Rohit Sarathy

Offseasons between races often feel a little trickier to navigate than training cadences themselves. I always itch to run, and if I’m running, I want to push myself and run hard. My 2023 season didn’t go well – I mismanaged my offseason preparation and scratched another autumn race for the third consecutive year. However, seeing my friends achieve PR after PR while giving it their all on the course has been a source of immense joy and pleasure.

Runnan Manoj

My brother’s friend from high school, Ronan Manoj, recently commenced his running career with lofty ambitions of matriculating to endurance triathlons. Ronan designated a small shelf in his bedroom as his medal cabinet, opening his account with a shiny 10K finisher’s medal. He soon caught the running bug, and immediately enrolled for the San Francisco 1st Half Marathon – his first race at such a distance.

Ronan enjoyed adhering to a balanced training program, juggling light elliptical workouts with short jogs, relaxed bike rides, and anaerobic exercises. Unfortunately, a niggling knee issue sidelined him from the roads for multiple weeks, and he was only able to notch light workouts on the elliptical while negotiating the thin road to recovery.

With less than a week to race day, Ronan made the gametime decision to honor his commitment to run the half marathon. I applauded his bold choice but silently held my breath hoping that his muscles and bones would remain intact after he crossed the finish line.

Ronan requested a hearty meal of steak fajitas for his pre-race supper. After collecting his bib and race materials at the eleventh hour, we fired up the stove and charred some meat and vegetables. The resultant fajitas were packed with flavor, and I couldn’t help but ladle multiple large tortillas on Ronan’s plate. My athlete would not toe the starting line with a grumbling stomach.

Satisfied with dinner, we briefly reviewed the course map and elevation profile together. I pointed out key turns and mile markers to Ronan, indicating where I’d be looking out for him on the course. Apart from the out and back segment over the Golden Gate Bridge, the course was fairly spectator-friendly and afforded multiple points for cheering on runners.

Both of us arose early and were up and about by 04:15. I prepared a small stack of pancakes while Ronan heated up his talismanic instant oatmeal for a makeshift breakfast. Despite his halfhearted protesting, I shoved Ronan onto the inbound MUNI L bus towards Embarcadero. We shared few words as the bus inched closer to the pre-race shuttles. I lobbed some parting platitudes to Ronan, wishing him the best of luck, and resolving to meet him at the start line. I then proceeded to hail a bikeshare bicycle, riding all the way to the starting corrals in the Presidio.

Unfortunately, the race itself was poorly organized. When Ronan finished a steep ascent to reach the Battery trail loop-around, he found himself waiting for a procession of runners cutting back from turnaround to pass through. The race organizers and course marshals did not adequately cone off the course and delineate the separate lanes of runner traffic, resulting in a vexing point of conflict that cost Ronan at least 45 seconds.

Furthermore, when Ronan reached the one and only gel station past the ninth mile marker, he found that the station had exhausted its supply of gels for runners. Unavailable aid for runners in a large-scale race is a sign of poor internal controls and logistical infrastructure, and I was thoroughly disappointed in the race organizers for failing to anticipate such an edge-case scenario.

Ronan lumbered into the finishing chute with a very respectable 2:10:34. While he was hoping for a sub-2 hour time, I noted that such a finish was an admirable one given his chronic pains and injuries.

The next training cadence would be far cleaner and afford him a much better opportunity to smash the two hour barrier. We commemorated his monumental effort at the local beer garden, reliving each turn and split of his race over a trio of ales.

The Beat Broli Campaign

Another one of my brother’s high school friends, Evan Li, also decided to enroll in a local half marathon. While Evan’s ambitions were not as aspirational as Ronan’s, his motivations for a quick finish became eminently clear the deeper he trained. Evan initially signed up for the race because “he felt like it”. However, when stumbling upon his older brother’s race results from 6 years prior, he uncovered a competitive streak that he could not shake. Evan needed to better his brother’s 1:41 half marathon finish, or collapse trying. “Beat Broli” became his internal mantra and rallying cry.

Evan’s unfounded abilities were an embarassment of riches. I had full faith that he would easily shatter the two-hour barrier – the only question would be by how much. When working with Evan, he would begin his training runs at a sprightly pace, oftentimes way too fast. I would do my best to moderate his exuberance and ensure that he completed his longer runs at a slower pace, encouraging him to converse with me throughout. Even so, Evan was regularly clocking runs a whole minute under his goal pace. I advised him to shoot for at least a sub 1:50 finish. Anything below that mark would be a bonus.

In the month leading up to the race, a vacation abroad put a damper on Evan’s fiery training regimen. We worked to keep him limber in the final week leading up to the race with shorter, relaxed runs. However, his full fitness and ability became uncertain. Evan’s fate would be determined on race day.

Evan opted for a pre-race Khao Man Gai. Working with a whole chicken would be a new challenge, but I met the task head-on. Ronan made an appearance, eager to cheer on his friend come race day. Under a light San Francisco mist outside, we enjoyed piping-hot broth and steamed chicken seasoned with umami sauce. After Evan remarked that he was full, we wished him the best of luck and agreed to meet him at the start line in the morning.

The Golden Gate Half Marathon was also a spectator-friendly course. As an out-and-back course taking up only half of the street width, it allowed for many different quality spectator vistas. Prior to the race, Evan sanctimoniously proclaimed that he would not resort to drafting, deriding such a tactic as “weak” and “cheating”. However, he seemed to have fallen on his sword on race day, as we regularly found him comfortably slotted behind the 1:50 pacer with a sheepish grin on his face. Ronan and I shared a small chuckle as we took to our bikes and floated along the course, lobbing the loudest cheers possible for Evan as he confidently strode past us.

Evan was making great time and put together a quick 10K split, coming in just under 50 minutes across the Golden Gate Bridge. He was on target for a 1:45 finish, maybe better. With less than 3 kilometers to go, I could see Evan struggling somewhat, form breaking, and doing his best to cling onto a small remaining pack all the way to the finish. I urged him to continue and to keep following the group through to the course’s final turns. At the downhill finish, Evan put together a set of powerful strides, crossing the timing mats in just under 1:48. While it may have not been enough to best his brother’s time, Evan constructed a race of dreams on rock bottom training volume. He would have a high ceiling to shoot for in a future race.

Redemptnan

After his first finish, I had to calm Ronan’s temptation to sign up for every other race under the sun. We both agreed to run the Monterey Bay Half Marathon together. This race was a personal favorite of mine, and I was excited to share the experience with Ronan this time around.

We navigated the labyrinthine expo together, picked up our bibs, and checked into our motel. Setting aside our gear for race day, we embarked on a quick 1 mile shakeout run, verbally assessing any joint pains along the way. Both of us were riding out nerves and barely made it through our Thai prerace meal. We turned in early, wishing for the best in the morning.

Monterey’s race day weather delivered perfectly, producing a cool start that would be conducive to a quick time. To my surprise, my dad and my brother had made the arduous drive all the way down to witness our start! We all huddled together for a few photos before Ronan and I filed into our respective corrals.

I had no concrete race plan, and was focused on putting forth the most even splits possible. The first few Ks came in a little hot, and I had to give back some time on the splits leading up to the 7K mark, especially with the course’s few hills bunched together before the first timing mat. While initially on pace for a 1:15 finish, I resolved to target a sub-1:20 time instead.

Looping back around from the 7.6 mile turnaround, I started looking for Ronan on the course. I found him running in the opposite direction near the 10 mile mark, looking hale and hearty, and well ahead of the two hour pacing group. We shared a small high five in stride.

After I finished, I met up with Ronan’s parents and waited for our athlete at the finish gauntlet. Ronan was making good time and was on pace for a 1:55 finish. With 200 meters to go, I could see him grimacing and barely keeping his form together. I screamed for him to continue, willing him towards a large PR. Ronan wrapped up in a few seconds under 1:56, shedding more than 14 minutes off of his time. This November Sunday belonged firmly to Ronan, and all signs pointed towards an even higher ceiling in 2024.

Keep ‘Er Movin’

While I missed my goals for 2023, my athletes notched large personal bests and established a cumulative 17 minutes under the two-hour barrier. I may have not hit my expectations, but my runners that I had the pleasure of coaching certainly exceeded them. I can only hope that they carry their momentum forward into 2024 and continue their endurance running careers. We’ll all be partaking in the Kaiser Half Marathon next month, and I look forward to seeing how Evan and Ronan will surprise me this year.

Scratch That

In Fall 2022, I made an ambitious bid for a sub-2:45 time in Valencia, Spain. On week 5 of training for the race, I finished a kilometer repeats workout at target pace, but immediately sensed something was off. I unprofessionally vented, peeling off my socks angrily and throwing them at the wall. Though it was a successful workout, my body was sending signals that future runs wouldn’t be so fruitful. A sharp tightness in both gastrocnemius calf muscles continued to grow in the following weeks. Finally, at week 10, after a Hail Mary attempt to cobble a semblance of race-ready fitness, I threw in the towel. The muscular pain was too great, consistently stabbing through a mirepoix of painkillers. This would be the second scratch in 2 years.

Having scratched more races than I’d completed post-pandemic, I sent pleas to multiple local physiotherapists in hopes of mollifying the calf tightness before training for Boston. One office connected promptly, and we worked on different strengthening and stretching exercises to loosen the muscular knots in my lower legs. My dad mentioned the mind-body connection and the importance of being able to communicate one’s pain. With this in mind, I worked on clearly describing where I was feeling pain, its intensity, and the kind of pain with specific adjectives (e.g. tugging, sharp, tense).

During our sessions, we would discuss my training goals and make the necessary adjustments. I was told that the muscular tightness could take 10 weeks plus to wear off, which left me crestfallen. Still committed to running, I made it my goal to simply finish the Boston Marathon. I conceded that a PR would be very unlikely given the circumstances.

In healthy times, I’d run 5-6 times a week, including 2 key workouts and a long run on Sunday. However, with the lower leg tightness, I cut the volume by a third, running at most 4 times a week, with just 1 key workout and a shorter long run. Every run was important, but my injury emphasized a more holistic mindset. I would peel back home early if I could feel my muscles acting up, making sure that I would be able to run the next day, and the day after that. Exercising prudent load management became front and center, making training a delicate balance of miles, pain, and expectations. One initial conclusion was that speed workouts, especially Fartleks, exerted a much heavier wear on my legs, and necessitated a longer recovery period.

Die Aufbau Principle

My race in Eugene retroactively informed some theories I had about the marathon distance. Progression and fast-finish runs were incredibly important because of how they addressed different phases of the race. While 21.1km marks the halfway point of a marathon mathematically, it does not split the race evenly in reality.

A marathon is actually a 30-32km (20 mile) run with a 10km attached on top, and it must be treated as such. The second half of the race only begins at 32.2km, with ten kilometers to go. This is because the same mental and physical energy necessary to get through the first thirty-two is equivalent to that of the final ten. Not all splits are created equal; what buys you 3 kilometers at the beginning of the race will barely get you one in the final 5km.

Fast-finish runs would mimic the marathon’s division of labor, as the easy-pace portion followed the buildup, the middle stage matched that of the race from the 30K to 40K mark, and the final progression stage mirrored that of the last 2km and change of a marathon.

I used these special progression runs as lodestars of pre-race fitness. If I was hitting reasonable paces in the latter progression stages, I would have a good race. The 32.2/10 split of a marathon gave rise to an internal mantra, “Focus on the buildup.” Although I’d probably feel great in the early stages of the race, there wasn’t any point in getting carried away, especially in Boston with its opening downhill gradient. The course would fight back in the end, and I needed to be ready to meet the final 10K head-on with enough left in the tank.

Road to Recovery

In the middle of week 3, among some slight improvements in mobility, my lower leg pain got worse. We started meeting twice a week, and my physio recommended more frequent foam rolling, static stretching, and dynamic stretching before runs. I followed through, and the muscular knot gradually improved, shrinking in the later weeks. I was able to hit faster speeds in tempo runs reminiscent of healthy fitness, a good sign. The peaking phase bore some more good news as I was able to complete a 32km long run, a progression 25K, and a “1/3 marathon” – a 14km run at goal pace.

In the last third of training, the pain in my right leg had dissipated entirely, but my lower left calf muscles continued to pose problems. I opened the final week of training with a progression half marathon run. My brother and I headed over to Lake Merced together. The goal was simple – build up the first 10K at an easy pace, and close out the remaining 11km at race pace. The calf knot reminded me that it was there in the first 30 minutes. It faded away after I completed one lap of the lake, and it “softened” into general soreness in the closeout phase. I completed the entire workout in 1:37, notching goal pace in the back half of the run. I also didn’t keep my brother waiting, finishing less than ten minutes after he’d gone through a bucket of balls at the driving range.

As we trotted up the stairs to our apartment together, I noticed that a chunk of my faithful pink racing shoes looked to be falling off of the left sole. The right shoe had a growing crevasse indicating that it was ready to split apart. I knew that the special Vaporflys weren’t meant to last as long as conventional running shoes, but I was hoping they’d hold together for one more race. I’d have to shell out for another pair and cross my fingers that the new ones would simply work, all within a week of race day. Checking online and in person, the new Vaporflys model, Vaporfly 2, was in high demand. All Nike stores in the Bay Area and in Boston were sold out. A second search revealed that a local running store in Boston had a pair in my size available. I seized the opportunity, ordering the shoes for pickup. I’d collect them the day I landed.

Later in the week, the left leg knot flared up harder. The growing muscular pain dampened my mood, and I only mustered a couple of short 40 minute easy runs, completely eschewing a set of final Fartleks. On Thursday, I met my physio for my final appointment before the race. We worked on some light stretches and strengthening exercises. There weren’t any major adjustments to be made at this point; how I felt now would be how I’d feel at the start line in a few days.

Preparation, Powwows, and Ponchos

My brother and I touched down in Boston Friday morning. The city was in midst of an unusually warm heat wave, with temperatures eclipsing 80 degrees midday. Thankfully, the race day forecasts were still predicting much cooler temperatures, albeit with some rain. I biked over to the running store around noon, picking up my new pair of shoes. They felt snug on my feet, and I felt confident that they would be the correct choice on race day.

I headed back over towards the Convention Center where the race expo would be taking place. I met my dear friend, mentor, and ultramarathoner extraordinaire Kowsik Guruswamy for lunch. After Kowsik notched his BQ in spectacular fashion, we agreed to meet up for a beer in Boston. Enjoying some Thai food and a pair of IPAs, we conversed about training strategy, race refueling, and balancing our endurance backgrounds with speed for this “shorter distance”.

We grabbed our bibs from the race expo together, then wandered towards Copley Square where a couple of pre-race interviews were taking place. Meb Keflezghi, the 2014 champion, was making an appearance, so we didn’t want to miss any words of wisdom that he had to share. He recounted specific moments from his winning race in Boston, and a particularly difficult New York Marathon when the airline had misplaced all of his race gear.

I rounded out the day with some more foam rolling, static stretches, and loosening with a massage gun. The muscular tightness stood pat, and after applying pressure with the massage gun, I yelped in pain. I swore I could’ve seen my gastrocnemius muscle wiggle slightly. There were still a few days left until race day, and I wished for the best, hoping that the tightness would soften up before then.

Saturday’s weather was a bit nicer, so I took advantage and slipped on my new pair of racing shoes. Looping over Charles River and up the Esplanade, the shoes felt fine but the left leg tightness remained. Turning back into Cambridge, the tightness faded slightly, lifting my spirits. I finished a brisk 10K run feeling much better than yesterday.

I linked up with an old friend / fellow Boston participant for an afternoon Red Sox game against the Angels. We enjoyed some Sox baseball together, sitting next to a pair of visiting fans from Los Angeles. One of them was a hardened Boston veteran, having ran the race every year since 2011. Astonished, I asked him how he’d dealt with the stormy conditions in 2018, and he responded enigmatically, “Man, it was a time.” He recounted specific areas of the race, remarking that the Wellesley Scream Tunnel and its energy was his favorite segment. We all traded some good-natured baseball banter throughout the game, and wished each other the best of luck for the race.

I took Sunday slowly, working on some more stretching and rolling. I also decided against a short shakeout run, opting to rest instead. The shoes felt good on my feet yesterday; it wasn’t necessary to put more miles on them right now. Later in the day, I made my way towards Maverick to pick up a pack of ponchos that I’d ordered in anticipation of rainy raceday weather. I collected my package from a nearby 7-11 and then grabbed an impromptu assortment of food and snacks for tomorrow’s breakfast. I settled on some sandwiches, granola bars, bananas, and Triscuits.

Descending into the local T station, I sprinted quickly to a waiting train. To my surprise, I ran into Kowsik again! We chatted briefly, discussing pre-race logistics and final preparations for the race, before wishing each other good luck. It was unlikely that we’d run into each other at the start since we had different start times, so we resolved to try and meet up postrace.

Back home, our host Yusuf cooked a wonderful impossible beef kheema for race day eve. The rice dish was packed with flavor and spice and served as top-notch pre-race fuel. I went to sleep full and satisfied, doing my best to not let my mind wander too much.

First Major: A Major First

It was still dark outside when I woke up. I scarfed down a quick breakfast accompanied with some sips of Gatorade and a protein shake. I wanted to eliminate any possibility of a hunger issue during the race. As Kowsik once quipped, an Ultramarathon is “an eating-and-drinking competition with a bit of running in between”. Today wouldn’t be a 50K, but I took his advice on fueling to heart. I carefully arranged my essentials for my gear check bag and stuffed two GU gels in my pocket before heading towards downtown Boston. The T gradually became more crowded with eager participants as it made its way towards the Arlington stop.

After a lengthy wait for a pit stop, I boarded one of the buses heading to the Athlete’s Village in Hopkinton. The ride itself was uneventful – my seatmate used the hour-ish drive to rest quietly before the start. Having surrendered my phone at the gear check earlier, I focused on strategies for mitigating the pain in my left leg and managing specific segments of the course, especially the four Newton Hills in the back half.

The Hopkinton Athlete’s Village atmosphere was electric and abuzz with excitement. I donned my poncho in the misty weather, keeping myself warm before the start. I opted for a couple more bathroom breaks for good measure, keen on preventing any unscheduled stops during the race. My wave was called around 9:25. We made the kilometer walk to the start line through the quiet neighborhoods towards the Hopkinton town center. Residents of the abutting properties festooned their lawns with blue and yellow balloons, wishing us the best of luck as we ambled to the starting corrals. I shedded my poncho with 25 minutes to go, getting ready to warm up.

I took some time before the corral filled up to perform some of my prescribed dynamic stretches. The knot in my left calf reminded me that it was still there. I decided that I would load-manage strides in the first half of the race and then reevaluate my leg’s pain. With less than 15 minutes to the start, it began to drizzle. I silently cursed myself for fiddling with my poncho too early, and lined up for a wet start.

The pair of waves in front quickly pushed off at 10am, and we followed shortly after. Jogging carefully past the start line timing strip, I locked in and focused on the task at hand. There were many fellow runners to keep me company – the start was a crowded one, and looking off in the distance, I could see a train of runners snaking their way over the rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Heeding the advice of numerous Boston veterans, I reminded myself not to get carried away early on pace, and to focus on the buildup of the race instead. Sure enough, the first kilometer came through at a slower 4:18, despite the significant downhill. I checked my watch to make sure that I was staying between a 4:05-4:10 / km pace. Occasionally I’d feel a bit buoyant coming off of the crests from the small rolling hills, so I reminded myself of my mantra, and to “focus on the buildup”.

The course flattened out after 5km, and the drizzle abated slightly. My sunglasses were thoroughly fogged up, so I eschewed using them and placed them on my head for the remainder of the run. I am particularly fond of my sunglasses during races, but sacrifices would need to be made today. We made our way into Framingham past the 10km mark, coasting off of the crowd’s energy along the way. A T purple line train had just pulled into the town’s station, and morning commuters screamed a volley of cheers before boarding the eastbound to Boston. The train sounded a few extra horns for good measure before trundling off. I continued to load-manage strides on my left leg, making sure to evenly distribute stress and impact between both legs at regular intervals. Even slight cambers posed some problems during training, so I kept toward the middle of the road when possible to minimize the impact on my legs.

The field strung out considerably after 12K and into Natick. Fellow runners found their stride and started to press forward with confidence. I held back and avoided following suit; it was still early and we were still well inside the buildup phase. I focused my thoughts on other things instead, admiring the neat nature preserve and Fisk Pond that we were running past. The next few kilometer splits were consistent, all coming in close to 4:10 per. I grabbed an energy gel at the next aid station, washed it down with some Gatorade, and continued along.

The 5k split between the Wellesley Scream Tunnel and the town’s western limits came in a little hot. Buoyed from the boisterous cheers and noise, I clocked my fastest kilometer split at a 3:56, and recorded a 1:27 half marathon split. I dialed back my speed, reminding myself that although we’d crossed the halfway point mathematically, we were still in the buildup phase of the race.

Leaving Wellesley and crossing the 25K mark, the course made a precipitous dip before leveling out and continuing upward onto an I-95 freeway overpass. This was the first of four Newton hills, and I buckled down, digging my toes into the slope. I wasn’t afraid of hills – no run in San Francisco was complete without one. Not feeling any excessive soreness from the new incline, I attacked the hill, chasing knots of runners up the gradient. “That’s one of four!” remarked a nearby runner. The road leveled out again, and I resisted the urge to surge on the slight downhill. I grabbed electrolytes at every possible station during this segment, and picked up another gel along the way. I did not want to be hungry or thirsty for the final “half” of the race, and certainly not while tackling hills.

We passed the 30K mark and my mind began to wander a little. I lost count of the Newton hills. Cresting over the third of four, and, arrogantly thinking that Heartbreak Hill was behind me, I drifted forward, only to face the formidable final hill. I executed the same strategy as the last 3, attacking the slope head on and catching runners on the incline.

The course gave back the elevation gain from Heartbreak Hill in the next kilometer before we turned past Cleveland Circle and made our way to the cemetery. With 10km to go, I focused all my efforts on keeping the distance on my watch ticking. This was the halfway point, and it was going to take everything left to make it back to downtown. I wasn’t afraid of the wall anymore. This was my office: this was where my desk and my chair were, and this was where I went to work.

All of those teams dreading the difference from 8K to 10K… that’s actually our office. That’s where your desk and your chair is [sic]… that’s where you go to work.

-Mike Smith, NAU Cross Country and Distance Coach

For the most part, I was able to quash any pain or thoughts of stopping. I focused on going stride-for-stride with my fellow participants, and using the crowd’s noise and support to drown out any unwanted thoughts. I was making steady progress towards the finish. Just as I began to wonder if there was another twist left in the tale, the course immediately fought back with a vengeance. The misty drizzle turned into a downpour, and was accompanied with a wicked headwind.

My shirt was plastered to my chest within seconds, my fingers went numb, and my shoes became sopping wet. Instead of wasting valuable mental energy silently complaining about the weather, I committed to my cadence and held position with other runners. The CITGO sign poked through the low hanging clouds in the distance, slowly but surely coming into focus.

With 1500m to go, a sharp pulling pain in both legs tripped up my stride momentarily. I’d experienced this before 4 years ago during my first marathon in Illinois, albeit much earlier in the course because of poor conditioning. I arrested my stride’s motion so as to exert less tugging on my muscles. I was going to finish, but there wouldn’t be a good close-out kick available today. The tugging continued through the final underpass on Commonwealth. I continued putting forward the best, even strides that I could muster for the right on Hereford.

I turned left onto Boylston and the finishing gantry looked as if it was a world away. My watch vibrated gently, marking 42km. I kept my focus on my strides, drawing off of the energy from the deep crowd. I fought the pulling pain all the way to the finish, striding through the pair of timing mats for good measure.

Epilogue

My brother Rahul and I eventually linked up in the torrential downpour and waddled our way onto the T. After a prolonged ride back up to Cambridge, we made it to our hosts Yusuf and Maille’s place. I showered up and treated myself to the rest of my Triscuits.

My final time was 2:52:25. Though I was minute off from a PR, I was overjoyed with the race that I’d put together. My splits were much more consistent and evenly paced than in Eugene. The standard deviation of my splits was 5.9 seconds; in Eugene last year it was 10.7. I ran a negative split over the two halves of the race, even though the second half was considerably hillier. I successfully managed a chronic muscular tightness throughout the run, finding the fairer side of 3 hours. I was able to grind out the last 3 km in 2018 conditions, demonstrating a kind of grit I didn’t know that I had. Best of all, my time was likely good enough to re-qualify for next year’s edition of the Boston Marathon.

Looking forward, I want to shoot for a sub-2:45 time again at Chicago this October. That mark would enable me to submit a time qualifier entry for all other international majors (London, Berlin, and Tokyo). For now, I’m happy to take a breather and to enjoy an offseason before entering the next training cadence.

“A problem worthy of attack proves its worth by fighting back.” -Simon Singh

It’s been three years since I’ve gotten back into running, and I’ve been trying to achieve a Boston Qualifier (BQ) time ever since. It hasn’t been easy, and before entering a new training cadence for the Eugene Marathon this year, I was confronted with the graveyard of previous attempts at securing the coveted BQ.

Illinois Marathon 2019

In April 2019, I ran my first marathon at my alma mater in Illinois. Despite poor and inconsistent training routines, I was able to stay on pace through the first half of the race, crossing the 13.1 mile mark at 1:27:30. However, less than 3 miles later, I slowed down dramatically before alternating between walking and running while managing a right leg strain. I finished in 3:28:50, completing the second half over 40 minutes slower than the first.

San Francisco Marathon 2019

In July 2019, I trained more consistently, increased the distance of my longer runs, and paid attention to hydration and refueling. Leveraging home field advantage, I ran the San Francisco Marathon in front of friends and family. I matched the 3 hour pacer for 18 miles before relenting and gradually fading back multiple minutes in the last 7 miles. I finished in 3:06:16, shaving more than 22 minutes off of my time, but still falling short of the desired BQ.

Santa Rosa Marathon 2019

Eager to quickly re-attempt a BQ, just a month later in August 2019, I ran the Santa Rosa marathon. I opted to use a lighter set of shoes, believing that this choice would make the difference in the race. Due to a shortened training period and residual soreness, I maintained 3-hour pace for 15 miles before peeling off and losing the pace group. Limping through the last 10 miles, I finished the race 7 minutes slower, running a 3:13:02.

Honolulu Marathon 2019

Taking a few weeks off before entering the 12 week training period, I resolved to achieve the BQ in Honolulu before the end of 2019. In December, I traveled to Oahu to run the Honolulu Marathon. Inconsistent training and poor hydration and refueling in a humid environment doomed the bid as soon as 14 miles in. By mile 18, I was alternating running and walking, simply content with finishing the race. But with less than 2 miles to go, I keeled over in fatigue and dehydration and collapsed on the side of the course. I lost more than 45 minutes waiting to recover while I consumed enough fluids and electrolytes to continue. Finally, after receiving medical assistance, I completed the final tenth of the race, notching an abysmal 4:14:00.

Eugene Marathon 2020

2020 was going to be a much better year. I signed up for the 2020 Eugene Marathon, which was known for its fast and flat course and favorable race day weather. The COVID-19 pandemic reached its nadir in March 2020, necessitating the race’s cancellation. However, as I’d already reached my training cycle’s peak phase, I continued onwards, eventually running the marathon distance around the city of San Francisco by myself. While a 3-hour time was out of the question (and would not be certified anyway), I ran a 3:48:33 on my own.

Chicago Marathon 2021

Hoping to get a boost from the large crowds of a major marathon (pun intended), I applied for and received an entry into the 2020 Chicago Marathon. While the 2020 edition was cancelled due to the COVID-19 pandemic, the opportunity presented itself 12 months later when I was able to defer my entry into the 2021 edition. Training was shaping up to provide a good chance to notch the sub-3 mark, with my speed and tempo workouts becoming more consistent and quicker. However, halfway through the training cycle, I felt a twinging pain in my upper right leg during an hour run. Optimistically believing that the pain was transient, I decided to proceed onto a tougher fast-finish long run workout a few days later. Progressing to the second phase at goal pace, the pain in my right leg became more pronounced, abruptly ending the workout. While I would try to continue training around the injury, the pain did not subside, and what would become a vexing IT-band issue would culminate in a DNS for my Chicago Marathon entry.

Training

Now, it had been a while since I’d run a race, but maybe this time would be different. Armed with the lessons learned from my previous attempts, I focused on three aspects of training: consistency, health, and speed.

Consistency

Strava provided a 12-week marathon training plan that I attempted to follow as closely as possible. The hardest challenge was simply lacing up and getting outside. The miles generally clicked by fairly smoothly once I was out on the roads. Life would sometimes get in the way, or I’d feel frustratingly lazy and arbitrarily postpone runs. Early in the training cycle, I fell three days behind. I let the week lapse, but, since I’d budgeted an extra week out before starting the 12-week plan, I picked up where I left off the next Sunday. Although consistency against the training plan left much more to be desired, I did not skip any workouts, making them up without running into scheduling congestion.

Health

With the Chicago DNS fresh in my mind, I was committed to staying healthy in this training cycle. I focused on small adjustments for avoiding overexertion.

For example, on most runs I would need to ascend a 12% grade to get back home. Generally, I would push the pace hardest at the end of workouts, striving to finish strong. Running up the hill back to my house at a relatively fast pace meant that my heart rate would exceed 180 beats per minute. I would continue all the way until I’d reached the front door before ending the workout. Instead of tackling the hill each time, I ended workouts at the foot of the climb. Then, I walked the remaining distance back home slowly, paying careful attention to my heart rate. Once my heart rate was below 120 bpm, I allowed myself to go back inside my house. I found that I wasn’t as exhausted as before, and that the walk back also allowed me some time to mentally recount the workout.

Speed

I’ve had a dislike for speed workouts since high school, always favoring the free-flowing longer runs. While the marathon would draw on my endurance, I realized that the speed workouts sprinkled in the training plan could not be ignored.

The faster workouts formed a progression that would serve as an important indicator for marathon success. Fartleks were a bona-fide sprint followed by an equal-time jog. Putting them together, I’d get a tempo run. Cranking up the pace from the tempo run and stretching the distance a little yielded a goal pace run. Removing the rest between 800m repeats formed the final 2-3 km of a progression run. Finally, the “fast finish long runs”, a key workout where I’d start at an easy pace before graduating to quicker paces later in the run, was a combination of an hour jog, followed by a goal pace run, topped off with the last 3km of a progression run.

I also noted that Fartleks could help me disburse some quick speed to grab a cup of electrolytes ahead of a crowded pack during the actual race. Understanding the importance of speed workouts encouraged me to take them more seriously. Pushing the pace on tempo runs and goal pace runs, I found that I was running 5-10 seconds faster per kilometer than my previous training cycle, a good sign.

Eugene Marathon 2022

The training cycle had gone well. I left for Eugene in high spirits, focused on the goal at hand.

I arrived in Eugene well past midnight Friday morning. I claimed my bag at the carousel and waited a few cycles for a Lyft or an Uber to materialize, but with no luck. Gradually, the passengers from my flight filed out of the small airport as they caught their rides to town. Eventually, a trio of fellow San Franciscans traveling together offered to share a taxicab with me. I happily agreed, and our gregarious cab driver shuttled us to central Eugene first. The three Good Samaritans hopped off first, and we exchanged names before they disappeared into their Airbnb. The cab driver then took a left before driving up north towards Springfield, pointing out Eugene landmarks like Hayward Field and Autzen Stadium along the way. By the time we’d gotten to my motel, it was half past 2.

I got out of bed Friday morning and immediately threw on some shorts and an old half marathon long sleeved t-shirt. I headed south from my motel towards Eugene, crossing over I-5 and continuing south towards the hallowed Prefontaine trailhead. I kept the pace controlled and relaxed, getting a feel for the roads and surfaces that I’d be running on in a few days. Half an hour later, I crossed over a stream and the Willamette River before doubling back on the same bridge and heading up north. Retracing my steps back to the motel brought the morning jog to a full hour – good enough for now. My legs felt good, with no sign of pain or any problems. It was a bit warm, but not muggy or excessively humid. Satisfied, I showered and headed out towards Eugene again, this time to pick up my gear check bag and racing bib.

I didn’t spend much time at the expo, collecting my bib and promptly leaving the race hotel to grab some Thai food. I noticed that I’d been assigned Corral B instead of the quicker A. The 3:00 and 3:10 pacers would be in corral A, whereas the fastest available pacer in corral B would be targeting a 3:20 finish. Initially thinking of returning to the expo to appeal a corral upgrade, I decided to stay in B. I would chase the 3:00 pacer and catch them later in the race when the field thinned out.

Ducking into a coffee shop, I reviewed the course map and the elevation profile over a cappuccino. I traced the route a few times using Google Street View to note the climbs and the quirks of the course. There would be a noticeable climb after the 7K mark, followed by another incline just before 14K. Both wouldn’t pose any issues since they were early in the race and they weren’t large hills when compared to the ones that I’d scaled near my house in San Francisco.

I laced up my training shoes again for a short evening run. Heading north this time, I cut under the 4 lanes of I-5 before curling past Armitage Park towards McKenzie River. A light rain started trickling down, making the roads slick. Soon enough, I found myself at the start of a small truss bridge carrying the sidewalk over the river. I turned back around, following a small two-lane road back south. The road made a gentle curve southwards back to the motel, tracing the outline of a few quaint farms. With another run in the books, I treated myself to some penne pasta for dinner before turning in early.

I woke up early on Saturday and opted to get a small run in before breakfast. This time, I donned my pink racing Vaporflys and stuffed an unopened GU gel in my shorts’ pocket. The run was fairly uneventful and served to iron out any wrinkles before tomorrow’s race. It would be far better to encounter any hiccups now than to deal with them tomorrow. My shoelaces did come undone after 10 minutes, after which I silently scolded myself before double knotting them and continuing onwards. On the other hand, the GU gel didn’t slip out of my pocket throughout the run, so I was confident that it wouldn’t do so during the race tomorrow either.

I grabbed some fried rice for dinner before shopping around for tomorrow’s pre-race breakfast. Perusing the aisles of Target, I settled on instant oatmeal, bananas, apples, protein bars, and iced coffee. I laid out my racing attire and pinned my bib on my blue t-shirt before turning in early again.

I was up as soon as my 4:30 alarm sounded. Helping myself to the aforementioned breakfast, I wrote down kilometer split times for a 2:58 marathon. I’d need a 4:13 for each K to achieve a 2:58, which would put me 2 minutes ahead of the Boston qualifying time for my age bracket. Running anywhere under 3 hours would be a successful race, but every additional second under that mark would be just as crucial since a high cutoff time could see a successful BQ be for naught.

I joined a sizeable group of eager runners boarding the race shuttle, and sat next to a seasoned ultramarathoner named Rob. Rob and I passed the short ride talking about his previous race experience. He’d mentioned that he was training for the upcoming Western States Endurance Run, and was using this race as one of his training long runs. Rob also reassured me that the course was highly conducive to running fast times, saying that he’d run his fastest marathon times on the Eugene course. This filled me up with a bit of confidence, and I optimistically headed to the start line to get ready.

After navigating a crowded gear check line, I queued up in the front of corral B at the start line, next to the 3:20 pacer. I could somewhat make out the lollipops of the 3:10 and the 3:00 pacers further ahead in corral A. The few minutes before the race melted away quickly. Soon enough, the starting pistol cracked through the cool morning air and we were off.

The field was quite congealed for the first 3 kilometers, since both marathon and half marathon runners shared the course and were finding their pace. Worried about falling behind in the first K, I breathed a small sigh of relief when my watch beeped, showing a 4:12 split. Forty-one more to go! The general pace within the field quickened a little, sweeping myself with it.

The next pair of kilometers came under pace, so I slowed down slightly. No point in getting excited early – there was still a lot of race left to run. Just before 5K I found myself not far behind the 3:00 pacer. I was hoping to have caught them a little later through a more gradual progression, but I wasn’t feeling tired. I could stick with the pacing group until 40K or so and then push the last couple Ks to get to 2 minutes under 3 hours. Easier said than done, but if I stuck to this plan, I’d score the 2:58 I wanted.

The pacing group pulled ahead slightly over the next 2 kilometers as the course turned to its highest elevation. I recorded a few kilometers over pace at this point, but wasn’t too far off of the pacing group. The pace picked up a bit as the course rolled back downhill, and 8K and 9K were both well under 4:13. The quick pace continued through 12K, at which point I’d found myself in front of the pacing group. The field had thinned out considerably by 14K, marking a third of the race. While I would have preferred the healthy company of fellow runners, I’d also be able to pick out a cup of water or electrolytes at the next hydration stops much more easily.

The second incline resulted in an over-pace 14K and getting swallowed back up by the pacing group. A slower 16th kilometer over a minor incline brought us to the 10 mile mark. I’d need to be at 1:07:51 to be on pace, but my watch showed 1:08 and change. I passed a pair of familiar faces that I couldn’t place. “Hey, it’s Rohit!” one of them remarked. I immediately recognized them as a pair from the group that I had shared a taxi with at the airport a few days prior. I flashed a grin, employed a small burst of speed, and continued onwards.

The half marathon runners peeled left at a fork in the course, leaving the roads much quieter. Despite the small morale boost, some unwanted thoughts started to creep into my mind. Was the chance at a sub-3 time slipping away already? No, definitely not. “I’m not tired”, I told myself as I slotted behind the pacing group again.

A little past 19K, the course turned back westward. Someone within the pacing group remarked to another, “I wonder how many here will fall off?”. “I don’t know”, I thought silently, “but I won’t be one of them. Not today”. I started picking up the pace, recording a 4:07 and 4:08 right before the halfway mark. I checked my watch, and I looked to be close to 1:29 even when passing the half marathon split sensor.

I could still hear the 3 hour pacer chatting with some members of the pacing group behind me, but they sounded a bit farther away. My watch beeped through the next few kilometers, and to my astonishment, I was clocking kilometers nearly 10 seconds ahead of pace. Was I going too fast? I still wasn’t feeling any pain so I continued at the quicker established pace. After 25K, the course made a hairpin bend. Reaching the turnaround and running back, I could see that I was ahead of the pacing group by 20 seconds, maybe more.

By 27K, my watch indicated that my splits were closer to 4 minutes even per K. There were only 15 kilometers to go, but I knew that the race could easily fall apart in the last third. At this point, I realized that if I could make it to the 30K mark without feeling any pain or soreness, a sub-3 hour time was well within my grasp. My watch beeped, marking 28 kilometers. The split read 3:53 – a whole 20 seconds above pace. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

I had only run under 4 minutes per K a handful of times in speed workouts, and even then, I felt winded and had to slow down the pace substantially afterwards to recover. But the same fatigue did not present itself today, and I adjusted into the new quicker gear. I passed a small cluster of runners, recognizing one wearing the same shirt and shoes as me. “How’s it going, twin?” I joked. He shared a chuckle and paid me a complement as I continued along.

My watch beeped again, a 3:55, marking 30 kilometers. My watch read 2:05, which meant that, running the math in my head, I needed to run 4:20s all the way to the finish to get a 2:58. It was just a 12K race at this point. I had run 12Ks around Golden Gate Park. I had run 12Ks at goal pace after feeling some fatigue – this was just another goal pace run around Golden Gate Park!

The hydration stations weren’t congested at all, so I grabbed a cup at every station in the last third of the race. The soreness in my legs started becoming more pronounced, but I ignored it and focused on the kilometers ticking down towards the finish. 11 to go. 10 to go. Just another stinking 10K tempo. Beep! 3:50, 3:50, 3:51. I was banking 25-30 seconds per kilometer. Was a 2:55 possible today? Every second mattered now, and I didn’t dare stop.

The last 10 kilometers were the most formidable. The course was more sparse, and there were fewer runners to chase or to pace with. I reached into my pocket, and helped myself to a generous serving of GU. I was going to need every last bit of energy to tick down these final kilometers. The distance on my watch seemed to move more slowly. I quashed any poisonous thoughts of flaming out or stopping to walk. Absolutely not today. The 36K split came in, and it was a 3:48. I was going to run 3:50s until the finish.

With 5K to go, I slurped the final bulge of the orange GU that I’d stuffed into my pocket at the start line. I discarded the empty packet, washed down the gel with some electrolyte water at the next aid station, and willed my legs harder to keep up with 3:50 per K.

My watch beeped again, this time marking 40 kilometers. Just a little over 2K to go. Soreness and fatigue forgotten, I channeled the mentality that I’d used to get through my fast finish long runs in training. The race was just the final portion of a fast finish run’s progression now. The course wound back onto Agate Street, heading up towards the start line. My watch beeped – a 3:45. Just one more K to go.

Hayward Field started to come into focus, and the fans’ cheers became louder and louder. The storied track was the most wonderful feeling for a pair of tired feet. It felt like stepping on a springy but firm sponge. I could see the finish line at the other side of the track. The race was less than a Fartlek now. I kicked harder, running in the outer lanes up to the finish line. Twenty meters to go, then ten. Continuing to stride past the timing pad, I ran through the finish arch.

Did that really just happen? I quickly stopped and saved the workout on my watch. It read 2:51:34! That would be good enough for Boston for sure. I collected my medal and wandered through the crowd, anxious to retrieve my gear check bag. I slipped on my jacket and fished my phone out of the bag, eager to break the radio silence with family and friends.

A few hours later, my official time read as 2:51:22, working out to 4:04 / km or 6:32 / mi. I ran the first half in 1:29, and the second half in a quicker 1:22 – the first time I had ever run a negative split in the marathon. I’d shed nearly 15 minutes since my PR in San Francisco almost 3 years prior. This made up for every race that didn’t go to plan, and then some.

The 7 minute differential between my first half split and my second half split makes me believe that there’s much more time to shave off. I don’t know what my next race will be, but I’d like to shoot for another marathon PR before I start training for Boston in 2023. In any case, you’ll hear about it here when it happens!

Following my run in San Francisco, I looked to fill up my racing calendar again. After a little bit of searching, I settled on Honolulu. I’d run a much shorter 3 mile cross country race in Oahu 7 years ago, representing and running with my high school team.

My nerves subsided closer towards the start. I worked my way through the crush up to my corral, which was in the very front. After the national anthem and the Hawaiian state song, the race director gave a few more instructions in English and Japanese, and the starting pistol cracked through the yawning morning air shortly after.

The first few kilometers were uneventful. Some fireworks syncopated in between spectator cheers, muffling out the footsteps of fellow runners. Other runners variated their pace quite a bit, but I held my pace steady. In races with no pacers, I’d often got caught in posturing and pushing the pace too early. I let the other runners dribble by while I kept on to my target pace of 4:15 / km.

At the 5km mark, I treated myself to some of my GU chews. I resolved to eat one each 4-5km, which would last me until the finish line. The aid stations were aplenty, and I helped myself to water and Gatorade at each one. The race course now cut into the heart of Waikiki, where there were many more spectators. My pace was still consistent, and I crossed the 10km mark at 42:30, slightly ahead of schedule.

The sun hadn’t come up yet, so it was still very dark outside. The lights of Waikiki faded away as we meandered through a small residential neighborhood and up towards Diamond Head. The road gradually sloped upwards, but I kept channeling the same effort and made it up to the top of the hill with no issues. I rewarded myself with some more GU, and helped myself to more fluids at the nearby aid station.

The runners at the front had completely thinned out at the 16km mark, and I could only see 3 other athletes within my field of vision as the course straightened out onto the highway. The sky began to change colors ever so gently as I crossed the half marathon mark in 1:30:30. Although I was behind pace to hit the 3 hour mark, I knew that if I held the same pace I could definitely earn back those 30 seconds. I continued to push forward, and took a left turn at the circular loop leading into the turnaround.

Turning around back onto the straightaway, I tried pushing the pace to retrieve those missing 30 seconds. However, around the 29km mark, I felt the same cramps in my legs that I felt during my first ever marathon. I ran them off as best as I could, at the expense of my pace slowing down. The pain subsided, but made return visits every 750m.

I couldn’t cope with the pain anymore, so I threw in the towel and focused on finishing instead. I walked off the cramps as much as I could at 32km, but it was getting much harder to continue to run. Alternating running and walking, I made it back to the Diamond Head incline. However, at the crest of the hill, the niggling cramps suddenly evolved into a full-blown, excruciating pain that I’d never felt before.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t move forward. It hurt to stay still, but it hurt even more to move my legs. At a loss for options, I succumbed to the pain and collapsed on the side of the road. Within minutes, two paramedics swooped in and started attending to me. They applied pressure to my leg muscles, massaging the multiple pain points. They immediately realized that I was dehydrated, and offered as many cups and bottles of fluids and electrolytes that they had. I happily consumed every serving offered while moaning in pain. The muscles in my leg bulged in ways that I’d never seen, and they looked like they would eject themselves from my leg at any moment.

The paramedics continued massaging my legs, but with less intensity, in favor of offering more liquids instead. The pain would occasionally retreat but come back a couple minutes later, visiting different parts of my lower body ranging from my hamstring to my glutes. After 45 minutes of resting and recuperating on the side of the road, the paramedics asked if I wanted to continue. They offered to call a van to take me to the finish line, but warned that this ride would disqualify me from the race. I said that I’d rest a little longer before trying to continue.

Eventually, I was able pick myself up from the curb and start walking again. I thanked the paramedics and continued onwards. With 2km to go and the course flattening out to the finish, I tried running and found no resistance from my legs. I pushed the pace once more, eager to finish the race. I hit my stride when I crossed the 41km mark, running at my previous target pace of 4:15 / km. I powered through the finish gantry, and collected my consolation prize – some food, a finishers t-shirt, and a medal.

Unfortunately, since I didn’t carry my cellphone with me, I had no way of letting my friends and family know that I was fine or that I’d finished the race. To make things worse, for some reason the race results page did not transmit my final time of 4:14:11 for the next couple of hours, which left my close ones further in the dark. I walked the 4km back to my hotel in silence, quashing any residual pain in my legs. Finally, I reached my room and answered all my messages, filling in my friends and family on what had transpired.

I was quite shaken after finishing. I realized that I’d gotten very lucky given the circumstances. I shuddered at the thought of facing the same bouts of severe dehydration while running in the Western States 100 or the Badwater 135, collapsing on the side of the trail, tens of kilometers away from the nearest aid stations, relief, medical aid, and cellphone service. All things considered, finishing the marathon was a relatively good outcome.

In the aftermath, I resolved to take a short break from racing before trying to qualify for Boston again. While this race did deal a humbling blow to my confidence, I won’t give up. I will keep trying. There will always be more races.

Disclaimer: All opinions expressed in this article are my own. While I present the following critique of the New York Marathon’s registration and selection practices, I intend on submitting myself into the 2020 New York Marathon’s non-guaranteed race lottery. Running provides a fantastic medium for me to compete, to meet new people, and to travel, and I will not be deterred by a monopolistic organization.

Running is a great sport where athletes from all walks of life are able to compete and to triumph together in a beautiful way. I’ve ran in packs where the camaraderie was palpable, despite only meeting the fellow runners in the group a few hours prior. Spectators at major races are fans of every runner, and don’t swear allegiance to teams or nationalities. It’s truly a communal sport where there’s no zero-sum element involved. Everyone that crosses the finish line is a winner.

However, the New York Marathon and its organizers threaten the diversity of the sport. Since it’s one of the prestigious World Marathon Majors, elite, amateur, and recreational athletes alike seek out valuable race entries in any means possible. Whereas some of the other marathons in the World Marathon Majors series have a qualifying mark prerequisite, the New York Marathon’s standards are a bit more exclusive.

The Boston Marathon is the world’s oldest annual marathon and is one of the World Marathon Majors. The race is a household name, and many runners seek out the prized Boston Qualification (BQ for short). For the youngest age bracket, 18-34 years old, a male runner needs to run a marathon in 3 hours or quicker, while a female runner needs to run a 3:30 or faster in order to notch a 2020 BQ. Most marathons around the world receive a certification from the United States of America Track & Field (USATF) or the Association of International Marathons and Distance Races (AIMS) indicating that a qualifying time run at the race can be used for a BQ. An athlete with a BQ can submit their name for entry, and the Boston Athletic Association (BAA) reviews each entry, with faster BQs generally receiving entry to the Boston Marathon [1].

Boston’s qualification standards create a meritocracy that rewards faster runners that have gotten the BQ. To ensure fairness, the BAA has worked with other race organizers to verify results at certain races, preventing bib mules (faster runners wearing another person’s bib in order to notch the BQ for the latter party) and other cheaters from achieving an entry unfairly. Furthermore, the USATF and AIMS have not shied away from revoking race certifications if they deem a race’s conditions to be not up to standard.

On the other hand, the New York Marathon’s qualifying standards are more restrictive. In addition to having faster qualification times for every bracket, the marathon restricts guaranteed entry to athletes who’ve achieved the qualification time at one of the sponsor’s affiliated races. Any athlete that runs a qualification time at a non-affiliated race will be added to a first-come-first-serve waitlist, with entry depending on the number of remaining slots after the athletes achieving guaranteed entry have been accounted for. The full qualification rules are as follows [2]:

All applicants who meet the time standards at the following New York Road Runners (NYRR) races in 2019 will be eligible for guaranteed entry in 2020: 

• 2019 Fred Lebow Half-Marathon, 
• 2019 United Airlines NYC Half, 
• 2019 SHAPE Women’s Half-Marathon, 
• 2019 Popular® Brooklyn Half, 
• 2019 NYRR Staten Island Half, 
• 2019 TCS New York City Marathon.

A limited number of time-qualifier spots will be available to runners who met the time standards in a non-NYRR race. These spots will be filled on a first-come, first-served basis. Verification will be completed prior to the 2020 entry drawing.

For the youngest age bracket (18-34 years old), a male runner needs to run a 2:53 marathon or a 1:21 half marathon, while a female runner would need to cross the finish line in 3:13 if running a marathon, or 1:32 if completing a half [2].

However, by restricting qualification to certain races, the New York Marathon’s organizers are able to control the scarcity of qualification marks, effectively monopolizing the qualification process. They funnel runners into their own races, threatening the diverse nature of the sport. Monopolizing qualification allows the organizers to levy higher registration fees, and to homogenize the demographics of the athletes. The qualification guidelines reward local athletes with deeper wallets and ability.

For the most part, running races welcome athletes agnostic of physical ability. Athletes with disabilities race in wheelchairs, whizzing through the streets in tightly knit pelotons, reaching speeds upwards of 40 kilometers per hour. The International Paralympic Committee (IPC), classifies athletes based on their range of ability. Athletes with disabilities competing in a wheelchair usually fall under the T51, T52, T53, or the T54 classifications, meaning that they have some or full use of their arms but have limited or no trunk function.

Although the New York Marathon doesn’t indicate what the qualification marks are for the different IPC classifications, it’s safe to assume that there are similar qualification guidelines for IPC athletes. Disabilities charge interest. A T51-54 athlete wishing to compete in a road race not only has to pay the registration fee as any other runner would, but also has to arrange intricate arrangements in order to bring their specialized equipment to the race’s start line. The New York Marathon’s restrictive qualification guidelines severely damage an outside athlete with a disability from attempting to qualify. For instance, an athlete with a disability living outside of New York, should they desire to qualify, would have to make an extra trip to and from New York to compete in an accessible NYRR sanctioned race, as opposed to finding a race closer to home that may be readily available to them.

New York isn’t the only World Marathon Major to impose restrictive entry conditions for outsiders. The London Marathon gives preferential treatment to United Kingdom residents, considering them first for the lottery and charging them a cheaper registration fee than they do for international hopefuls. While it’s unfortunate that the London organizers inject nationalism into their registration flow, they aren’t alone. Many other smaller races also institute similar stipulations. However, these practices pale in comparison to New York’s qualification standards. An international competitor eager to compete in the New York Marathon would have to arrange for 2 different, disjoint visits to the United States – one to attempt a qualifying mark at an NYRR sanctioned race, and another for the actual New York Marathon itself.

Large races provide a significant economic boost for the host city. The 2014 New York Marathon was estimated to have produced a $415 million economic impact for the city [3]. Even smaller scale races still inject sizable economic boosts to their hosting community. The Monterey Bay Half Marathon, a personal favorite race of mine, attracts a smaller field of 10,000 runners annually, but provides an annual $8 million impact to Monterey County.

New York Road Runners (NYRR) is an established non-profit that organizes the New York City Marathon and its associated qualifying races. Charity Navigator, an independent non-profit that evaluates the efficacy of other non-profits, awarded NYRR an overall rating of 91.66 / 100 based on their financial filings and transparency. Taking a closer look at their financial filings, we can see that in FY 2018, the NYRR garnered $98,575,384 in total revenue, with total expenses of $95,489,937 [4].

The NYRR CEO, Micahel Capiraso, received a compensation of $479,195, while the President of Events & RD, Peter Ciaccia, received a salary of $487,105, both well within America’s top 1% of individual earners. These remuneration packages amounted to 0.5% and 0.51% of NYRR’s total annual expenses [4]. Thus, these two individuals personally received 1% of all registration fees for all of the races that NYRR organized.

Excluding the previous year’s New York Marathon, the other sanctioned qualifying races attracted more than 75000 runners. Assuming that each runner paid a $150 registration fee on average (fees increase closer to the race date), the New York Road Runners club stood to earn more than $11 million in registration fees alone. This does not include the additional expenses that runners would have paid for their race photos or for gear purchased at the race expos.

For the sake of argument, let’s say that as a result of the restrictive qualification standards, runner registration increases by 10% since new athletes are hoping to secure the guaranteed entry to the marathon. This would amount to an additional $1.1 million in registration fees, with Capiraso and Ciaccia pocketing $11,000 simply for making the standards more restrictive.

Let’s also say that the economic impact scales linearly per runner. The 2014 New York Marathon had roughly 50,000 runners, producing an economic impact of $415 million, and also earned the local and state governments $22.2 million in taxes and occupancy fees [3]. The qualification races had a total of 75,000 runners, so the government would have earned more than $33 million in taxes. A 10% increase in registration would mean that the government would reap an additional $3.3 million from the combined economic impact.

I also have no doubt in my mind that the NYRR and the New York government worked together to ensure the qualification standards exist in their present form. The municipal and state governments are well aware of the economic impact that these races can provide, and are certainly looking for their cut of the revenues. By forcing athletes to run in their city, they extract more tourism dollars in the form of transactional taxes. While these numbers seem small, the New York Marathon organizers and the associated local and state governments are able to part more runners from their money without providing any additional benefit or innovation. The New York Marathon is the headphone jack removal of marathons, and the organizers are fully guilty of engaging in textbook rent-seeking behavior.

Rent-seeking is when an organization desires to gain additional wealth without any reciprocal contribution of productivity. Robert Shiller, an economics Nobel laureate, provides a classic example of rent-seeking behavior [5]:

A feudal lord installs a chain across a river that flows through his land and then hires a collector to charge passing boats a fee to lower the chain. There is nothing productive about the chain or the collector. The lord has made no improvements to the river and is not adding value in any way, directly or indirectly, except for himself. All he is doing is finding a way to make money from something that used to be free.

The world of athletics is no stranger to rent-seekers. The World Triathlon Corporation (WTC), a privately held company and the organizer of the Ironman World Championships, had for years set up a chain over what was a free-flowing river. Until 2015, individuals looking to compete in the Ironman World Championships had to enter into a lottery for the chance to compete. Candidates were required to pay $50 to simply enter the lottery, and, if selected as one of the 100 competitors for the actual race, were also required to pay the race’s registration fee.

Fortunately, the US District Court found that the Florida based WTC had violated state law by setting up and charging for a lottery. Since they had charged a fee to enter the lottery instead of giving away the chance to compete in the race, they had broken the law. The FBI and the United States Attorney’s office, ironically represented by 8-time Ironman finisher James A. Muench, had the WTC forfeit more than $2.7 million, the amount the organizers had collected from the lottery since October 2012.

After the WTC agreed to cooperate with the FBI and the US government, people wondered whether this precedent would change the registration flows of other races. Rich Kenah, the race director of the 60,000 runner Peachtree 10K, claimed that he had heard of other races charging a lottery fee, but didn’t name any specific ones. The Justice Department and US Attorney Office also left things in flux, remarking that they couldn’t comment on other ongoing investigations [6]. 

In 1920, the State of New York adopted Emergency Rent Laws, instituting the first set of rent control legislation. A century later, we can only hope that the same government will enact new rent-seeking control laws. Even simply treating every USATF or AIMS qualifying time equally under the lottery entry process would eliminate these issues. However, by engaging in exclusive, rent-seeking, and crony capitalist behavior, the New York Marathon tarnishes the sanctity of competition, amateurism, and camaraderie that the athletics community has cultivated over centuries. The organizers of the world’s largest marathon have the starting pistol in their hands. I hope that they don’t choose to shoot themselves in the foot.

Sources

1. https://www.baa.org/races/boston-marathon/enter/qualify
2. https://help.tcsnycmarathon.org/customer/en/portal/articles/1826954-time-qualifiers
3. https://juliabanksblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/economic-impact-final.pdf
4. https://www.charitynavigator.org/index.cfm?bay=search.summary&orgid=13314
5. https://www.project-syndicate.org/commentary/the-rent-seeking-problem-in-contemporary-finance-by-robert-j–shiller?barrier=accesspaylog
6. https://www.outsideonline.com/1981506/ironman-lottery-dead-next-your-local-race

After my first marathon, I started training again for a race on my home turf. This time around, I resolved to be much more consistent with my workouts, cutting down on skipping longer and harder runs. My goal would be the same this race – to get the Boston Qualifying mark for my age bracket: 3:00:00. However, it would be a much taller ask as the San Francisco Marathon course included a total elevation gain of 1175 feet. This would not be a fast course.

Nevertheless, I trained consistently as possible, routing my runs along portions of the actual course. I didn’t skimp on the fast finish long runs, pushing myself at a sustained fast pace for the last 6-8 miles.

The days, minutes, and seconds melted away quite rapidly, and sure enough, I found myself toeing the start line behind the seeded and elite runners. The San Francisco Marathon had a 3:00 pacer this year to accommodate the quicker Boston Marathon qualification brackets. I spent the last few minutes before the 5:30am start talking with fellow runners in the pace group, and the pacer himself. The pacer said that he wanted to go a bit harder on the flat miles so that the lost time on the incline would even out just under 1:30 pace for the first half.

After the seeded and elite runners took off, it was our turn. I didn’t get ahead of myself in the first mile and a half, even though I was feeling fantastic. I kept myself beside the pacer, slotting behind him and the rest of the pace group after mile 2. From my practice runs, I knew that there would be some heavy headwinds on Marina.

I was still feeling comfortable – the pace didn’t seem like a tough ask. I made sure to eat and drink at regular intervals, taking a little bit of my GU gel every aid station, and drinking water every other aid station. We made it to the 5.5 mile turnaround shortly after, with the biggest climb of the run ahead of us. We slowed down considerably, but I made sure to keep the same controlled stride up the hill. Following another minor incline up the Golden Gate bike path, we made it to the bridge.

The Golden Gate bridge carried the race over and back on the eastern walk path and the western bike path, respectively. Our pace group bunched up on the narrow walkway as the sun was beginning to rise over the city. I’d also run over and back on the bridge during one of my practice runs, so I anticipated some heavy crosswinds. I dropped back directly behind the pacer and some other runners headlining our pace group, drafting again. As we looped around back down a dirt trail underneath a bridge, we all caught a glimpse of the orange sun waking up a sleepy San Francisco downtown. In the midst of running 6:50 miles, it was a magical moment to behold.

Running off of the bridge, we spilled onto Lincoln Drive, rewarded with a largely downhill mile. I opened up on the downhill after the mile 11 aid station, pulling slightly ahead of the pacer. The road dipped and then pulled upwards, and the pace slowed again. Through the Richmond neighborhood, we fought a multitude of roller-coaster hills, crossing the half marathon timing mat in 1:29:30. The pacers swapped out, and a new pacer joined us to take us through to the finish.

Crossing Fulton into Golden Gate Park, I started to feel a bit tired. It was getting harder to hold the pace, but I was soon reminded why I had to stay on. My family was camped at the mile 14 marker, screaming, cheering, and willing me forward through the right turn into the heart of the park.

All of a sudden, the pacer and the rest of the pace group disappeared. There was a congealed mass of second half marathon runners, covering the large width of JFK drive. I panicked but quickly found the held sign, and darted in between the slower runners, rejoining the group. We curled around and made our way up another incline. My family was there again to cheer me on and will me through. I lunged forward, pushing through mile 17, and heading the pace group.

Running past the aid station at 18.5, I started to drift back. The 3:00 pace group pulled away through the traffic jam of runners, and I lost sight of the pacer’s sign. I dropped my pace slightly, but kept on running my race. There was still plenty of race to go, and I wasn’t going to lose more precious seconds dropping back further.

On the other hand, the runners had started to thin out. I focused on passing as many people as possible, chewing GU from the 19.7 aid station along the way. The miles rolled along, and moments later, I found myself near my old apartment passing the 23.5 aid station. Around mile 24, though, I felt the same sharp searing pain that I’d realized in my first marathon. This time, I sustained the jolt in my legs, corrected my stride, and didn’t stop to walk. I was fighting for seconds, and each one counted at this point.

Just before the 25th mile, the 3:05 pacer passed me. I focused again on running my own race, channeling everything I had for the last mile. The cheers from the finish grew louder and louder. This was what the speed training and fast finishes were for. I kicked as hard I could, crossing underneath the towering Bay Bridge. My legs tightened up some more, but I continued to run through the pain, giving it everything I had. I couldn’t hear much anymore except for my family’s cheers. I ran through the final timing pads, completing the race in 3:06:16.

It was bittersweet to drop off the pace on a well-run race. How close was I to getting that qualifying mark? It was only 6 minutes, but what would it take? In any case, I’d PR’d by more than 22 minutes – a great race by any standard. I was also pleased that the spread between the first and second half of the race dropped from 34 minutes to just under 7. Pacing myself evenly and hanging on after mile 20 would be the keys to getting the BQ next time.

There would be plenty of time to think about strategy, room for improvement, and pacing in the coming days before my next race in Santa Rosa. Until then, it was my day, and all I wanted to do was to share it with my supportive family and friends.

Running Out

It’s a crisp fall morning in Fresno, California. The day is November 30, 2013. I step up to the hastily marked white starting line along with my fellow Lynbrook teammate Justin Robison for what will be the final race of my high school career. After what feels like an eternity, the starter’s gun cracks and echoes through the autumn air. I join the droves of fellow competitors bursting forward, quickly jostling for position in the course’s starting funnel.

While I had built up this race’s importance, I certainly did not rise to the challenge. I never locked into a steady race pace, and while rolling through the first mile in a brisk 4:53, I foundered over the next two-thirds of the race, slumping to finish the race in a dismal 16:25, 35 seconds behind my personal best that I’d run a month and a half ago. After constructing a promising cross country season, it felt anticlimactic to end things on an incredibly disheartening note.

The following track season presented a new series of opportunities, but I wasn’t very inclined. A severe lack of direction and lack of motivation prevented me from improving on any of my junior year times, and I closed an uninspired track season by failing to qualify for any league final event.

During my undergraduate years, I had made some flimsy attempts to get back into running, but nothing consistent materialized. In the same period that I’d run over 65 competitive races during high school, I’d only run 2 recreationally during undergrad. My university would also play host to a large marathon every April, and I resolved that one day I would participate and finish it. During school, however, I always found that it was easier to invent an excuse than to train instead. I graduated in May 2017 without taking any steps towards meeting my lofty resolution.

Catch Up

It’s now October 2018. I’ve recently moved to San Francisco, and with the change of location, I’m trying to become more active. I notice that a coworker regularly devotes her early mornings before the workday to logging an hour’s worth of running. Inspired by her dedication, I dust off my running shoes and, for the first time in three years, go for a run longer than 5 kilometers. I have to take it very slowly, but I’m hooked.

I invest in new running shoes, and I also bring back my old high school running gear. I’m nowhere near my old speed, but I’m building up my mileage, and soon enough, I’m hitting 5 miles each day. Things are looking pretty consistent, and on a whim, one fateful day, I decide to go long.

I figured that since I moved up to the city, I might as well do some exploration in a grand way. I start running at around 10:45 in the morning, jogging through Embarcadero, Crissy Field, Golden Gate Bridge, then back around Land’s End. Looping back from Golden Gate Park, it’s now been 16 miles and counting. I’m feeling a little twinging pain in my legs, but my enemy isn’t the run itself anymore, it’s the stoplights. Every pause in the run brings back the niggling pain with a vengeance. I power through, following the tracks back to my apartment past the 20th mile. When the dust settles, it’s been nearly three and a half hours, but I’ve circled the city for 21.1 miles.

After the impromptu long run, I’m feeling more confident about lasting longer distances in a race environment. I decide to give my old college goal the old college try. I sign up for the 2019 Illinois Marathon, maintaining steady mileage in the meantime. The marathon will take place in late April, giving me four months and change to train.

Training-wise, things drop off in late December. I go abroad for vacation, but I neglect running daily while I’m gone. I try getting back into the saddle in January, but it takes a whole month to bring my mileage back up to 5-6 miles a day. Things are consistent again, and after a longer 10 mile run, I stumble on a reputable marathon training plan in Strava. Turns out, I’m going to need more than just plain long runs to get in shape for the upcoming marathon.

Although the plan begins twelve weeks out from race day, I jump into the workouts about four weeks in. These workouts are much different from what I ran with Jake back in high school, so it takes some time for me to find my tempo, interval, and relaxed paces when running. Sticking to the plan, I run 16 miles that weekend at a controlled pace. I start early in the morning and head south from my apartment, before taking a right turn up a hilly county park road. After coming down the hills, my legs are worn out from the massively exaggerated camber, but I press on through the countless San Francisco stoplights until I’m back home. It takes me much longer than usual and I feel exhausted afterwards.

While the first week following the plan was tricky, I end up following directions and completing the described workouts. However, things fall apart from there. I start inventing the same excuses as before to get out of longer runs and harder workouts, running only the recovery runs within the plan. Sure enough, this training debt mounts higher and higher, coming to collect on it on race day.

The final long run of the aforementioned training plan called for 22-26 miles, but I barely made it 14 before crying uncle. Feeling dehydrated and fatigued, I throw in the towel and end the long run early. Disgusted with myself, I take a bus to cover the distance, before walking the last few hundred meters back home – the real walk of shame.

Needless to say, I’m not exactly feeling super inspired for race day. However, I’ve already made my arrangements, so I’m not bowing out now. If it’s any saving grace, I taper off properly, keeping my runs before the race light and relaxed. Soon enough, after an impromptu carboload with my friend, it’s just hours away from the race.

I wake up early and pack up my drawstring bag with a couple of essentials, and start walking towards the start line. Although I’m severely unprepared, I’m still feeling the same kind of mixed anxiety and optimism that only a large race can bring. At the starting line, I take a few strides to ease my nerves before settling in my corral. The last minutes before the start melt away steadily, and, after a brisk national anthem, the starter blares a muffled airhorn. We’re off!

When a roller coaster climbs to the top of its first drop, it accumulates potential energy, and it accumulates excitement in its riders. Then, the roller coaster begins to roll faster and faster once it passes the peak, until all of the accumulated potential energy and excitement is released in the form of kinetic energy and screams. The final five minutes to the start builds upwards to the peak. The start releases all the potential energy within all of us, as we burst forward to chase PRs and qualifying marks.

All my anxiety and buildup prior to the race immediately fades away. I slot behind a few runners and we form a small pack, moving through the first mile at 6:10. The pace is too fast. I was planning on running under 3 hours, which means that I should be running around 6:50 per mile. Still, I’m hanging on, and the next mile goes by in a quick 6:20. The initial pack starts to thin out as the other runners move ahead. I’m holding steady, negotiating the gentle curves in the Urbana neighborhoods, and running around 6:25 per mile for the next 3 miles.

Around the 10K mark, I feel a little bit of fatigue in my legs. I ignore it and press on. I figure that it will subside as the race progresses, and I focus on the next mile markers. However, as if on cue, my pace starts dropping down to 6:40 / mile, and then down to 6:50 / mile through the tenth mile. Since I hadn’t followed the training plan and done proper speed work, the sustained speed in the first miles of the race brings back the same 10K fatigue, but a bit harder this time.

At this point, the half marathon runners that I was following for pace take a left turn towards the stadium to finish off their race. I turn right, and suddenly, things get a lot quieter. There’s fewer fans around, and the runner in front of me must be 200… no… 300 meters away. I cross the half marathon mark in 1:27:23, taking another right turn into the heart of Champaign.

Something isn’t right. I’m feeling a lot more tired, and now I’m dropping off the pace – hard. The next few miles are all over seven minutes each, well over my goal pace. More consistent runners pass me convincingly, and it’s a tall order to try and follow them. Around 18 miles, the same nagging fatigue turns into a sharp jolt in my right leg. I’m forced to walk until the searing pain wears off.

“You all right, buddy?” A traffic officer calls.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just need to walk it off,” I respond.

The pain recedes, but only temporarily. It becomes a regular guest every three-quarters of a mile, forcing me to walk even more. I wasn’t going to be able to hit my goal, so I focused on finishing instead. There were more runners to keep me company now, but I wasn’t feeling the same cameraderie that I felt during the first half. The clouds above darken, as if to curse my poor performance. I continue through the labyrynthic Champaign neighborhoods. Was that the 20th mile that I just passed? Or was it the 21st? I can’t remember. I keep pressing on, with one mile feeling like ten. The 3:15 pacer and his entourage blow past me. I try keeping up, but my haphazard hobbling can’t match their fluid strides.

After more intermittent running and hobbling, I cross Neil Street and pass underneath the Amtrak bridge marking the twenty-fifth mile. My legs are jelly as I turn right towards the stadium and the finish line. I will myself forward through the last few meters across the artificial turf. The clock is ticking towards 3:29:00, but I cross through the finish before it does.

It’s official – I’ve run a 3:28:50.

A respectable time, to be sure, but I can’t help and beat myself over my poor pacing. I ran the first half in 1:27:23, but then slumped as I did 5 years ago to run the next half in 2:01:27 – a massive 34 minute difference. What happened?

It’s the training. Instead of taking on the tougher workouts and longer runs, I was content running shorter and easier. Something will have to change if I want to be a successful marathoner.

While the pain eventually fades away over the coming days, something else doesn’t. I keep thinking to myself that while this was my first marathon, it certainly will not be my last. I have to do better. To that effect, I register for two more marathons – the 2019 San Francisco Marathon in late July, and the 2019 Santa Rosa Marathon in late August.

Once More, With Feeling

I give myself a single day’s rest before I work on the same training plan again, this time for the San Francisco Marathon. I’m still feeling soreness from the race, but the easy runs provide good recovery.

As it turns out, I’d registered for another race – the 2019 Yosemite Half Marathon – around the same time that I’d signed up for the marathon. The race would be only two weeks after the marathon, which means that some soreness during the race would be inevitable. I run the race as consistently as possible, treating it as a long run underneath the marathon training plan. While I open the first mile at 6:40, I slow down to a 7 minute mile pace and maintain that for the rest of the race.

The altitude and my general soreness slow down my race considerably, and even though the course is largely downhill, I close things out in a 1:32:30. Although it’s 15 minutes off of my personal best that I’d set 5 years ago, I’m much happier that I’ve run a much more consistent pace compared to two weeks ago.

Things start turning for the better with respect to training. My workouts are more consistent, I’m not missing any long runs, and I’m tackling speed workouts head-on. In fact, as of writing, I’ve not missed a long run in my training plan. Two weeks ago, I ran a 5 mile tempo in 31:58, a pace that I wouldn’t have dreamed of running in high school practice. Last week, I ran a 3x5K tempo workout, completing each interval at a controlled and consistent pace. And, two weeks ago, I came very close to completing a fast finish long run.

The Fast Finish Long Run is a special kind of long run that serves as a strong indicator for race success. First, you start slowly, running at an easy pace for the first 6 miles. Then, after holding the easy pace, you run the next 8-10 miles at your goal marathon pace. Finally, you push the last few miles very hard, running them at your 10K pace. Greg McMillan of McMillan Running remarks that “if you could finish a 14-22 mile fast finish long run with the last 8-12 miles at a fast pace and the last 2-3 miles very fast, then you would have no problem accomplishing your goal in the marathon.”

During my “training” for the Illinois Marathon, I’d only attempted the Fast Finish Long Run once out of the four times prescribed on the training plan. The run ended poorly; I could only hold on to my goal marathon pace for 1.5 miles.

However, in my most recent attempt, I did hold on to my goal marathon pace for 8 miles before tapping out. I was severely dehydrated, fatigued, and defeated, but I’d come much closer to finishing the run than I did before. While leaving the workout incomplete left a horrible feeling, there will be more chances to complete the run and prove my fitness before San Francisco.

In a recent long run, I took along an energy gel that I’d invested in. I held off on consuming the gel until around the half marathon distance, which is usually when I began to feel fatigue in my longer runs. The gel worked, and provided me with a solid boost that propelled me to complete the 20 mile run. I quickly fueled up, eating breakfast and drinking a smoothie shortly after, and felt none of the same fatigue that plagued me at the same distance two months ago.

An improved training regimen and a better nutritional plan make me much more confident in my performance for my upcoming races. Although bad races impart the worst feelings possible, as runners, we have to take them in stride and move on to the next mile. I’m hoping – no, I’m optimistic, that my next half of running will be a promising one.

I started working at Google two weeks ago, amidst a charged atmosphere following the dissemination of the internal manifesto. In light of the divide that has developed, I reflected on my professional goals that I had laid out during my last years at university. Here is a piece that I wrote for one of my classes that I feel still accurately describes my goals professionally.

April 18, 2016

As a child, I was told that I was very skilled at math. I loved solving problems, and I advanced this passion throughout middle school, high school, and even at the university level. I was very lucky to be the son of two engineers, because it meant that I always got the full support to study and pursue what I liked. In my later years of high school, my parents got me my own laptop so that I could work my own projects and ideas in my free time. After reading an NPR Article, which noted that personal computers were mostly “marketed towards men and boys”, I recognize this as a hefty, if not even an unfair privilege that nudged me in the direction of computer science.

However, growing up in Silicon Valley, I never felt that what I was studying was special in any way. My high school produced many other individuals like me, so striving to be a unique individual was much harder. I felt that this environment, while conducive for producing many engineering students, was not so forgiving for students wishing to study different things. Making the change to university was a sudden culture shock, because there were actually other students studying non-engineering subjects!

At UIUC, I feel that I am very lucky because there are others studying computer science like me, which means that I’m never alone. I don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed of my social identity either, because by virtue of the large student population, there’s always someone who shares my personality and values. However, as part of the majority demographic of my major, I worry that the face of computer science and engineering is becoming too homogenous. Whether we feel that the field is gradually becoming too “Asian” or too masculine, it’s not a good sign for budding minority students looking to study computer science.

While I hold the privilege of being a male in my field, I acknowledge the struggles that women face in the computer science and technology field. My mother has worked in the technology sector for more than 20 years, and from what I can glean of her experiences, life for females has not gotten easier. There is still a pervasive sense of chauvinism and sexism present in the workspace that deters other bright females from continuing in the field. Every day, my mother would work late hours as a software developer, complaining about the constant discrimination in her workplace and the lack of other female colleagues. An intern from USA Today was quoted saying “what’s the point of trying to recruit people from underrepresented backgrounds if they’re forced to assimilate into an unwelcoming culture?” which I thought accurately summarized my mother’s situation. This was reflected in the class resume activity, as we did not field any prospective female applicants.

The discrimination that my mother faced in the technology sector reeks of a deeper problem that needs attention. Tim Cook once remarked, “We pave the sunlit path toward justice together, brick by brick.” As I move closer to graduating and entering the professional world, I want to hold myself to the highest standards, and to make a conscious effort to dismantle the crass “brogrammer” mentioned in a CNN article. I think that it’s important for all of us to not only be obsessed with what we do, but also to be ambassadors for our field. We should all strive to extend our hand to help fresher, newer minds to overcome the barriers that exist, and to enter the computer science field. I feel strongly that as a privileged individual entering the field, others should be afforded the same liberties that I’ve had growing up. My brick will be to encourage aspiring students of minorities to pursue the same passion that I’ve been chasing since I was a child, and as a rising professional, I hope to stay true to this mission.

A couple of weekends ago, I travelled to Cambridge, Massachusetts for my first hackathon ever. I went to MIT with three other team members to participate in HackMIT 2015. I was very excited to have had the chance to be part of such a well-organized hackathon.

After a short day of Friday classes, I rushed to shove all the necessary hacking gear into my backpack. I quickly printed out my bus tickets and jumped aboard for the ride to Chicago. On the bus, I met with my teammates, and we discussed our plans, or rather the lack of, for the hackathon. What were we going to make? Cloud-sourced data mining? Some kind of web application? A delivery service? We couldn’t come to a consensus, so we simply agreed to table the discussion for the airport, and to catch a little bit of rest before our flight.

A heavy front of weather assaulted O’Hare airport when we arrived, pouring down sheets of rain. The inbound flight was delayed, which gave us more time to decide what we wanted to build. We eventually agreed to use a few of the available APIs at the event to write a web application for a delivery service.

Our flight touched down at Logan around 2 in the morning. We took a taxi to the Kresge Oval on MIT campus. My teammates and I immediately saw the HackMIT sign and approached the check-in tent. The check-in staff handed us an airbed and a dual pump for the night. We would be staying the night with assigned student hosts, and I was very excited to meet mine. We waited until our student hosts came to greet us and walk us over to their places.

I walked down Vassar Street with my host, getting to know him better. He was a mechanical engineering major, or a Course 2. True to his major, he analyzed the dual pump that we would use to inflate my airbed within seconds, pointing out its various mechanisms and valves that it used, and how the overall design could be improved. My host briefly showed me around his room, and we both promptly went to sleep.

After a few hours of rest, I made my way back towards Kresge Oval. The opening ceremony began, and each of the companies present made a small pitch about some of the prizes that they were offering. Following the pitches, we ultimately decided to use Postmates delivery API and the Google Maps API to write a web application that would deliver surplus restaurant food to food pantries and homeless shelters.

The hacking began right after the opening ceremony. We found an empty available table, and dove right into the coding. I began writing some simple starter HTML homepage templates for our application, while my teammates hacked away with the API in javascript and python.

The hours ticked away very rapidly, and we soon found ourselves with less than 6 hours left of hacking. However, the build was far from complete. The frontend still looked very clunky, and we were having issues integrating the Postmates API with the frontend. We quickly resolved to use Flask for facilitating the integration of the APIs in python, and set out to complete the backend. For the next couple of hours, we immersed and gave ourselves a very brief crash course in Flask.

While I felt that we were moving in the correct direction, two hours of Flask was not enough to relieve our build of a menacing 500 server error. Despite the help and assistance of the corporate mentors present, we were still unable to release a stable, working build of our web application. The hacking promptly concluded after a false fire alarm that forced all of us out of the building.

After the hacking ended, we pitched our delivery web application to multiple corporate sponsors and individual judges. The whole pitching process harkened back to high school science fair days, as I felt the routine was quite similar. Despite making a somewhat incomplete web application, I still found it very rewarding and exciting to explain our idea to other people.

My teammates and I left the award ceremony thoroughly exhausted. We trekked nearly 3 miles across Cambridge to check into a hotel to get some rest before our flight. All of us were asleep within a matter of seconds. Soon enough, however, it was time to catch our flight back to Chicago. We wearily boarded our flight back to O’Hare, and then caught our bus back to campus. Immediately after we arrived, we all hurried over to the Digital Computer Laboratory for our morning Computer Architecture lecture. It would still take us the rest of our Monday to drop down from our hackathon high.

Overall, HackMIT was a very humbling experience for me. It was enlightening to leave the Champaign-Urbana bubble and see the great ideas that other people were building. I personally enjoyed investing the time to build our idea from scratch. Although the hackathon left me mentally and physically exhausted beyond measure, I will be coming back for more. Our hackathon project left me thinking about avenues for improvement and new ideas, all of which I would like to see through in the future.

Oh, Milan.

Today it’s your birthday. Do you remember? We’d come over to your house, maybe jump into your pool (provided that Rahul didn’t throw up chicken in the hot tub), have water gun fights, and play Halo together while eating Chandra uncle’s legendary barbecue.

Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you and your definitive fighting spirit. You always exemplified the absolute best behavior when you battled brain cancer, and not once did you ever complain or lament “why me?”. Although you’re gone, you’ve left me much to think about. Every day, I try to espouse the amazing fighting attitude, tenacity, and perseverance that were all characteristic of your brilliant personality.

I know that you’re in a better place now, safe from Babai’s diatribes or Chandra uncle’s handshakes. Some say that a person dies twice – when their body ceases to function, and sometime in the future, when their name is spoken for the last time. I doubt the latter will ever happen, because I’m sure that I speak for everyone when I say that you continue to live on in all of our hearts every day.

Happy 17th Birthday Milan. We all miss you very much.