In 2009, I did a fair amount of training, with my longest training run being 5 miles.  I finished in a respectable time and was very pleased.

In 2010, I did even more training, and finished the race 3 1/2 minutes faster than the previous year.

This year, I had big plans to train. Until we spent a lot of time traveling. And eating. And relaxing.

OK - I had a new goal. After running a total of 3 times for maybe 2 miles each (that would be 3 times I had run for the entire year!), I was going to go to Falmouth, run this silly race, finish with a very respectable time, and write a book entitled "Training is for Suckers".

The morning of the race was overcast, and the number of runners was dramatically higher than in past years.  New Balance was the new major sponsor, and they opened up the run to several more thousand runners than normal.

The race started off fine, as we shuffled/walked/jogged to the Start line.  It wasn't until I was about 2 miles in that I discovered I was in trouble.  Sore feet.  Burning lungs.  Breathing like I should have been pulling an oxygen tank.  Getting passed by masses of people, including some 80 year olds and their 8 year old grandchildren.  Little bastards.

Even with thousands of onlookers cheering on and yelling encouragement, I still struggled and had to stop and walk a lot of the way.  When you run, your race number bib has your first name on it, so people see you coming, and yell your name and words of encouragement.  At one point, someone said to me "You're almost there - keep up the good work", at which point I wanted to beat them to death with my uncomfortable sneakers, while yelling "You Lie!".  Yet, they continued to offer encouraging words and enthusiasm, while all I wanted to do was yell back "You don't know me - shut the hell up and sit back in your lawn chair!".  

Around mile five, I was contemplating new titles for my book, debating between "Running Sucks" and "F*cking Running is F*cking Stupid".  

There is one final hill, just before the 7 mile mark where they have painted the race logo on the pavement, and have smartly located many photographers taking every runner's photo, where they absolutely look their worst.  After the final, brutal hill, it is downhill to the large screaming crowd, under the enormous American flag, to the finish line.  

Ah, relief.  I made it.  My sense of accomplishment was tempered by my embarrassment at having added 20 minutes to last year's time.

Some water, a popsicle, and promise of cold beer and steamer clams improved my mood.

I will foolishly try to run the race again in 2012. However, I will also try to do more than 3 training runs.

After the race, I did feel bad for wishing death for the nice onlookers, and I continue to try to remember them all as being supportive and lovely people.  However, next year, if you see me coming, and I start to remove my sneakers, you should run.