The Heart of Boston
Every Dream begins at 6:00 a.m in the morning or at least it does in my world.
As I pulled myself out of bed, I checked the weather, fumbled around in the dark for my running shoes, and drank some water. It was still dark outside and I was greeted by the freezing cold as I stepped out the door and started slowly jogging, still half asleep. These were the first steps towards a dream I had considered for a long time...my first steps towards running the Boston Marathon.
Dreams dont happen all at once...
They begin with a vision...a spark of inspiration that leads you to see yourself living in a "preferred future.". In this case, I had run 5 or 6 marathons and was ready for something out of the ordinary...something that I didnt know if I could do. A "Bucket List" dream that would motivate me to throw my whole life into a focused effort. Well, the Boston Marathon qualified, and I must admit, I was a bit timid as I reviewed what it would take for me to actually accomplish this dream.
Boston is not your regular marathon race. You have to qualify to get an invitation and the qualifying time I needed was a challenge to say the least. I would have to train for 6 months and run under 3 hours (7 minutes a mile) before I ever even signed up for the "big race." Then I would have to train another 6 months before I ran Boston, that is if I qualified in the first place. So I began my journey with this first step on a cold winter morning.
From the start, one is always asking this question, "Why?" "Why would a person want to go through this grueling routine to run 26 miles and take ones body to the ultimate limit?" My answer was that I wanted to live physically, mentally, and spiritually at my highest level. I wanted to reach my highest potential. I wanted to live and have no regrets.
Training and discipline is always behind the glory of a dream.
Suffice to say, I ran 3 to 8 miles a day during the week, and then of course, the weekend was dedicated to the long run which starts at 8 miles and goes to 22 miles by the end of the training period. The weekdays are a mixture of slow runs, interval training, and steady pace runs. I finished my training and headed to my qualifying race in Myrtle Beach, S.C.
The evening before the qualifying race, I read that my hero, Bill Rodgers, winner of the Boston Marthon 4 times, was going to be making a special appearance. I was thrilled. How perfect is this.... that I get to meet someone that I had read about, admired and respected for years. In fact, I went and found my "Runners World" magazine with him on the front cover from 1984. I thought it would be inspiring to get him to autograph it. I met him that night and told him of my goal to qualify for Boston. He kindly signed the front cover, "Good Luck on your dream to go to Boston."
The next morning was perfect and I ran 2:58 to qualify. I was so excited...and I began my plan to go to Boston.
After training for another 6 months, I stepped off the plane in Boston. As I walked through the aiport, there were displays of Boston Marthon history and artifacts. There... behind a glass window case was a pair of Bill Rodger's running shoes from one of his Boston wins. I was inspired and felt my heart rate speed up with every experience. I was living my dream.
The magic and pageantry of this century old race is full of traditions. Over 20,000 runners enjoy the city, tell stories, and share the tension of the upcoming battle. In the midst of this magic, I saw where Bill Rodgers was signing books at the conference center, so I made my way to the end of the two hour line and waited my turn. When I handed him a picture to autograph, I told him the brief story of his good luck wishes in S.C. and that I made it to Boston!! He signed the picture, "You made it to Boston with will power...Congratulations. (This picture still hangs on my wall today. It has my running shirt, shoestrings from the race....all framed as a gift from my friends. It is a treasured gift in my life.)
I finished the Boston Marathon and it was a satisfying moment in my life. But I wrote all this about the training, meeting my hero, and the race to tell you why I really went to Boston. The real story starts here.
After the race, thousands of runners cross the finish line. It is an organizational nightmare. Before the race, it was misting snow and rain, I kept on my warm up clothes until the last minute, after realizing it was not going to stop raining, I was perplexed about how to get my clothes and car keys to the pick up station without getting wet. Rule number 1: Do not start a marathon in wet clothes in freezing weather. You will never warm up during the race and you may risk your health in the process. A lady in the organizing tent asked if I would like her to drop my bag at the proper place so I wouldnt get wet. I was very appreciative and thanked her.
After 26 miles in the cold, rainy weather, I was tired and happy; but eager to go the hotel. I stood in line at one of the hundreds of yellow school buses that lined the streets of Boston with large letters identifying the last names of the runners. I saw N and waited my turn to retrieve my clothes and car keys. I told the lady my name and when she came back to the window, she said, " I can not find your bag. But I will look again." She returned again and said, "It is not in here." I was stunned. Let me put this in perspective. I am alone in Boston. I ran 26 miles and I cant find my car keys and clothes.
I decided at this juncture to go back to the starting line which is 26 miles away in Hopkinton. Maybe, I thought, the lady who took my bag left it in the tent and all I have do is pick it up, get in my car, and go back to the hotel. It seemed like the only possible solution at the moment. So I found a bus and sat down in the front seat. The lady driving the bus had a book that I had read laying beside her. It was obvious that she was a person of faith so I asked, "Did you enjoy the book?" She lit up and said. "Yes, it is one of the best I have ever read." We discussed the meaning of the book over the loud engine of the bus and became quick friends on the hour ride back to the starting line. I told her my story and she was sympathetic to my situation. When we arrived at the place where the tents were set up earlier....they were gone. Nothing. I was lost and all alone in Boston. The bus driver said, "I cant just leave you here...Ill take you back to Boston and maybe you can find your keys at the lost and found." I agreed and she called her boss to ask if she could redirect her route. We talked more on our return to the finish line and when she pulled up she said, "I will wait here for you for an hour but then I will have to leave. Please hurry and good luck."
I ran 3 or 4 more miles around the city. At this point I had run close to 30 miles and was still wet and cold. I asked everyone I could find about my bag: race directors, lost and found, etc...There was no sign of my clothes or keys. I went back to the bus driver and said, " I cant find them anywhere. You are my last hope. Can you help me?" She said, "I have to turn in my bus....but I will give you a ride in my car wherever you need to go." We turned in her bus and got in her car. I asked her to carry me back to the airport and I would see if the car rental place would give me a key to the car. As she dropped me off, she wished me God's blessings. What an angel she was just to get me to this point.
I went in the rental car office and told them my story. The person in charge said that there were no extra keys and that because the keys were computer programmed, it would be a couple of days before they could get one. It looked like my last hope was a dead end road. I asked, "Is there any other way to get me home?" "One last shot," she said, "I can call a tow truck and get him to pull a new car back to Hopkinton and bring your old car back here." I guess she saw the hopeless look on my face and wanted to help this poor human being from South Carolina who was wet, cold, and tired. I plopped down in the waiting area and watched for the tow truck.
When I saw it coming out the window, I was ecstatic...my hope was renewed again. But when the door flung open on the truck, a big, burly man came walking towards the door. As he entered the office, I thought, Im not getting in that truck with him! He looked like he had come straight off the street and maybe even from jail. He grumbled something to the office manager and she pointed to me. He motioned for me to follow him and we headed outside to the truck. I had no other options at this point, so I reluctantly got in the tow truck after pushing old coffee cups, newspapers, and a half of an uneaten doughnut out of my seat.
He slammed his truck door and I had still not heard him say a word. He grumbled as he put his keys in the ignition and off we went for another 45 minute ride back to where I had stated early that morning. By now, my legs were cramping up and I was still wet and cold from the race. Now I was getting in a truck with a big, burly Bostonian that I had never even seen before. Honestly, I was scared.
Being gregarious as I am, I said a few comments....but then realized he was only staring straight ahead and was not the least bit interested in talking to me. The silence was deafening but I surrendered to it and sat as close to the door side window as I could. Finally, I couldnt stand the silence anymore. "Do you have any kids?" I asked. He turned to me like I had struck a familiar chord and said, "Yes, I have two." We talked for awhile about them and I could tell they were his whole life. We had found common ground and I believe I started to see that this big, grumbling man had a heart. Then we moved to all the challenges he had faced with his kids and he opened up even more. The conversation had become a natural exchange and if I did'nt know any better, I would have thought he was starting to like me a little bit.
Thats when he said, "You want to see my picture of Richard Jr.?" I searched my mind but I could not remember him talking about Richard Jr. I said, "You have three children instead of two?" "Yes" he replied and I asked him, "Why did'nt you mention him before?" "Its hard for me to talk about him. You know he was named after me....he was my namesake. My name is Richard." I responded with pride to mimick his feelings and then asked, "Do you want to tell me about Richard Jr.?" He turned his head towards me for a moment and I could see his eyes change and his heart soften. He told me the story of Richard Jr. and how he was diagnosed with Multiple Schlerosis when he was young. He talked about how he quit his job to take care of his son. That he figured life and work were not as important as his son and that he had given 14 years of his life to be with him instead of placing him in a home. "Thats not right" he said, "parents should do that themselves. Thats what I did. I stayed home and took care of him and my wife made the living." From a deep place in his heart I heard him say, "Those were the best days of my life. Do you want to see a picture of him?" "Yes" I said enthusiastically and he reached into his brown tethered wallet to find a well worn picture with tattered edges. He handed me the picture and there was Richard Jr. in a wheel chair with his golden retriever by his side. "What a handsome guy with a big smile", I said softly. "Yep, and a big heart, just like his old man." He immediately was lost in a memory. I could tell because it was almost like he was reliving it. "Richard Jr. loved wrestling." "He did?" I followed along. "Yes, one time we heard that all the wrestlers were going to be at the Mall. So I took Richard Jr. and guess who got all their autographs and was the life of the party"? "Richard Jr." I said with a smile. "My son loved that day. It was one of the best we ever shared together."
I could feel a bit of a glow in the truck. After 45 minutes, Two strangers had become best friends and it was all because of Richard Jr. It was dark now and still raining when we pulled up in the empty parking lot where my car sat all alone. We got out and he took my car off the truck and began to attached the other car to pull back. As he finished, he looked my way and then walked over towards me in the pouring down rain.
There was a silence and I felt a lump in my throat, the way you feel when you are getting ready to leave summer camp after a wonderful experience. I struggled to find the words but then I said, "Richard, I may never see you again but I want you to know something. I thought I came to Boston to run the marathon but I didnt. I came here to meet you. You told me one of the greatest stories of love I have ever heard. You gave your life for your son. You sacrificed many years to take care of his needs and to do waht is right. You are my hero and I will never forget this moment." As we stood there in the rain, I saw something released in his face, almost as if no one had ever told him what kind of man he truly is. I watched that big, burly man begin to cry and then extend his arms. There we were.... standing in the rain hugging each other in the parking lot. For a moment, I felt as if I had known him all my life. He stepped back and said "thank you." I will never forget the way he said it....
I went to my car, opened the door, and as I looked out my car window he was still standing in the pouring rain. As I drove off, I could see him waving goodbye in the same spot through my rearview mirror. He was standing there until I could see him no longer. It was almost as if he wished I would come back and stay a little longer. I went to Boston to run the marathon but I left Boston with an experience that was much greater than dreams, finish lines, and gold medals. I left with a renewed understanding of real sacrifice and love. Every time I look at my Boston Marathon medal hanging in my closet....I remember.....the Heart of Boston.
