When I was in the fourth grade, the hottest toy for girls was the Cabbage Patch doll. It was the first real toy craze that I remember. Parents would camp outside stores awaiting new shipments of dolls to take home to eager kids. Stores would sell out of these dolls within minutes after a shipment arrived. And these dolls weren't cheap! At around $60, these were the most overpriced toys of the 1980s.
It didn’t matter to the kids who were begging for them, though. The dolls were unique because they weren’t just dolls you bought and played with. You had to adopt them. They came with adoption papers and an oath that you actually had recite in front of a witness. There were red-haired dolls and blond dolls. There were boy dolls and girl dolls. There were newborns and young kids. Some had braids, others had tight curls. Some came in dresses and sweater sets, others in jeans and tennis shoes. Really, there was a doll for everyone.
Looking back, I can’t figure out why we loved them that much. First, they were plain ugly. Their faces were all scrunched up and they had pig-like noses. I don’t really like belly buttons anyway, and their belly buttons were massive in relation to their little bodies. Their fingers and toes were stubby and their mouths were far too small for their faces. And the names they came with were, well, a little old-fashioned. My first doll’s name was Henrietta. There’s nothing wrong with Henrietta, but I really wanted a doll named Katie.
Yet, I begged and pleaded with my mom to buy me a Cabbage Patch. When I got my first, I was in heaven. I spent all my allowance on accessories like diapers, food, clothes and hair bows. Where is that doll now, you ask? I used it as a prop in health class in high school to demonstrate the effects of chicken pox. She now sits in my daughter’s room “decorated” with pock marks.
I may be older, but I would argue that I’m no wiser. Instead of putting my efforts into obtaining an ugly doll, I now put my efforts toward qualifying to run the Boston Marathon.
The Boston Marathon is like the Cabbage Patch for runners. So many spend their mornings, evenings and weekends literally running after a coveted spot. Runners log in the miles and sweat through the speed work, hoping to hit that qualifying time just once. Some see their dream come true many times over; others never do.
In late February, as a result of the unprecedented quick sell-out of the 2011 race, the Boston Athletic Association set new standards for entry into the marathon, some of which will be effective for the 2012 race. This is not an article debating the merits of those new standards but rather wondering if the chase is really that important at all. Is the Boston Marathon as incredible as it's built up to be, or is it really just an overpriced, ugly doll?
Why is this race such a big deal?
Well, it’s uniqueness, for one.
The unicorn was chosen as the symbol of the Boston Marathon by its organizers because of its mythology. It symbolizes the pursuit of something unattainable. The constant striving to be better, to improve, to achieve something beyond our own perceived limitations. It’s the pursuit that makes us better, and the Boston Marathon asks us to be our best.
The Boston Marathon is the only marathon in the country that asks its participants to run a previous marathon in a given amount of time. Yes, there are some charity runners, but 80 percent of the field are runners who have qualified, and those standards are no joke. To run the Boston Marathon is to tell the world that you achieved a level in your sport that not many people can claim.
Is it elitism? Some say yes, but there is elitism in every sport. All I can say is that I don’t have a hope in this world of golfing in the Master’s, but there is a chance for me to run the same course as other running greats.
The Boston Marathon is also steeped in history. First run in 1896, it’s the world’s oldest annual marathon. Running legends such as Bill Rodgers, Alberto Salazar, Dick Beardsley and my personal favorites Roberta Gibb, Katherine Switzer and Joan Benoit all ran this legendary race. Not only do runners get to run in the footsteps of legends, they can run side by side — or far behind — current running celebs such as Meb Keflezighi and Kara Goucher. It was also the first major marathon to recognize the wheelchair division competition.
It’s fitting that a race with such rich history is run on a day that celebrates history: Patriot’s Day. On this day, residents of Massachusetts and Maine celebrate the beginning of the Revolutionary War on the third Monday of each April by taking a day off, roasting some hot dogs, drinking beer, watching the Red Sox and cheering on Boston Marathoners. It’s a literal party in the streets, and the energy is electrifying.
Does that make the Boston Marathon better than any other? Is it worth the actual blood, sweat and tears that many of us shed in chasing the mythical unicorn?
While I love Boston, I wouldn’t say it’s better than other marathons. In fact, my favorite marathon is a local race. The Top of Utah marathon is held each fall in beautiful Cache County. It’s a stunning course that takes runners down Blacksmith Fork Canyon and right into the heart of Logan. It’s not prestigious by national standards, but since my first running of the race four years ago, I have yet to miss a year. There’s a local charm this race offers that I haven’t found anywhere else. I feel at home there.
Is the Boston pursuit worth the effort? I won’t lie. I always try for a BQ in every race I run. It’s a goal, and goals are good. Goals push us to be better than we thought we could be. They keep us in line and in training. I guess you could say I’m a serial unicorn chaser.
When I wear my Boston jacket — and I wear it at every marathon expo — I am proud. I had to earn it. If I have a horrible race, I can go back to my hotel, shower and put on my Boston jacket and I feel a little better. I may have had a bad day, but that jacket says that there was a day that I tackled something hard and I made it. The day after the Boston Marathon, my family and I walked around the city sight-seeing. It was a parade of horrendously bright blue and yellow jackets with unicorns embroidered on the back. On any other day, those jackets would be an eye-sore. On this day, they were a symbol of pride.
Am I proud of my BQ’s? Absolutely. Will I attempt to BQ again? Absolutely. If I never catch that unicorn again, will I still be a runner? Absolutely.
Like the Cabbage Patch doll, the Boston Marathon is unique. It plays hard-to-get, and there are a lot of runners trying to catch that unicorn. It's demanding and it's a worthy pursuit. For those that meet the challenge, it's highly satisfying. But it's still just a marathon. At the end of the day, I don’t run to get to Boston. I run because I love to run.
Kim Cowart is a wife, mother, marathoner and 24-Hour Fitness instructor who is excited to chase the unicorn again at her second Boston Marathon in April.