Marathon Mashfest.

The ride before the Boston Marathon is a tradition. It dates back years and years. Last year was the very first time I had ever participated. Tales of its toughness, constant attacks, and blinding speed were all anyone could talk about in the preceding days.

It did not disappoint. 

In the end 4 of us made it to the finishing line before they closed Boylston. 

It was the hardest ride I had done on a bike.. by far. It was important for me to do well because it was the first chance I had to really get out with the big boys (as I was still a 5 at this point) on our team, and see where I measured up. 

I have been looking forward to this ride since the minute it ended one year ago. 

A week or two before the marathon, Lane Turner, an editor at the Boston Globe (for whom I am lucky enough to occasionally work), called me up and told me that they would be interested in covering the ride! As if I wasn't anxious enough already. Before I had time to process what was going on, Keith, Kyle, A.J. and I were being interviewed, and go-pros were distributed like candy. Delicious 720p candy. 

I might want to pause here and address a now well-talked-over and hilarious miss-wording on my part. Darren, the videographer, asked me to introduce myself on camera: 

My name is Sam Rosenholtz.

"And, tell me about yourself." He says.

Stunned I stare at the camera like some sort of dazed gazelle:

I'm a bike racer

"What kind?" he asks.

...Road

"Uh..no... Like, are you a Pro?"

No... but I do race with Pro's

"So you're a semi pro?"

I mean, I guess it's something like that... You see there are these categories...

"Semi-Pro. Got it. If you could just say that back to me for editing..."

Before I could say "elite amateur," which actually sounds way better, I was solidifying my fate, and speaking brainlessly into the camera. "I am a semi-professional bike racer." While in essence it is very much the truth, and more importantly, I am not the first to say it (Creme Bruley), I can tell by the internet backlash that it will be something I regret phrasing the way I did... but in a fun way. Sadface.

The video can be found here: Boston.com

Onto what you are probably more interested in reading about: The Ride.

Photo: Shopengarten

I arrived at Honeydew with Teammates Hughes and Smith, and Joe from Threshold cycling. Tardy and frozen, but in good spirits. We had our coffee and donuts, and chatted about the "pre-race-race" they had on the way out. The traditional "leisurely ride out" was apparently up for some interpretation. There was, apparently, an uncharacteristic flash of brilliance from Steve Hoppengarten that separated the enormous group, and allowed the antagonists to finish their own ride presumably mired in traffic and miserable. 

Photo: Shopengarten

With the baddies gone, we all made our way out towards the start line. All 60 of us. Having taken over our weekly group ride, and therefore feeling fairly comfortable addressing the spandex-ed masses, and because I had a trillion cameras attached to and directed at me, I made a few quick announcements reminding everyone not to be jerks, and to make our furious tear home a safe one.

Once we set off, our suggested neutral start was short lived as Mike Mckittrick and Andrew Krulewitz (who, I maintain, is on the wrong team) of Cambridge Bike kicked off the first of what would be an unceasing barrage of attacks. I knew the first town-line was only two miles from the start in Ashland, and I really wanted to set the tone for the ride. At the time there was a  mini break-away which contained A.J. Moran and Mike Farrar, who is also on the team. It's a pretty well established rule that you don't attack your own breakaway, and you don't chase if you have a guy in the 'move,' but as the theme for the day was: ATTACK, I decided it was a good time to begin the festivities. No later than the moment I caught poor AJ, his bike (more specifically his front derailleur) exploded magnificently. We both knew he was fated to ride the entire ride alone, as no-one on the ride was about to slow down. I had to keep drilling for Ashland because it was the all-important first, and I wanted it... And I got it.

Mike Farrar seemed to have something against riding with the group, because literally every time I looked up, he was attacking like a total lunatic. I mean that literally. Sometimes to bridge. Sometimes for a town-line. But most of the time, just for the sake of putting the hurt on everyone. It was awe-inspiring.... Very dumb... but very fun to watch. He told me later that he just wanted to get on camera.

I did my best to get on the front often and make the ride as challenging (hard) as it deserved to be. This is not normally how I ride my bike. Usually, I'm cowering behind the biggest dude I can find... but not today. I was gunning for every single town line, and to reduce the pack to the hardened few that would earn it.

We came into Newton together, and I was tired. Again, I am usually a much smarter (see also: selfish/ wheelsucking) racer. We were approaching the hills; for which my talent is world renown.

Peter Bowring, who at that point had been conspicuously absent from the days festivities, arrives at the front. I realize, quickly, that he is fresh and is about to make a move. Before he can, Mike Mckittrick Guns it on the first rise, and I counter. Pete reels us in and begins to just casually hammer up the rest of the climb. Realizing that he has all the go we need, I close my eyes and bury myself to stay with him up the rest of the climb. Ian from Back Bay, and Mike Shinall bridged from the remaining 10 chasers.

The bridge proved to be a bit too much for both of them (unsurprisingly as they had been attacking on the front all day too) as Pete and I began to hammer out a decent gap. I would pull on the flats, and Pete would drag my lifeless body over the last two hills, including heartbreak. Once the beast was done and dusted, we really got moving knowing there was nothing left to save up for. Down comm. ave, we're pushing 33. The wind is at our backs and it's all downhill to glory.

The group behind began to get themselves organized eventually, and started to stop the bleeding. When we hit the corner of Chestnut hill ave and Beacon, we still had around 15-20 seconds on them. It's three or four miles from Cleveland Circle to Boylston, but Pete and I are averaging 35mph. We had a shot.

This is pretty much where the train comes off the rails. Unfortunately, in our impossibly fast blast home, we've arrived too early, and the roads in Boston are not yet closed (end to end 26.2mi in 54 min... you do the math) Pete and I hit Every. SINGLE. Light. (so did everyone else). It made our totally heroic breakaway win (or not win) slightly less so. Our gap tumbled from 20 to 10 to... less than ten. To rub salt in the wound, we were swallowed up by the group just as we slowed down for and then missed the correct turn onto Boylston. Tragedy.

As upset as I was that I missed the opportunity to duke it out with Pete 1 on 1 for victory on an empty Boylston street,  I was MORE upset that I didn't get to give it a go in the bunch sprint. I did get a spectacular view of the fireworks. And really, upset is wild and dangerous overstatement. I was grinning like an idiot peddling by myself down that road.

This ride remains one of the most intensely fun things I do all year. I did pretty well for myself in "real" races last year, and while winning is certainly a great time, getting out with your friends and riding with your heart on your sleeve with nothing to lose makes this ride incomparable. Hearing comments like reflect the ones I felt after my first ride made me feel tremendous too. "Way faster than any road race I've done," and "Speed Vomit in the House of Rosenholtz" affirm that it was, in-fact, an epic ride.

This is a long entry, so if you've stopped reading by now I don't blame you. I do, however, want to reflect briefly on how strangely positive our little city becomes on Marathon Monday. Leaving Shinall's house after playing with a puppy and barbecuing, I began turning my tired legs down Beacon street, where hours before I had torn through like I was on fire. Hours before, there were thousands of people lining these streets. Hours before the leaders had stormed past on their record-setting runs. Literally an entire day had gone by, and yet, there were still people out cheering on TOTAL strangers as they now walked by towards Boston Proper.  They were achieving milestones, just as we had, and there were still genuinely enthusiastic people there to watch, and urge, and cheer them on. I'd say Boston is filled with d-bags a good 350 days of the year the way any city is... but every once in a while, we come through in a big way.

Good job you guys.

Photo: Shopengarten

(check in later for extended footage from all of those go-pros when we get the cards back from the globe!)