It was, indeed a leap of faith, as, several hours later, I logged a whopping 4 miles, at a snail's pace.
Three days prior, I visited my orthopedic surgeon. His words offered me cautious optimism. The two hamstring tendons, torn from their moorings as I nosedived to the concrete on the afternoon of May 7, had scarred in nicely, and although I would suffer a permanent strength deficit in my left leg, in the twilight of my 50s, I refused to lament, secure in the fact that my personal best times are well behind me.
Dr. Phillps, who studied under the world-renowned sports surgeon, Dr. James Andrews, was the catalyst, the reason why, despite long odds, in my opinion, that I asked my wife to sign me up for my 17th Boston Marathon. I asked him, "Am I delusional, or do I have a shot at running Boston in April?" He replied, "You'll be cutting it close."
Come on, we're all runners here. That statement, to my ears, was a ringing endorsement.
And why not.
I ran my first Boston Marathon in 1978. I ran the scorching 1982 "Duel in the sun," between Alberto Salazar and Dick Beardsley. In 1983, with future Olympic Marathon champion Joan Benoit only 11 seconds ahead of me, I clocked my personal best marathon time of 2:22:54. I was part of the world's largest marathon, the 100th anniversary of the Boston Marathon in 1996. In 2012 I wilted in the 90-degree heat, and in 2013 my elation for a race well-run was tarnished by the embodiment of evil.
Last week I received texts, Facebook posts, and tweets from friends all over the country to announce that they would be part of the 36,000 running celebration of solidarity that will be the 2014 Boston Marathon.
No crowd is more supportive, no spectators are more knowledgeable than the folks that turn out along the route from Hopkinton to Boylston Street. In 2012, as the burning sun punished the runners, people piled cases of bottled water on their lawns in order to help runners they do not know, and may never see again. Police, waitresses, hotel desk clerks and folks on the street treat each runner like an Olympic champion. Walk around the city with a finisher's medal adorning your neck, and you become an honorary Bostonian.
My wife and my daughter have staked out their slice of valuable real estate along Boylston Street. They have waited and cheered, along with thousands of other wives, husbands, sons and daughters, boyfriends and girlfriends. They have been an integral part of the elation, the hyperventilating, goose-bump raising feeling their significant-other feels as they conquer that final, precious 600 yards.
Over 200 of those spectators' lives will never be the same after the events of April 15, 2013.
Congratulations to all the runners who have been accepted into the 2014 Boston Marathon. Train hard. Run your best race. Drink in the course, and the people who bring the course to life. No matter how bad you feel over the next few months; whether you must endure a winter storm or winter winds, do it. Endure the pain. Overcome the injury. Think about what you have to prove. Think about the tradition. Think about tragedy. Do it for you. Do it for them.
I know I will.
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