I should be in Boston today

On Sunday, October 14, 2001, I ran the Towpath Marathon through the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. It was 26.2 miles of trees, drizzle and the occasional spectator.

I finished that first marathon of my life in a time of 3 hours, 46 minutes, 20 seconds. It was a huge accomplishment, culminating months of training and years of planning.

I was a few weeks away from turning 32 years old and was in probably the best shape of my life. The Towpath was supposed to have been the first in a series of marathons over the course of which I would improve my training techniques, lower my times and eventually run some of the most well-known races in the world.

Instead, life got in the way.

Terry and I had four kids at the time, and a fifth would come along less than five years later. I started coaching youth sports and getting more involved in my children's activities. My job responsibilities increased. My free time – the time needed to do those leisurely three-hour Saturday morning training runs – dwindled rapidly.

In the years that followed, I vowed to recommit to marathons dozens of times. I would type up a training schedule, start to follow it, then fall off a few weeks into the process when I realized I just didn't have the time to train for such long races anymore.

I desperately wanted to run the Cleveland Marathon. Or the Marine Corps Marathon. Or the New York City Marathon.

Most of all, I wanted to run the Boston Marathon.

Running a marathon is a bucket list item, but running Boston is the pinnacle. It's the most recognized and most highly celebrated marathon in the world. For one thing, you can't just enter the Boston Marathon. You have to qualify for it, and the qualifying times are pretty ambitious by almost any standard.

To run Boston means that you've not only conquered the marathon distance, it means you've whipped it into submission.

But it has never happened. The 119th running of the Boston Marathon is today, and I won't be there. Again.

Marathon training is a time-intensive proposition. Not just on the weekends, but even throughout the week when you're trying to crank out the 6- and 8-mile morning runs that prepare your mind and body for 3-plus hours of hard effort on race day.

So for now, no thank you. It's time to stop kidding myself. At this stage of my life, if I want anything approaching enough sleep and to spend even meager amounts of time with my family, then marathon training is out of the question.

That doesn't mean it's always going to be out of the question, but for now that's the way it is. And let's face it: None of us is getting any younger. There's the very real possibility that by the time my schedule allows for extended training runs, my body won't. That's just the way it is, folks, and I'm going to roll with it.

But I admit that I'll be watching the highlights from Boston tonight with a little pang of remorse mixed with thoughts of "what if?" Maybe someday...

Business travel: Fun until you actually have to do it

If all goes well, I'll be jetting off to Boston later today for a three-day business trip.

Nice town, Boston. One of my favorites.

Not that it matters much, though, because I'll spend virtually my entire time there at a conference, gathering intelligence and forming key relationships on behalf of my employer.

Which of course is the snag in business travel, isn't it? The concept sounds nice, but it's not like you're going on vacation or anything.

The only business trip I ever took on which I had some true "tourist time" was when I went to China in 2005. That trip was 15 days, but I probably could have accomplished everything I set out to do in 8 to 10.

The extra time was for sightseeing and I took advantage of it. The Great Wall was a highlight, as were the outdoor markets of Shanghai.

But almost every other work-related trip I've ever taken has been business first and...well, business second, too.

Depending on the industry in which you work, a typical business trip looks something like this:

• 6 a.m. - Drive to airport
• 6:30 a.m. - Fail to find a parking spot
• 6:40 a.m. - Continue failing to find a parking spot
• 6:45 a.m. - Create an illegal parking spot and hope no one notices for the next several days while you're gone.
• 6:50 a.m. - Lug carry-on baggage into terminal and proceed to security checkpoint.
• 6:55 a.m. - Begin waiting in line for security check.
• 7:55 a.m. - Near end of security checkpoint wait time.
• 8:55 a.m. - Finish waiting in line for security checkpoint and begin dealing with crack TSA agents manning their posts.
• 9:00 a.m. - Receive dangerous dose of radiation from full-body scanner. Make mental note to find an oncologist.
• 9:05 a.m. - Clear security checkpoint and proceed to gate.
• 9:15 a.m. - Arrive at gate, sit down, begin reading book or newspaper while waiting to be called to board.
• Three days later - Board aircraft after minor mechanical delays and some kind of weather system in a completely different part of the country result in repeated cancellations of your flight.
• Many, many hours later - Arrive at your destination.
• Take cab to hotel. Note interesting sights along the way, because it's the last time you'll be outside for the duration of your stay in this particular city.
• Arrive at hotel, check in, go up to room, unpack.
• Order overpriced room service and hope company accountants don't mind that you just paid $37 for a hamburger.
• Go to sleep.
• Wake up (preferably the next day). If appropriately motivated, proceed to hotel fitness center and run a half hour on a treadmill while watching the Home Shopping Network because the remote is broken and you can't change the channel on the 15-inch TV mounted on the far wall.
• Return to room, shower, dress, and go to hotel restaurant for a plate of $23 scrambled eggs.
• Take cab to place of business, whether it's a convention center, office, or abandoned warehouse (again, depending on your line of work).
• Return to hotel 14 hours later. Repeat last several steps until your airline ticket says it's time to return home.
• Return home.
• Pay airport police to retrieve your car from the impound lot after it was towed for being parked illegally.
• Drive to your house.
• Vow to spouse that you're finished with business travel and refuse to take another trip.
• Go to the office the next day and find out you need to be in Spokane next Thursday.

With a few minor variations (for example, your actual scrambled eggs may be $24), this is a pretty universal rundown of the average business trip. If you see anything glamorous in there, please let me know.

A runner's reaction to the bombs in Boston

The horrible events at this week's Boston Marathon broke my heart, for reasons obvious and not so obvious.

The obvious stuff is readily apparent (as obvious stuff tends to be). Three people killed and more than 100 wounded, some whose limbs had to be amputated. Sickening, maddening, wildly unacceptable stuff. I hate the fact that it even happened.

But there's an added dimension to the whole thing if you've ever competed in a long-distance running event, particularly the 26.2-mile marathon.

I don't claim to be an expert on this subject, as I've only ever run one full marathon. And that was nearly 12 years ago. I've also done one half marathon of 13.1 miles and countless local races of shorter distances ranging from 5K to 10 miles.

I've heard the process of training for and running a long-distance race described as "spiritual," and in many ways that is spot on. You put your heart and soul into preparing not only your body but also your mind and spirit for what is often a grueling but deeply fulfilling experience.

I've been there and done that myself many times. Not at anything resembling world-class levels of performance, of course, but I've been there.

Which is why my thoughts turned to the runners who were nearest to the two explosions as they happened.

Being near the explosions meant they were near the finish line. Within yards of it, in fact.

Over the course of the nine months I spent training for the 2001 Towpath Marathon, I often envisioned what it would be like as I approached that finish line. Just the thought of it (without having yet experienced it) gave me chills.

Then, when it actually happened, I felt overwhelmed. I can hardly describe it. When you set yourself a goal like that and work so hard to attain it (through literal blood, sweat and tears), you feel almost every emotion possible when the moment finally arrives.

So here these people were, yards away from completing the most prestigious marathon there is, and then the whole world turned upside down for several minutes.

Please understand, failing to finish a race is nothing compared with the tragedy and loss of human life that occurred on Copley Square. It's inconsequential, at best.

But I couldn't help but feel sorry for those people who came so close and then had the whole thing go wrong.

These were not the people whose stories you would know. These weren't the fleet-footed Kenyans and other supremely talented athletes who log sub-6-minute miles and finish marathon courses in just over two hours.

These people were...well, they were me. My time in my one and only marathon was 3 hours, 46 minutes, 22 seconds. (You don't EVER forget your first marathon time. The numbers are burned into your brain.) The bombs in Boston went off about 4 hours and 9 minutes into the race.

Given that the Boston course is markedly more difficult than the Towpath, and given that I'm a little older and slower now, 4 hours and 9 minutes is probably just about where I would have been finishing had I achieved one of my life goals and run this year's Boston Marathon.

Not that this has anything to do with me, but I can relate to these people. I'm sure every one of them is more grateful to be safe and sound than to have run the last several feet of a race they had essentially completed anyway.

It's just that for those who pull on running tights and get out on the roads day after day to log their miles, there's an added degree of empathy for what happened that goes beyond even the anguish felt by the American public at large (and that's saying something, given how deeply this seems to have affected the average person).

So God bless my running friends who were in Boston that day − fast, slow, or in between. I'm glad you're OK physically, and I hope you're all OK inside, as well. Keep on keepin' on, as they say.