Marathon Memories

Today was the Boston Marathon.

My grandparents lived in Wellesley (actually, my grandmother still lives there, in the same house) – which is just about the halfway mark in the Boston marathon.

When we were kids, every year we made a day of the marathon. Some of my “Boston marathon” memories go way back and become rather fuzzy and dream-like – so I must have been very small. These qualify as “first memories”.

Later memories though: we would convene at my grandparents house. My cousins would also be there, because the Boston Marathon is a big deal. A big day for the city. And we LOVED that we got to see all the runners at the halfway point.

My cousins and I would mix Kool-aid in big pictchers, or we would get Gatorade, or we would mix sugar-free Crystal Light-y stuff, buy a couple packages of Dixie cups, and traipse down the hill to join the crowds lining the street. Everyone waiting for the first runners to appear.

Feeling suffused with seriousness and purpose, we would pour out Dixie cups of liquid, line them up behind us, and wait, peering up the street, tense, thrilled.

Then – one by one – they would come.

The first runners who pounded by never stopped for a drink. Of course not. They were about to finish a Marathon in less than 3 hours. These people are barely human. They do not need Gatorade. They are on another plane. They are definitely in the realm of the lonely long-distance runner.

We watched them pound by, in awe. It looked like they were on the first mile of the race, as opposed to the 13th.

Then – we could feel it. We just could feel the crowds approaching. The lesser runners, the ones who are way behind the leaders, the ones running in the pack. We knew that they would NEED us. We were trembling with responsibility. It was an AWESOME burden. (Remember, we were … 9 years old. 10 years old.)

I still remember holding out these wee Dixie cups, with my wee 9 year old arm, and this thundering sweaty giant would swoop by, snatch it out of my hand, pour it over his head, without even stopping.

There was a skill to this. Definitely.

You had to keep a very gentle touch on your Dixie cup.

You had to be ready to let go.

Hold it very lightly with your fingertips. Keep your body out of the road, only let your little arm go into the road. They are looking for you. As they pound down the pavement, they are looking for you. They need you.

Your job, should you choose to accept it, is to make this exchange as easy as possible for the runner.

You must be invisible. You must merge with the Dixie cup. And then the second they grasp it, you must let go of it. That way, nothing will be spilled.

Oh, my cousins and I spent rapturous hours getting all of this down to a science. We loved this job. We loved being all important, like little Boston Marathon Red Cross nurses.

I remember the first time we were at the finish line. Which was a whole other story, and not at all fun. You see people weeping, you see people throwing up, you see people lying on the ground surrounded by doctors, staggering around looking like refugees – By that point, after 26 miles, people’s personalities have broken down.

I read some marathon runner who said something like: “A marathon is actually 2 separate races. The first 24 miles, and then the last 2 miles.”

Things happen to people during those last 2 miles. I saw it again when I watched my friend Liz cross the finish line of the New York marathon a couple years ago. I saw her at halfway mark, and then we went to Central Park to see her cross the finish line. The transformation of human beings, runners we had just seen an hour or so before, was startling. Unbelievable. I’m not just talking physically, although you can obviously see people struggling with pain. It’s the other transformation – the psychological transformation. Liz was running, and openly weeping. I’ve never seen her cry like that.

It was kind of incredible.

However, when I was a little kid at the finish line, I thought all of that stuff was terrible. I felt so BAD for everyone.

I much preferred standing at the halfway mark with my cousins, watching the giants thundering down towards us, holding out their arms for our Dixie cups of Gatorade.

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4 Responses to Marathon Memories

  1. Dave J says:

    I know some people HAVE to do it at least once before they die, but running a marathon definitely merits an entry on my “to-don’t” list.

    I have fond childhood memories of the Boston Marathon, too. How could anyone not? The city gets collectively sucked into it.

  2. Marathon coverage

    Steve takes a look at pre-race activities at the finish line, in the latest installment of Reality News by Citizen Journalists. Hilatron is not happy:…

  3. MikeR says:

    That’s a wonderful story, Red.
    However, I believe I’ll have to join Dave J in adding the marathon to my “To Don’t” list…

  4. jackstraw says:

    I have “jogged” three marathons (I don’t really see it as running with my 12 minutes per mile pace) and I can say that the feeling of the last quarter mile in a marathon is unlike anything else in my experience–part “Thank God this damn thing is over”, part self-congratulations for the discipline of the training necessary, all seen through the haze of extended physical exertion. Sort of the physical equivalent of finishing my Masters Thesis. Jogging a marathon isn’t hard–starting training six months ahead of time and being disciplined about training for six months is the hard part. And bless Sheila for her care in passing out cups. Every sliver of an ounce of energy a struggling runner can save is welcome.

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