Boston 2014 P. 2

Sunset en route from Houston to Boston

Even with the layover in Texas the trip didn't seem consumptive; the 3-hour leap forward never really set in. Only now, writing on the plane, with a couple flights & the drive home does Home seem so important, as does the hour it exists within.

Sunday, after midnight, we arrived in Boston, took the T to Alewife & walked a desolate path to our hotel in Arlington (Ah-ling-ton).

Sunday marked Easter; we shared a continental breakfast of oatmeal, fruit, yogurt, and coffee. There was a large cake in the shape of a rabbit & a man dressed as an Easter bunny who threw his hands up when you tried to sit on his lap for a picture.

Homewood Suites, Arlington, MA

Took the T into Boston towards the event center, stopping for coffees & treats at the Boston Common Coffee Co. before picking up our bibs & swag. Here we met with the Lampi's, grabbed lunch, walked around Beanville a bit admiring the old cathedrals & daffodils planted in honor of last year's race.

I've been sick for a while now (is this aging?) and being outside all day wore me out. We ordered a carbo-loaded takeout meal from Papa Razzi in Back Bay.

From Left: S, LB

Outside of John B. Hynes Veterans Memorial Convention Center

Cute venue, not the most thrilling pre race option - for its small portions, expensive cost. Rode the T to Arlington to relax and get our race kits ready. On the floor - our mini shorts, racing tanks, bibs, good luck charms, calf sleeves, throwaway clothes, shoes. The three of us packed our check bags...dun dun dun.

I think that the problem began in that we had forgone race transportation to take a town car to get to Hopkinton. If we had ridden the buses, our mistake would have been caught much sooner. Our mistake being that the three of us packed last minute gear check bags with us to the race start. Our driver was a thoroughbred - family straight from Ireland, a self-declared alcoholic, who spent a good chunk of time calming our pre-race jits with talks of an 18-wheeler that just blew up on the highway, how the town's afraid of copy-cat terrorists, and every other sad thing you might think of. After a couple bus exchanges, bag checks and detectors, we were dropped off near the start line. Asked a couple BAA volunteers where we could check our bags and were directed the better part of a mile uphill towards Athlete's Village. We were set to start in 30 minutes, so we jogged towards the Village, against crowds of people, stopping every now & then to ask an official if we were going the right direction. Yes we were they said, until they didn't say that anymore, and we started to get a couple, "Bag check? We aren't doing that this year." We were quite possibly the only three people out of 36,000 who were confused about it. In a panic, we tried to get officials to take our bags back into town, but they declined, saying there was nothing they could do. Eventually we found one godsend local cop who seriously delivered our bags from Hopkinton to our hotel out past Boston Logan Intl. Airport. His sympathy might have been swayed by the fact that LB & S were sobbing.

Race goals (measuring every 3 mi.)

We jogged back down to the start line, getting in a couple miles - LB got denied access to VIP portos, maybe cried a little, ended up peeing in the open in response. I waited in line for a public porto & when I got my turn I heard racers peeing and pooping in the grass behind me, I was getting it on all sides. I understand it can get a little hectic pre-race, but it felt like some uncivilized, high anxiety, no boundaries, far off GI IBS explosion-ville. There were man cracks out galore; their short shorts pulled down to pee everywhere. I couldn't believe how many puddles of pee I had to avoid.

The anxiety of our pre-race mistake and rushed feelings to get to the line culminated in us getting to the line, fine. There were five of us, all separated by our entry times into different corrals, but I had the fortune of finding every one of them during the race. Helicopters flew over head. Cops with binoculars were stationed on building rooftops. One pasty, freckled redhead sprayed sun screen for 5 minutes against himself, which blanketed my breathing and now, do I recognize, that he was the smartest one of us all. I loved hearing all the languages, the accents, around me, mostly men, who looked like the best of their high schools or colleges at one point, evolving into this person on this line on the 118th anniversary of the Boston Marathon. 

I think the best way to say how helpful the city of Boston is this - you might not get the same answer twice; you'll hardly find two people on the same page, and when there's a crisis, you might have to ask around to find that one person, but you'll always find that one person. Someone is always helpful. You just have to be lucky enough to find them.