From January 1st when Nashville had two weeks of sub-zero or single digit temps(very cold for us!),tons of cold rain and wind through February and March, and several days of snow, I had trained outside. I think I chose the treadmill one time in four months. I know the chances of perfect weather on race day are small (and treadmills feel like torture) so I never thought twice about going out in all conditions. I thought I was ready for Boston. In fact, I know I was ready for Boston. The course truly didn’t intimidate me because I’d practiced so many fast downhill miles, and the uphills in Nashville are truly worse than Heartbreak or any of the Newton hills. I don’t believe I was overly confident, I just felt well prepared thanks to my coach and the training plan he’d designed.
Race morning: I checked the weather app and it was warmer so I started getting ready, feeling positive and hopeful. Saying a silent prayer that the forecast I’d seen on tv the night before(literally said: “Will this be the worst Boston on record?”) would miraculously change as the morning went on. “Anything is possible” was my attitude. My body felt good, I’d actually slept better than the night before, my legs felt great...the excitement was getting real and I felt so ready to run! When we went down to meet the buses I looked outside and quickly looked away. Sheets of rain were blowing people up and down the street. My friend Jennifer was there and I focused on talking to her and staying excited. I had my throw away jacket on and just thought “Well I may be wearing this longer than planned” On the bus I didn’t let myself look outside much, not wanting to see the weather or how long 26.2 miles actually is. The closer we got to Hopkinton, the more the rain let up a little....but there was snow on the ground. I literally laughed out loud. “What kind of crazy are we all?” Bless Jennifer’s sweet heart for giving me the extra trash bag she had with her. I had so naively thought I’d be ok when I couldn’t find one in the room and failed to buy a poncho. I got off the bus soon after we got there(I was on a private bus that arrived later, not the regular ones) to get up to Athlete’s Village in time. I had no idea what to expect there with this being my first Boston. Well Athlete’s Village had become Athlete’s mud pit. Still smiling at the insanity of it all I knew I needed to get to a porta potty line first thing. Huddled under the trash bag, carefully keeping my race shoes and socks dry, I tried to carefully step down the little bank toward the field. Before I could process what happened, both feet flew up in the air and I slid down on my butt and back. Bouncing back up, I laughed harder and thought “Great way to start Boston with a concussion Krystal.” I’d hit my head and could see a little blood on my calf, but couldn’t feel much because I was suddenly soaked and starting to get pretty cold already. Shaking it off I got in line and looked around. It was like a village of homeless people in line for bathrooms. People were wearing pajamas and full on onesies under trash bags. I saw everything from Walmart bags to empty bread bags tied around people’s feet. “What in the actual heck are we doing?” There was no where for me to do a “warm up mile” like I always do but I thought maybe in the corral or on the way to them I could jog a little and be ok. I did some high knees and slogging in place to get my legs moving a little. I couldn’t feel my feet but thought it would get better when I changed shoes. Finally it was time for my wave to walk to the start. I was smiling and still trying to stay positive as my teeth began chattering and the cold really sank in. I kept thinking “I’ll warm up when we start running, I just need to get moving.” We got to our corral and I changed my shoes and socks, shaking as I tried to tie them as tightly as possible with already frozen fingers. I put my headband on over my hat and ears, thankful I’d brought it and prepared to throw it away when I got warm. (🤣) The rain had let up again and the wind was not as fierce at the start so at the very last minute I took my jacket off and threw it to the side. Oh how I look back and wish I hadn’t done that, even though I’m not sure it would have helped. I could not feel my feet at all, but my upper body was ok for the moment. The gun goes off and we start shuffling forward, turning my watch on as I crossed the starting mat and mentally prepared to just “run the mile you’re in” ....my mantra for every tough run I’d done in training. With the downhill start and thousands of people crowded onto a two lane road, the first half mile was spent trying not to trip someone else or fall on the throw away clothes and bags slewn everywhere. Someone stepped on my ankle and I had to double step to keep from falling as someone else surged in front of me and elbowed me straight in the chest without turning or apologizing. “Well, that’s a first. Just keep going.” I didn’t look at my pace yet and just tried to find somewhere to run, weaving back and forth down the hill.
I won’t go through every mile because I can’t remember them all anyway, but the first half was mostly still telling myself I’d get warm soon and to just stay focused. I wasn’t stressing about pace, and the miles kept clicking off at or around where I wanted to be which kind of amazed me. I kept thinking, “Just stay as relaxed as possible and hold on for as long as you can.” My legs felt good besides the blocks of ice that were my feet, but my upper body felt extremely stiff with cold as the wind and rain picked up and blasted us over and over. I focused on people in front of me who looked strong and tried to draft off of them as much as possible. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this cold in my life.” kept going through my head, but I tried to keep it as an observation and then move on, not letting it become a negative thought. I tried smiling as much as possible, but my face had started to freeze and I was sure it looked more like a grimace or a crazy clown face than a smile. The crowds were thinner than I’d imagined, but I couldn’t blame them, and was so thankful anyone was out there at all. I tried to high five as many people, especially kids, as possible when I was on the side. Kids cheering at a marathon are just the best. I kept looking around thinking, "I can’t believe we are all doing this", and reminding myself that I wasn’t alone in the misery. I so badly wanted to enjoy running Boston and was sad that I was struggling to. When the wind and rain let up for a few minutes at a time, I’d smile again and remind myself that I was running the most famous marathon in the world. That it was a privilege and honor to be here and that I’d worked so damn hard for it. A few minutes later the heavens would reopen and it felt like someone was holding a hose in front of a giant fan, spraying us directly in the face. I tried to tuck in behind someone again, as if there was a way to get away from it. I didn’t know wether to laugh, cry or scream in those moments. I focused on getting to each 5k timing mat, thinking of everyone who was tracking me and imagining their cheers in my mind. As badly as I wanted this to be over, I knew I wasn’t going to give up. “You have never quit and you’re not going to now Krystal.” I wasn’t thinking about my finishing time, I was just thinking about finishing period.
After I took my first gel at Mile 11(what I could squeeze out)my stomach and intestines started revolting. I won’t share the details, but I have an intestinal condition that can cause utter misery when it happens...and it was happening. My worst nightmare during a race. I didn’t have to go to the bathroom, and stopping wouldn’t have helped so all I could do was try to breath and pray it would stop. I started to hyperventilate from the pain and what was happening, trying not to cry, and taking as deep breaths as possible to calm myself down. Somehow I was still running on pace. I came through the half at 1:33(I was shooting for 1:32-1:34) and couldn’t believe I was still in the game. I was finally able to calm my body down a little and refocus. The hills were coming up and I almost looked forward to tackling a different challenge and hoping they would help me warm up with the effort. (It’s almost laughable how long I kept telling myself I was going to warm up, but at the same time probably the reason I could keep going) My elbows and shoulders were aching from being so stiff in the cold and I tried to shake them out, which was comical I’m sure. Up the hills I focused on the strong girls in front of me. One in particular was so encouraging. I’d pass her on the declines and try to stay glued to her heels as she powered up the inclines. Every time we were next to eachother or passing we’d say “Good job” or “Keep going” or “You look really strong” At least I hope she could understand me when I tried to say those things in return. My mouth and face were just not working right. She was saying it to others on the course and it reminded me to do the same. Focusing on giving someone else a boost, even with a simple smile, has helped me so many times. I came up behind someone I could tell was seriously struggling. She was shaking, crying and literally drooling from her mouth. I felt so awful and said “Come on girl, keep going.” She said she was a minute and a half slower than her normal pace and didn’t think she could do this. I put my hand on her shoulder, told her not to give up, don’t worry about pace, just keep going. I didn’t know what to do but keep running and pray she would be able to keep going or stop for help at a med tent. I feel a little haunted that I didn’t stop, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to start again myself if I did. I was passing people with prosthetics, blind runners, and people in wheelchairs. Seeing them press forward just left me in awe and helped me muster the ability to dig a little deeper. The strength of the human spirit you see on a marathon course is so completely humbling and awe inspiring, but never more so than on Monday. As miserable as I was, I couldn’t imagine what they were going through. I prayed they would all finish. I teared up at the pain we were all pushing through together.
The miles all mesh together in my mind, but another part of the course that gave me life was Wellesley college. I could hear the girls screaming a quarter mile away and it felt like a burst of energy straight to my legs. I ran right along the edge and slapped every single hand I could(or let them slap mine as I held it out). They weren’t just screaming to scream. They were literally screaming FOR me as I looked in their eyes and smiled as hard as I could. Blessing their unbelievable hearts for being out there in that mess in full force. I also strongly considered asking one of them for the incredibly warm looking jackets they had on. I want to go back to Boston, just for that scream tunnel again.
Around mile 17 things begin to really blur. I knew my pace was slowing into the 7:20s and 7:30s with the hills and the never ending rain, wind and cold. I couldn’t even think about that besides hoping maybe I could still pull off a tiny PR if I kept it steady. The pain in my legs started to kick in on the downhills. As someone else described it once, it was similar to what I imagine it would feel like having butter knives stabbed into your legs. My calves and IT bands felt it the worst. I wasn’t hitting the wall, I wasn’t running out of energy, and I wasn’t going to a negative place mentally. I can only describe it as systems shutting down, and it was beyond my control. Like someone was turning off the knobs on a control board connected to my brain and body.
After mile 21 or 22 my legs were done, completely frozen and cramped with the cold. My mind couldn’t form a rational thought. It wasn’t negative, it wasn’t positive, it was just a delirious fog. I kept looking down and thinking “I can’t believe they are still moving. Your legs are still moving Krystal. You’re still in this race. Just don’t trip. You can’t fall on your face on Boylston.” My knees kept starting to buckle in the last two miles and I was terrified I was going to face plant. I looked for Skyler when I saw the Citgo sign but felt like I would fall if I didn't keep looking forward. I could hardly keep my eyes open enough to see the crowds or the finish line, but I knew it was there. I could hear people cheering, but almost like it was a dream. This wasn’t the finish I’d imagined or dreamed about. All I could think about was being able to stop. Just to get to where I could stop. Wondering if I’d be able to find the control button for stopping since it felt like I was on auto pilot. Finally, I knew I was crossing the finish line enough to raise my arms. Victory? Surrender? I didn’t know. Just so happy to be done. But if I thought I’d been cold for the last 3 hours, it was suddenly worse. I couldn’t feel my body. I was dizzy and was just trying to move forward. “Where are the blankets. I need to get warm, I just need to get warm.” I happened to be finishing at the same time as a man from Nashville who I knew. He was so excited for me and all I could do was cry and shake and try to keep moving. I wanted to get to Skyler. Finally, the volunteers hung a medal around my neck and helped me into the weird space blankets. But nothing was warming me up. My teeth started clashing together harder and my entire body was shaking violently. My legs felt like frozen blocks of ice, so cold the marathon pain hadn’t really sunk in yet. I kept walking towards the family meeting area, hoping Skyler would be there. I saw the med tent on my left and kind of veered towards it. “I’m being dramatic” I thought, “I’ll be ok if I can just get warm.” But I got close to the door and someone grabbed me and sat me in a wheelchair. “I’m so cold” was all I could get out. They took me inside and basically helped me fall onto a cot. The shaking was worse now, even though I was trying so hard to control it. I couldn’t speak or think. Feeling so out of control in your own body is such a weird kind of terrifying. They piled warm blankets on me, and kept looking at me with faces of concern. I wondered if I looked as crazy as I felt. I managed to get out my phone and tell them my bib number. I tried calling Skyler and could only get out “Med tent B” trying to tell him I needed the dry clothes he had for me. Someone handed me a hot cup of broth and it was pure heaven as I sipped what I could while sloshing it all over. Finally the doctor(he looked like a teenager) managed to call Skyler and somehow he got the message to bring my clothes. Everyone was so nice and I felt terrible for taking up a cot, but looking around I saw everyone else in the same shape as I was. When my clothes came they held up blankets so I could strip off my wet top and put on my dry clothes. My body was finally starting to calm down a little after about 25 minutes, and I just wanted to get out of there and see familiar faces. Back out in the rain and the cold I hobbled my way towards the crowds and finally saw Skyler, Rachel & Chris. It felt like the end of a very long bad dream. We had planned to celebrate in Boston after, but at that point just wanted to get out of the crowds and cold so we headed to Maine right away. I got into a hot shower around 6pm, and for the first time since that morning I finally started to feel my toes.
In the days after, especially with every picture and video I see, all I can think is, “I cannot believe we ran in that. I cannot believe I finished.” There were so many moments of torrential, freezing rain and crazy headwind. Seeing it from the outside, it really was as bad as it felt. Come to find out.... all the symptoms I was experiencing in the last 4-5 miles are classic for hypothermia, and over 2,000 runners were treated for the same that day.
Realizing I was 22 seconds away from a PR is also a very mixed bag for me. After working so hard to get back from injury and knowing I was stronger than I’d ever been before, it is incredibly disappointing to not reach that number on the clock. If the weather had been even somewhat decent, I have no doubt I was ready to reach my goal of sub 3:10. I’ve wrestled with feeling like my body failed me by shutting down so hard at the end. My last mile was my slowest(something that has never happened before) even though I felt like I was running as hard as I could towards the finish. At the same time I am so incredibly proud of how long my body hung on in those conditions. I've wondered if there was anything I could have done differently or what I could have worn. Even wishing I had been able to focus on running tangents better because my watch said I ran 26.5 in 3:14:14, so technically I ran 26.2 in 3:11:47...a 2:07 minute PR. I know the numbers only matter to me. I’m not a professional athlete who has anything besides my pride hanging on my times. But if you’re a runner I think you understand. And I think it’s ok to be disappointed, frustrated, proud and accomplished all at the same time.
At the end of the day....I will look back on Monday and my first Boston Marathon as the day I did not give up. My heart never gave up, and my mind didn’t give in. My body just reacted to the wet cold in a way it never had before. It was the day I didn’t back down in the worst conditions I’ve ever run in for that length of time. The day I proved to myself that I’m stronger than I ever believed before. And the day I got to witness more guts and courage in a single day than possibly ever before. It was a marathon, not a war, but every person on that course faced a huge battle that day(internally and externally),and every single one is a victor in my eyes. I have no doubt that experience will give each of us the strength we need for so many hard moments, in running and in life, for years to come.
The night before Boston I reread part of Kathrine Switzer’s book Marathon Woman about the first time she ran the race. She was describing how nervous she felt about how unpredictable running a marathon is. She finally boiled down her core fear to being afraid that she wouldn’t have the courage she needed when the marathon got hard...because it always gets hard. "Would I have the courage to keep running if it really hurt, if it got harder than I was used to, if Heartbreak Hill broke me? Yep, that was it, I was worried about maybe not having the courage if it got awful." I started crying as I read because that is exactly what I have been afraid of as well. It’s hard for me to see myself as particularly talented or gifted in any area, but I have always felt confident in saying that I don’t quit when things get hard. I like to think I’m tough and full of grit in any situation...but there is always that little voice in my mind saying “What if you’re not this time? What if you’re too weak for this?” Maybe that is why I’ve fallen in love with the marathon...because it gives me the chance to prove that voice wrong over and over again. On Monday, every single step towards Boston was hard, and it took a measure of courage and strength that I’d never tapped into before. Looking back now, even if I had stopped I don’t think I could call myself a failure. I certainly don’t think that about anyone else who was unable to finish. Just showing up to the starting line takes courage, and as many steps as people were able to take after that took incredible strength. I believe it’s impossible to train for and run a marathon without it changing your life in some way, and I’ve learned different things about myself in every race I’ve done. Boston may not have been the race I’d dreamed about, but maybe it was just the race I needed to discover the courage and strength that really is inside me. I had the honor of meeting Kathrine on Sunday and she signed my book and bib with "Krystal! Be Fearless!" I will hold onto that forever and I can now say without a doubt.... I ran fearless on Marathon Monday.
