Can't believe it was nine years ago.
On April 15, 2013, I was receiving my medal after crossing the finish line at the Boston Marathon. My feet sore, my mind numb, I was beyond proud. I've run 11 marathons, and seven Boston Marathons, but my time that day - 3 hours 58 minutes, 58 seconds - will remain a personal best no matter how many more 26.2 mile races I run.
Then everything changed. There was an explosion. Then another. Two maggots, two cowardly brothers, tried to ruin one of the greatest races in the world. They failed. The race is still going strong and the 125th edition of the event is being held today.
Good luck to all the runners, whether it's your first Boston Marathon or your 45th.
What a special event. I've started seven of them and finished six of them. (The heat got me at mile 16.5 one year and I ended up, severely dehydrated, in the hospital later that day.) There are so many things that make the Boston Marathon memorable.
The pre-race anticipation of some 30,000 runners in tiny Hopkinton. The girls of Wellesley College at the near halfway point. Taking a right at the fire station and knowing Heartbreak Hill is waiting.
Thousands of screaming Boston College students after Heartbreak Hill has been vanquished. The Citgo sign in Kenmore Square which never seems to get any closer no matter how fast you run.
And, of course, the finish line on Boylston Street as spectators roar and make you feel like you're one of the top runners in the world, not some middle-aged guy about to finish 22,000th. The sun is shining. The temperatures are cool.
It's a perfect day to run. The pain is temporary. The memories are forever. I've also run marathons in Orlando, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Chicago. But Boston is different. It's special. Boston Strong.
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