Robert Cheruiyot, winner of the 2003 Boston Marathon
Time: 2 hours, 10 minutes and 11 seconds
Prizes: $80,000, an olive wreath and a bowl of beef stew.
Kenyon S. M. Weaver ’03:
Time: 4 hours, 49 minutes and 36 seconds
Prizes: $80 worth of McDonald’s food at a study break thrown by his tutor in his honor.
Mile by mile with Weaver
Mile 0: The starting line, Hopkinton. But since I’m a bandit, I had to begin 3/4 of a mile behind the starting line, with the other 10,000 or so locals, so I’ve been running for about 5 minutes now. The official starting time was 12 noon. It’s now about 12:27.
Mile 6: Ah, glorious suburbia. What other event is there where something like a quarter of a million people come out to cheer you on in the hope that you finish a distance of 26.2 miles? It’s one of those things that makes America great. Families on the sidelines with oranges everywhere. Feeling good. I’m getting a lot of comments about how “You’re Kenyan?!?” I think: hey chips, just keep cheerin’.
Mile 12.5: Ok, there are about 500 Wellesley girls screaming for me. Many have “Kisses for the runners” on big posters. Why didn’t I write my phone number on my shirt. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Mile 13: Quote: “Hey, a Kenyan just won it, so you’re a little behind!” Thanks, bro. I appreciate the news flash.
Mile 14: These two old ladies just handed me and Anthony (roommate Anthony J. Herrera ’03, official coach and running partner) cups with jellybeans in them. They were absolutely the most delicious things I have ever tasted in my life.
Mile 16: Energy level: very low. Course of action: switch from water to Gatorade.
Mile 19.5: Heartbreak hill. Pleaseohlordohlordjustenditnow. Why can’t a big car driven by some crazy man jump the metal barriers and the curb and just knock me out? Just enough to take me out of the race, but not enough to do permanent damage. Please.
Mile 21: Boston College. A lot of drunk cheering. Offered a beer, politely declined by wave of hand and heavy breathing.
Mile 22.3: Can’t feel what will later turn out to be severe chafing and sunburn on legs. Three of my best friends from Currier come out of nowhere and start running with me. Two have flip-flops. One of them, Natalie Vaz MacLean ’03, starts yelling at the onlookers to “cheer for Kenyon and Anthony! Cheer, dammit!”
Mile 25: Citgo Sign: done. Hancock Tower: next. Pain: increasing exponentially.
Mile 26.2: Blessed, blessed finish line. Now where is my Kevlar space blanket?
