A record-setting 11,039 qualifiers found themselves on the outside looking in for the 2024 Boston Marathon, a race they ran fast enough to participate in. This number reflects more than a third of all qualifiers, meaning, probability-wise, obtaining a BQ was essentially the same thing as entering a lottery this year. ELEVEN THOUSAND RUNNERS! As recently as the 1990s, this number would have represented the entire field size of the race itself. If those eleven thousand runners just ran their own race in April, that race would be the 9th largest marathon in the US. It’s a lot of runners, a lot of fast, dedicated, deeply disappointed runners. I’ve written before about alternative approaches to admission, but at the moment we should probably accept the current reality and work together to find peace and purpose in it. The purpose here is to put that disappointment into perspective, both with regards to where we are as a community and where many runners find themselves at this moment in their own personal running journey.
At the outset, I think it is important to acknowledge that, at least on a holistic level, this is good. There is a lot of personal disappointment associated with this news, and some bitterness. The conversation can easily become ugly. I made the ill-advised decision to peruse some the internet chatter on this topic, and there is no shortage of attempts to find scapegoats, to blame gender disparities, charity and corporate entries, and the advent of the BAA’s inclusion of non-binary runners. I try to avoid these topics altogether, but, real quick; more men got in this year than women and there was only a very small handful of non-binary athletes, and no evidence that any of them were somehow gaming the system. We need more inclusion, not less and it just isn’t compelling to suggest that the status quo is to blame for the cut-off. Non-qualifier entries are also a contentious topic, but I’m going to stick to the high road and avoid throwing stones at worthwhile charities and the people that support them, and if altruism wasn’t enough, we should probably also remember that the philanthropic footprint of big races is a big part of the municipal justification for closing streets and diverting personnel – especially for a multi-jurisdictional race like Boston. There are also corporate entries, and I get how frustrating this is for folks on the outside looking in, but there is an economic reality of events like these. Those sponsors pay the bills. As a runner who appreciates not having to get out my wallet at every water-stop along a race course, I’m hesitant to begrudge the economic status quo too much. Let’s get past pointing fingers. Healing and blaming rarely play nice together.
Even for those of us confronting personal disappointment, it is important that we also strive to transcend the individual reality and celebrate the community. We, as runners, should be proud of all the fast running happening. Our sport, overall, has taken a hit recently. There were economic headwinds even prior to COVID and a hurricane of uncertainty and peril throughout. In a pandemic-conscious world, there are reasonable questions to be asked about the economic viability of endeavors that involve, well, literally corralling thousands of humans. There is still work to be done overall – lots of races that used to fill up rapidly are operating below capacity - but the nucleus of the running world, which is well represented by BQ pursuers, has clearly proven itself resilient, large, and very fast. Running can be solitary and individualistic, but ultimately the magic of it all is the comradery and solidarity that is the sum of so many lonely parts. It’s a community and we should celebrate the hard work, sacrifices and accomplishments of that community. Runners have to make a conscious decision about how we regard other runners. There is an impulse to simply see ourselves as surrounded by a perilous horde of faceless competitors. We all feel this way sometimes, but it has been my experience that this zero-sum approach neither leads to happy running, nor particularly fast running. A distance race is a battle, but not a battle between runners. It is a battle of time and space, psychological strengths versus psychological weaknesses, an invisible battle between angels and demons each vying for sovereignty over the next step. When we add to all of that the stress of treating each other as obstacles to our own success, the odds are really stacked against us. Success is contingent upon clarity and focus. It requires the peace of mind that comes with the pack. The health of the runner is a product of the health of the pack. Our pack is healthy, apparently five minutes and twenty-nine seconds healthier than the BAA anticipated. This is good.
Now, it’s okay to celebrate the macro-accomplishments of the community and still digest individual disappointment. For the eleven thousand runners who put in the work to qualify only to be denied entry, and the countless others whose own unfinished journeys to Hopkinton feel dimmer with this news, it’s okay to feel some hurt right now. It’s a natural reaction. In fact, I’d say if this didn’t sting a little, it would nullify the magnificence of the pursuit itself. But it is important that this disappointment doesn’t end up stunting the process. That’s my biggest concern for athletes chasing a BQ at the moment; the process. As competitors we have a tendency to fixate on outcomes. As athletes it is incumbent upon us to focus instead on processes. Full disclosure, I’m always a little squeamish about setting a BQ as a race goal. Too often, athletes let it distract them from what should always be the number one pursuit; optimal performance. A lifetime PR or just a “past couple of years” PR should always be the Rosetta Stone by which we translate success, but runners are constantly discounting those kinds of results due to their proximity arbitrary numbers like a BQ. That being said, I have come to appreciate its value as a long-term goal. The qualifying times seem unattainable to many, but I’m actually a firm believer that they reflect an achievable fitness level for runners willing to dedicate themselves to three to five years of disciplined preparation. That means making several attempts, a lot of time, a lot of pain, and, frankly, a lot of set-backs. It’s a high bar. The level of discipline I’m talking about means making sacrifices. It means making running a top three life priority without significant interruptions for the entire duration. I know, and have tremendous respect for a lot of very committed runners who have opted for other priorities and probably won’t ever come close to a BQ. It’s a perfectly valid choice and those folks are just as important components of the running universe. For those who do invest in the long-haul, I continue to believe that Boston is attainable.
In light of the recent cut-off news, a lot of runners are wondering just how attainable it is, whether the patience and persistence needed to even try are still worthwhile given the very fast times folks are throwing down. It is. They are. Invest in the process and remember that the process is sometimes so vast that it is hard to see one side of it from the other. The marathon, as a single unit, is so demanding and sometimes so painful that it can be hard to aggregate the importance of multiple training cycles and multiple races. Especially for those who just ran the best marathons of their lives only to be told that they have to do better to go to Boston, the idea of going back to work can be daunting and demoralizing. Running a strong marathon is tough and the margin for improvement can seem extremely slim, especially when we factor in the time and effort required to recover and retrain, but that is the process by which we improve. It’s a process that requires discipline and grit, but also patience and faith. It’s also the process that just about every runner on the happy side of 5:29 had to endure. They aren’t different runners than those who were denied. They just happen to be at different points in the same process; in or out, fast or slow, whether they’re chasing Boston, or the Olympics or a 5k finisher medal, the process by which runners rise and fall, get back up again, persist and prevail, swallow near-misses and occasional faceplants, the nausea and fatigue of defeat, the nausea and fatigue of victory is all a fraternal forge that, ultimately, admits all. Keep the faith, trust the process, and run happy.