Seven seconds. I missed my Boston Qualifying time by seven seconds. Not that hitting the 3:15:00 time would’ve gotten me INTO Boston, but it was my BQ time… and would’ve netted me a “I BQ’d At Modesto” t-shirt.
The weather was good, and save for Mount Modesto (the affectionately named bridge with an elevation ascent of 113 feet, 4 inches), the course was almost entirely flat. It should have been an easy BQ course for me… and yet, it was not. I just couldn’t seem to push any faster; I couldn’t seem to dig any deeper; I just couldn’t get it done. And so while a 3:15:07 is a pretty good time, it feels oddly… disappointing to me. Maybe it was seeing the fully-geared Army officer running the race or the quadripilegic pushing himself on a skateboard out on the course but I feel like I should’ve been able to do more, to get this one done. If these brave, mighty individuals who were enduring far tougher conditions that I in my wicking t-shirt and shorts could do such amazing things, why couldn’t I move my keister a little feister… er, faster?
I have no excuse save that I failed. Today was a failure. It’s been a long time since I really felt like I blew it… albeit in other avenues of my life I’ve been feeling that quite a lot having aged up into new bracket territory. The lines on the face are deeper, harsher; the recovery from runs takes longer; life itself has highlighted that the sands of time are ever faster rushing down through the hourglass and never back up.
This morning was a failure. A failure of character. Of spirit. Of soul.
I’m in a melancholy state.
Oddly, despondent over missing the BQ by THAT much, I should have been overjoyed when the Beer/Wine Garden security wouldn’t let me in without ID as I looked “under 30.” When I insisted on taking photos to document such a momentous occasion, they relented figuring no one under 30 would be that thrilled to be turned away. I had a sangria as a result.
Oh, and I got a free photo with a Cool Cow. It’s udderly charming.
Sorry, I had to milk it.
A quick note on the medal — I think it’s supposed to be an iPhone. Why is it an iPhone? I have no idea. It’s inscrutable.
Seven seconds. Though in truth the 2017 cutoff wound up being 2 minutes and 9 seconds UNDER The qualifying time… so I was REALLY 2 minutes and 16 seconds off.
That point of view doesn’t help.
Sigh.