I’m not in Boston right now. And that’s OK. Back when the 2020 Boston Marathon was delayed (the announcement came two weeks into March, but many runners knew that news was coming), I was upset. Selfishly I wanted to extend my Boston streak to four straight years. Boston has been my main running goal every year for more than half a decade. By the time I finished my own Marathon Monday this morning, a point-to-point tour of my home Las Vegas, my attitude had completely shifted.
My plan to run 26.2 miles today never changed. When I knew those miles wouldn’t end with a right on Hereford and a left on Boylston, I decided to find a way to make my Las Vegas Marathon Monday special. So I mapped out a route and figured out my logistics.
I was still disappointed about missing the Patriots’ Day fanfare. Being in Boston for marathon weekend is special. The energy on the streets and in the race expo. I planned on going to see the Red Sox play the Indians. All of the runners doing their shakeout runs along the Charles river. The bus ride to Hopkinton and the insane buzz along the entire course, the waves of excitement carrying the flood of runners into the city.
Then my wife decided to go above and beyond to capture some of the race weekend excitement. First, she asked to see my route. I showed her a big boring loop that had a LOT of uphill miles in the second half. I commented on how uninspiring that loop would be. So she offered to pick me up (and bring me water) if I did a more scenic point to point.
Quickly I sketched out a course that would carry me all the way down into the Las Vegas valley, up the strip, and into downtown. My heart sped up a bit in anticipation as I looked at the route on my computer. “This could be fun,” I thought.
Then, as I headed out the door for my run on Sunday, she checked to make sure I was just doing a shakeout run. I had planned to run 10+, but instead I powered down for a super easy 4-mile run. I started to feel like I was preparing for a race.
The capper — Sunday night Rachel made shrimp pad Thai, my ritual prerace meal. I pinned my 2019 Boston Marathon bib to my singlet and laid out all of my gear for the run. Then I started feeling nervous.
What’s the biggest difference between a race and a long run? The crowds? Maybe the taper? I found out that for me, the prerace butterflies and excitement are what make me feel like it’s truly a race day. While I got in bed early (I do every night these days with Addie on her 7-month-old sleep schedule), I struggled to go to sleep. I ran the course in my head over and over, rehearsing my turns that would not be marked.
I woke up at 3 a.m. to eat my oatmeal and stretch. Even though I ran a mile to warmup and was able to use the bathroom, that didn’t save me from making a pit stop later in mile seven.
In my head I was walking from Athletes’ Village through the streets of Hopkinton and to the starting line. I imagined the national anthem and the flyover. All of the local residents hanging over the barricades cheering runners before they’ve even started. In reality, I just walked to the edge of my neighborhood and out the gate.
At 4 a.m., I started my watch and began my solo Marathon Monday journey.
Other than the bathroom stop, the first 10 miles weren’t remarkable. The streets were dark as I made my way downhill and along the foothills on the west side of the valley. It’s strange to run a point-to-point marathon where you can see your finish line in the opening miles. But off in the distance I could see the strip and downtown Las Vegas.
I cut east — for miles 10-17, I ran down Warm Springs as the sky started to lighten ahead. The strip was still sparkling to the northeast, and I focused on finding my rhythm. I expected to have some traffic slowdowns along the strip, but I had more trouble with Warm Springs. I ended up stopping or slowing down a lot at least once a mile for seven straight miles.
The sun peaked out for the first time as I crossed over I-15 and made a left onto Las Vegas Blvd. I reached the Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas sign as my watch hit mile 19 and just as Rachel and Addie pulled into the parking lot. After a water refill, I pushed on to the north.
I never hit the Newton hills, and while I miss Marathon Monday in Boston, I didn’t mind skipping Heartbreak hill this morning.
As I ran the strip, the situation became more and more surreal. While Las Vegas might not be a morning town, there is normally a buzz along Las Vegas Blvd. 24 hours a day. Other than cops sitting at cross streets and construction workers in the streets, there was no one around. No signs of life. The music and lights were off, and countless barricades and signs pronounced properties temporarily closed.
It’s easy to sit up in our Summerlin neighborhood and forget the scope of our nation’s current shutdown. Other than extra spacing and masks at the grocery store, my life hasn’t changed much. I’m still home with Addie during the day. And when I go out to run, I feel like I see MORE people than I ever have.
But along the strip and downtown, the energy is different. I ran past a spray painted “Liberate LV” sign. The few homeless people I saw commented that the cops wouldn’t like me running there. I actually had a few police cars drive next to me for a block or two before speeding off (none actually talked to me).
My goal was to finish with a right on Las Vegas, left on Fremont (the most iconic two streets in the city). Yet, when I went to turn left, Fremont was completely blocked and closed. So I doubled back and finished out my mileage.
I ran to 26.4 to make it realistic, and my final time was 3:13:06 (I never paused my watch, the other difference between a race and just a long run for me). Strava shows slightly faster (one that would have beaten my 2019 Boston time of 3:09:58 when I absolutely blew up).
Today was still special for me. Even though I ran from my house. My route reminded me of the challenges ahead for our country. The fear of sickness hitting us or our family members. The steep economic ditch we will have to climb out of when it’s safe.
Today also brought me peace. Marathon Monday is here without fans lining the streets of Hopkinton, Ashland, Framingham, Natick, Wellesley, Newton, Brookline, and Boston. Runners didn’t line up for the yearly celebration of the greatest marathon on the planet. But life continues, and runners are resilient.
The Boston Marathon has been rescheduled for September. I don’t know if it will actually happen, or if the 2020 edition will be permanently cancelled.
But one day, we will gather in Boston again.
And it will be glorious.