Race Recap: Miriam Beyer at the Boston Marathon 2021
For the first time ever, I felt exquisitely prepared. I hadn’t missed a workout or long run. I’d hit my targets in workouts, becoming increasingly comfortable at goal marathon pace. Thanks to continued masking and distancing, I hadn’t had so much as a sniffle in 18 months, even while going to work at an elementary school. Two nights before the race, I ate a giant plate of pasta and slept for nine and half hours, cocooned at my mother-in-law’s house. The day before the race, I stayed off my feet and watched an exciting Red Sox win from a hotel near the Common. It was a luxurious 5:30 am wake-up for the 2021 Boston Marathon, and I boarded the T to gear check with optimism. The lightest drizzle fell as we waited to board buses to Hopkinton, but it was so soft it barely made it through the trees.
There was a rolling start this year due to Covid protocols, which meant getting off the bus, walking three-quarters of a mile to the start line, and kicking off your marathon when you wanted. This was both amazing—no two-hour outdoor wait at the high school—and agonizing, because it meant making decisions. Am I ready? Should I pee one last time? How about this right shoe, should I re-tie it again, my go-to pre-race obsession? Normally, the corral closing, and the loudspeaker blaring, and the bathroom lines … they make these decisions for you. But this year I had free rein and it was both wonderful and terrifying. I finally realized I was using up valuable energy in stress and I decided to just go. Just start! I discarded my mask and thanked the closest volunteer. It was a very pleasant and civilized way to begin a marathon, no jostling or corral agony. Runners floated across the line and down the first hill as if we were heading to sea. Butterfly-esque.
I felt strange for the first five miles, and I told myself it was nerves; it had been two years since I’d really raced. My quads were bracing a little, and I felt occasionally like I was skipping a step. I threw blame to the downhills and tried to relax and settle in, and around mile six or seven I finally did. My pace was slipping a bit off the goal 7:35 but I wasn’t bothered, and they were really quite lovely miles through to the half. The other nice aspect of the rolling start was it meant running with people at all paces and I liked the variety. It kept things interesting and kept me focused, picking out people to stick with or chase. A group of enterprising parents had stationed about a dozen mini trampolines along the course at one point, and their children were jumping and cheering, such a great idea. Very uplifting!
As the Newton Hills neared I started to feel hot, and off. It was in the upper 60s, not terrible, and the sun had been mostly behind clouds, but there was a seeping mugginess in the air and it was messing with me. On very hot days during training, my left ear had a habit of closing up in the final miles, an imbalance of hydration and sodium. I would eat a finger-pad of salt as soon as I got home and the problem would be instantly solved. When my ear closed around mile 16 in the marathon, however, I felt worried. I wiped the back of my neck and tried to transfer salt from my skin to my mouth (disgusting, I know), but it wasn’t working. Neither was Gatorade, which I hate but knew I had to try. I stopped in the next med tent and asked for salt but she said they had none. I was furious at myself for not being prepared but I had to accept that this discomfort would likely be with me until the finish. When I was very young my parents went to a Halloween party dressed as Vincent van Gogh and a sunflower, and my father put a gigantic Band-Aid on his head because van Gogh had famously cut off his ear. I remembered a photo of them in costume as I started to unravel on the hills. I wanted to cut off my ear.
I was quite far off my pace when Heartbreak Hill giggled and presented itself but my goal had become to keep running and to finish. Someone had a sign that read: When your legs are tired, run with your heart. It was what I needed and I reminded myself that my race was by no means lost even though it wasn’t exactly what I wanted. My husband and I invested in a nice vacuum several years ago, and when one accessory part broke I wanted to put the whole thing on the curb, just be completely rid of it because it was no longer perfect. He convinced me otherwise and teases me often about it. “Remember when you wanted to throw away the totally working vacuum?” I collected myself on Heartbreak and decided this race did not need to go to the curb. My husband screamed my name on the overpass near mile 25 and I said, “Hi!” as if running into him at the grocery store. I was pretty out of it and he told me later I looked it.
At the end of a marathon I will often feel a large sob roll up, gratitude for the experience and a culmination of the wild emotions along the course. I crossed the finish in 3:29 and looked at the Boston blue sky and felt the sob come. I paused to appreciate that this was a hard-won finish for me, sometimes they are. The self-wrestling of the final miles was unlike any other marathon for me, sometimes it is. With that acknowledged and the sob tamped, my attention went like a rapt dog: Potato chips, in the food bag. Salt, glorious salt. My ear returned to normal and I laughed a little. So prepared, and so unprepared. My husband found me on the Common grass and we walked slowly to our hotel, enjoying the city and the return of Marathon Monday. The Red Sox won again that night to advance.
I took Amtrak home the next afternoon and as the train neared New York, that sweeping curve when the city comes fully into view, the conductor came on and said he had an important announcement. I panicked, assuming the worst like a good New Yorker. “Ladies and gentlemen, please look out the window at the sunset, because it’s absolutely gorgeous.” We train occupants pitched to the right and he was correct, the sky was all kinds of beauty and tangerine. We trundled on to the station and I put on my sweater and collected my bags, so I would be ready.
