Oh, how I love the marathon. I love it almost as much as Husband despises it.
Why does he hate it so much? Does he think the race detracts from his beloved Red Sox who are also playing on the same day? Or is it all that fresh air? Or using one’s legs to propel oneself forward? No one knows. But I will say that he barely complained when I dragged the whole family to Comm. Ave. this morning. And that, my friends, is saying a lot. Because he really, really hates the marathon.
Last year, the hurricane-force winds and driving rain kept us home. Not this year. Today, it was pleasant and sunny, and instead of bringing the recommended Wheaties for brunch, I brought cardamom-buttermilk coffee cake and bacon. Because I wasn’t running a marathon today. There was a little bit of fruit, too, just for show. You have to psyche out the other spectators if you want to win at marathon picnicking. (Now, that’s my kind of event.)
We picked a spot near the African drum corps, which gave that leg of the race a dramatic documentary feel. I kept waiting for the lions to descend upon the course and give the runners some real incentive, but no. Mayor Menino specified no lions. Only cheering. But, I don’t know, I shouted myself hoarse for the better part of an hour, and I didn’t notice anyone running any faster.
Anyway, I tried to distract the Kenyans in the lead with coffee cake, but they are remarkably focused. Robert Cheruiyot stopped to say he’d take a rain check some other time. He was so polite and not even winded as he sprinted away. My lungs bled just watching him. I guess the Mexicans will have to wait another year.