Running Down a Dream

This slightly modified but still stupid phrase from the movie Prefontaine was supposed to be a source of inspiration for me and two friends during the more painful portions of this year’s Boston Marathon—the 108th, and our first. And while remembering those inspirational words from “Pre” was more than enough to get us through some of more difficult sections of the course, it turns out that I would need his strength for a much longer period after the marathon. Even though I had managed to get through the 26.2 mile course in the 85 degree weather—30 degrees more than normal and the warmest since the 1987 marathon—without any major problems, the same can’t be said for that night. Unlike most people, the real adventure started once I crossed the finish line in Copley.

4:21 p.m.: I finally finish the Boston Marathon, a mere 2:10 behind the men’s winner. Barely able to walk after completing the course in 4:15—I nearly take up the offer of the kind volunteers and jump into a waiting wheelchair. But seeing that most of the people accepting that offer are about 30 years older than me, I decide to just tough it out.

5:00 p.m.: I finally reach the Arlington T-station after collecting some of the free food and drink the course planners were offering. Though it’s only three-eighths of a mile from the finishing point to here, I’m now moving about 11 times slower than I was during the marathon.

6:00 p.m.: Back in my room in Dunster. My plan to take a cab from the Pit to the River fails because no one would drive me such a short distance.

7:00 p.m.: Wake up after passing out on my bed—without showering or taking off the clothes I had been wearing—and really start to feel sick. Decide to suck it up and head down to try and get some fluids down.

7:30 p.m.: Emerge from the Dunster dining hall, and promptly return the little Powerade I had drunk in the dining hall back to the ground.

8:30 p.m.: Start vomiting again after trying to put some water down. Still very dehydrated, but still having problems keeping fluids down. Serious worry starts setting in.

9:30 p.m.: After spewing a third time—well, more of a dry-heave this time—I decide it’s time to head over to UHS, since I know I’m still very dehydrated but can’t hold any fluids.

10:00 p.m.: Get taken to an examining room, where I’m told that I am now one of over a thousand people who had to be treated due to the unseasonably high temperatures. And they say people in Boston don’t have a common connection.

11:30 p.m.: I’m told that I will have to stay overnight, as the kind nurses and doctors work to normalize my kidney function and water and sodium levels.

1 a.m.: Get up and pee for the first time since about 12 miles into the race. Things are already looking up!

9 a.m.: Am told that my blood levels are starting to return to normal, after going through about 3 bags of saline solution, but that my kidneys are going to need to be flushed with lots of fluids over the next couple of days. Hurray for peeing again!

11:30 a.m.: Get released from UHS, and begin the walk back to Dunster, to start returning the multitude of voice-mails, e-mails and instant messages from worried friends and relatives, most of whom had no idea that I was thinking about running, much less that I had ended up in a hospital. At least there isn’t anything but room for improvement for next year.