Marathon With Meaning Boston’s 100th Feeds Passions Of Local Running Enthusiasts

The thought came to each of us at Mile 22: Why are we doing this? Why are we pushing ourselves on through the pain of overworked legs, roasting feet and escalating fatigue? Was even this, the 100th Boston Marathon, worth this intense physical agony?

But even as we mulled the sanity of it all - trying to run 26.2 miles as fast as we could - other thoughts swirled into our consciousness:

Keep going. You can do it! Just 4 miles to go. Pick up the pace.

100th a magnet

Our road to Boston’s 100th running began more than 18 months ago, when we learned Boston lodging already was filling up for April 1996. We had relished running in the 98th Boston Marathon in 1994. We wanted to be there for the 100th, too.

Neil qualified for a Boston starting spot in the Seattle Marathon in November 1994. Jackie, pregnant at that time, had to wait to qualify until the Portland Marathon last October.

In January, we earmarked weekends for increasingly longer runs. Like other runners, we pushed through drifting snow, dodged ice and slush, and fought off freezing winds. Fortunately, our spouses, Steve and Pat, understand our enjoyment in running and support our quests for faster race times.

Our longest run was in March, when we ran 28 miles one chilly morning. That week, we logged more than 60 miles on the road.

April 15, we found ourselves in Bean Town among the 38,000 marathon entrants - more than four times the usual number. The race didn’t start until noon, but we were up at 4 a.m. and on a bus by 5:30. Two hours and one misrouted bus ride later, we were at the athletes village, erected on a muddy high school athletic field in Hopkinton, Mass., 26 miles west of the downtown Boston finish line.

Two tents, each about the length of a football field, anchored the ends of the playfield. Between them, an open area with a stage already was filling with throngs of marathoners.

We ducked into the white tent, set up for qualified runners. We found a patch of bare, wet dirt, where we spread our foil blankets. The smells of mud, Ben-Gay, sunscreen and portable toilets wafted through the chilly morning air. The nonstop chatter of running schedules, injuries, harsh winters, expected race outcome, and just plain nervousness filled the tent.

Runners’ Woodstock

By 10 a.m., still more buses of runners had streamed in. We barely had room to move, let alone stretch. The chatter reached a crescendo.

Behind us were a couple from Florida. She was running her first marathon. In front were a couple from the Boston area. Also joining us were runners from Japan, Switzerland and New Zealand, and a German who was running marathons as he traveled around the globe.

Thousands more runners shared the tent with us, and outside were still thousands more. Some milled in front on the stage. Some lined up at rows of portable toilets or at two 20-yard-long (and leaking) outside urinals fashioned from half-sections of plastic pipe. Still others perched on large nearby boulders, soaking up the morning sun.

We all were comrades in sport, lovers of the muffled rhythm of footfall on an open road. Exercise was our high. Running was our passion. Surely this was, as others had summed up, the runners’ Woodstock of the ‘90s.

But the pre-race jammin’ was not to last. By 10:30, groups of runners were being called out for the mile walk to the starting area. And by 5 minutes to noon, it seemed everyone was in place on Hopkinton’s main street.

Amid the whirring of helicopters overhead, the starting gun sounded and the first 18,000 runners took off. Jackie reached the starting line 8 minutes after the official start. Neil was 90 seconds later.

The first mile of the race, men took the liberty of watering many shrubs and trees. Nothing is sacred to a runner with a nervous, full bladder.

Water stations appeared every mile. Crowds lined the streets every step of the course. Runners with their names or those of schools or cities on their shirts received personalized shouts of support. A man carrying a 5-foot church steeple, a clown with balloons, someone dressed as a warrior running the whole race backward, and a blind runner tied to a guide added color to the race.

In several ways, this year’s Boston Marathon was comparable to Spokane’s Bloomsday Run. Many of us felt we were pretty well hemmed in during the first several miles. When we crested a hill, a look ahead revealed a river of humanity flowing through the New England countryside. One dared not look back, for fear of falling and being trampled.

Wellesley women wail

Most importantly, though, the runners shared an invigorating spirit of celebration and a determination to run their best.

An estimated 1.5 million people lined the route and cheered elite runners as well as the rest of us. The women of Wellesley College, at the halfway mark, lived up to their reputation for ear-splitting but heartening screams. It’s a great place to pick up the pace, if only to escape the din.

Neil was particularly impressed that spectators at a church beside the route were dressed in their Sunday best. We later learned two die-hard marathoners stopped there briefly to tie the knot before resuming the race as husband and wife.

Key to everyone’s success were the 10,000 marathon volunteers, many of whom handed out water and Gatorade near each mile marker. We were determined to avoid the problems of dehydration, so we gulped fluid at every opportunity. The thought occurred we surely would turn into a sloshing mass of protoplasm, but that was not to be. A light headwind stole our perspiration as quickly as it surfaced.

The end’s in sight!

God, help us! Four more miles to go! Hey, that’s a little more than half a Bloomsday. You can do it!

How happy we were, a half-hour later, to make the left turn off Hereford Street onto Boylston and see the finish-line arch just 3-1/2 blocks away. The crowd cheered mightily. The runners dipped into whatever strength remained.

Moments later, we crossed the finish and felt an incredible rush of joy - Jackie in 3 hours, 22 minutes; Neil in 3:35.

Exhausted but smiling runners exchanged warm congratulations. Gracious race volunteers offered reflective blankets, food and fluid.

Yes, it was a scene like that at the end of most marathons. But we all knew this one was special. This was Boston’s 100th.

Other Spokane-area finishers

Listed alphabetically: Jerry Altig 4:17, Kevin Andres 3:15, Trey Bailey 3:01, Heather Bartleson 3:41, Lucy Bauer 5:54, Jerry Blackwell 2:59, Daniel Bongofski 3:34, Robert Boyd 3:21, Mark Brady 2:56, David Brown 3:23, Barbara Bumann 5:24, Larry Carroll 3:41, Sharon Carroll 4:37, Tim Carroll 3:32, Patrick Clark 4:23, Jeff Corkill 2:49, Wendy Dingus 4:12, Gary Ewer 3:44, Charles Goligoski 3:39, John Heckard 4:02, Kathleen Hill 4:20, Elizabeth Hively 4:04, Neil Huggins 3:45, Don Kardong 3:20, Dan Keefe 3:52, Douglas Kelley 3:42, Sally King 3:47, Angela Lefler 3:53, Gerri Lewerenz 5:06, Michael Maurer 3:03, Michael McGinnis 3:39, Jason McLellan 3:42, Susan McLellan 3:45, Donald Michelbook 3:53, Peggy Moran 4:04, Steven Nelson 3:29 , Ryan Oberst 2:57, Kathy Olsufka 4:00, Pennie Rundle 4:54, Debbie Schmick 4:20, John Schulte 3:36, Robert Sims 3:00, Lynn Stryker 4:46, Jack Swanson 4:14, Wade Taylor 4:00, Arthur Unrein 3:43, Michael Wakabayaski 3:12, Daniel Walsh 3:46, Edward Williams 4:06, Cheryl Yoke 4:34.

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