My passion, obsession, and long-held wish was to run in the Boston Marathon, as it was, and is, for many recreational and elite runners. Because so many runners have had that same goal, it became necessary to limit the participants to a manageable number; therefore, that race required an age-group qualifying time from another approved marathon, a so-called Boston qualifier, in a designated period in the preceding year in order to register to run.
Before 2012, a qualifying time in your age bracket guaranteed you a place in the field of runners striking off in Hopkinton for Copley Square in Boston. Since 2012, there has been no guarantee; because of so many runners qualifying, a rolling admission was put in place, and the faster qualifiers make it in first until the field is full.
The Maine Marathon, which is held in Portland in early October, is a Boston qualifier, and I ran that race several times, always with the thought of finishing fast enough to meet the standard for my age group, and be eligible to line up in Hopkinton. In 1999 I was there at the start in Portland, two months over 52 years old, had put in the work, and was ready to run a qualifying time for the 50-54 age bracket. Unfortunately I had run my last long training run too fast, had caught a cold which lingered too long, and I “crashed and burned” at mile 19.
I covered the last seven miles or so in the back of a National Guard truck, which was on duty to pick-up the runners that, for whatever reason, couldn’t finish the race, a humbling experience, for sure. We were taken to the first-aid tent to be checked out, then I went to the finish line area, where my family/support team were still looking for me to run by. They were quite surprised when I came walking over from a different direction!
As disappointed as I was, I learned from it. The next year, 2000, I used that race, and all the things I had learned from mistakes I had made in the past five years, to try again at Portland to qualify for Boston. I trained hard, and got neither sick nor injured during my training build-up.
The day of the race arrived, Sunday, October 1, 2000, and it was a classic New England fall day, with clear skies, dry air, and gentle breezes. Temperatures started out in the mid-forties, and warmed into the sixties; in short, it was exactly what any runner would want for race-day weather. I was (relatively) cool, calm, and collected, and also confident that I had arrived there with my best chance yet to run a Boston Qualifier. Before we lined up behind the start line, those of us with a Bethel area connection chatted and posed for a “team” photo.
A short time later, we were off and running. I had decided, from having success in my training runs, to drink Gatorade instead of water (you were offered a choice by race volunteers) at aid stations every two miles along the way. I slowed to a brisk walk and stepped to the side to drink it, as well as get out of the way of runners less inclined to break their pace. I got more of it in me than on me by doing that, plus it gave my mind and muscles a moment to regroup. I’m certain that it helped. Another thing that helped was trying to resist going “out” too fast. I tried and succeeded in running a slightly negative split race, that is, running the first half slower than the second half of the race.
Anything less than three hours, thirty-one minutes (three hours, thirty plus a fifty-nine second “grace” window) was the qualifying time I needed. In order to achieve that, I needed to run the race at eight minutes per mile pace. Most of a marathon is run at or below one’s aerobic threshhold. Simply put, that means maintaining a pace that is in a “Goldilocks zone” for running, one that is a hard but sustainable effort that doesn’t put the runner into oxygen debt, or anaerobic running. Both types of running are needed in training, however, to lower one’s aerobic threshhold.
As I made my way from Baxter Boulevard to Yarmouth and back, I was able to maintain my pace at my aerobic threshhold of eight minutes per mile for the entire distance. It was a special day and a great memory. Yes, I qualified for Boston, but I will pick up that story in a future writing. It was a good test of my strength and endurance, both of which I would need in the upcoming years.
I can draw parallels between running a marathon and navigating the track of one’s own life. You start out with baby steps, become stronger but perhaps a bit incautious, and acquire more patience and resilience as you learn from mistakes made; success comes from a steady pace and the willingness and fortitude to put in the work and keep your eye on the prize. Having family and friends that support you throughout your journey both lightens the load and increases the reward.
I would like to thank everyone by name who mentored and encouraged me in my running life, but I wouldn’t want to leave someone off that long list. There are a few that deserve special mention: Frank Vogt, of course, my high school coach, and someone who always wanted to know how I was doing, in general, and about my running progress; Brad Clarke, who ran time trials with me on a Gould Academy trail; Greg Wight, my brother-in-law, who ran a few Vermont races with me, and put up with me “holding forth” when we ran together at other times; Dick Taylor, longtime Gould teacher and coach, and my go-to training guru; and Levi Brown, who got up early to put out water bottles on our long runs so we wouldn’t have to carry water, and who also put up with my motormouth!
There is one person I need to thank most of all for any achievements, personal satisfaction, or other benefits my running provided for me, and that is my wife, Amy. The type of running, the rigorous training schedules, and the race day travel and activities took a big chunk of time and energy from that chapter in our lives. She accepted that I had to scratch that itch, and indulged and supported me in so many ways. I feel very lucky and extremely grateful to always have her in my corner.