A first-hand account of running the Boston Marathon by our wellness editor. From qualifying dreams, race day reality, and personal triumph.
Ah, Boston. Say the name, and many different associations come to mind. For some, it’s the mecca of team sports, from the Celtics, Patriots, to the Red Sox. For others, it’s the academic capital of the world with Harvard and MIT. There are the clam chowders and the brutal winters. But for as long as I could remember, Boston has meant one thing to me: the Marathon. The Boston Marathon.
Scenes from the Boston Marathon
The Boston Marathon has been held annually since 1897, making it the oldest annual marathon in the world. It’s a cherished tradition in Boston and a major event on Patriots’ Day. The marathon not only embraces longevity and tradition, but is a trailblazer for inclusion in the sport. It became the first marathon to officially admit women and the first major marathon to include a wheelchair division.
Over time, it’s grown into more than just a race; it’s a cultural institution, a community celebration, and after the 2013 bombing, an enduring symbol of resilience #BostonStrong. As one of the Abbott World Marathon Majors, it stands among the elite. But for those like me who line up in Hopkinton and run those storied 26.2 miles to Boylston Street, it’s more than just a marathon.
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Chasing the Boston Marathon Qualifying Dream
Beyond history, there is prestige. The Boston Marathon is the race most known for its time qualification. Outside of charity runners, sponsors, or tour packages, all runners must have met a Boston Qualifying (BQ) standard in a previous race, making every entry hard-earned and deeply meaningful. To hold a BQ time means you’ve met a certain standard of excellence in the sport, challenging yet attainable for amateurs who put in the work. Think of a single handicapper in golf.
I first became aware of the BQ standard after my first marathon, and have made it a goal to achieve this. In my next marathon, I was minutes away and hungrier than ever to achieve this goal. But life had other plans. The pandemic hit, races disappeared, and I found myself moving back to the Philippines after living abroad for several years. Then came the injuries. Running quietly slipped into the background, replaced by other sports, shifting priorities, and the natural reordering that life demands. That BQ dream, once so sharp in my mind, faded.
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Finding My Way Back to Running
Last year, I found myself wanting to run again—and I quickly remembered why I loved the activity in the first place. It is my personal time to be present and reflect (or get lost in a podcast). It is the feeling of accomplishment that sets the tone for the day. And it is the physical and psychological benefits that come with the work put in, showing up day after day. Of course, it wasn’t easy—waking before sunrise to (literally) outrun the brutal Manila heat, and balancing life’s responsibilities.
As the kilometers added up, so did the quiet transformations. I let go of habits that didn’t serve the person I wanted to be, and began living more intentionally, with purpose. And just as I was finding my stride again, the opportunity came (arguably, manifested)—a chance to run Boston through NordicTrack and Chris Sports.
Boston Marathon Weekend and the Race Glory Day
Fast forward to April 2025. Marathon weekend in Boston is something else. You can feel it the moment you arrive—the energy in the air, the way the entire city comes together to celebrate the marathon. Streets were filled with runners who were proudly wearing their jackets, as well as families and supporters. Newbury Street transformed into a runner’s mecca—lined with signs, brand activations, and a palpable sense of shared anticipation. The expo was packed wall to wall, pulsing with excitement as people picked up their bibs and bought merch to celebrate the fact that they had made it to Boston.
Race day arrived, and with it, a quiet hum of anticipation that steadily built as we made the drive out of the city to Hopkinton. Boston’s point-to-point route felt like a journey, starting in a small town and stretching its way toward the heart of the city.
As I stood at the start line, surrounded by thousands of runners, it hit me: this was it. And the moment I began to run, I slipped into a state of flow—effortless, smooth, carried by the rhythm of my stride and the roar of the crowds. The energy was electric. The first half flew by in a blur of smiles, cheers, and high-fives from the endless sea of spectators lining the course. Every step felt light, strong, and free—like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
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Crossing the Finish Line
But then reality hit. The temperatures were warmer than expected, and I’d made a rookie mistake–underestimating my hydration. Not long after the famous Scream Tunnel at Wellesley College, my leg began to cramp. Hard. The second half of the race turned into a battle, not just physically, but mentally. Each mile became a test of will as I tried to manage the pain and keep moving forward. My watch became a reminder that my time goals were slipping away.
For a moment, I stopped chasing a finish time and focused simply on finishing. Then I glanced at my wrist, where I had written one word in block letters before the race: “SMILE.” It was my own reminder to take it all in—the crowds, the moment, the privilege of suffering through this race, this city, this dream. From that point on, it wasn’t about speed. It was about the heart. I had to dig deeper than I ever had to reach the finish.
I ended up finishing the race in just under four hours, my second slowest marathon time and far from what I had trained for. Maybe it was the runner’s high, but for some reason, I wasn’t upset. I looked down at the second mantra written on my hand again: “Today is the celebration.” It reminded me why I, and 30,000 other runners, were there.
The Marathon Beyond Boston
That’s the thing about the marathon. It takes so much to even get to the start line—the early alarms, the hard track workouts, and the never-ending long runs. The sacrifices and the discipline it took to show up over and over again to prep your body to run 26.2 miles. Then there’s running the race, the mental and physical fortitude to push your body to the absolute limit. That is what finishing the Boston Marathon meant for me. It is truly a celebration of the person I’ve become.
Though my first Boston Marathon didn’t have a fairytale ending, my story with Boston doesn’t end here. Boston, to me, symbolizes my ability to set scary goals and do everything in my power to work towards them. With each step, laying brick by brick, I get stronger and more resilient. And in this path, each success and inevitable failure bring me closer to becoming the person I want to be in and outside the sport. Boston, I will be back.
I hope everyone finds their Boston—or their own version of it—that pushes them to grow, chase bold dreams, and keep showing up.
Photographs courtesy of Alexandra Tan
