Inside the Boston Marathon by Alilstair Sandi
The Boston Marathon is known as a “runner’s” marathon thanks to the fact that you have to qualify for entry by beating set times in other marathons in the 12 months previous. This tends to result in fewer competitors dressed in gorilla costumes or trying to please the crowd by doing it on their hands or in their wedding gear or a combination of all three. It is also the oldest marathon still going and 2010 marked its 114th running. However, none of the originals were bothered to take part this year which seemed a poor effort and a disdain for tradition. It is included in most people’s Top 10 Marathons lists and is unusual in that because it is run on Patriots Day, it is held on a Monday. About 500,000 spectators, many having been wearing Boston Marathon jackets for the previous few days (giving everyone including eachother the impression that they were in fact running the thing not just watching it) lined the route which starts in the quaint countryside town of Hopkinton. From there the route takes only a few turnings, taking the 26,000 runners into Boston itself. Unfortunately, volcanic ash from Iceland prevented the full field taking part but a whopping 98% of those who did completed the course. These included 103 Australian citizens and 75 residents.
The days building up to the race were grey, cold and wet and the idea of running over 42kms in such conditions became less enticing the closer the big day got. Evenings were spent smothered in the stuffy warmth of central heating. The bars and restaurants were full and the atmosphere in the city was warm and unstuffy but very friendly. The coffee in the US remains awful and surely a higher concern than things like Health Care and Financial Reform. The latter can only happen after a decent latte surely? Sad to tell, the legend that is “Cheers” appears to be a myth, misleading the innocent public in a way nobody should stand for, as I found when asking to reserve a table for dinner at the famous TV show bar. Despite the theme tune’s well rehearsed promise that everybody knew it, the maitre d’ had the temerity to ask my name. Speaking to others however, this was the norm. I left disillusioned and went back to my hotel to watch in anguish a re-run of Frasier.
A warm up race of 5kms was held on Sunday and as with everything to do with this weekend was superbly organised and a lot of fun. But good to report, whilst Monday dawned into a bitterly cold day, with perfect timing the cold dissipated just before the starting gun was fired. Maybe it was the jet fighters doing a fly past or the intensity with which the locals sang the Stars and Stripes but it all came together into the perfect sunny day for a long long run.
Crowds lined the route the whole way, highlights being the infamous Wailing Wall of the Welsley College girls who line up on the right hand side and scream like they’re at a Justin Timberlake concert. The effect on the very un-Justin Timberlake male runners was notable, with young and old suddenly putting greater spring into their stride, or abandoning carefully prepared race plans and heading across the flow to “liaise” with said well educated females who were holding up placards stating orders such as “Kiss Me I’m A Senior” or “Real Gingers Run Marathons” – no, I wasn’t sure about that last one either but it seemed to strike a chord with a couple of some fairly fair complexioned competitors.
Boston is a tough course, tougher than I’d anticipated and harder on the legs than say New York which I’d done in November – this was my third marathon, the first being in 2003 in Sydney. The hills are notorious with the first 5 kms being essentially down hill (tough on the quads) and at miles 16 through to 20 a series of 4 tough inclines (tough on the quads). The flats (the quads found these hard too) were definitely in the minority, or so it felt. It meant trying to exert a level of thought process and control that the writer is not renown for at the best of times but the slopes could murder your chances of a glorious finish if you didn’t respect them by holding back your effort a touch. Whilst the lack of gorilla costumes was notable as mentioned above, at the 20th mile (out of 26) I did notice a chap ahead of me who was running barefoot at quite some speed. Had he forgotten to bring shoes or was he simply baffled by shoelaces? An inferiority complex merged menacingly with an unwholesome competitiveness in me and I put on a sprint to get past him, exaggerating my stride as I went past to show off the soles of the footwear that he could obviously not grapple with. More seriously, Achilles athletes who run with guides due to disabilities received the crowd’s raptures and particular attention was given to Team Hoyt, a father and son team in their 125th race, the father pushing his son’s wheelchair to well deserved glory and admiration. Such is the real stuff of marathons and on this occasion again, cerebral palsy gave way meekly to a father’s courage and love for his son. If you can’t run well after seeing such scenes, then you’ll never run well.
As I say, the event was superbly organised. The finish line, at the end of a fantastically long home straight in which the roar of the crowds eases the heaviness in the legs of those closing in for home, once passed, gave way to hundreds of incredibly willing volunteers trying to catch competitors in their wheelchairs - whether the athletes wanted to be caught or not- draping medals over heads bent not to receive them but to drag more air back in to their lungs, recovery drinks to people too weak to be able to get past the fiddly security caps or to wrap them up in foil blankets like they were about to throw them under the grill with some seasoning to taste and garnish to finish.
And then it was over and the evening was spent trying to replenish lost electrolytes through excessive companionship with every athletes best pal, Sam Adams or any other brew that was available. The next day, everyone still wore the jackets but this time you could tell who had run and who had watched. All had headaches, but only the select were hobbling. Running the Boston Marathon is something I’ll always be proud to have done and I did better than I thought I would do even achieving a personal best time, but I can tell you, like all marathons, it sure was no tea party.
Alistair Sandilands