A perennially popular event during the Expo Weekend is the Runners World “Breakfast of Champions,” where the audience gets to see and listen to former winners of the most prestigious in the world. At the 2014 breakfast, the champions gave us words of encouragement, suggestions while running, and pragmatic advice. , the “unofficial women’s winner” of 1969, 1970, and 1971 – “unofficial” because women were not allowed to formally participate during that era—declared, “finish because you can.” Jacqueline Hansen, the “official women’s winner” in 1973, assured us all to “finish because we deserved it.” Geoff Smith’s, 1984 and 1985, practical advice: “trim your toenails.” , 1968, recommended that we “savor the moments, don’t get caught up with your time and focus on just finishing.” , 1983, urged us “to make friends along the course.” I followed all of their advice.

The night before the race, I trimmed my toenails to avoid the infamous “black toe”. Goeff has had personal experience with this painful condition where your toenails fall off during the race. I also took out Jacqueline’s inspiring book, “A Long Time Coming,” and read uplifting excerpts and quotes: “To understand the heart and mind of a person, look not at what he has already achieved, but at what he aspires to do,” Kahlil Gibran.

I made my first friends on the bus ride over. High-fiving my way down the narrow aisle in my purple and pink pajamas, one perky runner cackled, “those are the best warm-ups I’ve ever seen!” Suddenly, I was in a friendly contest with a lady who had alternating blue and yellow nail polish and the words “Boston Strong” written across her fingers. I yelled out, “It’s no contest, she wins, HANDS down!” The roar of laughter discharged the nervous energy, and people settled into relaxed conversations with their seatmates for the duration of the 40-minute ride to the starting area in the picturesque suburb of Hopkinton.

Runners from Hawaii have a very special and unique benefit located just a few steps from the marathon’s start. For the last several years, Pete has been graciously providing his towering baby blue office mansion to the entire Hawaiian Running Ohana as a sanctuary from the crowd’s frenetic activity. Known as the “Hawaii House”, Pete offers our group morning warmth, clean bathrooms with no waiting lines, and most importantly, ALOHA to fuel us through the race. This year, I didn’t get to hang out with most of my Hawaii folks because I was in the last wave of runners, but I was able to give hugs to my friends Vicki, Michele, and Kit, as they made their way to the start. As a token of my deep appreciation, I gave to Pete the handmade scarf I received the day before from the International Scarf Project. The scarves are individually knitted by people around the world in tribute to the marathon, and are much coveted by all. You can see Pete wearing the scarf as we sit next to each other in the front row of the 2014 Hawaii House group picture.

During the first few miles I made friends with Billy from Canada. He was notified just 3 weeks ago that he could enter the race. His qualification? Billy is a Stage 4 throat cancer patient. Between breaths, he told me that 5 years ago he weighed 200 pounds more than today, and that running has saved his life. When doctors estimated that he only had a few weeks to live, he changed everything about his lifestyle. He replaced his former addictions with healthy activity, and when he was able to, he started to run. He’s certainly given cancer a run, having beaten the odds at every turn, for FIVE years. He wasn’t sure he could physically finish the race, but he said he was going to give it everything he had. I told him, “I have no doubts. You will finish!”

By mile six I made friends with Jo from Boston. Her third of four sons, Timmy, succumbed to leukemia when he was 8 years old. We held hands and cried together. I told her about my mentor, TNT buddy, and fellow Oahuan, Kit Smith. Thirty-three years ago, Kit and his wife Margie lost their middle daughter, Patty, to leukemia. She was only 19. Kit was the reason I started running for LLS, and he’s the person who encouraged me to run Boston. Kit has run over 50 , and he was somewhere miles ahead of me, most certainly on pace, and smiling at the unending ribbon of cheering faces. And by the way, Kit is 80 years old. Jo is so deeply thankful that TNT is helping in the fight against leukemia. As we said good-bye she emotionally implored, “hold your boys close.” The faces, sounds, smells, and activities of my two children, Diego and Santi, coalesced into a vision- feeling, and I felt empowered by their presence in my life.

As you may know, the marathon is run on Patriot’s Day. Having participated in many road races around the globe, I remain astounded at the number of people, friends and families, lining the entire length of the course, every inch of the 26.2 miles. They were cheering, playing, grilling, smiling, and taking in the day – the event – as a confirmation of the city’s determination and dedication to one another. This day demonstrated our natural endeavor to help make life better for others, whether they were friends, families, causes, or charities. Runners and spectators stood as one, together, to show the world that we have a lasting bond that can never be broken. We call that bond Community.

My next friend, John from D.C., was running his 7th marathon, and he was half-way through his quest to finish the Major Six. He completed and New York and was now on mile 10 of Boston. “Time to go international,” he grinned, then recited his itinerary to run London, Berlin, and then Japan. His wife dreamed of traveling the world via the majors, but when breast cancer interrupted her plan, John promised to complete her dream for her.

You could hear the shouts, yells, howls, and shrieks more than a mile away. I knew what was coming up. Wellesley. The 2-mile Scream Tunnel. At this location last year, I literally ran into my friend Chris who had paused to hug his daughter, a senior at Wellesley, and take some family photos to capture the precious occasion. This year, I too paused, and continued the long tradition of acting upon the girls’ “Kiss Me” signs: Kiss me-I’m from Kansas City…I’m from Minnesota…I’m from Korea. Kiss me - because I’m getting married...I’m Vegan…I’m in the math department...Kiss Me - I’m Irish…I’m waiting for you...I’m available…I’m 21. Kiss me – because I want to make her jealous….I want the record for the most kisses….I want you to finish…I want to be a princess. Kiss me - I won’t tell your wife…I majored in kissing…I want to get kissed by sweaty strangers. A hundred thousand kisses concentrated in space-time.

My legs felt the miles, but my cheeks were on fire! The constant puckering and smiling and laughing provided an incredible maxilla-facial workout. I highly recommend it! I recovered with first-time marathoner Pat, a bleached blonde 60-something Southie, running like a rhinoceros, with purpose and power. When I asked her why she was running, her accent, forged from the proud heritage of South Boston, gave her free-flowing expletives an undeniable gravity: “Because I’m wicked strong and no one F’s with me. No one’s going to F with us, with Bawston. Who the F they think theyuh messin with?” She raised 3 boys and 3 girls. They, along with her 17 grandchildren, came out to cheer her on. “What’s the key to raising kids?” I asked. “Luv ‘em, teach ‘em to give more than they get, and let ‘em F up, but be there when they fall, no mattuh F’in what!”

There’s a particular sound the crowd makes when the beloved duo known as team Hoyt runs by. I know this because I experienced the sensation last year while running Heartbreak Hill. This year I heard that special sound at the beginning of the Newton Hills. Team Hoyt is more than just 60-year-old Dick supplying the forward momentum for the custom-racing wheelchair occupied by his paralyzed 30-year-old son Rick. Team Hoyt is courage, pain, tenderness, sweat, devotion, achievement, collaboration, community, awareness, and inspiration. Team Hoyt is the manifestation of love. Together, they’ve finished over 70 marathons and over 1,000 endurance events, and created their own category in the history of sports. Running next to team Hoyt, enveloped by the positive vibrations from the adoring crowd, is an unequalled experience in my life.

Cresting the top of Heartbreak Hill, I hear my name shouted out at the top of someone’s lungs. Then I see my name in bold capital letters on a sign in the crowd. I look closer and I see Buzz! Buzz is one of my best friends; we’ve known each other for more than 25 years. She brought her entourage down from Vermont on the long drive just to cheer me on. I ran towards her and we collided in a heartfelt embrace. Next, I gave sweaty hugs to her wife, her sister, and her many supportive friends. We didn’t need words. After handing me some pretzel bites and a bottle of water, they ushered me back onto the course with an abundance of smiles and love. My emotional tank was totally refilled.

At mile marker 20, I see a woman raise her hands as far as they could reach into the sky and shout, “Allison!” Her multi-colored singlet indicated she was with Team Dana-Farber, the Boston-based Cancer Institute that had massive numbers of runners and an impressive fundraising record. Her name was Nancy and she was from New York. She looked tired, as would anyone at this point in the course, but she also showed a fierce determination. She told me it was a particularly harsh winter for her. In addition to the vortexes that disrupted training throughout the northeast, she lost her running mate, her best friend, her sister, to cancer. They planned on running Boston together. I joined Nancy as we all yelled out, “Allison!” at Mile 21.

Temperatures soared into the incredibly hot 70’s, adding another discomforting layer to the burn permeating through the back of my arms, legs, and neck. Up ahead, I saw what looked like a small refreshment station, but I knew there was a good chance that it was just a mirage. As I got closer, I imagined there were mountains of cold, juicy, succulent oranges. Deciding to test my perception of reality, I lunged for the glistening slices and ran into a very real person, a Frenchman in fact. Of all the wedges spread across the table, Henri and I reached for the same ones, bumped into each other and awoke from our Mile 22 stupor. Looking into each other’s eyes, we laughed at the precision of our mutual nutrient needs. Grabbing a different set of oranges, we stuck them in our mouths, sucked down the tangy liquid, and then grinned, revealing a smile of bright, dimpled peel. The crowd loved it. My French language skills are so rusty that I didn’t understand a lot of what Henri was saying to me, but it didn’t matter. In broken French-Spanish I exclaimed, “Tu es incrediblo!” and “Je suis pamplemousse!” We laughed so hard my sides started to cramp. Henri gave me a double-cheek kiss then continued to blow kisses at me as he ran ahead. Even now, as I reflect on that magical moment, it seems too good to be true. I wonder, did it really happen?

At Boston College, the topless boy-men chanted my name and pumped out beer from their trusty kegs. I chugged down.

A few miles to go. Left foot, right foot. Like when I’m racing my boys at the go-kart track, I looked for the apex of every curve and hugged the line in order to run as efficiently and economically as possible. On a straightaway, I caught the fleeting flash of an almost-smile from a police officer. I had just enough time – and strength – to say, “thank you,” and hold my hand up to give him a high-five as I had done with almost every police officer, military personnel, and fire fighter I saw along the way. I witnessed many gestures of appreciation for the thousands of police, military, medical, and other personnel, all of them vigilant in their task of keeping us safe. To the multitude of enthusiastically screaming Bostonians on both sides of the course, we shouted, “WE LOVE YOU BOSTON!” It was amazing to be a part of this energy, this pride, this affirmation of life.

When I saw the Citgo sign, I knew I was close to the finish. This was also the place where I was swept up into the chaos and mayhem of last year’s race, but that’s a separate story. Around me, runners began to falter, sway, and kneel on the asphalt, “hitting the wall,” with emotional rigors of non-stop running for 25 miles. I know the feeling, and it hurts because your brain doesn’t quite know how to process the unfamiliar, unreasonable signals it’s receiving from your body. I helped a few runners to their feet, sharing in their fatigue, offering hushed words of encouragement or emphatic phrases of motivation so that together, we could launch into our last rally.

A group of five of us turned the corner onto Boylston St. The finish line was in sight. We grabbed arms and let our remaining electrolytes seep from our eyes. I was surprised at my being overcome, my breathing became labored, painful, and deliberate.

The last quarter-mile, 1,320 feet to go. Aching, but savoring every step, I blew kisses to the spectators that relentlessly cheered us on. Just in front of the finish line I stopped, raised both arms and shaped my hands into shakas. Then I crossed the finish mat and thanked everyone I could think of in that moment—my remarkable husband Rich, my parents, my family, and my friends, especially the ones who joined me on this journey last year and this year—Deborah, Charlie, Michele, Vicki, Joy, Kathy, and of course, Jacqueline, who makes all things possible. Appreciation to “Krazy Kanadien” Karen for helping to make this years Boston complete.

I did exactly what the Champions said I should do. I made my Boston marathon the best experience possible, making friends and memories that I’ll never forget. I used to run to get the fastest time, but as Amby refreshingly reminded me—been there, done that. My coach and best friend, Jacqueline, has been with me over many years and many hurdles, including my bid for the 1999 Olympic Trials marathon where I ruptured my plantaris tendon around mile 6 and came up short, but able to finish in 3:09. In that race, I suffered more than childbirth, and felt almost as proud. Jacqueline always said I was in sub-2:50 shape for a good portion of my fastest years, but unfortunately, I didn’t prove it in races often enough. At 52-years-old, I now know that I can prove that every race is a great race, no matter your time. Jacqueline continues to remind me to just run what I can, where and when I can. I will always run for The Survivors, The Fighters, The Taken. I deserve to finish, as Jacqueline the Champion said. We all deserve to finish.

Deep heartfelt thanks to my TNT Team who supported me generously, some as training partners, some with financial donations, but all with hearts and souls encouraging and motivating me every step of the way: Kathy, Nathaniel, Dipti and Lispi, Erin, Chris, JeanJean, Megan, Connie, Cathi, Tom, Anna, Susan and Mary, Cheryl and Tom, Darryl, Jose, Jen, Charlie, Joy, Crissy and Doug, Leela and Brian, Deborah, Jacqueline, Jenny and Reg, Martha and David, Elton and Carrie, Ann and Ricky, Margaret and Don, Eva and Jack, Janeen and Rick, Ed, Christa, Rosy, Jim and Carleen, Paul, Joan, Kit and Margie, Tamra and Bob, Angela, Tina and Jen, David-”T” and Julia, Hunter and Cilla, Michele and Ben, Mike, Buzz and John, Vickia and Lynette, Jeanne and Jimmy, TNT Hawaii, SoulRunners, Faerbers Flyers, and Rich.

It is with unending thanks to my LLS coaches, staff, and team members who made this experience precious and everlasting: Colleen, Liza, Whitney, Kelly and Sarad. From your countless emails filled with motivation and practical information, to the tools that took me to the finish, I could not have made this incredible journey without you!

Epilogue: I run to refresh my body and soul. I run because it brings me to life. I run to be the best version of myself. I remember those who can’t run and what they would give to have this gift. There is no such thing as a bad run because every day is a blessing and I am proud of every run I do. And like it proclaims on the back of my TNT singlet, I run for those who cannot run for themselves.