Boston Marathon

I Won the 1968 Boston Marathon. And Ran Many More. After the Bombs, Everything Changed

There’s a time to run for the win. And a time to realize that other things are more important.

The author, Boston Marathon, 1968. (Note shadow, mentioned in story.) Photo courtesy Jeff Johnson.

More than a half-century ago I ran each Boston Marathon consumed by thoughts of winning. In April 1968, I actually achieved that impossible dream.

These days, 55 years later, I’m still running Boston. Mainly to give thanks. So many thanks. It doesn’t matter how slowly I cover the course, or where I finish. The miracle is that I can still run 26.2 miles on foot from rural Hopkinton to downtown Boston’s Copley Square.

Here’s one small example. Three weeks ago, I was ready to scratch from this year’s race. I pulled a groin muscle somehow, and had to abandon three successive runs after just two miles. I felt a thick gloom settling over me. But then one short visit to a physical therapist shocked my muscle back to functional health.

Thank you, amazing human body. Thank you, muscle fibers that are now re-aligned. Thank you, Steve, my PT. I’m not absolutely positive I can go the distance on Monday, April 17, but I’m feeling optimistic again.