In the running community, "Boston" isn't a city, it's an event. If you say, "I'm going to Boston," you don't mean "I'm going to one of the oldest cities in the U.S., the capitol of Massachusetts, to see all the important historical and cultural sights." You mean, "I'm going to stay in a hotel room, rub elbows with 20,000 sweaty people, and probably not be able to walk up a flight of stairs the next day."
This, friends, is as close as I will ever get to the Boston Marathon. It's one of the few marathons in the world for which you have to qualify. The qualifying standards are age graded, so there is some hope. If I am still running at 80, and I can match my personal record, I can qualify.
I'm not actually running through Boston. Mapquest has plotted me a course from Maine down to Rhode Island, and they took a route that skirts around Boston. But somewhere in here, I'm crossing the marathon course. And here I am, the second silliest looking runner in the photo.
Eleven and a half miles this morning. A nice run.
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