For decades, the Boston Marathon has been the crown jewel of distance running. It’s iconic, historic, emotionally charged, and undeniably special. But that prestige comes with a shadow side the running world doesn’t examine nearly enough.
Boston is a race built on legacy and excellence, yes—but it’s also a race built on exclusion.
And if we’re going to celebrate the magic of this sport, we also have to talk honestly about the parts that keep people out.
Not to tear it down.
To open it up.
Because when you zoom out from the race-day hype and the blue jackets and the bragging rights, what you see is a marathon that tells a very specific story about who “belongs” in endurance sports—and who doesn’t.
And that story is due for an update.
A Race Rooted in Gatekeeping
Boston has always prided itself on being the marathon you have to earn. The qualifying times are tough. The field is stacked. The aura is elite.
But here’s the thing: anytime a sport says “only the best can enter,” we have to ask, best by whose definition?
Because speed isn’t the only measure of athleticism. It never has been.
Boston’s structure creates a hierarchy—intentionally or not—where runners who qualify are “real” runners, and everyone else is something lesser. The culture reinforces that narrative online, in group chats, in running clubs, in the way people talk about charity bibs with a quiet but noticeable side-eye.
The message under the surface is clear:
Earn it, or you didn’t really belong.
And for a sport that loves to say “running is for everyone,” we sure make a lot of exceptions.
A Quick Look Back: This Exclusivity Isn’t New
Women weren’t allowed to officially enter until 1972.
Slip that fact into any running conversation and watch people squirm.
But that’s the point: Boston’s roots were never built on inclusion. The myth of “anyone can do this if they just work hard enough” falls apart when you look at the full history.
Qualification standards were designed around male physiology.
Course coverage prioritized white runners.
The culture celebrated a very narrow image of what a marathoner looked like.
And those roots still shape the modern landscape, even if we pretend they don’t.
Who Gets Left Out Today
Even with charity entries, expanded fields, and growing diversity in recreational running, the barriers remain significant.
1. Financial Barriers
Travel, lodging, gear, and the race itself can run over a thousand dollars. Charity bibs often require fundraising minimums of $7,500–$10,000.
For many communities, that’s simply not accessible.
2. Systemic Barriers
BQ times correlate strongly with income, free time, and coaching access—not just athletic talent.
If you have a coach, childcare, support at home, flexible work schedules, safe running routes, and time to train, the odds tilt in your favor.
That’s not grit.
That’s privilege.
3. Cultural Barriers
When you grow up not seeing runners who look like you, sound like you, or share your lived experience in the sport, it impacts who you believe you can become.
Representation matters.
Boston’s images often don’t represent the full spectrum of who runs—and wants to run—marathons.
4. Global Barriers
Compare Boston to races like London and Tokyo, where lotteries and legacy systems quietly favor locals or repeat entrants.
These systems don’t create a level playing field—they solidify who gets access and who doesn’t.
Let’s Talk About the “Purist” Mentality
The gatekeeping often shows up in subtle ways:
“If you didn’t BQ, it doesn’t count.”
“Charity spots shouldn’t exist.”
“Running slow doesn’t belong at Boston.”
People rarely say these things out loud, but their attitudes are loud enough.
This purity mindset ignores:
Socioeconomic inequality
Gender and racial disparities
The realities of disabled athletes
The impact of medical trauma
Caregiver responsibilities
And the truth that speed is not the only measure of athletic excellence
Boston prides itself on honoring the best runners.
But what if we honored the runners who overcame the most barriers, too?
Because resilience, community impact, and lived experience shape an athlete just as much as a stopwatch.
What True Inclusion Could Look Like
The running world doesn’t need to dismantle Boston.
We need to expand our imagination of what’s possible.
Here are a few places to start:
Fairer lottery opportunities
Blend qualifying standards with an equitable lottery, allowing room for both excellence and access.
Financial support programs
Travel stipends
Reduced entry fees
Sliding-scale charity minimums
Priority pathways for underrepresented runners
BIPOC runners
Disabled athletes
Athletes in surgical or medically induced menopause
Athletes from historically excluded regions
Representation on boards, committees, and storytelling platforms
You cannot build inclusive policy without inclusive leadership.
Shift the cultural narrative
Celebrate finish lines with the same energy we celebrate finish times.
In other words:
Let’s not make Boston easier.
Let’s make access fairer.
Why This Matters Beyond One Race
Boston is symbolism.
Boston is storytelling.
Boston shapes the cultural hierarchy of running.
When a sport says the pinnacle achievement is one that only certain bodies, incomes, backgrounds, or circumstances can realistically access, we create a landscape where exclusion feels normal and unexamined.
But runners are changing.
The community is changing.
And the industry needs to catch up.
If You Want to Explore This Work More Deeply
This conversation is bigger than one marathon. It’s about the systems that shape who gets to succeed in this sport and who gets quietly pushed to the margins.
That’s exactly why I created Representation in Motion, a consulting and education framework for brands, coaches, and organizations ready to build equitable, diverse, culturally aware practices inside running.
If your team, club, race, or brand wants to do better—and actually follow through—I’d love to be part of that conversation.
