A thank you letter to the Boston Marathon

Today’s post comes from guest author, Kim Cowart, a columnist for Desert News in Salt Lake City. Find Kim’s column every Wednesday at Reasons to Run.

Dear Boston Marathon,
I was taught at a very young age that I should always send a thank you note to anyone who has given me a gift. So, in keeping with this lesson in etiquette, I just want to thank you for the wonderful weekend you provided for me and my family and friends.

First, I want to thank you for playing hard-to-get. They say that the chase is the most exciting part of the hunt, and you sure proved them right. I’ve made it a personal goal to chase you at every marathon I’ve run. You certainly don’t make it easy. In fact, in recent weeks you’ve become even more elusive, but I like that. You seem to know that we runners like a good challenge. Tell me I can’t, and you can bet that I will. Your constant nagging in the back of my brain has given my weekends structure. Who am I kidding? It’s given my entire year structure. I have calendars with long runs, tempo runs, hill repeats, and speed work all laid out in a carefully formulated plan just so I can earn an invitation to your party.

Sure, I had to give a few things up. Waking up at 7 am is now what I consider to be sleeping in. My high heels sit in the back of my closet gathering dust thanks to the sweet bunion I’ve acquired over the year. I’m not much of a party animal anymore since I start nodding off somewhere around 8 pm. But it’s all good. Seeing your blue and yellow party confirmation in the mail makes it all worth it. And the fact that I had to earn a spot at your table makes me appreciate the invitation even more.

Secondly, I have to thank you for the incredible party planning. Seriously, Martha Stewart could take some notes on organization from you. How you organized over 26,000 runners into an orderly corral system as we headed down the narrow streets of Hopkinton is nothing short of amazing. You had to sift through all of our qualifying times, double-check the list to make sure they were accurate, and then divide us up into waves and corrals so we wouldn’t have to jack-rabbit around each other at the start. Nice job.

And the party favors and refreshments? Okay, so I had to pay for those, but I must say, they were quite nice. The food was top notch and I love the little lunch bags you gave out with the goods. Not only did it keep us moving through the finishing chute, but it’s just one more souvenir to take home. The drop bags, the refreshments at the Athlete’s Village, the schwag bags we got when we picked up our bib numbers, they all rivaled any red-carpet schwag.

Thirdly, you invite some of the most incredible cheerleaders. And do they have stamina! They don’t just come out on race day. No! They are out there all weekend long. At restaurants, shops, on sidewalk there are signs of welcoming and congratulations to all the runners. I’ve never felt so wanted at a race before.

And race day itself? Wow! There’s not a mile along that marathon course where I didn’t hear my name or didn’t see someone clapping, smiling or ringing a cowbell for me. I admit, I put my name in big letters on my chest, but those Bostonians didn’t disappoint. For 26.2 miles I heard my name called out so many times, I was convinced that everyone I knew had flown out from Utah to see me race. In fact, none of these people knew me, but it didn’t matter. The girls of Wellesly have quite a reputation. While I didn’t head over to get a kiss, many guys I ran with did. Those girls didn’t even flinch when random, gross, stinky, sweaty, and even hairy men came over for the obligatory show of affection. I could hear those girls screaming a mile away. Literally.

I have to admit, though, that my heart belongs to the boys of Boston College. For two years in a row, as I ascended Heartbreak Hill, I heard those boys chant my name, first slowly, then faster as I got closer to the top. Once I had reached the peak, they exploded in cheers and claps. Now, I ask you, how often is a 35-year-old married mother of two going to hear a group of college boys chanting her name? It’s pretty special. It almost made me want to run back and do it again. Almost.

I guess what I need to thank you most for, though, is just the opportunity to run with some of our sport’s greatest athletes. I’ll never make it to the Olympics, but I still ran with Kara Goucher, Ryan Hall, Joan Benoit Samuelson and too many others to mention. I met Katherine Switzer at the Expo. I chatted with Bill Rodgers at his own running store and to make it even sweeter, he was there with Amby Burfoot and Bobbi Gibb. I have more pictures and autographs than my wall can hold. Thank you for allowing me to follow in the footsteps of these amazing athletes. As I ran by some of your more famous landmarks- the Doughboy statue at the start, the firehouse that takes you to the Newton Hills, the Johnny Kelley statue at mile 19, the Citgo sign at mile 25—I was overwhelmed to the point of tears by the history of this party and the fact that I, an okay running mom of two from Utah, was invited to take part. Really, there aren’t enough words of gratitude that will do justice to how I feel.

So all I can say is, thank you.

Sincerely,
Kim Cowart, wife, mother, and two-time Boston Finisher.