"Running Boston: A Dream, A Journey, A Promise"

"There are marathons — and then there is Boston.
The oldest annual marathon in the world. The crown jewel of the World Marathon Majors. The race that runners everywhere dream of.
You don’t just sign up for Boston. You earn it. Some chase the ever-shifting qualifying standards for years, shaving seconds off tired legs in pursuit of a BQ. Others, like me, find another way — fueled by a dream too stubborn to die. I have seen runners, once possessed by the dream of a BQ, defy age and qualify.
I didn’t qualify by time. I qualified by heart — through a charity bib, carrying a cause bigger than myself.
And when I stood at the start line in Hopkinton, where legends have run since 1897, it didn’t matter how I got there. I was part of something timeless.
This is my story."

 

There Are Two Races, Actually

Let’s not talk about John Korir, Sharon Lokedi, or the elite field of a few dozen others. (By the way, John and Sharon won Boston 2025—congratulations to them!)

But here’s the truth: 99% of finishers don’t know the elites. Yet, there are two distinct classes of runners at the Boston Marathon.

First, there are those who chase the ever-shifting goalposts of qualification times. Then, there’s the rest of us—dreamers who simply want to run the oldest marathon on Earth.

 

 

lt All Started Here"

Bostonians proudly declare this about everything—the American Revolution, Harvard (the first and finest university), the first major marathon (1897, now in its third century), and even the first inclusion of women in a major marathon.

So it’s no wonder every marathoner dreams of running Boston at least once. Some are "children of the faster gods," hitting those elusive qualifying standards. The rest of us? We’ll never be that fast—but Boston graciously lets us in anyway.

Me too—I had the dream and desire, but not the pace. Getting into the wildcard zone wasn’t easy. But when the opportunity arose, I grabbed it, even though it meant running back-to-back after Mumbai and Tokyo.

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The Great Divide

Qualifiers are sorted by pace into waves and corrals—a finely tuned hierarchy of speed. The rest? We’re packed randomly into Wave 4—9,000 runners strong. A 25-year-old who missed their 2:55 BQ by five minutes stands behind a 70-year-old aiming for six hours. Chaos. Camaraderie. Boston.

 

The Course: A Cunning Beast

This isn’t just a marathon; it’s a tactical duel. The terrain demands respect:

• Start: Steep downhill (quads beware).
• Middle: Gentle rollers (deceptively tiring).
• Testing Times: Newton’s infamous hills, including the aptly named "Heartbreak Hill." By then, your legs are shredded from the early pounding.
• Celebrate: Survive those, and you might fly the final downhills to Boylston Street—if you paced it right.

After Tokyo last month, I trained specifically for these segments: Control. Cruise. Push. Fly. All my long runs were running-power monitored. I’d start easy on downhills, take hill loops at a slightly increased pace, climb strong, and then finish with a fast downhill.

 

You can’t prepare for Boston weather in Mumbai. Discussions in the Boston Marathon Facebook community offered amusing insight: prepare for everything. Don’t trust the forecast—it’s the least reliable thing. It might be windy, rainy, or sunny. This marathon was never going to be a personal best—but it was always going to be a lifetime memory. I wasn’t worried about the weather—I was excited about the uncertainty.

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Old Soul, New Energy: Boston Welcomes the World

Getting to Boston for Marathon Monday was a dream in itself.
It’s the only World Major held on an extended weekend to commemorate Patriot’s Day — and it feels special from the moment you land.

Boston is more welcoming than any other major city I've raced in.
In Tokyo, the city was efficient and courteous, but often too busy to notice the runners.
In Chicago, the perfect grid of towering skyscrapers felt grand but a bit overwhelming.
Berlin moved fast — organized to the last second, but businesslike.
London had historic charm, yet the city's marathon spirit felt tucked into certain pockets.

But Boston?
From the airport immigration officer to the bus driver — everyone noticed you. Everyone welcomed you.
The city buzzed with energy. Blue jackets were everywhere. It didn’t feel like a race day — it felt like a city-wide celebration.

At the expo, on shakeout runs, during city tours — the spirit of Boston Strong wrapped around everything.
Born from tragedy after the 2013 bombing, it’s now more than a slogan — it’s the soul of the city: resilience, unity, determination.

Boston is not just the oldest marathon in the world; it’s the heart of marathon running itself.

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The Journey to the Start Line

Reaching the start line is hard—in both spirit and logistics. This is a point-to-point race. You need to get to Hopkinton, a town 26 miles away. Hundreds of yellow school buses ferry runners from Boston Common to the holding area: Athletes' Village.

It’s a marathon in itself— breakfast, loading zone queues, long bus rides, waiting for your wave, getting hungry again, eating your supplies, moving to corrals, and finally inching toward the start.

For me, it wasn’t boring—group travelled together, cracking jokes and worrying about Heartbreak Hill. An elderly American runner  Ms  Carrie running her second Boston sat beside me. We began talking about running; by Hopkinton, we knew about each other's families and professions. We wished each other luck and parted ways.

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The Race Begins

With the narrow course and the sheer number of runners, a sign caught my eye: “Kenyans have already reached.” Almost —they started at 10 AM. It was now 11:30.  They need just little over 2 hours .

 

I smiled, stepped on the timing mat, started my watch, and tried not to trip. I had seen this start line the day before when my Indian-American friend Kamal Datta gave me a tour. Kamal, a multi-talented  Boston based runner and founder of a marathoner portal, had interviewed 26 runners from 26 countries at Berlin 2023—I was one of them. Our friendship, rooted in passion, had lasted since. I felt gratitude—for him, for my Dubai friend Shyamji, and for this moment.

The first miles were frustrating—no room to move. "Stay calm, wait for an opening" became my mantra. Weaving wastes energy. I tracked my running power, trying to conserve energy, but the uneven pacing took its toll. The scenic, wooded route—lined with picturesque wooden houses—helped distract me.

The weather? Bright and sunny but pleasantly cool—perfect running conditions. I remembered the Facebook advice: prepare for anything. The key to Boston is not chasing PRs—it’s soaking in the experience.

Though I’d vaguely aimed for a PB, races rarely go perfectly. First hurdle: pacing. I kept losing and finding Shyamji in the first 5K. Despite starting just two years ago, this was his 16th marathon across three continents and his sixth World Major.

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Cruising  miles Through   Woods ,  Towns and  Heartwarming  Wellesley

As gaps opened, I found rhythm. Boston is unique—it starts in a town and runs toward a city. The evolving landscape—wooden homes, cherry blossoms, wild trees, streams, ponds—felt like a moving postcard. Spectators set up chairs and tables, cheering in town squares.

At the one-hour mark: 11K done, right on plan. Normally I break races into four segments with time targets—but today, absorbed in the course and crowd, I forgot. Yet my legs knew what to do.

Crowds grew at each town, their cheering louder and more sustained. At Wellesley College’s "Scream Tunnel," hundreds of students screamed in synchronized frenzy. Placards offered everything—from beer at the finish to a kiss right now. Some runners gladly accepted!

 

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The Newton Hills  not really Heartbreaking

The rolling terrain continued until Newton’s Hills arrived. I switched my watch to current pace and stayed steady. The air was crisp, the sun warm—I splashed water on myself to stay cool. My wet shirt might chafe, but that was for Future Me to worry about.

Heartbreak Hill came at last—not as steep, but long. A sign congratulated us: “You’ve conquered Heartbreak.” It’s more mental than physical. The name? It dates back to 1936 when a runner lost his lead here and the race slipped away. Nearly a century later, it still haunts.

 

 

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The Final Push

The last segment was meant for flying—but my mind drifted. Spectators screamed. A train passed beside us—I waved; a woman waved back. At 33K, I was just 500 meters behind my race plan. But I didn’t try to close the gap. I didn’t want a PB. I wanted to live the moment. Just yesterday, the maple trees lined Commonwealth Street, full of life and beauty.
Now, they stretch bare toward the cloudy sky, their lifeless forms matching the tiredness in my mind.. My mood dipped. Fatigue? Maybe. Skipping that gel? Possibly. Tryptophan messing with my brain? Who knows. Clouds brought a chill. My pace slowed.

Sub-4 was safe. Why push? Boston Sub-4 is still Boston Sub-4.

The final battle was internal—not against the clock, but against that voice saying, “It’s okay to slow down.” My calves, quads, hamstrings, and shoulders joined the voice.

I searched for landmarks. At Tokyo, boredom hit me at 37K. Today, it came a bit later. I tried counting runners I passed. I tried chasing a shirt in front of me—but forgot which one. They were either too fast, or I lost track.

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The Finish Line

Then, I saw it: the crimson CITGO sign—holy grail for tired legs. In morning only someone told me , “when you see this sign , you are almost there”

Relief washed over me. But not speed. I turned the final corners, dragging myself toward Boylston. “You should look proud and happy,” something inside me quipped.

So I smiled. Raised my arms. Crossed the line.

Photographers were certainly there.

I looked at my watch: 3:55. Just two minutes over my personal best.

And yet, the question in my mind wasn’t: Why didn’t I push harder?

It was: Why didn’t I enjoy the final moments more?

As I walked back with my  heavy unicorn medal, I felt it:
This wasn’t closure. It was ignition.

Because now I want to qualify. Not me too ,  but earn it.
Boston, you’ve awakened something in me.
I’ll be back soon 
As a BQ.