Boston

The Boston Marathon is next week and I will mournfully watch it on television this year. In my efforts to complete an Ironman, I didn't run a marathon last year – so there was no way I could qualify to run the Boston. Otherwise, I'd be there.

Boston, for me, was the rare instance in which the hype matched the experience. I spent nearly a couple decades hoping to run fast enough to qualify for it. It was a goal I used to motivate me to run many many miles. When I did finally qualify for it, I kinda figured the race itself would be anti-climatic. After all, I'd run plenty of road races and marathons – how different could Boston be? I thought running Boston was more about status, being able to wear the jacket around and announce to other runners that, "yeah, I ran Boston."

Certainly it is a little fun to brag about running Boston, but the event itself is so much better.

To begin with, you're treated as a rock star the whole weekend you're there. Bostonians constantly approach you and wish you luck or congratulate you or thank you for participating in the marathon. You never get the "you're crazy for running that long" comments in Boston. You really are welcomed by the city.

The atmosphere and buzz amongst the runners before, during and after the race is fantastic. Everyone is proud of being there, of being able to run a marathon. I suppose all marathons are like this – the participants celebrating life by trying to accomplish something most dream about – but, again for me, Boston was just better.

The crowd during the race is overwhelming. Because Patriot's Day, most of the town is off work. Tons of spectators line the course. It's kind of like a very long tailgate party. There are very few (if any) parts along the course that you aren't being cheered. You can hardly hear your own footsteps. Wellesley College, with the coeds screaming for the runners at the top of their lungs, can be heard about a half mile away.

Finishing the race is the best in the sport of the marathon – thousands upon thousands of people cheering from the streets and buildings as you run down the last couple hundred yards. The noise from the crowd almost hurts.

I thought after I'd completed Boston once, I'd be done. But I've done it three times now and I want to get back as much as ever I have. Hopefully, I wont be watching it next year.

Time to wake up

I hate getting up in the morning. Maybe "hate" is too strong of word…

No, to be honest, it isn't. I hate it. I'm a night person. I don't like going to bed at 10. I don't like having to talk myself into getting out of bed. It's a difficult argument to win. It's comfortable under the covers and running doesn't sound too appealing when the alarm goes off and it never gets any easier.

But I have to get up. There is no other time. Running (or working out), as important as it is to me, is lower in priority than my kids. And my kids need me to coach them in baseball or drive them to a swim practice. I want them to visit me in the rest home when I'm old, cranky and lonely. I figure if I'm around and supportive during they're formative years – maybe they'll feel obligated to do so.

However, I can't go without my daily workouts – otherwise I'll be prematurely old and cranky. So, in the spring, I start to get up in the mornings – dragging myself out of bed – absolutely hating the first thirty minutes of the day.

But a funny thing happens when I finally do start my run. I start to feel better – even better than when I run at nights. I begin to plan my day – what I'm going to accomplish and how I'm going to do it. I think about upcoming races and goals. I give myself some credit for winning my daily battle of getting up early and getting out the door. By the end of the workout, I'm feeling pretty proud of myself.

When it is finished, I relax on the steps of my porch for a bit and bask in the accomplishment of finishing the run. I've done something that day and I've done it before I've driven to work.

Mt. Leconte

I'd heard about Mt. Leconte from my dad. He and my brother had hiked up the mountain over a decade ago. Dad had enjoyed it so much that he'd been talking about it ever since. Mt. Leconte is like a primitive bed and breakfast located on top of the Smokey Mountains. Guests hike up the mountain (it takes approximately 5 hours – depending on how hard you go at it) and stay in small kerosene heated and lighted cabins. Dinner is served at 6 p.m. and is followed by a stunning sunset that is best viewed at a bare rock at the point of the mountain – about fifteen minutes from the cabins. After a hard sleep, if you are able to wake up, you can view the sunrise, have a hearty breakfast and head back down the mountain. The trails up and down are filled with postcard perfect views and your guaranteed to get a workout.

There is only one problem – the cabins usually fill up a year in advance. With an active family of four – planning that far out is difficult at best. But with the kids on spring break we were looking for something quick to do as a family - we called Mt. Leconte on a whim and asked if there happened to be any cancellations that week. It just so happened there was a guy who had just called in with a torn ACL. We took the reservation immediately and drove the 5 hours down to Tennessee two days later.

What a great time. There is nothing like the solitary act of hiking a mountain that strips the real world stress away. It's easy enough to enjoy the scenery and difficult enough that your brain can't wander back into work or personal problems. My wife is a photographer and we stopped often for her to snap off a shot of nature. She took over 300 pictures in 24 hours and would have probably taken more if she wasn't so tired by the end of the trek. We were proud of our 9 and 11 year olds. They had a blast and usually had to be told to get back on the trail or slow down (I have a healthy fear of heights and I have to admit to having some stress watching the kids on some of the more challenging paths). In these times of child obesity, as a parent, there is no small joy to watching your kids hike up and down a mountain.

We came back worn, sore and wanting to go back. There was some sacrifice for me – my calves were so sore from the down hill (I got to carry the family backpack) that I couldn't run for a number of days. This threw my training off and caused me to miss the last leg of the Louisville Triple Crown of Racing. But there will be other races. The purpose of my running is to relieve stress and be healthy. I was doing that on Mt. Leconte and enjoying my family. It doesn't get much better than that.