The Waiting Game

It’s funny, you know. It’s funny how over time, things change. When I completed my first Marathon on May 1^st, 2016… I was forever changed. It sounds silly, but there really is no way I can find the words to explain what that accomplishment meant to me; what it did to me. I proved to myself that I could overcome the greatest of challenges, that I could do what at one time seemed impossible.

After that race, I was so overwhelmed by the feat of finishing, alone. I qualified, with more time to spare than I expected (to be honest, I didn’t think I’d come close to qualifying the first time). I was absolutely ecstatic. I burst into tears as soon as I crossed the finish line. Pure JOY. But at the same time, I knew how Boston Registration works. It’s done in waves, based on your qualifying time. I knew this would put me in the last wave of registration, and unfortunately, when the race is full, it’s full.

Again, at the time, I was on such a high from that race. From crossing the finish line. From qualifying on the first try. I told myself that if this wasn’t my year, if Boston was full before I got a spot, that I would be OK with that. That my accomplishment was big enough… that, worst case, I could try again next year.

As a matter of fact, I told myself this exact thing up until yesterday morning at 10am. It was finally my turn to submit my application. I was at work, obsessively checking my watch every 30 seconds and hoping time would go by just a little faster. 9:58. 9:59. 10:00. As I was filling out my application, everything shifted. It felt surreal. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I was actually doing it. That’s when EVERYTHING changed.

The fire… that same fire that got me through that Marathon: it found its oxygen. Not that I was trying to undermine my accomplishment (because I was, and still am, DAMN proud of what I did that day). It was one of the most memorable moments of my entire life, the feat that I am the most proud of, and I am a better person for having done it. But now, as I was getting ready to click “submit”, I was no longer going to be okay with not running. I was no longer going to be satisfied with qualifying unless it meant that I could run. By the time I pressed the button, I was ready to puke.

The thing about Boston Marathon registration is that for someone like me, it’s incredibly painful. The more time that you qualified by, the more solidified your spot is. People who qualified by twenty, fifteen, or even tem minutes in their gender/age group pretty much have a given spot as long as their qualifying time can be verified. For under five minute qualifiers, it’s PAINFUL. It’s a balance between the amount of entrants as well as qualifying time verification. I qualified by 2 minutes and 31 seconds. The race could reach capacity when they get to runners who qualify by 2 minutes and 32 seconds, which means I don’t get to run. The worst part is, they can’t give you an indication of how long it will be before you find out, as it differs from entrant to entrant.

So now I wait. I get half nauseous/half butterflies the more that I think about it. I can barely breathe when I picture myself crossing that blue and yellow line. The nerves are eating me up…the anticipation is killing me. I want it SO bad. I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life. I NEED to run Boston.