Race Report: Boston 10K

I ran the Boston 10K on June 22, finishing in a time of 58:38, which was good enough for the Women's T-35-38 win.

[Yes, it's taken me nearly a month to finish this report. Mea culpa.]

Race weekend started for me on Friday when I flew up to Boston. As part of the professional para-athlete field for this race, I was invited to a visit to View Boston midday Saturday, and I wanted to make sure I was in the city for that. The flight up was honestly one of the roughest I've had in some time - gusts of up to 50 MPH in Boston made for a wild final descent - but I made it there in one piece and on time, which is my definition of a successful flight.

I had a good night's sleep before heading out to Boston Common for my shake-out jog on Saturday morning.  I have been struggling recently with the timing and strength of my Parkinsons medications and so I used this run to test out a medication dosing schedule that I hoped would work for the 10K.  I felt pretty good on the shakeout, and my confidence rose for the next day.

***

The highlight of the afternoon was View Boston (that view never gets old) where I indulged myself by adding to my refrigerator magnet collection.  After that, I hit a nearby gym for an hour of pre-race mobilization, stretching, and foam rolling, and then returned to the hotel for the technical meeting.

Just before the start of the technical meeting, Taylor (para-athlete coordinator for the BAA) approached me.  She and others at the BAA had been working all day to ensure that the medical tent was prepared for heat illness, due to the concerning forecast (80 degrees at race start). She asked if I was aware of any limitations on how to treat people with neurological conditions that had heat illness. Was it OK to dunk them in an ice bath if necessary? 

I responded that I wasn't aware of any concerns or need for special treatment, at least with regard to the Parkinsons population.  After the conversation, I remembered that a) an ice bath would likely induce cramping in someone with Parkinsons and b) many Parkinsons medications have hyponatremia as a side effect.  The first wasn't worth noting - cramping is temporary and a much lower priority than properly treating heat illness.  As for the hyponatremia concern, I emailed Taylor later to give her a heads up so that the med team knew not to force water on someone with Parkinsons.

I appreciated the BAA's hard work to keep this race safe, but I wasn't particularly concerned for myself - I'd been training in very warm and humid conditions for the last week, and I also know to slow down and stay on top of my water and electrolytes in these conditions. (I planned to carry a handheld water bottle and a very salty gel - arguably overkill for a 10K, but I wanted to be careful) However, I was worried about others who hadn't had as much chance to acclimate.

***

The forecast had been for 80 degrees and dry, so I was surprised by the light rain and overcast skies that greeted me on the walk from hotel to para-athlete tent. I viewed this as a positive development - certainly the clouds were much better than bright sunshine. It was quite humid, though. 

I became less enthusiastic about the weather when I started warming up in Boston Common and realized that my shoes were slipping all over the place. I was wearing the Adios 9, which I had assumed had good traction on wet pavement (most Adidas shoes do, in my experience).  But that was not the case.  

[I later checked my log and confirmed that I've never actually worn the Adios 9 in the rain - oops.]

My balance is always one of my challenges, and sliding on the wet pavement amplified this. When I can't find my balance, my body tends to lock up (to understand this, imagine trying to run on ice - it's very hard to overcome the instinct to brace and protect yourself by limiting your stride).  Lovely.

I warmed up for about a mile more than I had planned, toying with different mental cues to try to unlock things.  As I did, I realized that my feet were also slipping around in my shoes, which compounded everything.

I worked my way back to the para-athlete tent, where I had brought an extra pair of thicker socks (I bring pretty much everything, in case I need it).  The para-athlete field was about to be walked to the start from our tent, so I retrieved the socks and carried them with me. Once we were in the starting area, we still had about 15 minutes before the start.  This was enough time to change socks. As for the first pair of socks?  I placed them next to a small pile of trash - they'd have to be sacrificed to the cause.

I tried some strides, and things were slightly better.  I was still slipping, but at least my shoes felt secure on my feet.  Then the para-athlete field lined up and started - a minute after the professional women and three minutes before the open field.  

As we started, I reminded myself to stay relaxed and conservative - 10K can be a very long race if you go out too hard and today could potentially be a rough day.  I had noted potential competitors in my division, and I let them pull ahead slightly while I eased into the race. 

The first half mile of the Boston 10K is uphill (good for me) but has some rough pavement (tough for me).  I navigated that as best I could and then tried to relax into a smoother stride and began to chase down my competition.

And then, of course, the open field came surging up behind us and the next few miles were a struggle to stay on my feet while being jostled. I worked on trying to reel in other para-athletes but would make up some ground and then have to slow down to re-establish my balance again.  At one point I pulled up to a woman who I thought was in my division, only to slip again and have to slow down to readjust while watching her pull ahead.

The Boston 10K course itself is a great one - it's got a nice gently rolling feel to it that is conducive to fast times (similar to the Grandma's races - sometimes gently rolling can be as fast or faster than a flat course because it lets you shift the work around different muscles). I was incredibly annoyed that I wasn't able to take advantage of the course, but my balance was holding me back.

***

It wasn't until the last mile that I realized that I might also be in trouble, heat wise. There was definitely some speed walking involved, and a lot of mental frustration that I tried to put aside until after the race's end.  I managed to get myself across the finish line somewhat awkwardly and then grabbed some railing for support. A few moments of wobbling there earned me a ride to the med tent.  

After a few minutes sitting in the tent, I felt fine. Really annoyed at how my race had gone, but otherwise fine - just really hot and tired, as one would be after racing a June 10K. But the medical team saw something they didn't like and asked me if I felt hot.  Why, yes, I did. (wasn't that normal?) They then took my rectal temperature (with my permission), and it was 106 F, and that earned me a dunk in one of the ice baths Taylor and I had discussed the evening before.

I wasn't terribly crazy about getting dunked - the resulting cramping would be unpleasant.  But...I really couldn't say no after the previous evening's conversation. And heck, it would probably help me recover quicker from the race. So, in I went, after being stripped of my asthma inhaler, heart rate strap, and Garmin. My head, feet, and hands were left out of the tub (the latter two because I have Raynauds) but everything else went in.

The protocol for managing heatstroke, as I later learned, is to cool someone down as rapidly as possible, with an ice bath being the ideal means for doing so. The runner should stay in the ice bath until their rectal temperature drops to 102 F. This became an endurance test of sorts as my calves and feet cramped, followed by my shoulders. All while my temperature first rose a point, to 107 F.

At this point the novelty had worn off. I mentioned that I was really cramping so maybe this wasn't the best idea. The response was that I really needed to stay in the tub. So I did, reminding myself that this was just temporary and would help me bounce back a lot faster from this race. Some very nice med tent staff massaged my feet and my shoulders to address the cramping.  It really was the royal treatment - how many people are lucky enough to get a personal ice bath accompanied by foot massages immediately after a race?

Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, my temperature started to drop.  By 103 F I was starting to shiver, but I still needed to stay until 102 F.  A few minutes more, and then I hit 102 F and was allowed to exit the tub and dry off. This was followed, ironically enough, by a blanket. Underneath the blanket, I changed into a somewhat ad hoc outfit of an extra volunteer T shift and some disposable medical shorts.  Not very fashionable, but dry. 

About this time, Taylor showed up at the medical tent, with a trophy - apparently, I had won my division after all.  So that was a mix of emotions - happy to have won, but muy embarrassed that I had a) ended up in the ice bath after being so confident in my own abilities to manage the heat and b) apparently skipped out on the awards presentation - not cool at all.

***

A bit later I was discharged, with printed instructions to not exercise for seven days and to get checked out as soon as possible when I got home.  My walk of shame was a long five blocks back to the hotel, in my blue oversized disposable shorts and volunteer t-shirt, while carrying a bag of my possessions and a big silver trophy.  I half expected someone to accuse me of having stolen my possessions and the trophy, but nobody did.  I guess it was just another Sunday morning in Boston.

My splits ended up being:

First 2 miles: 18:23
Next 2 miles: 17:40
Mile 5: 9:29
Last 1.21 miles: 13:06.

Not only did I miss multiple mile markers (all my attention was on staying upright), but I also failed to stop my Garmin at the finish. Amusingly enough, this means that I can somewhat estimate how long I spent in the ice bath, as about 37 minutes elapsed between when they removed my Garmin and heart rate strap for the ice bath and when I put the Garmin back on after getting out of the ice bath.

Other notes:

• The weather wasn't awful.  It was 73 with a dew point of 68, and overcast.  Not great weather for a 10K, but not awful. 
  
  
• Because I'm me, I've been thinking my way through all the possible reasons that I had heatstroke (besides the obvious "you were racing a 10K in June"). At this point, I'm an experienced runner who has run and raced in numerous DC summers with weather much worse than this. We had a week plus of very hot and humid weather in DC leading up to this race, which would have helped with acclimation.  And I ran the race at a pace much slower than I expected, while carrying and consuming water and a salty gel.
  
  So far, I've identified a few factors.  The first is that my pre-race warm-up was longer than I would have liked for a longer race on a warm and humid day (3 miles, when 2 would have been better, given the weather).  I knew this at the time but kept running in hopes that my gait would smooth out. The second is that I have been struggling to find the right balance in my Parkinsons meds this year.  And when I don't have the PD under control, my body doesn't regulate temperature very well. Finally, I think I was working so hard to keep my balance that my effort was much higher than the pace would indicate. 
  
  Hopefully fixing the second point will also address points one and three.
  
  
• I had originally planned to fly back to DC on Sunday night but swapped to the Acela train after the US bombed Iran on Saturday night.  I wasn't sure what the next 24 hours might bring, and I could also see airport shutdowns/flight diversions as a possibility if there was domestic retaliation. Since taking the train was an option, I decided to switch. This ended up being a great decision, because the doctor in charge of the medical tent was very much opposed to me getting on an airplane that evening, but OK with a train ride home.
  
  [it was also a good decision because the flight I would have taken ended up being delayed, and I actually got home earlier taking the train.]
  
  It's a seven hour train ride between Boston and DC, which sounds miserable but was actually fun. It was seven hours of sitting in a comfortable chair, snacking, and pleasure reading. It seems like I never have time anymore to just sit and pleasure read for a few hours, and taking the train gave me that time.  In comparison, flying home would have been about 5 hours of navigating transit and security and boarding and flying and deplaning and transit.  So, it's not a huge time difference.
  
  While I wouldn't take the train to/from Boston if I had to go there every week, I think I'll make a point of doing it for races from now on - it's like a lovely mini-vacation to bookend a Boston race.

Race report: Boston Marathon Weekend, April 19-21, 2025

I ran the Boston Marathon in 3:46:05 on Monday, which snagged me the win in the women's T35-38 division for a second year. The whole weekend was wonderful and memorable, though the marathon itself was possibly the hardest I've ever finished.

***

I was really excited last fall to be invited to compete at Boston 2025 as a member of the professional para-athlete field. I had already planned to return to Boston in 2025, both because it is a special race and because the BAA does so much to promote para-athletics and adaptive sports and I want to support them in return. But being added to the professional field just made it that much more meaningful. Pretty much a dream come true.

My training cycle began in January, after I recovered from an ill-timed bout of Covid 19 that forced me to skip the Houston Marathon. I thought that I could take my fitness from the Houston training cycle, add onto that for Boston, and take a shot at lowering my course record from last year.

However, life got in the way. For multiple reasons, this spring's theme was stress and sleep deprivation, and the sleep I did get was poor quality. Numerous unavoidable non-running obligations forced me to reduce the time I spent on training or doing the Parkinsons-specific exercises that help me manage things. My long runs went well, but volume is the true backbone of marathon training, and mine was about 1/2 to 2/3rds of what I consider sufficient for a marathon. Sometimes, it's just not the right time in your life to train for a marathon. And that certainly described this spring.

Had it been any other marathon, I would have pulled the plug and focused on shorter distances until life got simpler.  But this wasn't any marathon - this was Boston and the para-athlete division. It was really important to me to show up and give it my best effort if at all possible. So I flew into Boston on Friday morning, hoping that lifetime mileage, experience, and stubbornness would compensate for deficient training. And that an early bedtime on Friday would balance out my lack of sleep the past few days due to various non-running stuff.

The flight went smoothly, and by early afternoon I was happily ensconced in a nice hotel in downtown Boston, with a stomach full of Chipotle and a large pile of assorted gluten-free breads from Trader Joes on the hotel dresser.

***

I tried several new things this cycle.  One was including in my taper both a 10 miler (raced all out) two weeks out from the marathon and a 5K two days out from the marathon. The 10 miler was Cherry Blossom - historically one of my favorite races of the year.  The 5K was the Boston 5K (more on that later). Adding these races meant I had to tweak my marathon taper.

Since getting diagnosed with Parkinsons, I've discovered that the best marathon taper for me looks much more like a 10K taper than a marathon taper. I don't reduce the volume that much in term of either overall mileage or workout volume. The smoother and more "normal" the taper, the better my body behaves on race day. Additionally, I manage my Parkinsons with medications (legal under USADA) that have to be carefully calibrated - too much or too little both result in crampy muscles that don't listen.  When I cut my volume, the "right" dose can also change.  Or maybe not.  Frustratingly, it can be random. So it's really better to keep things consistent.

The net result is that keeping my taper active works best for me.  However, since I was running both the 10 miler and the 5K during taper, I decided to break my own rule and rest more.  I suspected this would flare things but hoped that the harder efforts of the 10 miler and 5K would balance this out.

***

Unsurprisingly, I was pretty stiff and awkward when I woke for the Boston 5K on Saturday. The race started just after 8 am, so I planned to pop a Rytary at 6:30 am before warming up.  Unfortunately, upon opening my pill case, I realized that it held two Rytary capsules - the one that I had popped in last night, and an identical (in appearance) capsule that had sat in that container for several months.

I had a 50/50 chance of taking the new capsule, so I picked one, popped it, and chugged some water.  Chatted some more with others and then headed out for a warm-up jog around 7.  My legs were notably stiff and didn't loosen up during my two mile warm-up fartlek, but I wrote it off as not having run long enough. My plan was to run the 5K as a progression down to marathon pace. That would give my legs a chance to loosen up a bit on the first mile, while also hopefully being fast enough to win it or at least earn some prize money while not compromising my race on Monday.

The para field started the 5K three minutes behind the professional women, and so we were walked up to the start ahead of the main race field. Waiting for the starting gun gave me a chance to chat with some other para-athletes, including several that I had previously connected with online - Ashley and Julia. Julia clued me in that we actually had six (SIX!) T35-38 women* entered in the race. This was excellent news (though it admittedly reduced my chances for prize money). It didn't change my plan, though.  The marathon was my main focus.

***

[For those not familiar with para-athletics - T35-38 is the category for coordination-impaired (neurologic) athletes - essentially cerebral palsy, brain injury, MS, Parkinsons, and similar. There's actually four different divisions - T35, T36, T37, and T38, each corresponding to a level of impairment (T35 is the most impaired, T38 the least). At Boston the four divisions are currently combined into one group called T35-38. It's similar to dividing age groups into 20 year groups rather than 5 year groups. As a T36 I'm supposedly at a disadvantage against the T37s and T38s. Personally, I'm not too bothered - I'm just so happy to have this opportunity at all.]   

***

The 5K, alas, did not go well.  I expected my legs to loosen during the course of the race, but they never did. I ran 25:55 (split as 8:20/8:11/8:30) with the restraint coming not from strategy but from my own muscles. It was also far more tiring than I had expected. Running requires a lot of concentration, and I hadn't anticipated how hard I would work mentally to stay on my feet while running 3 miles on uneven roads with crowds of much faster runners (the main field) powering past me from behind. The race also took a physical toll despite the conservative pace - running when my legs are locked is basically a prolonged isometric contraction, with the quads and hamstrings and glutes all fighting each other. 

The end result was that the 5K had cost me some reserves.  Fortunately, I had 48 hours to replenish.  And my run was good enough for third place and $250 in prize money - enough to cover my Chipotle consumption for the weekend and then some.

***

After heading back to my hotel for a shower and change of clothes, I popped another Rytary.  Within 20 minutes my legs were nice and relaxed - confirmation that I had indeed chosen the wrong pill earlier and might be undermedicated in general. Oh well, I'd try to avoid that mistake on Monday.  

I used my newly loosened legs to walk to the Boylston Street Chipotle to pick up my order. This was my second visit to this Chipotle, and I was still shaken from what I had seen there the day before.

When I saw this sign on Friday, I first assumed that the closure was limited to this storefront, but the staff told me that all Chipotles in Massachusetts would be closed on Sunday. An internet search later confirmed that all Chipotles across the US would be closed for Easter (but be open on Monday, April 21) (which was absolutely no use to me).

So on Saturday, I bought an extra bowl of Chipotle to keep in my hotel fridge.  For emergency use, of course.  But day-old cold Chipotle isn't terribly appetizing, and I also was worried about potential food poisoning (the hotel fridge wasn't very cold). I needed another option.

***

The rule is nothing new on race weekend, but I had no choice. What I did have was a Qdoba franchise near a Green line stop. I'd never eaten Qdoba before, but a quick check of the internet indicated that it was reliably gluten free, similar to (and arguably better than) Chipotle, and most importantly, open on Easter.

So Qdoba it was. Late Sunday morning, I took the Green line to Lechmere to do my shakeout jog there away from the bustle and excitement of downtown Boston and 1001 influencer shakeout runs. It was extraordinarily windy, to the point where I settled for jogging back and forth behind a building - any time the wind hit me full blast it was hard to stay on my feet.  I was extraordinarily grateful that the marathon was on Monday.

After my shakeout, I grabbed my Chipotle Qdoba on the way back and then settled into my room. I had planned to head over to the expo that afternoon to hear some speakers, but I reluctantly shelved that plan in favor of resting. I could tell that I had already done too much this weekend and needed some solitude.

***

Race day morning was far simpler than last year, when I was nervously counting on a taxi showing up. As a member of the professional field, I had the luxury of staying in a hotel right by the finish line, and so it was easy to meet the 5:30 am deadline for getting to the para-athlete check-in.

Like last year, we had slightly less than an hour to hang out before being loaded onto buses to the start.  My understanding is that this time was used for final checks for other para-athletes - examining wheelchairs, prosthetics, guide ropes, etc to check compliance with para-athletics rules. As a coordination-impaired athlete, I didn't have anything that needed to be checked, so it was just stretching/chatting time.

This time gave me an opportunity to meet my closest competition in the marathon - a woman named Faye who had MS and had just been classified as a T37. It was really interesting to compare notes about running with MS versus Parkinsons - we each faced obstacles that were the inverse of the other's. Her symptoms really flare in warmth; my muscles get extremely tight when I'm cold. When structuring her training, she has to be careful not to push any workout too hard, lest she aggravate her MS. In contrast, like most people with PD the harder I train the better I feel; inactivity and rest make me stiff and clumsy.

Faye and I chatted in the hotel lobby and then on the bus, making the nearly hour long trip to Hopkinton seem much shorter. While on the road to Hopkinton, I noted that our bus had a bathroom. Of all the kind things that the BAA does for the para-athletes, this was perhaps one of the best.

***

We arrived in Hopkinton about 7:20 am - well in advance of the main Boston field. (As best I can tell, the BAA ships the elites and the para-athletes up to our tents near the start line in Hopkinton and then assembles Athlete's Village behind us after we've arrived.) I stayed in the tent for a while, stretching and chatting with friends both old and new, including Joe Drake (last year's men's T35-38 winner, soon to be this year's men's T35-38 winner) and multiple members of the "Parkinsons Fight Club." Then I headed out for my warm-up jog at 8:30. 

The warm-up area was a stretch of road with a gentle but notable elevation change that was shared by elites and para-athletes. As I jogged, I mentally rehearsed the cues that help me run downhill (pressing hips forward, look ahead not down, let the ground fall away from you, keep your hips and ankles loose).  A bit less than 10 minutes had me feeling ready for the downhill start (though not ready to run at marathon effort, but hopefully that would come later). Then I walked back to the tent and tossed down a gel and another bottle of water while waiting to be called to the start.

***

Like last year, we walked to the start just behind the elite women. At 9:47 they started, and we were walked to the start line.  As I stood there, I took a second to absorb it all. Here I was, standing on the front line of the Boston Marathon with my first name on my bib. I snapped a mental photograph, tucked it away in my memory as a precious keepsake, and then turned my attention to the upcoming race.

The gun went off, and my mind immediately went to my downhill running cues.  As I cycled through them, I noted that I was handling the very steep initial drop of the Boston course much better than I had last year, so that was a win.  Several other T35-38 athletes, including Faye, were pulling ahead on the left, but I mentally let them go and prioritized running the first half-mile with as little stress or damage to my quads as possible.

My attention was solidly focused on a) my downhill running form cues and b) where my competition was. So it was a surprise when my Garmin vibrated a few minutes into the race. I looked at it quickly and realized that I hadn't started it. I fixed that error and then moved on - fortunately I don't rely on my watch when I run, so starting my watch late was an annoyance rather than an issue.

The first 3 miles of Boston have some steep drops, and I stuck to my careful plan here, both as a race strategy and due to neurological limitation. I noted Faye pulling further away - she was wearing a distinctive striped singlet that I hoped would make her easier to pick out later in the race (I also hoped I would see her later in the race).

***

Just as I started to feel more comfortable, a lead bike pulled up and advised that Wave 1 was coming, and that I should choose a side of the road to stay on.  I chose right this year for three reasons - a) when a road is cambered, I'm slightly more comfortable if the left side is higher than the right; b) I was already on the right side of the road for that reason; and c) I had run on the left side last year, so why not mix things up?

In retrospect, this was a mistake, and I'll choose the left side of the road next year. Boston is notorious for its massive, wonderful, supportive crowds. As part of that support, they like to wave their hands in front of the runners or reach out for a high five. Which is great and awesome, unless you're someone with iffy balance that gets thrown off by stuff waving in your face. (To be clear, I'm not saying that the crowds should change their behavior at all - this is just part of running Boston as a T36 para-athlete.)  The crowds at Boston seem heavier on the right side of the road, making the left the better choice for me.

The right shoulder of the road seemed to have much rougher pavement, with multiple grates and grills that I had to swerve around. It also seemed like the majority of the water stations were on the right side of the road. Since I was carrying a water bottle, I had no need for those early water stations myself. However, I was an obstacle between much faster wave one runners and their water, and each water station was challenging to navigate between the hands waving cups in my face from the right and the runners ducking in front of me from the left. It wasn't fun for me, and I'm sure the wave one runners didn't appreciate it either (I know I wouldn't have).

After a few miles of chaos, things got a little easier as my pace picked up and the paces of those passing me slowed. I had planned to keep the effort moderate until mile 6 or so. But...just as I started to think about increasing the effort, I realized that I had caught up to Faye.  Since we had 20 miles of challenging course ahead I decided that I could stay moderate for now. My breathing was also getting a bit ragged (Boston spring pollen) and that was another reason to stay conservative.

***

My right foot had started burning slightly about a mile into the race, and by mile 9 it was feeling sore - like my shoe was a bit too tight.  With 18+ miles still to go, I decided to step off the course and fix my shoe.  Fixing my shoe took about 40 seconds, and I knew that Faye might have passed me back during that time.  When I stepped back onto the course, I looked for her distinctive singlet.  And realized that there were quite a few women her height with a ponytail wearing that striped singlet.  Oops.

There was nothing to do but run my own race and hope that either she was behind me or that she would come back to me.

By mile 9, moderate effort was feeling like moderate+. One of my big rules for marathoning is that I need to feel good at mile 13, so I resisted the urge to chase women in striped singlets and just held my effort. Even with that decision, my right back started to cramp at mile 12. Uh-oh. My best strategy was to stay on top of my salty gels and my water, and also try to stay as relaxed as possible, so that's what I did. Mentally, I started lamenting my lack of training before replacing that thought with appreciation for the nice weather. Reciting reasons why you're going to have a bad race is never a good idea, either before or during the race.

***

I held tough as more muscles started to cramp.  I'm used to running through a bit of cramping, so I just relied on that skill to keep going. But the Newton hills sent my body further into a tailspin. When you're having a good day, those hills aren't that bad. If you're NOT having a good day....

I suspected that the cramping might have been my Rytary wearing off early, so I popped a levodopa pill (fast acting version of Rytary). Either that was the wrong decision or it was ineffective (I'm leaning towards the former), because about 10 minutes later the cramping had intensified to the point where I was hobble-shuffling more than running. 

I had no idea where Faye was, and that was no longer a focus. I just wanted to get to the finish line as fast as my revolting legs would let me. And so I worked my way there. When we made the final turn onto Boylston Street, I tried to pick things up and fake good form for the cameras, but it wasn't happening. My calves and the soles of my feet were completely contracted with my toes curling under my feet.

As I worked my way to the finish line, I suddenly felt a big shove from behind.  It felt like someone had placed their hand on my upper back and intentionally pushed me forward.  I don't think that's what actually happened, both because I can't imagine why anyone would do that and because I think few people are coordinated and composed enough at mile 26 of a marathon to do that.  It was almost certainly accidental contact by someone else who was also struggling.

But it felt like a big shove, and between my poor balance and my completely cramped legs and feet I almost went down. After several flailing steps I managed to grab hold of the security fencing just to the right and stabilize myself.  And then I continued my shuffle to the finish line.

***

As I crossed, I once again saw "Congratulations - Cristina Burbach" flash across the chyron.  I hoped that meant that I had won my division, but I wasn't sure.  I was immediately intercepted by a race official upon crossing (I guess I looked as bad as I felt) and some very nice people walked me over to the tent where my bag was, which happened to share an awning with the med tent.

I retrieved my bag and sat for about 15 minutes.  A BAA official that regularly works with the para-athletes came over to check on me and confirmed that I had won my division. So that brightened my mood somewhat. If only the cramping would stop.

After the fifth or sixth person asked me whether I wanted to go to the med tent (and reassurance that the med tent was not at all busy) I decided to go. I sat there for another 40 minutes or so drinking water and salty broth and getting my calves and feet massaged in all sorts of ways. The calves eventually gave in and released, but the feet stubbornly held their ground. Finally, everyone including me agreed that I just needed to walk this one off, and so I shuffled my way back toward my hotel.

I was really sad about this, as my running team was gathering to take a team photo, and I was going to miss it.  But the team photo location was about three blocks to the east, and my hotel was a block and a half to the west, and I just couldn't do it.

When I got back to my room, I eased my way carefully into the shower. I ran warm water over my feet, and they instantly released.  I spent a long time in the shower, wallowing in the sensation of non-cramping feet.

***

Splits ended up being:

Mile 1 (partial): 3:09 for .36 of a mile
Mile 2: 8:41
Mile 3: 8:18
Mile 4: 8:13
Mile 5: 8:36
Mile 6: 8:34
Mile 7: 8:21
Mile 8-10: 25:12 (includes shoe fixing)
Mile 11: 8:08
Mile 12: 8:04
Mile 13: 8:02
Mile 14: 8:12
Mile 15: 8:23
Mile 16: 7:55
Mile 17: 8:34
Mile 18: 8:29
Mile 19: 8:19
Mile 20: 8:49
Mile 21: 9:36
Mile 22: 8:41
Mile 23: 9:06
Mile 24: 8:42
Mile 25: 9:40
Mile 26 plus last .21: 12:26 - roughly 10 minute pace.

So a positive split by about 6 minutes - 1:50/1:56. As blow-ups go, it doesn't look awful in print.  But it was not fun at all.

Other notes: 

• The weather ended up being pretty good. Low to mid-50s and dry. It was a clear day with no clouds to block the sun, which made the final miles feel warmer than they were. A moderate headwind during the Newton hills also added to the challenge there. But overall, a great day for running.
  
  
• Every time I run a BAA race as a para-athlete, I get a small glimpse of the work the BAA does behind the scenes. And I always leave impressed by how much work goes into these races, the professionalism of the BAA staff, and how much they care. I truly believe that the BAA staff work as hard or harder than the runners on Boston Marathon weekend, and it shows in both little and big ways.
  
  
• I ended up winning the women's T35-38 division and also would have won the men's T35-38 division (this was another goal I had). I didn't hit my third goal of breaking my course record - that will have to be another year.
  
  
• My downhill running was not great but was substantially improved over last year, so that was win.
  
  
• In retrospect, squeezing Cherry Blossom and the Boston 5K into the two weeks before the marathon compromised my marathon performance.  (For the record, my coach told me a week ago that he thought doing the 5K was a bad idea.) The physical fatigue would have been manageable, but I failed to account for the mental fatigue from three very crowded and high profile races in such a short period of time.  Additionally, the increased rest and departure from my normal routine really messed with my management of my Parkinsons. Next year, I will focus on the marathon.
  
  
• I also had the goal of running sub 3:30 on this course to get under the high performance standard for my division for next year.  Obviously, I didn't do that.  This isn't totally surprising, as running Boston, especially as a coordination impaired runner in the separate para-athlete start, is really challenging.
  
  In addition to the deceptively tricky course that all runners try to master, the T35-38 crowd is also challenged by the continuing changes in incline, the stretches of rough pavement, the train tracks, the balance checks triggered by the activity of the enthusiastic Boston crowds, and the chaos of being passed from behind by masses of faster runners. Those are all things that never bothered me before Parkison's but are real obstacles now.
  
  To run my fastest marathon time, I need a different race (as well as a better training cycle). But that's for the fall. The spring, and Boston, is about competition against my peers.  And I'm very grateful to have that opportunity.
  
  
• One of the obstacles to my training this spring was the multiple surgeries that our new, incredibly sweet kitten Karma endured to repair a fistula that appeared right after adoption.  Each surgery was two weeks of disrupted training and reduced sleep as I cared for her. I knew this was not good for my marathon training, but my other choices were to return her or euthanize her, and neither was a choice. So we fought on.  
  
  Three days post-marathon, I brought Karma in for a routine check-up, and the vet and staff were shocked by how good she looked. Prioritizing her over higher mileage was worth it.
  
  
• One of the really nice things that the BAA does is make a big deal of the trophy presentations for the marathoners. It's my blog and my parents like stuff like this, so I'll end this post with the trophy photo.

Race Report: Boston Half, November 10, 2024

I ran the Boston Half on Sunday (previously known as the BAA Half) in an official time of 1:42:21, which was good enough for the win in the women's T35-38 division and 10th in my age group.

This race wasn't originally on my calendar for this year, but after I learned that the BAA offered the T35-38 division at all four of its races this year, I decided to try to make it work somehow.  Initially that mean that I would run the Boston Half a few weeks after my goal fall marathon - Twin Cities. But then I hurt my hip in July and pivoted to Jacksonville in early December for my fall marathon, with the Boston Half falling in the final weeks of marathon training - just about perfect timing.

It was a great plan, but my hip took longer to clear up than I expected, and I wasn't able to start workouts until September.  Which meant that I pushed my fall marathon back again to January (Houston).  I still had a few weeks to build a bit of fitness for the Boston half, but the illness and then loss of my cat Isabella distracted me from serious training for another two weeks.  

Had this race not involved Boston and the BAA and the T35-38 divisions, I honestly would have DNSed - I simply wasn't ready to race a half, and I had some concerns about re-aggravating either this summer's hip injury or a more recent back issue.  But it's really important to me to show up for the T35-38 divisions whenever they are offered. The fact that these divisions exist and are competitive is hugely influential for those recently diagnosed with a neurodegenerative condition. In a new world packed with messaging that competitive sports and an active life are now out of reach, these divisions are a strong statement to the contrary that resonates far beyond the running community.

So....any time the BAA offers the T35-38 division and I am able to compete, I am there.

***

The BAA has high performance standards for their para divisions, and my 1:34 at One City earlier this year met their standard for the women's T35-38 division, making me eligible for their professional para-athlete program. I've been fortunate enough to be an elite at some races in what I now refer to as the "before" times - that experience generally meant a comped entry, a tent at the start with a separate bag check, maybe a hospitality room, and possibly the opportunity to place bottles out on course. This was completely different.  

Oh, yeah

I was picked up at the airport by a black car and transported to a high end hotel in downtown Boston.  Both Friday and Saturday a hospitality room offered with lunch catered each day by...Chipotle (I am not making this up).

Saturday also featured an opportunity for the professional field to visit View Boston.  My pictures don't quite do it justice (it was pretty cool).  I wish I could have stayed longer, but I had a half-marathon to race the next day, so I needed to get off of my feet.

***

The rest of Saturday involved shopping, a mandatory shoe/logo/kit check, and a technical briefing.  The shopping was actually a consequence of the logo/kit check.  I knew that my race shoes complied with World Athletics rules.  However, I didn't realize until I reviewed the weekend schedule on Friday night that the outfit I wore on race day also had to be World Athletics compliant. A total newbie error, and my bad for not looking sooner (in my defense, I've had a lot going on the last few weeks).

On Saturday morning I dug up the relevant World Athletics rules (rule C7.4, if you are interested - download it here).  I had brought both a singlet and a long sleeve to wear, depending on the weather on race morning.  Both had the Capital Area Runners logo - an image of the Capitol* building and the team name - across the front. Under my read of Rule C7.4, Capital Area Runners was a "Club" and so the logo was allowed as long as it was less than 10 cm high (if CAR was a "Sponsor" it would be subject to a 5 cm height limit and a 10 cm length limit).

[*yes, the proper spelling is CapitAl when referring to the city of Washington, DC and CapitOl when referring to the building where Congress meets.  It's one way we haze the non-native Washingtonians.]

The next problem was that I didn't have a tape measure or ruler with me. However, my cell phone was 7 cm wide. Using that as a rough gauge, it looked like my team long sleeve was illegal but the team singlet was under the 10 cm height limit. I emailed my coach to ask if the singlet was legal for World Athletics.  He wasn't sure about the singlet (our crop tops were WA legal, but that was of no use to me at the moment).  

Since I wasn't confident my cell-phone estimate of the CAR logo height would survive a challenge, I ran over to Dick's Sporting Goods and bought a thin long sleeve in the proper shade of red. That evening, my singlet was indeed rejected by the powers that be, so I presented the logo-free long sleeve (a smart attorney knows when to pivot rather than appeal). That was accepted and I was good to go. 

The upside was that I no longer had to choose between singlet-with-arm-warmers or long sleeve - the decision had been made for me.  The downside was that I was breaking the "nothing new on race day rule," but it was what it was.

***

With my racing outfit set, I attended the technical meeting and then went back to my room for my traditional early pre-race bedtime. I'd like to say I slept well, but my hotel floor included many guests celebrating Diwali into the late evening at a volume that blasted through my earplugs. And of course, just as I drifted off I had to wake back up to take my overnight Rytary dose. Oh well - it's the sleep two nights before a race that matters the most.

I rolled out of bed at 4:15, ate my pre-race breakfast, listened to some music at the same rhythm as a half-marathon (Sisters of Mercy - Lucretia, My Reflection), and did my pre-race stretching/working out of muscle knots before heading down to the lobby at 5:45 to catch the 6 am buses to the start. At 6:15 my watch chimed and I took the dose of Rytary that would carry me through the warm-up and race.

Pre-race music: I've been on a Sisters of Mercy 

kick for some reason lately...

Once in the para-athlete tent at the start, I dropped off my stuff, chatted briefly with some of the other para-athletes (including all of the T35-38 division) and headed out to warm up.  A BAA official asked me to stay close to the tent, so I jogged back and forth on a strip of pavement about 150m, which was more than adequate for my needs.  

From left to right: myself, Joe, Dave, and Sara, all competing in the T35-38 division.

My warm-up for a half-marathon is generally around 3 miles. But that's assuming I'm reasonably fit.  I was seriously concerned about my ability to complete this distance at racing effort, given the hills and my minimal post-injury training, so I limited my warm-up to just under 2 miles with 3 minutes of up tempo running and one stride.  Better to go out too cold than to wear out my legs before the race.

Then I headed back to the tent to get walked to the start.  It was a cold morning (mid-30s) that felt even colder after a too-warm DC fall, and my feet were blocks of ice.  I took a moment to be grateful for the tights and long sleeve I would be racing in, while also filing a mental note to wrap KT tape over the uppers of my shoes next time (really helps keep the toes warm).

Like a well oiled machine, the wheelchair racers went off, then the elite men.  The elite women were next, and then the para field started 30 seconds after, with a 3 minute gap between us and the open field.

***

I had studied the course (link to course map/profile) and so I knew it was basically downhill for the first miles before rolling through the middle miles. Starting at mile 8, we would return uphill. The worst climb would be after mile 11, followed by more rolling hills.  Unquestionably a course to race for place rather than time. What I didn't know was just how steep the hills were.

The first mile answered that question, as we continued to drop and drop.  I've been working a lot in PT on my balance when running downhill, and I noted (with some pride) that my downhill running was much improved as compared to this spring.  Which doesn't mean I ran downhill well...I was still dropped by a large chunk of the para field, including all of the other runners in the T35-38 division (two men and one woman - Joe, Dave, and Sara).  I kept one mental eye on them, while the rest of my focus was on my own form - trying to relax and look up and forward while my legs extended behind me and my hips rolled to each side.

***

Just as I was passing the first mile marker, the leaders of the open field passed me.  They heralded a trickle that would grow to a stream and then a river of faster runners. Being passed from behind usually really screws up my running gait - it's a combination of the motion around me throwing off my balance and the noise temporarily breaking my concentration.  But I handled it surprisingly well this time around.  I suspect part of the credit goes to all of my PT work over the last few weeks; the course also had plenty of room for all of us, which helped a lot.

About 1.5 miles in, my gait started working and I was able to start racing.  I had lost sight of both Sara and Joe - meaning they each had at least a minute on me, but I could see Dave in the distance, so I used him as my first focus.  I increased my effort cautiously, staying somewhere between half-marathon and marathon effort over the rolling hills.  I knew that the course was net uphill after mile 8, and that at mile 11 we would climb back up the big hill we had just descended.  I needed to have plenty left in the tank for the last third of the race.

***

I inched up to and past Dave, and then saw Joe in the distance.  Slowly he drew closer, and then I passed him just after the 5K mark, with Joe kindly offering some encouraging words as I passed. Now I needed to catch Sara - she was the runner I was most focused on, since the T35-58 division was divided by sex for awards.  

I couldn't see her anywhere ahead of me, and so I was tempted to speed up to try to find her. Reminding myself that we still had nearly 10 miles to go in this race, with many of them uphill, I recommitted to my measured effort.  If I hadn't caught her by mile 8 or so, then I'd get aggressive.

It was the right choice, as I spotted her a few minutes later.  By the time we hit the first turn-around point (around mile 4.5) her lead on me was down to 30 seconds (I measured by counting the seconds from a) when she and I ran past each other to b) when I hit the turn-around, and then multiplying by 2).  Holding my steady effort, I reeled her in and then had the lead.  For the T35-38 division, at least.  Open runners were still streaming past me.

The next miles were about finding a steady rhythm and other runners nearby to chase while clicking off mile markers over the rolling hills.  By mile 7 I was ready to stop running, which was worrisome.  But...the race wasn't done yet, so I just focused on my effort rather than the miles.

At mile 9 we started climbing again, and I was grateful I had stayed conservative. With only 4 miles to go, I tried to pick up the effort, but my legs were lead.  The last few miles felt much more like marathon slogging than half-marathon hammering.  My aerobic system wasn't working terribly hard, but my legs had nothing left.  Finally, mercifully, I hit the final climb to the finish line.  I stumbled across and was done.  

Stopping my watch, I noted a time of 1:42:19 (ended up being 1:42:21 official).  A new personal worst for the half-marathon distance, but I was actually OK with it (albeit a bit bummed that I didn't even break 1:40, which was the comp standard for my division). I had left it all out there and run the best race I had in me and snagged the division win; the time was simply a consequence of being out of shape and rusty while racing a tough course.

Splits were:

Mile 1: 8:51

Miles 2-3: 15:59

Mile 4: 7:28

Mile 5: 7:33

Mile 6: 7:49

Mile 7: 7:45

Mile 8: 7:33

Mile 9: 7:35

Mile 10: 7:49

Mile 11: 7:43

Mile 12: 7:44

Mile 13: 7:41

last bit: 52 seconds.

Because of my struggles running downhill, I actually negative split this race, despite the course.  That amuses me.

My time was good enough for the win in the women's T35-38 division, as well as 10th in my age group.  Since it was a cold morning, the BAA did the awards on a rolling basis - calling us up to the stage within about 10 minutes of crossing the line. I much appreciated the opportunity to get back to my hotel and a hot shower quickly.  This was followed by a nice lunch at a nearby restaurant, and then a car ride back to Logan for my flight back to DC.  Overall, a great weekend, and I'm very grateful to the BAA for the opportunity.

Other notes:

• The weather ended up being 34 degrees at the start, and 48 degrees by the time I ended.  Wearing a thin longsleeve and thin tights, I was slightly cold in the early miles, and slightly warm in the final miles.  Ultimately I think this was the right thing to wear. Before Parkinsons, this would have unquestionably have been shorts and singlet+arm-warmers weather.  But I find now that my legs get extremely stiff if they are chilled at all, and my torso doesn't fare much better.  So it's always best to risk being a bit too warm at the end of a race.
• As a para-athlete, I was asked to stay on the right side of the road - this of course meant that I couldn't run the tangents.  So it's not at all surprising that my Garmin showed a distance of 13.31 for the full race.  While some of that was Garmin error, some was also simply running wide on a wide course.  I'm not complaining - starting ahead of the main field and staying off to the side of the course are simply part of competing in the para division, in much the same way that not being able to wear a big logo is part of competing in the professional field.  But I think it does add a small bit onto my time.  Which is why it's also great to run some races in the open field, where I can start with those of similar pace, run the tangents, and go for my fastest time.
• This race felt much more like miles 10-23 of a marathon than a half, in terms of both aerobic effort during the race and how much it beat up my legs (especially my quads).  The good news is this was a good effort to kick off marathon training.   If I can hold this effort for a full 26 miles on a flatter course, I should have a good shot of cracking 3:20, which is my goal for Houston.
• I debated whether to wear the Vaporfly 3 or the Rocket X2 for this race. The Vaporfly feels more nimble and has better traction, but is less stable or forgiving of slower paces.  The Rocket X2 is also a fast shoe and much more stable at all paces, but is slick on wet pavement.  For this race, with a lot of downhill and dry pavement, I think the Rocket X2 was the right choice. Had the race been flat, I think the Vaporfly might have been better.
• Obligatory photo of bib and trophy.  My blog, my bragging.