The Deed is Done

After years of trying to qualify, I have finally run the Boston. Ironically, in an effort to avoid overly warm marathons, the BAA moved the start time 10:00 am just in time for one of the wettest, coldest races in Boston history. Lucky me. But the rain stopped nearly the moment I crossed the starting line and I have no complaints.

Memorable Moments - Boston 2007

The little girl (no more than 4 years old) who told me to: "Suck it up and go!" This was at mile 6 when I was going better than I would at any other part of the day.

Stepping off the bus into ankle deep water. Athletes village looked more like the recently recovered city of Atlantis.

Andy. A retiree from Houston I met on the T while were both making our way to the buses (for transport to the start line). He told me that he'd had hypothermia twice at the end of previous marathons - both days were over 50 degrees and without rain. He was, needless to say, a bit nervous. Andy also told me I should eat one for gel every mile of the race. That's 26.2 gels. I ate two.

The realization that, despite cops waving us through red lights and traffic, it took nearly an hour to get from Boston to Hopkinton and we would be returning on foot.

The guy who ran the race with a bunny head on.

The guy in front of me who had stenciled his name, Faulker, on his chest. People loved to scream his name. Before I realized what was going on, I just thought the crowd was being unusually rude this year.

The beefy mechanic who watched the runners go by while blowing his cigarette smoke at them.

The early parts of commonwealth ave smelled like hot dogs. That was soon replaced by the smell of beer.

My alarm, my back-up alarm, and my redundant back-up alarm all going off at precisely 4:30 AM.

Soaking wet, shivering and kicking myself for wearing shorts. My corral (moo) was sent to the start at 9:10. The race began at 10:00. The moment "go" was yelled, the rain stopped.

Soaking wet, hot, and running out of room to tie on clothes, I kicked myself for wearing two shirts and gloves.

The guy who crossed mile 12 and said "Every step I take from this point on is the farthest I have ever run." Or wait, was that Boston 2000?

Wellesely. Holy crap.

Heartbreak Hill is actually a series of four hills over nearly 5 miles.
Hill 1: Wait, was that it?
Hill 2: Meh.
Hill 3: I'm sufficiently humbled.
Hill 4: Enough already.

The announcement before the start that over 3000 people had failed to even pick up their numbers before the race. Not one of the thousands of runners around me uttered the obvious retort "they were the smart ones."

The forty something, balding man with a wedding band who, upon seeing some of the Wellesely girls with "Kiss Me" signs, took every one of them up on their offer. He still managed to run faster than me.

One little boy who was standing with his hand out for runners to slap, but he was on the outside of a curve so no runners were coming near. I just had to loop out and give him five.

My own little crowd at mile 17.

Going home to put on my Boston jacket for the first time ever.

Now What?

And now that it's over, what do I do?
Why, another triathlon of course. This time, with seafaring vessels. My Indian name would be "Swims Like Wounded Rock".

I challenge you Kilgore: A race to the finish!

Penguin Vice

Tis the Season

To wheel junk into the hall. I've actually been waiting for this one to go away before I posted the picture so I could also state how long it's been out. Two weeks later, nothing, and I can't keep my reading faithful in waiting any longer.


In case you are wondering, the box contains more Holiday tins. All empty, but apparently heavy enough to warrant a two wheeler. I was thinking about letting the air out of the tires.