A marathon is 26.2 miles. Those who complete it wear that number as a badge of honor. On your next road trip, count the number of 26.2 stickers you see on the cars around you. They’re everywhere. For so many, that number is astronomical – the thought of running 26.2 miles is paralyzing to most, and yet there are tens of thousands of people who not only run that distance, but do so at mind-boggling speeds. The winner of this year’s Boston Marathon completed the race in about 2 hours and 10 minutes, or 26.2 5-minute miles.
Currently, in my possession, are about 10 of those 26.2 stickers. They’re extra swanky, official 117th Boston Marathon 26.2 stickers. None of them are going onto my car just yet.
*****
At Boston there were likely thousands of other people just like me – regular people who were running the marathon to raise money for various causes. We weren’t running it to race, we were running it to finish. Each of us had our own personal goal, whether to finish, to run the entirety, or to meet a certain time, but those goals were entirely self-defined. Of 27,000 runners, maybe a handful had a realistic shot at winning, so personal goals really were all that mattered.
My goal last Monday was to run all 26.2 miles. I didn’t care what pace I went at, I just wanted to run the whole thing. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. For the first 22 miles, I felt great. I was feeling strong, my legs felt fine, and I was cruising (at least by non-elite runner standards). Looking at the photos of me from those 22 miles, the thing that strikes me is that I’m smiling. I thoroughly enjoyed those three and a half hours of running. Coming down Heartbreak Hill (which really isn’t that bad, it’s only 88 feet of elevation gain) however, my body finally betrayed me. I started experiencing pain in my left knee and had to stop running. I kept moving towards the finish line, walking, trying to run for short distances, then walking again, but I had failed to meet my goal.
As I made my way towards the finish, I felt resolved to the fact that this wasn’t what I’d hoped for, but I was going to run the last leg down Boylston Street to the finish line. For me, it wasn’t just a marathon, it was the possibility to put something behind me. After 5 months of raising money to fund cancer research in memory of Emily, it was time to run 26.2 miles, and in doing so, maybe afford myself the space and ability to move on with my life. It was the opportunity, at least for those 4 hours or so, to put one foot in front of the other some 50,000+ times towards a definite end point. Perhaps physically crossing that line through the blue and yellow gate would bring some closure, even if the style wasn’t exactly what I’d envisioned.
*****
If miles 1-22 were great, then miles 22-25 were excruciating. Not necessarily physically excruciating, but rather emotionally so. I was frustrated, angry, disappointed, and really fed up with all of the drunks on the sideline goading me on to keep running. There’s nothing that I’d rather have been doing at that point, but it just wasn’t going to happen. At that point, any sense of accomplishment (22 miles was the longest run I’d ever done, and it went surprisingly well) was eclipsed by disappointment.
This disappointment was quickly put on the back burner, however, as we made it past 25.2 and the one mile to go sign, only to find our way blocked by a few thousand people milling about in the middle of the marathon course. There’s be no right on Hereford, left on Boylston. We were close enough to the time of the bombings that there was no diversion to the Common or even any kind of official word of what had happened. Passers by spoke of explosions at the finish, and finding friends and family supplanted frustration over not meeting my goals.
*****
Between the 25.3 miles I covered on the marathon course, the 3+ miles I covered walking to Cambridge after stopping on Mass. Ave, and then walking to the car from Kelly’s house in Cambridge that evening, I covered well over the 26.2 miles of a marathon. Despite this, it feels unresolved and unfinished. Not being able to run past 22 miles sucked, but I wonder if I’d feel differently if I’d been able to cross the finish line instead of crossing over the BU bridge.
I’m proud to have run in this year’s Boston Marathon. I’m especially proud of my sister-in-law, Bradley, and my step-brother, Anthony, for joining me for it and helping to raise over 28,000 dollars between us for cancer research. They, and the 4500 runners who did not get to finish the marathon as a result of the bombings, all earned those 26.2 stickers. Though I’m not ready to actually admit it, deep down, I know I did too.
2014?
Obviously, given what happened last Monday, there’s far more important things than the style with which I completed the Marathon. If my knee hadn’t started to bother me, my splits would have put me at the finish within a few minute window of the bombs going off. In this sense, I was lucky. Many others were not so lucky. Below is a link to help support the family members of one of my DFMC teammates who were severely injured in the bombing. Please consider supporting them or others who were not as fortunate as I was to avoid injury. http://www.gofundme.com/CelesteandSydney
*****
I’m not sure what I’ll do with all of those 26.2 stickers. I joked with a friend that I was going to strike out the numbers and write in 25.3 with a sharpie. I may just hold on to them for now until I can meet my goal of running all 26.2 miles. Perhaps then I’ll feel like I’ve earned them and can put them on display. Until then, you can bet your ass I’ll be wearing my official Boston Marathon shirts with pride!
Taking the Sharp End 
You earned that 26.2 sticker.
Pat your courage and accomplishments will never be eclipsed by 9/10ths of a mile.