Boylston St. Memoirs

Every few years, the Boston Marathon falls on my birthday. The race gets a lot of attention nationwide, but people may not realize that in Massachusetts we have an odd little holiday on the day the Marathon is held. Patriots Day celebrates the battles of Lexington and Concord in 1775, which mark the beginning of the revolutionary war. Schools have no classes, and some businesses get the day off. As for me, though I have never run the course, just about every year since I got to town I have found myself on Boylston St. for one reason or another. As we reflect on the tough memories of last year's event, I thought I'd relay some of my fonder memories over the years.

1994: My real introduction to the Marathon in my second spring in town. Though I had lived in Kenmore Sq the previous year, I had let the race pass me by more or less unaware. Thanks to my friend Seth, that would never happen again. Together with our friend Murphy, we climbed up fire escapes in the alley between Boylston and Newbury streets to join rooftop parties with a great view of the finish line. Once we got kicked out of one, or denied safe haven at the top entirely, we would move on to the next building. Seth also pointed out Dick and Rick Hoyt as they ran past us. He told me their story, which I could hardly believe at the time. In the ensuing years, their legend has only grown. It's hard to believe this will be their last year. They are the beating heart of inspiration at the center of the Boston Marathon.

1997: For the first time, the Marathon and the holiday fall on my birthday. My girlfriend and I, along with some other friends, wander around Kenmore Square sneaking swigs from some sort of makeshift flask. Despite our inebriation, we are diligent and committed to rooting on the runners as they pass through the square. We have gotten there early enough that we have a great view of the elite runners as they come down the stretch and we are not so drunk that we can't appreciate their speed and the sheer thrill of seeing them flash passed us. These are world class athletes and we are essentially in the front row. Seeing Uta Pippig, who had won the previous three years, was a real highlight. Thankfully, in 1997, her legs were perfectly clean.

1999: I am working at a restaurant in Copley Sq. The weather is unexpectedly beautiful, and because we are short staffed, I volunteer to work the patio alone. Normally, this is a two person section, even on a regular afternoon, but today we are basically the first bar on Boylston St after the finish line. We fill up fast inside, and it is a mad house in no time. Pure celebration and fun as runner after runner enters the bar. The patio is no different, and in a lunch shift, I manage to clear several hundred dollars. Highlights of the afternoon included a patron being picked up bodily by our crack bartender staff and physically removed from the premises and my emerging from the crowd holding one of the foil wraps that the runners get like Excalibur to the cheers of the patio patrons.

2005: My wife and I head down to Copley to try and find her high school friend Caroline, who is running the race and expects to do very well. We have no plans to meet, and in no time we are part of the teeming masses. The area behind the finish line is awash with spectators, and loved ones trying to reunite with runners. Movement is slow, and it's hard to get any sense for which way anyone is going. The urgent stares of those combing the crowd for their friend or family member perfectly counters the blank, contented gaze of those who have run. The street is packed with runners wrapped in foil sheets, and the sidewalks are wall to wall humanity. Somehow, though I had only met Caroline once before, I am able to spot her with an amount of effort that can be generously described as "scant" in a matter of minutes. Later, we find out that she finished 26th out of all women that year.

2013: I'm at work, my office is about a half a mile from the finish line on Boylston. There aren't many people at the office that day, and I'm planning to duck out early to meet my wife at H&R Block. We still haven't finished our taxes, but we have an appointment and should be able to get it done that evening. I'm packing my bag when a coworker pops in my doorway and alerts me to what had happened about 15 minutes earlier down the street. The college I work at goes in to lockdown, and once it is lifted, we all start to figure out how everyone will be getting home. My friend and coworker Vicki is a few months pregnant and I decide that the best way I can contribute to the city that day is to get her safely to her husband, out in Somerville where I also live. We set out together, and try station after station looking for a way to get north of town. A train and a bus later, we are in Teele Sq and Vicki is safely in her car with Rick. I walk across the Square where my wife is already working on our taxes. We got a nice check back last year, but it was hardly the best return of the day.