If marathoning was born in Greece, it grew up in Boston. First run in 1897—just a year after the Athens Olympics—the Boston Marathon is the OG of annual marathons.
I still remember the moment I qualified. It wasn’t just about hitting a time—it felt like I was finally stepping into a legacy. A gritty, no-fluff, soul-grinding legacy.
So, what makes Boston so damn iconic? Let’s dig in—from quirky distance history to the infamous hills that chew runners up and spit them out.
Why Patriots’ Day? A Revolution of Endurance
Boston’s race day lands on Patriots’ Day, originally April 19, now the third Monday in April. That’s not random. This is a city that honors the revolution—and the marathon fits right in. On Marathon Monday, the whole city turns electric. Some run. Some cheer. And everyone’s tracking splits somewhere.
Back in 1897, the first Boston Marathon had 15 starters and just 10 finishers—on a 24.5-mile course from Ashland to Boston. Yep, not the 26.2 we know today.
That’s because the marathon distance hadn’t been standardized yet. It wasn’t until 1908, after London’s Olympics, that the 26.2-mile length stuck. By 1924, Boston moved the start to Hopkinton so the course could stretch to the full 26.2.
To this day, I can’t wrap my head around finishing at 24.5. I’d have killed to stop there on my first Boston. But the extra mileage? That’s part of what makes it legendary. That—and what comes in the last third.
The Hills That Break You – And the Name That Stuck
Let’s talk Heartbreak Hill. Actually, let’s talk hills—plural. Boston’s got a sneaky set around miles 17 to 21, famously known as the Newton Hills. As a newbie, I thought “Heartbreak” was just a dramatic name for how it feels when your legs turn to bricks at mile 20.
But the name has history.
In the 1936 Boston Marathon, Johnny Kelley—already a running legend—caught up to Ellison “Tarzan” Brown on the last Newton hill. Kelley gave him a friendly pat on the back. That move lit a fire in Brown, who surged ahead and won. A reporter wrote that Brown had “broken Kelley’s heart” on that climb. And just like that, the name stuck.
Here’s the kicker: most runners new to Boston think they’re on Heartbreak Hill long before they actually are. Each rise feels worse than the last. But when you hit the real one… you know. It hits deep. But so does the pride of cresting it.
I remember shuffling up Heartbreak on dead legs during my first Boston, thinking I’d never make it. But I did—and that moment still lives rent-free in my head.
The Loudest Mile in Running: The Wellesley Scream Tunnel
Around mile 12, something magical happens. The Wellesley College girls show up. And I mean show up. It’s called the Scream Tunnel, and you hear it way before you see it. It’s like a tidal wave of cheers—high-pitched, relentless, and impossible to ignore.
They hold signs like “Kiss me, I’m a biochem major!” and yeah, some runners oblige. It’s goofy, it’s joyful, and honestly? It’s the kind of lift you didn’t know you needed halfway through a race.
Boston’s full of that energy. Kids handing out orange slices. Spectators banging cowbells like their lives depend on it.
And the final turn onto Boylston Street? Feels like entering a stadium, even though you’re on a city street. That wall of noise carries you to the finish like a wave.
And the tradition? Red Sox fans roll out of Fenway (they play early on Marathon Monday) just in time to cheer runners home. That’s Boston: the whole city becomes one big, sweaty, beautiful support crew.
The Women Who Crashed the Party – and Changed Everything
Boston wasn’t always this inclusive.
In 1966, women weren’t allowed to enter. But Bobbi Gibb didn’t ask for permission. She hid in the bushes near the start, jumped in, and ran the whole thing—finishing in around 3:21. No bib, no recognition. But she made history.
In 1967, Kathrine Switzer registered under the name “K.V. Switzer” and got a real bib. During the race, a race official tried to literally shove her off the course. (If you’ve seen that black-and-white photo of a guy in a suit grabbing a runner mid-stride, that’s her.) But her running mates blocked him, and she finished strong.
By 1972, women could finally register officially. Eight did. Nina Kuscsik won it—and every woman who’s ever run a marathon owes her and the others a nod.
Now?
Women make up almost half the field. That’s one of my favorite things to tell new runners—especially women who still hear “Can you really do that?” Bobbi and Kathrine proved it. You train, you belong. Period.
Boston Strong, Always
Boston has seen it all. The highs. The heartbreaks. And yes, tragedy.
The 2013 bombing was the darkest day in its history. But what followed? Boston Strong. The whole city—and the running world—came together. The next year, finishers crossed that line not just for themselves, but for everyone affected.
To me, that’s the core of marathoning: resilience. You get knocked down, you come back stronger.
Coaching Takeaway: Boston Will Expose You
Boston isn’t just about fast times. It’s a course that demands respect. The early miles are downhill, which tempts you to go out hot. But if you don’t rein it in, those Newton Hills will chew you up.
I’ve coached dozens of Boston runners—and I always say the same thing: Boston doesn’t care how fit you are. If you’re not smart, it’ll break you. Pace wisely, fuel smart, and respect the course. That’s how you earn that final stretch on Boylston.
That moment? Turning the corner toward the finish, with the crowd roaring? It stays with you forever. Every step, every long run, every early morning—it all leads to that.
The Magic of Boston
Boston’s got unicorn medals (yep, the B.A.A. logo is a unicorn), kiss stations, heartbreak hills, and historic grit. It’s the oldest annual marathon in the world. It’s got stories you’ll tell forever. Whether you’re chasing a BQ or just watching from the sidelines, Boston reminds you why we run.
If you ever get the shot—run it. If not, watch it. Either way, you’ll feel it in your bones.
Your Turn:
What’s your marathon goal? Have you run Boston, or is it on your bucket list? Drop your thoughts—I’d love to hear your story.