After all is said and done, as a rule, more is said than done.

-Lou Holtz former Notre Dame Head Football Coach

You knew that I knew, that the Dunkin V. Starbucks Weblog would get responses. 

I almost got enough for an entire Weblog. Here are some of the most insightful:

• From Meg in Scituate: Marylou’s blows both places out of the water.

• From Jim in Florida: Well…I, unfortunately belong to Starbucks. Dunkin had a slogan…America runs on Dunkin. Unfortunately, Dunkin gave me the runs. I know…too much sharing.

• From Nick in Bedford: I’m gonna get myself in trouble, but it’s worth calling out that Starbucks competes on coffee drinks much more than on straight coffee—which is where dunks lives and where Dunks is superior. If you compared a Starbucks latte vs a Dunkin’ latte, Starbucks wins 9/10 times. Starbucks does basic coffee, sure, but their brand is coffee drinks, which is also what lets them charge $5 for .50 in product. 

• From Jen in Marblehead: I had to read this one right away. When I moved to NYC, one of the first things I did was open the yellow pages (yup, pre-GPS) and circle the TWO Dunkin Donuts that were in Brooklyn. Dunkins was so important to me I got a map and was determined to find the Dunks. It was in one of the worst sections of Brooklyn, but I was clueless. I found it, ordered, and then got lost. I never went back. My next attempt was Manhattan. I would take 3 trains to get to one of the 2 or 3 dunks in the city. They were always grungy, but always worth it. Jersey, on the other hand, was a lot like here - Dunks on every corner. And there is one in Freehold that is as big as a supermarket. Yeah, I think way too much about Dunkin Donuts.

• From Tom in Amherst: It depends really, for actual donuts and sandwiches Honey Dew all the way. As a Rhode Islander I appreciate their Portuguese sausage (linguica) sandwich. Dunkin has scaled back on their food options, and they’ve been kinda boring. But still preferred to Starbucks 



• From Caren in New Hampshire: Did you see that Bob Dylan dedicated his new book to “the crew at Dunkin Donuts”? Check out this Globe story.

On a dark and stormy morning, that could have been easily confused with a dark and stormy night, I found myself squeezed into a too-small seat in the back of a yellow school bus on the way to Franklin Park in Boston. I got there after a four-block walk through the driving rain in Copley Square and was on a shuttle to the BAA Half-Marathon. 

During the 20-minute ride, it got lighter because Daylight Savings Time had ended a few hours earlier, and I had plenty of time to wonder what the heck I was doing on a Sunday morning when the high temperature was supposed to be 42 degrees and I was booked to run 13.1 miles over the river and through the woods, in the rain.

In the beginning….

My thoughts at the start of the day weren’t very different from my thoughts when it was over. At the start of the day, I was thinking about how preparing for the event was better for my mind than my body. That may sound strange, so let me explain. 

• The fact that at 71 years old I even considered running a half-marathon, made me feel good. 
• It reminded me that I did the training, almost 400 miles on lonely roads early in the morning. I think we all feel better when we do the training for an assignment or a project, as opposed to not doing the training.
• It reminded me that I had put in the time to help accomplish the goal. I think we all feel more confident when we put in the time, as opposed to not putting in the time.
• It reminded me that I demonstrated commitment to a goal. I think we all feel noble when we are committed to an achievement.
• It reminded me that I had put in the effort to overcome obstacles, including injuries and time restraints. I think we all feel proud of ourselves when we overcome obstacles.

As I hopped off the bus in the pre-dawn darkness, I felt trained, confident, and proud. I knew that wouldn’t help me too much running in the rain on a cold November day, but it did make me feel good, and mentally prepared. For a long race, your mental preparedness might be just as important as your hamstring preparedness.

Because I had signed up for the BAA Distance Medley, consisting of a 5k in April, a 10k in June and this event, I was entitled to enter the Distance Medley Tent, reserved for elite runners. Only kidding. It was reserved for those who paid to run the three races. Usually, the best parts of the exclusive area were the coffee and bagels and the porta-potties that you didn’t have to wait in line for, and they were still benefits. The new benefit was that for a little while I could step out of the pouring rain and stretch my legs with a covering over my head.

So, there I was, with a light golfer’s rain jacket underneath my t-shirt and bib, along with 8,999 entrants, from 47 states and 95 countries, most of us wondering about running a half-marathon in the rain, no one talking about a personal best, but everyone hoping they didn’t step in a mud puddle on the way to the start line.

One creative runner had taken special precautions and recycled a couple of supermarket plastic bags. I was so impressed that I asked if I could photograph her feet.

When the time came, everyone made it inside the orange barriers to a designated space in the queue based on their anticipated pace per mile, a local school student sang a beautiful National Anthem, and the event started.

Stupid Mistake #1

I had already used the porta-potty three times, pretty normal for a guy who had a cup of coffee and a bottle of water. As I waited in the queue, I debated with myself whether or not what I was feeling justified a fourth trip before the race started. I went back and forth and made my first stupid mistake: I opted to stay in the queue.

Five minutes later I was in line at the first water stop’s porta-potty and the clock was ticking on my race time. I knew I couldn’t get these two minutes back, but two minutes in a race that was expected to take 160+ minutes was marginally acceptable, I thought.

Less than a mile into the race, I saw a sign held up by someone’s husband, boyfriend, brother, or friend that simply said: “Kick Asphalt,” and it made me smile. One of the reasons it made me smile is that I knew I had the title of this Weblog. It sounded better than "Mistakes in the Rain."

I headed through the park out onto the Arborway, past the Arnold Arboretum, then Jamaica Pond, then Olmstead Park on the way to Kenmore Square and a couple of blocks away from Fenway Park. The Emerald Necklace is the name given to the parks and greenways that stretch six or seven miles from Boston Common to Franklin Park.

Stupid Mistake #2

Like an idiot, when it didn’t really pour at the one-mile marker, I said to myself, and remember, I said it like an idiot, “If the skies don’t open up, I am going to feel bad that I have this rain jacket under my t-shirt.” You know what happened next. So, I felt good that I had worn the jacket, but most of me was soaking wet. That’s right, I was good and wet.

But I was also hot as heck. Some inadvertent poetry there? “Good and wet, hot as heck.”

I was hot because that golfer’s jacket was basically performing the same function as a plastic garbage bag. At the four-mile mark, it was keeping the rain off my torso, but it was also keeping all the heat that the 6,000 steps so far had generated. I had no choice but to move to the sidewalk, pull off my t-shirt, pull off the rain jacket, put my t-shirt back on, and wrap the jacket around my waist. I knew I couldn’t get these two minutes back, but two minutes in a race that was expected to take 160+ minutes was marginally acceptable, I thought.

Of course, as I continued, it kept slipping down, so at the 6-mile mark, I donated it to a guard rail and headed off without it.

At the turnaround point, I had the chance to see the runners behind me and had the positive thought that there were runners behind me. Goal number one for any event? Not to finish last. I was, in all honesty, surprised at how few runners were behind me, but pressed on.

After about eight miles, just before we left city streets to go back and run around the golf course (not on the course, but around the course), I realized that I was not going to break any records, personal or otherwise because I had to walk a bit. 

For the next five miles, I walked, then ran, then walked, then ran. I was judicious and carefully thought out when to do what. I ran down the hills and walked up the hills.

I rounded the last turn before heading into the Zoo for the stretch run, looked at my Fitbit register 12 miles and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

When I get within a mile of the finish line, at work or at play, I know I am going to finish, even if I have to crawl. As I ran by the monkey exhibit and walked by the giraffes, I still felt good, confident, noble, and proud. In addition to exhausted, wet, and sore.

I felt good that I was going to finish, glad that my training paid off, and proud of my commitment.

When I entered the high school football stadium less than 100 yards from the finish line, I wasn’t overjoyed at my time, and I wasn’t overjoyed at my performance, but I was overjoyed that I had finished a very tough race in very tough conditions and completed a half-marathon for the fifth time, which is five more times than most people do it, and five more times that I thought I would.

At the end…

My race results were mixed. Here’s what I mean.

• 9,000 people started the race and 6,346 finished the event, and I was one of them. I didn’t realize the attrition and realized my persistence was still at a high level.
• There were 24 people in my age bracket. I finished in front of four of them. We were 3% of the finishers.
• There were 2,905 male finishers, and I left exactly 55 of them in the dust. I have finished in front of hundreds and even thousands in races before, so 55 might not be an impressive number, but it is 55 better than zero.
• If you count the 2,654 registered runners who didn't finish, I actually finished ahead of 2,870 people on the day. Not bad.
• I was only five seconds away from running an ‘under three-hours’ half-marathon. Oh, those two stupid mistakes!
• I was 19 minutes slower than when I ran the same event in 2019. I think that means I'm slowing down at the rate of 6.33 minutes per year for a half-marathon. I'll take it.

As I hopped on the bus the skies were clearing, I also thought about the Lou Holtz quote, ‘After all is said and done, as a rule, more is said than done.’ After all was said and done, I did it: I kicked asphalt.