Twenty Consecutive Boston Marathons (!)
Twenty Consecutive Boston Marathons (!)
The power of the pilgrimage, and the heroes we find along the way
Repetition is a potent salve. It hones our form, focuses the mind, and opens our spiritual gateways. This is why workouts can feel as powerful as prayer - we perfect our craft with every step, expanding awareness in meditative motion, connecting to deeper meaning with every breath. Habit becomes ritual.
We share this ritual at our community gatherings - the annual races on the calendar. COME ALL YE to honor our collective, to bear witness to the struggles and triumphs, to journey once again to the place our elders spoke of, and jointly perform one more sacrifice of pain. The medal shall be proof of our struggle, a personal talisman, an excuse to entice others with our lore. Each year, the medal will taunt us when the new registration dates come around…will you be there? Will you honor our craft and make the pilgrimage once more?!?
The Boston Marathon has always been a special race for me, which is obvious now that I have returned for the 20th consecutive time. To do it once is a privilege, to do it a few times is a great honor, but 20 times…holy unicorns, people, I have officially crossed over into the realm of zealotry. When a reply to the common question of “have you done this race before” is two decades worth, it takes a few seconds for the WTF feeling to sink in around the table. And I’m right there with them, sharing the disbelief, every single time.
But all streak racers know the simple formula – find a race that moves you, and each time you finish, you just say “that was amazing! Let’s do one more”. Boston captured my fancy from the get go – it is the oldest marathon in the world, the “BQ” nomenclature of the required qualifying time is a known accolade, and Patriot’s Day weekend in Boston is one of the best three-day weekends in the USA. This race kicks off my season every year, no matter what I’m training for. A target streak of 10, 20, or 30 can feel overwhelming, so streakers just break it down race to race, like breaking down a race mile by mile, aid station to aid station. Stay true to the pursuit, show up, and the results will come.
This year, Boston gave us a beautiful day, perhaps a bit warm for running, but welcomed by the spectators and volunteers who have slogged the cold and wet of previous years. I made my way to the buses on race morning, chit-chatting with others and hearing stories of glory and triumph. “How did you get to Boston” remains one of my all-time favorite questions, and I delight in the perfect character arc of each reply -“regular person, and then this happened, and then struggle, and then triumph, and now hero”. Everyday life can be a crazy mess, but Marathon Monday feels purposeful, singular, and focused. Some bready structure for life’s chaos sandwich.
Right before I boarded the buses to the start line in Hopkinton, I heard the short gasps of tears behind me. A young woman in blond braids, fighting a panic attack, was pacing a few yards from the bus line. “But what if I can’t? I can’t do this again!”, she said, shaking her head, trapped in her mental loop, and looking to her parents eyes for help. Fellow runners shared an empathetic glance, so I stepped up and asked if there was anything I could do. She introduced herself as Sophie, and I said to her and her family, “hey, I have a Sophie too. She’s 17, but only runs if chased. Even then, I’m not so sure. She might prefer being bear food to a 5k.” With a short laugh, she broke out of her trance a bit, and with the help of those around me, we convinced her to do what marathoners do, and break down the problem. First step, let’s just get on the bus. From there, we can sit together and figure it out.
It turns out, Sophie had run her first Boston in the torrential cold of last year, only to get hypothermia and wake up in a medical tent around Boston College (mile 21). Wowza! Her reaction wasn’t nerves, it was full on PTSD. But as she told her story in the school bus, all of us listening with childlike attention staring over the tall seats, Sophie’s calm settled in. A nurse from Seattle next to us asked if she had raced since, and oh yeah, she did the New York Marathon in November. Then what are we talking about?!? NYC is harder! A group from Taiwan concurred, and friendly banter ensued. Communal laughter and perspective, and listening with full compassion, was exactly the remedy Sophie needed.
In a moment of pause, I told her “you know, it’s a good sign that you are getting all of this out of your system. Your body is ready to race, and your mind and heart just want to get rid of this baggage so you can focus on the day and be joyful. There is zero chance of hypothermia today…if anything, make sure you hydrate and get sunscreen. Any runner here would happily run with you if you wanted, me included. There are 9,000 volunteers and 300,000 spectators who will also help if you ask. You are not alone, not by a longshot. But also, you are more than ready. You have another city marathon under your belt, you have put in the training, and you already know all the hard parts of this course. I bet you are going to rock it today.” (paraphrasing, but you get the drift)
As we got off the buses, Sophie was standing up tall, smiling and thanking everyone for the support. We all shared a knowing smirk…she was going to have a great day for sure.
I was in Corral 8 this year, surrounded by the 3’ish-and-change qualifiers, and a few VIP’s who got to enter the first wave (a perk of the Unicorn Club). As the fighter jets flew overhead to Boston, we gave a hoot and holler, shed the last of our back-of-the-closet-pre-race wardrobe, and the pilgrimage began.
With two decades on this course, each town and milestone is now a blur of memories. The “glove tree” where local kids had put all the discarded gloves on the tree in the front yard…now THEIR kids are doing the same. Swinging wide to give high fives to all of the elders in their wheelchairs at the retirement home, and seeing their big smiles. Local bands that play the same songs every year, yet somehow never get any better, providing a calming sense that some things never change. I wonder if John “The Elder” Kelley had to deal with an out-of-tune Louie, Louie for all of his 58 finishes.
At mile 8, I got my 19th photo with Santa Claus Jim Scott, embracing in the strange and fun friendship that comes from a 30-second visit each year. He looks healthy and well, and once again, I speculate my grey is catching up to him. “See you next year!” he says, and once again, I look forward to doing so.
The Scream Tunnel never disappoints, a wave of drunken college sirens offering kisses and eternal life. I pass on the kisses this time…with my Sophie off to college this Fall, it feels morally awkward. But given the eagerness of runners around me looking for smooches (men and women alike), I suspect my hesitation will pass with time. I do think of the Sophie I met this morning, picturing her running down the line, bouncing blond braids and a smile aglow, getting a hundred high fives. The sirens will lose their minds.
I’m not concerned about my pace, but am pleased to see 1:32 on the clock as I pass through the halfway mark. Although I am slowing with age, the sub-3 is within reach if I don’t mind starving off a few pounds beforehand, and taking a few weeks of recovery. This year, however, I have a lot of April/May races (London Marathon in six days, Wings for Life two weeks later, and my A race, Ironman Mallorca 70.3 the week after that), so best to leave some in the tank. Besides, it’s my 20th Boston! Most important, don’t F up the streak! (ha, ha)
Heartbreak Hill comes and goes, and I grab a beer (aka, liquid courage) from the college kids at Boston College (mile 21). The crowds are crazy this year, powered by youth and sunshine, and causing my Apple Watch to give me 80+ decibel warnings every five minutes. One reveller tells me the race has already been won by an adidas athlete (congrats Sissay Lemma on your 2:06 win!)), which means I’m getting close. I look into every face, every smile, putting it all in the memory banks.
Right on Hereford, left on Boylston, and the finish arrives in 3:07:48. Woohoo! That’s 20 in the books. TWENTY! AAAAAAAHHH!!! I can’t contain the joy, screaming it out, and having dozens of hands clapped on my head and back by fellow warriors. This is a special audience, the ones who know what a Boston finish requires, and I am profoundly touched by their generosity. All smiles, nothing but gratitude, thanking the volunteers for yet again one more classic Boston…we are all renewed.
A flood of memories kick in - friends who have shared this finish line moment, friends I have made in these moments, finishing with my dad, daughters one and two being there to collect my “unicorn necklace”, personal bests and worsts, storms and sunburns, the explosion and redemption years, and the feeling of my very first finish. Absorb it all, I tell myself, so you can someday look back and remember #20. Yeah, I’ll be back again for sure. I mean, heck, I did run a BQ after all. ;-)
As I rode the subway back to my hotel, I stared at all the medals and mylar blankets lining the train cars from end to end, and the local Bostonians reading the paper like it is just another day. What a special city this is. Then someone caught my glance and waved…OMG, it’s Sophie from the buses! I gestured to her to show me the medal, and there it was, pressed to her heart as her joyful tears couldn’t be stopped. Wow. Just wow. Boston knocked her down, but she came back, and she triumphed. Can one even quantify what that medal means to her? A talisman indeed. Nothing can stop her now.
We got a quick hug and a picture, and I could barely contain my pride. Her father’s eyes said the same, no words needed. We were all just beaming, wiping tears and smiling, stretched for words, but the moment more than enough. How is it possible that I can feel this way about someone I just met? Yet it is undeniable. That’s the power of running, and the special bond of this community. That’s the payoff of the pilgrimage, once again.
Congrats to all my fellow runners, and a big thank you to Boston and the volunteers for being fabulous hosts. And a huge congrats to you and your family, Sophie, who will forever be the lore of my 20th Boston. Perhaps I will see you again next year!
Scott, fantastic job. I am always so impressed by you and your adventures. You inspire me to keep on keeping on. I am also always impressed at how you make so many people so comfortable. You are one of those rare human beings who imparts friendship with almost everyone you meet. It is a gift to make people feel seen. And while you may or may not remember me, I am always glad to consider you a friend for that brief moment our paths crossed.
Congratulations.
Oh man, Scott. This is a great one! Congrats on twenty and for sharing such a great story of the race.