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I was fortunate enough to be invited by a friend who conveniently lives on Beacon St., right around the 23 mile mark, to stop by and watch the festivities from there.

It seems that getting to the Marathon itself is kind of well, a marathon. State officials make it a point to tell the public to use public transportation. What they fail to realize is that many people have to use private transportation to get to the public transportation.

I traveled to Oak Grove in Malden to use P.T., but got shut out of a parking space there. Fortunately, I was early enough at Wellington Station to get one of the few remaining parking spots, and from there, made my way to the dreaded Green Line.

Between the Red Sox and Marathon crowd, one could only hope to squeeze or be squeezed onto a Green Line car. I retreated to the well of the steps of the car, fortunately on the side where the doors weren’t opening, and had to stand in an awkward position, keeping my weight on one leg to avoid being crushed my the throngs of people. Still, I found myself forced into some intimate moments with total strangers. My positioning forced me to make a new friend as eye was at eye level with a woman sitting in the first chair by the door I was at. Over the P.A. system the conductor scolded us like school children, repeatedly yelling, “Move all the way in! Watch the doors! Watch the doors!”

If she’d yelled “Raus! Raus!” I would’ve gotten nervous.

As luck would have it, I arrived at my destination just in time to catch the leaders coming by. You can tell by the slow speed of the motorcycle police coming down Beacon Street that the lead runners are arriving and that it’s not and attempt to pull over an errant motorist.

The winners, Ethiopia's Deriba Merga and Kenya's Salina Kosgei, come by and then the trickle of elite runners make their way past. Shortly thereafter, more and more runners go by and eventually the solid, but non-elite runners start to arrive en masse. As the line continues, more and more runners are walking. I find myself trying to encourage them with shouts of “You can do it!” or “Just three miles to go!”

It hits me how ridiculous this sounds. That makes it sounds like three miles is easy, when I know that I could not run the final three miles, much less the previous 23 that they’ve just run.

“You can do it!”?

Hell, I know that I can’t do it. In fact, I find myself feeling guilty for getting tired just clapping for ten minutes for people who have now run 23 miles.

The wheelchair athletes courageously make their way past, and deservedly get plenty of support.

One guy has clearly given up, judging by the fact that he is now walking with a Bud Light can in his hand, no less. Glad to see he followed a strict training regimen.

A female runner veers close to the curb and screams, “I need water! I need water!”

Fortunately, a woman a few feet away, who has her infant in a stroller, has a small bottle of water in her hand and removes the cap and hands it to the runner, who continues on her way. It might’ve been interesting to see what would have happened if she gave the runner the bottle of formula attached to the stroller.

It was right around then when the less serious runners come by. Super Heroes were well represented, with Captain America, Wonder Woman and Batman all making an appearance. No doubt, marathoners get asked a lot “Why on earth would you want to run 26 miles?” Perhaps an even more pertinent question is “Why on earth you would want to run 26 miles in a Batman costume?”

Also, a man with a blonde wig (with pig tails) comes by dressed as a Hooters waitress.

Other entertainment includes a tuba player and a man playing a sort of tom-tom or small kettledrum. One would never think that a tuba could be so melodic. Then a woman chimes in with her fife, much to the seeming annoyance of the tuba player who is forced by her to continuously play the song “Mama’s Little Baby Loves Shortening” (or whatever it’s called). My party host, Mike Donovan, videotapes the proceedings and joins in on tambourine, which seems to annoy the fife player. You can tell from her reaction in Mike’s video that she’s a little miffed. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5jvrbHf5Ws&feature=channel

The Green Line train ride home wasn’t nearly as crowded, but with the Red Sox and Marathon traffic dispersing, takes an interminable hour. There is some entertainment as a young man on the train decides to use his cell phone to videotape the big drunk guy a few feet away. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to sober up and find that on YouTube some day.

So, if you know someone who ran the Boston Marathon, buy him or her a well-deserved beer…or Gatorade…or some deodorant.