My official 2010 Boston Marathon acceptance letter was emailed to me this week. Let the looking-over-my-shoulder neurosis commence. I have a love/hate relationship with the Boston Marathon. For the marathon running set, the Boston marathon is the "Holy Grail" for the weekend warrior. Aside form its long history, the Boston marathon is one of the few marathons in this country that actually require you to run a specific qualifying time in order to participate. I've been fortunate to qualify 5 times for Boston and yet, I have only made it to the starting line one time. There is just something about this race that nearly does me in every year. Indulge me whilst I saunter down memory lane...
The first time I qualified for Boston was back in 2000-after I ran my second marathon (Philadelphia). I was so thrilled to have made the qualifying time (3:40) that I enthusiastically registered for Boston two days after my qualifying race. This, of course, was before I became familiar with my own "Boston Curse." I happily registered in November for the April race, bought my ticket and registered for a hotel only to end up with a very severe stress fracture in my tibia (almost a total break) a month out from the race. Bye Bye Boston 2001.
So the following year I re-qualified and re-entered for Boston, (this time a little more cautiously) and again bought my tickets. Things were looking good and I made it through the training series and was into my three week taper when disaster struck. Actually it was a Lexus that struck-from behind with a guy on a cell phone at the wheel. I was taken to the hospital and was told that there was NO way I'd be running my marathon in three weeks, and more than likely be out of running for at least 6 weeks while I spent my days in Physical Therapy. Bye Bye Boston 2002.
Enter Year three...I again requalified with my fastest time to date, but this time, I was more then a little superstitious about entering too early. I literally registered the latest I could and bought my airline ticket and made hotel reservations at the last possible moment. I was gun shy. I was nervous. I was tired of getting my heart broken. That year the winter was hard and cruel. My brother-in-law was killed in a car accident and I was determined that I would run my race for him. Then as fate would have it, one day before I was to get on a plane for Boston I started getting sick. Not just a sniffles and sore throat kind of sick but a full-body flu and fever kind of sick. I flew anyway but I felt miserable. My entire Boston experience was spent searching for medication and just praying I could run the race and not end up in the ER. On race day I felt pretty bad--I had a fever, I couldn't stop coughing and my head felt like it could spontaneously rupture and expel brain matter all over the fine citizens of Boston. But I didn't invest all that time to roll over and go back to sleep-so up I went and ran the race. I would love to tell you that after three years of bad luck my race day experience was Disney-esque but I can't. Honestly, it was pretty dreadful. On more then one occasion I had people tell me to pull out and stop running but clearly, they don't know me very well. I finished the race and it is still to this date, my all time worst marathon time and running experience. I honestly don't remember that race--THAT is how sick I was.
SO...this year I got the illusive "BQ" quite by accident. I didn't set out to go back to Boston. I actually kind of dread it to tell the truth. But after running a pretty decent fall marathon and having my friends coerce me into giving Boston another try I went and registered. Against my best judgement and any remnant of common sense I still may have I once again sent the B.A.A. my money. Today as I went out to run my 10 miler in over 8 inches of snow and muck I am once again reminded why I really dread Boston. If you can survive training in an uncertain winter and continuously fluxuating weather and not get injured, rear-ended or sick then you just might make it to Boston.
One can hope anyway.
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