2004/04 Boston and South Carolina trip - Boston Marathon |
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Monday 19th April
Monday was Patriot’s Day, a holiday in Massachusetts but nowhere else, so most people had the day off, and many of them were going to watch the race. I’d read lots of warnings about getting to the marathon’s start early, and stories about massive traffic jams, and runners missing the race. Consequently, I’d plotted out a course that maximized our chances of beating the traffic. However, there wasn’t any! Sandie dropped me off at the state park and headed to the railway station.
The shuttle bus took me into Hopkinton, with 2.5 hrs to spare before the start. Hopkinton is just a small village, and almost all the population are volunteers. It’s obviously a big deal for them, with a carnival atmosphere, hot dogs, and the school band playing in 18th century dress. The preacher at the Korean Episcopalian church was taking full advantage of his proximity to the start line and a captive audience. A local newspaper reporter interviewed me to find out my history and reasons for running the race. Three fighter jets screamed down the street as one of the runners sang the national anthem. And there were airplanes with advertising banners following the course. This was America at its most American.
It was also hot and getting hotter by the minute.
Most marathons start in the early morning, but this one starts at noon. There were 22000 entrants and the start chute was about a mile long, stretching right through the village. Most runners, like me, have to qualify with a good enough time in a prior marathon, but a few thousand get in via a lottery. I was glad to hear this, as I had visions of coming in last, but I should be able to beat a few of the lottery winners. It took me 14 minutes to cross the start line, but we all had computer chips attached to our shoes, and we’d have our times adjusted for the late start.
It was 83 at the start, with no shade, as the trees had no leaves yet. This was really freak weather for the northeast in April. The course is straight and headed east through suburbs like Ashland, Framingham, Natick, Wellesley, and Newton, all places we’d driven through in the last couple of days.
I did not expect to do well. I’d put in a lot of miles in Australia, mainly on the beaches, and when I got back to Minnesota I’d run a really good 18-miler, but the next morning I’d barely been able to walk. The change of road surface had really upset my arches and heels. So, I hadn’t run since that day, and had no idea how far I’d get in the race.
As it happened, the heat was more of a problem than my heels. I had nausea at mile 8, and by mile 13 I was having to walk up hills because I was light-headed. My heels did go bad but not until mile 21 and by that time it didn’t really matter. I was just running to survive to the finish line. Runners were dropping out all along the course. The aid tents were full, and there were stretchers and wheelchairs in the street. 
It was my slowest ever marathon, just over five hours, but I had enough energy to sprint the last couple of miles through downtown Boston. It was still in the mid-80s and very windy, like a blast furnace at times. I’d consumed gallons of water and Gatorade. You get so you think you can’t take another mouthful but you know that if you don’t you won’t make it through the next mile.
So what do the runners get for all that agony? A half million spectators egging you on? The Wellesley Scream Tunnel where students from the girls’ college scream the runners past their school? It’s more complicated than that though, as I’ve run a marathon out in the boonies where there were no spectators. Boston, though, is certainly something special amongst all the marathon races. For me, who grew up as a brain, nerd, or geek, depending on the decade, it’s a big deal to be able to do something that the jocks would have trouble with.
Sandie had caught the train in and stationed herself at the H sign at the family meeting area. She’d had an argument with a truck driver who’d parked right in front of the H sign, and she’d also been talking with one of the female elite runners who’d finished long before me. She’d had a tough race too. Everybody except the Kenyans seemed to be suffering.
I’d already picked up my finisher’s medal and goodies, so we rushed off to catch the train back to Hopkinton. Boston’s Back Bay station is convenient for the finish line but it has to be one of the world’s most unpleasant railway stations. It shares a tunnel with the motorway, so there is traffic roaring past a few feet from the platform. We collected our truck from Hopkinton station and drove back to the campground. That night’s curry went down amazingly well.
Tuesday 20th April
The next day’s newspaper told me that I’d come in at 14900 out of 22000. Over 3000 didn’t finish at all and over a thousand of those needed medical attention, so maybe just finishing upright was OK.