… peaceably to assemble

Easter Sunday, before Patriot’s Day, in Boston, MA. People are assembling freely, in peace, all over this crooked cradle of America. Today, in Old South for the Blessing of the Athletes, a scant block from where the first bomb went off. Tomorrow, all along route 135 and then more thickly past Wellesley on Commonwealth, and Beacon. Then finally, the monstrous crowds awaiting at the finish on Boylston, the runners coursing towards the Pru, 4 lanes wide, hours and hours of them.

The Boston Marathon is always iconic. The race was first held in 1897, the year after the modern resurrection of Phidippides’ fatal mission from the plains 24 miles outside of Athens, where the local boys held off a much larger Persian force. “Give me victory or give me death!” reads II Samuel 23:8-12. William Travis offered those options to the defenders of the Alamo. Patrick Henry tried a version (“Liberty or death”) as a battle cry against King George in 1775. Poor Phidippides beat the odds, and got both, collapsing after crying, “Nike!” [“Victory!”]. So deeply ingrained in our runners’ minds is this story, Phillip Knight named his shoe company for it.

Ever since, through evolving routes, wars, changing sponsors, and morphing into a huge congolomerate, the Boston Athletic Association (BAA) has held the event linking the western suburbs to Boston. Among the world’s distance runners, the amateurs at least, Boston is the Masters, or Wimbledon, a pilgrimage to which all aspire. Other races are larger, or faster, or even harder to get into, but Boston reigns supreme for it’s consistency, persistence, and authenticity.

“Everyone should visit Boston at least once,” Cheryl observed.

“Yeah, it’s a world class city, like Paris, or London, or New York,” I replied.

Steeped in history, culture, and the sheen of high-tech, higher education emanating from the likes of Harvard and MIT, Boston carries an aura of superiority in everything it does. Getting around is easy on the T, the professional sports teams have fanatic fans, and always seem to compete at the top of their league. They’ve adopted the motto, “Boston Strong” to capture all this. After the bombs exploded at the marathon finish line last year, and the city went through a three day lockdown, that phrase was adopted to encompass the resilience everyone was feeling – “You can’t stop us”, it seemed to say. This had been a phrase some locals had used for years, uttered whenever things seemed trying. A man in Ohio, several hours after the chaos began, ended his supportive twitter post with #bostonstrong. The next day, the Sox’ third baseman tweeted a photo of the phrase written on the toe of his cleats.

Two budding entrepreneurs at Emerson College put the phrase, in bold yellow caps, on bright blue T-shirts, and they sold like hotcakes. The colors were not accidental; the BAA has used them for years, and the marathon jacket for 2013 was blue with three gold stripes down each sleeve (Adidas is the official garment maker for BAA.) Now the shirts and phrase are everywhere in this town.

As Marathon Day approaches, the racers’ and their posses have captured the city. Jackets and shirts from past Bostons are everywhere, along with the bright orange and blue of this year’s colors. It’s easier to get on the elevators and subway cars, everyone’s so lean and jovial.

One example of the way this particular event has galvanized the region is the scarves. The ladies of the Old South Church, which sits right on the finishing chute on Bolston, decided they would make a few scarves to be given to some 2014 runners. All hand made, the only requirement was they be knitted or crocheted in the BAA blue and gold (yellow). The idea somehow caught fire, and scarves were sent in from all over the world, 8,000 of them. Parish members stood outside Old South, handing them out to the runners leaving the registration site. I’m proudly wearing mine now, as a little muffler to keep me warm against the chill of Boston’s sea breeze.

At dinner our first night in town, we sat with Pat and Joan, friends from Gig Harbor. Both runners, Pat was coming up Hereford last year when he was stopped and turned around. He never got to finish, and they had to “shelter in place” in their hotel that evening as the city began its manhunt. He’s back again for that unfinished business, but he said that’s not really why he’s here.

“Look, this is what I’ve had printed on the back of my shirt,” he said, offering his iPhone. “RUN FOR THOSE WHO CAN’T” is what people coming up behind him will see.

The last time I ran Boston, 2006, I vowed never to do another marathon. But in the weeks after last year’s event, the gravitational pull linking all runners once again sucked me in. “Tribal solidarity”, I said to anyone who asked why I’d gone back on my pledge. I’m really a reluctant runner only pounding the pavement so I can compete in triathlons. But I inherited a lean physique, and a stubborn, persistent will, and found that I could easily match the standards to qualify to race at Boston.

So here I am, an extra in the massive crowd scene which will play out tomorrow for everyone to watch along the way and around the world. My job is simple – JRA. Just run along, keep up with my peers in Wave Three, and absorb all the powerful aura which will come as I enter the city. No time goals, no need to be a hero, just peaceably assemble, and speak freely.