
I was checking how my Dad's NPR team did when I came across this picture.

This was my first Boston, but I grew up in the marathon's shadow. I'm a native Baystater and longed to run the race long before I ever ran a step. As runners, my parents had both run Boston numerous times and I was constantly being toted up to a suburban Boston town by a Grandmother or someone to watch my parents blur past me. Before they arrived, I would marvel at the leaders who all donned singlets from countries I, as a grade schooler, had never heard of. It was an international event that ANYONE could do...if they trained.
Our team of 5 included – me, Patrick Reaves, Jason Dwyer, Patrick Murphy and Chris Bain. We found each other before the race and trekked our way to the starting line. The gun sounded and our 5-man crew pushed our way through the crowded downhills of Hopkinton. The race drops about 150ft in the first ½ mile or so but our plan was to go out conservatively and be able to “turn it on” after the hills of Newton. Reaves and I led our group at the mile (6:04) where we quickly passed Lance Armstong and his posse of Live Stong groupies. The course continues to spiral downhill pretty significantly and we fell out of our pace a little hitting mile 2 in 11:49 (5:44). Obviously the pace seemed fairly easy and we settled into a groove. Our 5-man pack began to pass some people who went out suicidal and hit miles 3 and 4 in 17:38 and 23:47 respectively (5:48s). I believe we were at 2:35 pace after the 5k. Dwyer felt the pace was a bit too quick and told us he was falling back. I half-believed him and half-anticipated him coming back up along side me in a mile, but I took a solid look around mile 5 (29:37) and didn't see him. I quipped out loud “I've lost my right arm”. Our group of 5 was now 4.
We encountered our first hill at mile 16 and took it in stride surging the downhill (5:41). We then made the famous right hand turn and rounded the fire station encountering the first of the Newton Hills. The race started to feel tough around here. Murphy and I stayed even with one another up and down the hill while Bain seemed to keep pace. My mile 17 was 5:55...the slowest mile of the race up to this point (excluding mile 1). Murphy and I watched Bain silently pull ahead and then amass a huge gap. Murphy and I ran 5:55 and 5:53 over the next two miles in the midst of the Newton Hills. Bain became a distant memory. “Come back Bain” I wanted to scream, but he was soon gone...
Murphy and I were hurting pretty bad. We pushed down mile 22 (6:01) and tried to get away from the deafening Boston College crowds. I hated the cheers, I hated the noise. I wanted everyone to shut up, go home and for the love of God, I wanted everyone to stop cooking Bar BQ along the race course. “Shut up everyone” I told myself, “shut up and die...just leave me be. Let me run in peace.” I was no longer running fast and I felt as if the cheers were actually jeers and the crowd was mocking me. I wanted to get to Boston and get there quick but I wanted to get there without throwing up and/or collapsing. Murphy and I turned left at Cleveland Circle (which isn't a circle) and grunted our way forward. Mile 23 (6:19) and mile 24 (6:14) were flat as a pancake, but my legs wouldn't budge. Again the crowds were deafening and claustrophobic at times as they huddled around the course. If Murphy had worn a different singlet they might not be screaming so loud. Damn it, whose idea was it to have him wear the same singlet! I shook my head and tried to regroup telling myself I had 20 minutes to go, 15 minutes to go...10 minutes to go, but my legs wouldn't respond. I had hit the wall. Get me to the finish, just get me there. Mile 25 was 6:25; I was dying a slow death. I never realized it but Murphy had disappeared. He fell back.
Now I was alone...with a mile plus to go I crawled ahead. FINALLY I turned the corner at Hereford Street before the final turn down Boylston. My parents said they'd be at Hereford Street, but I never saw them. They were screaming at me, but I never heard them. A handful of runners limped by me but I never responded. If there was a pistol, I would have used it on myself...I was broken and beaten. I staggered home with a 6:23 last mile and immediately began to walk. I hit the finish line in 2:35:48. I've never felt so broken in my entire life. I never turned around and began to simply walk ahead looking for any place to sit down. Eventually I found a curb and decided to lie down. I know from 14 years of running this is the worse thing to do, but I didn't care. Eventually Reaves came over and lifted me up. He was hurting pretty bad too but had run a phenomenal race; 2:31 LOW. Bain had ended up in mid 2:32. Dwyer had caught Murphy and together came in just a bit behind me in 2:36. PRs all around. As a team we finished 4th. My muscles started to spasm and Dwyer advised us to get massages. I drank some water staggered about and made some small talk with my teammates. Then I began to weep. 
So I decided to wear a heart rate monitor for Cherry Blossom to try and help determine/undestand what goes on inside the body during a race. The figure on left shows average heartrate during each mile of the race vs mile pace as the race progressed. 
