The Marathon.

I write this post several hours after the official start of the 114th running of The Boston Marathon and, from an office window, I see runners continue to cross the finish line. Having completed Boston twice and having lived in Boston my entire life, I definitely connect with Marathon Monday. Before prize money was introduced to the Boston Marathon and before running became "the thing to do", my parents used to take us over to Boston College to watch the lead runners cruise by. I've also survived the necessary (and not-so-fun) winter training which precludes race day. So I have some personal experience attached to the feeling of having the coveted Boston Marathon medal placed around your neck.

The Boston Marathon gets in your blood. Every year on Patriot's Day, no matter what is going on in my life, my mind and heart always goes to the marathon. Three years ago today I watched the marathon while sitting in a hospital room with Sarah (and her parents) waiting to take Emily and Alicenne home for the first time. At the same time, runners were crossing the finish line less than two miles from us. (Note: Sarah's c-section was originally scheduled for the day of the marathon!)

So...who knows when I’ll get another picture of me “trudging” along a 26.2 mile course.

Running a marathon is one thing. Making the time to train for a marathon is another. I told Sarah last night that maybe for my 50th birthday I’ll run a marathon again. Then I’ll have time. I’ll be done with graduate school and the girls will be in elementary school so they can cheer me on. Sarah told me that I could run one now. “Ten minute miles, hon. - you could do it.” Hmmmm.