Race Report: Boston Marathon, April 20, 2026

I ran the Boston Marathon last Monday, finishing in 3:43:54, which was good enough to with my para-athlete division again, though not sufficient to break my course record.

This year's Boston Marathon adventure started with a mixture of good and bad luck.  The bad luck was that my flight first boarded and then deplaned, due to a ground stop in Boston.

The good luck was that when I boarded for the second time, my seatmate recognized me, which in turn caused me to recognize her.  It was Lisa Levin - a talented local runner that I had formerly competed against for age group awards (the former is on my end, not hers - she is still quite competitive). She's also one half of a great coaching group that has a great podcast.

The box.  Gels, jogging clothes,
throwaway clothes, snacks.

It was pretty funny.  She hadn't recognized me before because I had a mask on for the flight. I didn't have that excuse; I hadn't recognized her because I was distracted thinking about everything I had on my plate for the upcoming weekend.

It was a quick flight once we were off the ground quickly (made even quicker by good company) and I made it to my hotel at 7:02 pm.  Unfortunately, the FedEx store embedded in the hotel closed at 7 pm, which meant that I would have to wait until 9 am the next morning to retrieve the box I had shipped to myself.  Not a huge issue, but I wouldn't be able to do a shake out jog until I had my box (with my shake out jog clothes, among other things).

I slept in on Saturday, then cheered at the Boston 5K before picking up my box. Then it was time for my para-athlete classification at the Convention Center.

***

For those who don't know, classification is the process through which a wannabe para-athlete is a) confirmed to be impaired enough to be eligible to be a para-athlete and b) assigned to a para-athlete class for competition.  USATF is now taking a larger role in the governance of American Para-Athletics, and they have a nice webpage that lays out the whole process.

Two years ago, I was classified as a T36 para-athlete. The T stands for “track” (which includes the roads); the 36 means that I am neurologically impaired in a specific way.

Some classifications are permanent, while others must be reviewed on a set interval.  Generally, impairments like missing limbs get a permanent classification, while impairments that can fluctuate or progress (e.g., neurodegenerative) are assigned a review year.  In 2024 I was assigned a review year of 2026, which meant that I had to redo my classification before I could compete in this year's Boston Marathon - my first para-athlete competition of 2026.

So here I was, once again, in a large conference room on the floor below bib pick-up.  Just like two years ago, most of the chairs and tables were stacked along the walls, leaving the vast room empty. There was one table with four chairs, two of which were occupied by the classifiers. Off to the side was a medical examining table identical to that in a doctor’s office.

***

The classification began with a brief interview - what were my best performances in the past two years?  How much did I train and how did I train? When was I diagnosed?  What medications was I currently on?  Did I use any braces or other devices when competing?

After that, I removed my shoes and moved to the examination table. They first flexed each of my joints in turn and assigned a number, before tapping some places with a rubber hammer (more numbers). Then came what I call the hokey-pokey/Macarena - touching my finger to my nose, touching my finger to their finger, tapping my feet on the ground quickly, rotating my wrists between palms up/palms down quickly, sliding my heel up and down my shin.  Yet more numbers and some muted conversation.

The next step (pun intended) was walking back and forth, followed by running back and forth. Then running in a zig zag pattern, some side steps and cariocas, and an extended period of shuffling from side to side, changing direction randomly as directed.  They also included some standing jumps, some heel and toe walking, and some tandem walking.  All of this barefoot on the hotel carpet.

By the end I was tired.  And relieved that I had once again made it through classification without an injury that would screw up my marathon.

They excused me outside the room for a few minutes and then called me back for the verdict. I had been classified T36 previously, but based on what they saw today, it was a close call between the more impaired T36 and the less impaired T38 (to answer the obvious question - there was never any question of whether I was a T37, because T37s have one good side and one bad side.  I have two bad sides - the question was how bad they were).

They were tentatively classifying me as a T36, but they would be watching me closely on Monday. After observing me on Monday they might reclassify me as a T38, or alternately keep me a T36, but require me to repeat classification as early as next year.

(This felt oddly like a colonoscopy - “we’ll take a look and then tell you when you need to go through this again.”  Fortunately, though I was tired, I retained sufficient tact to not say this out loud.)

I suspect they thought I would be upset about this decision. While the T36/T38 distinction was meaningless for this race (Boston currently combines T35, T36, T37, and T38 into one division) being reclassified to T38 came with serious competitive implications. T38s are minimally impaired, and so the T38 division is much faster than the T36 division and I would be less competitive. Similar to being moved from the 50+ age group to the 40+ age group.

At the same time, when you have a progressive neurodegenerative disease, and there are no medications that slow or reverse the progression, being told that you might look better than you did two years ago is huge.  HUGE.  So, I saw this situation as a win/win.  Either I'd keep my T36 classification, or I'd have evidence that a condition that is only supposed to worsen had done the opposite, while retaining eligibility for the T35-38 division on Monday.  Either outcome was cool.

*** 

After classification I picked up my bib from the para-athlete room.  My bib came with a lanyard and badge identifying me as a professional athlete.  I would spend the rest of the weekend debating when and where it was appropriate to show this off display this.

My preciousss

I was hungry by this time, so my next stop was Chipotle.  In a distressing reprisal of last year, the Boylston Street Chipotle was closed.  However, another one about 8 blocks east was open, so I was able to get what I needed, albeit with more walking than I would have liked.

The rest of the day was spent mostly resting, punctuated by repeated trips to the nearby CVS to panic-buy things that just a few days before I had been sure I wouldn't need.

*** 

Sunday began with a shakeout jog - my energy levels were great, though my hips were slightly sore from all the side shuffling yesterday. This was followed by a DoorDash Chipotle order (I decided that I preferred to pay someone else to wander Boston looking for Chipotle.

That afternoon I was scheduled to be part of a “professional para-athlete” panel. About 45 minutes before the panel was scheduled to begin, I wandered through the expo towards the stage, marveling at how the crowds would part anytime I waved my pro athlete badge.  I had the chance to meet up with a few friends before, who kindly stayed for the panel.

I thought the panel went well, though I noted that my habit of speaking like a lawyer when presented with a microphone (slow, measured words) was a contrast to the free flowing conversational style of the other panelists.  I did manage to demonstrate what life was like as a coordination impaired athlete by spilling water all over myself, so that was win. I think.

****

The official schedule for race morning looked like this:

• 5:00-5:30 am - para-athlete check-in (hotel lobby)
• 6:30 am - para-athlete bus departs for start line
• 7:20 am - para-athlete bus arrives at the start
• 9:35 am - para-athletes walked to start line
• 9:50 am - para-athlete start

Since a) I need my Rytary to function, b) I get about 4 hours from each Rytary dose, c) Rytary works best when spaced well apart from meals, and d) one needs to eat breakfast before a marathon, I structured my morning like this:

• 4:00 am - wake up, eat first breakfast
• 5:15 am - check in
• 5:30 am - take Rytary
• 6:30 am - bus to start
• 7:20 am - arrive at start, eat second breakfast, stretch
• 8:50 am - short jog
• 9:30 am - take Rytary
• 9:35 am - head to the start.

In between all of that, of course, were opportunities to reunite with old friends and connect with new ones. And several bathroom breaks.

***

The forecast was fantastic for marathoning - weather in the low 40s, increasing to around 50, with a tailwind.  I debated shorts versus light tights and singlet versus long sleeve. I briefly considered long sleeve over shorts, so that I'd have the option of removing the longsleeve if I got too warm.  But I had two bibs to wear - front and back - so that didn't seem like a good option.  Ultimately I went with singlet and shorts, plus arm-warmers, reasoning that a tailwind would be much warmer than a headwind.

Sooner than I expected (but right on schedule), we were walked to the start.  This was my third time standing at the start line and seeing nothing but empty road ahead, and it felt as surreal as the first time.  Then the gun fired, and we were off.

The first downhill mile went remarkably smoothly.  I've been working a lot on my downhill running this past year, and I felt the results.  I knew that the classifiers were also watching me run, and that my chances of retaining my T36 classification were slipping away with each smooth step, but it was what it was.  And it felt good to be running downhill mostly unafraid of falling on my face.

Of course, I knew what was coming from behind. It was heralded by a cyclist wearing a Boston jacket, who spoke to us of the arrival of Wave 1, and instructed that we (the para-athletes) were to stay to the right.

I wasn't thrilled about this.  As a para-athlete I've run Boston once on the far right and once on the far left.  I much prefer the left for all the same reasons someone else might prefer the right - the bigger crowds are on the right, as are the majority of the water stations.  Staying on the left means that I'm less likely to be squashed between faster runners on one side and people waving signs or holding water cups on the other.

But, when racing, you do what the race staff tells you to do, so I shifted to the right.  Soon after, Wave 1 began as a trickle that turned into a stream, and then a turbulent river, before becoming…washing machine-esque?  (The metaphor is admittedly strained).

I heard another para-athlete describe this part of the race as “intense,” and I can’t come up with a better word than that.  What was relatively serene becomes loud and almost overwhelming.  And while the wave 1 runners try to be careful, there is inevitably some physical contact.  I was elbowed a few times, and shoved hard from behind once.  The latter forced me to grab onto a water table to save my balance.

This is always the hardest part of this race for me - in these early miles I want to spend as little mental and physical energy as possible, but at the same time I'm continually bracing for impact.

Fortunately, the field thinned out early, so only miles 2 to 6 were truly sketchy. And some of this was balanced out by those who would cheer for me as they passed - reminding me of my teammates at home on the track.  

Every time a woman passed by (wave 1 was, of course, mostly men) I felt a wistful twinge of jealousy, remembering that one pre-Parkinsons Boston Marathon where I had been in Wave 1.  It seemed both fresh and a lifetime ago.

*** 

My plan was to stay really quiet and careful until the Newton hills, get up those hills without too much effort, and then hammer home the last 10K.  There was one problem.  I was cold.  And keeping my effort controlled wasn't warming me up any.

However, the fact that I was cold also meant that I couldn't really pick up the effort - I was too stiff.  So I went with what I had, hoping that things would literally warm up by the time I hit the hills.

Spoiler alert - the weather stayed cool, even chilly, all the way to the end.  And so I stayed stiff until the hills, which took their toll.  Rather than crushing the last 6 miles I struggled in, with an emergency caffeinated gel making things worse, not better.  I also noted the pollen in the last few miles (I'm not sure why I didn't before). Even with a puff from my emergency inhaler, my breathing still felt way off.  In retrospect, this might not have been asthma but my chest and neck muscles tightening - something that I am currently working on in PT.

***

I finally, painfully crossed the line. Then I checked my watch for the first time - 3:43. Not as bad as I had expected, given how rough I felt at the end. I didn't know how I had placed, but a check of my cell phone a bit later confirmed that I was the first woman in my division to cross the finish line, and I had successfully defended my title. A quick text to my coach confirmed that I had also run a negative split for the first time ever on this course, and I was pretty happy about that.

***

Splits were:

Miles 1-2: 18:26
5K mark: 9:33
Mile 4 (.89 mile): 8:03
Mile 5: 8:56
Mile 6: 8:31
Mile 7: 8:31
Mile 8-9: 16:45
Mile 10: 8:09
Mile 11: 8:17
Mile 12: 8:03
Mile 13: 8:09
Mile 14: 7:59
Mile 15: 8:18
Mile 16: 7:47
Mile 17: 8:24
Mile 18: 8:19
Mile 19: 8:00
Mile 20: 8:32
Mile 21: 9:05
Mile 22: 8:21
Mile 23: 8:57
Mile 24: 8:13
Mile 25: 9:12
Mile 26: 9:32
last bit: 1:51

I'm pretty happy with this, all the way up to the last 10K.  Those final miles don't look bad in the context of the rest of the race, but are far slower than I had hoped to close. 

On the bright side, I did negative split this course for the first time in four tries.  And, though this wasn't my fastest Boston, in some ways I feel like it is my best-executed Boston so far.  Though there's still a lot of room for improvement.

Other notes:

• The weather ended up being 43 degrees in Hopkinson, 48 degrees in Boston, with a 13 mph tailwind. Simply fantastic.  In retrospect, I really wish that I had dressed a bit more warmly.  I've known for a while that I need to dress much more warmly than I used to, and that I'm fine wearing longsleeves and tights into the 40s. I just didn't quite trust that knowledge this time.
• I flew home on Tuesday morning, surrounded by people wearing Boston Marathon medals.  I was slightly tempted to don my Boston Marathon Pro Athlete lanyard, but decided that doing so would just flag me as petty and shallow.  (I may indeed be petty and shallow, but I try not to broadcast it).
• A few days later, I checked the USATF Para-Athlete Classification Database. And whadya know, I am listed as a T36 with a review year of 2029 - 3 years from now.  I guess I didn't look as good as I thought I did.
• I say this every year because I feel it strongly every year - I am so incredibly grateful to the opportunity that the BAA gives to para-athletes to strive and shine.  In a culture where they message is so often that those with an impairment should be sheltered and protected from disappointment, the BAA treats us with respect, as athletes. This respect promotes a cultural shift, both within and outside the running community, in how those with impairments are perceived and treated.
• On that same note, several events and conversations over marathon weekend made me realize that I have a responsibility now - I need to do my part to promote athletic opportunities for those with impairments. It's not something I asked to take on, just like Parkinson's isn't something I ever wanted to deal with.  But the BAA and other organizations like Move United have provided me with literally life-changing opportunities. And I need to pay it forward. I've spent the past week giving a lot of thought as to how to do that.

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 Marathon 2024, April 15, 2024

I ran the Boston Marathon on Monday, finishing in a time of 3:41.17, which was good enough to win the Women's Para 35-38 division at Boston.

My original plan for the spring was the Salisbury Marathon in Maryland the week before Boston.  Salisbury would have been the perfect set up for me to run a fast marathon - it's well managed, small, and flat.  However, in December I learned that Boston was offering a new para-athlete division in 2024 with substantial prize money to the winner. And my Parkinsons disease meant that I was eligible.

So, I wrote the BAA to see if there was a way I could get in.  I had missed the September deadline to apply for Boston in the open field, and though I was eligible to be a para-athlete, I was not currently classified as a para-athlete. Since I wasn't currently classified, I couldn't enter the para-athlete division.

However, "adaptive athletes" (those with certain health conditions, including Parkinsons) were allowed to enter the marathon late, as long as they had run a marathon in under 6 hours in the past year.  The BAA invited me to enter as an adaptive athlete, with the understanding that they would hold a slot open for me in the para-athlete field if I could get classified as a para-athlete before race day.

Wonderfully, the BAA then coordinated a classification opportunity for myself and about 10 other aspirational para-athletes.  In early April my classification appointment was confirmed and we were on.  Now I just had to get classified.

***

My classification appointment was at 1 pm on Saturday in the Hynes Convention Center (where the Expo was). 

When I arrived at the convention center, the line to enter the expo extended down the sidewalk further than I could see.  I showed my confirmation email to a guard to see if I could skip the line, since I wasn't going to the expo.  Nope - everybody had to wait in line.  I was concerned, but fortunately the line moved quickly and soon I was navigating my way to Room 109, where a big sign confirmed I was in the right place.

There was a table with two chairs behind it, and another chair sitting separately against a wall.  The separate chair looked like the waiting chair, so I sat there with Fugazi's "Waiting Room" stuck in my head. 

I read my phone for about 20 minutes, and then a woman in a BAA jacket arrived. We chatted briefly to establish that I was the first classification appointment of the afternoon, not the scheduled volunteer.  Then she shifted to stacking and shuffling forms. After they were stacked and shuffled to satisfaction, she invited me over to fill one form out and review another.  

I declined her offer to help me rise from my chair (wondering if I had just failed a pop quiz) and walked over. The first form was stuff about sharing my medical information and agreeing to be honest and try my best at anything I was asked to do.  The second listed questions that I would be asked during the examination - what sport I competed in, what were my best performances, medications...  

I signed where asked and returned to the chair of Fugazi, debating whether this felt more like waiting for a doctor's appointment or waiting for a job interview.  The classification evaluation team rolled in a few minutes later, there was some more shuffling of papers and some opening and closing of doors, and then I was invited into a large hotel conference room with several chairs and a medical examining table off to one side.  The doors clanged shut behind me.

***

At this point, it's probably helpful to outline how para-athlete classification works. It's much more than a doctor's note.

As background, para-athletes compete in different sport-specific classifications, each designated by a letter followed by two numbers.  The letter designates the sport - all track athletes (which includes marathoning) have the T prefix on their classification (it's F for field athletes - shot put, etc). 

The numbers designate the physical ability (or lack thereof), with the first number defining the nature of the impairment - for example, T1# athletes are visually impaired, T6# athletes use a lower limb prosthesis.  As a wannabe coordination impaired athlete, I was going for a T3# classification.  

The second number describes the severity of the impairment: more impairment means a lower #.

In order for an athlete to be classified, there are three questions that are considered in order:

1) does the athlete have an eligible impairment? If so, then...
2) does the athlete meet the minimum impairment criteria (MIC)?  If so, then...
3) into which class should the athlete be placed?

Taking each in turn:

Eligible Impairment 

Not every limitation is an eligible impairment - some health conditions can be significant obstacles to performance but are NOT eligible impairments (asthma, chronic fatigue, or chronic pain are good examples). There are ten eligible impairments for para-athletic sport (listed here), eight of which are physical.  Of the ten eligible impairments, I actually have three (hypertonia, ataxia, and athetosis) - all of which fall under the umbrella of coordination impairment.

If you have a coordination impairment, it must be caused by an underlying health condition in order to be an eligible impairment.  For example, you don't get to be a para-athlete simply because you have "hypertonia" (i.e., you are very stiff) because you blew up in a hot downhill marathon two days ago.  You have to have an underlying health condition that causes the hypertonia.

I met this hurdle by providing documents from my medical files documenting my rigidity and dystonia as assessed by my neurologist (that's the impairment) and showing my diagnosis of Parkinsons (the underlying health condition).  I had to provide these documents to the United States Olympic and Paralympic Committee in late March before I was scheduled for my classification evaluation.

Minimum Impairment Criteria (MIC)

Basically, is the athlete impaired to the point that it affects their athletic performance?  It's worth noting that this is a relative question, not an absolute question.  You can be an extremely fast runner and still meet the MIC (you would just be a lot faster without the impairment), or a very slow runner and NOT meet the MIC - the question is whether you are impaired, not how fast you are.  

This was what was being assessed during my classification evaluation.

Placement in a Class

If I was found to both a) have an eligible impairment and b) meet the MIC, then I'd be assigned to a class. Since I was going for a coordination impairment classification, I'd be assigned a classification of T31-38.  Of those, T31-34 are for athletes who compete in wheelchairs; T35-38 are for ambulatory athletes.  (If I didn't meet the MIC, I'd be classified as NE - noneligible).

***

Back to the conference room and the ominous just-closed doors.

I was invited over to sit in a chair by two gently smiling women.  They offered assistance and I declined (bombed another quiz).  They then explained how the hour would go - they'd ask me some questions, then examine me on the table.  Depending on how that went, they might ask me to do some stuff while they watched.

The questions mapped to the sheet I had been provided a few minutes earlier - what sports did I compete in, what were my best performances, how was I impaired, what made stuff worse (running downhill is a big one), what medications was I on.  I explained to them that I had pre- and post-Parkinsons marathon PRs (2:57:42 in 2018 versus 3:20:29 in 2023) and they seemed to find that very interesting. Then I removed my shoes and hopped on the examination table.

My job was to lay on my back and stay as relaxed as possible (like during a sports massage), so I closed my eyes and tried to zen.  One of the women grasped my right arm and raised it and began moving my wrist around.  She flexed it a couple of times at different speeds/directions, and then stated a number, which the other woman wrote down. Then onto the elbow and shoulder (each assessed a number), before shifting to my left side to do the same thing.  Then she moved onto my legs to do the same thing (more numbers).  

After we were done with the joint stuff, they stroked my feet a few times to see what happened (I know this one - this is the Babinski test) and tapped me in various places with a rubber hammer. More numbers.  

Then they asked me to take the heel of one foot, touch it to my shin right below my knee, and run my heel down my shin to the ankle.  I did this several times on each side and to my great annoyance could not seem to keep my heel touching my shin.  It was just like curling your tongue - seems simple if you can do it, but I just couldn't.  More numbers.  Apparently, I had passed this section of the examination (which I guess means I failed in one sense), because they asked me to get up and walk around the conference room.

This next phase felt like an intense physical therapy session.  They had me walk barefooted (sure).  Then they had me jog barefooted (didn't they know I had a marathon in 48 hours?).  Then they asked me to run as fast as I could (still barefoot) from one wall of the conference room to the other and back twice.

Um.....this was exactly the sort of thing I would normally refuse to do in my last week or two of taper.  But I needed my classification to run in the para-athlete division, which was the whole reason I was running Boston. And doing barefoot sprints was apparently part of classification.  So I sucked it up and sprinted as best I could.

I did the barefoot shuttle-run sprints a few times (they gave me a chance to catch my breath between rounds), and then some running drills (cariokes and side steps), some heel and toe walks and some single leg balance stuff (I'm very good at all of those), and some single leg hops.  Then they let me put my shoes back on and I repeated the shuttle-run sprint a final time.

Then I left the room for a few minutes so they could compare notes.  The conference doors opened, and I returned to the waiting chair which was occupied by the next appointment.  Someone offered me another chair so I didn't have to stand and I declined (that was three failed pop quizzes in just over an hour).

After about 5 minutes I was invited back in for the verdict.

***

As I noted above, there are four ambulatory T3# classifications.  The classifiers explained that T38 was a catch-all classification for those who met the MIC but didn't really have anything beyond that.  T37 was for those who were affected on one limb or one side of their body.  If your right leg is great and your left leg is neurologic, you are a T37.

As for me, I was a "classic T-36."  What they had noticed was that my muscles tended to respond jerkily and unevenly.  I was very "wiggly."  What made me "classic" was that I was great at doing one thing steadily (balancing on one foot, walking on my toes).  But when required to do sudden changes - things like accelerating, then hitting the brakes and pivoting to run the other way, everything got messy.  

This was consistent with my training and racing experiences - I can run well on flat smooth surfaces in uncrowded situations at a steady hard pace with a long warm-up.  But if you add uneven surfaces, or crowds, or sharp turns, or speeding/up slowing down (track interval workouts) everything gets much harder.

They explained that difficulty running downhill was also very normal for a T36 athlete.  Downhill running involves eccentric contractions to maintain your balance.  It's neurologically challenging - it requires instant and exact response from your muscles.  Uphill running has a lot more room for neurological error - you don't need as much control, just power.

So there we were - I was a T36.  Well, tentatively.  The final requirement was that they would be observing all the newly classified athletes during the marathon.  If what they saw during the race didn't match what they had seen in the conference room, they could revoke my classification (which would also DQ me from the para competition).  It was extremely rare for this to happen, but it did occasionally.

Thus, I had to describe what I planned to wear on Monday so they could pick me out from the crowds.  I did, and then I was free to pick up my number.  Now I just had to run a marathon.  A downhill, crowded marathon with plenty of uneven surfaces.

***

Relieved and on a bit of a high, I made my way over to room 201 (separate from normal bib pick-up) to grab my bib.  Getting there involved displaying emails on my phone to several very serious looking people so that I could duck under various ropes and around various lines.  

Upon arriving in room 201, I was asked if I was a support runner and responded that I was a para-athlete (this would be a common theme for the rest of the weekend).  I showed my confirmation email and explained that I had just been classified.  I waited a few minutes while my purple wave 1 bib was swapped out for a yellow bib - P156 - and then I was good to go.  

I flashed my phone+emails a few more times to duck under a few more ropes so I could buy a stuffed unicorn at the expo (black shirt this year - a good sign?) before wending my way back to my hotel in the hinterlands of Lechmere (an area of Cambridge about 30 minutes by green line T from the finish line).

***

That was Saturday. Sunday was a shake out jog and Chipotle and stretching and emails and watching Cevin Key's Sunday live chat until it was hilariously shut down by Youtube for a copyright violation (Cevin was playing one of his band's own videos....).

My instructions were to be in the lobby of a downtown Boston hotel by 5:30 am sharp on Monday to board the buses to the start. This was non-negotiable - if I missed these buses, I'd have to take the later buses used by the open field and would not be allowed to start with the para division.

This was going to be tight, as the first green line train from Lechmere was leaving at 4:56 in the morning and would get me to the hotel at 5:25.  Doable, but close.  Since I wasn't comfortable with that, I reserved a cab for 4:30 am. Admittedly super-early, but if my cab didn't show, I would still have time to walk to the Lechmere T station and take my chances with the train.

***

Race morning dawned at 3:55 am (the first of three alarms I had set).  I did my early morning routine and double checked my plastic race-issued-tote to confirm it had my racing shoes, breakfast, and anything (or everything) else I might possibly want.  My cab showed up at 4:40 which was both nerve-wracking and still got me to the hotel lobby early.  So overall fine.

I was unsurprisingly the first athlete to show up in the lobby. A nice woman in a BAA jacket approached and asked if I was a support runner. I explained I was a para-athlete and showed my bib and she pointed me towards what would be the para-athlete area.  

She also apologized several times for the hotel bathrooms being upstairs and less chairs being available than in previous years.  I assured her that everything was great, and it was.  The last time I did this race I was trudging through mud past portajohns in Boston Common to get on a school bus - everything about this morning so far (save the absence of my 2018 training partners Chris, Juan, and Larry) was a massive upgrade.

The vast lobby of the hotel was allocated between the elites, the wheelchair racers, the hand cycle racers, the duo racers, and the para/adaptive athletes. This structure made sense, as each group had different tasks to focus on before getting on the buses to the start.  Specifically, the wheelchair, hand cycle, and duo racers each had mandatory equipment checks.  

As for the para-athletes?  We just hung out, stretched, drank free coffee and water, and chatted.  Which was great, as it gave me a chance to learn more about some of the other para-athlete divisions.

Thanks to Sara Whittingham for the picture!

I had some imposter syndrome as I chatted with amputees and visually impaired runners - I was the one who looked like she didn't belong.  But they rapidly put me at ease and welcomed me.

I also was able to finally meet some of the other Parkinsons runners who were running Boston in person as para- or adaptive athletes - Craig, Joe, Renee, Rhonda, and Sara.  It was great to meet after so much online discussion in the weeks leading up to the race.

Then, at around 6:30, we exited the lobby and boarded the buses to the start.

***

One of my never-achieved running goals was to run Boston as a masters elite. A decade ago, the elite masters standard for women at Boston was sub-3. But by the time I broke three hours for the marathon, the standard had tightened. I chased faster times but was first delayed and then blocked by the triple whammy of getting hit by a truck + the covid pandemic + Parkinsons, while the standard continued to drop (it's now 2:48). So I had moved on.

But now, via weird backdoor, I was living the experience I thought out of reach.  Our chartered bus (a Mercedes - no school buses for us) rumbled towards Hopkinton while state police halted traffic for us.  

Piles of gels!

Once in Hopkinton, we were treated to a heated tent that featured not just chairs, coffee, and water, but also yoga mats for anyone who wanted to stretch and mounds of free Maurten gels.  I've been fortunate enough to be included in the elite or sub-elite programs at several races over the years - I think this may be the best elite treatment I've ever personally experienced.

[it took some restraint, but I managed to NOT shovel a large # of the Maurten gels into my gear bag for later use when nobody was looking.]

[some of this restraint may have stemmed from the fact that there was never a time when nobody was looking.]

Arriving in Hopkinton at 7:30 for a 9:50 start meant plenty of time to kill, so I hung out, chatted with others, stretched, took some pictures, and ate my pre-race breakfast (rice plus Maurten+Ucan gels).  Around 9 am I headed out for a 10 minute shakeout jog.  Then one final bathroom break, a double-check that I had everything I needed and nothing I didn't, and a watch-buzz reminder to take my Rytary (Parkinsons med that helps my muscles work right - I get about 4-4.5 hours out of it, so I like to take it about 20-30 minutes before the start of a marathon).  After all of that I joined the para-athlete group to follow the elite fields to the starting line. It was already a warm and brightly sunny morning, so no need for last-minute throwaways.  Just t-shirts, singlets, and sports bras.

The experience felt somewhat like a row of airlines waiting for take-off.  First in line were the men's elite field, then the women's elite field, and then us.  Each with our own ground crew signaling where and when to go.  The men lined up, were introduced, and then took off.  The women proceeded to the line for introductions and then the gun.  I've seen (and even occasionally participated in) elite race starts before, but there was something about watching the Boston women's elite start from this close that sent a chill down my neck.

Thanks to Joe Drake for the video!

Then it was our turn.  Just like the other two groups, we marched to the front.  A few luminaries of the para field - past winners and course record holders - were introduced by name to applause.  Then we were given the 20 second warning, followed by the gun.

***

I had some pretty specific goals in running Boston as a para-athlete, and they were not time-based.  Part of this is that I was fairly certain that I would struggle to run to my fitness on this downhill rolling course even in perfect weather.  As a "classic T36" I find it much harder to run fast downhill than on the flat, and obviously I can't make the time up running uphill.  It's also challenging for me to run fast from a standstill, especially when I've been standing for a few minutes or longer.  So a marathon where the first 6 miles were mostly downhill after standing around for a while was always going to be rough.

I also suspected that the weather would be a real factor today.  However, I was confident of my ability to close a marathon hard even in rough weather.  Thus, my game plan was go out very slowly the first 6 miles or the race (at easy pace or close to it), then build into a moderate effort (easier than marathon effort) which I would hold through mile 16. The Newton hills began at mile 16 - at that point I'd hopefully be in striking distance of whomever was leading my division, and I'd chase them down and hammer to the finish to snag the win.  Hopefully.

Given this strategy, I was expecting not to lead the para field when the gun fired.  I was NOT expecting to be dropped by the entire field.  But that was exactly what happened, and within about 2 minutes I was dead last.  Sara - another T36, an all around great person, and my closest competition for the win in our division - had exploded off the line and was smoothly striding into the distance.  (Did I mention that she completed Kona last year and clearly knew something about hot weather racing?)

I'd like to stay that I stuck to my racing plan out of discipline and confidence.  The truth is that I was really struggling with the steep downhill of the first mile, and a shuffling pace was the best I could do.

Being dead last and struggling with my balance that first mile was mortifying.  I had told my family and friends I might be on TV, and now I was really hoping I wasn't.  The one positive was that perhaps the classifiers WERE watching.  Oh, and at least I wasn't starting too fast.

***

Those early miles were eerie.  Once again I was running the first miles of a marathon major completely solo, sandwiched in between the elites and the waves of open runners about to be released.  The one thing that made this a bit better than Chicago 2022 was that I felt a bit more justified in my pace and position.

The Boston course turns and winds a bit through Hopkinton, and so it's actually pretty easy to lose sight of those ahead of you if they aren't within 100m or so.  Soon I was alone - shuffling down the hill and reminding myself to stay patient and relaxed until things started working.

I would round a turn at my trying-not-to-trip-downhill pace, and I'd hear an enormous roar from the crowds on each side.  I knew it couldn't be the first wave runners (they hadn't been released yet) but there weren't any runners near me or ahead of me.  I was honestly confused as to what was going on.  Finally, I cranked my head around to look behind me and saw nothing but empty road.

It took another 10 seconds or so for me to realize that everyone on both sides was cheering for me.

It's been nearly a week now, and I'm still not sure how to map those feelings to words.

***

I shuffled and shuffled, and then my gait started to improve a bit and I could pick up speed.  After another mile my gait was better and I could start subbing in racing discipline for physical limitation.  The next few miles were about sticking to the plan, staying on top of my drinking and nutrition, and staying to the left to let the faster wave 1 runners by (the para-athletes had been instructed to stay left).

For the most part, being passed by the wave 1 runners at Boston was not as rough as it had been at Chicago in 2022.  I suspect part of this is because Boston is a far smaller race.  The only place where things were tough was the water stations. With cups on both sides of the road, staying to the left meant that wave 1 runners were constantly ducking in front of me to grab water, which disrupted my balance.  I suspect that since I didn't look like a para-athlete many of them were treating me like a competitor who had started ahead of her fitness.

***

After mile 6 things leveled off, and I relaxed into moderate effort.  I didn't feel great - I was already a bit warm with the sun blazing overhead and my breathing was tight (the pollen was very high), but things were still under control.  I took a puff of my asthma inhaler to loosen things up slightly and reminded myself that there was a lot of race ahead of me - stay in control and keep making good decisions.

The mile markers and 5K markers clicked by (a bit slower than I would have liked).  As we approached mile 10 I was surprised to see Sara up ahead.  I had hoped to catch her at or right before the Newton hills.  It became clear to me that the heat and sunshine were already claiming casualties among smart and accomplished runners.  At that point I adjusted my plan - I'd stick to moderate effort unless I saw that I needed to do something different to try to win.

So I held steady as we went down and up.  The downhills got better but still were never comfortable, and I could tell that I was shredding my quads despite my care - when you have to fight for your stability running downhill, your legs pay a price regardless of pace.

By 19 I was starting to feel rough, and "hammering" was no longer an option.  Each mile after that got a bit harder, and by mile 22 I started to notice the warning signs of heat illness - that combination of vision narrowing and heaviness, plus some weaving.  The right side of my back was also cramping and my right calf felt like it wanted to ball up.

I really wanted to win this division.  And I also knew that passing out from overheating in the final miles was an easy way to lose. So, I put pride aside and shifted to a run/walk strategy to keep my heart rate somewhat under control (when I'm overheating, walking will cool me back down, but very slow running accomplishes nothing).  

I was run-walking scared, worried that I was about to be passed behind (or perhaps already had been), so I kept my run phases pretty hard.  

Finally, I saw the turns onto Hereford and then Boylston.  I committed to running this last section of the race and managed to do so, though it felt awful.  As I rounded the turns, I noted several people on stretchers without comprehending (until I had finished) that they were runners who had passed out.

Thanks to Jessenia Delgado for the video!

With about 50 meters to go, I noticed a display scrolling information above the race clocks.  It flashed "Congratulations - Cristina Burbach - division winner women's T35-38."   And a small part of me finally enjoyed the last 50 meters of the Boston Marathon, while the rest of me remembered that nothing counted until I was across the mats.

***

Splits ended up being:

Miles 1-2: 18:20
Mile 3: 8:07
Mile 4: 8:32
Mile 5: 8:24
Mile 6: 8:16
Mile 7: 8:06
Mile 8: 8:11
Miles 9-10: 15:56
Mile 11: 8:01
Mile 12: 8:02
Mile 13: 8:04
Mile 14: 8:03
Mile 15: 8:22
Mile 16: 8:07
Mile 17: 8:28
Mile 18: 8:38
Mile 19: 8:24
Mile 20: 8:30
Mile 21: 8:52
Mile 22: 8:25
Mile 23: 8:55
Mile 24: 8:48
Mile 25: 9:24
Mile 26: 8:54
last .21 - 1:33

Post race was busy.  I saw several of my teammates in the finishing area - we'd all struggled in the heat, with sunburn war wounds to show for it.  I regrouped for a bit and then headed back to Lechmere for a shower.

A bit later, I received an email confirming that I'd won my division (there was a period where protests could be lodged, and I suspect the classifiers also had to sign off that I was indeed impaired).  So back to downtown Boston where I flashed my winner's email to five different hotel staffers to get admitted to the awards room.  

I assumed that once there, I'd just be given my trophy in a box.  I was shocked when they offered to make a presentation, complete with a wreath of olive leaves that I was allowed to keep as well.  Just one more thing that made a special day even more special.

Other notes:

• As noted above, I did NOT shovel the mounds of free Maurten gels into my bag when given the opportunity.   Sadly, later that afternoon, when I packed my box to ship it home, I forgot to ship the Maurten gels I had brought with me (but hadn't used). Since I didn't have room in my carryon, those gels ended up left in my hotel room.  The gel gods giveth and the gel gods taketh.
  
  
• I wore my Nike Vaporfly 3s for this race.  They have always felt great at marathon pace; however, due to both weather and strategy, I never actually hit my marathon pace in this race.  And the Vaporfly 3 is NOT a comfortable shoe at slower paces.  I think I also would have been more stable downhill in another shoe.  Noted for next time.
  
  
• One thing I really struggled with was sleep the last two nights before the marathon.  While some of this may have been nerves, I think most of it was that I didn't taper back my Parkinsons meds the way I would normally prefer to do.  The amount of medication I need depends on how much activity I'm doing - when I'm backing off of the exercise, maintaining the same level of medication gives me insomnia.  At the same time, I didn't want to go to my classification appointment and tell them that I had taken less medication than I would on race day - I was afraid it would look like I was trying to game the system.  Hopefully I won't have to deal with that again.
  
  
• I FedExed the trophy home - taking the padded box the trophy came in and packing that in MORE bubble wrap and an additional box.  As for the wreath?  I carried that home on the plane in a Chipotle paper bag, nervous the whole time that if I wasn't touching it some well meaning stranger would toss it in the trash.
  
  
• In 2018, I heat-trained all winter, and we got the coldest most miserable Boston ever.  This year I made a point to do workouts in cold heavy rain and wind, and we got bright sunshine and heat illness.  I'm now taking suggestions on what sort of weather to train in next winter.
  
  
• It was really great to meet all the other runners with Parkinsons.  I like to think that at this point I know a fair bit about running and racing.  But I still have a ton to learn about how to do either with Parkinsons.  I'm really fortunate to have the runners I met at Boston, plus my friend and teammate Ethan at the Michael J. Fox foundation, as resources and trailblazers from whom I can learn.
  
  
• I am struggling to express just how much I appreciate the BAA and Bank of America offering the T35-38 para division.  And while the VIP treatment we received was awesome, what I am most grateful for is the opportunity they provided me to compete against my peers. 
  
  When you get diagnosed with one of these neurodegenerative conditions, everyone assumes that you should be happy just to be able to run and to finish a race, especially a marathon.  The implication is that one is no longer (and should no longer be) a competitive athlete.  For me, this was the hardest part of being diagnosed.  It was also something I chose to ignore, since high amounts of intense aerobic exercise are the best way to slow Parkinsons, and racing motivates me far more than slowing disease progression does.  I might be slower, but I still wanted to compete.  I wanted to continue to be me.
  
  By offering this division, the BAA and Bank of America sent a clear message: they saw me as a competitor, not an inspirational story. I never had the sense that anyone felt sorry for me the whole weekend, just that they respected me. It was huge - both for me, and for many other people with Parkinsons who may have abandoned competitive sports out of well-meant but misguided societal peer pressure to live a softer, gentler life. I hope those people will see the respect offered by the Boston Marathon and realize that, though they do face obstacles they didn't before, their competitive life is not a relic of the past.

Race Report: Chicago Marathon, October 8, 2023

I ran the Chicago Marathon yesterday, finishing in 3:20:29.

I ran Chicago last year also, finishing in what was then a new lifetime personal worst.  Of course, I was honestly just happy to actually make it through a training cycle and a marathon then, but I instantly wanted a do over.  So I registered for the next Chicago marathon as soon as it opened, with the understanding that it was very unlikely that 2023 would be gifted with the spectacular weather that 2022 received.

Like last year, I flew out to Chicago on Friday morning, which gave me plenty of time to do stuff, and also fudge time in case I had travel difficulties.  While I've historically been a Southwest Airlines fan, I've shifted allegiances in the past year.  Now I try whenever possible to book an airline that has hubs in both Baltimore/DC and my destination - the idea is that if there are cancellations/delays, there will be plenty of other options to get me to my destination without having to swap airlines.

So I flew American Airlines for the first time in possibly 15-20 years. The only thing of note about my flight was that there was a chunk missing from one of the wings.

I noticed this before we departed and pointed it out to a flight attendant (in case the pilot had somehow missed it on the walkaround).  We took off anyway with no delay, so clearly it wasn't an issue.  In retrospect this wasn't surprising because (based on my very limited aviation knowledge) a chunk missing from one of the flaps doesn't affect the overall airworthiness of the aircraft.  

I Googled later and learned that this is a standard repair when there is a crack in the flap.  So file that under "today I learned (not to bug the flight attendant with silly stuff)."

Once I landed, I did my standard routine - pick up the box I'd shipped myself and then grab Chipotle.  The marathon expo was also on the Friday checklist, but first I had a pilgrimage to complete.

*** 

The Museum of Post Punk and Industrial Music was founded in 2021 by Martin Atkins, who is pretty much the Kevin Bacon of the Wax Trax era of music.  Both Brian and I are "founders" which means that we contributed some money and were granted lifetime access to the Museum (by appointment - we can't just randomly show up).  

Since I was in Chicago for the marathon, I scheduled a visit for early Friday afternoon, thinking that I'd first visit the Museum and then take a cab to the expo.  This also gave me a chance to personally courier my contribution to the Museum - one of two chunks of wood I owned from a stage that a lot of industrial/post punk/goth bands played on 20 years ago. 

The Museum was amazing.  It's a place to display cool stuff, but unlike most museums, visitors are allowed to touch stuff, examine it, even play it (in the case of a drum kit that apparently survived multiple tours).  I suspect this is because a) the entire ethos of industrial music is experimenting and playing around with stuff and b) the Museum has complete control of who can attend.  

The staff on hand were all as enthusiastic about this stuff as the guests (just me and a really nice guy henceforth known as Norwegian death metal guy, plus his elderly relatives) and so the whole visit felt like hanging out with a bunch of cool people and chatting about the latest iteration of Coldwaves, flipping through old tour passes, and listening to unreleased demos.  

I could go on and on, but instead I'll let NPR describe the Museum.

***

My visit to the Museum was slightly marred when I couldn't get a cab to pick me up afterwards. The first service I called informed me that they didn't serve that part of Chicago; the next told me that they would, but it'd be an hour+ wait.   Fortunately, I was able to bum a ride off of Norwegian death metal guy and his grandmother to the expo.  

[No, I don't normally bum rides from strangers in a strange city.  But given the fact that a) he had his grandmother with him and b) my other options were either walking two+ miles by myself through an arguably sketchy area of Chicago or sitting outside in a light rain for an hour+ as the sun set in hopes a cab might arrive, I took my chances.]

Transitioning from the profanity-strewn intimacy of the Museum to the mass neuroticism of bib pickup for a World Major marathon was a bit jarring, but fortunately the Chicago Marathon expo offered me plenty of walking and escalator time to adjust.

***

Saturday was pretty boring.  I jogged four miles at an effort that seemed very slow and a pace that seemed shockingly fast for the effort and concluded that I had nailed the taper.  I celebrated with a few bowls of Chipotle and some stretching, and then confirmed that the Sunday forecast was still for perfect weather before going to bed early.

Race morning was an early wake-up - a bit before 4 am.  I wanted plenty of time to eat, digest, and stretch before leaving my hotel room about 5:15 am to head over to the start.   This should have been perfect timing for a relaxed pre-race experience (ironic foreshadowing).

I was staying in the Magnificent Mile area of Chicago (I don't make up the names here) and so I had a short ride on the red line subway down to the race start.  I was entered in the "World Age Group Marathon Championships" which meant that I and the other entrants had our own gate through security to the starting area, a warm tent to sit in before heading to the corrals, private bag check, and designated corrals.   

This all sounded great in theory.  However, it took 25+ minutes to get through the security at our designated gate, which was the only gate we were allowed to use.  [I've run Chicago twice before - once with a normal bib and once in the ADP corral - in both cases it took 10 minutes or less to get through security].  That, plus a few minutes delay on my inbound subway, meant that all of my pre-race fudge time had been eaten, digested, and pooped.  

***

When I finally got through security I hustled to the tent so I could jam my feet into my racing shoes (I had decided to go with the Hoka Rocket X2), rummage through my bag to make sure I had everything I needed and nothing I didn't, and then check my bag before heading out for a warm-up jog/bathroom search.  

The gossip in the tent had been that the lines for our "reserved" portajohns were impossibly long, and a visual inspection confirmed this.  Many people were using bushes, but as I jogged I noted another set of pristine portajohns, with a very bored race official standing out front.  These portajohns were intended for volunteers, but the portajohn guard generously allowed me and a few other desperate-looking older runners to use them.  It was blue plastic aloe-scented bliss.

After taking care of the necessary, I squeezed in roughly a 1/2 mile of mostly jogging, and then it was time to head to the start.  I entered my corral at 7:10 (mindful of the fact that at exactly 7:20 the corral would close) and waited.

***

I had been assigned to corral B, which was for 3:10 marathoners and faster.  I knew I belonged in corral C (for 3:20 and faster), so when the race started, I stood aside as the waves walked forward, watching for the 3:20 pacer.  When I saw that sign go by, I paused a few moments and then slipped into the corral and walked to the timing mats to start.

The first two miles of the race were unsurprisingly rocky for me.  Running in crowds, especially tightly packed ones, is an issue for me, as is standing around for some time before running.  But I knew this and planned for it.  A forced slow start is not a bad thing in a marathon, as long as you don't let it stress you out.  So I just mentally chilled out and let my body calibrate itself to running, and then I started to open my stride up.

Chicago is a boring marathon, and I mean that in a good way.  There's no hills or otherwise challenging terrain to worry about.  Just flat, mostly smooth pavement.  Even after a few miles had passed, I was working fairly hard to mentally manage my dystonia stuff - the course was pretty crowded, and friendly spectators throwing confetti or waving signs in my face didn't help.  But I knew this what I had signed up for, so I dealt with it.

***

One problem that did show up pretty early was my right adductor/groin.  I had tweaked it slightly while stretching about 5 days ago.  It didn't bother me at all when running, so I decided not to worry about it other than being very protective of it in the final days of taper.  But now, only about 3 miles into the race, it was hurting.  It hurt enough that I would have been really concerned except for one thing: the same thing had happened early on when I ran my marathon PR at CIM.  

With that knowledge, and the fact that I could drop out of Chicago at any time without being stranded, I decided to ignore it and keep going.  If it hurt enough that I had to stop, I would, but I wasn't going to give it any mental energy until then.

[I'll jump out of sequence so I can fast forward to the following: the pain was completely gone and forgotten by 10 miles, and a day later it doesn't hurt at all there.  So we'll cross that one off as early race tension manifesting as a tight muscle.]

***

The other issue that I faced was the water stops.  I was wearing the Hoka Rocket X2, which is a great shoe with horrible traction on wet pavement.  I had decided to wear the Rockets since rain was nowhere in the forecast for race day.  However, I forgot how wet the pavement gets at water stops.  Especially when you're running at roughly 7:30 pace in a big marathon, which means that plenty of runners ahead of you have already splashed the ground.

I was carrying a handheld water bottle, which enabled me to skip the first few water stations.  But even then, the entire road was wet and strewn with paper cups.  Between the slipperiness of the Rockets and my own personal balance issues, it was problematic.  I had to treat each water station as though it was a patch of black ice and adjust accordingly, slowing to navigate the water station and then picking up the pace after.  Lesson learned for next time - save the Hokas for smaller races where you can avoid the water stop madness.

***

Other than those things, there wasn't much of note.  I had expected to feel really good on race day, but I didn't - just kinda average.  But...you can only work with what you have.  So I focused on holding the correct effort instead of panicking and trying to force something.  And tried to keep my zen as I continued to navigate a crowded field long after I expected it to clear.

Given where I was, I was shocked when the 3:20 pace flag came into view in the distance, around mile 18.  I had thought they were far ahead of me, but nope, I was reeling them in.  Excellent.  

I continued to slowly but methodically gain on them.  Unfortunately, a mile or so later, my hamstrings started to cramp.  Not horribly, but enough that it altered my gait some.  The last few miles of the race were among the tougher of any marathon I've done, as the 3:20 group gently pulled away.  

When getting into cramping/other gait issues late in a marathon, I've always it helpful to think about "relaxing and flowing forward" rather than "fighting" and so I relaxed and flowed forward as "hard" as I could, while also trying to find people who were in more trouble than I was to chase down.  Fortunately, at this stage in a large marathon there were plenty of pawns for that purpose, and that's how I got myself to the finish without falling apart completely.

I crossed the finish, stopped my watch, and checked it. 3:20:33.  So a little more than a second per mile off of the time I had hoped to run.  There was a twinge of disappointment, but mostly satisfaction.  I had fought a pretty good fight, especially the last few miles, and had improved significantly from last year, which was my biggest goal.

Manual splits (I missed quite a few mile markers):

Miles 1-2: 16:55 (8:23 pace)
Miles 3-4: 15:21 (7:41 pace)
Miles 5-6: 15:19 (7:40 pace)
Mile 7: 7:22 
Mile 8: 7:31 
Mile 9: 7:22
Mile 10: 7:21
Mile 11: 7:32
Mile 12: 7:43
Mile 13: 7:22
Mile 14: 7:34
Mile 15: 7:19
Mile 16: 7:33
Mile 17: 7:32
Mile 18: 7:30
Mile 19: 7:02 (short)
Mile 20: 8:13 (long)
Mile 21: 7:47
Mile 22: 7:32
Mile 23: 7:49
Mile 24: 7:47
Mile 25: 7:39
Mile 26: 7:42
last .21 - 1:43 (8:10 pace)

***

I wish the race story ended there, but there's more.  I gingerly made my way over to the Age Group Championships tent to pick up my bag and was presented with a line much longer than what I had faced when going though security a few hours prior.  It was incredibly frustrating.  

Quite a few people abandoned their bags either temporarily or permanently, but I didn't have that option.  I had a cell phone, a jacket, shoes, and a set of headphones in my bag, and I also had deadlines for checking out of my hotel and meeting friends for lunch.  So I waited, and waited, and waited.  In what felt much more like an airline terminal during a computer meltdown than a post race celebration.

Having given up on being able to match bag to runner, the few valiant volunteers (who are blameless here - they just showed up to do their job when not enough other people did) dumped our bags out onto the lawn, leaving the runners to sort through them.  Fortunately, a volunteer helped me find mine, and so I was able to quickly (or as quickly as I could) put on my jacket and relocate my feet from one pair of a shoes to another, before hustle-hobbling out of the finish area towards shower, checkout, friends, and food.

Other notes:

• The weather was as good as it could be for a marathon.  High 40s and low 50s, with not much wind (maybe a bit of a headwind in the final 2 miles) and mostly overcast skies.
• I took 6 Maurten gels this race.  Despite pre-tearing them before, I still had a bit of trouble with getting some of them open and had to toss one away for that reason.  Fine motor skills have never been my strength.
• Starting around mile 17 or so, the third and fourth toes on my right foot really started hurting.  Like the shoe was too small for my foot, though that didn't make sense.  I didn't have any choice but to ignore and finish the race, but it was pretty damn painful by the time I was done.  When I changed my shoes after, I realized that I had placed an extra pair of toe spacers in my right shoe, in case I somehow lost the ones I was wearing.  In my pre-race hustle, I had jammed the shoe on without checking, and....Ooops.  I don't think it cost me any time, though, and amazingly those toenails are NOT black as of the writing of this blog post.
• I carried a water bottle which tided me through much of the race, refilling it once around mile 16 or so.  My mouth was really dry and I was thirsty when I finished, which tells me I should have taken more water during the race.  I'm normally good about that, but my challenges with water stops made me hesitant.  I suspect this was at least partially the source of the cramping in the late miles.
• I think my dystonia and balance issues might have also been an indirect cause of my late struggles.  Essentially, it's best to run a marathon as relaxed and smoothly as possible - no sudden changes in pace, direction, etc, and thus no wasted effort.  However, I wasn't running that way.  Instead, I repeatedly encountered scenarios where I had to work to stay on my feet.  Slick pavement, people cutting me off, dark underpasses where my gait would get really screwy.  I suspect all of that extra effort came at a cost, and so the pacing by feel that would have normally put me in a good place in the final miles instead left me in a hole.  
• Overall, I was still really happy with this race - not just from a time standpoint, but from the fact that so many things are better.  I didn't struggle with timing mats the way I did last time.  The very modest downhills after overpasses were no issue this year.  And I handled the crowding better than last year.  Progress is a great feeling.
• It took a full HOUR for me to get my bag from the time I first lined up to grab it.  I run Chicago because it's a very well run marathon, and I did the Age Group Championships thing because I thought it would be even better.  Instead, I feel like an idiot who signed up for the mature marathoner's version of the Fyre Festival.  (To their credit, the Chicago Marathon did email all of the participants an apology that evening)
• I discovered that Chicago public transit lets one use their credit card as a fare card just like New York.  So convenient for visitors.  Every city should do this.