BOSTON — Look, I really don’t want to come off as that guy who corners you at the cocktail party and drones on about the epic marathon he ran the other day. I hate that guy. Everybody hates that guy. Even marathoners hate that guy.
That said, the Boston Marathon on Monday was, in a word, epic — as in epic misery. Though, now that it’s over, it’s a great story to drone on about at cocktail parties for the next while. Not long, I promise, maybe 20 or 30 years, tops.
I’m sure there have been more epic conditions for this race. They’ve been doing it for 122 years, after all. It was nearly 90 degrees in 2012. But Monday was as high on the misery index as anyone I talked to could remember.
For days many of the race’s roughly 30,000 participants had been staring at weather apps and radars, playing amateur meteorologist and praying that the forecast for temperatures in the 30s and 40s with driving rain and a 20-30-mile-per-hour headwind somehow wouldn’t come true. We traded notes all Sunday on what we were going to wear. In the end, I never took off my windbreaker. Neither did the women’s winner, Desiree Linden. That never happens.
Still, I rose at 5:54 Monday morning in my cousin’s apartment in the South End to the sound of birds chirping. My hopes rose, too.
Then I walked to Boston Common to take the bus to the start in Hopkinton in slanted rain. My shoes were soaked and my toes nearly numb as I took a seat on the bus. I was bundled up like a third grader ready for a walk to school. In Minnesota. In January. In the next seat was a woman from Utah wearing a racing singlet and running sleeves she…