And like a lover, like so many lovers who try to break away from relationships, but just cannot, I returned. My side of the relationship, once full of ecstasy and desire, fulfillment and joy, had tempered down to a simmer...the once starry excitement had become almost a familiar spring routine. I had been on the verge of giving up my love of ten years and yet there was still the small spark that did not let me turn and walk away. Boston still had her hold on me after all these years and though I had to work hard to do it, at the last minute I did find my way back to Hopkinton
and Boston 2002.

But like most lovers who sense less than total commitment, Boston did not take me back quickly nor treat me with total acceptance when I did return.

Sure, at first, she opened her arms and led me to believe all was well:

Saturday, there was a big welcoming expo, a runners' delight with jackets, chips, t-shirts, posters, shoes, sunglasses, all kinds of carbo-this and carbo-thats that you could imagine. All to make you feel special, to lighten your wallet, and to lull you into thinking that this was going to be lots of fun after all, and to swoop you up into all the hoopla and excitement.

Then the NE Dead Runners led by Robin Cain and her crew got into the act by putting on a fabulous dinner encounter with wonderful dead runners from near and far to chat and eat with on Saturday evening. All that camaraderie and all those cheerful and well-trained runners to eat good food and drink micro-brews with really softens you up and starts getting you to believe that things are going to be just fine on Monday. Then mother nature stages a gorgeous, sunny, and cool Sunday morning for a delightful easy 3-mile run along the sparkling Charles river resplendent with flowering cherry blossoms while you glide along comfortably with some of the nicest dead runners you could ever meet. This is then topped by a delicious bagel brunch at Val's with yet more great entertaining dead runners and more good cheer than you could shake a stick at.

By Monday morning, I was softened up and almost believed that things were just like before, when our relationship was sound and I had total commitment to my love. Well, almost. I did sense some hesitation on both our parts when I lined up in the 12th corral. She made me wait 8 minutes and 24 seconds before she agreed to see me at the starting line, and I found some difficulty warming up to her as well, with my sore and stiff legs, and all the runners crowding around me while I tried to loosen up.

But Boston is a clever and charming lover, always has been, and her charms were evident again: the loud and friendly crowds that line the course, cheering and amusing you relentlessly, the wonderful volunteers who staff each water station at virtually every mile, the big Adidas signs with new messages as you entered each town, even cool cloudy conditions for most of the race until the sun broke through, and then we had gentle breezes to cool your way home...and she had some new tricks as well-- digital clocks at each and every mile marker and each 5K to help you check your time, and probably even bigger and more enthusiastic crowds than I can remember over ten years time.

This year, I was trying something new. Instead of racing Boston, I was planning to run Boston easy, slowly, and comfortably, I hoped. It was a present I was giving myself, a chance to enjoy Boston from the back, no time pressures, no worries; just enjoy. I didn't even press the buttons on my watch. But like most unfamiliar experiences, I didn't know what to do with myself at first. Seeing everyone around me running fast, I wanted to go with them, but I had to refocus myself instead on running really easily and taking in the many distractions on the route. And there were plenty of distractions -- the Dixie jazz band playing on the roof of the car dealership, the ten people jumping up and down on mini trampolines on the left side of the road, the country band playing bad music. A woman threw her gloves off right as she passed them, and the singer yelled, "Don't throw us gloves, throw money -- or condoms! Yee ha!" Yep, that is the Boston marathon I know and love, full of character and characters, Red Sox scores and Pilgrims in costume.

By the time I was headed into Framingham and the train station, I was starting to feel comfortable again; the comfort you feel when you are with an old and dear friend you haven't seen in a while, and all the good things you always liked about that friend are coming back to you as you see that friend for all she is, with all her charms and her flaws. In Framingham, my good friend Margie was there, as she always is, with my GU and my Cytomax drink, and I think, ah, yes, this is why I love the Boston marathon. I love the crowds, I love the energy, I love the excitement, I love the flow of being in a group of runners, and I love my Boston routines.

So we ran on, even as I noticed my legs were feeling a bit sore, my right calf balking at the downhills, and the run seemed to take on a life of its own as I ran reasonably comfortably and found myself noticing runners around me. I enjoyed watching them run and even spoke to some when I could, including DRS's Daniel Wellner, Cary Craig, Kate Spencer earlier in the course. This day, I found that I could notice more things and observe more runners than when I was racing and I found that pleasureable.

Eventually, we got near Wellesley College, and I could hear the screaming of those wonderful women coming closer. I ran over to the right side of the road to high-five and smile at as many as I could. The fresh-faced energy and excitement were incredible. I could not help but pick up the pace here and each moment along this part of the route was exhilarating. Yes, "this is why I love you, Boston", I tell myself, even as the downhills take their toll on my tight calves and I shorten my stride. But my breathing still feels good and everything else is OK, so I work on relaxing. A woman wearing a Buffalo Chips singlet has been running near me for a while, and I tell her that we know Coach George from the DRS list. Her name is Debbie and we run together, each of us saying that our legs are tight but our breathing is fine. It is her first Boston and she says she is worried about the hills as we approach the big turn at the Newton Fire Station. I hear my name from the left and there is Allan Rube, who has picked me out from the other side of the street. What good eyesight. "Hi Allan", I yell.

The fire station corner, this entrance into the Newton Hills, is awash with color and music and the crowd is thick.,,it is a stirring sight. My new friend Debbie and I run the hills step by step, side by side and work together to get up and down, up and down, and when we head up Heartbreak
Hill, I tell her, "this is the last one". "YES!" she pumps her fist when we crest it. 21 miles is just ahead, I tell her, and she thanks me for being her Boston tour guide. My legs are stiff but no worse by mile 21 so I start to relax more and really begin enjoying the running. Without speaking, Debbie and I are working as a team now, and we are stopping for water together, and feeling how we are sharing the work of pacing, making it easier for both of us. I am feeling so good I start jabbering like a tour guide, pointing out Boston College, the archdiocese of Boston complex on the left (it has been in the news a great deal recently), the cemetery on the right, Cleveland Circle reservoir, and the quick run down Chestnut Hill Ave. and onto Beacon Street.

This is the part of the Boston marathon that I really like--the last 3.5 miles and I am so happy to be here, almost like home again. We are running steadily, neither quickly or slowly, and moving relentlessly past many walking marathoners at this point, offering encouragement as we pass. Some say "thanks", others nothing, but almost all acknowledge us with a smile or a wave. One of the things I notice about being the the back of the pack is that there is lots of sharing among the runners. Another thing I notice is that there are many more "bandits" (unofficial runners), and some who jump in to run a few miles or more with their friends who are official runners. Since it is still pretty crowded where I am in the pack, I begin to find them annoying, as Debbie and I find ourselves having to go around people running three abreast slowly and as we pass, we find only one or two of the three is an official runner accompanied by his/her escorts.

But mostly we are running steadily and feeling good as we head down Beacon Street towards Kenmore Square, and I find myself smiling and waving at people. I had hoped to be feeling strong in the last few miles and when you do, Boston is fun, no matter what your pace. Soon we are next to Fenway Park and the giddy-with-a-victory-over-the-Yankees baseball crowds are thick here, as we surge up the bridge over the Mass Pike. On the left, just as I expect, there are Deads Doug Dodds and Tim Smith on the left, calling my name. I yell "hello" and I am glad to see them. It is close to the end now. I know that when we turn onto Comm Ave, there is the big "One mile to go" sign. I tell Debbie that this last mile is the best, with crowds on both sides, and it will feel fast and short. We begin to turn the legs over faster in anticipation and excitement. In previous years, this mile has been very very long and I have wanted to hide, while in other years, it has been short and joyous. Yesterday, it was a joy, as I savored the noise, the experience, and the energy up Hereford St. and then down the long wide finish that is Boylston Street with the yellow and blue banners across the finish line. Debbie crosses the line in front of me and we share a hug and give our thanks to each other for the company and help we have enjoyed these twelve miles running together. "It was fabulous, this Boston marathon" she tells me, "It was even better than I imagined", she gushes, and I smile.

At the finish, I am satisfied. My legs and breathing held up, I feel fine overall, and the finish area is warm and sunny. I look at the medal around my neck and see that it is the same front but they have added a new Patriots Day emblem on the back. Who says the Boston marathon never changes??

This weekend, in my hometown, I met and reunited with some of the most neatest and most wonderful runners from all around the country and the world. I had loads of fun all weekend, and I enjoyed my Boston #11 yesterday. Hmm, I could get used to all of this...

The Boston marathon was once again, a celebration of running, a celebration of spring, and most of all for me, an affirmation of life and love.

Thanks to all who shared a part of this with me, either virtually or in real life.

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