My Boston Marathon 2007!

When last we left her, our heroine was struggling with a broken head and extreme sleep deprivation. I soon realized that, Jeanne, you could do this kind of hair-brained no-sleep thing when you were 20, but not so much at 50!!

On Marathon Monday (4/16) I was up early, feeling hungover, chomping at the bit, ready to GO GO GO!!! I wanted plans, maps, cameras. What to wear? When to leave? Synchronize your watches people! I was so determined not to miss Dianna and jeff! Or Michelle, who was orchestrating the whole support train, along with April Anne.

I think I finally drove R. to distraction asking her advice about weather, when we should leave, wasn't it time to leave yet, etc. You'd have thought (or maybe you ARE thinking) that I was running this thing. As if! I decided it was easier just to wear everything I owned. (At 7:30 a.m., in Boston proper where I was located, the wind was howling and the rain pelting.) Unfortunately, at the very same time I was reporting "apocalyptic" weather conditions to Runner Susan, jeff was phoning in with the news that the weather looked great! Low winds, slightly misty ... conditions=perfect! (Next time let's get our story straight people!)

We made it to the first checkpoint, Checkpoint Happy Swallow Tavern (or something like that) in Framingham, mile 7, at 10:30 and hung around waiting.

Mistake one: As the first press truck passed by, I assumed it was tracking the the elite men, and that I had missed seeing them by mere seconds.

Mistake two: As the second press truck passed by, I glanced up and saw that THOSE WERE THE ELITE MEN. The first truck was following the wheelchair leaders. So I missed THAT photo, too. Sigh.

But I did manage to get myself together enough to get a shot of some of the women's leaders:

(If you're interested: #7: Russian Lyubov Denisova—finishing in 7th place for women overall, in 2:38:00
#50: Californian Mary A. Akor—finishing in 11th place for women overall in 2:41:01
#61 Californian Christine H. Lundy—finishing in 12th place for women overall, in 2:41:14.)

We finally caught up with Michele and entourage: Di's parents, husband, Michele and her husband, and called each other (on cell phones) from across the street. We dashed back and forth a few times trying not to bump into runners, and the tension mounted!

(I also want to give a shout-out here to SteveRunner of Phedippidations, who did a great job, and who I was also hoping to see! And my Spinning Instructor! But, I missed them both. Story of my life.)

Finally, Jason spotted them, and trusty R. got the money photo! Several of them! We didn't know it at the time, but those were the only photos we'd get of them running.

Three cars raced to mile 13 (OK, it's entirely possible that we stopped at Dunkin' Donuts on the way, but only for a minute!). Alas, somehow they were too fast for us and we missed them.

It was on to the finish! Michelle and entourage hung at mile 25ish, and R. and I hung right past the finish, but as usual, I managed to watch both Dianna and jeff pass right by me (in my defense, it was a little crowded).

(Just past the finish, where I missed seeing Dianna and jeff.)

(Some random finishers.)

We assembled at the assigned meeting place, and anxiously awaited the arrival of the rockstars:

(Thank God for cell phones! Michelle's husband, Michelle coordinating, April Anne, and R.).

(The delightful April Anne and Michelle)

(Does this look like a woman who just ran a marathon? In 3:22??)

(The team, and since I took these photos, of course, I missed Jason. Sigh.)

And that my friends, concludes this year's edition of my Boston Marathon Epic Spectator Report. Thanks for letting me ride on your coattails for three posts, Dianna and jeff!

How I Made It to Boston, Part 47

The train finally dumped me and my concussed head off at South Street Station, Boston, where my dear friend R. was waiting. It was raining. No, strike that. It was monsooning, only without the nice warm part. It was cold. It was just like the Boston I remembered from my wasted youth—gray and miserable from September through May. God, I love it.

R. had to work, so I asked if I could go with her. She is an accomplished photographer for the Boston Herald. We both started out at Boston University's School of Communication in 19blahdeblah. She stuck it out, and I bailed to get a degree in possibly the most useless field on earth: rehabilitation counseling. (Trust me: there were no jobs for a 22-year-old with a B.S. in that obscure field.) But, no regrets, right? The time was not right for me and wouldn't be right until 22 years later when I finally got my M.A. in journalism.

Live and learn.

In all those years, I had never seen R. in action. She's photographed just about everone you've ever heard of—politicians, musicians, authors, sports stars—and superstars, and just plain regular people. Crises and kids splashing puddles. South Africa. You name it, she's photographed it.

Today (that would be last Sunday, 4/15, try to keep up), she was assigned to photograph a ceremony at Faneuil Hall commemorating Holocaust Rememberance Day. It was a moving ceremony; I had a place to sit and listen to survivors of the death camps, and their children, share their stories, as I watched R. deftly take photos without disturbing the ceremony. It's not so easy.

After that we scuttled back to the Herald's offices, and I got to sit in what used to be the "darkroom" and watch R. do her thing. Some other photographers were there and we all had a merry old time talking about changes in the news biz, the unions, being sarcastic and making fun of things. My kind of peeps!

It's funny how the darkroom has been totally transformed. I remember when there was a circular door to go through so that you didn't let in any light. Now the room is well lit, and littered with desktops and laptops and all kinds of electronic paraphenalia.

Wait, I'm losing the thread ... where was I?

Right. Marathon.

After that, we hightailed it back to R.'s place for a lovely dinner, and somehow I believe I kept up my part of the conversation, which mostly consisted of me asking what the symptoms of a concussion were, my head drooping towards the table and drool running out of my mouth. I make a fun houseguest.

We were all in bed (no, not together!) by 10 p.m., while outside the wind whipped furiously—nay, some would say EPIC-ly! Alarms wer set for a 7:30 a.m. wakeup to get a jumpstart on the Big Day.

(R. and friend)

Part Next: The Big Day.

UPDATED: Of course, I forgot to include a link to the best photo of all! Blame the concussion.

How I Made It to Boston, Part One

After waiting until the very last second to decide to go watch history being made, thereby ensuring that I missed every single decent airfare, I managed to find a decent train fare by leaving at the arse-crack of dawn Sunday morning and returning at a similarly ungodly hour Tuesday morning. It's about a 7 1/2 hour train ride, when you take the local (Motto: "We stop every 15 minutes!") from Washington, D.C. to Boston. For good measure, I made sure to drive to and from Philly (six hours, roundtrip) on Saturday, to see Number One Daughter be inducted into an honor society (making me a very proud mother!) returning Saturday night around midnight.

To recap:

Saturday: drive to philly, eat very sad vegetarian dinner at catered induction ceremony, cry when daughter gets inducted, drive back to D.C., arrive home at midnight.

Sunday: Wake up at 4 a.m., drive to Union Station, for 5:20 a.m. train to Boston.

We good?

Right.

I was a wee bit tired. So I asked a friendly and helpful Amtrak employee where the "quiet" car was—that would be the car without the endless clang of cell phones and witless conversation that goes with them. He replied, "Did you pay for a quiet car? No? No quiet car on this train!"

Apparently it costs more money to NOT HAVE NOISE. Tell me, please, how is noise less expensive than not noise? If I had had my wits about me, I would have asked him that very question. Alas, I did not have my wits about me, and I was very soon to lose the few wits I had left. But! Amtrak employee said the very last car was sometimes quiet-er.

Just let me sleep. Please.

There was a woman with a kid sitting in the first, spacious row and I asked her if she was planning on using a cell phone because I needed to sleep. She said, "How should I know? I'm not making you any promises." People! Ya can't live with 'em... etc. I trudge to back of car.

Sleep, just let me get back to sleep.

Sleep was elusive. But! I had cleverly stashed some Tylenol P.M. for the journey.


The stuff works like a charm. Usually. I took two. Without water. Something I don't really recommend, since I now had two pills stuck in my throat. I thought I would die or throw up. But! Friendly helpful Amtrak employee was coming my way!! Yay! I asked, "Does this car have a water fountain?" He said, "Yes, there's a water fountain in every single car. But, you don't want to drink the water on this train. It's poison. It will kill you." (I am so not making this up.)

So, I waited until he left the car and then went forward to the water fountain and drank the poisonous water. Amtrak employee saw me from the next car and came back to warn me again.

It's against this backdrop that the first "incident" occurred. I wobbled my way back to my seat and—you know how above the seats is a rack for your luggage? Yeah? Well, in my semi-alive state I smacked the side of my head into that mother like I was tackling it. I think little musical notes circled around my head like they do when Bugs Bunny bumps into something.

To recap:

1. I have pills stuck in my throat.

2. I have swilled poisonous water.

3. I have hit my head like a linebacker going in for the kill.

I curl my 5'9" body on the two seats where it does not fit, plug in the Nano, and listen to Yoga Nidra, my guaranteed sleep potion.

Which, after listening to it several thousand times, I concede is not working.

At some point I stumbled forward to use the facilities.

And, on the way back, I had to move aside to let the conductor through. As I stepped into a spare seat, what did I forget?

Luggage rack. Located approximately 5'7" from the floor.

This time, I smacked my head against that thing so hard my teeth shook. In the exact same spot as the first time.

I spent the rest of the journey wondering what a concussion feels like. In fact, here I sit, four days later, and I'm still convinced I have loosened a blood clot, and will probably have a stroke in bed tonight.

It's been nice knowing you!

Coming up ... part two, wherein your heroine gets cold!

(Davie the Clown, one of my gracious Boston hosts.)