour finishing ritual, I saw empty wheelchairs, and thought of asking if I could rest a couple of minutes. Turns out, Bill had the same thoughts. But, both of us concluded, quite rightly that if we had sat down, it would have meant a one-way trip to the medical tent, and that would have been very inconvenient for subsequent partying.
Being the veteran that I was, I knew the right direction to find my hotel. To be sure, I asked a policewoman the specifics. She pointed out a building (the Prudential) and said, "It's on the other side of that." "A hell of a long way isn't it?" I quipped, and she laughed an affirmative. Then, after squeezing my way against the flow of the M-Z relative meeting place, I hooked up with my buddy from South Africa. When I found out that he was going to the same hotel, and that he knew the short cuts, and that he was a doctor (in case, I did suddenly keel over) I thought I was in heaven.
Bill was just getting in the tub as I returned to my room and our friends had just arrived at the lobby. So, after baths and a quick beer in the hotel room, we set out to our 2nd Annual Durgin Park celebration. Adventurers that we are, we took the T over to Government Center. Actually, except for sore quads (very sore quads) we felt good. Very, very good. Dinner was great (Bill and I inhaled our ribs and downed our Guinesses), as was the apple pie a la mode for dessert. A highlight of the evening for me was learning that Jamie (Susannah' s longtime boyfriend) had a direct genetic connection back to the Mayflower! Turns out that he is a Brewster. A less pretentious person, you could not hope to meet. He also has a direct connection to Lizzie Borden of axe fame, and that is even more interesting.
After parting ways with our friends on the T, we hit the sack at 2230, watching news of the race until 2300. Not much sleep for me, though, before the 0400 wake-up call. Bill was heading back to St. Croix later in the day, but I had to catch an 0610 flight to Miami to make a 1300 presentation (put together by Bill and me) about an endangered coral species at a NOAA Workshop. Several days of sitting at those meetings did nothing to heal my sore quads. In fact, on Thursday, a young grad student, having watched me struggle into and then out of chairs for two days, asked me how long my legs had hurt. "Since about 6 miles before the finish, since about 3 o'clock on Monday afternoon!"
A final sad note to this story. The ambulance I had heard near the finish was perhaps the one called for the young woman who died doing this 106th Boston Marathon. Apparently, according to the NY Times, she collapsed near the end (maybe due to dehydration), lost consciousness, was rushed to the hospital, but tragically never recovered. The Boston Marathon web page said that her family wanted the world to know that the 28 year old had just finished her Ph.D. in psychology. She was running as part of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (Massachusetts) training group. Ironically, her dissertation focused on the role of marathon preparation in dealing with grief. She had told her parents, the morning of the marathon, that she was very excited, because this was a special time in a person's life, her life, when everything comes together. The BAA website account concludes:
In further testament to Cynthia’s compassion and commitment to life,
her family wishes everyone to know that her organs are being donated, a
life-giving and lasting contribution by Cynthia to others.
