My First Boston - by David "Kermit" Smith 4/21/2003

How can anyone describe his first Boston? For me it is the culmination of a goal I set twenty-three years ago; to run Boston by the time I was forty. Up until that point the only road race I had ever run was the old Rochester 15K. And the only reason I ran that was because my new girlfriend was running. Anything to impress a girl. Ironically it was one of our club founder's children, Bob Brown's daughter Marcia.

Fast forward through college, marriage, careers, children, divorce and I had all but forgotten my goal. Well, after yet another career change and another ended relationship, I started running again at age 35, qualified at age 39 and one month later turned forty to sneak in under the wire. Anyone that has ever waited for me to arrive can tell you that is right about on time.

I will never set the course on fire, and unless no one else shows up, it is unlikely I will ever win a race. However, like most people that call themselves runners, it has nothing to do with the race. It has everything to do with a high school coach who forced me into distance running because he saw something you never could. (Thank-you Louis Mroz) It has to do with all the friendships created through running. It has to do with feeling physically fit and the direction that may take you in life. It has to do with seeing how far you can push yourself and how you can go to another level. It has to do with setting and resetting goals.

Yet, like life goals are not accomplished alone. A disease called Leukemia called me to run. A coach who made me feel so welcome that I still occasionally go down to the farm and run five years later. A friend in my church (thanks Don) involved me in a running club where I have met so many wonderful people. The right training book and more importantly the right training partner which eventually morphed in to a trio, a foursome and sometimes moresome where we have apparently solved all the world problems.

A 24-hour relay that bonds people in ways only those that compete in these wonderful events can understand. A race announcer and writer who solidified our group by naming us The Three Amigos and entertaining us on a wild trip to Martha's Vineyard. The wife of a runner who made four simple identical purple and white fleece hats which always yields the same question, "What's with the hats?" By the way, we wear them because we are proud of our club and they are really, really warm hats. Our Shoe Man who helped fix a serious calf problem a week before Boston with a 10 second suggestion and the magic fingers of Christine Kennedy who worked a rebellious muscle in to submission. And finally something that may seem silly to more mature people, nicknames; The Great and Powerful Koz, the Rock, Kerm, Honkin Don, Petey, Gumby, Jackie (aka Cat Woman), and Yoda Master. So, here I stand poised on the start, a pretty girl waiting at the 40K mark (Remember, anything for a girl) ready to complete something I started so long ago and wondering what happens afterwards.

So now three days later and I can finally walk down a flight of stairs. (Without a handrail) The race was everything and then some. The crowds were great, the sun was hot, and my quads are shredded. I did not meet my goal but then nobody did. I did however set a PR by four minutes which means I have secured my spot once again. I beat my number by 5300 places which is the coolest thing of all. And I got to fully experience the "screaming tunnel" at Wellsley College and the incredible crowds everywhere.

They really do make the hills go so much faster. I saw "the girl" and got a hug right by the Citgo Sign, got interviewed by Andy, got a hug from another girl (boy I love that) and promptly lost my medal and had to go back to get another. Does that really surprise you?

So what now? A woman I work with ask me my first thought after realizing I had completed the Boston Marathon. And strangely enough, it was not thinking about a goal accomplished or how I had spent a thousand miles on the road in 19 weeks fighting a brutal winter with my training partners or any of those deep, pondering thoughts. It was simply, I need to take my shoes off.

So, as with life I savor the moment with friends and family and stock the memories for a later time. Then I wake up the next day and begin again because a wasted day can never be recovered. As, one of my childhood idols, Bill Rodgers, would say would say, see ya on the roads.

David Smith (Kerm)