I originally published this story in April 2011 after my first of four Boston Marathons. I had lost track of this story and just recently ran across it as I was cleaning out my computer’s hard drive in preparation for a new desktop. I hope this tale wears better than my bod did rolling over those hills in Boston…
The cannonballs that have taken up residence where my thighs once resided still roll and stab with each forward step. Curbs look like waist-high cement walls to my post-marathon bod. It is in this state of repair that I pen this tale of my trip from Hopkinton to Boston for the running of the 115th Boston Marathon.
As marathons go, I am pretty much a noobie. At least that’s what my son calls rookie Xbox players who get trampled by his “supreme awesomeness.” As I approached the age of 55 the summer of 2009, I decided it was now or never to run 26.2. I picked the Tucson Marathon in December because it was downhill and well, it was Tucson in December. Think of the scenery. And even the mountains.
I needed a time goal and since a 55-year-old male needed to run 3:45 to BQ (Boston Qualify), that was what I decided I’d run. I ran 3:45 at Tucson and figured my marathon days were done. But qualifying for the Boston Marathon is kind of a revered goal for many distance runners who never make it to Hopkinton. My friends reminded me of this often enough to make me change my mind and put Boston on my Bucket List.