Why I want to Qualify

I have to start at the beginning.  

It started in Poquott, Long Island in 1979 or 1980.  I was an undergraduate at Stony Brook University.  I tried to run.  I laced up whatever kind of sneaker I owned and ran around the block.   I came back sweating and my lungs hurt when I breathed in.  I thought I had emphysema.  My housemate, Jeff Irwin took one look at me and laughed.  That was generally the reaction people had concerning me and running.

Or maybe I should back up even further to eighth grade and camp Na Sho Pa.  There was some kind of relay race.  I ran as fast as I could.   There was a boy from my school who was on the track team.  He had a long blonde mullet and six pack abs.  I thought I ran well.  He though laughed at me for the way I swung my arms as I ran.  Exceptional readers can probably see a pattern forming here.

Fast forward to graduate school in Bangor, Maine.  I laced up whatever pair of sneakers I had and ran around the block, this time about a mile from Stephen King's house.  I came back sweating and my lungs burned.  I thought I had emphysema.  I knew though what I had to do.  I had to take my next week's grocery money and buy the most expensive pair of running shoes that money could buy.  They were purple Sauconys and cost about 45 dollars.  Then I had to eat beans and rice for a week.  Then I had to run for the next 100 days straight.  No matter what.  

So I did.

And I really wanted to run in my first race and get my first racing tee shirt.  So I entered the Andrew Sockalexis Race.  I think it was a 5K.  I don't think I knew what a K was but it sounded good to me.  There were no Garmin watches.  No timing chips.  There were no LED watches.  But at the first mile, somebody called out 5:15 and I thought, that's good.  And at the third mile, I was running 11:30 and I thought I had emphysema.   And in the end there were no Tee Shirts because the race director was a crook who stole the money and never delivered on the tee shirts.   

Of course by the end of the 100 days I was reading Runner's World which was my portal into the world of running.  Remember, there was no internet yet.  But there was Bill Rogers. And I decided I was going to run a Marathon.  And the first one was going to be Grandma's Marathon in Minnesota because Runner's World told me it was a good one.

I had no idea how to train for the marathon.  My basic idea was do what I'm doing, just longer.  So I left Maine never having figured out how to run longer than 8 miles but I knew two things with certainty: 1. I wanted to run the Boston Marathon; 2. I did not have emphysema.

Part 2... From Maine to Pittsburgh 38 More Years of Failure.  

I, like many of the people that aspire to qualify for the Boston Marathon, are miserable successes.  We have succeeded at almost everything we've done and we have literally become sick from it.

I am a serial succeeder.  

Academic... success.  Summa Cum Laude.  Phi Beta Kappa.

- Yawn-

Marital ... Success.  Loving wife of 37 years.

-She is not impressed-

Two wonderful children.

-Eyes Roll-

Adorable grandson.

-Stinky diaper-

And... I still have my good looks...

But Boston has kicked my ass.  Boston has humbled me.  Boston has shown me that, as a Boston Marathon Qualifier, I have Failed.  Not just once but over and over.  Forty-two times to be exact.  And I actually tried every time.  Not just a little.  I really tried.  And failed.

And I Love Boston For it.

There have been times when I have posted my goal and noted that I failed to reach that goal.  Inevitably someone will comment that it is not a failure because I tried.  I am not a failure because I am running "at my age."  I am appreciative of the support and spirit of these posts.  I draw a distinction between being a failure and failing at a goal.  

What I love about Boston and the process of qualification is that it is so hard and so demanding but not impossible.  And I'm not going to get into Boston by being clever, or buying my way in.  No, not even my good looks alone will do it.  Running 9:09 per mile for 26.2 miles will do it.  And that will require discipline, sacrifice, a lot of time and a team.

Along the way you will see notations of SUCCESS and FAIL in this blog.  What you might have to squint to see is the LOVE.  It's hidden between the lines in both of them.