Burning Man 50k (Or: A Run Around the Desert)

Burning Man is a 70,000-person hippy gathering in the desert of Nevada, in summer. There’s cool art, funky music, and fun activities to do. It’s a bastion of hippy values: love, sharing, and friendliness. Most of all, it’s summer camp for adults – where you have no plans and no obligations, other than to have fun. So basically, you get to do whatever you want.

For me, doing whatever I want often means … running.

Background and Course Info

I’d heard about the Burning Man 50k a few years ago. For a variety of reasons and despite having tickets, I hadn’t gotten around to actually going to Burning Man. So when Cyndi, my friend and colleague, mentioned she was going to Burning Man for the first time this year and invited me along, I couldn’t say no. Later, she also mentioned she was going to run the 50k, and I knew I’d found the right group to camp with.

The Burning Man 50k course goes through some of the major landmarks of the city, which is laid out a bit like a clock (see below). The course starts somewhere near the middle of the city, heads out to the perimeter, goes about a quarter of the way around the edge, then comes back in. It’s about four laps of running, plus a little bit at the end, to get to the full 50k. The course is flat (it’s a desert). The race itself starts early – around 5:30am – to avoid the desert heat. Dust storms are a very real consideration, so appropriate apparel, such as dust masks and goggles, are required.

This is a map of the course. You run the pink dotted line four times, then a little bit more, going clockwise. Pink Lightning is the name of the camp that organized the race. It’s also where the race starts and finishes.

 

A few things surprised me (in a good way!) about how the race was organized:

  • There’s no registration fee. That’s because everything at Burning Man is “gifted” – e.g. created by another participant and then shared, with no exchange of money, goods, or services
  • It’s chip-timed, which is really impressive for a race that’s so far out in the desert and affiliated with a bigger event
  • There’s even swag: T-shirts, finisher medals, and start medals
  • It’s BYO aid-station – all participants were asked to bring some aid station snacks to donate, as well as 1-2 gallons of water each. We brought some salty crunchy snacks (I can’t remember exactly what). We also made a little aid station box for our camp, which consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, peanut butter and nutella sandwiches, and peanut butter and honey sandwiches. You might be picking up on a theme here.

The Start Line

The race was supposed to start at 5am, so we headed over to the start line around 4:30am. Most Burning Man activity happens at night, so as we were waking up to get ready for the race, it felt like the city was still in full-on party mode. About a hundred runners were at the start (it felt like more), and it was clear some of them hadn’t actually gone to sleep the day before. They’d just rolled right up after staying out all night.

Almost all runners were in some kind of costume. Most costumes included illumination of some sort, such as LED-encrusted headgear, or jackets lined with electroluminescent wiring. These light-up clothes serve a dual purpose: they both look cool, and make sure people can see you at night. Lots of folks wore tutus, capes, or headgear. One woman had a mirrored disco-ball sports bra!

We said hi to a few folks – there were one or two other people I knew who were running as well – and stashed our camp’s aid station out of the way of the hoards.

For reasons that remain unclear to me, the race didn’t actually start until 5:30am. That said, this is pretty typical of Burning Man – things start late, or not at all. Timing is pretty flexible.

After a brief group photo, we lined up at the start, and the race began.

 

Two other folks from my camp, Alex and Cyndi, also ran this race – it was their first 50k! We wore matching unicorn headbands.

I made this cape a lot of years ago for the relay race around Lake Tahoe! It made a comeback for this costumed event

Image may contain: 1 person, crowd

All the runners at the stat line

Before Sunrise

Cyndi, Alex, and I had planned to run a few miles at the start together, but it became very quickly apparent that they wanted to set a much faster pace than I wanted to. I also didn’t want to push my pace too much to start, since I’d been rehabbing an ankle injury (posterior tibial tendinitis – it’s healed now, but it was a long road this year). So they took off within the first few minutes and I settled into my pace.

For the first mile and a half or so, we ran along the Esplanade – the innermost ring of the city. Along this road, there were lots and lots of non-running revelers in various stages of intoxication, all wearing lit-up clothing. Once they figured out what we were doing, they cheered us on, with calls of “You’re crazy!” ‘Here, have a shot of vodka!” and “F*ck your burn!” (Which is actually a nice thing to say, even though it doesn’t sound like it). The atmosphere was very much charged with energy.

We turned left at the end of Esplanade to the 10’o’clock branch of the city. We ran by the ill-fated and now notorious 747 airplane – the first of four times we would pass it that day – around which a party was still commencing.

Then we headed out into the desert.

The desert of Burning Man – away from the center of civilization – is called the Deep Playa. It has this mysticism about it, as if it takes a monumental journey to get there. In reality, it’s just a short walk – maybe 10-15 minutes – away from the main camp areas – but it does have a weird, isolated vibe. The desert is an empty place, and you realize it as soon as you leave the bustle of center camp behind. There’s nothing out there.

That said, we runners could still hear the thumping music from the fleets of art cars crawling about the Playa, and we could still see the laser lights cutting through the persistent cloud of dust over the festival. We were still part of the party, even as we ran away from it.

The course turned to the right at the trash fence – an orange, plastic perimeter constructed to keep festival trash from blowing into the desert. You can see it in a few pictures below.

At about four miles in, or halfway through the lap, we hit an aid station. I didn’t stop, but it was great to see the volunteers, including two of my good friends, Natalie and Mikaela! You can see their photo below – they were the most enthusiastic cheerleaders, and it was so awesome to see them.

Image may contain: one or more people, sky, ocean, outdoor and nature

My friends Natalie and Mikaela happened to be at the trash fence aid station – here they are in a white hoodie and black dress, respectively. It was so awesome to see them out there!

 

The next four miles are a mirror image of the first – continue along the trash fence, turn right at the gate, then back to camp. This stretch was our first introduction to the non-official aid stations, which consisted of folks who just randomly set up aid stations to offer things to runners. These offerings were diverse, and included the obvious – like water and oranges – and the less obvious – like pigs in blankets and rum.

At the end of the lap, we passed through Pink Lightning’s camp and crossed the timing mat.

The second lap was gorgeous, and when the sun rose. Seeing the sun rise at Burning Man is a bit of a rite of passage, usually because it means that you’ve stayed up all night to see it. In this case, we got to see it coming up as we were running. It was beautiful, and ethereal to be running in the desert as the sun rose.

Image may contain: one or more people, sky, ocean, twilight, outdoor, nature and water

Someone running as the sun is coming up. One of the most beautiful photos from this day.

After Sunrise – the Middle Miles

I fell into step with a couple of guys, including one – named Natron (real name) – who was wearing some crazy bouncy shoes. The shoes had some complex spring contraption on the bottom, which gave Natron a literal bounce to his step (as well as a little squeaky noise). He was already tall, and this added a few more inches to his height. He told us he was trying to set a Guinness world record for “Fastest Marathon in Bouncy Shoes,” but Guinness kept telling him that bouncy shoes aren’t a universally accessible piece of gear, so they wouldn’t take it.

I ran with him for a few miles before we caught up to Cyndi and Alex.

Lisa, Natron, Alex, and Cyndi running in the desert (thanks John for the photo! You can read his race report here)

 

Running along the trash fence in the morning with some new friends

Probably my favorite runner costume: two guys dressed in checkered shirts and pants carrying a banner that said “finish.” They ran all the loops in reverse, so I got to “cross the finish line” about eight times! I loved seeing these guys, even if it never meant I was actually finishing.

Not the finish line

 

In terms of food, since that’s a common question – I didn’t partake of any of the race-organized aid stations, and I also didn’t partake of any of the non-race-organized aid stations. I carried a handheld water bottle, which I filled up every loop or so at our camp’s aid station, and I ate the PB&H we had prepared as well. I made this decision for a few reasons: First, the race-organized aid station food wasn’t laid out in a way that made it easy to grab, so the little bit of added friction made me less interested in trying to figure it out. Second, the non-race-organized aid stations … well, it’s Burning Man. You don’t always know exactly what you’re gonna get from strangers, no matter how well-meaning they are.

A non-race-organized aid station. I think these guys were pretty innocuous - handing out coconut water.

One of the more benign non-sanctioned aid stations. I think they were just offering coconut water.

Image may contain: sky, mountain, outdoor and nature

One of the race gates at the trash fence. We would turn right at this one to continue along the course.

The after-sunrise vibe is a little different on the Playa. Revelers start going to bed, so it quiets down quite a bit. The early risers wake up, and they tend to be a more peaceful, thoughtful bunch. They were more genuinely curious about what we were doing, and asked us questions (as much as possible when you’re running by) about the race, rather than shouting encouragement. We also saw a lot of folks doing morning yoga.

The Last Few Miles

After the fourth lap, we had to do another short out-and-back to round us out to the full 50k distance. I had held a pretty consistent pace so far, and it had felt pretty good. I was happy about this, as I was just coming back from that injury and hadn’t been doing a lot of running.

As I passed the timing mat, I heard a guy on the sidelines asking if anyone wanted a pacer for a bit. I said sure – one of my goals for the week at Burning Man was to say “Yes” to people offering gifts, and this was an opportunity to do that! So this guy and I ran the last little bit together. He was a super nice guy – lots of ultrarunning experience – and I think it was his first time at Burning Man as well. I think he was disappointed I wasn’t doing more miles before finishing, but I was very happy to have the company. (When I finished the race, he found another runner who still had another lap and went off with her – what a cool guy!)

The Finish Line

I crossed the finish line with a time of around 5:40 / 5:45. Slow for me, but great for not having run any meaningful distance for a few months, and my ankle didn’t hurt! Cyndi and Alex came in about twenty minutes later, and it was so awesome to see them cross the finish line of their first 50k together. Our camp mate Cliff came to cheer us on at the finish, too.

Hanging at the finish line. Love these guys.

We gifted our remaining camp sandwiches to a runner who was just about to leave on her fourth lap – she hadn’t eaten anything for the first 22 miles of the race (!) so we were happy to share.

We headed back to camp, took the Burning Man equivalent of shower (e.g., leveraging lots and lots of wet wipes), and had some breakfast. I think the other two took a nap – I got on my bike and went out exploring.

Afterwards

I took the rest of the week off from running, because I was still pretty skittish about further injuring my ankle. Posterior tibial tendinitis isn’t a joke, and can turn into a permanent injury if not treated. I was still pretty nervous about it.  Honestly, taking that week off may have been what got me over the hump in terms of recovery. The ankle felt much, much better when I got back to the real world.

I am so glad to have gotten a chance to run this race. I was happy and smiling the entire race, for probably a few reasons.

  • I hadn’t run for a long time, and it felt so good to get back out there, even if I was going slow.
  • I’d been wanting to run this race for a number of years, and finally getting to do it was a real treat.
  • The scenery and the environment were completely amazing. The desert is an incredible place, and getting to see the art and people of Burning Man in this way was very special
  • I got to run with two of my favorite people – Alex and Cyndi – and they were running their very first 50k! I love running with new ultrarunners.

In terms of the race itself – the winning woman ran an average of 8:09 minute pace or so for the entire race.  You may remember that, just a few months earlier, I ran my fastest marathon ever, averaging … 8:07s. So, I’ll just leave that there. All I’ll say is … my tendinitis is healed. I’ll be back in Black Rock City next year, and I’ll definitely be running again.

 

—-

Make sure to read John’s race report – I ran a bunch of miles with him!

Some photos in this post courtesy of Samuel-Christophe Tedjasukmana

1/3rd of a 24 hour run: thoughts on failure

Pre-race gear

On Dec 31st, I started running the San Francisco One-Day race. It’s a 24-hour race at Chrissy Field, with a great view of the Golden Gate bridge. Runners make ~1-mile loops around a lagoon from 9am on Dec 31st to 9am on Jan 1st, trying to log as many miles as they can.

My goal was to run 100 miles. I ended up running 40 before dropping out. I’ve never dropped out of a race before. It felt miserable. I felt like a failure, and like a quitter, and in some ways, I still do. It will probably take longer than the three days it’s been since the race to come to terms with dropping out.

The race itself: the course was beautiful. The light on the Golden Gate bridge was amazing to see in the morning, and at midday, and at sunset.

As for the running – the first five or ten miles were great. I was trotting along at a pretty good pace, keeping up with some of the top runners in the field. Between miles 10 and 20, I ran by myself, and I had some expected existential mini-crises: “Why are you doing this?” “Wouldn’t you rather be at home, petting the cats?”, but I kept up my pace. I finished 30 miles in six hours, which was right on track with my goal pace. I was also in 2nd or 3rd place for female runners at that point, which felt pretty good.

Around mile 34, my knee started hurting. Yes, that knee, and that same part. It was the injury that took me out for six months in 2012. Last time, it was caused by overuse, and by hitting the hills too hard, to quickly.

This course in SF was a flat course, but I knew what the problem was. I’d gone from running flat in Philadelphia to, before this race, running hills for a few weeks near by parents’ house in California, with no ramp-up time. I’d made the same mistake twice.

In a race, when some part of your body starts hurting, you try to do something differently for a bit. Walk half a lap, change your stride, strike with a different part of the foot, anything that might make the pain go away or allow your body to use different muscles for a bit. I tried a bunch of things, but the knee pain wasn’t getting better. I honestly didn’t expect it to. This particular pain wasn’t one you just worked through – it would just get worse.

I stayed on the course for another hour, mostly walking and occasionally jogging, giving the knee time to change it’s mind. I was hoping it would tell me “Just kidding! I was just messing with you. You can keep running.”

It wasn’t going to happen. Part of me knew it wasn’t going to, even though I was giving it time to stop hurting. I made it to 40 miles at around 8 hours, and dropped out. Spending the next 16 hours on the course, in pain, potentially damaging my knee irreparably, just didn’t seem like a good idea.

I took a shower at a friend’s place and immediately started driving back to Orange County.

The next 9 hours, as the clock turned to 2015, were spent alone in the dark, on the open road, or sleeping in the back seat of my car. I didn’t really want to talk to anyone.

I felt like a complete failure. I’d been looking forward to this race for so long – it had been a race I’d wanted to run for years. The idea of honoring my sport by finishing 2014 and starting 2015 with running seemed very symbolic. Now, I had to get over those sentimental notions. The calendar’s an arbitrary creation anyway.

I’m taking the next two weeks off from running, to let my knee – and the rest of my body – heal. After a year with 17 marathons/ultras, an average of ~50 miles per week, and almost 2,500 miles run in total, and crossing the 10,000 lifetime-mile threshold, it’s probably time to let my body recover for a bit.

However, I’ve had some time to reflect. Ultimately, this is an expected value calculation, where two outcomes were possible. In the first, I would have stayed on the course and finished the race; I most likely would have injured myself even further, which would mean being off of my feet for at least six months, and maybe much longer. In the second, which I chose, I stopped the race, take two weeks off, give my body time to recover, and get back to running slowly after that. Sounds better to me. While I’m not happy with the outcome in the short term, I know this was the right choice for the long term.

Handling this failure isn’t easy, but it’s also a good learning experience.

Also … I’m also now pretty sure I can run 100 miles in 24 hours. Running 40 miles in 8 hours is a pretty damn good start. I think I can do it again … and, next time, keep on running.

First, rest.

Check out the bridge in the background! This was our view all day.

Leave Nothing on the Table

I rarely plan races very far in advance. Usually, I’ll see a race happening in about a week, sign up, awkwardly taper for five days, then run it. This has the benefit of allowing for no anxiety buildup; because I wasn’t *really* training anyway, there’s no pressure to meet a certain goal. It’s just a fun run.

In organizational psychology, there’s a theory called normative influence. It’s a fancy way of saying that individuals get sucked into doing or thinking the same things as a larger group. Which is a fancy way of saying “peer pressure.”

I’ve been signed up for the Philadelphia Marathon for about five months, which is a lot of lead time. My fellow business school students have been training hard for this race. I found myself doing what they did: following a training plan, scheduling long runs, adding in speed work. This isn’t a bad thing – just a little unusual for me.

Probably due to training enthusiasm, I ran into several problems during this prolonged training period, most of which were related to injuries and nutritional deficiencies. On race day, I didn’t know what to expect, and I was very nervous. I was hoping to run a 3:35, but didn’t really know what that meant, especially given the speed bumps along the way.

Top of the Rocky Steps pre-race.

With most races I run, I have time to think during the race. Marathons are long, and relaxing into the distance is part of what makes them enjoyable. When I run for speed, there’s no relaxation. The race is stressful and confusing and I never feel like I’m running quite fast enough. Philadelphia was more like the latter.

We woke up in the dark and jogged a mile along the river to the start line. The day was perfect; cloudy and chilly, and the course was great.

We started out at the Philadelphia Art Museum (famous for the Rocky steps!) and headed across town, through the city. Once we reached the Delaware river, we turned around and shot back the way we’d come, along a different street. This was my favorite part of the race; I felt unstoppable, flying through the closed streets of the city I live in, right past my apartment. I understood at that moment that this was the feeling I’d been training for – this light, unstoppable immortality.

Miles 8 and 9 were tricky; lots of hills. I definitely need to do more hill work; I lost some time here. My 13.1-mile split was 1:49 or so. Aiming for a 3:35, I knew I’d somehow have to run faster on the second half than I did on the first half. For the next couple of miles, I picked up the pace – it felt very achievable.

Donchak running!

Around mile 20, I was in for a surprise: my left quad cramped. In over five years and 30+ marathons, I’ve never had a cramp during a race. I really felt like my leg could have fallen out from under me – which was a really fascinating and somewhat concerning experience. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I drank electrolytes, took some caffeine, stretched, and popped an ibuprofen, hoping one of those things would help. After about a mile or so, it cleared up – but I had lost a couple of minutes I was pretty sure I couldn’t make up.

Around the 23-mile mark, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to make my 3:35 goal. I had two options: give up and take it easy for the last 5k, or see just how fast I could go – even though I wasn’t going to hit my time.

I played out the post-race thought-process in my head. If I didn’t run my hardest for the last few miles, I’d always wonder what I could have done. As a good friend said, “when you have doubt, there is no doubt.”

One of my first managers was a runner as well. In one our one-on-one meetings, we talked about managing energy. He said, “I know you’re good at this – you’re a runner. You know that in the final stretch, you don’t leave anything on the table. You go for it.”

I threw down.

The last 5k were very hard, but I felt strong. I finished in 3:39:24.

While I wasn’t thrilled that I didn’t meet my goal, it was my second-fastest marathon.

All in all, it was fun to train hard with my fellow students. It also put a lot of pressure on the race, and because I didn’t quite hit the goal I was aiming for, I felt a bit deflated afterwards. I run for the enjoyment of it; not for time. Putting time goals into a race takes some of the magic out of being out there.

That being said, I still think I can hit the 3:35 mark. So I’m signed up for another race … which is 21 days away.

At the finish line with another Wharton runner. One of us ran a 2:49 marathon … can you guess which one? (Hint: it’s him.)

Pole Pole – Running (slowly) with the Kenyans.

Just after the marathon!

My watch alarm sang a gentle tingle. I quickly silenced it. I was already awake.

I lay in bed, warm under the Maasai blanket except for my nose. It was sticking out from my blanket bunker so I could breathe, smelling the cold wind, carrying smells of dew and nature and fire.

A much louder alarm sounded. Molly, a few feet away in her bed, turned over to silence it.

It was marathon day, in Kenya. We’d be running Lewa Marathon with the fastest people on earth.

“Ready?” I asked her, in the darkness.

“As I’ll ever be,” she said, her British accent surprisingly alert for 5:00 a.m. She’d been lying in bed since 3:00 a.m., unable to sleep; her husband had sent her a text message from Spain that morning, waking her up.

About seven months ago, I was running hills one morning as a training exercise. I tweaked something in my right knee on a steep downhill. I deserved it; just moments before, someone had warned me to take the downhills easy, and I had cavalierly ignored him. However, since then, I’d not run more than eight consecutive miles – the knee pain was unbearable. My last “long run” before coming to Kenya was maybe a 5k (3.1 miles) in March, along with a few more just a few days ago. I ran a total of seven miles on Wednesday before the race. That was it. Continue reading

We Run in a Land Down Under (Sydney Marathon)

I took this picture last week at sunrise. This was along the last 10k out-and-back of the course.

This weekend, I ran a marathon on my fourth continent: Australia. Australia’s the only continent that’s a country, and it’s also the world’s biggest island.

This was my first marathon after my injury. I was tentatively aiming for a sub 4-hour finish, not for any reason other than it was a round number.  I had been running low mileage, but pain-free, so I was cautiously optimistic. For no apparently reason, I had also put a lot of weight on a sub 4-hour finish, so I was a little nervous going into the race.

To get to the start line, a coworker and I took the train across the Harbor Bridge. The start was on a field just underneath the north side of the bridge; we saw the sunrise casting a warm glow on the Sydney Opera House, just across the channel.

The day of the marathon is the only day out of the year that Sydney closes the Harbor Bridge. To me, that indicates that this race is kind of a big deal. However, a surprisingly small number of runners registered for the full marathon: 3,406. In comparison, 47,000 people run the New York Marathon every year. This Sydney event had several other distances, including a half marathon and several other shorter distances, totaling about 35,000 runners.

The start line felt fairly relaxed largely due to the staggered start times. The half marathoners took off an hour before the marathoners, and the marathoners were split into several groups by estimated speed. It made for a very peaceful start to the race.

The roughly 3,000 of us started out on the north part of Sydney, and looped around to cross the bridge. Just as we started running across the bridge, around kilometer 2, a man dressed in a full Spiderman suit passed me. I’d like to say that distraction is what caused me to face plant in the middle of the street, but really it was my clumsiness. I didn’t stop for bandages; I ran the rest of the race with blood oozing from my knees. Now I’ve got some excellent scrapes on to show for it. Off to a good start!

Continue reading

Siempre Quiero Mas – I Always Want More (Running)

Tango is serious business.

Outside of running, I’m a sometimes Tango dancer. Tango is a beautiful dance, although not for the reasons most people think. It is passionate, but subtly passionate. It’s energetic, but it’s a strained, unresolved energy. It’s tense, but the tension creates the sweet moments of relief – the occasional breaths between beats.

It’s fairly common for dancers – especially female ones – to have a strength imbalance in their legs. One leg is the “Support Leg” – the leg that holds and balances the body. The other leg is the “Flair Leg,” which is the one that embellishes with kicks, swirls, toe taps, and extensions.

My left leg is my Support Leg. It’s easier for me to balance on my left leg. The muscles in my left leg are thicker and denser than those in my right leg – every sports masseuse has said so, unprompted.

In comparison, my right leg is a weak excuse for an appendage. It’s skinny and weak. It’s also flexible; when I’m dancing, the toes of my right leg draw beautiful circles and swirls with exquisite timing.

Tango saved my running. Prior to dancing, I occasionally suffered from shin splints, which happen when calves get too tight and those muscles start to pull away from the bone. Tango is a dance that happens primarily on the toes, so that extra calf strengthening allowed me to combat shin splits and run farther.

Tango also ruined my running. Continue reading

Boston Marathon – Pre-Race Ponderings

Took this last night at dusk, near MIT in Cambridge.

Last year, I qualified for Boston with a 3:35:05 marathon. I’ll be running the Boston Marathon on Monday.  Here are a few things I’m thinking about as the race approaches.

It’s no big deal.

I’ve run almost four times as far before. A marathon isn’t a super long race. It’s comparable to most solo long-runs I do on the weekends.

It’s kind of a big deal.

Qualifying for Boston is actually really hard. Sometimes I wonder how it was possible that I ran that fast, and I wonder if I’ll ever run that fast again. 8:12 miles for 26.2 miles is pretty impressive, even though it doesn’t feel like it.

Also, my parents think this is pretty cool; they flew out from California to cheer me on.

I’m not planning to run a PR.

  • I’m injured. The knee is feeling a lot better, but it’s still not at 100%.
  • It’s going to be hot. The weather forecast predicts a high of 87 degrees. The Boston Athletic Association just sent out an email recommending that inexperienced runners don’t run this race. In fact, because the weather is so bad, BAA is offering deferred entry to the 2013 race. That pretty much never happens. It doesn’t look like they’ve updated the website yet, but here’s verbatim what they said in the email:

We are now making the recommendation that if you are not highly fit or if you have any underlying medical conditions (for example-cardiac disease, pulmonary disease or any of a number of medical problems), you should NOT run this race.

Due to the unusually warm weather forecast for the Boston area on Monday, the B.A.A. will defer the entry of those official entrants to the 2013 Boston Marathon for participants who decide not to race.

This will be the only time I run this marathon.

I like races where you show up, get out of your car, then start running. When you finish, you get back in your car and drive away. Easy, fast, low-stress, and no room for error.

This particular marathon, logistically, is very complex. Packet pickup is several days before the race. Runners have to ride a bus to the start line – a full three hours before the race actually begins – then wait around in corrals until their gun. The registration process was equally complex.

I like simple races.

Track me if you want to, but don’t expect blazing speeds.

My bib number is 15030. You can track me online, of via text messaging. Tracking information here.

Summary: this will be a fun, slow race.

The entire city of Boston is pretty excited about this race, and I hear that most of the course has people cheering on the sidelines. Clearly I’m not going to be running this very quickly, so I plan to take my time and fully enjoy the experience of running the world’s oldest annual marathon.