Though I loved the Atlanta marathon, the field was-how should I put this-not quite as hardcore as New York and certainly not as hardcore as Boston. When we went to the expo, folks were hanging out in cotton t-shirts and shorts, looking casual. I didn't feel the least bit intimidated. As a matter of fact, I felt like I wanted to hang out at the expo and eat all of the food that Publix, the sponsor, was offering in the makeshift grocery store they had set up. Though I'm sure some of my anxiety was lessened by the fact that this was not my first marathon, I didn't feel my heart beating out of my chest, or starstruck, or even nervous. I felt excited. And hungry.
By no means do I mean to diminish the power of that marathon, or any marathon. It's a marathon and thus demands respect, no matter the destination. A local marathon, however, is vastly different from an international one, and though Atlanta is a formidable city, the marathon itself only drew about 3000 runners.
Nothing quite compares to the Boston Marathon, the Holy Grail of Marathons, the ultimate goal for so many runners. And this afternoon The Ambassador will be heading to Boston to hit the expo and then to run her first ever Boston Marathon.
Katie, Shannon and I are heading out tomorrow morning and will land in Boston around 1:45. By that point AK will have gone on a nice easy run with Bart Yasso, will have visited the expo with all the other hardcore elites, and basically will be counting down the minutes until she will proudly don her Fred's Team jersey, for whom she raised $6884.00, and run the race she worked so hard to gain entry in to.
We'll be there cheering; she'll be there making us proud.