Laudable legwork

The symbol of the organization that runs this podiatrist's paradise is the unicorn, and for several anxious hours early Monday morning, it seemed there'd be a better chance of that mythical beast galloping down Commonwealth Avenue than the 111th Boston Marathon being held successfully.

"A day that by all accounts shouldn't have happened," marveled Boston Athletic Association president Tom Grilk yesterday morning, after the world's oldest annual road race had gone off with barely a hitch in its stride amid the worst conditions since 1970.

The numbers told the tale. Of 23,869 entrants, 20,640 took the line in Hopkinton and 20,348 made it to Copley Square -- a 98.6 percent completion rate.

"This morning I went online and looked up the meaning of the word 'miracle,' " said race director Dave McGillivray , who didn't sleep Sunday night while obsessing over imponderables. "It said, 'an event that appears to be contrary to the laws of nature.' What we all pulled off yesterday qualifies as a miracle."

The secret was exhaustive preparation, frequent communication with the runners, the media, the eight cities and towns along the 26-mile route, and the key state agencies (Executive Office of Public Safety and Massachusetts Emergency Management Agency), plus the ability to improvise at the 23d hour.

"What saved the day? The team," declared McGillivray. "We are the most well-oiled team on the planet when it comes to putting on a marathon."

It was experience wedded to an early warning. The organizers knew last Wednesday that there'd likely be unusually heavy weather on Monday, but as race day grew nearer, they began worrying.

"The constant forecast was for 20- to 30-mile-an-hour winds with gusts of 50-60 and temperatures in the 30s with wind chills in the 20s," said McGillivray. "What was that? And of all years, we go to an early start and get that thrown at us, too."

So on Sunday evening, the organizers ran through the potential parade of horribles. What if they couldn't get the athletes to the start on time? What if the tents blew over? What if the streets were under water? What if the power lines came down (one did across the course in Ashland, less than an hour before race time). What if the second wave of runners wouldn't wait for the first wave to get off? What if the volunteers didn't show up?

"You can't imagine the laundry list of things you ask yourself," said McGillivray.

The big question was, go or no-go? Ever since 1897, the race had been run on the scheduled day. Now, like the Head of the Charles (which was wiped out by the "100-Year Storm" in 1996), the operation has become so huge with so many moving parts that it couldn't be pushed back a day.

"Postponement wasn't an option," said BAA executive director Guy Morse. "It was whether the race would be canceled or not, and our intention was not to call it off. That would have been the easy way out."

But as Sunday turned into Monday, concerns grew that 23,000 people would be put at risk.

"The predictions were so dire," Morse said. "Frankly, it looked very bad on Sunday night."

A few hours before daybreak, though, the forecast began turning in the organizers' favor.

"The conditions were nasty," Morse said, "but not dangerous."

So the decision was go, with modifications. The runners waited inside the Hopkinton middle and high schools instead of outdoors, buses were kept along the route for shivering dropouts, the people in the medical tents braced themselves for thousands of hypothermia cases.

The officials caught a break when the temperature unexpectedly rose to 50 for the start, but conditions still were iffy.

"The weather would get good again, then bad again, then good again, then bad again," said McGillivray. "Our emotions were up and down, up and down."

Once the rain abated, the easterly wind picked up, making runners feel as if they were jogging on a treadmill inside the MIT wind tunnel. But when the finish clock was switched off at 5:15 p.m. (30 minutes later than planned), the race and those who ran it had survived.

"So the world didn't end," someone observed to Morse late Monday afternoon.

"And they said it would," he replied, smiling.

Yesterday morning, the members of the Order of the Unicorn were shaking hands at the wrapup press conference at the Fairmont Copley Plaza with relief, satisfaction, and pride, and their Shakespeare-spouting president was quoting Henry V at Agincourt .

"And gentlemen in England now abed," Grilk proclaimed, "shall think themselves accursed they were not here."

John Powers can be reached at jpowers@globe.com.