I really had no intention of ever doing this.
I had never been to see the Marathon, never been to Fenway on Patriots' Day. Certainly never ran more than a mile or two in my life.
And then 2013 happened. One of the most celebrated days of the year was attacked. Lives were lost. Life-long injuries were sustained. That same week, there were shootouts in my hometown. Police from all over Watertown and surrounding towns. Boston PD, state police, FBI agents. I drove home to see my parents not long after, and drove the five minutes to where the shootout happened. I could still see the dried blood on the street. I still think about those days every time I drive past Franklin Street and where everything came to an end on a boat in someone's driveway. National anthems were sung, strangers came together, Boston became Strong.
I still had no intention of ever doing this.
My dad and I would start going to Red Sox games on Patriots' Day, and we'd walk to the Beacon Street bridge after, right around mile 25. We'd cheer people on and catch a train back to Watertown after half an hour or so. And in those 30 minutes, year after year, I'd feel so overwhelmingly proud of where I came from and where I've called home my entire life. Some day, I thought, just once, it would be cool to be on the other side of the fence.
And many years later, still with no intention of ever doing this, I started running, initially as a means to self-reflect and give myself an opportunity to think through difficult life decisions. Nothing serious - a few miles here and there. Then this pandemic showed up, and running became a means of (safely) getting fresh air and exercise in an otherwise stagnant time in our lives. Still nothing serious - a few miles here, a few more miles there. But what happened, very slowly, and over a long period of time, was that I kept getting inspired. Inspired by friends who had run Boston and told me all about it. Inspired by cheering runners on year after year. Inspired by people on the T proudly displaying their medals. And what happened, very slowly, and over a long period of time, was that I kept running. Seven miles here, then eight there, nine there, 10 once or twice, and finally 13.1 a few times. I even got a medal for running 13.1 miles one morning.
So now I have no excuse.
I've been talking myself into this for too long. I've been talking about this to my friends and family for too long. Too many times I missed out on running in July for the Run to Home Base program. Too many times I've cheered people on in a white jersey that says Boston instead of Red Sox. Too many times I've daydreamed about running down Beacon Street and seeing the Citgo sign.
To be able to even have the opportunity to run on Patriots' Day...I'm beyond grateful for this. Beyond grateful to raise money for the Run to Home Base program via MGH, and to help the lives of so many. I'm so excited for what's to come, and whatever support you can provide - a donation, a text, a fun sign on the course - means the world to me and is part of what makes doing this so damn special.
I'll see you on the other side of the fence.
