A Look Back: My Personal (Truncated) Boston Marathon

Before you go, stretch. Place your hands on the wall and extend one leg back so it looks like you’re trying to push the building. Switch to the other leg. Now pull each leg up behind you with both hands, as if you were trying to conceal it like a gift. Then, with your legs a little more than shoulder’s width apart, shift your weight from side-to-side. Check everything: cell phone in left hand, apartment keys smothered by your right, headphones plugged in. Start the music and you’re ready.

It officially starts when you cross the Boylston/Tremont intersection, heading west. Dodge the homeless in front of Dunkin Donuts and the students in front of the Emerson dorms. If you recognize someone or if they recognize you, acknowledge them with a slight nod or three fingered wave with the right hand, but do not stop to chat. For a more circuitous route, circle around the Common once, but then head directly back to Boylston. Try to beat the signal at Charles. Don’t worry though, because you can skirt across horizontally and start running on the right side of traffic.

Turn up your headphones. Next, the rich mothers and their baby strollers. Weave through the families by the Trinity Church. The homeless are probably out of the way, but watch out for the skaters. In a few days, you’ll be heading in a similar direction, branching off when you hit Huntington to hit up Shaw’s for your bi-weekly grocery trip. Admire the cluster of the old churches, the BPL, and the Weston. Chances are that you’re at another stop signal, so make sure to jog in place. You’ll look silly, like you’re trying to scrape something off your heels with your ass, but don’t be self-conscious. Just press on when the light changes.

Here is when things get going. Suddenly, your limbs are assured, your breathing is metronomic, your head is up and confidently looking ahead. The surrounding sites—the Pru, the high-end seafood restaurants, the cocktail lounges—start to blur. But the wire from your headphones catches on something—a parking meter, a passerby. Things pull back into focus, like reemerging from slumber and back into reality. Plug your headphones back in and keep going.

You’ve reached Berklee. Boylston feels like it ends here, even though it actually extends through Fenway. This intersection with Mass Ave is the edge, as if Boston doesn’t continue further west. There’s an appeal of running along the edge of something, so you perpetuate this delusion to give yourself that energy, that drive. Hang a right on Mass Ave and kiss the edge, except when you approach the Harvard Bridge—which actually does extend beyond the Boston border—spiral down the ramp at the start of the bridge.

On the Esplanade, you’ll encounter some different obstacles: bikers, rollerbladers, old couples powerwalking. Fitter mothers push a stroller while they jog, post-college working girls drag their dogs. Most notably, fitter people are running. Sweat makes their bodies glisten in the sun as it drips into the lines of their musculature. They appear prettier and better than you. But pay close attention, because you tend to miss the less-than-fit individuals exercising too. Point being that all walks of life come out here to enjoy this: the sun, the water, the city. Remember that this isn’t a contest with others. Deflect the self-doubts and absorb the energy from the sun and light breeze. Follow the path and hit every detour, each loop and curlicue. Do it correctly and you won’t feel the urge to stop and rest on the dock by the water, not matter how appealing it might seem.

The path on the Esplanade ends abruptly, despite how much you’d like to run towards the Interstate. Fatigue sets in, but your body is operating on autopilot. Cut through the parking lot and run along the entrance side of the hospital/rehab facility/whatever; you’re not sure what it is and you’ll probably never know. Find Merrimac and ride it til you actually do reach the Interstate. Don’t play dumb this time around: wait for the signal. Only then can you peacefully run alongside Cross, through the cobbled portion of the North End. Cross turns into Atlantic without you even realizing it. The sun is less powerful now. Treat yourself to a run down the wharf by the Aquarium, always making sure to flash a smile at the families and cynical twentysomethings that glare or shout at you. Feel free to try and beat the signals. Flip the bird at any car that was nowhere close enough to hitting you.

South Station. Look down the Summer Street bridge to spot the office where you work. Don’t shudder, because though you’ll be back soon, they’ve treated you well and you’ve got no reason to complain about them. Instead, graze the side of South Station and find an opening to get over to Essex. You’re almost there. Run through Chinatown as fast as you can, even if there are herds of people. The putrid smell makes your nose tingle, but only if you linger on it. Magically, Boylston begins again and you are home. Slow your pace to a trudge. Pat yourself on the back as you imagine the giant half circle you’ve carved out around your city.

Stop in front of your apartment complex and pause your music. Breathe. You don’t need to remind yourself of your other obligations for right now, as if you could conjure them up anyway. Just think about that shower, and look forward to repeating your day’s work tomorrow.