Getting to the Starting Line

It’s Monday morning, April 21. For the second time, I would be running the Boston Marathon on my birthday. I think I should turn it into a tradition whenever the two coincide. I have some time to train for the next one since it won’t happen again until 2025. As I walked out of my aunt’s condo, I noticed all of the commotion that was already occurring on the course. I looked left and there were two towering security cameras that would be able to watch that stretch of Beacon Street. Across the street, a police unit was setting up and I noticed a few vehicles labeled bomb squad. It was sad to think that this would now be the normal preparation for Patriot’s Day in Boston. I just hoped that they wouldn't have to spring into action.

I hopped on the Green C-line trolley just before Coolidge Corner. I definitely stood out from all the riders that were heading to work on a Monday morning. I was already in shorts and running shoes, carrying my official clear plastic gear bag, with my numbered Goodwill jersey hanging over my shoulder. I guess I wasn't trying to conceal my identity. The closer we got to downtown, the more runners boarded the train. I met Heidi from Oregon who came back this year to run even though she hadn't planned on it. It was only a couple weeks before her 50^th birthday and she had a qualifying time, so I don’t think she really had a choice. She probably didn't have the T experience last year because she seemed very nervous about missing her stop. I’m glad I was able to provide some guidance, but happier to chat with someone that could relate to all the anxiety. We exited the Boylston station, said good luck and went our separate ways. I’m sure she would find her way back to Boston a lot quicker than I was planning that day.
If she’s the lone 49-year-old Heidi from Corvallis, she rocked a 3:23!!

For the second year in a row, some members of the Goodwill Running for Great Kids marathon team met in front of the Loews movie theater across the street from Boston Common. This time around, I was one of the 23 team members searching for the extra warmth provided by the small streaks of sunlight that made its way through the buildings along Tremont Street. I was happy that many from last year’s team were going to join us on the yellow school bus ride out to Hopkinton. I think we were all trying to ignore the nervous energy that goes with attempting to traverse 26.2 miles in the world’s most storied marathon. We all shared accounts of what it took to get there including the countless hours spent covering hundreds of miles in conditions that the word freezing can’t come close to describing the temperatures associated with a polar vortex or two. Luckily for us, it was forecast to be an almost perfect New England spring day. Although the conditions were far better for spectating than running, I wasn't going to complain about a sunny day.

As the hundreds of buses began to motor away with the earlier starting wave’s runners, it really started to become real. I've never taken the buses from the Common to the start in my previous Bostons, but it quickly became apparent why Patriot’s Day was a state and school holiday. How else are you going to get tens of thousands of runners to the start if it weren't for the school bus drivers that spent the first day of their spring break hauling us all out to Hopkinton?  We can add them to the unsung heroes list that makes the marathon happen every year.

We got stuck in commuter traffic along the Pike because both I-93 and Storrow Drive were closed down do to accidents. Murphy’s Law strikes again. By the time we arrived at the Athlete’s Village, we had just enough time to wait in line for the bathrooms, grab a snack and water, and make some final preparations for our run. Before we knew it, we were being herded down Grove Street. 

Just as we reached the corrals on Main Street, the starter’s gun fired and Wave 4 was on their way.  I had planned to run the race with my good friend Alison, but that was looking less and less likely since I wasn't able to meet up with her at the Village or in the corrals like we planned. Now with another 9,000 runners heading towards Boston, I didn't think I would see her until we were celebrating with a cold beverage that night. 

Next Chapter: The First Nine