*

Through clamorous towns at headlong pace,
You raced this day to Copley Place,
Where with arm thrust high,
And church bells pealing,
You wear a wreath of glory,
Though head still reeling.

The distance you ushered,
The pain you endured,
Your flag now flutters,
Must all seem a blur.

But honor’s all yours,
This Patriot’s Day,
In this oldest of marathons,
As men shout, “Hooray!”

And though crusted with salt,
Legs seized with fatigue,
The scene’s one to savor,
As you recall the intrigue.

From Hopkinton to Ashland,
With Framingham just ahead,
Ever downward the course rolled,
“Run faster,” it said.

But with purpose you held steady,
As Natick bid adieu,
Knowing the coeds at Wellesley,
Would soon come into view.

Forming their Tunnel of Screams,
Stirring spirit and stride,
A din like no other,
At times hard to abide,

Yet onward you pressed,
As the favorites fell behind,
Dismissing your chances,
Letting the miles unwind.

Each falling in its order,
As one to the next,
Your lead ever growing,
With each town annexed.

‘Till finally up Heartbreak,
Newton’s hill of renown,
Where victory and agony,
Had so often been found.

Your advantage held strong,
Lending credence to your goal,
When sooner than expected,
You could hear the bells toll,

Ringing out from St. Ignatius,
Near old Boston College,
The Haunted Mile just ahead,
Where there were ghosts to acknowledge.

Who’d seen flyers before,
Come dashing their way,
Down Comm Ave. onto Beacon,
That raging sluiceway.

Where with four miles remaining,
The dream close at your shoulder,
The pace ever faster,
But your opponents growing bolder.

Through Coolidge Corner in Brookline,
The downhills like a hammer,
Quads screaming for mercy,
Hard to hear above the clamor.

Finally, Kenmore Square arrived,
Where Sox fans had gathered,
From Fenway they’d spilled,
With their hot dogs still slathered,

Like generations of kin,
Who’d paid witness before,
These people of Boston,
Came forth to implore,

You hollow-cheeked warriors,
From first to the last,
Who’d taken up this challenge,
Of these miles amassed,

Twenty-five now behind,
With one yet remaining,
The matter unsettled,
The challenger now gaining!

Then down past the Eliot,
Before the right onto Hereford,
You chanced a look back,
And in that moment your heart stirred.

Knees lifting, arms churning,
You struck with a vengeance,
No guile in intention,
Nor pity, or its semblance,

Only blessed from on high,
As you drove the stake deeper,
The challenger finally cracked,
Leaving you the lone leader!

Amidst the urgency and tumult,
With history so near,
You held close your emotions,
The moment so dear,

But in the grip of high drama,
As you surged for the win,
Your face finally split,
As if lit from within.

Down Boylston you soloed,
Victory in hand,
Flags waving, cheers rising,
From marathoning’s best fans.

‘Til final stride of your making,
You breasted the finish,
The win of a lifetime,
That none can diminish.

This dream, once Quixotic,
That took years of hard training,
Holds multitudes beyond measure,
All yours to be reigning.

Now you stand atop the podium,
Anthem ringing in your ears,
Heart swelling with pride,
As you revel in the cheers,

Knowing truly that it’s so—
For a year you will beam,
Diamond-chip champion,
Every marathoner’s dream.

Joining Demar and the Kellys,
Boston Billy and Joanie,
Your name among legends,
Ringing out in ceremony.

As this one’s all yours,
Now, with victory crowned,
Champion racer of the hour,
May the celebrations abound.

END