Illustration by Dale Stephanos
Welcome to “The Salty Cod,” a monthly column in which humorist Steve Calechman grapples with uniquely New England dilemmas.
God, I hope not, because I screwed up big time. I grew up on the course, right at the top of Heartbreak Hill, and watched pretty much every race during my childhood, and nothing, not the chance to eat a lot of pasta or run by my own house, ever made me want to do it. Then again, not everyone who grows up in Winthrop becomes a pilot.
And that’s fine. We don’t have to do or like all sports. And marathons, especially, are nothing to trifle with. You can’t just show up at the starting line on a whim. You gotta run a lot. You gotta run outside in January. And you never hit a downhill and get to coast for a mile. It really is all you.
Some of us are happy to be on the sidelines and remind you of just that. Think about it, runners. I know you feel you’ve done something medal- and massage-worthy at the end, and maybe you have. But without the crowds, that Monday is just 26.2 miles on concrete. Are all the splits and intervals and lost toenails still worth it? Now think about what those fans are going through. Standing—most likely sitting—for three, four hours, cheering “You got it!” over and over and over again, meaning it each and every time, even making the effort to occasionally decipher your shirt in order to say, “You got it, Mike!”—all while not spilling a drop of their chili. Sometimes it’s also drizzling, maybe a touch chilly, and they still don’t quit. Who’s the marathoner now?
We all are. Is it the classic definition of one? No. But there are a lot of ways to be part of something. Sometimes it’s hoofing it. Sometimes it’s yelling supportive stuff at people we don’t know. But the thing we have in common is that we both willingly keep coming back because it makes us feel good. If it didn’t, we wouldn’t. “It’s not rocket science,” says Jeff Brown, psychologist for the Boston Marathon’s medical team and author of The Runner’s Brain.
It’s the basis for most traditions and rituals, and it’s a way to make something feel like ours. So no, you don’t have to run to be a part of the marathon. Now, a question for you, readers. What’s one of your traditions that could only happen here, one you wouldn’t miss for all the pasta in the world?
This article was first published in the print edition of the April 2026 issue, with the headline,“Do I Have to Run the Boston Marathon to be a Real Bostonian?”
