Patriot’s Day

Every April thousands gather on Patriot’s Day to observe a beloved American sporting tradition, the running of the Boston Marathon. It is no coincidence that the race occurs on the day considered the beginning of the American Revolution. The etymology of the word “marathon,” defined by Merriam Webster as “a footrace run on an open course,” or “an event, activity, or session characterized by great length or concentrated effort,” is derived from the ancient Greek Battle of Marathon, after which a messenger was sent running the 27 miles from Marathon to Athens to announce the victory.

Noted historian U.K. Skidaddle has studied Marathon history. “Many consider the 1897 Ashland to Boston race the initial contest, but the very first Boston Marathon was actually run over two centuries earlier.”

On April 19th, 1775, 700 initial participants marched west from Cambridge. Despite a brief interruption in Lexington, the runners arrived in Concord at 7 a.m., where the somewhat ironically named Committee of Safety welcomed them by a rude bridge that arched the flood.

Considered the first recorded instance of a gunshot starting a race – later modified to ensure only one shot, and that into the air – Colonel James Barrett and his welcoming Committee of Safety, their flag to April’s breeze unfurled, began the festivities to the surprise and ensuing confusion of unsuspecting participants.

“That shot was bloody loud,” one recalled. “I mean, they could probably hear it all the way back home in Lancashire.”

“I don’t know who organized this cock-up,” another complained. “We fancied a canny nosh in Concord, we were supposed to confiscate all their beef, pork, flour and blood pudding – as well as John Hancock and Sam Adams, if we could find them – but once we got there, things got grotty. We were ordered to turn about and run the same frog and toad all the way back to Boston!”

The event had been eagerly anticipated. Bookmakers put the odds of the sea route vs. land route as 2-1. A local silversmith signaled from Old North Church initial movements across Back Bay toward Cambridge, after which he rode through the night, alerting fans. Concord historian Emerson “Nowwee” Kickbutt relates what followed.

“There was great interest in the race, neighbors waking neighbors, bells ringing from town to town encouraging thousands of rural farmers to converge and witness the event. Norwood’s own Aaron Guild, who somewhat ironically owned a farm on Guild Street across from Guild Variety, himself left his oxen in field to join the rush. Along the route they gathered, remaining behind stonewalls and trees, allowing the runners a clear path, all the while enthusiastically urging them onward.”

The route wound through Bedford, Lincoln, and Lexington before approaching Menotomy, today’s Arlington. Where runners now struggle with Heartbreak Hill, original runners overcame Meriam’s Corner, the Bloody Angle, and Foot of the Rocks before entering the home stretch, where crowds from Watertown, Medford, Malden, Dedham, Needham, Lynn, Beverly, Danvers, Roxbury, Brookline and Arlington “thronged the roadsides, eagerly awaiting the runners’ approach.” Marshall order, so far regulated by fife and drum, here began to fall apart. Local oral history suggests this moment of the contest was seed for a future famous quote, “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer…”

The race was completed that evening with the last stragglers limping across the finish line, masking their wounded pride. Participants again encamped on Boston Common, where interviews recorded the historic day. “It was all bollocks,” Tommy Atkins admitted. “A lot of guys didn’t finish. We hadn’t eaten any blood pudding for over 24 hours. By the time we got to Menotomy, a lot of guys were just shot.”

“The knapsacks were manageable,” Jack “Bootneck” Crab said, “but running with a musket is wonky. I was knackered. And my bear-skin grenadier cap kept getting knocked off by low branches. Guys with tricorne hats had it much easier. I mean, a Brown Bess weighs ten pounds and with the bayonet latched it’s awkward, some guys just carried a fife. It wasn’t fair.”

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“We burst into Cooper’s Tavern,” another recalled, “hungry as Grimsby church mice and thirsty as the Charles Dickens. We wanted blood pudding and a cuppa, but all they offered was shots.”

The winner was John Bull, whose Concord to Boston time was an astonishing 12 minutes, 23 seconds. “I have only the discipline they instill to thank,” the young speedster explained. “Those 20 lashes for dragging Bootneck Crab’s name, and the 1,640 lashes for blagging the blood pudding at the King George Birthday Bash in Faneuil Hall, really helped. I mean, these Ruperts are deadass. I didn’t faff. When they say run, you run…”

A proper English dinner was held under the Liberty Tree on Boston Common despite, U. K. Skidaddle quipped, a dearth of tea. A splendid spread of Toad in the Hole, Cumberland bangers and mash as well as heaping helpings of blood pudding and sheep brains souffle was followed by cigars and speeches, one in which Governor Thomas Gage, organizer of the event, made clear his personal wishes. “Lookit, two hundred and fifty years from now, I want English subjects of Massachusetts to celebrate the Boston Marathon by raising a glass of Tommy Gage beer, not a bloody glass of Sam Adams…”

Only time would tell the tale.