I am in a hotel, possibly motel, outside Boston, about 4 miles from the starting line. My room smells like chin stubble and a decent sized squirrel, with a hint of Lysol. Nice people here–marathoners all over, intense skinny fuckers, fidgety, looks like most of them want to get this thing underway tonight, as in NOW. I get that. Nice people, big-time. They really helped with all the logistics of getting to a starting line of 25,000 runners and gods know how many hundreds of thousand spectators, etc.
My mom is here with me and is trying to figure out how to get into Boston, for the finish line. Her journey involves a train, a subway, a little luck. I can tell she is nervous.
Honestly, I am scared.
I am under-trained and inured and have spent hours reading blogs about people who run Boston. This is its 113th year! Wow.
They use words like heart break, agony, blood-letting, ambulance corridors, and PAIN.
“A marathon is the hardest thing in life,” said Cheruiyot. Uh, OK. Dude has won Boston 4 times…
(here is the man in action at Chicago.)
Quote summing up most blogs: “suffer in relative solitude..” They all basically meet this tone and mood. Inspiring.
I am worried. Have never been this under-trained before any race.
“The marathon can humble you.” Bill Rodgers.
Now Bill, people have run them fine for years.
Well, do what we can, eh?
Did I mention I have developed a cold? Could this affect me?
“To describe the agony of a marathon to somebody who’s never run it is like trying to explain colour to a person who was born blind.”
(He won Boston in 1977, after a wild ride of a career. I like this quote: “It must be noted that Drayton after much deliberation was found to have a serious leg discrepancy which became severely effected the further he ran during an event, it is due to this problem and the nature of the Boston course that he was never able to display his full potential at this event.)
Today, in the parking lot was one of the most ass-wad bumper stickers I have ever seen, so that cheered me up.
Hey, Ass-wad of the Month. If you place this sticker Pharisee-ing to all about how for one month of your life, or your kid’s life, was voted (by whom, a collection of your moms??) an upstanding citizen for a whole 30 whatever days, then by definition you are NOT an upstanding citizen. What a freaking Spam can, green tortilla, big-ass urn (gleaming on the outside, ashes within).
What’s that ringing? Oh, the phone? It’s A Life calling, for you ass-wad–wondering when you might want to answer.
Nice Explorer though. Great car.