You may have detected a tone of sarcasm in my Post- Marathon Recovery Guide for Dummies,but after yesterday’s run, I stand by my original recommendations.  The ONLY way to qualify for Boston is to run on crippled knees and hips, whilst wearing battered treadless shoes.  You should do this four weeks after a debilitating, demoralizing marathon, and for god’s sake, you should follow NO training schedule. Rather, just make up your own half assed one. (Although, not so half assed that it involves running naked whilst wearing a pumpkin on your head - cause that’s just plain odd.) You should definitely go in there with a bad attitude, as well, frequently mumbling “Well, THIS was a bad idea” and conspicuously massaging your battered bits even as the bus brings you to the start line.  To really be sure you’ll BQ, you should also have seriously compromised toe nails - at least nine of them.  I’m telling you, this works, people!  I should know, because yesterday, on my EIGHTH attempt and after four and a half years of running, I have finally BQ’d. (And this time BQ actually means “Boston qualified” rather than “bonked quickly”, “behaved queerly” or “big quitter”.)

Last year M. and I ran this marathon and were less than impressed.  There was no chip, and no goody bag. The route was flat and scenic but it mostly ran along a bike path on the VERY foul smelling river.  We passed more than one sewage treatment plant.  One would imagine that one would eventually become accustomed to the vile smells emanating from the rivers, but somehow that was not the case. It’s as if the sewage from each township had its own unique stank, and so one’s nose was continually assaulted from Colonie to Cohoes to Watervliet and beyond. And I don’t know what those people had been eating, but they should really just stop already.  Despite the stank, I managed my marathon PR of 3:5X:XX on this course last year – and vowed to never return. Famous last words. 

This year, the only stank I detected was my own.  And while it was significant, one’s own stank is almost always preferrable to the mingled, treated turds of strangers.  That’s what I always say. Although there was still no goodie bag this year, there was a chip. There was also a greater spectator presence than last year, and best of all – a moose family awaiting me at the finish line!!!  I decided to give it my best effort and when the gun went off I was feeling almost optimistic. I met several nice runners along the way and did lots of talking.  At Mile 16 when a water stop volunteer yelled out “Looking good!” , I responded “FEELING good!” and then was shocked and amazed to realize that I actually did feel decent. I was wearing a 3:50 pace bracelet as 3:50 will qualify me for Boston 2010  (I’d given up on ever producing a 3:45, which will qualify me for Boston 2009) and was seven whole minutes ahead of schedule.  At Mile 20 we passed a race clock and when I was still seven minutes ahead and feeling fine I nearly lost it.  “This is going to happen.  I’m BQ-ing today!” I thought to myself and then instantly started tearing up and hyperventilating.  Cool under pressure, I am not.  I somehow regained composure, and continued on, realizing that a LOT can go wrong in the last six miles.  Many maintain that the marathon doesn’t even really beginuntil Mile 20.  I repeated my sweet new Mr.Moose mantra: “I have EARNED this.  I will HAVE this”  about a zillion times, eager to make it to Mile 23 where the BoyMoose would meet me.  I had dressed him in a fluorescent shirt that is eye searingly bright, thinking that I’d be able to see him from far away.  This proved to be a poor idea, as many spectators had signs of the exact same color.  Everytime I’d think I’d seen my boy, it turned out to be a crudely lettered sign with some drivel saying “Run, Daddy, Run!”  I spat on each sign as I went on by, shaking my sweaty fists at the toddlers who had fooled me. 

It wasn’t until Mile 25 that I finally met up with BoyMoose. (I’d disinherit him, but the Wall Street debacle has already effectively done so.) At that point, my BQ was fairly locked up and I allowed myself to walk for a bit on two separate occasions.  We met the GirlMoose near Mile 26, and I headed to the finish line sandwiched between my moose calves.  I yelled to random cheering strangers, “I’m BQ-ing!  Right this second!” I know you’re a bunch of psychotic cyberstalkers, so I’ll not tell you my exact finish time.  All you need to know is that I finished in under 3:45, qualifying me for Boston this April. To celebrate we ate at Boston Market.  I’ve never eaten there before, because like literate citizens, decent weather and a sense of decorum, we do not have these in Frostburgg.  (It was ridiculously tasty, especially the mashed potatoes.  I maintain that their secret ingredient is crack.) 

I don’t know who that bib-less blue bastard is, but I think I beat him. He’s pretending that the sun is in his eyes, and that’s why he got chicked…whatever.  Notice, please that BOTH of my hooves are decidedly OFF of the pavement!!  And that my elbows appear to have separated from my frame.  THIS is the gait of a Boston qualifier!!