Boston Marathon

The Boston Marathon is the most enjoyable race and run I’ve done in nearly twenty years of this sport.

I could see from the weekend that the city really showed up for this legendary event but what lay ahead was just awesome and breathtaking – a testament to humans coming together.

Of course, I know Boston is the gold standard for amateur runners, to qualify, and then to be here itself is a privilege – both from a financial perspective and realising the dream of running Boston.

For me, it was that dream come alive – to qualify several times over in the last year and then to receive the congratulations letter in the inbox – at every step of this journey, the privilege was never lost on me.

But the race. Phew. Every inch was carpeted with spectators cheering for runners. Families, infants, children, grandparents, music bands, the Wellesley college girls, the creative signs – you’re running better than the government, tap to power up, I’m 80, single and ready to mingle, nice tits, kiss me, I’ll call you an uber, enjoy every mile equally, give heartbreak hill hell – and of course my very own cheering team – Deepanjana and Arno who came all the way from New York City and saw me at mile seven, twelve, twenty through the race.

It was a way finding check in each time, knowing every few miles they would be there – tall Arno waving a rainbow flag – and Deepanjana – phone ready and coconut water in her hand.

Later when I opened my phone, there were dozens upon dozens of messages from friends and family in a group she had created keeping them updated with my progress. Overwhelming doesn’t quite describe it.

The race morning saw me make my usual coffee and get ready. I checked my post race and pre race bag several times. Checked the watch, gels, and the extra layers I would keep on till the start. I had a few bites of Deepanjana’s roasted sweet potatoes, took a banana from the lobby and stepped out to an eight degree crisp morning on Boylston Street.

Dozens of school buses were waiting to transport runners according to wave times and the Boston Commons area was packed with runners. I found myself sitting next to a Navy man from Arlington and we chatted nearly the whole hour it took us to reach Hopkinton.

Many runners were warming up, but many were just sitting in a patch of sunshine eating or stretching or doing nothing at all. I found four Indian Americans from New Jersey and joined their friendly group chatting about races and running in India and the US.

Here we were all just runners.

Shedding my sweatpants and my jacket, I was in race gear. Later, after about five kilometres in the race I would go to a portable toilet to remove an inner layer I had worn because I was afraid it would be too cold for me. That must have cost me a minute but for this race I’ll take the caution of being slightly overdressed.

The start line was about a kilometre walk and we were shepherded according to waves and corrals. Already the homes lining this narrow street had people cheering, one set of ladies adding glitter to anyone’s face in pretty colours. I was briefly tempted.

At my corral, I tied my laces again, touched the ground, kissed the Sai Baba on my chain and here we go.

The race start is an immediate downhill for a kilometre or so and then is a gradually rolling downhill to about the five-seven kilometre mark. After that until Newton Hills, the roads are continuously rolling. I don’t recall there being much flat but the memory I have is of the cheering, screaming, cowbells, speakers blaring out all manner of music. Every skin colour, every race, every kind of human being. Some were barbecuing, some standing and clapping, some sitting on picnic chairs and shouting, whatever they were doing, they had shown up outside their front doors for Boston. In restaurants or street bars, I saw hundreds of people congregated, in several homes, people were standing on roofs. I high fived dozens of people, dozens more children and as many Wellesley girls as I could down the screaming tunnel. Of course, I hugged and high fived my own special Deepanjana and Arno.

Watching out at Newton Hills, I slowed down the pace to maintaining effort not speed and that was probably a safe and smart move for my first Boston.

At the bottom of Heartbreak Hill was a giant red sign proclaiming its start. Here we go, I thought. But soon, I could see another sign saying congratulations on conquering heartbreak you’re at the top – I am paraphrasing here – I don’t remember exactly what it said, but I was glad to be on the top and I’m glad I didn’t walk.

I thought of my friends Maneesh and Amit – how much they would enjoy this race. I thought of my parents. I thought of Parul and our children. I thought of my life coach Rasik who had given me so much wisdom and encouragement for today. I thought that my sister Roshini would be tracking me and wondering why I had slowed down. It’s Heartbreak Hill !

From there on it was just a countdown to the last eight kilometres. One mile at a time since the course was marked in miles and marked in kilometres for every five kilometres. In that, it became so – I looked out for mile posts and for the every five kilometre markers to mark progress. To mark satisfaction.

In my last kilometres, I was shouting out my mantras, I was calling out to the young boy back home.

Crowd energy and the twists and turns into Boston carried me to Boylston and then to the finish line. I kneeled, touched the ground, kissed the Sai Baba.

An indescribable race, a run of a lifetime. The marathon mirrors all of life, the journey, the ups and downs, literal and figurative, the pain, the highs, the finish and the yearning to do it all over again.

Boston – I am ever so grateful.