Showtime. After Boston qualifying by a mere 43 seconds almost a year ago at the San Diego Rock and Roll marathon in my first barefoot marathon, I was now going to Boston to run the Boston marathon. What was supposed to be a victory lap to celebrate completing this lifetime achievement goal, a dream I had since I was 12 years old, turned into an act of sheer determination in the weeks leading to the marathon. I came into Boston with a less than ideal training season, because of all things -- an injury that initiated from getting off the couch the wrong way. I was ecstatically excited but humbled, like Charlie entering Willy Wonka's Chocolate factory. Proudly wearing my 'Boston Bound: Powered by... Bare feet' t-shirt that my brother gave me for my birthday, I boarded the plane to Boston.
When we arrived for our week long stay at Boston, we quickly checked into the Marriott Residence Inn at Cambridge, and hungry, we decided to walk over to one of the late night eateries, the Hungry Mother. Delicious! If this was the beginning of a week of amazing New England faire, with its incomparable lobster, clam 'chowda', the North End district delights, I knew it was a going to be a struggle to not become a fat caveman in days prior to the race.
One of the restaurants we dined at was at our hotel. We went down for the free breakfast. Thinking it would be just a casual hotel breakfast, I decided to come down in just sweats and barefoot. After packing a plate full of food, the restaurant manager came up to me and said, "I'm sorry sir, but you need to wear shoes in the restaurant. It's for your own safety". In shock from my first encounter of being told I needed to wear shoes at an establishment, I asked him to show me documentation that requires patrons to wear shoes in the restaurant. He scurried off and we took our plates and coffee upstairs to our room. In hindsight, I wish I said, "I'm running the Boston Marathon barefoot. I don't think you need to worry about my safety in this restaurant."
With my undergraduate major in Urban Studies and Planning from the University of California, San Diego, one thing that stuck to mind from my course work was learning about Boston, with its integration of the historic roots of our country, modern day skyscrapers, visual lines converging to points of interest, and brilliant planning for dealing with various urban issues. It was the idyllic American city -- the urban planner's dream. Boston marathon aside, I was pretty excited to visit Boston for the first time and see this for myself. I could not wait to walk the Freedom Trail which meanders through historic landmarks of the city.
I knew I was in trouble after walking the first 5 miles of the historic Freedom Trail that winds through the middle of Boston, as my knee started to swell, and I started to limp. I knew I could have opted not to undertake the freedom trail, to keep the race number one priority, and to live in a bubble the week before the race. No, this wasn't just about the race. With Patriot's Day coming, with my urban studies draw to Boston, and my yearning to see a glimpse of our heritage, I needed to do this. Born and raised in the United States, I'm not a barefoot running caveman. I'm a proud American. Standing in pain near the end of our walk under the glorious statue of Paul Revere on his horse at the North Chapel square, I knew this was where I needed to be. In awe, I looked up as a glint of sunlight peering through the clouds casted a reverent shadow of the statue at my feet. I could almost feel the hooves galloping in the middle of the night 236 years ago.
After vacationing and living it up a few days, which even included a beautiful drive along the cape to Province Town, with stops at Plymouth Rock, Mayflower II, and the Highland Lighthouse, I almost forgot why I came here. It was time to switch to race mode again. Rob and I went to the expo to pick up my race bib, while Mike hung back at the hotel. I got goose bumps when I saw the huge 'Number Pick-Up' banner perfectly situated over three two-story high dark mahogany doors. When I picked up my sealed race bib packet, I had to walk over to a private corner of the expo to stop and take a breath. This was really going to happen.
That night I grabbed my hard back copy of Born To Run and we hopped on the red line to Harvard to attend Chris McDougall's Naked Tour -- Boston. We we're running late, so we ran through Harvard Yard to get to Emerson Hall. Glancing around me as I ran, and seeing Harvard Yard for the first time, I was again awestruck by beautiful architecture.
It was a true honor meeting Chris McDougall, having him sign my book, and even later taking a picture with him. How could I not be wowed by the man who ignited the barefoot revolution? It was so inspirational listening to Chris McDougall, Dan Liebermann, Irene Davis, Lee Saxby, John Durant, Marshall Lewy, and Scott Jurek speak. It was also great meeting Preston Curtis there from the New England Barefoot Runners. Seeing pictures of cavemen throughout the presentation, I thought, omg, I'm going to look just like that in Monday's marathon. I think what hit home with me the most was when the famous ultra marathoner, Scott Zurek, spoke about balance, and how focusing too much on competition could lead to over-training injury, and where can we lose sight of what this is all about -- the joy of running. I knew for me, my balance was certainly off.
The day before the marathon, I went for an easy four mile run to see how my knee was doing. Pain enveloped my knee and it started to lock up after only 1 mile. How was I going to run 26 miles the next day? A light rain began to fall as I finished the remainder of my run. The cold rain was nice, almost liberating as I splashed through the puddles, while other runners ran awkwardly around them. For a moment I forgot about the race, the pain, the expectations, and simply enjoyed this beautiful naked moment with the rain. Was somebody trying to tell me something?
Race morning I woke up early, gathered my things, and headed off to Boston Common to meet Nikki for the bus ride up to Hopkinton. Coming from warm San Diego, the Boston wind that morning felt pretty darn cold. I ran the Tram road Challenge in a loincloth in windy forty degree temps and the RnR Vegas half in the mid forties as well, so I figured I should be able to handle this. Because of my injury though, I wasn't sure I would be able to go fast enough to create enough body heat to prevent hypothermia.
It was great hanging out with Nikki before the race as we laughed and lost our pre-race jitters while we tried to keep warm in the couple hours before the race. After standing in line for more than an hour for the port-a-potties, we both just barely missed the race start. We had to run from gear check to the starting line. Runners were already slowly walking forward through the corrals when we got to the start. A runner pulled open one of the barricades and as a patrol yelled at him, I nimbly squeezed behind the runner into the corral. Even while we we're slowly moving forward, I still had to finish putting on my costume and set my iphone run tracking application so that family and friends could watch my every move online.
As we approached the starting line, we started to slowly jog, and like superman I ripped apart the black garbage bag that covered my costume, or lack thereof. I started hearing the first omg's. When we finally crossed the starting line, the sun was shining and radiating its wonderful warmth on my body. Quietly to myself, I uttered, "This one's for you Mike."
The energy and excitement from all the runners and the crowds at the start was intense. All I felt was joy. Not cold, not pain, not stress, just pure joy. As I passed runners the first few miles, I heard exclamations of omg, I wish I had my camera, caveman, Tarzan, and go naked man. Some of them we're pretty tightly wound at the beginning of the race. It was great watching them smile and laugh as their shoulders relaxed.
My pace the first 7 miles was very quick. One of the things I like best about barefoot racing is shaving off a lot of time on the downhill. With the low impact gentle landings, I could just use gravity to speed through the downhills. I couldn't do this shod in past races.
At about mile twelve my right calf started to lightly cramp. It wasn't bad and not enough to throw off my form or stride. I'm just relieved it wasn't my knee. At this point in the race I also didn't have the same steam I had in the beginning. That quickly changed as I discovered something for the first time in all my years racing -- Charging up the crowd and getting charged back in return! My friend Suzanne, who was also running the race after an injury-laden training season, said "We need to let the support of the crowds carry us through to the finish." I didn't see the full scope of this at first, but now it made perfect sense.
Along the course, I grunted and screamed like a caveman, throwing my hands into the air. The spectators cheered and raised their hands to high five me. Seeing the glee in little boys' faces as the caveman ran by was priceless. I felt a little bad when one little gir
l started crying as the caveman approached. As my body got fatigued and sore, I used the energy I had left to entertain and charge up the crowds. In return their joy and cheers immediately re-energized by body, my soul, and my determination to finish the race. It was hard to believe that just yesterday I could barely get through a mile without pain. I got into character and stayed there. I didn't run the race. The caveman ran it for me.
A moment I will never forget was running along the infamous Wellesley scream tunnel. The screaming was deafening as I flexed my muscles like a Chippendales dancer, being careful not to get too close to the girls for fear that my loincloth would be ripped off my body. It reminded me of images of wide-eyed screaming girls along the Beatles motorcade route. For a few seconds in my life, I felt like arock star. It was unbelievable.
All the hill training during my lunch breaks in Rancho Bernardo paid off. Heartbreak Hill felt like a piece of cake. In fact, when I got to the top, I thought, was that it? I powered up the hill while many we're walking at this point.
At mile 23, my knee started to lock up ever so slightly. I was a little tired, my right calf was still slightly cramped, but my pace and form was steady.In general I felt pretty good. I could not believe how well I was doing. At this point, I was working entirely off the crowds. I entertained them and they energized me. The screams and high fives at Boston College we're a riot, with some of them even jumping over the barricade. Some of the high fives from the guys holding red cups, were so powerful, they almost turned into arm wrestle locks. I probably lost a few seconds from Boston College in my final time, lol. Another priceless moment. Here's lifting a red cup to you, Boston College!
There wasn't an empty spot on either side of the street the last couple miles to the finish line as the thunderous cheer from spectators roared the remainder of the course. As we entered what seemed likea full coliseum, the caveman blended into the powerful moving mass of humanity, each with a story just ascolorful asthe next person, heading towards a dream.
After we turned into Boylston Street, I saw the finish line for the first time. It was dreamy and surreal. There was no need to sprint or race against the person next to me. Like a warrior coming home from battle, like a cancer patient receiving news of full remission, seeing the finish line was like the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm here.
Throughout the race I entertained the crowds with a caveman scream. Something happened though when I crossed the finish line. The staged scream turned into something primal, something very real, deep and uncontrollable -- the Caveman cried.
----------------------------------------------------------
When we arrived for our week long stay at Boston, we quickly checked into the Marriott Residence Inn at Cambridge, and hungry, we decided to walk over to one of the late night eateries, the Hungry Mother. Delicious! If this was the beginning of a week of amazing New England faire, with its incomparable lobster, clam 'chowda', the North End district delights, I knew it was a going to be a struggle to not become a fat caveman in days prior to the race.
One of the restaurants we dined at was at our hotel. We went down for the free breakfast. Thinking it would be just a casual hotel breakfast, I decided to come down in just sweats and barefoot. After packing a plate full of food, the restaurant manager came up to me and said, "I'm sorry sir, but you need to wear shoes in the restaurant. It's for your own safety". In shock from my first encounter of being told I needed to wear shoes at an establishment, I asked him to show me documentation that requires patrons to wear shoes in the restaurant. He scurried off and we took our plates and coffee upstairs to our room. In hindsight, I wish I said, "I'm running the Boston Marathon barefoot. I don't think you need to worry about my safety in this restaurant."
With my undergraduate major in Urban Studies and Planning from the University of California, San Diego, one thing that stuck to mind from my course work was learning about Boston, with its integration of the historic roots of our country, modern day skyscrapers, visual lines converging to points of interest, and brilliant planning for dealing with various urban issues. It was the idyllic American city -- the urban planner's dream. Boston marathon aside, I was pretty excited to visit Boston for the first time and see this for myself. I could not wait to walk the Freedom Trail which meanders through historic landmarks of the city.
I knew I was in trouble after walking the first 5 miles of the historic Freedom Trail that winds through the middle of Boston, as my knee started to swell, and I started to limp. I knew I could have opted not to undertake the freedom trail, to keep the race number one priority, and to live in a bubble the week before the race. No, this wasn't just about the race. With Patriot's Day coming, with my urban studies draw to Boston, and my yearning to see a glimpse of our heritage, I needed to do this. Born and raised in the United States, I'm not a barefoot running caveman. I'm a proud American. Standing in pain near the end of our walk under the glorious statue of Paul Revere on his horse at the North Chapel square, I knew this was where I needed to be. In awe, I looked up as a glint of sunlight peering through the clouds casted a reverent shadow of the statue at my feet. I could almost feel the hooves galloping in the middle of the night 236 years ago.
After vacationing and living it up a few days, which even included a beautiful drive along the cape to Province Town, with stops at Plymouth Rock, Mayflower II, and the Highland Lighthouse, I almost forgot why I came here. It was time to switch to race mode again. Rob and I went to the expo to pick up my race bib, while Mike hung back at the hotel. I got goose bumps when I saw the huge 'Number Pick-Up' banner perfectly situated over three two-story high dark mahogany doors. When I picked up my sealed race bib packet, I had to walk over to a private corner of the expo to stop and take a breath. This was really going to happen.
That night I grabbed my hard back copy of Born To Run and we hopped on the red line to Harvard to attend Chris McDougall's Naked Tour -- Boston. We we're running late, so we ran through Harvard Yard to get to Emerson Hall. Glancing around me as I ran, and seeing Harvard Yard for the first time, I was again awestruck by beautiful architecture.
It was a true honor meeting Chris McDougall, having him sign my book, and even later taking a picture with him. How could I not be wowed by the man who ignited the barefoot revolution? It was so inspirational listening to Chris McDougall, Dan Liebermann, Irene Davis, Lee Saxby, John Durant, Marshall Lewy, and Scott Jurek speak. It was also great meeting Preston Curtis there from the New England Barefoot Runners. Seeing pictures of cavemen throughout the presentation, I thought, omg, I'm going to look just like that in Monday's marathon. I think what hit home with me the most was when the famous ultra marathoner, Scott Zurek, spoke about balance, and how focusing too much on competition could lead to over-training injury, and where can we lose sight of what this is all about -- the joy of running. I knew for me, my balance was certainly off.
The day before the marathon, I went for an easy four mile run to see how my knee was doing. Pain enveloped my knee and it started to lock up after only 1 mile. How was I going to run 26 miles the next day? A light rain began to fall as I finished the remainder of my run. The cold rain was nice, almost liberating as I splashed through the puddles, while other runners ran awkwardly around them. For a moment I forgot about the race, the pain, the expectations, and simply enjoyed this beautiful naked moment with the rain. Was somebody trying to tell me something?
Race morning I woke up early, gathered my things, and headed off to Boston Common to meet Nikki for the bus ride up to Hopkinton. Coming from warm San Diego, the Boston wind that morning felt pretty darn cold. I ran the Tram road Challenge in a loincloth in windy forty degree temps and the RnR Vegas half in the mid forties as well, so I figured I should be able to handle this. Because of my injury though, I wasn't sure I would be able to go fast enough to create enough body heat to prevent hypothermia.
It was great hanging out with Nikki before the race as we laughed and lost our pre-race jitters while we tried to keep warm in the couple hours before the race. After standing in line for more than an hour for the port-a-potties, we both just barely missed the race start. We had to run from gear check to the starting line. Runners were already slowly walking forward through the corrals when we got to the start. A runner pulled open one of the barricades and as a patrol yelled at him, I nimbly squeezed behind the runner into the corral. Even while we we're slowly moving forward, I still had to finish putting on my costume and set my iphone run tracking application so that family and friends could watch my every move online.
As we approached the starting line, we started to slowly jog, and like superman I ripped apart the black garbage bag that covered my costume, or lack thereof. I started hearing the first omg's. When we finally crossed the starting line, the sun was shining and radiating its wonderful warmth on my body. Quietly to myself, I uttered, "This one's for you Mike."
The energy and excitement from all the runners and the crowds at the start was intense. All I felt was joy. Not cold, not pain, not stress, just pure joy. As I passed runners the first few miles, I heard exclamations of omg, I wish I had my camera, caveman, Tarzan, and go naked man. Some of them we're pretty tightly wound at the beginning of the race. It was great watching them smile and laugh as their shoulders relaxed.
My pace the first 7 miles was very quick. One of the things I like best about barefoot racing is shaving off a lot of time on the downhill. With the low impact gentle landings, I could just use gravity to speed through the downhills. I couldn't do this shod in past races.
At about mile twelve my right calf started to lightly cramp. It wasn't bad and not enough to throw off my form or stride. I'm just relieved it wasn't my knee. At this point in the race I also didn't have the same steam I had in the beginning. That quickly changed as I discovered something for the first time in all my years racing -- Charging up the crowd and getting charged back in return! My friend Suzanne, who was also running the race after an injury-laden training season, said "We need to let the support of the crowds carry us through to the finish." I didn't see the full scope of this at first, but now it made perfect sense.
Along the course, I grunted and screamed like a caveman, throwing my hands into the air. The spectators cheered and raised their hands to high five me. Seeing the glee in little boys' faces as the caveman ran by was priceless. I felt a little bad when one little gir
l started crying as the caveman approached. As my body got fatigued and sore, I used the energy I had left to entertain and charge up the crowds. In return their joy and cheers immediately re-energized by body, my soul, and my determination to finish the race. It was hard to believe that just yesterday I could barely get through a mile without pain. I got into character and stayed there. I didn't run the race. The caveman ran it for me.
A moment I will never forget was running along the infamous Wellesley scream tunnel. The screaming was deafening as I flexed my muscles like a Chippendales dancer, being careful not to get too close to the girls for fear that my loincloth would be ripped off my body. It reminded me of images of wide-eyed screaming girls along the Beatles motorcade route. For a few seconds in my life, I felt like arock star. It was unbelievable.
All the hill training during my lunch breaks in Rancho Bernardo paid off. Heartbreak Hill felt like a piece of cake. In fact, when I got to the top, I thought, was that it? I powered up the hill while many we're walking at this point.
At mile 23, my knee started to lock up ever so slightly. I was a little tired, my right calf was still slightly cramped, but my pace and form was steady.In general I felt pretty good. I could not believe how well I was doing. At this point, I was working entirely off the crowds. I entertained them and they energized me. The screams and high fives at Boston College we're a riot, with some of them even jumping over the barricade. Some of the high fives from the guys holding red cups, were so powerful, they almost turned into arm wrestle locks. I probably lost a few seconds from Boston College in my final time, lol. Another priceless moment. Here's lifting a red cup to you, Boston College!
There wasn't an empty spot on either side of the street the last couple miles to the finish line as the thunderous cheer from spectators roared the remainder of the course. As we entered what seemed likea full coliseum, the caveman blended into the powerful moving mass of humanity, each with a story just ascolorful asthe next person, heading towards a dream.
After we turned into Boylston Street, I saw the finish line for the first time. It was dreamy and surreal. There was no need to sprint or race against the person next to me. Like a warrior coming home from battle, like a cancer patient receiving news of full remission, seeing the finish line was like the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm here.
Throughout the race I entertained the crowds with a caveman scream. Something happened though when I crossed the finish line. The staged scream turned into something primal, something very real, deep and uncontrollable -- the Caveman cried.
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- The Boston Marathon finishing line scene on Boylston Street (Video) - Boston Globe
- Live from the Finish Line - Boston Herald
- Everyone's a winner once they reach the finish line - Boston Herald
- Heartbreak Hill: Strange But True - CBS Boston
