2019 Boston Marathon

My build-up for Boston 2019 was exceptional. I worked harder for this race than I ever had. I was healthy, running 70-80 miles/week, and nailing all my workouts. I was training my ass off and it was exhausting. But in an odd way, it was an exhaustion that gave me energy. It gave me purpose and a single-minded focus towards a clear objective. It was an exhaustion that I craved.



After last year’s freezing nightmare, there was intense speculation about this year’s weather. And unsurprisingly, there were wild swings in the forecast. Race day ended up being around 60 degrees at the start and almost 70 at the finish.

On the bus ride to Hopkinton the skies opened and a torrential downpour ensued. I said to Perry, “This feels a lot like last year, except 30 degrees warmer.”

By the time we arrived in Athlete’s Village most of the rain had stopped. Everything was far more calm and orderly compared to last year’s pre-race chaos. As we waited to start, I was acutely aware of the warmer temps, and I knew they would be a factor.

Lining up in the corral was once again surreal. I spent 10 years desperately wanting to be a part of this race. Failing over and over to the point of near hopelessness. I experienced so much sadness in the pursuit. On race morning, the privilege of being at the start line was not lost on me. 

The gun went off and despite the congested field, people were storming down the hill, but I did my best to keep things controlled. I tried to stay relaxed and find a comfortable rhythm during the steady downhill of the first 5k. At mile 4 the higher than normal temps were already alarming. 

Based on my training, I felt capable of running a marathon at 6:35 pace (2:52). But by mile 5 I knew it wasn’t gonna happen. I forced myself to adjust and tried to set a speed limit at 6:45 pace (2:57). As early as mile 5 I had given up on my original goal. Even though I was feeling great now, I knew the heat would catch up to me if I didn’t back off. 

Between miles 5-15 I mostly cruised and steadily held onto 6:45 pace. I was feeling good and appreciating the crowds (which didn't exist last year). However, the impending effects of the heat loomed ahead. I knew that the fight was coming. I hit the half in 1:28:10 and thought maybe I could hang on for 2:55 with a strong finish

I approached the Newton Hills at mile 16 and this is where the wheels started to get wobbly. A cramp was already building in my left calf and the cramping got worse with every step once the hills arrived. The heat was also dialing up. My effort level increased while my pace and energy started to fade. The fight was on, and it was early to start fighting. 

I worked my way over the big rolling hills of Newtown, but as I climbed my pace slipped to 7:15. After each climb I wanted to run hard on the downhill, but the cramping was so bad that the downhills were jarring and painful. Each pounding step sent shock waves through my aching legs. 

At mile 17 I reminded myself that I only had a couple miles before seeing a huge group of Brooklyn Track Club friends at mile 19. Knowing that they awaited got me through a very difficult stage of the race. When I reached them I got amped up and tried to disguise how much pain I was in. 

Photo cred: John Conner

I battled the hills between 16-21 as best I could. But they a took a big toll on me. During the months leading up to Boston I did a lot of visualization. I had dreams of getting to the top of Heartbreak Hill with a ton of energy, and flying through the final 5 miles. But the reality was quite different. 

When I crested Heartbreak Hill I was in rough shape.  The hills chewed me up and spit me out. But unlike last year, I still had something left in me. I accepted the fact that I wasn’t going to crush the finish the way I had envisioned. But I was ready to fight back with whatever I could muster. 

By mile 22 I was reeling in pain and desperate to be done. The clouds disappeared and the sun beat down on me. The cramping seared through my legs as they started to lock up. But this was the point where all the hard work paid off- the 80 mile weeks, the track sessions, the early morning wake ups. The never-ending grind that is needed to fortify the body and mind against everything the marathon will throw at you.

At mile 24 the Citgo sign was a welcomed sight. I also spotted my friend Drew up ahead. I could barely hang onto a 6:50 pace and I didn’t have the strength to quickly catch up to him. But I had enough drive to keep him close. Drew looked back to see me and yelled “C’mon Matan!”. This inspired me to push a little harder and at mile 25 I linked up with him. 

We were now working together in the final mile. Drew’s energy kept me going as my legs stiffened and my body rebelled against the demands I was putting on it. Without Drew at my side I surely would have relented to the pain and fallen off the pace.

At mile 25.5 I passed the Dashing Whippets cheer station. I did my best to acknowledge their cheers, but I was barely able to turn my head to look at them. No longer could I mask my discomfort and I gave up on any attempt to suppress a grimace. 

As we came out from the underpass the right on Hereford came into sight. This was a huge relief. I somehow found another gear by knowing the finish was around the corner. 

I turned onto Boylston and the finish line loomed in the distance. The left onto Boylston felt surreal, like I was experiencing something out of a movie. This is such an iconic scene in the sport of running, how could I be so fortunate to experience it?

I looked at my watch and it read 2:55:xx. I knew that I would be close to my PR from Berlin (2:58:22). 

At this point in last year’s race I could do nothing more than shuffle down Boylston. Last year the race broke me at mile 21 and I had nothing left. Last year Boston got the best of me, but this year was different.

 
2018

2019

This year I took some bad blows, but I never went down. I fought until the end and when I turned onto Boylston it was time to deliver the knockout punch. I sprinted with everything I had left. This was it. This was the moment I had dreamed about. The crowd was probably deafening, but I barely noticed. I was in extreme pain but so elated by having the strength to sprint. I crossed the finish line and stopped my watch to see an 11 second PR. 2:58:11 I’d take it! 

I turned around to see Karlo and we shared an emotional moment. We then connected with Drew and I told him how much he helped me. Both of these men had raced their hearts out. 

I took off my shoes and shuffled back to my Airbnb at a snail’s pace. Along the way, every stranger that walked by gave their congratulations. No city takes as much pride in their race as Boston. 

As the day passed I rejoined more friends and teammates to celebrate. I loved hearing their stories and witnessing their excitement. I feel deeply fortunate to be part of this community.

What I poured into this race went above and beyond anything I’ve ever done. I know I could have ran a faster race under better conditions, but Boston isn’t where you go to run a fast time. Boston is where you go to test your spirit. From freezing rain to boiling temps, Boston is utterly unpredictable. The only guarantee is that it’s going to be a fight. And I can’t wait for round 3 next year. 

2018 Barcelona Half Marathon

In mid-November I started experiencing a sharp tightness in my hamstring while running. By Thanksgiving the pain was so intense that anything faster than 8:30 pace caused my leg to seize up. The next 3 months were frustrating. Instead of building my fitness in preparation for a spring race, I was in recovery mode and desperate to get healthy. I took 2 weeks off from running yet I was still in pain. I lowered my mileage to 20-30 miles/week and never ran faster than 8:30 pace, but even that didn't help. As the race approached, I gave up on running a fast time in Barcelona because I felt as though I had lost so much fitness. But even worse... I was freaking out that I would have to skip Boston. 

In February I started a new PT program, and to my surprise, I suddenly started to feel relief from the hamstring pain. But even though I was healing, I did not have time to do any real training. When the day of the race arrived, I had a huge question mark around my fitness and I lacked confidence. 

My previous PR was 1:25:30, but I was certain that I would not improve upon that in Barcelona. In fact, I wouldn’t even try to PR. My plan was to use the Barcelona race as a workout where I ran the first 10 miles at 7:00-7:10 pace and maybe a bit faster for the last 3 miles. 

But when the gun went off, I was shocked by how good I felt. I cruised through the first 2 miles at 6:40 pace and it felt effortless. I thought to myself “You’re just hyped up from the excitement and adrenaline or the race. If you don’t slow down, the lack of fitness is going to catch up to you.”

I tried forcing myself to slow down. It was the reasonable thing to do, but my body resisted. It would not slow down and insisted on continuing at the same pace. The energy in my legs silenced my nervous mind and reassured me that I can remain comfortable at this speed. 

I hit the 5k mark around 20:30. I was relaxed and floating along. I hovered around the 6:35 range for miles 3-8. This was not what I had planned for, and I had strayed from my objective of a workout at 7:00 pace. But I was allowing effort to dictate my speed. 

At mile 8 I was in complete shock. I had averaged 6:35 pace and I felt like I was barely working. "Where had this come from?!?" I knew that I had a killer finish left in me. I also knew that if I could pull off a big negative split, I had a chance at a new PR. My hamstring felt great, my energy was high, and my confidence had returned. I was all systems go. 

I pushed down to 6:30 pace for mile 9, and even that didn’t require much effort. I decided to roll the dice and I surged hard at the 10 mile mark. I felt like I was flying. I had a huge grin on my face and I was passing swarms of runners. Mile 11 came in at 6:10 and I knew the PR was mine. 

I live for moments like these. When the pace gets hot and yet I have a true belief in myself to withstand the storm of pain that is inevitably coming my way. But my outlook while running is so different from how I see the world in everyday life. In my life outside of running I am filled with self-doubt. I constantly question my competence, my intelligence, and my value. My sense of self-worth is under relentless attack by my own insecurities. But while I'm running I feel like a different person. In the late stages of a race the doubt fades and I experience a distinct "certainty". I am certain that I have the strength to come out victorious in this battle against fatigue. In these moments there is an undeniable fortitude and fearlessness where no amount of insecurity can weaken my resolve. I’ve never experienced anything more empowering than that certainty, and it’s perhaps the main reason why I run. 

Mile 12 clocked in at 6:07 and with 1 mile remaining I was ready to go! I pushed with everything that I had, and somehow found another gear. I was still bewildered by where this performance was coming from. And while the pain was burning red hot in my legs and lungs, the thrill of this victory drove me forward. Mile 13 clicked off at 5:47, and I sprinted to the finish line. I even managed a weary smile as I crossed. 

In the finishing chute, all I could do was stand there in disbelief. This result was so different than what I had expected, and I was so excited to discover that I am well-positioned to run a good race at Boston. Over the next few weeks I will continue to remain cautious with my health as I start to incorporate more speed work. I can only hope that I finish Boston the way I finished Barcelona.

After the race I met up with Nao and Perry who ran stellar races of their own. I am so grateful for the time we spent together and the incredible adventures that Barcelona had to offer.