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(And What I Learned From It)

LBANY, NEW YORK, October 19, 2003—Or, “What are you doing the third Monday in April?”

If at first you don’t succeed .. .

Twenty-one years; 6,300 runs; 41,331.1 miles; 170 races including 34 marathons, and throughout, I became obsessed with just one goal—the Holy Grail of running—a Boston Marathon qualifier. I don’t have the natural ability of many friends that I have met and run with over the years, but I think I can safely say that nobody tried harder or wanted a BQ more.

Over the years, I came tantalizingly close many times. Back when I needed a 3:20, when I was in my early 40s, I managed four creditable marathons between 3:24 and 3:29 and numerous others between 3:30 and 3:35, but that elusive 3:20 always seemed to be just outside my reach.

In fact, with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, I realize now that I virtually qualified in my PR marathon in 1989. I had trained exceptionally well that year, and after seven years of progressive improvement, I ran almost all my career PRs that year at distances from 5K to 20K leading up to the Montreal Marathon. Alas, the week before Montreal was the infamous Hurricane Hugo, and by marathon weekend, the winds were gusting up and down the eastern seaboard of the United States and into Canada. Because the course ran back and forth east to west, half the time I was fighting a strong head wind. I told my wife that I needed to get to the 40-kilometer intersection at 3:09 to have a reasonable chance of coming in under 3:20. I fought hard, running crazy splits for 10K and the half-marathon, but it just wasn’t enough. I got to the do-or-die mark at 3:11, admitted defeat, as I believed that the best I could achieve was going to be 3:22, and then calmly had a doughnut and a Pepsi before jogging in the rest of the course. I finished in 3:24:28 clock time. Yes, there was no ChampionChip timing then (I certainly lost a couple of minutes at the start of that 12,000-plus participant race), and I was unaware of the Boston 0:59 rule, which meant that I could have qualified with 3:20:59. Could I have marshaled my energies and determination and made it if I had known? We’ll never know, but the simple fact remains that I was like

thousands of others around the world who had once again tried and failed to earn that badge of honor—a Boston qualifier.

NEVER SAY NEVER AGAIN

As the years went by and the age standards became more forgiving, it became harder and harder to run high-quality marathons, and I ran some really ugly ones. Between 1983 and 2002, I toed the line at the start of marathons far and wide, including Montreal, Ottawa, Vermont, Marine Corps, Columbus, Paris, Amsterdam, and numerous marathons in New Jersey, New York, and Pennsylvania. It pains me now to remember how my overriding goal was to achieve that elusive BQ instead of enjoying the marathon experience. Not for no reason did my nickname become “never again.” I said “never again” many times, and I really meant it.

And yet I kept being drawn back, with my running career seemingly unfulfilled because I hadn’t run Boston. Each summer the bug would get me once again, much to the dismay of my wife, who both understood and got more worried with every futile attempt. Initially, she came out without exception to lend support, and indeed she was there for my first dozen marathons. But she stopped for a number of years as I kept beating myself up without success, and then she started showing up again the last few years. I couldn’t help but think that it was because she was convinced that I was going to croak on the course, although her support and encouragement were always welcome.

One story that happened along the way is worth repeating. I ran the New York City Marathon in 2001, just weeks after the 9/11 tragedy. I couldn’t have picked a better year to run my one and only New York. My friends and I ventured into the city a few days prior to the marathon to pick up our bib numbers, chips, and runner bags. At the expo, the incomparable Grete Waitz was signing autographs and posters. When we got to the front of the line, my good friend Graeme related to Grete my longtime quest and determination to qualify for Boston. The nine-time New York Marathon winner was most gracious and signed my commemorative marathon poster:

“To Bruce Go for it—chase your dreams See you in Boston? From Grete Waitz”

Thad that poster framed and hung it on my office wall right in front of my desk for inspiration every time I looked up.

FAST FORWARD TO MY MID-50S

The 2003 running year was a good one for me, highlighted by consistency and some times in 10-kilometer races and half-marathons that were my best in years.

But of course, secretly I was planning on the next go-round of 26.22 miles or 42.195 kilometers. Known to only a select few, I registered in early May for the Clarence DeMar Marathon in Keene, New Hampshire. As my running colleagues came to know, that was perhaps the worst heartbreaker of all, as I was devastated to miss the elusive BQ by 3.5 seconds. At the advice of many good friends, I wrote to the Boston Athletic Association and asked for leniency—not because of the pouring rain, but rather the lack of chip timing! Its answer was curt and seemingly arrogant: “No exceptions.” I mumbled a curse to myself and pondered my marathon future. At 54, I had done my best and had run faster than in years, but once again I had failed in my quest. It seemed like it was not meant to happen.

BACK TO MOHAWK HUDSON RIVER

Two days later, before I came to my senses, I registered for another one. Even fewer people knew about this one. I had run the Mohawk Hudson River Marathon, from Schenectady to Albany, New York, back in 1996, and I remembered that it was relatively flat and forgiving, as marathons go. Of course, this weekend brought cold weather (36 degrees Fahrenheit), light rain throughout, and wind.

So, what happened?

I did it! Despite the horrible weather, one or two hills that I had forgotten about, quads still protesting from the effort three weeks earlier, having to set a new personal record by wearing my garbage bag for 24 miles, and being stopped by a freight train for almost a minute at mile 17.5—I could go on and on—I was not to be denied. Ask anyone who was in the vicinity of downtown Albany on Sunday, October 19, 2003, about the raving lunatic who had both hands in the air and was screaming, “I’m going to Boston; I’m going to Boston” for the final 200 yards of the race. Actually, people came up to me afterward with big smiles

» The final few yards of an incredibly long journey—“I’m going to Boston; I’m going to Boston.”

Courtesy of Bruce Marshall

on their faces, thanking me for sharing my joy and excitement with them. People congratulated my wife when they found out that it was her husband who was so ecstatic. It was certainly one of the happiest moments of my life, up there with my wedding day, the birth of my two incredible kids, and the pride I felt in their academic achievements at college.

There was nothing spectacular or unusual about my running that day or my mile splits, nothing to set that race apart from dozens of other marathons. Typically, I was caught up in the excitement of the event and ran the first mile far too fast in 7:42. Drawing on years of experience, I compensated somewhat in mile two, slowing to an 8:13 pace. And then I ran fairly consistent splits between 7:59 and 8:09 for the next 10 miles except for a brief break. I went through the halfway mark in just under 1:47, which was only slightly faster than I had planned. I have never been able to manage negative splits and wasn’t counting on it this time.

However, the steady drizzle of the rain acted like a metronome, and I was able to maintain a reasonable pace throughout most of the second half. Never did I feel like I had hit The Wall or even sensed that I was tiring significantly, but rather was in the zone. At mile marker 24, I knew I was finally going to realize my dream and that nothing could stop me. I took the time to stop and carefully remove my faithful garbage bag, just to get ready for any photographers at the end. I tucked my security blanket into my fuel belt and then ran the concluding two miles at 9:17 pace. Never had miles 25 and 26 gone by so easily. My official time was 3:41:36, and I had easily smashed the target goal by 4 minutes, 23 seconds.

THE OLD BODY COMES THROUGH

Yes, I benefited from the more-relaxed qualifying standards that the B.A.A. had revised for masters runners a few years earlier. But of course, the corollary to having a more lenient Boston-qualifying standard is that you have an old body to do it with! Even before changing into dry clothes, I used the cell phone to call one of my closest running friends, Beverly, because I had to share this emotional moment with someone else who really understood what this meant to me after all those years of disappointment. Luckily, the tears flowing down my face were somewhat camouflaged by the rain, which had never relented.

Insanely, one of my first thoughts was that someone had better contact the B.A.A. without delay to start stocking up on commemorative shirts, jackets, and other paraphernalia, because I would need to bring a van to cart home all the stuff I was planning to buy in Boston after chasing this dream for so many years—assuming I was to go. My goal had never been to run Boston per se; my objective had always been to qualify, and going to Boston itself would likely be anticlimactic.

Nevertheless, I did go, and the Boston Marathon was everything that I had imagined—the most exciting road race in the world. But that’s another story. I

will say only this: in honor of my BQ race at Mohawk Hudson River the previous October, I proudly wore the same garbage bag that I had preciously held onto to the start line in Hopkinton. So what if it was 86 degrees; the bag had earned the right to be there, too.

Remember that New York City Marathon poster with Grete Waitz’s inspirational words of encouragement? I took a digital photo of that poster with me to Boston in 2005.

The adidas booth in Boston was graced by a number of the top U.S. female marathoners—and the company’s number one ambassador, Grete Waitz. When I got to the front of that autograph line, I presented my 2001 New York City Marathon autographed poster, briefly reminded Grete of the background, and thanked her for her encouragement, because without it, I might have given up hope. With all of the other elite marathoners cheering and applauding both me and her for making such a difference, she re-signed my poster in big bold lettering:

“You made it. Boston 2005

Grete Waitz”

It was one of the most emotional moments of my life. Needless to say, I have that one framed, and it has a place of honor in my home.

Mya Fed wo] ck ;

Ya ca een

Courtesy of Bruce Marshall

A A prized memento from one of the legends of the sport—Grete Waitz —who inspired me to “chase my dreams.”