IT'S BOSTON, MAN!

The air will be thick with the sweet smell of Icy Hot and port-a-potties. Runners of all ages display a rainbow of colorful clothing. Some sport the latest, most expensive running gear; while others are clad in a plain, black trash bags. Music blares, folks are strewn across the athletic fields of Hopkinton High School, police attempt to rid the woods of people who seek to avoid the long bathroom lines.

Some things haven't changed since I ran my first Boston in 1978.

Yellow school busses still transport runners on a bouncy, not-so-comfortable journey along the Mass Pike.

Folks converge on Hopkinton, as the sleepy New England town becomes, for several hours, the center of the sports world. The sign still reads, "It all starts here."

Since 1978, however, the Boston Marathon has changed. Everything has changed.

The sheer numbers, the fact that one must register for the race before the narrow window closes, hotel issues, large entry fees, difficult restaurant reservations, makes this old-timer yearn for the good old days of Boston.

But no, this is Boston, man, it IS the Granddaddy. At Boston, they do what they want. Heck, the race is run on a Monday, and, it wasn't that long ago that the race began at noon, because that's the way it's always been.

Last year, on their pristine lawns, families stacked cases of bottled water for dehydrated runners, as temperatures soared into the high 80s.

Crowd noise and crowd support simply does not begin and end during the race. It exists the entire weekend. Walk into a restaurant or bar wearing your finisher medal and you'll see what I mean.

So, you have to qualify for this race?

Hell yeah! It's Boston! You SHOULD have to qualify.

I can't wait for my rides on the MBTA. Can't wait for the lady in the hotel to ask me about paaking my caa. And the frown on my wife's face when I say, "In the Haavaad Yaad!"

Seafood on Saturday in the South End; a pasta dinner in the North End on Sunday night.

The incredible start, the frat houses with music blaring. The towns of Ashland, Framingham, and Natick. The girls of Wellesley, the Newton Hills. Cresting Heartbreak at 20.5 miles, the endless stretch of Commonwealth Avenue. The Citgo sign. Right on Boyleston, left on Coplay Avenue.

I've logged more marathon miles on the Boston marathon course than other. I recorded my PR of 2:22:54 there in 1983. I ran in the world's largest marathon, the 100th anniversary race. I've dropped out of only two of my 54 marathons: both at Boston. I have enjoyed every race in a different way. The people of New England, the course, the heritage, the folklore.

It's Boston, man!