April 16, 1984, was the last time I ran the Boston Marathon. It was cold, rainy and a devasting disappointment. That day, was nothing like the sunny, uplifting and considerably slower event I ran Monday in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic.
Without spectators or fellow competitors, official water stops or finisher swag, what would have been the official race day for the 2020 Boston Marathon was my personal moment to say "Take that COVID-19."
In 1984, the legendary race was my last shot at the 2:51:16 qualifying standard for the first Women's Olympic Trials Marathon. I had come oh-so-close to the time at the Phoenix Marathon a few weeks earlier. Boston was my final chance to punch a ticket to the trials. As it turned out, the clock ran out long before I got to the soggy Boston finish.
36 years later, having shifted to other sports, I hadn't given the Boston Marathon much thought until I stumbled into a qualifying time at the Marine Corp Marathon in Washington D.C. Trust me, if you can just live long enough and continue to run, it gets a lot easier to qualify for a bib number to the granddaddy of marathons.
Like a good little running soldier, I spent the winter doing hill repeats, speed work and long runs with a new group of friends I made with the Fleet Feet Louisville Distance Project.
"This will be the last time I run Boston" I told myself and I was determined to put in the work to run it well. Heck, I even skipped a spring vacation with my family to Costa Rica because I didn't want to do a 20-mile training run by myself on a one-mile span of beach.
I know, I know, in hindsight that was dumb.
Dumb because that same week we started hearing reports from Italy and Great Britain about quarantined runners completing full marathons in their tiny backyards or on their balconies.
Remember how crazy that sounded just two months ago?
It happened to be the week the Boston Athletic Association announced it would postpone the traditional spring marathon until the fall. Initially that news ripped the wind from the sails of my resolve. One day I was planning a 20 mile training run, the next I was racing to the east coast to pick up my daughter from college. Within eight hours, all the training came to an abrupt halt.
But we know how runners operate. We don't stay still for long.
I was now working from home while reporting on the COVID-19 outbreak for my job at the Courier Journal newspaper. My lunch breaks no longer included workouts at the gym, they became much needed time outdoors, running through Joe Creason and Cherokee Park.
Sound familiar?
As a reporter, I was writing about healthcare workers on the frontlines and people sewing face masks in their living rooms. Without medical expertise or the patience to sit at a sewing machine, I realized that if I was going to make a stand against the pandemic my best option would be to control what I could. That meant completing my plan to re-do that disappointing 1984 Boston Marathon on my own terms. Monday, April 20 I would show the disease it couldn't put a stop to every good thing.
I made the decision late in the game. It was Friday, April 17 and the only person I told was my daughter who is a collegiate National Champion Triathlete. I knew she'd "get it." And boy did she.
Saturday, she presented me with a race packet complete with a homemade bib number, five safety pins, a tube of BioFreeze and a handwritten certificate for a post-race massage.
She also mapped out a 26.2 mile course.
If I had any doubts, her excitement solidified my plan.
Next I sent a text to my running group. I invited them to join me, one at a time, practicing safe social distancing, for "The Boston Marathon, Louisville Edition."
At 8 a.m. on Boston Marathon Monday, my husband and I stepped over an imaginary starting line at the end of the driveway. There was no "bang" of a starting gun, no familiar "beep beep beep" of tracking chips crossing the starting line. Just a single squeal as I pushed the button on my Garmin, a bird chirped as it flew by and our daughter calling out "Go Mom!"
To my surprise, and extreme delight, from that point on I never ran more than four miles without company. One or two at a time, friends and family appeared and disappeared along the course.
They drove around town in their cars and their bicycles until they found me. They waited with water and food, some made posters for encouragement, others took time off work to run a few miles.
We talked, like runners do, about everything from music, recipes and our kids to the great weather, memories of past races and "which way to turn next." Not once did COIVD-19, quarantine or a lack of toilet paper creep into our conversation.
During those four glorious and sunny hours of my Boston Marathon Monday, we were living in the moment and celebrating our love of running and friendship.
36 years after running that personally disappointing Boston Marathon, I turned onto our familiar, tree-lined street and I felt overwhelming joy.
I hadn't expected that feeling and there was something else.
As I started the final quarter-mile I could hear a faint clanging of tin bells and cheering. Neighbors stood on their porches clapping as I approached my family who was gathered around a giant finish line drawn in chalk across our quiet street.
Like I would in an official marathon, I crossed the finish and felt a great sense of relief and gratitude. Unlike other races, we couldn't hug or offer each other a high five or a fist bump. But you know - it didn't matter.
At least three friends said this had been the "best day since quarantine began."
And you know, they were right. With my family and friends we'd stared down COVID-19 and proved the disease can't spoil every single thing. On this day, running through the streets of Louisville, Ky. perseverance and humanity won.
