It's Patriots' Day here in Massachusetts, the day we pause to remember those who fought to make our country free. To that end, a small group of people get together in Lexington to watch a re-creation of the British-colonial skirmish that took place their, the opening salvo (so to speak) of the Revolutionary War.

For millions of others, though, it's a day set aside for the Boston Marathon, an excuse to get drunk and watch beanpoles in short-shorts bleed from the nipples due to shirt chafing. Personally, I think you'd have to be drunk at the get-go to run those 26.2 miles, but admittedly my few attempts at distance running saw my knees protest vehemently after about a half mile.

Reading what I just wrote, I come off more negative on the marathon than I actually am. After years of mild fascination with the race, I now view it with passing interest, watching the start, flipping around for a couple of hours, and then going back to coverage around 2 pm to catch the names of the wheelchair winners and see who wins among the elite runners (I did used to watch the wheelchair finish, too, but the retirement of Jeannie Driscoll and the Swiss guy who won a lot - something Neilsbach, though I've probably misspelled the name - has reduced my interest in that segment of things).

For most of my adult life I've lived within walking distance of the course - close to Beacon Street while at BU, and now along Route 16 in Wellesley - but I've never been keen on watching for any length of time. I've passed a couple of marathons in Kenmore Square, once after a Sox game where I was pretty much stuck there, and once with friends, killing time before dinner at the Border Cafe in Cambridge. When I was living on Mountfort Street I could walk from my apartment to Beacon Street, see the elite runners pass, and walk home in time for the finish. I can't be bothered to watch the race here in Swellesley - it'd be like only tuning into the middle five minutes of a hockey game.

I have ultimate respect for the runners, given that they're doing something I could never do. This extends to those who run the race not to win, but to raise money for a charity, in memory of someone, or just to prove to themselves that they can indeed do it. Whether or not I'm there to witness it doesn't change matters. Better that I stay out of the way and let the more willing to hoot and holler be roadside for their anonymous encouragement.

Now I wish we'd gotten up early to see the reenactment. Though, as the schedule shows, I'd have been better going over on Saturday.

Oh, a quick Blogalicious note that Nina Simone, jazz musician and favored musical performer for the wedding I attended in England back in December, passed away today.