I was actually going to write about Boston. You know. Before.
Now of course, it’s all different. The world’s perspective is different.
I still feel compelled to write so I’m going to and damn the consequences.
I have told the story in the past, about how I started running. I remember seeing the Boston Marathon aired on television when I was about ten years old. I’m picturing our orange couch…it sounds awful but it was kind of cool. The brown carpet and the golden walls. Walking through the room and something caught my eye on the television and I stopped to watch for a minute and that was it. I just stayed. I have in my head that my dad was there.
My dad wasn’t a runner by nature, though he had run in the past, this man was a cowboy. He had the ten gallon black hat (it was huge) and lived in cowboy boots. I don’t remember ever seeing him in anything else my whole life until he was older and lived in his slippers. He loved his boots. They were a part of him. I have no idea why he was watching the Boston Marathon. It’s not like he owned running shoes. Maybe it was to change my life.
Because that is what it did.
Let me preface this (little late there, huh?) by saying my family is a family of story tellers. We can’t just tell you something. We have to tell you. It has to be interesting. My dad had a way of telling you a basic fact and making it the most important thing you’d ever heard. So I asked what this was on television and I was told that it was the BOSTON MARATHON. Only the most AMAZING marathon in the world. There were other marathons, but this one….this one you had to qualify for. These runners were the best of the best. Just the way he said it you could tell with the awe in his voice he was impressed. It was a great thing. That was it. I decided right then. I wanted to do THAT.
And like Forrest…I just started running. I ran and I ran and I ran. Very… slowly.
Damn. That there is a catch to my big plan.
I have always known and always been resigned that I am just not fast enough to qualify and never will be. Some people are fast and some people are endurance and some people are both. I am just endurance. Until this year I was totally okay with that. And until this year, when asked, my answer was always that I wouldn’t run Boston with a charity because if I couldn’t earn it, I didn’t want to go.
Most of the blog reading I’ve done has confirmed what I already knew. Boston was all hype. It was expensive, crowded, not worth the hassle, not even that great of a race. I wasn’t really missing anything.
For some reason this year…Boston was on my mind. I got it in my head it might be fun to do it with a group of people who were all running it together in support of the same charity, for a mutual friend. What a great meet up for running friends, support for the charity, and a way for all of us to run Boston who may not ever have the chance.
I presented it to a few friends. One of whom I totally expect could qualify if she put in the training. I honestly don’t know about the other friends’ times, but I personally wouldn’t ever put in the training to do it, nor would it do me any good! Fast friend (she runs fast, she doesn’t sleep around) came back very quickly and said she wouldn’t run it unless she earned it. Sorry.
Shot down in the prime of my life.
I kind of interpreted that to mean she would probably look down on someone who ran it for a charity. I think a lot of people would and I’m wondering, why did they earn it more than someone else did? Because they have the God given talent to run faster? We all still put in the 20 mile training runs. That’s earning it. We all still had to foam roll with pain and suffering. That’s earning it. Three toenails. That’s how many my last marathon took from me. I earned that.
Whether I’m fast or slow. I earned it. If I choose to do Boston through a charity is still up in the air but I’m certainly not discounting it anymore as I feel like I have as much right to see a dream become a reality as anyone else does.
Ironically, all of this was decided before 2:45pm Boston time.
And an act of terrorism isn’t going to keep me away either. Bastards.