
Only Boston?
Days before the Boston marathon, a global Boston-based shoe company launched a media campaign featuring the tag-line "Nobody Runs Like Boston". Another catchy tag-line was "Only Boston Makes You Train With Three Feet", alluding to last winter's historic snowfall. "Only in Boston Do A Million People Take The Day Off So 30,000 Can Work", went another one. Runners flocking to Boston for the marathon were greeted by these ads at stations and bush shelters throughout the city.
The campaign perpetuates a vision of Boston as the breeding ground of a unique athletic event, the Boston marathon. But is this vision realistic? Is the Boston marathon really unique, when compared to other marathons? I was among the 26,610 who ran (and finished) the Boston marathon this year - I was running it for the fifth time - and I decided to give some thought to this question.
Let's start from the facts. For many seasoned runners the Boston marathon is a bucket-list marathon. For one thing, the first Boston marathon was held in 1897, making it the world's oldest annual marathon. This is also the first marathon that established strict qualifying standards for registering to run: among runners achieving a coveted Boston qualifier (BQ) is the highest distinction - short of winning a marathon. These alone are pretty extraordinary facts. But how could one talk of Boston without thinking of its tremendously challenging marathon course and the notorious Newton Hills, which culminate in the mother of all hills, Heartbreak Hill? And also, has anyone ever heard of another marathon run on a Monday? All these elements contribute to creating an aura of sacred, to the point that the horrendous events of 2013 were not just sad and tragic, they were viciously sacrilegious.
This year, I arrived in Boston, as I always do, the Sunday before race day, excited to be back, but on the look-out for a hint - any hint - at some profound reason why anybody should regard Boston as a unique sport event. As I disembarked from the plane, took the T and reached the Hynes Convention Center in downtown Boston to pick up my bib, a familiar scene appeared before my eyes: the whole city was bustling with thousands of marathoners, mostly taking great pride in wearing their purple jackets (yes, this year's color, officially known as "night flash", was a combination of purple, grey and orange).
Days before the Boston marathon, a global Boston-based shoe company launched a media campaign featuring the tag-line "Nobody Runs Like Boston". Another catchy tag-line was "Only Boston Makes You Train With Three Feet", alluding to last winter's historic snowfall. "Only in Boston Do A Million People Take The Day Off So 30,000 Can Work", went another one. Runners flocking to Boston for the marathon were greeted by these ads at stations and bush shelters throughout the city.
The campaign perpetuates a vision of Boston as the breeding ground of a unique athletic event, the Boston marathon. But is this vision realistic? Is the Boston marathon really unique, when compared to other marathons? I was among the 26,610 who ran (and finished) the Boston marathon this year - I was running it for the fifth time - and I decided to give some thought to this question.
Let's start from the facts. For many seasoned runners the Boston marathon is a bucket-list marathon. For one thing, the first Boston marathon was held in 1897, making it the world's oldest annual marathon. This is also the first marathon that established strict qualifying standards for registering to run: among runners achieving a coveted Boston qualifier (BQ) is the highest distinction - short of winning a marathon. These alone are pretty extraordinary facts. But how could one talk of Boston without thinking of its tremendously challenging marathon course and the notorious Newton Hills, which culminate in the mother of all hills, Heartbreak Hill? And also, has anyone ever heard of another marathon run on a Monday? All these elements contribute to creating an aura of sacred, to the point that the horrendous events of 2013 were not just sad and tragic, they were viciously sacrilegious.
This year, I arrived in Boston, as I always do, the Sunday before race day, excited to be back, but on the look-out for a hint - any hint - at some profound reason why anybody should regard Boston as a unique sport event. As I disembarked from the plane, took the T and reached the Hynes Convention Center in downtown Boston to pick up my bib, a familiar scene appeared before my eyes: the whole city was bustling with thousands of marathoners, mostly taking great pride in wearing their purple jackets (yes, this year's color, officially known as "night flash", was a combination of purple, grey and orange).

During my pilgrimage to the finish line, packed with marathoners, I ran into a family of tourists from India with their baby in a stroller, amused at the scene of this crowd of ecstatic runners around them, and when I proposed to exchange photo shoots on the finish line, they eagerly accepted. Then, after the customary pasta dinner with two marathoner friends from New York (this year I skipped the official pasta party at the city hall for a tastier dinner at a Back Bay Italian restaurant - again filled with marathoners), I retired into my hotel room to get some rest and a good night's sleep.
To put things in context, I am a competitive, sub-3, addicted marathoner. I qualify for Boston every year without major difficulty, but I consider the course so adverse that I usually think it ten times before re-registering the next year. Anyway, here I am again, in the 2015 edition. I know it is a hard-fought privilege to be here, and many friends back home are looking at me with a mix of envy and admiration. Here I am, worried about the weather forecast - with conditions expected to be rainy and windy, and temperatures in the mid-40s - and, in addition, with the remnants of an injury that is still haunting me. Here I am, totally absorbed with a new existential question: why am I here? Is Boston such a unique experience after all?

To me, there is definitely one thing that sets Boston apart: because it is filled through qualifying, the concentration of fast runners is astounding. Where else would a runner with a qualifying time of more than 3:10 be relegated to a second-wave start? Statistics speak clear: in 2015, as it turned out, as many as 49% of the Boston runners attained a BQ and can register for Boston in 2016, if they so wish. Boston is the marathon with the highest percentage of marathoners who re-qualify for Boston. It is a humbling experience to be surrounded by so many strong athletes, and at the same time there is something exhilarating in knowing one belongs in this selective circle.
So, is this the answer? Does Boston only feel special because it strokes our ego? Heck no!
40 minutes into my running, it starts drizzling. I think how lucky I am to have started in the first wave and to have stayed dry that long. I have been running for one hour or so when the drizzle turns into a full shower, and the shower into a downpour. The heavy rain is on and off. Between the start and the finish I count three, maybe four showers. Yet I go on, struggling with a cold headwind, my shoes wet but not yet drenched. And as I keep going, the truth finally dawns on me. The people lining the streets through the course, the Wellesley students screaming and offering kisses, even the police cheering on the runners, are really a special breed. This thought brings me back to my happy years as a young student in Boston. It is hard to imagine people more devoted to their city's glorious marathon, more overjoyed with taking part in this celebration of life.

I cross the finish line at 3:11:42. I am thrilled, even if this is far from my PR and not even my Boston PR. I am soaked, and my body has suddenly stopped producing heat. I proudly collect my medal from a smiling woman, pick up my goody bag and snacks from more volunteers, while another gracious woman swiftly wraps me in a poncho. Within minutes, in spite of the poncho, I start shivering. One volunteer opens my protein drink, another one goes out of her way to take out my miraculously dry hat from under my belt, and helps me put it on my head. Still shivering, I sneak into a medical tent to seek warmth. Three medics offer seats and assistance to the shivering runners, and one of them brings me a towel and a "heatsheet", while a policeman walks around pouring hot coffee to us. I stay there for a few minutes, confused and uncertain what to do, until, on the suggestion of a medical volunteer, I step across the street into the John Hancock building, where I manage to warm up, get a warm broth, relax and get a recovery massage, treated and pampered by an array of courteous volunteers! I think I may have finally discovered what I had been looking for. All the volunteers I have come across, a tiny sample of the army of 9,000 volunteers deployed across the city, are disarmingly cheerful, energetic and naturally effective! They are truly unique, and deserve a special tribute.
As I shower and get changed to fly back to New York, and I think of all the special things I have experienced and all the amazing people I have met in the past 24 hours in Boston, I feel overwhelmed. Yes, they are what makes this event so special!
That's right. "Nobody Runs Like Boston". And who knows, I may run Boston again, next year.
(May 1, 2015)