I was already exhausted when I lined up for the start of my first and (so far) only Boston Marathon. The weather had been fierce, and I’d been foolish enough to tune in to the local news to see what I could learn about the forecast the night before.
The news program showed us a live shot of a reporter standing ankle-deep in water. The reporter told us that she was standing where the marathoners would be huddled against the storm prior to the start. She was wearing a yellow rain suit that you might expect to see in a documentary about whalers in the 19th century. She reported being cold and wet and then reminded us how miserable it was going to be for the poor runners in the morning.
The weather segment told us to expect inch-an-hour rain and sustained headwinds of 30 mph during the race. “Gusts to 50,” they said.
Before I turned on the TV I was nervous about the weather. After watching the local news I was well beyond anxious. I should not have turned on the TV. I didn’t sleep a wink.
I had obtained many bits of advice from the internet before setting out from home. I’d been following the weather forecasts and had prepared myself. For my wait in Hopkinton I had several layers of old coats and rain gear from a thrift store. For the race I had a full rain suit and a Gore-Tex hat with ear flaps. I had packed old shoes and socks to wear while waiting in Hopkinton. My race shoes and socks would be dry and comfortable when I slipped them on just before the start. I had plastic bags to help keep my feet dry if the fields were really wet. But I hadn’t considered the possibility I’d be standing ankle deep in icy water for a couple hours. My imagination painted a vivid picture of how miserable and cold and stiff I might be before the race started.
When I left the hotel in the morning, the wind was howling between the tall buildings. I lurched and stumbled along the sidewalk as the wind knocked me about. It was raining pretty hard. I worried that the fields in Hopkinton may be knee deep by the time I got there. I joined a large, surprisingly quiet crowd waiting to board buses to the start. I imagined many other runners had watched the local news and were as tired as I was. The crowd was quiet, but the wind was not. Just as I was stepping onto a bus, a large sheet of metal peeled off a building across the street. The piece of façade crashed and banged its way down to the street. It was going to be an interesting 26 miles.
The bus ride was a lot longer than I expected. The windshield wipers were sweeping back and forth at a furious pace, but the rain was way ahead of them.
By the time we reached Hopkinton, the rain had eased up considerably. It was still windy, but nowhere nearly as bad as it had been while waiting for the bus in Boston. And, much to my relief, I found that the TV reported had clearly made an effort to report from the small portion of the field that was actually flooded. It was certainly wet, but nothing like I’d been imagining. My feet got a little wet, but not too bad. My multiple layers of thrift-store outerwear performed flawlessly. I dug out my cell phone and called my lovely wife to let her know I was comfortable.
It frustrates me that I worry about the weather – after all, how can my worrying make anything better. I’m prepared or I’m not. All that worry for nothing.
