by Todd Toffoli

The 2011 Boston Marathon was a race unlike any other in the 115-year history of the course. From the 7-hour sellout on October 18 to Geoffrey Mutai’s phenomenal 2:03:02 finish, the event was an eye-opener for the sporting world. Some 30 members of our Forward Motion Race Club made the pilgrimage this year from our stronghold on the West coast to the birthplace of the American marathon. This race was a very special one for me, as both my dad and I made triumphant returns to Boston this year, he having last run it in 1982.

Training
I started to ramp up my training at the beginning of January in preparation for the Boston Marathon with the hopes of setting a few milestones on race day. I ran Boston in 2010, and though I eked out a PR on that day, I was so physically depleted that it felt like I’d been pressed by a steamroller and then dropped off a cliff. My intention this time around was to train as if for a tougher course, so that the road from Hopkinton to Copley Square in Boston would be relatively easy… relatively.

Through the beginning of March, I was having the most confidence-inspiring training cycle ever. I did my long runs trucking out and back along the paved ridge trail at Inspiration Point at Tilden Park in Berkeley, and added Yasso 800 track workouts to my regimen. With just over a month to go, my best long run and my best track workout (see below) left me highly optimistic for a blistering pace in Boston.

Yasso 800s

And then, as it sometimes does, life happened. Several intensely busy weeks, culminating in a backbreaking move at the beginning of April (thanks to everyone who helped or offered help – next time I’m hiring movers), left me exhausted and in pain. An amazing massage at Chirokinetics in Walnut Creek helped keep me on my feet. I kept up my training during this period as well as I could, but my edge had been dulled and my 2-weeks-to-go taper seemed like a pittance after the grind I had been through.

My dad’s training was looking even worse than mine. Having been struck by plantar fasciitis early on in training, the bulk of his running had been done on an Alter-G anti-gravity treadmill, and only a Cortisone shot allowed him to get back to road running without intense pain.

A marathon is a daunting challenge even at optimal health and fitness, and we both carried a fair amount of uncertainty into the final days before the race.
(Father and son in matching 1982 Boston Marathon t-shirts. One of us was 1½ at the time of that race.)

Race Morning
Having survived the expo on Friday and successfully executed 2 days of extreme laziness over the weekend, I woke on Marathon Monday feeling good and anxious to run. After my pre-scheduled cab failed to show at 5:45am we managed to flag one down to get us to the bus pickup spot at Boston Common, but missed the rendezvous with our FoMo teammates.

One endless bus ride later dropped us at the cold and windy Athlete’s Village in Hopkinton. With dreary weather the days before and after, the day of the race ended up having perfect running conditions – cool and clear with a tailwind. Though bundled up during the long wait, I ran in an FMRC singlet and sunglasses from Rudy Project and was comfortable the whole time.

Having ample time before the start, I hydrated and carbed up with a couple bottles of Cytomax I brought from home, chewed through a pack of Gu Chomps, had a couple potty breaks, and put in a thorough round of stretching. Soon enough it was time for me to shed my layers and head to start line for Wave 1.

I gave my dad a hug and we wished each other good luck before I made the ¾ mile march to the start line and tucked in somewhere in the middle of Corral 3. With minutes left to go, I took a mental review of the course and made a final decision on strategy. At the stroke of 10:00am the starting gun fired and the herd began to move. The pack around me walked forward until the crowd in front had thinned enough to allow for a running start. I kept walking until just short of the starting line and then I was off with the rest.


The Race
I made the choice to run a conservative race. At the start, I let the crowd slow me down. I suspect there was not a soul in Corral 3 that wasn’t initially shooting for a sub-3-hour marathon, so I was no worse off for losing a little on the pace and saving the extra energy required to weave through the river of runners. The first mile, though downhill and on fresh legs, was my slowest.

At some point in the first 5K, Simon Mutlu called me out of the zone as I came even with him from behind. He was running injured and was shooting for a pace well below my intended finish and I realized I probably needed to pick it up before too long. We wished each other luck and fell back into our respective rhythms. Not long after, I passed Jim Briner in the crowd, and that was the last I saw of my FMRC teammates until after the finish line.

Around 10K, we entered Framingham and the course leveled out somewhat. The streets got wider and the crowds thicker. I allowed myself to push a little more on the pace. Due to a bit of crowd weaving and not running perfect tangents on the curves of the road, my Garmin accumulated a bit of extra distance compared to each official mile of the course. According to my splits I was getting right on track to where I wanted to be.

I knew I was running well and feeling good, but it wasn’t until the half way point in Natick that I checked my total time and knew the challenge that lay ahead. Having clocked 1:30:15 for the first half, I would have to run a negative split over a much tougher section of course. I stayed composed and concentrated on running with good form. I would not be able to make up the difference all at once.

Coming upon the wall of screaming girls offering kisses to runners at Wellesley Women’s College had a terrific buoying effect. This tends to be the least painful half mile of the whole race for most people, though I did see a particularly good looking girl cause a collision between to runners jumping in at the same time for a kiss.

Though cognizant of the need to make some gains in the downhill section prior to climbing the Newton hills, I kept a conservative pace to make sure I would have ample energy for the ascents ahead. As the course finally turned uphill, I struck a compromise between pushing harder and allowing the terrain to slow me down. There was a lot of carnage at this point in the game. Runners around me were forced to walk or stop outright. Upon clearing Heartbreak Hill I mentally thanked our Berkeley hills over and over for how much energy I now had left.

With 10K remaining, I did a quick mental calculation and felt I had a safe chance at finishing under 3 hours (this calculation was wrong, incidentally – I think I left off the .2 in 26.2). After 21 miles, I finally pulled all the stops and charged the rest of the course. Hitting the flats, the massive crowds got me pumped to run faster. If I hit a quiet patch in the crowd, I raised the roof to get them cheering.

As the remaining miles ticked by, it became clear that I was not quite at the pace I had thought. I reached the giant Citgo sign (“One Mile to Go!”) and checked the clock. Oh, s%#@! I now had to run my fastest marathon mile ever. This could have been a moment of panic or despair, but 106 miles at Inspiration Point, 20 miles of track sprints, and a conservative strategy paid off in the final stretch. My Garmin shows a pace for the last .67 miles of 5:08 (it says I ran a 26.67 mile marathon). Flying into the finish, I noted my total time of 2:59:45 and released a roar of joy.
(My greatest sprint finish ever.)

Clearing the endless finish chute, I found my wife and my mom and began a long period of basking in the thrill of the race. It was a long time before my dad was projected to come through, as Wave 3 started at 10:40 and he was running well below his normal pace. We eventually made our way back to Boylston Ave and just caught him go by, looking good and running without a limp. He had run his slowest marathon ever and enjoyed every minute of it.
(Team Toffoli conquers Boston.)

This race will remain close to my heart for a long time to come. For both my dad and myself, to have such great results after having battled just to make it to the start line sweetened the euphoric feeling that completing a marathon can give. Running a sub-3 PR and having my dad run pain-free after months of suffering