The Boston Massacre

While the rest of the country is recovering from the aftermath of March Madness and is ready to welcome opening day in Major League Baseball, runners have something a little different on their minds. It’s that time of year again when the running faithful hear the clarion call that lifts their eyes unto the hills – the Newton Hills, that is – from whence cometh their help, or their undoing we should say. I’m talking about the shrine of long distance running, the holy of holies, as it were, of pilgrims traveling to the oldest marathon in the United States. You guessed it. The Boston Marathon.

New York is known for its spectators, Chicago for its pancake-flat course, and Marine Corps has been dubbed the “ Marathon of the People.” But Boston is the stomping ground of legends, the place of historic duels and epic clashes. Need I remind anyone- Salazar vs. Beardsley, Rodgers vs. Seko, and just recently, the Africans vs. the rest of the world. It’s no wonder that the event is permeated with an almost tangible, mystical aura when you have the likes of world-record holders, American phenoms, and the ghosts of Old John Kelley and Clarence De Mar etched into the dramatic overplay. Take the latter, for example. These were men who came to define the sport in an era when it was generally believed that training was counter-productive and that eating a full steak an hour before the race was the best way to stock up the body’s energy supplies. Forget pasta parties, race expos, goodie bags, and free T-shirts. Their experience was more likely to include being chased by wild dogs on the street, breathing in exhaust fumes from the lead vehicles, and taking a pit stop at the local bar for a refreshing drink. These were the good old days of man versus nature when you came to see a race in the same way you’d go watch a freak exhibit at the nearby carnival. Runners like Clarence De Mar, who won the event a record seven times with his last victory coming at the age of 41 ( a record, safe to say, that will never be broken), were eccentric characters compared to the men clad in full black suits, hat and necktie under the midday sun.

That begs the question: What makes Boston so special even today? With all the marathons that one could choose to train for, why run in one that averages 80 degree temperatures and features a hill disturbingly nicknamed “Heartbreak Hill”? As Larry Rawson, commentator for Track and Field on ESPN, once said, the runners who go to Boston are the “valedictorians of marathon running,” those who have done their utmost to qualify for this prestigious event. And if you think the standards are strict today, 15 years ago a male under 40 had to run a sub-2:50 time just to get in. But then again, you used to have at least 50 Americans finishing in under 2:30 compared to last year when only 12 American males finished in under 2:30. What has happened? While we still have our elites well represented with the likes of Meb Keflezighi and Alan Culpepper leading the charge up front, where did all the blue-collar type runners go? You know, the ones stuck between a rock and a hard place who despite not being gifted with a VO2 Max higher than the population’s average lifespan, can still make their way down the road at 11.5 mph for 26.2 miles. Well, pardon my interjection but I believe that’s you, Mr. 3:10 guy and Ms. 3:30 gal. Perhaps if we trained as hard as they did back then, 2:30 would not seem so far out of reach even for us ordinary run-of-the-mill-not born in Ethiopia- type runners.

So to everyone who qualified for Boston this year, congratulations, but don’t stop there. Make your country proud, display your true colors, and as Shakespeare would say, “strive after things impossible”. Give it the good ol’ American try - give em’ hell! Salazar or Beardsley wouldn’t have it any other way, why should you?