I will say, one of the nice things about the Boston Marathon is the crowd support. Marathon Monday is always Patriot’s Day, a local holiday where most everyone has the day off school and work. They celebrate with tailgates and yard parties, watching a morning start for the Red Sox at Fenway while a horde of sado-masochistic runners trot by.
But more important than the number of people is the way that spectators are distributed along the course. Support is sparse in the early miles, but the closer you get to the finish line the more dense the crowds are. When you need them the most, there they are -- cheering you to the finish. In a sport as thankless and under-appreciated as running, those moments of attention are refreshing.
As the road continues its gradual descent, the sea around me slowly begins to part. Most other runners are beginning to calm down from their initial exuberance, settling into a much more reasonable pace. It is mostly wannabe elite runners like me, but there are still a handful who have no business being up here. They’re going to be in for a long day.
***
In the humid heat of the mid-August summer -- my first season after college; my first season competing for no one except myself -- I hopped on the local high school track for a session of two-mile repeats. I don’t normally like doing any repetition longer than a mile on the track, but on this particular day I had the itch to blaze on the tartan rubber. Besides, this was my old stomping ground in the high school days; nothing quells the post-graduation dread quite like good ol’ fashioned nostalgia.
I was gearing up for a half marathon in a little more than a month’s time, my first ever race longer than 10k. I didn’t really have any expectations going into it, but I had read that, despite being over twice the distance, the half marathon is very similar to the 10k, at least in terms of the fitness and training required to throw down.
And besides, I had found an event close by that seemed like one I could win some prize money from. Liberated from the draconian amateur rules of the NCAA, why not take a shot at making some money from the sport?
As I lapped seemingly endlessly around the track -- eight laps for each two-mile, times four repetitions total -- the small stadium began to attract more and more people. With my focus on the workout, I didn’t actually notice until the rest interval after the third two-mile (9:54). A group of high schoolers -- boys and girls -- hovered around the spur of the track with a collectively judgmental air about them. Who is this guy in short shorts and no shirt on our track?
By my fourth rep I was in the zone (and quite ready to be done) when the high school squad began a shuffling warmup on the track. Despite my initial judgment about their judgment, they were conscientious enough to stay out of lane one. No one appreciates that small gesture quite like a tired runner.
As I slowly cooled down in lane six clockwise around the track, reflecting on the work I just put in (9:58, 9:55, 9:54, 9:51; not too bad for a hot day in August. I may yet be rounding into shape for this half.), a woman ran up beside my inside shoulder.
“Hey,” she introduced. “That looked like some workout. How fast were those two-miles?”
“Averaged about 9:55,” I replied, too tired to be surprised that a stranger was talking to me.
“That’s a quality half marathon workout. You training for an Olympic Trials qualifier?”
“I don’t know, I hadn’t even thought about it. I’m just racing my first half in about a month, so we’ll see how it goes.”
“Well, good luck.” And with that, she split off across the field to join the high schoolers mulling about.
See, that’s the nice thing about running -- you can just strike up a thought-provoking conversation with a random person and it’s totally normal. I wasn’t being modest when I said I hadn’t thought about a Trials qualifier (you can qualify for the Olympic Marathon Trials with either a fast enough half or a full marathon time), but after this workout, maybe that’s something I should consider. The Trials were coming up in early November, and if I could run under 1:05 in my race then I’d be in. As luck would have it, that event would fall just outside of the 30-day pre-Trials blackout period, so that might be a legitimate option. I mean, I just averaged right about 1:05 pace for that workout, and with another month before the race, well…
“Hey again.” I didn’t even hear footsteps behind me this time.
“Hi there.”
“I’m not a creepy high schooler flirting with you, just so you know.”
“I’m glad. And I’m not a creepy old guy skeezing on high schoolers.”
“My name’s Amelia; I’m the new cross country coach here. And 10th grade English teacher.”
“I’m Eliot; nice to meet you, Amelia.”
“You know, the high schoolers aren’t judging you too much over there. They’re a little leary of the shorts, but they’ll learn that nothing’s quite as free as the split shorts. I have no idea how the boys all run in basketball shorts and the girls in yoga shorts.”
“Well if it helps them see the light…”
“I take it you ran in college, then?”
“Just graduated this spring. Now trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.”
“Same boat here. Well, the running and graduated thing. I think teaching and coaching will take up the rest of my life. Do you have a job?”
“No, not yet. Still looking.”
“Well if you’re desperate, you might want to consider substitute teaching here. Small districts like these often have trouble finding quality subs. And you know what? You should come run with us sometime. It’d be good to expose the kids to some other runners that navigated the high school and college system. I think it could really expand their horizons beyond the small-school bubble.”
“I’d like that. I don’t know if I’d be much of a teacher or mentor, but I’d be glad to help out.”
“Don’t worry, they’re only a little crazy. Besides, they’ll do all the talking anyway.”
After a brief pause -- what can I say, I was tired -- Amelia continued.
“Okay, so this is random, but have we met before? I mean, maybe not like face-to-face met, but I swear I recognize you. Who did you say you ran for in college?”
***
Feeling fresh early in a marathon, the first couple of miles simply float by. What was a mob of pretenders has formed into a stream of contenders, led by the pack of professionals up front.
I’ve worked my way close enough that I think I can count the number of people in front of me. 15? 16? Something like that; it’s hard to tell with such a tight lead pack.
Myself and a handful of other runners are still a bit off the front, but the gap has closed a little during the second mile. And with that, we pass the second mile marker. 10:01, not that far off what I was doing for a workout back in August. Which means that mile split was a 5:02. Still too fast.
**********
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