The Boston Marathon is one of the few marathons that a runner has to have a qualifying time in order to pin on that bib. In the running world, running Boston is a dream that many strive for, but few achieve. Three friends forged bibs to run the Boston Marathon instead of earning their place either by running a qualifying time, or raising money for a charity.
The dream takes shape in the heart, the path is charted in the mind, and forged through hard work and dedication of the heart, mind, and body. Continued commitment to excellence is truly an inspiration. I understand, but have never experienced (yet) the type of commitment it takes to run the Boston Marathon. Through Tony's story, I pray others looking for the short cut to glory will take a second look in that mirror and see in the reflections those that dedicated mind, body, and soul, who accomplished their dream with honor, and ask - "Do I belong standing with this group?"
The following is an open letter written by Tony Garcia.
This. A whisper from my heart.
This. An open letter.
Dear Runners,
If this ever finds its way to you, I hope you will take the time to read and reflect on this letter.
Its purpose is not to shame or criticize or cast aspersions upon you. I suspect there has already been enough of that.
Rather, I hope it sheds some light on what it takes to qualify for the Boston Marathon. And thus, why wearing THAT bib and participating in THIS race holds so much mystique and value and meaning to so many.
I hope it sheds a light on the symbolism of the unicorn. How, for so many runners, it remains but an elusive and evasive dream to pin on THAT bib, to arrive at Hopkinton, to feel the energy of the crowds, to make that final turn onto Boylston, to finish THIS race.
Mine is but one story. There are countless others. Mine is but one story of trial and failure and overcoming. There are countless other stories which far surpass my own. And yet, mine is the only one I can share with the world.
I was, at best, a weekend warrior. And that is being generous. A man well beyond his prime. Life had settled upon me. Activity was minimal. Running not a pastime, pursuit, or passion. Sadly, the pounds and years began adding up.
By the time I decided I needed to change. There was much damage to overcome. Out of shape. Overweight. Embarrassed by my decline. My first attempt at running yielded a slow, painful 7 minute shuffle before I quit and walked home.
Fast forward five years. Although more active, I had begun to fall into old habits. Once again, I decided change was in order. So I signed up for my first half marathon. I would like to say "and the rest is history". As I fell in love with running and racing. For the next 7 years I ran as many half marathons as I could fit into my schedule.
Running a marathon was never even a thought. Half marathons were hard enough on me. If I were to finish a half and someone said now go and run back to the start, them would be fighting words.
But, as the story goes, never say never. My brother and partner in running crime, convinced me to sign up for our first marathon. I was now 50 years old.
When I finished the race, there was no joy or sense of accomplishment. I was just glad I got to stop running. I was out there for a long time. This race would become our "once a year" marathon. We did 3. And I pretty much had my fill. They just exacted too great a toll on this aging body.
And then, 2013. Boston Marathon. I had a friend running the race. Otherwise, it would have once again gone unnoticed. Boston was never my dream. And as for me, I was at home, injured. Unable to run.
My friend called me after she crossed the finish line, as she was making her way to her hotel. And then, chaos ensued. I was on the phone with her when the sirens began blaring and word got out that something terrible had happened.
For the rest of that day and the rest of the week, I followed the story that unfolded. And something whispered to me. I knew I needed to run the Boston Marathon.
How foolish was I? I didn't even know what a BQ was. When I found out the time I would need to qualify, I realized it was probably an impossible dream. That I would likely never chase down my unicorn.
But still, I set in motion the wheels to work towards this dream. For over a year, I reshaped my body, rearranged my life, dedicated my priorities to something bigger than myself. This dream.
I battled injuries and setbacks, doubts and fears. I pushed myself harder than I ever had before. And in May 2014, I ran the first of what would be Boston Qualifying races.
I managed to BQ, but not by enough. My time would not get me to Boston. So many had prayed for me, cheered for me, willed me to this dream. And I had come so very close. I was heartbroken. But not defeated.
Just four weeks later, I tried again. I failed. Again. Only more miserably. I hit the wall at mile 17. Got lost at mile 21. Was nowhere near my BQ time. I was heartbroken. I was defeated. It seemed, Boston would remain a dream.
Six weeks later, there was one final marathon I could run before the window closed for qualifying. But 3 marathons, in 90 days, felt impossible. And, my body was tired. Worse, my mind not able to comprehend another go at it. And still, I had to try.
Once more, I attempted to reinvent myself. Knowing something had to change. The new workouts humbled me. They left me broken. Nights I would go home so bruised and battered. Days I did not know if I could continue.
I recall one workout in particular. It was my lowest point. Already exhausted and seemingly at my limit, I was made to strap on a weighted vest and run another mile.
It was cold and rainy and dark. As I made my way up the hill, a solitary and broken figure, I wiped my eyes. Was it rain or sweat or tears? No matter, I simply wanted to quit.
But you see, I didn't. Boston meant too much. And having just witnessed its triumphant return, Meb's glorious win, and BostonStrong. I knew, I had to make it there.
And so, I ran that third marathon. And in doing so, I qualified for and was able to run my first Boston Marathon in 2015. Dream achieved.
And what I experienced, well, you know. For you wore THAT bib, you ran THIS race.
But for so many of my friends, for so many in the running community, for so many who hold this dream, they will not know this experience. Their unicorn remains elusive. And my heart goes out to them.
Perhaps our stories are similar. Perhaps you heard the calling. Perhaps this was your dream. Perhaps you tried and tried and tried to qualify. Perhaps yours is a story of reinvention and perseverance and overcoming.
But we will never know your story. For it is not what you chose to share with the world. And your unicorn remains elusive. And my heart goes out to you.
Sincerely,
A Runner
