My claim to fame in Boston Marathon history is stopping for ice cream in the middle of the race. Back in 1986, the unorthodox strategy added at least 15 minutes to my time, pushing me just over the seven-hour mark when I hobbled over the finish line.
I am one of thousands of unregistered runners, better known as “bandits,” who have run without a number at the back of the pack. Along with two high school buddies, I foolishly did so with no training whatsoever. We had decided to become marathoners while watching TV the Friday night before Patriots’ Day weekend.