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My Journey to the Boston Marathon April 16, 1979

In the crisp October air of 1978, as I embarked on my twentieth year, I found myself stationed at Langley Air Force Base, Virginia. Little did I know that the mundane Friday routine of pushing my running limits, completing the longest run ever… seven miles, would lead to a chance encounter with two fellow runners. Their mention of the Richmond Newspapers Marathon in just 2 days ignited a curiosity within me, though their amusement at my inquiry about the marathon's distance revealed the scarcity of information on running at that time. In an era when resources were sparse, Jim Fixx's seminal work, "The Complete Book of Running," had yet to grace my eager hands.

Their caution about leaping from a 7-mile to a 26.2-mile distance only fueled my determination. "You can't do that, it's impossible!" they said, and that was the catalyst for me to commit to my first marathon. The night before, sleep eluded me; anticipation buzzed in every nerve. I arrived at the dining hall well before it opened, eager to fuel up for the daunting journey ahead. As soon as the doors unlocked, I devoured a towering stack of pancakes, knowing it was essential for what lay ahead: a 26.2-mile odyssey. I hopped in my Fiat 128 and made the 77 mile trek from Hampton to Richmond, Virginia.

At the starting line, alongside 1,183 other runners, I brimmed with excitement and determination, ready to embrace the challenge of becoming a marathoner. My running gear was basic—a watch that merely kept time, devoid of the advanced metrics of today's technology. Distance, average pace, heart rate, cadence—these were distant concepts, irrelevant to my immediate task. I relied solely on intuition, finding a rhythm that felt efficient and sustainable. This intuitive approach proved its worth as I swiftly overtook the doubters, those who had scoffed at the notion of transitioning from 7 miles to the marathon just days earlier.


As I neared the finish line, a surge of accomplishment coursing through me, the announcer's words echoed across the crowd, "And the final runner to qualify for the Boston Marathon is Rick Muhr!" At that moment, the significance of the Boston Marathon was lost on me; it was an unfamiliar event, qualifying for it held little meaning. Yet, as my official finishing time flashed before me—2:59:55—I realized the magnitude of the feat: I had surpassed the qualifying time by a mere 5 seconds.


The morning after, I awoke to a mix of pride and physical strain, feeling as if I'd collided with a car. Every muscle screamed with metabolic buildup, and my gait resembled that of someone far beyond my years. Despite the stiffness and discomfort, my mind was already fixated on the next challenge. I caught wind of the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C., a mere 27 days away. Undeterred by the tight timeline, I harbored a relentless determination to push my limits once more, aiming to better my previous performance. The prospect of traversing the nation's capital, with its iconic monuments punctuating the course, filled me with eager anticipation. Moreover, the military connection held a special resonance for me, adding an extra layer of significance to the impending endeavor.


This marathon dwarfed Richmond in scale, offering me a glimpse into the burgeoning popularity of running in the late 1970s. With the iconic finish line at the Iwo Jima Memorial in mind, I surged ahead as it loomed into view, eager to shave off precious seconds from my time. To my surprise, an additional out-and-back segment awaited, prolonging the race before reaching the finish. Undeterred by the unexpected challenge, I maintained my focus and resolve, both mentally and physically, crossing the finish line with a time of 2:55:00. In less than a month, I had trimmed nearly five minutes off my marathon time, a testament to my dedication and progress.


Recovering from this marathon was remarkably swift, fueling an insatiable eagerness to push my limits once again at the marathon distance. Settling on Virginia Beach for my third marathon on March 17, 1979, I tempered my excitement with a pragmatic approach, affording my body a generous 3.5 months to recuperate fully and embrace a more structured training regimen. The investment in recovery and methodical training paid dividends as I shattered my marathon personal best, clocking in at 2:47:28. Overwhelmed with emotion at the finish line, I was taken aback by the significant improvement in both my time and how I felt throughout and after the race, underscoring the rewarding outcomes of disciplined preparation and perseverance.


Stepping into my fourth marathon in a mere six months, I brimmed with anticipation, facing none other than the granddaddy of all marathons—the Boston Marathon. Departing from Langley Air Force Base, my Fiat 128 once again carried me on the journey to Boston, where I felt more connected to the running community than ever before. Arriving in Boston felt like a pilgrimage to the Mecca of running, with every moment steeped in excitement and significance.


Settling into a motel on Route 1 in Peabody, I immersed myself in the running culture, visiting Bill Rodger's iconic running stores in Faneuil Hall Marketplace and Cleveland Circle. Attending the official pasta party, I absorbed every ounce of energy and enthusiasm, feeling the collective anticipation of the marathon ahead.


Boarding the bus from Boston to Hopkinton, a whirlwind of emotions consumed me. The 26.2-mile journey from Hopkinton to Boston proved far more challenging than anticipated. The daunting hills, appearing late in the marathon, tested my endurance to its absolute limit. Yet, with every step, I pushed forward, fueled by determination and grit.


Crossing the finish line with an official time of 2:48:35, a wave of gratitude washed over me. Becoming a Boston Marathon finisher stood as the pinnacle of my achievements to date, a testament to perseverance and the unwavering pursuit of the best version of myself.

While I didn't reach my personal marathon best of 2:33:13 at Boston, I still cherish my achievements on its challenging course. The closest I came was in 1983, clocking in at 2:38:44, a testament to the relentless demands of the race.


Yet, beyond my own accolades, I find my greatest fulfillment in guiding others toward their dreams of crossing the Boston Marathon finish line. Over the course of 28 years, I've had the privilege of supporting thousands of runners in realizing their goal of becoming Boston Marathon finishers—for life. It's in these shared triumphs that I find the true essence of my running journey, shaping the lives and aspirations of others in the enduring spirit of the marathon.

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