Running For Something
Caitlin arrived in Hopkinton, where the race commences, at 9. Hopkinton, MA is a quite, suburban town, of just under 15,000 people. Residents often joke that in Hopkinton “Everyone knows your name.” However, on the day of the race, Hopkinton is a bustling with thousands of runners.
According to the Boston Athletic Association there are 26,735 numbered runners—those who qualified in a previous race accredited by the B.A.A. or those who raised a specific amount for charity can receive numbers and are considered can register for a number. Although the B.A.A. discourages “bandit” runners—runners without numbers—nearly 15,000 run the race every year.
Caitlin is a bandit runner. In lieu of a number, she sports the Kelly green, tie-dye t-shirt she wore for Stonehill College’s spring weekend festivities. The shirt represents her house of twelve of her closest girl friends, all of whom donned the t-shirt throughout the weekend. On the front, in big bold typeface, the shirt reads These Are My People. It’s wrinkled, stained and still smells of beer.
With nearly two hours to spare before the bandit runners cross the starting line, Caitlin makes her way through the crowds of runners. She is a tiny green speck, in a sea of thousands. Although many have come alone to the race, like Caitlin, others run in groups—representing schools, causes, charities and organizations. Some run in remembrance of individuals—for mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, friends, cousins. Their uniform reflects what they are running for.
Then there are those people who don’t need a uniform to showcase their motivations for running the marathon. Among the bandits—countless blind runners, running with guides, wheelchair runners, accompanied by runners pushing them, and other physically impaired competitors.
“That was the coolest thing to see during the race,” says Caitlin, “all of these people who are clearly running for something… I wish I was doing that.”
Although Caitlin’s shirt doesn’t advertise her cause, it’s not to say she doesn’t have one.
Caitlin is running for herself.
“I wanted to do it because I broke up with my boyfriend of three years,” she says, “I just needed to get out of this rut I’ve been in. I needed to do something for me. And so I did this.”
Caitlin, already a runner, decided to run in the Boston Marathon late January. Prior to her training—in which she followed a sixteen week marathon preparation workout—she had never run more than thirteen miles at a time.
The Boston Marathon route is 26 miles, 385 yards and crosses through seven towns—Hopkinton, Ashland, Framingham, Natick, Wellesley, Newton and Brookline—and ends in Boston, on Boylston Street.
During training Caitlin ran at most, twenty miles. She will rely on adrenaline and willpower for the remaining 6.2 of the marathon.
At 10 Caitlin does some warm up jogs and stretches; she rips open a packet of orange Gu—a 100 calorie gelatin shot of electrolytes and caffeine meant to boost the body before physical activity—and gulps it down. She keeps moving to warm her muscles.
At 10:30 she situates herself among the huge crowd of bandits; she chooses a spot at the end to allow herself more space.
Other runners chat with friends and relatives whom they’ve come with. Caitlin is alone among this crowd of nearly 40,000, with only her thoughts to keep her company.
At 10:47 she crosses the starting line.
A Familiar Face
Nine miles in, Caitlin is doing as well as she expected. She’s keeping a steady pace, slow enough that she hasn’t exhausted herself, but fast enough to finish the race at her projected goal time: four hours. She’s warm now, hot even, and has removed her long sleeve shirt and tied it around her waist.
The day is perfect for the race. It’s sunny, 65 degrees—warm enough to combat the windiness of the city. Spectators line every part of the route, yell encouraging words, and pass out water, bananas and oranges.
Despite being alone, Caitlin feels confident in the company of the crowd. They both push her to keep going and act as judges to ensure she doesn’t stop.
Caitlin sees a former student, friend of friends, Dan Wilkins, who graduated from Stonehill a year earlier.
“Hey!” she says, “You…” She pauses to try and remember his name.
“Dan,” he replies, “Caitlin, right? I’m so glad to see someone I know.”
“Me too. I’ve been by myself this whole time. Were you running with someone?”
“Yeah, my friend Keri, but she has a number.”
Caitlin and Dan chat for the duration of the ninth mile. Caitlin has increased her pace to match Dan’s. His 6’2’’ frame enables his long legs to move faster; Caitlin is practically sprinting at this point.
At the beginning of the tenth mile, Caitlin feels her energy start to drain. Her legs cramps up and she falters for air. Although she wishes she could stay with Dan, a familiar running partner, she knows she has to slow down.
“Dan, go ahead of me,” she says exhaustedly, “I have to slow down.”
“Okay. It was nice seeing you and good luck with rest of the race.”
He sprints ahead, disappearing into the crowd.
Slowing down to a walk, Caitlin tries to catch her breath. She walks off to a water stand at the side of the road to rehydrate. After gulping down a cup, she jogs slowly ahead before arriving at an underpass free of spectators.
There, Caitlin takes a moment to pause. She stretches out her legs, knees, arms. She takes a few deep breaths and thinks about the pace she’ll need to set to get herself back on track.
All of a sudden she feels a pat on the back.
“You’re doing great,” a short, elderly man shouts at her as he runs by.
The man, Caitlin notices, wears the number M-75 on his back. The older contestants wear either an F, for female, or M, for male, in addition to the number that reflects their age.
She shouts a half-hearted, “thanks,” as he runs by her, this man nearly four-times her age.
At that, Caitlin continues the race.
Heartbreak Hill
When Caitlin Kelly reached the last of the Newton Hills, also known as Heartbreak Hill, she thought she was going to have to stop.
Located halfway between the twentieth and twenty-first mile of the Boston Marathon, in the middle of Boston College’s Newton Campus, Heartbreak Hill is where many runners hit a wall. The hill is an ascent of over 0.4 miles and the most difficult of the Newton Hills. Until that point, runners are accustomed to the route’s steady downhill trend.
For the 114th Boston Marathon, B.C. students are lining Commonwealth Avenue, creating two moving walls of maroon and yellow. They are drunk and merry, celebrating what one B.C. student, senior Vlad Georgescu, calls, “the best day of the year,” Marathon Monday. This section of the race is just as famous for its student onlookers as it is for that notorious, last hill. They scream, chant and cheer throughout the duration of the race.
They cheer for Caitlin Kelly as she slowly makes her way up the hill.
“Go Kate! You’re almost there!”
Before the race started, Caitlin wrote her first name on the back of her Kelly green, tie-dye t-shirt at the suggestion of another runner; an older woman and veteran bandit runner.
“Trust me,” the woman said “You want them to know your name.”
Now, as Caitlin struggles to keep running up Heartbreak Hill, she could not have agreed more. She shook with exhaustion. Her legs felt like two stone pillars. Her knees ached. She was covered in sweat.
“I wanted to stop so badly. I didn’t think I had it in me to keep going” she would say later.
That’s when the B.C. students turned their attention to Caitlin—the lone, worn-out runner; the green among the maroon and gold.
“They must have seen me slow down. I looked miserable, so I’m sure they saw that on my face too.”
Faceless voices from among the crowd started chanting Caitlin’s name, cheering her on as if she was one of their own. The voices were loud, plentiful and filled with urgency.
“Come on Cait!”
“Let’s go Cait!”
“Move your ass! You can do it!”
“Let’s go girl!”
Caitlin, hearing her voice ring out from the sidelines, got her momentum back. At their urging she continued. She gradually picked up her pace from a slow walk, to a power walk, to a light jog and finally, to a run.
Crossing the Line
As Caitlin approaches the last mile of the marathon, taking a left onto Boylston Street, she is filled with relief and excitement. At this point the finish line is well within her reach. She knows she’s going to finish.
However, in her excitement, she forgets that she must still run the long, quarter-mile stretch of Boylston before she’s done. There’s work to do yet.
Heart beating loudly in her chest, legs and feet throbbing, sweat pouring off her body, Caitlin strides toward the finish line. It’s in sight now, as is a massive crowd of families and friends waiting to congratulate their runners. Caitlin’s family waits for her in the crowd, her parents Aileen and Robert and her brother Matthew drove down from New Hampshire to support her. Her friends are waiting as well—Emily Gabree, Vanessa Marchica, Jill Eid, Caitlin Nunan, Chrissy Slyne and Marissa Zimmell—all fellow seniors and housemates.
With her family and friends in mind, and the finish line just a few feet ahead, Caitlin starts sprinting to finish the race. She’s more than ready to be done.
At 3:02 Caitlin crosses the finish line. Her time is four hours and fifteen minutes.
Immediately, a marathon volunteer comes over and wraps a space blanket around Caitlin—a lightweight shiny, metallic blanket that reflects 90% of a person’s radiated body heat—to keep her muscles warm and to prevent cramping.
“Congratulations!” she tells Caitlin.
Among the crowds Caitlin can’t find her family or her friends. She’s fifteen minutes ahead of her predicted finish time and is worried that she won’t find anyone.
She walks over to a police officer and asks to borrow his phone; he’s friendly and hands it to her. She calls her mother, who answers and arranges to meet her outside of a parking garage close by. Then she calls Vanessa’s number and tells her the same.
Caitlin thanks the police officer and walks toward the garage.
Along the way she sees other runners who’ve found their families and friends. She sees an older man look searchingly into the crowd who spots his wife and young son. They rush to each other; they hug, kiss, and cry. Caitlin is also almost moved to tears at the sight of them.
“Cait!” she hears someone scream, “Cait! Over here!”
It’s Vanessa, and the rest of her friends, who swarm her.
“We’re so proud of you!”
“We love you!”
They drown her in compliments.
Then her mother, father and brother join the crowd. They hug her and issue similar warm words of praise and astonishment. Caitlin’s mother hugs her again and both she and Caitlin start to cry.
One of her friends, Chrissy, asks her, “So Cait, what is it like to run twenty-six miles?”
“It’s crazy,” she says, “It feels good, but I’m glad I’m done.”
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