Boston

When I decided to start running, I did it the same way I do everything else - I immersed myself in the culture of runners. I found a couple of blogs about runners (see sidebar) that I thoroughly enjoy reading and I bought cute running clothes. This, of course, is the only reason that I know that today is the Boston Marathon. Since the chances of me running ANY marathon are slim to none, I decided to post about the one and only time I've ever been to Boston. It's another one of those crazy travel trips - the kind that make people say, "I am NEVER going on a vacation with her!!" Pour a mug and pull up a seat.

I had to attend a training seminar just outside of Boston. The flight left on Easter Sunday and I decided to have my parents drive me to the airport after Easter dinner. While at their house (an hour away from my apartment), their stupid cat decided that my luggage looked like a litter box and decided to mark it as such. Oh, yeah. There was nothing I could do but hope that my bag was water-proof enough that cat pee wasn't all over my clothes. Starting this trip smelling like the crazy cat lady was only the beginning.

The flight there was uneventful (this was early on in my travel career and I hadn't learned to be wary of that yet) but when I arrived it was in a blizzard. In a strange city. In a rental car. On Easter Sunday. No place was open. No one around to ask for directions. I was on my own.

I finally found the correct highway and started off. I had the directions (and unlike most of my family, I can actually follow directions) but this was back before the interstate exits were marked by mile. Instead they had numbers - 11, 12, 13 - and I was to take exit 14. Problem was, the exit signs were all covered in snow and I couldn't read the number. Well, I'm just redneck enough that I got out (in my flats - no snow boots here), dug through the snow on the side of the road until I found a few rocks, and threw them at the sign to knock the snow off. It only took me a few tries and I was at exit 11. I carefully counted the exits and got off 3 later...except I hadn't accounted for the fact that sometimes they throw in an "A" and "B" for good measure. Yeah.

I finally came across what I thought was the right hotel except it had a different name. I didn't care. I was staying here regardless of whether they had any rooms or not. Oddly enough, they had my reservation. Strange, but OK. (The next morning the sun had melted enough snow to uncover the teeny, tiny sign that said "formerly the Radisson". Whatever.)

I woke up the next morning, noticed that the room smelled faintly of cat urine, and took a shower. And started to develop the worst head cold I think I've ever had. And the rest of the week went much the same. (I did eat in a fantastic historic inn in downtown Boston but I couldn't for the life of me tell you what it was).

On my way back to Logan Airport I realized that the drivers in Boston are Insane - yes, with a capital "I". And then traffic sort of...stopped. The Boston (marathon, that is) was that weekend. I had no idea. And frankly, I couldn't have cared less, but it caused traffic to have to be re-routed and switched and such. Luckily, I was so sick of being there that I had left for the airport about 3 hours before I should have (this was before 9/11).

I dropped off the rental car and easily found my gate. I plunked down in a seat with a book I had picked up in one of the newsstands and tried not to fall asleep. And then I heard it. Three fairly inebriated, very loud guys talking obnoxiously in Yinzer accents (for those of you who don't know, that's Pittsburghese). I looked at the woman across from me and said, "I will bet you $100 that I'm sitting with them on the plane." I get on the plane and one guy is next to me and one is directly in front of me. I should have made that bet... But the third guy, Bucky, well, he was apparently missing. I heard his friends asking, "Where's Bucky? Anybody seen Bucky?" And then, "Oh my God! Bucky got on the wrong plane! Miss! Our friend is on the wrong plane!" Yeah. Security at Logan was never all that great and sure enough, Bucky was on the wrong plane. Don't worry. He made it. He was sitting across the aisle from me. {SIGH}.

And that is the closest I will ever be to the Boston Marathon. ;)