Boston Common - Niche Media - A side of Boston that's anything but common.
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and Finally ... PARTING SHOT crossing the line I t takes character to run the Boston Marathon. And, well, characters. Let's face it, most of us are not going to win, but we have our reasons for doing something so insane, and those reasons span the map. Running might be an addiction for some, but for others it's the excuse to acquire more toys. You know who you are, gearheads, and you're annoying to most with your $12,000 stopwatch, calorie counter, distance measure, heart-rate monitor, and chips in your shoe and bracelet (and we're pretty sure there's one in your neck). Running is basically a simple physical act, though admittedly, going 26.2 miles does complicate that. However, some runners might take simplicity too far—I think of them as the Born-to-Run-Agains. They are converts to the barefoot running religion (as proselytized in Christopher McDougall's best-selling tome, Born to Run) and are easy to spot in their Vibram five-toe shoes (they don't qualify as sneakers, do they?) or even barefoot. I'm not sure that the whole "I am one with Mother Earth/Beacon Street" philosophy really works over such a long paved distance. I can understand the carefree feel of a run on the beach, but there is nothing carefree about running from Hopkinton to the Boston Public Library. Imagine the toenail situation in those things! Then there are the peak braggers, the ones who run Boston just to say they did it. I admit, I am a peak bragger. When you cross that finish line, you want to shout it from the rooftops—and your bumper. Some people envy the Ivy League education advertised on others' autos, but I coveted a 26.2 oval. You can bet that I hustled to Marathon Sports the first day I could successfully walk without looking like I'd had rectal surgery to get myself that 26.2 sticker. The other characters running this race actually wear costumes. This seems to be a Boston-specific phenomenon, possibly because we're not afraid to show our inner crazy—full face paint at sporting events (Exhibit A), dressing as vampires at the Breaking Dawn first showing (Exhibit B). At the marathon, it's a nice distraction to see Santa Claus in Hopkinton (we all felt bad for him last year when it was in the high 80s at the start of the race) and Bob Marley giving out fist bumps in Ashland. I thrilled to hook up with Elvis en route on 135, but I just couldn't wrap my mind around wearing bell-bottoms for 26-plus miles. The chafing! Ketchup bottles, baby bottles, toothbrushes, superheroes, burgers, jalapeño peppers, nuns, priests, Bill Clinton! They all run. Personally, I'm grateful for the oddball characters who run. They deflect attention from those of us sneaking a jelly doughnut in Natick Center (and a beer or two at Boston College). But blessed are those military men who run in full gear. Seeing them makes those of us in running shorts and sneakers (even high-tech toys) dig that much deeper into our personal vein of endurance. So when we hit Boylston and we've got nothing more inside except the bile on the tips of our tongues and a yearning for rest, inspiration is essential. To see Jesus cross the finish with me—well, that's the Boston Marathon I know, love, despise, and choose to do over and over again, and then swear I will never, ever repeat. Hallelujah. BC ILLUSTRATION BY DANIEL O'LEARY RADIO HOST AND RUNNER SUE BRADY GIVES US HER FIELD GUIDE TO THE BOSTON MARATHON. 136 BOSTONCOMMON-MAGAZINE.COM 136_BC_BOB_AndFinally_Spring13.indd 136 2/12/13 1:23 PM