OK, well, technically, I didn’t run the race. Those people are technically nuts, but on race day it’s a good kind of crazy, obviously they’re brave and strong, and I didn’t see any runner who looked unhappy.
I was one of the half million people who watched some of the 30,000 runners heading east to Boston. I was about at the halfway marker, so the runners had already floated down about 300 feet from the starting line in Hopkinton (the highest point, about 490 feet above sea level), and some of them probably were starting to think about the killer climb at Chestnut Hill, at Mile 21.
So we were all in the level sweet spot approaching Wellesley, the multitudes cheering and clapping more or less continuously as all those fluorescent green and orange sneakers strode by attached to very fit-looking people of all ages….somewhat strangely, I didn’t see anyone who looked like a teenager (minimum qualifying age is 18), and there were plenty of geezer-ish folks who could run circles around yours truly.
The best moments for me were watching the youngsters in the families thronging the marathon route. Lots of action, lots of colors, lots of noise, lots of chummy policemen and fascinating helicopters….a hectic wonderland for the wee ones….
….and a few of the bolder kids were stretching an arm out into the street, offering a bottle of water to the needy, the kids’ smiling eyes happily sharing brief communion with the heroic eyes of the fabulous grownups who dashed toward them at dangerous speed and leaned down to grab the water and invariably elevated the moment with a “Thank you!” and the regal brushing of fingertips….
Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2016 All rights reserved.