Shipping up to Boston

I love The Boston Marathon.

Having run it five times, people ask me for advice, for secrets, for strategy. The details, the nuances, and the brutal, historic humanity make it the oldest and best marathon in America.

It’s captured my heart,

With its history —since 1897 men, and eventually women, have tested themselves annually on these same narrow New England roads.

With its selectivity — the amateur marathoner’s day to shine. You don’t get here without effort — people dream and train for a BQ for years — and the collective passion swells on Patriot’s Day. More so than any other marathon, runners at Boston come ready to roll.

With its fickle nature — if Chicago or Berlin are a fastball, hard to hit but straight at you, Boston is a change-up, simply difficult to get hold of, leaving many a talented athlete puzzled at what went wrong.

And its collective fandom — passing through a series of small towns, each increasing in size and excitement. From small suburbs, to rocking college campuses, to throngs of fans hanging over the fences downtown. The Bay State was born to propel marathoners forward.

When I can’t sleep at night my mind drifts off to Hopkinton, feet resting on the grass in the Athlete’s Village, waiting to embark on the journey to Boston.