Was it all a dream?

After work today I decided to head over to the gym to hop on the bike and hopefully loosen up my sore legs a bit. When I got off the T at Hynes, I walked down Newbury Street and took a right onto Hereford without really thinking about much more than the fact that it was an absolutely beautiful afternoon. But as soon as I turned that corner, I suddenly realized where I was. I was instantly transported back to Monday afternoon, my legs burning, cursing that little incline on Hereford right before the final turn onto Boylston, the cheers of the crowd on all sides of me, the elation in realizing that on this one day, every one one of those thousands of people knew my name (it helped that it was written on my shirt). But here I was, two days later, and it was all gone. I continued to walk down Boylston a ways, passing the gym, just to get a look at the street. The crowds had vanished, the fried dough vendors had rolled away their carts, the projection screen on the side of the convention center had been taken down, the grandstand had been packed away for next year. It was as if I had dreamt the entire weekend. The only proof I have that the whole thing happened is a few blurry pictures, some very sore legs, an awesome medal, and memories so great that I wouldn't be surprised if they actually were a dream.

It's hard to believe that almost all evidence of one of the most momentous weekends of your life can simply disappear like that. The city of Boston was pretty much completely shut down for one day for a bunch of crazy people running, and now it is back to business as usual. Life is back to normal in the city, but not for me. I've said before that it would be impossible to come out of the DFMC experience unchanged, and now that I've actually run the marathon, now that I've heard the "thank you's" and the Dana-Farber cheers, now that I've seen the patient-partners and their families going wild at Kenmore, now that I've felt what it feels like to push your body farther than you ever imagined it could go, now I really know how true that is. I am a Boston Marathoner. And unlike many people who run the marathon, people who just get out there on Monday, run the race and go home, the fundraising that my DFMC teammates and I have all done will allow the greatness of that day to continue on, hopefully resulting in a few more "thank you's" out on the course next year.

So maybe it wasn't my best race, maybe my legs hurt so badly now I want to cry everytime I get near a flight of stairs, maybe I have blisters the size of small planets on my feet, and maybe I haven't slept more than a couple of hours for the past few nights because this pesky runners' high just won't let me rest; I still wouldn't change a second of it. And if it was all a dream, I sure hope I don't wake up anytime soon... I really like my medal.