Today is one of my favorite days to be a Bostonian (do I still count if I live in the Ville?). Normally today I would head out to Copley and stake a claim over some territory near the people-packed finish line, crying as I watch the runners complete their goal. I have always loved marathoning in general. So many months of work culminates in this one day, this incredible feat of endurance.
I always get chills watching the marathon. Of course, this year the chills will be coming from the air. Yes, folks it is roughly forty degrees and we New Englanders are getting a good, old-fashioned Nor'Easter pounding. Two years ago it was 80 degrees and sunny. You really never can tell.
Normally I would try to get to Copley early so that I can watch the elites cross the finish line. There is a camrarderie among the revelers and I love seeing the look on the runners face as they pass over the finish line, often crying themselves. This year, however, I will cheer from my basement television room.
Over the years the marathon has grown from a true athletic event to a mix of athletes and charity runners (some of whom do produce qualifying times). There has to be a dividing line and, while I repect anyone who makes it 26.2 miles, a true marathoner is one whose times reflect their years of dedication and training.
I asked R the other day whether he thought a greater percent of the population of the US had done natural childbirth or run a 3:40 qualifying time in the Boston Marathon. He said natural childbirth. Damn. I want to be special! But each year Patriot's Day gets me excited and helps me believe that next year may really be the year I cross the Copley finish line myself. And I have to say, labor has helped my overall confidence. Maybe I am delusional, but if I can push a human being out of my body with no drugs, I believe I can run from Hopkinton to Boston in under 3:40.