A six-month Navy deployment. Natural childbirth. Running the Boston Marathon. This is a partial list of things I’m glad I experienced but would NOT want to do again.
Number three is on my mind this week, as I celebrate the 10-year anniversary of my singular running accomplishment. The word “accomplishment” is doing a lot of work in this sentence because while I was delighted to finish, an elite runner would have taken half as long to do so. Nevertheless, I crossed the same finish line as the rest of the field and will never forget it.
When I was training, lots of people told me I was going to get “hooked.” At first, I thought they might be right. Completing a 12-mile training run (a longer distance than I’d ever run in my entire life) made me feel so proud. I was doing it! The 15-mile runs were a little bit painful. By the time I ran 17+ miles, I was popping ibuprofen like candy and calculating how many of the 26.2 miles I could walk and still cross the finish line before dark.
Running a marathon requires endurance, and so does reminiscing about it for years after the fact. I have endless stamina for the latter (much less for the former). Now I channel that energy into being the Boston Marathon’s Biggest Fan.
If walking a mile in someone else’s shoes is supposed to engender empathy, running 26.2 miles in my own shoes was masterclass in humility. I’ll never look at the late afternoon stragglers on Heartbreak Hill and judge them for their unfortunate resemblance to the living dead. Instead, I cheer and clap and ring an annoying little cowbell. If a runner writes their name on their shirt, they are going to hear me yell it.
In 2018, my spectator outfit was a knee-length North Face down coat, a winter hat, and rain boots. Straddling mud puddles and maintaining a death grip on my large golf umbrella against the wind and driving rain, I was one of the few people still braving the weather to support the last charity runners. It was the least I could do. Also, better them than me.
The weather this year looks better (perhaps a little too warm but no rain in the forecast). I’ll be out there, tracking my friends on the Boston Athletic Association app and standing by with my little cowbell at the ready. I wish them all a good race – one that makes them want to come back and run in 2025. Again, better them than me.
I’m content with my one-and-done Boston Marathon. It’s OK to enjoy an experience once, sit with the memories, and look at your prize (like the ribbons from my Navy deployment, gathering dust in my basement). Childbirth brought its own rewards, of course. If not for them, I wouldn’t know how to find the best GIFs or who Olivia Rodrigo is. But my Boston Marathon medal will always have a special place in my heart and on my shelf. All alone.
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