Well, here we are, approaching the middle of March. Winter’s stubbornly hanging in, not quite ready to provide an opening for spring to slip on in. My running shorts are antsy. They want to get outside.

And, yes, the Boston bug is biting yet again. Yeah, I’ve signed on to have that course batter me about for a third year in a row.

You see, it’s like this: there are many, many marathons out there. New ones spring up every year. Several of them are not far from home – easy and cheap to get to. But none of them has the allure, the atmosphere, the draw of Boston.

Running buddy Gord Nelson summed up that Boston feeling pretty well last fall.

"Makes me feel like a kid on Christmas morning."

Me, too. Until the bills come. Then I feel like a parent in January.

That was weighing heavily on my mind as I pondered how to explain to my wife, Dianne, that my life would be devoid of meaning unless I made a third consecutive – expensive – trip to Boston, so I could come home with yet another cotton t-shirt, finisher’s medal and a few more black toenails.

I mulled over a few scenarios in my mind. "Because I can,” just didn’t seem to cut it. "The course has battered me silly twice – this has to be my year." Lame. "I’m in a new age group – it may be my only chance to place well." A little self-serving.

Marketing 101: the best way to sell a concept is to put it into terms your customer can relate to.

The wheels started churning, the scene was being written. It would go something like this:

"Remember when I ran Chicago, and we explored the city and we passed a drug store, and you got all excited, wondering whether it was Oprah’s Walgreens?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, let’s step back in time. We go into that Walgreens – and there she is. Oprah, in the flesh, buying deodorant. And you work up the courage to go up to her but when you open your mouth, only gibberish comes out."

"My one chance – out the window."

"You leave the store, disappointed. But we go back a day later, and there she is again – buying a chocolate bar."

"A second chance!"

"This time, you’re ready. But as you walk over, somebody bumps you and you go crashing into the potato chip display. And out the door Oprah goes."

"Please, please, another chance."

"Well, you get that chance. The Oprah Watch – day three. This time you’ve learned well. You approach cautiously, as she flips through People magazine. The path and your mind are clear. Your question is well thought out. Your hands are not shaking. Before you know it, you’re having coffee with Oprah."

The smile on her face would say it all. Big finish.

"Running Boston, it’s like meeting Oprah – only a little sweatier. Two screw-ups – but they’re in the past. I’ve learned a thing or two. This is my year."

Dianne would smile as a wave of deep understanding swept across her face.

"Of course,” she would say. 'We’re going to Boston! But how do you plan to get Oprah there?"

In the end, I turn to beer commercial wisdom, because it really is much easier to beg for forgiveness than to ask permission.