"My Race"

 

My Race

This morning, the day after the 2013 Boston Marathon, I ran the hardest 3 miles of my life. As I ran, tears streamed down my face and I wondered if the cars that passed by noticed. For those that did, I hoped they understood. For those that didn't, I understood and I have no doubt that they shed tears of their own, in their own way and in their own place, for the victims of yesterday's tragedy on Boylston Street and the runningof the 2013 Boston Marathon. 

My father ran the 1968 Boston Marathon when I was 7 and from that point on, it became "my race" and I made a promise to myself that someday I would run it. 

When I moved from Maine to Texas I was surprised that my classmates knew about the race. "Some day I will run it" I told them. In retrospect, I suspect that it was met with laughs of disbelief moments later behind my back. 

I moved back to Boston after college and each year I would watch the race on TV and say "Someday I will run it" and follow that thought up with another bottle of beer and some chips. But I honestly believed it. As I got older and heavier and more lethargic, I always kept that one "impossible" dream alive in the back of my mind. 

After I got married, Mary and I moved closer to the Boston Marathon route in Wellesley. Each April we would venture to Wellesley and watch the runners pass by and I would say to Mary "Some day I will run it" to which she always smiled and said "Some day you will", lovingly ignoring the fact that I was now a morbidly obese 300+ pound person who hadn't run 1/4 mile in 20 years.

In June of 2008, at the age of 47, my doctor called and informed me that due to my self imposed morbid obesity, my health was in severe jeopardy. The next day I received a call from my sister in law telling me my niece Julia's health, due to cystic fibrosis that she born with, was also in severe jeopardy and had been placed on the lung transplant list. I decided a few days after those conversations that the "some day" had come and I would run the 2009 Boston Marathon the following year, doing everything I could to raise money for CF research and help save Julia's life. And mine.

With help from my friend Rick, I started walking 3 miles and after a week, Rick told me to start running. I was only able to run 10 yards at first, but eventually as the weight fell off in sweat and tears, I gained momentum and got stronger. And faster. And more positive that I could run the Boston Marathon. Ten months later, after losing over 113 pounds, I ran "my race" nonstop, thanks to the never ending support of the smiling people lining the route and cheering on the runners for what they were accomplishing.

When I turned left onto Boylston Street for the final stretch to immortality, I was shocked by the crowd that had squeezed onto the sidewalk 8-10 deep to cheer "me" on. I can say with 100% certainty that it will always remain the most overwhelming sight that I will ever witness in a marathon and no doubt my entire life. Just before I crossed the finish line I looked up into the grandstands and saw my Dad crying in the stands. And my wife Mary. And Rick. And Julia. And I was crying as well for what I had accomplished.

And on that day, April 20, 2009, my life changed more than anyone will ever know. And it was all thanks to "my race", the 2009 Boston Marathon. 

On April 16 I completed the 2012 Boston Marathon - it was my 17th full marathon in the 3 years since I ran my first marathon. It was around 90 degrees on that day but I was not going to be denied crossing the finish line. Literally drained by the heat I turned left onto Boylston Street, and again, the crowd screamed their support and helped  carry me down the street. Just before I came to the finish line, I stopped running and reflected back on just how much the Boston Marathon had dramatically changed my life in those 3 years. I pulled out my video camera and shot a quick clip to capture the moment as I looked down Boylston Street at the smiling crowd of men, women and children, all coming out to watch "my race". I closed my eyes to thank God for allowing me to arrive safely, turned around and ran across the finish line.

Technically, I didn't run the 2013 Boston Marathon yesterday as I was unable to obtain a number, not for lack of trying. I did go out to support my friends who were running and decided to run home the fastest way I could, which was along the marathon route. I joined the other ~500 runners who also did not get a number at the back of the corrals and started yet another journey. Along the way it seemed that the smiles were brighter and the atmosphere was more upbeat - I attributed it to the temperature being approx. 40 degrees cooler than the year before. At mile 13.5 I left the course and headed the 2 miles home.

Approximately 2 hours later I heard the news about "my race". And my heart sank. And with each additional minute of news and details, my heart sank further. 

As a spectator for most of my life, I watched in awe as the elite runners passed me by in the blink of an eye, the medium speed runners making it look easy and the slower runners struggling to put one foot in front of the other. Regardless who they were, they were all running together along the same 26.2 mile path that led to glory on Boylston Street. Our job was to support them every step of the way. It is one of Boston's oldest tradition and everyone there is proud to be a part of it. 

As a runner, the Boston Marathon is about hope, dreams, the spirit of human perseverance and overcoming obstacles in life that may seem impossible at times. And for thousands of people like myself, it is about raising money for a charity that is near and dear to their heart and sacrificing themselves for the benefit of those that need our help.

And yesterday, like every year before, the two groups became one. As I ran yesterday, I saw tears of joy as runners embraced their loved ones, gave a pat on the back, or screamed encouragement to a name on a shirt all along the marathon course be it a mother or father, spouse or child, friend or stranger and everyone in between. And this happened from the start to the finish.

I have watched the devastation on Bolyston Street too many times now. The one image I keep thinking about are of some yellow balloons leaving the sidewalk after the first explosion - I wonder if they were released by some innocent child there to cheer on a family member or friend as they were victimized by the senseless explosion.  As of right now, no one knows who did this or why but with very few exceptions there is outrage, pain, disbelief and questions that will never be answered.

Next year I will run the 2014 Boston Marathon in honor of those hurt on April 15, 2013. And I will run it for my charity. And I will run it for myself because no one will ever take away "my race" from me. It means too much.

Roger 
www.RFME.org