Monday was a gray, raw day where the temperatures didn’t get much above 50. It was a great day to run 26 miles.
It was just how runners like the weather … a little on the cool side, not much sun, and dry.
The problem, of course, is that there were no runners. The Boston Marathon — just like every other aspect of life as we know it — has become a victim of the COVID-19 virus. Provided this pandemic has run its course by Sept. 14 — and I’d say that’s an iffy proposition right now — the runners will line up in Hopkinton and begin the 26-mile trek to Copley Square. And Boston will have the civic holiday/celebration that it’s had come rain, shine, war and terrorism, since it was inaugurated in 1897.
Think about that. The year after the Brothers Tsarnaev planted bombs behind unsuspecting people enjoying a beautiful day and a genuine piece of Boston’s unique character and culture, the patriotic outpouring of runners and spectators was overwhelming. The city survived it and grew stronger and more united.
But there’s no unifying anger and defiance in a pandemic. All we have are empty streets where there should be throngs of people, and a giant hole in the civic heart of the city.
“It’s an emotional day,” said Nahant’s Ellen Goldberg, who was about to run Marathon No. 11 Monday, but instead spent the day working in her attic office. “A very emotional day. I find myself very teary.”
But she was not, she said, sad for herself.
“It’s not about me,” she said. “But this has never not happened. We’re all a part of it, and it’s a big loss for everyone.
“There’s obviously something bigger going on.”
Goldberg has always understood the ethic of the race as well as anyone. It’s not just the runners. It’s the spectators. It’s the glut of people congregating in Kenmore Square after the 11 o’clock Red Sox game (let’s not even get into that), cheering on the back-of-the-packers (the ones who really need the support). It’s the college kids at Wellesley, and at BC, who come out of their dorms to give the runners a little extra push. It’s turning the corner from Hereford Street onto Boylston — that last half-mile — and being practically lifted to the finish line by the sea of cheering supporters.
That’s the emptiness she — and undoubtedly thousands of others — felt Monday. And even if the race does go off in September, there won’t be the same feeling toward it there is on Patriot’s Day.
“It won’t be the same,” said Karen DiLisio of Lynn, who was all set to run Monday after missing last year’s race due to a hamstring injury she suffered one month before.
“They say the comeback is stronger than the setback,” said DiLisio, who did a five-mile run Monday morning and got back home in time to watch a rerun of the 2018 race on TV.
“That’s my favorite one,” she said, “because I had my best time.
“With this crazy virus going on, I hope they still have it (in September). I’m assuming we will. Hopefully we can get a grip on this. But I wish I was running right now.”
She estimated that at the time she was interviewed for this piece, which was around 12:30 p.m., “I’d be just getting into Wellesley College.”
Wellesley, for those who don’t know, is a favorite spot along the race course for runners, because the students are especially enthusiastic and supportive and participants say they always get a big boost.
I go back to 1973 with the marathon. My first year covering it the finish line was still at the Prudential Building and all you got for your trouble was a bowl of beef stew, which didn’t always go down well after doing all that running. Do the math.
I rode the press bus in 1975 when Bill Rodgers set what was then the course record. When I became sports editor of this paper, in 1998, the marathon became one of my favorite things to cover and I did it through 2017 — even four months after I had a triple coronary bypass.
It was certainly the easiest event to cover. There are, what, 20,000 runners? Every one of them has a story and can’t wait to share it.
What’s funny is that a lot of the Boston writers saw covering the marathon as a chore. Not me. I loved marathon day. The only year I missed was 2013, when I blew the deadline for applying for credentials. Somehow, my colleague Rich Tenorio got a pass and went in. And he, not I, was the one who ended up being there when the bombs went off.
But even though I never ran it, I considered it “my” marathon, as do most others who have been involved with it this long. The race the year after the bombing was one of the most joyful experiences I ever had.
All you can do is hope that people resist the urge to go out, now that the weather’s starting to come around, and throw caution to the wind. Can we all please just do what the experts tell us? Maybe, if we do, there will be a race in September. Otherwise, you can probably forget it.
