Yes, you're reading it right, and i know exactly what you are thinking. Come on Hitman, is NOTHING sacred? This is Boston, running's hallowed grounds. I am well aware of the sacrilege i've done. But, in my defense you need to hear the "rest of the story." For years i've been trying to qualify for Boston. Know why? Peer pressure from non-running friends. Yes, it's true and many Slugs know the feeling. Hell, you could win Barkley eight years in a row, then run across the U.S. in 43 days, and know what those non-running friends would ask you? "Sure, but have you ever run Boston?"
So that puts me in a bad spot. Rather than taking the time/effort to explain to my limited number of friends that i am basically too SLOW for Boston, I decided Team Slug should hold it's very own BostonMarathon with slightly fewer restrictions. Those would be, NONE!
Off to Hoptinkon I went, and with such lax qualification requirements, and major coverage from absolutely no other Running Publications, i anticipated a small crowd. Standing on the painted starting line downtown in Hoptinkon, i fired my own gun(not really), tucked it into my dual bottled handy-dandy running pack and was off in a flash. Actually, not a flash, but i did move forward.
Not even Bill Rodgers dared to show up to challenge Team Slug's finest, and it was on his home turf. There was no crowd lining the streets, though the telephone lineman appeared to be waving at, or jeering at me. I began the tour of the course by peacefully plodding through Framington, Natick, and a few other small towns. The first half flew by, and suddenly i found myself nearing Wellesley College. Surely, the bouncing college girls would be waiting for me. However, they were no where to be found. I did see an old lady on a bench, and she informed me i must be leading because she had not seen one other runner pass.
Deeply content, and satisfied that i was kicking butt, i slid into a bakery to carbo-load on a Chocolate Chip muffin. There was a good crowd, and in this running part of the country, i wanted to hear from a native about the misery that awaited me on the infamous "Heartbreak Hill". A young lady concurred that it would indeed teach me respect, and leave me on my knees crying to my Higher Power.
Passing the fire station i began anticipating, searching and longing for the hill. In my deftness, i somehow got up it, before i realized i was on it. Johnny Kelly saved me. His stone statue along the course stood in great glory. Standing alone beside it on this brisk, flurrying day, i fell to my knees, kissed his feet, and cried to my Higher Power. I guess the young lady in the bakeshop was right.
Nothing could stop me now. Past Boston College, i found myself on Beacon Street approaching the city. I decided on one more quick stop to converse with a "wino" begging for food. Reminiscing of my own days of less fortune, we quickly discovered in each other a common bond. Before slugging off i slipped him what was left of a half-pint of bourbon that i always carry as special "emergency fuel." I know for a fact Team Slug made one Good Friend that day.
Now, nearing Copley Square, i strained to see the "tape". Alas, it was not meant to be, in fact, i was hardly notinced as i crossed the famous finish line painted across the road. And, i must have looked worse than i felt because not one stranger would take my disposable camera and snap my "Championship Photo." Maybe a little bourbon was still on my breath, and i laughed to myself wondering if "Boston Bill" had ever had the same problem.
Stepping into a downtown Dunkin Donuts bathroom i quickly glanced into the mirror to see if "Boston" had changed me. Nope, just as fat and ugly as before. Still, the Slugplan had been a success. Now Boston Bill and i had something in common. See y'all next year at the 99 1/2 edition.
ED: The Hitman has never finished another TS Boston, but has finished the "REAL" One. He still prefers the Team Slug edition.