The Final Turns

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“A fool will lose tomorrow reaching back for yesterday

I won't turn my head in sorrow if you should go away

I'll stand here and remember just how good it's been

And I know I'll never run this way again”

With apologies to Dionne Warwick.

"Right on Hereford, Left on Boylston”.

I’m guessing it’s a trademark now.

I know somebody is making a lot of money off it. And if you talk to anyone who ever ran Boston, they know exactly what you’re talking about.

“Right on Hereford, Left on Boylston” - The final 2 turns of the Boston Marathon.

Over 25 miles completed. They may have been the best 25 miles of your life. They may have been your worse. For most, they were likely a mix of both.

For 25 miles, you experienced Boston. The excitement in Hopkinton. Athletes Village. The walk to the corrals. The National Anthem. The fly over. It may have been in the heat or maybe in the cold. Maybe it was raining or windy, or both.

It didn’t matter though – it was Boston. It was history - and you were participating in it.

And then the gun goes off for your wave – and the crowds are like nothing you’ve ever experienced. Mile after mile of screaming supportive fans. Families out on Patriots' Day cheering you on. Handing out orange slices, water, wet wipes. Holding signs to motivate you or make you laugh. Music playing everywhere - a block party every block.

Eventually you start to hear a muffled roar that keeps growing louder and louder. And then you reach the screaming girls of Wellesley! This is what others warned you about. The screaming is deafening! Maybe you stop for a kiss, or two, or three.....maybe you just smile at the girls screaming as you read their crazy signs. Or maybe you work your way to the left side of the road to spare your ear drums.

A few miles later you hit the first real hill as you climb over the highway - and you know then, for the first time, if you are going to have a good run or not. If you’re hurting on that climb you’re in trouble. If you feel good, you get a boost of confidence, knowing you paced yourself well and you’re ready to conquer the remaining hills of Newton.

Then you hit a stretch where you look at your watch and think, “the elites should be finishing – I wonder who won?” So you start asking spectators – the odds are it will be a name you may not recognize but if you hear the answer, “Meb”, as I did in 2014, a chill runs up your back, and a pride overtakes you and your pace quickens just a bit. I’ll never forget 2014, and what Meb meant to Boston and America. I'm hoping this year it's, "Des" that everyone is talking about.

And then the crowd thickens and you make the right on Comm Ave at the Fire Station – the true hills of Newton have begun. If you’ve ever watched the Tour De France on TV, it almost feels like what you see with the cyclists climbing Alpe d’Huez – the crowds are intense, reaching out to you, willing you up the hills. You roll through the first 3 and then you cross Centre Street and then, there it is…… Heartbreak!!

Heartbreak Hill – the most historic hill in the history of all marathons. In 1936, the iconic Johnny Kelley was on his way to his 2nd victory at Boston when Tarzan Brown passed him and "broke his heart". And every year since, it has continued to break the hearts of so many that put so much into their training but for one reason or another couldn't conquer Heartbreak. If you paced yourself properly and you conquer Heartbreak, it’s a great feeling cresting it. If you didn’t get there in good shape and Heartbreak conquers you, there’s really no relief when you crest - as you know it’s going to be a long stretch to the finish.

You then reach the gates of Boston College where the students are intense.

For me personally this is my favorite spot. I think of all my old friends and roommates and meeting that girl who became my wife. For 4 years one of my daughters was there waiting for me with all her friends - while I miss seeing her there now, I think of her, knowing she's out in Colorado tracking me. And I think of my Dad, the ultimate Eagle, BC '51, and I know he's looking down from the Tower telling me to, "suck it up and finish strong!"

And as you head down the hill, you pick up your pace more than you should, you take in the cheers of all the drunken students, you give a few high fives until you realize one of these drunks is going to separate your shoulder! You reach the base of the hill at St. Ignatius and the trains at the end of the Green Line and you think to yourself, “why did I waste all that energy going down that hill again this year – will I ever learn?”. But then you think, “screw it, that was amazing!”

A little roller, a sharp right and you drop into Cleveland Circle and with a left you’re onto Beacon Street - the final long stretch into Boston.

And then you start scanning the crowd for your family as you know they're out there waiting for you. And as much as you want to stop and hug them you're afraid of stopping for fear you won't be able to get going again. Or maybe you're focused on your time and you're questioning if you can afford 30 seconds or are you risking a BQ or PR? Finally you hear them screaming and you run over and give them a hug - and as happy they are to see you they can't hide their disgust as you attempt to give them a bear hug with your sweaty, disgusting body!

And then off you go - boosted by their encouragement but you soon realizing you're alone again, trying to get to that finish.

Eventually you see the infamous Citgo sign.

For some, it’s a sign that the end is near. For others, it is a symbol of pure torture - because while you want to believe the end is near, it just hangs out there teasing you, not getting any closer. You try not to look at it as you keep willing yourself forward. The minutes feel like an hour and it just isn’t getting any closer. Now the physical torture you’ve endured for 24 plus miles is joined by a mental torture – “why isn’t that sign getting any closer?”

But then you eventually cross the highway, take a little dip in an underpass and then make that, "Right on Hereford”.

The final right.

The crowds are intense. Sidewalks are packed like sardines. You fight up a little hill. If it was a hot run, you more than likely will see someone passing out or cramping up and getting medical help – such a sad and scary sight. The poor bastard is so close to their goal and yet, ….so far away. You say a little prayer for them but you also pray for yourself, “please God don’t have me seize up now.”

And then the “Left on Boylston”.

You look up and see the finish line banner – but it is the longest half mile or so of your life – you want to sprint or at least look good finishing, but the bottom line is you just want to finish – but that banner is so far down that road!

I’ve hit that stretch a few times feeling great. But I also remember in the heat of 2012 and thinking, “take it all in because I’m never doing this to myself again!” -I was hurting so bad. I remember another year contemplating running from one side of the road to the other, high-fiving everyone in sight – but then thinking, “who am I kidding - I better just run straight” as I was on the verge of collapsing.

And then there was 2014.

I remember the wave of emotion thinking back on the horror of 2013. I ran by the site of the 2nd blast – I looked at all the spectators standing in defiance where the terror occurred the year prior and I was overwhelmed. And then the site of the first blast. How could all these people be out here, stronger than ever after the horror the year before? I remember thinking this race isn’t about the runners – it’s about the spectators. This is their race. The spectators are what makes Boston.

So, what will this year hold for me along the way and what will I be thinking as I make those final two turns?

As Doris Day sang,

"Que sera, sera

Whatever will be, will be

The future's not ours to see

Que sera, sera"

I'm sure I’ll take that final "Right onto Hereford", and give thanks for making it once again.

And I'll take the "Left onto Boylston" and I’ll say a quick prayer for Krystle Campbell, Lu Lingzi, Martin Richard and Sean Collier and all the others who suffered that day and are still dealing with issues today.

But other than that, I hope I’m not thinking about the past. I have those memories – and while I enjoy writing about them and reliving them, I don’t want to do so at the expense of this year.

So, I'll take Diane Warwick's advice and I won't “reach back for yesterday" or turn my head in sorrow”, even though I know my Boston experience probably is going away.

But I won’t "stand there", as I’ll need to finish, although I probably will “think about how good it’s been”.

And I won’t worry about if I’ll ever, "run this way again” - I'll just run.

I’ll just run that final stretch, take it all in, and count my blessings - and enjoy whatever 2017’s moment will be!

Que sera, sera!