BOSTON (2019)

They say Boston is quite lovely. Or so I'm told — because I barely left my hotel room all weekend. A quick trip to the Nike store, some exploring nearby, a cup of coffee, and mostly resting. What I did enjoy, in my role as Turner ambassador, was meeting the Talent Acquisition Director of the Turner association in Boston. It was wonderful to hear how they are working on Turner — the developments and especially the girls and women. I'll report more on that later. For now, my throat is sore and I'm coughing up green. What a moment to be sick. And in my somewhat diminished state of awareness, I also banged my foot, leaving me with a purple and very painful toe. Broken, torn, bruised? Doesn't matter. Not running is not an option, so Boston will mostly be remembered as my hotel room — an oasis of rest and focus.

Then it's Monday, marathon day. On the bus to the start, I find a kind of resignation after a rather eventful morning: fire alarms and sirens in the hotel, mandatory evacuation from the 14th floor, and broken lifts. Fred evacuates and brings back a wonderful coffee on the way up. Had I evacuated too, I could have forgotten the marathon. But now, on the bus, everything is going strictly to plan. Well ahead of time we stand in our starting corral, race tension masks the physical discomforts, and around eleven o'clock local time I am launched. This is it — go hard now!!!

The Boston course is point-to-point. From the countryside, the route runs in a straight line back into central Boston. The weather gods seem to be on our side — just before the start the sky empties one final time, and as we begin it clears. The wind also shifts from east (headwind) to southwest. And it gets warmer, rising to 20 degrees. The first half runs on autopilot. There's a drinks station at every mile, and I make grateful use of them. On every other marathon I've carried my camelbag, but in Boston these aren't allowed for safety and anti-terrorism reasons. It is what it is — drinks stations and gels for nutrition. Around the 25km mark things get harder. Heartbreak Hill is famous as the course's defining challenge, but it's not the only bump in the road. For those who know: it's like running the Zevenheuvelenloop, but three times. Up, down, up, down. And then Heartbreak Hill: steeper up, steeper down. At 35km I feel nauseous. I try to drink some water, but it makes things worse. My stomach protests and I look for a toilet. At first it seems to help, but at 39km I'm still nauseous, and the first waves of vomiting hit. I walk, jog, walk again — throat and stomach squeezed shut. Then I vomit a third time. I'm empty, can't keep water down, and the finish is so close that even my beloved husband could have walked it. Jogging along, I find a second wind. The crowd is absolutely fantastic, and in those final kilometres I'm almost carried to the line by the cheers. And then that line — the final beep of my timing chip. I'm there. I did it. I'm satisfied and sick with happiness.

At the medical tent I'm laid on a stretcher. I vomit a few more times and the helpful medic tells me there's a flu going around with exactly the symptoms I've been having. In a daze I let myself be cared for. Fred is on his way, and Danny also calls, concerned — he followed the race via the Boston Marathon app, but my icon had stopped at 39km. I keep the conversation short; I really don't feel well. My toe only bothered me on the descents. Back at the hotel I sink into a well-deserved warm bath and gradually find myself again. The blood starts flowing, and with it the realisation that I truly did it. In a flash I think back to the first marathon, the conversation with a then-small Noelle about Turner, and all the paths since where Turner and running have crossed. And soon the Six Star Medal — a crowning achievement for Running for Turner. I feel proud.

"Anything is possible, if you let it happen…"