his year's 110th running of the Boston Marathon brought me to a stark realization: I could never, ever fathom running in it. The only marathons I've been a part of have involved USA's running of "Law and Order" non-stop on a Sunday, or an all-"Saved By the Bell" day on TBS, but actually jogging for 26.2 miles? I'd rather root for the Yankees...just kidding.
More like I'd rather walk down Newbury St. and go into every shop, critiquing outfits for all the girls I know - a fate that's very close to death. However, there is one race that I can say I've done, a race in which I have shown talent: a keg race. That's right, the lazy college student's answer to the marathon.
The moments before beginning both races are in fact similar to a certain extent. I think it's along the lines of, "Wow, I'm really happy I decided to do this. Everyone's rooting me on and hey, its only 26 miles/one keg. It'll be over before I know it. Heck, I can probably even go out after I'm done."
Right. 26 miles is really easy - to drive, and even then it takes about 40 minutes. And sure, it's only one keg of beer - only instead of an entire party taking it down in an hour, it's just you and 10 close friends. Let's just hope you brought a big enough puke barrel.
Both races have that "uh-oh" moment after a certain amount of time. In the marathon, it probably occurs anywhere from miles 10-13.
At this point, your body is starting to ache, the hills seem never-ending and the girls at Wellesley College actually look approachable as you stumble by them.
That's a tailor-made "uh-oh" moment, when you finally realize that this is a marathon and 13 miles means you're only halfway done, not to mention the fact that the lead Kenyans have crossed the finish line and are flying home to continue training for next year.
In the keg race, I'd say the seventh or eighth cup is where you say to yourself, "I'm definitely going to be sick." Then you laugh, but deep down inside you know this is a losing battle - the keg always wins.
Sure, you have a good buzz and the Natty Ice has the distinct taste of Medford tap water, but, if you're giving your all, projectile vomit is an inescapable conclusion.
It's like going to see a horrifying chick flick with your girlfriend: You give an adamant "Hell no!" when you see the preview, but it's a foregone conclusion that you'll end up in the theater watching Sarah Jessica Parker (and don't tell me that's not true).
Only elite runners and drinkers can make it through their respective competitions without faltering to some extent.
In the marathon, about halfway up Heartbreak Hill, a knee could give out, a muscle could cramp up - or in my case, every known bodily fluid could be expelled from the body in a matter of seconds.
I've seen many a runner lose his or her innards and will traversing this
horrifically long upward climb, and it's not fun to see. Similar to watching Rudy knowingly expose himself to nerve gas on "24" in order to save others, you can't stop looking as the remorse sets in watching the noble task. Drinkers reach this stage anywhere from 12-16 cups into the race.
When this happens, you must pray that an umbrella is nearby, and maybe a camcorder, because some serious beer/breakfast is about to erupt like Ol' Faithful.
Some look down upon this expulsion of bodily fluids, saying it's bad for the spirit of the game. I disagree and think that it shows true grit and dedication, like getting hit by a pitch to get on base in baseball - that's a true athlete.
The last stages of the marathon and keg race conjure up similar feelings as well. Approaching the finish, one thinks, "Oh my God, I'm seriously close to being done with this wretched thing... thank you sweet Jesus."
Runners get that extra burst of energy on that last leg, propelled by the crowd and the sight of a now reachable finish line.
It's like how a townie feels when he or she outruns a cop on foot and can see the front door of his or her house.
In the keg race, the tap slowly starts to sputter and the realization that only a few cups are left takes over, causing one to start rifling cups of beer into one's mouth and onto one's face at a rejuvenated pace.
Full or not, this is the fastest pace of the day, and the thought of holding an empty keg over your head causes a tingling feeling that can only be compared to finding out that a homemade tape of Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston has just hit the Internet.
Keg races are fun, but once college is over, they will be too (I love lying to myself). The act of actually running and finishing the Boston Marathon is an accomplishment that should be revered.
It's amazing to see a father pushing his disabled son the entire race in a wheelchair, or people running for good causes like the troops in Iraq and various illnesses and diseases. It is truly inspiring and something I could only dream of doing.
However, God blessed me with other talents, ones to be used in college parties rather than on a race course. But I'll take it - I mean, I am a townie.
Pete McKeown is a junior majoring in English. He can be reached at peter.mckeown@tufts.edu.
