The Other Side of the Barricade
A Boston Marathon weekend
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The joke finally landed: cheering is harder than running a marathon.
After this past weekend in Boston, my voice is hoarse and my body feels depleted. I think it may take a few days for my dopamine receptors to bounce back.
It’s all a testament to the electric energy that pulsed through the streets.
Our trip to Massachusetts began Friday night with my husband Sam, my sister Mariah, and me in one car.
We stayed in my childhood home in Shrewsbury while our friends John and Cristian set up camp in a nearby Airbnb.
The Boston Marathon always draws a vibrant constellation of runners and supporters.
Usually, I’d be lacing up on Monday. But I had lost my qualifier.
This year, John carried the runner’s torch alone.
After staying up way too late yapping the night before,
I crankily shut off the alarm at 5:30am Saturday morning.
Mariah and I jumped in the car for the 40 minute commute to Boston. Both of us wondered why we even bothered signing up for the Boston 5k that morning.
Oh right…that’s because my friend Andrew “bullied” me into doing it.
Classic. That’s usually how I end up in races.
Thankfully Boston put on the ritz for us, bursting with springtime charm. Sunlight dripped through the blossoming cherry trees.
Being from the area, I often take this beauty for granted. It’s hard to be mad when your warm up jog is around the perfectly manicured Common on a sunny Spring day.
Having just ran the Jersey City Half Marathon, I didn’t have any time goals and instead decided to pace Andrew.
Within the first mile, he wrestled with the all-too familiar demons of a 5k.
“Brian, I literally cannot breathe.”
“That’s ok, you don’t need to!”
We raced to the finish line, the same one marathoners would be crossing in two days.
He finished with a minute-plus personal best. Hell yea!
For Mariah, this race marked her return after months sidelined by a hip stress fracture.
As her coach, I insisted she covered her watch and run blindly. Her sole metric of success was how much fun she had.
She came through the finisher’s shoot with a radiant smile. Another resounding win!
The 5k was more than a race;
It was the overture to marathon weekend. The city thrummed with an anticipatory energy. A palpable hum amplified the shared longing for Monday.
But we had one more day to wait. Sunday dawned, doubly special as it was my birthday (and Easter!).
Our small team of runners went out for a gentle shakeout while my mom prepared brunch. We dispersed for a few hours of rest before gathering at my grandparents’ house for Easter.
Even without my own bib, the impending marathon occupied my thoughts.
Monday’s 5:30 am wake-up call had a different purpose:
Driving John to the starting line.
Usually, this pre-race ritual casts me as the nervous athlete on the cusp of a monumental challenge. This time, I was the coach, making sure John was fueled enough and reviewing his strategy with him.
Hours later, we stood at mile 10 in Natick, watching the lead pack of Wave 1 glide past. Their early pace seemed effortless, a deceptive calm before the storm. We yelled encouragement while they remained locked in.
That’s how it’s done.
We migrated deeper into the course to Cleveland Circle.
This stretch holds a special place in my heart. With heartbreak behind you and a nice, long downhill ushering you into the final 6k, this is where a good race becomes great.
A trio of elite women appeared – Lokedi, Obiri, and Yehualaw, the future podium – and ran in tight formation. The battle for first was well underway.
Then came the steady stream of more elite women. We recognized the familiar faces of American distance running stars – Bates, McClain, Linden, Hall.
Their strides were powerful, but their faces revealed the truth. Tense jaws. Furrowed brows.
You could feel their discomfort, the mental fortitude pushing them to dig deeper.
The first wave of everyday athletes began to flow through.
Some appeared strong and confident, their momentum carrying them with surprising ease.
But as the minutes ticked by, the sun climbed higher and its warmth intensified. The initial cool of 52 degrees grew to 60. The direct exposure amplified the heat’s impact.
The first signs of struggle emerged. A runner, his gait uneven, limped towards a police officer, seeking assistance. Another stopped, removed his shoes, and continued his journey in socks. The image of sheer will.
Some runners maintained their pace, buoyed by the elevation drop after Newton’s grueling hills. Others began to falter.
Our cheers grew louder, an attempt to infuse energy into weary limbs.
The woman to our right, her voice thick with emotion, asked us to cheer for her son-in-law, a traveler from California.
The woman to our left requested our support for her daughter, embarking on her first marathon.
Each runner carried a story. In those moments, their triumphs and tribulations became our own.
After five hours of relentless cheering, we ventured out to meet John.
He had passed us looking strong, but he still had four miles to go. Anything could have happened.
After training tirelessly for months with the goal of a sub-2:50, he finished in 2:48. Incredible.
In years past, I’ve been on the other side of the barricade, writing my own story.
But witnessing this raw display of human endeavor, the potent blend of athleticism and heartbreak, offered a powerful shift in perspective.
For the first time in a long while, I was reminded – viscerally, deeply – that a marathon transcends a mere race.
On that 26.2-mile stretch of road, runners were chasing dreams.
Some eventually realized. Others shattered.
On the sidelines, strangers became teammates, united by the extraordinary spectacle unfolding before them
The Boston Marathon is not just a race; it’s a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit.
Mariah and I drove home feeling awestruck.
Like so many others watching the race, I couldn’t resist thinking to myself:
“Next year, that’s going to be me.”
Coach’s Training Journal
This weekend is going to be a fun one! I head out tomorrow for Monterey, California.
It’s finally time for the Big Sur Marathon!
Known as one of the most scenic races in the world, my only goal for this race is to enjoy it. Plus, it has about 2,000 feet of elevation gain, making it impossible to run fast.
After my A race of the Jersey City Half Marathon, I still had both this marathon and last weekend’s 5k on the agenda. After this race, I can actually take off from running.
Although something tells me I’m going to be more amped than ever to get back on the roads.
In NYC? Join us for the next GAY BAR FUN RUN!