Around mile 23, I started to hit “the wall.” Each step felt like it required ten times the normal amount of effort, and I felt all my muscles ache with each strike of the ground. I actually remember feeling angry and wondering why I was running the race in the first place. My brother was so good at reminding me that this race was possible and that we were going to make it to the end. I was in so much pain, so my brother’s encouragement made a huge difference.

​Without a doubt, the final .2 miles of the race was the most agonizing, challenging part. I remember passing the 26th mile marker and thinking, “Wow! I’m done! We are at the finish line!” But the reality is that .2 miles is still .2 miles. It also didn’t help that there were still a few turns after mile 26, so I couldn’t even see the finish line until a minute or so after passing the final mile marker. When I eventually did see that finish line, though, I ran with everything I had.

“From Lakeville, Minnesota, we have Jordan and Spencer Castillo, about to finish their first Grandma’s Marathon!” The announcer was cheering us on, along with the hundreds of fans lining each side of the road. Those last few seconds of the race seemed to last an eternity, and I couldn’t believe that I was actually about to be done running those 26.2 miles. With a time of just under five hours, my brother and I crossed the finish line. My dad and brother were right there, and we grabbed each other with a sweaty, beautiful embrace. I felt a sudden rush of accomplishment, relief, pride, and overwhelming joy like I’d never felt before. At the age of 16, I had just finished my first marathon.

Runners are widely known for their questionable idea of fun. For example, running 6 miles up an old logging road in the winter, looping around for an even 13.1, and possibly even doing the whole thing again might seem crazy to some. But with a creative race director, such an event lured 2,000+ runners up to Millinocket, Maine in December!

2019 marked the 5th running of the Millinocket Marathon and Half, the brainchild of Gary Allen, who also directs the Mount Desert Island Marathon and the Down East Sunrise Trail Relay. The race philosophy is simple: “Don’t run Millinocket for what you get; run Millinocket for what you give.” There is no entry fee; instead runners are expected to somehow contribute to the local economy, such as by staying at a local motel, shopping at the artisan fair, and/or eating at the spaghetti supper or pancake breakfast.

My first trip to Maine’s Biggest Small Town was back in 2017, when I was bold enough to register for the full marathon. I attribute this error in judgment to not really grasping the significance of the elevation profile up the Golden Road, which didn’t look like much on paper. Despite the balmy temperature (30 degrees) and clear roads, I quickly learned to respect the course and was relieved to finish both loops before the season’s first snowstorm arrived. Club members Pat and Tracey Cote both ran strong races that day, with Tracey even setting an age-group record that still stands.

With the 41st January Thaw on January 19th postponed due to an impending storm, the rescheduled date of January 26th dawned with clear roads and balmy, almost spring-like temperatures. Buoyed by a strong team of volunteers including Gene Roy, Geoff Hill, John Manzer, Harold Shaw, Rob Krickus, Deb Violette, and Lynda McGuire, the race kicked off without a hitch.

The field of 33 included some “old road race veterans” and quite a few new, welcome faces.  Conspicuous among the new faces was a young man, Patrick Caron, from Needham, Massachusetts who just decided to drop in.  The group took off with some donning just shorts and t-shirts for this real January Thaw.  The “outta stata” shot out in a near sprint leaving me to wonder about that pace for 4 1/2 miles but he proved to be the real deal finishing with a time of 23:41.  As far as I can find, this is second only to Todd Coffin’s 1993 course record of 22:01.

CMS runners, Sapan Bhatt and Jordan Castillo, finished second and fourth with times of 27:21 and 30:26 respectively.  They were separated by third place finisher, Blaine Moore of Brunswick in 29:24 running for Team Dirigo.  The first ladies across the finish line were Anya Davidson of Readfield in 6th place overall in 32:07 and Jess Beers of Waterville in 8th place with a time of 33:40.

This was a successful transition year with a strong foundation in place to carry on this longtime tradition led by “new blood” next year.

Thanks to David Colby-Young for his coverage.  As Gene Roy said, “We know we’re putting on a real race when David Colby-Young shows up to take photos.”

Tom McGuire
Race Director

The Downeast Sunrise Trail (DEST) relay is one of the great races in Maine. It holds the distinction of being the only overnight relay race in the Pine Tree state and lets competitors enjoy the natural beauty of some of Maine’s quieter camp towns. I was honored to be part of the Central Maine Striders (Streakers?) team with my greatest asset being a reliable (read: available) SUV. 

​Not only was I new to the race, but it’d also be my first time visiting each town along the trail. Ron spent the drive passing on such geographic gems as Eastport being the easternmost city in the US (because Lubec is technically a town). I listened intently as Ron had won a marathon up there a few years back and his insider knowledge of the terrain was bound to
save us valuable minutes. 

After a delicious pizza and pasta dinner, we arrived at the starting point to a mini rave. The Wackos from Waco, a fellow perennial team, were busy weaving glowsticks onto an old mountain bike. This psychedelic figure would always appear at the end of legs; a luminous siren shepherding us to cold water and starchy treats. 
The team took off at 10:30pm with me taking the lead leg. The typical start-line adrenaline was magnified by the reality of running into the wilderness in the dead of night with nothing to guide me except the clearance headlamp I got at Walmart 2 years ago (I knew I should’ve sprung for that Black Diamond). After the first couple of miles, I was able to sink into the moment. The quiet and calm of the trail coupled with the darkness made it feel as if I were running through a sensory deprivation tank. I was able to zone out and let my instincts take over as I passed through marshes and woodlands with the moon to guide the way.

With the first handoff to Tiana, the relay was in full swing. Each rendezvous point was designated by GPS coordinates which greatly helped with navigation (save the occasional detour through a blueberry farm). I was eager to pass the baton to our teammates in car 2 and get a few hours of rest before sunrise. I was surprised to see how many local teams rolled up in campers and sprint vans, as if our expedition was taking us around the whole state rather than a 3 hour drive north. However, incredulity was quickly replaced with envy as I gave the captain’s chair in my Toyota Rav4 the airplane seat tilt. 

The second half was soon underway, with Brian getting to enjoy the namesake of the trail instead of our captain, Julie (I’m sure she’s already consulting almanacs and time splits to recalibrate for next year =). This sunrise also brought one of the hottest days of the summer; air temps reached the mid 90s and the roads were well into the triple digits. We made our way through Machias as the sun picked up. I cost our team a couple min by being on the porcelain (plastic?) throne as Tracey waited to handoff after running a blistering pace for leg 10, but I think we can all agree the extra facilities on the trail were a huge plus. Great legs by Ron, Tiana, Jess, and Pat helped us extend our lead over the Wackos, our Maine rivals. 

We waited in a beautiful park in Eastport overlooking a Canadian island as Pat took us from trail to road and the last exchange. Our closer, Brian, was psyched and ready to go. He slipped into his experimental Nikes that had such rebound, they made Vaporflys look like Bean boots. The heat was beating down on the roads and we stationed our cars along the final stretch to keep our anchorman hydrated and cool. A few minutes later, we crossed the finish as a team to receive some impressive race medals. 
​
The race provided unique challenges and memorable experiences all within the confines of 24 hours. We arrived back in Waterville on Saturday afternoon with a great sense of accomplishment and having seen picturesque locations in some more rural parts of Maine. If you’re looking for a race that will challenge you physically, give you a chance to explore the state, and most importantly spend time with some really cool Striders, look no further than signing up for DEST next year.

                           Striders L to R                                                                                                          
Jess Beers, Ron Peck, Pat Cote, Tracey Cote
Sapan Bhatt, Tiana Thomas, Julie Millard, Brian Morin                                              Brian breaking the speed limit!

By Ryan Goebel
 
It is hard not to run a race that starts less than a mile from your house. That’s probably the main reason I ran the Doc & Mardie Brown 5K last year and again this year.  
 
In the race last year, I was new to Maine and didn’t really know what to expect from the competition and from the course. I managed to place second overall and win the 40-49 male age group division with a time of 18:38, which was 29 seconds behind the overall winner. Having never actually won a race on a certified course before, I immediately put the thought into my head that I wanted to come back in 2018 and win this race.

The Doc & Mardie 5K course is by no means easy.  In fact, it’s the hardest road 5K that I’ve ever run.  The first mile includes an elevation gain of 128 feet, most of which is over a quarter mile while you climb up the hill to Colby College from North Street. How you run up this hill can make or break your race, and I was determined to conquer it.  So, I ran up this hill frequently during my training, including seven times in the week prior to this year’s Doc & Mardie 5K. I made several attempts at capturing the Strava segment “course record” from fellow Strider Ron Peck, but continually failed. The only thing I could hope for was some race day magic to propel me up the hill at the pace I wanted to run.

Going into the race, I gave myself about a 50 percent chance that I could win it.  My running has improved a lot over the last year, including cutting nearly 30 seconds off my 5K PR, but I knew there was no guarantee that I could beat the winning time from last year.  I was also afraid that a random Colby College kid would show up and blow me away.
 
On the morning of the race, I jogged from my house to the YMCA to pick up my number and t-shirt and then jogged back home where I changed shoes and shirt and drank some water. Once again, the convenience of racing this close to home can’t be overstated.  As I ran down the street heading back to the YMCA and the start of the race, I started feeling a little hungry, so I made a U-turn to go back home to eat a GU energy gel and drink more water.

Chapter 1. In which the brave travelers begin their arduous adventure
Friday, July 20, 6:00 p.m.
The motley crew assembles on the Colby campus, cramming eight bodies and approximately 37 bags into two SUV’s. Destination: Pat’s Pizza, Ellsworth.

Chapter 2. In which many carbs are consumed
Friday, July 20, 7:30 p.m.
The team elders, Brian and Julie, throw in a beer for good measure. Lead-off runner Pat may have let his hunger override his good sense, but all hope that three hours is enough time for him to rest and digest in his camp chair.

Chapter 3. In which the race begins
Friday, July 20, 11:30 p.m.
An awkward seed time of 11:30 p.m. puts our excellent adventurers in the undesirable position of having only one team with a later start time and key rivals with significant leads, likely meaning that they will experience a lot of alone time on the trail. Pat does an excellent job of digesting, runs a powerful leg, and puts our heroes fifth from last.

Chapter 4. In which the night is dark and full of terrors
Saturday, July 21, midnight to 4:30 a.m.
Skunks, porcupines, ticks, mosquitoes, blown-out calf muscles, dim headlamps, and a lack of cell phone reception and bathrooms are only some of the horrors the brave Striders faced, with the biggest being the tricks of the mind. (Is that a bear? Is that a serial killer? Where’s my damn coffee?) Somehow the team makes it to Columbia Falls, where the sunrise brings them great joy.

Chapter 5. In which there is significant road kill
Saturday, July 21, 6:30 a.m. to noon
Tracey’s calf injury requires a change in plans, with secret weapon Cecilia, youngest team member by more than a decade, swapping into a difficult uphill leg. Despite her strong performance, she is unable to hold off top-seed team Boyz n the Woodz, but she puts the team in striking distance of several teams with earlier start times.

​The heroes pick off the competition, one at a time, like lions on the prowl. A bathroom and breakfast sandwiches in Dennysville further lift their spirits, and they cruise into Eastport faster than their seed time, 8th out of 42 teams overall and first-place equal gender team, having averaged 7:24 over 102 miles. ​
​

by Alicia MacLeay
​

Knowing something is hard and doing something that is hard are not the same thing.
 
On July 15-16 I ran the Vermont 100, a race I’ve wanted to do for several years. It was hard. It was far. It was painful at times. It was incredible.
 
Established in 1989, the Vermont 100 is among the four oldest 100-mile races in the country and is part of the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning. The course covers 68 miles of rolling dirt roads, 30 miles of trails, and two miles of pavement. It’s considered a fairly runnable 100, but with more than 15,000 feet of elevation gain it’s not flat.
 
There’s a 30-hour cutoff, although the top runners complete the race in half that. My goal was to finish in less than 30 hours and earn my first 100-miler finisher’s buckle.
 
At 4 a.m. I lined up in a dark Vermont field with more than 350 other headlamp-wearing runners. In addition to managing acute pre-race anxiety, I hadn’t run a single mile in nearly three weeks due to shin pain.
 
What had seemed like a minor shin splint had progressed, despite rest. I was convinced I was out of the race the week before when, on a tearful hike, sharp pains shot up my left leg with every step. Thankfully, I’d been cleared to run Vermont by my sports doctor, albeit with caveats and the risk of a stress fracture. While I didn’t know if my leg would hold up or literally crack, I was going to take this chance.
 
The race started and after a few miles of panic-inducing twinges my shin was forgotten. In the way of ultras and life, things change and you move on.
 
The field spread out as we left the initial trails for dirt roads. I ran. I walked steeper hills and tried to keep things easy. The sun came up.
 
Vermont is the only 100 with a simultaneous horse ride. Horses with cheery riders passed me on the dirt roads. I passed some on a steeper trail. After 21 miles I came to the first of eight handler aid stations and saw my crew, husband Dave and coach/friend Brendan Gilpatrick.
 
Aid stations require a mental shift. You’ve been running along alone, passing or being passed by the occasional runner, and suddenly you enter a hubbub of activity—food, drink, ice, crews, runners, medical checks—and you need to focus, attend to your needs, and move along.
 
I was extremely grateful to have Dave and Brendan as my crew. When you’re tired and sore, it helps to have people who you trust and who understand you. They systematically made sure I stayed on top of my food and hydration plan. They outfitted me with a full pack and new socks, clothes, and gear as needed. They kept me focused on what was coming up. They did all this and said nice things while kicking me out of each aid station.

I spent some time lying in the field before being able to stand up without passing out. My left ankle was so swollen Dave had to cut off my calf sleeve. But an hour later, with my daughter acting as a crutch, I managed to stand up and get my buckle at the awards ceremony.
 
My time of 29:11:52 was slower than I expected, but I was beyond happy to have done it and have earned that buckle. I was touched and grateful for the volunteers, other runners, and especially Dave and Brendan who’d helped make it happen. Having people devote their time to help you reach your goal is an amazing gift.
 
Now, two months out the race is a bit blurry. I only recently looked at my Garmin data to see what actually happened out there. It says I went a mile. And then I went another mile, 100 times, which feels about right.
 ​
​

Our team had eight runners, and all ran two legs in different orders:

• Ron Peck: legs 1 and 12 (19.6 miles total)
• Bruce Maxwell: legs 2 and 16 (14.3 miles total)
• Pat Cote: legs 3 and 15 (15.3 miles total)
• Shara Marquis: legs 4 and 10 (8.9 miles total)
• Tracey Cote: legs 5 and 11 (13.1 miles total)
• Jess Beers: legs 6 and 13 (12.8 miles total)
• Chad Tracy: legs 7 and 14 (7.4 miles total)
• Julie Millard: legs 8 and 9 (11.3 miles total)

​Paranoid about leaving a runner behind, we had a carefully planned out spreadsheet with estimated run times and van assignments for dropping off and picking up each runner. Van #1 shepherded the first three runners to their starts, while Van #2 hopscotched ahead to the start of leg #4. While runner #3 ran only 7.6 miles, the driving distance was 21.5 miles! On twisty back roads with no street lights! And intermittent cell phone reception!

But Van #2 overcame these obstacles and found the blinking red light beacon that marked the start of leg #4. Its occupants catnapped for about 30 minutes until our alarm went off, and then we waited at the exchange point for our incoming runner. An unforeseen problem was figuring out which runner was ours.

Pro Tip #1: Make your runner easy to identify in the dark by using colored blinking lights or a waist light in addition to a headlamp. Alternatively, bring a support person on a fat bike so that they can ride down the trail, intercept the incoming runner, and then ride back to the exchange point with an update. And don’t forget the bug spray!

The best leg of them all had to be leg #8 (just a coincidence that the person who assigned the order got this one!). It's described as follows in the Race Handbook: “The trail becomes semi-remote again in the four mile stretch from Columbia Falls to Jonesboro Station.”

The “semi” is an overstatement, as my only companions, with the exception of the two runners who blew by me, were the songbirds and frogs as the mist rose over the bog. But I enjoyed running east as the horizon slowly turned orange and brightened to the point where the headlamp wasn’t necessary to see the big rocks underfoot. 

Pro Tip #2: Minimalist shoes are not a good idea. The trail is more like a dirt road, with some sizable stones. A former rail trail, it is also extremely flat, leading to calf cramps in some of our runners. Compression socks helped!

Team members encountered a variety of wildlife along the trail, including porcupines, skunks, deer, and a bear (heard about, not seen, fortunately!). The larger problem was probably intestinal issues that plagued several runners, which may have been compounded by the scarcity of toilet facilities. Either we didn’t get the nutrition quite right, or the body does not take kindly to running hard when it thinks it should be sleeping.

When our anchor runner Bruce Maxwell cruised across the finish line in Eastport, we had beaten our projected time by more than four minutes! We ended up sixth out of 26th teams overall (first equal-gender team), with a 7:51 average pace.

​Next year we would love to have more than one Strider team representing the oldest active running club in Maine, so put this one on your bucket list!

Race Overview

The Riverlands 100 & Relay, Maine’s first 100-mile trail race, was organized by Trail Monster Running and held at the Riverlands State Park in Turner May 13 and 14, 2017. The racecourse consisted of a 20-mile loop located mostly on ATV trails with one section of single track within the state park, as well as on surrounding private land. Racing options included running the 100 miles solo, or as a two-person to five-person relay team.

We formed a mixed five-person relay team, Kennebec Trail Runners, which included several Central Maine Striders. Therefore we would all be running one 20-mile loop. While many teams were competitively driven, our goal was to finish under the 32-hour cutoff time in order to receive the coveted finishers' hoodies. 

The 2017 Team Kennebec Trail Runners members were: 

• Lap 1: Karen Gross  (F 60), Team Captain *
• ​Lap 2: Shara Marquis  (F 32) *
• Lap 3: Rich Beaudoin (M 39)
• Lap 4: Mark Bonderud (M 58)
• Lap 5: Scott Frasca  (M 56) *

* Karen, Shara, and Scott are all Central Maine Striders, and everyone on the team lives in Kennebec County.

• ​Team total time: 21:40
• Average pace: 13:00 min/mile.

We all highly recommend the Riverlands 100 race and hope to see more teams with Striders running at next year’s race. Read on for race reports from each leg of our run.

By Ron Peck

Preamble
After a brief foray into running for my high school cross-country team in my senior year, I forgot about running until I started again in my late 20s as a way to relieve stress. I soon found that I needed goals to keep me motivated and, without a plan for structured training, signed up and ran in a couple marathons in 2002. Thinking that marathons were simply not painful enough, I was bitten by the triathlon bug and completed Ironman Wisconsin in 2003 and 2005.

After that 2005 race, I thought I would take a short break from training. With the exception of a few half-hearted attempts to get fit again, that training break lasted eight years. Suddenly, I found that I had accumulated two beautiful daughters, a real job, and some flabbiness around the midsection. In August of 2013, I put on my running shoes again — I think they had been used about five times in four years of ownership at the time — and managed to run two miles around the “steep” hills near my home in Waterville.

I decided I would again need a goal so I used the time-honored tactic of signing up for a marathon, the Bay of Fundy Marathon, in 2014. After sticking with a training plan, I did well and had fun in that race [Editor's Note: Ron won that race with a time of 3:01:31!]

I found that I enjoyed running itself, but also liked the competitive and social aspect of races. Since then, I’ve run in races at distances ranging from the Quarry Road Summer Race 3K (tough but short!) to marathons.
 
I had run the Boston Marathon in 2015 and was amazed at the huge support shown by Boston and the communities along the route. I was especially looking forward to the race this year because my wife and daughters could accompany me so we could enjoy the city of Boston together (and then appreciate the slower pace of Waterville). Although my training had been hampered by a slow-healing sprained ankle, I was confident that I could at least get through the race. My goals were to have a few pictures of me actually smiling and perhaps to finish under three hours.
 
Pre-Race
After arriving in Boston, I took the whole family to the zoo pre-race expo to pick up my race bib and assorted swag. The expo, of course, is a mass of nerves and excitement as runners and their supporters walk around bumping into everyone and everything.

We picked up my bib and then checked out the vendors’ booths with all the latest in (legal) ways for runners to get fitter and faster — shoes, training devices, clothes, treadmills, books, more shoes, and nutrition. The nutrition booths were particularly popular as they all had free samples of their amazing new products. One memorable gel had the definite look of cat excrement, and, unfortunately, the flavor wasn’t much better.

The actual purpose of the expo is, of course, looking at other runners and comparing yourself to them. The Boston Marathon is especially ideal for this activity since bib numbers reveal the "faster" runners—lower bib numbers = faster qualifying times. Although most runners might deny it, I think everyone subconsciously checks out other bibs — "OK, that guy looks fast, but he has a higher bib number than me…Wow, sub-1000 bib for that guy, really?”

In my case, I felt like an imposter since everyone with a number in my range looked way fitter than I felt. After having my fill of bad-tasting nutritional products and nerves, we returned to the hotel. Dinner was with some friends where I had the requisite plate of pasta and half of a pizza. I was loaded with carbs and ready to go!
 
Morning of the Race (April 18, 2016)
After pointlessly tossing and turning in the bed for a few hours, I got up at 4 a.m. and had my usual pre-race fare of fried-egg sandwiches with bagels and coffee. I dressed in my lucky race gear—2014 Quarry Road Race Series shirt, Quarry Road socks, one red shoe and one blue—and departed to walk to the Boston Common.

Given my complete lack of directional sense and the confusing streets of Boston, I was worried that I would get lost on the way. However, this concern was unfounded as the streets were full of streams of runners flowing toward the Common. I met and struck up a conversation with Jake, a triathlete from San Diego who grew up in Wisconsin. As a former Wisconsin resident, I could empathize with his desire to move to a place without winter. When we arrived at the Common, I was awed by the enormous line of school buses waiting to whisk 30,000 runners to the start line; it’s perhaps the most visible reminder of the logistics involved in organizing the marathon.

I found a lucky bus and was off to Hopkinton. The bus ride seemed really long (actually, it’s 45 minutes) which was psychologically tough because I knew that only my feet would carry me back to Boston. I passed the time by talking to my seatmate, a young biomedical engineer developing better methods to detect cancers from blood tests. I gave him a few suggestions (use better antibodies and give me a huge fee to consult), and we briefly discussed our preparation for the race. Fortunately, he had a much worse training cycle than I did, so I had some confidence that I wouldn’t finish in last place.

We finally reached the Athletes Villages, a fancy name for a school surrounded by hundreds of Porta-potties and several Jumbotron video screens. I waited in line to get my picture taken next to the "Hopkinton" sign and met a fourth grade teacher who grew up near my hometown in Idaho. We reminisced about potatoes for a while, and I would later find out she was actually the winner of the Salt Lake City Marathon. After I got my picture taken with my trademark cheesy smile, I passed the time looking for the most ridiculous throwaway clothes: jackets with neon colors, sweatpants in various seasonal themes, and even pajamas with R-rated graphics. I think my favorite was the guy wearing a one-piece giraffe costume complete with a tail.

Around 9:30 a.m., we were herded towards the actual start line. This, of course, is the most stressful part of the race because I wanted to save energy, but somehow move fast enough to make one last bathroom stop before the start. (Success!)

The start line is divided into corrals assigned by bib numbers. I made my way to my corral and squeezed in with all the other sweaty, nervous runners. I could barely hear the National Anthem and the introduction of some famous person to fire the starting gun. More waiting, waiting, waiting…. (“Could I have made one more port-a–potty visit?”)
 
The Race
BANG! We were off...er, not really, as it took about a minute for me to reach the actual starting line at a walking pace. Finally, we reached the timing mat and a chorus of chirps and beeps marked everyone starting their watch at EXACTLY the precise millisecond they crossed the line.

The first few miles of the marathon course are a notoriously steep downhill section. Combined with the huge adrenaline rush, it’s very easy to go out WAY too fast. I ran the first mile about 15 seconds faster than my goal pace and was still passed by thousands of runners. I settled in and remember thinking how odd it felt to be running a big city major marathon through classical New England countryside.

After maintaining my pace for the first half, I was boosted by hearing the loud cheers of the famous Wellesley scream tunnel. In addition to their loud and continuous cheering, Wellesley students are known for holding up signs with offers to kiss runners. Since I’ve heard of mononucleosis (and I’m happily married), I politely declined the offer.

I managed to hold my pace for the first 16 miles, but the notorious hills of Newton knocked the life out of my legs. As I crested Heartbreak Hill at mile 21, my wife and daughters cheered me on and made a short video. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice them as I was undertaking the all-important task of checking my watch for the millionth time. I wanted to just walk the remaining miles, but, perversely, I also knew that I wanted to qualify for next year’s Boston Marathon.

I willed my legs to keep moving and, after an eternity, made the turn onto Boylston Street. Since it isn’t often that I have a friendly audience, I used the LONG straightaway to play to the crowd and even managed to force a smile when I crossed the finish line. I wasn’t thrilled with my time of 3:04, but it was good enough to qualify for next year’s race so I have the option to suffer again next April.
 
Post-Race
One of the many amazing volunteers draped a medal around my neck. (Seriously, where do they find such selfless people willing to even get close to a bunch of smelly runners?) I then grabbed some of the free food offered and made my way to the family meeting area conveniently located in the windiest and shadiest spot downtown.

Since the race was a bit on the warm side, I was nicely drenched with sweat to freeze while waiting for my selfless wife and irritable daughters. After a few forced smiles for pictures, we went to the subway station so I could enjoy walking down three flights of stairs very, very slowly.

We all recovered for the afternoon and then went to the marathon after-party at Fenway Park. Since I’m a lifelong Red Sox fan, this was a special treat as we got to walk around the field, sit in the dugout, and even get close to the three most recent World Series trophies. It was also fun to see thousands of people shuffling around taking the opportunity to proudly show off their finisher’s medals. (It isn’t often that you can wear a medal and not look ridiculous.)

Altogether, I had a great experience and it was ideal preparation for the more important task of taking on all-comers at the Quarry Road Summer Race Series this summer.

Congratulations, Ron! Thanks for sharing your race report just in time for readers getting ready for September registration for the 2017 race! Ron finished 2022 out of 26629 finishers, so not last.