I ran a little race in Boston today, and I won.
Ok, maybe we need a definition. The winner is the guy who crosses the finish line first. No, that guy was 2 hours in front of me. To win is to triumph over adversity. That’s the one.
I assume most people reading this will know, but I have Young Onset Parkinson’s Disease. It causes me to have muscle soreness, pain, muscle spasms, and sometimes my muscles just plain don’t work. Just getting to Boston is a big deal. Because I never know how I will do at a race I did not set a goal. I just figured I would show up, start running, and do what my body told me.
Getting started was a little confused. I was in the second wave. They didn’t let us walk the mile from the holding pen to the start line until the first wave was gone. You had to drop off your gear bag on the way. By the time you found the appropriate truck, dropped off your bag and got to the start line the second wave start already happened. No big deal though, it takes a while for 15,000 people to get moving.
I started slow. I was running exceptionally well and allowed myself to speed up. I soon passed my wife who started several corrals in front of me. We ran together for a short period and talked then I took off and continued to run my own race. At the half I started to do the math and thought I might run somewhere between a 3:30 and a 3:40, a really good race for me.
I ran past a woman with a singlet on from a cancer research center that said that cancer research center saves lives. She had put tape under that and written on the tape “it saved mine”. I ran up beside her and put my fist out. She gave me some DAP and I moved on without saying a word. I ran up to a young lady missing a leg and running with a prosthesis. We did the same. I ran though Wellesley and stopped in the scream tunnel to kiss a Wellesley girl. I picked one with bright gaudy lipstick on so I could brag to my wife at the end of the race.
Somewhere soon after someone flipped the switch. No matter how hard I tried I kept slowing down. I ran on. I got to the hills. They were longer and steeper than everyone told me. I started having muscle spasms in my calves. This slowed me down more. I ran on.
I had a gel whose brand name will remain anonymous. I hated it. It tasted like Nyquil and my throat burned for a good half hour. It made my gut boil for the next 2 hours. This Chinese chemical leftover package of death slowed me down more. I ran on.
I eventually made it to the finish. 4 hours. Not a great time, not a PR, but I got Parkinson’s. What’s your excuse? I grabbed 2 waters and a tiny woman in a medics coat grabs me by the shoulders and says “you’re not doing well”. I have a tendency to lose control of my blood pressure and pass out after a hard run. I stood there and wobbled and said “I’m fine.” She grabbed me by the chin and made me look her in the eye and said “are you sure”. I looked her in the eye, wobbled, and said “no”. The medics pulled me aside until I could stand upright without being dizzy and let me go.
So how did my race go? Remember my definition for winning?
I ran a little race in Boston today and I won.
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