How it Went - My #BostonMarathon2016 Recap

All these weeks and months of training and preparation, I was feeling so good, so ready, so strong and so fast. I was prepared for my best run ever, even holding out the possibility of a personal best time - faster than what I'd pulled off fourteen years ago. I was ready to finish the day feeling exhilarated, powerful, time- and age-defying-ly fast, ready to return again in 2017, for the first time ever, as a Boston qualifier.

In the end, I had an amazing experience.

But also a very different experience than the one I'd picture in my head.

By the time I crossed that finish line on Boylston Street, my heart is full. Between miles 21 and the finish it just about burst. And, instead of power and speed, it was humility and humanity and my limits and pain, and me barely holding it together at multiple points, and just one foot in front of another, and another. And then it was over.

The day came together something like this:

All week, I had been so keyed up for this race, I wasn't sleeping well.  Race day was no exception. Awake for good by three something. Lay there until 4:30 AM. Then just got up.

In the spirit of gratitude, I'd just written about here on this blog and knew would go live just as my race began, I wrote a pair of thank you notes for a pair of Dream Big! gifts that came in at the 11th hour, propelling me beyond the $10,000 mark - and with more still trickling in.

I checked my messages and found a word of encouragement from a friend and running partner, including this quote by Harold Whaley:

"Just do your best, it is all you can do.  Don't ask how, just begin and do it now. The world waits for you"

The perfect word for the day.

Coffee. Breakfast, and unhurried, cheerful time with my family over the next few hours. Final preparations and gathering of gear. And a little before 8, they all walked and ran and sang me down the hill towards the T.

Clear blue skies. Sun shining. A beautiful day for a Marathon.

On the Orange Line, it was easy to pick out the other runners. I sat across from a woman from New York, running Boston for her fourth time. More joined at each stop, until we all spilled out at the Chinatown stop and, a block away, joined the masses queuing for buses at Boston Common. A scene to make one think everyone in the city was a marathoner. Wave after wave after wave of yellow school buses. They pulled up two abreast, twenty rows back. Each filled up with giddy runners, then pulled away. Replaced by a new wave. And on again.

And off we went, in a grand caravan, police officers waving us by at every intersection, people waving at us and us waving back, cars honking - so much joy directed our way and beaming from inside each bus, as we pulled onto the Mass Pike and pointed West towards Hopkinton.

"Don't look out the window from the bus," our coach had quipped, "You'll get a sense of how far 26.2 miles really is."

And the ride did feel long. But soon enough we pulled into the parking lot of Hopkinton High and spilled out into the Athletes Village. Already the temperature was rising to where I dumped my $1 winter coat from Boomerangs in JP - though I kept my Edgartown Yacht Club INSTRUCTOR pants on until I found my way through the throngs into our (what a gift!) charity VIP indoor staging area at the Brown Gymnasium - the private cluster of porta-potties reserved just for us the most treasured luxury, as the great masses queued up 15-20 deep out on the flaying fields behind the school.

A team photo. Some stretching. Vaseline under arms and between legs against the chaffing miles ahead. Pre-race snacking. Sipping water and Powerade.

One of the volunteers working the gym stopped by to advise us that, given the rising heat outside (already in the 70s) with no cloud cover, and only very limited tree cover (still early early spring in Boston), to be sure to drink Gatorade along the way, to keep our electrolytes up. With water only, they'd flush right through us and we'd cramp bad. I hadn't planned to drink any - I can't really stand the sticky stuff mid-race, but thought, OK, maybe a few sips every once in a while.

Then, at 10:30, it was time for the charity wave to queue up, which we did first at the edge of the Athletes Village, and then again, after a 1/4 mile walk, at the start.  I sucked down a sticky-sweet, chocolaty goo for a last jolt of energy before we got going, and shimmied my way as close to the rope at the front of our corral as I could get.

I noticed that, even though I'd guzzled that whole Powerade and bottle of water, my mouth already felt dry.

Counting down to the start, I took note of the thick crowds ahead of me in the three earlier corrals of my wave. The runner next to me looked fast, like a veteran. Turned out he was. Expect to take 3-4 miles to clear through the traffic and run your own pace, he advised. Ready to go fast, to run the race of my life, I couldn't quite accept that, and didn't.

When the Go! call finally came, I snaked my way up the edge to the left, as advised by a running friend and experienced Boston Marathon runner. Then I dodged and weaved, and occasionally jumped up on a sidewalk. And though that was all counter to the sage advice of our coach, by a mile or so in, I had cleared through most of the traffic and settled in to what felt like my pace. Not pushing too hard. Focused on cadence. Soaking in the scene.

At the 5K mark, we crossed the first chip-reading sensor, sending data on our progress immediately to all those following us via text or the app or the website. I thought of all those I'm running for, and those I knew would be tracking me, and said, "Hello everybody."

I learned later, I'd run that first 5K in sub-7 minute pace; 25/seconds a mile faster than my personal best marathon pace. I didn't feel as if I were pushing it. Felt really comfortable and, in my mind, as if I was even heeding our coach's advice to hold back at the start.

Those next few miles were great. A total blast. The crowds weren't thick that early in the race, but present and full of encouragements. Kids reaching out their hands for high fives. "This way to Boston?" I asked now and then to one of them who caught my eye. "That's right!" they said, "You're headed the right way."

"You got this, Dream Big!" many shouted for me.

I danced as I ran to music blaring along the sidelines.

I saw a first familiar face around mile 12 - a colleague at a front yard BBQ. He shouted my name and ran with me for 50 yards (beer in hand). "You're doing great," he said, "Fast!" And I felt it. And a jolt of adrenaline from from his company and good cheer.

Then into the woods and towards the roar of the famous Wellesley College Scream Tunnel, where I resisted the many offers of kisses and proposals of marriage, and wondered what, if anything, was behind that sign held by the bare-shouldered, bare-legged coeds that read, "If you run fast enough, we'll drop this sign!"

"Dream Big!" yelled one of them. "You were in my big dream last night!"

Then further into the woods.

Near the half-marathon mark, I spotted Linda Driscoll, Founder and ED of Dream Big! and mugged for this photo. Me in my yellow, Wave 4 bib, now deep into the Wave 3 blues.  Feeling great.

In the miles ahead, as we rolled along the relative flats before plunging down into Newton Lower Falls, the headwinds really picked up.  At the water stations, the discarded cups chased and bounded and raced past us in the breeze.

"I tackled all the Kenyans," said one poster, "You still have a chance!"

"Beer 10.5 miles, right this way." said another.

"Stefan Lanfer!" called a grad school friend from amidst the crowd. Another jolt of cheer and energy.

Climbing up out of Newton Lower Falls for a first long ascent to Newton-Wellesley Hospital.  My legs started feeling a little tight. But then I spied the firehouse and recalled our coach's words - "Where you turn towards home."

That's also where we turned to the famous Newton Hills.

I ran through the water spray tunnel outside the firehouse and raised my arms high above my head to psych myself up for that first big hill.

A cry of "Dream Big! Go Stefan!" from the left-hand side. And I turned to spot one of my wife's teammates.

Brought a smile to my face and jolt of energy for my legs.

But as I crested that first hill and started downwards, all of a sudden, something was decidedly off.  My right hamstring seized up - and had me hopping for a few momentum strides, until I slowed to a walk, and kept walking to stretch it out and let it calm down enough that I could shuffle onward. Like an old lady on a frozen lake, I thought.

Come on, old lady, let's go.

Not long after, I heard "STEFAN LANFER!" and turned to see another colleague and his whole cheering family. I waved and smiled and gave a thumbs up and kept going.

I had no idea what my time was at that point. But I knew my various power- and strength- and speed-goals were slipping away, and that a different test of endurance was taking shape. Now, I just wanted to get to the finish.

I  started walking through every water stop, and gulping down a whole cup of Gatorade at each one.

Down the hill by the BC reservoir, and a left turn onto Beacon St., into a stretch where I expected to see the greatest number of friends and family and more colleagues and the biggest most boisterous crowds of the whole course.

To be honest, I had imagined that, at that point, they'd see me and think, "Wow! He barely looks like he's working at all! How effortless. How fast."

I knew then they'd see a very different version of me.  They'd see me and think, "Ouch."

That's when I spotted the sign, "When your legs give out, run with your HEART!"

I don't know what it was about that sign. But it so spoke to where I was at that very moment. And I was overcome. I started crying. And shuffled on.

More colleagues spotted me and shouted for me near Coolidge Corner. Another jolt of gladness that checked the emotional and physical overwhelm.

Then I passed a whole crowd of Jamaica Plain running friends and their families.  I knew they knew how rough I looked, how much slower than planned I was going, how I was crashing. But their cheers and smiles made me smile, brightened my spirit, spurred me onwards.

And then I passed the temple in Brookline where, in 2010, while watching the marathon, Ashley and I went in to participate in a donor drive for Leukemia. A picture of a smiling young baby on a poster out front, with some version of, "Please, help save me!"lured us in. Our oldest two children were 3 and 1 at the time at the time, and we thought, "If that were our child, we'd be praying for people like us to stop in."

A year later, in 2011, my college roommate, a father of three, died only days after being diagnosed with Acute Leukemia.

Three weeks ago, I got a call of the Gift of Life Donor registry that I'd been identified as a possible match for a 37 year old man suffering from the same disease.  The next week I went into Mass General for a series of blood tests to find out whether I am or not.

Passing that Brookline temple again, I lost it again, was completely overtaken by emotion - and still was, a quarter mile later when I spotted my family with their homemade Go Daddy! signs and bright pink Dream Big! t-shirts.

Just get to them, I had been telling myself for miles and miles. They'll get you to the finish.

I stopped to hug each one of them.

"I'm hurting real bad," I said through tears to Ashley.

Then kept going.

Up that last real hill on the overpass by Fenway Park. Mile 25.

Down into Kendall Square.

Across the "Last Mile to Go" sign freshly painted on Beacon Street.

Under the Storrow Drive exit overpass painted blue with yellow letters reading, "Boston Strong!"

Down the underpass under Mass Ave.

Up again and right on Hereford.

That banner again.

Gratitude.

I held my arms above my head for whatever jolt of adrenaline and testosterone I could muster from that power pose.

Left on Boylston.

And there was the finish - 1/4 mile away.

I raised my arms above my head again, held them there for a count of twenty, then brought them down slowly, holding them straight out to my sides like I was flying.

And I was,

sort of

(not really).

Shuffling on.

Then I raised them high again one last time.

And crossed the finish line.

And that

was

it.

A long journey finished.

Not the one I planned.

The one I got.

The one I'll always remember.

I wonder what will come next.

But for now, I am simply savoring every step of this journey.

A little sad that its over.

So thankful that it happened.

And to everyone who helped in ways uncountable along the way.

Go!

On your marks.

Get set.

Go!

I scheduled this post to go live the moment my Boston Marathon wave is set to set off from Hopkinton on Marathon Monday - 11:15 AM EST.

If you happen to check this between now and 2:30(ish) PM, text RUNNER to 234567 and then reply with my bib number: 27338, and you'll get updates as I run, and run, and run. Or, after Monday, visit the B.A.A. marathon results page to see how it went, and back here for the race recap I'll post at some point soon.

If you're somewhere on the course, watch for me in my red Dream Big! shirt, with Dream Big! on the front, and the names of all of my supporters and their honorees on my back.

Over the next 26.2 miles and 3 1/4 (ish) hours, as I soak up the scene, and savor every step, my mind will no doubt wander near and far, and across this whole experience. I'll be thinking of...

- Stepping to the starting line again after failing again and again to get there.

- The power of team and its impact on this scrappy little nonprofit doing big things for girls through sports.

- My daughter's grit ("She's a warrior," said her coach at the team banquet that capped this season).

- My wife crushing it.

- The difference a coach makes (and how to run fast).

- Running like "an old lady on a frozen lake."

- Whether I am passing or being passed, the importance of running my own race.

- The incredible generosity of friends, family, and colleagues to Dream Big!

This past Friday morning, I had my final training run (809 miles since I started logging it all back in November). Under clear blue skies, after dropping the kids at school, I ran in to work - including along the final mile of the race course.  For the first time, when I went right on Hereford, and just before that famous final turn onto Boylston Street, I looked up and noticed this banner:

How right that is. It must have been placed there, I thought, by someone who has run this race before.

I know that, when I see that banner again on race day, my body will be running on empty, but my heart will be full - and, after all the words spent here on this blog and elsewhere to describe this experience, there is one and only one word that will draw me up the final little ascent, and fuel and focus me for the final strides from there to the finish line. And that word is:

Gratitude.

Race Fans, Take Your Marks! (How to Watch the Boston Marathon)

One week until race day. If you'd like to follow the action live or from afar, here are three ways to track me (and other runners) on Marathon Monday:

• Text RUNNER to 234567 and you’ll be asked to reply with runners bib numbers. Mine is 27338. You’ll then get text updates with the pace I'm running and the time as I pass the following points:10-kilometers, half marathon, 30-kilometers, 35-kilometers, 40-kilometers, and the finish line.
• Download the free Boston Marathon app via iTunes. Click "Participant Search" then find me by first or last name. During the race, you'll be able to see the same info as via text, in addition to a projected finish time at each mark. You can also follow the elite runners and up to 10 others - as well as access maps of the course and other race info.
• Visit the Boston Athletic Association website at: www.baa.org. They change this up on race day in a way that’s supposed to be easy to figure out how to follow

Runners set off from the starting line in Hopkinton in four different waves – beginning with mobility impaired athletes at 8:50 AM.  I'll be starting in the fourth and final, charity-runner wave, which sets off at 11:15.

At the advice of our coach, I am going to run this race without any technology on my wrist to track time or pace - so I can just pay attention to how my body is doing, rather than getting stressed out about whether I'm going too fast or too slow on any given mile. That means, if you're tracking my progress via any of the means above, you'll know better than I how I'm doing. To gauge what you're seeing, here are some ways I'm thinking about goals and pace...

• If I beat 3:13 elapsed time, I'll be ecstatic. That would be a personal-best marathon time - ahead of my 27-year-old self.
• If I beat 3:15, I'll do something I've tried three times and failed three times to do, which is to run a Boston Marathon qualifying time. Perhaps a little melancholy about getting slower with age, but still ecstatic.
• If I beat 3:25, optimistic about a future qualifying run - as that is what my goal will jump to at my next age-break point (45 years).
• Any slower than that, and I'll just feel ecstatic for having run the Boston Marathon.

Starting so far back in the pack, I don't know how long it will take to clear through runner traffic to where I can run at the pace I hope to run. But, we'll see on race day. And so will you if you're tracking me. The starting line logjam may drag me down. Conversely, the starting line adrenaline and downhills (see elevation map below - those first five run down, down, down) speeding me up so much I'm likely to crash later in the race,. Or maybe I'll find that right gear, and hold my pace steadily right where I need to be - or even pull off the elusive "negative splits" (a second half faster than the first).  The chart below takes those various distance milestones you'll see via text or the other alerts of, and plays out my future and current qualifying times, and personal best - 45 year old qualifying time in green, my current qualifying time in orange, and my personal record in blue - with elapsed time along the Y-axis, and distance and estimated clock time (ranges) on the X-axis:

Here's the course map (with more details on the course here):

If you're out there, be sure to let me know where to look for you.

Now - runners, take your mark, get set...

The Difference a Coach Makes (or, How to Run Fast)

As the girls of the Lady Tigers softball team shared in the video I posted a few weeks ago, a coach can be so much more than a coach, so much more than a teacher and trainer in the nuances of sport.  A coach can be a mentor, advisor, counselor, friend, encourager, and - as the Lady Tigers say - "like a Father." Clearly, coaches are a big part of why Dream Big!'s efforts to empower girls through sports can be so impactful.  A good coach can change the way we see ourselves, how we understand our capabilities, our strengths, and what kind of goals we set for ourselves.

When I signed on to run Boston and fundraise for Dream Big!, I had never heard of the Marathon Coalition. I had no idea I would become part of a community of hundreds of charity runners training together, encouraging one another, and working together towards our fundraising and race-day goals. I also had no idea we would be supported by a team of talented coaches or that, after all the years I've been a runner, one coach would completely change the way I run.

When I wrote about Dream Big!'s annual banquet last November, I focused on the cause, and what I learned there about this little charity doing big things for girls, and how much it depends on its Marathon team to fuel its work.

The story I neglected to tell was of meeting Rick Muhr, head coach for the Marathon Coalition, and sitting with him at dinner.

"So, what do you tell your runners?" I asked - maybe more than halfway expecting I'd have heard it all before.

But I hadn't.

"Cadence," said Coach Rick. "The most efficient way to run is 180 strides-per-minute." (and later, he added the image I wrote about, of picturing ourselves as an "old lady on a frozen lake.")

I had no idea what my typical cadence was. Can't hurt to try, I thought.

On my next run - a speed workout - I did. On a first fast interval, I ran as I always do, and counted for 30 seconds. I discovered that my natural cadence was about 140.  And I noticed that, as Rick had pointed out, the way I went for speed was by trying to muscle my way forward, with a longer, surging stride - instead of, as he advised, sending your speed "out the back."

As I jogged out the break before the next round of fast, I shortened my stride, consciously increased my cadence. And even though that day I don't think I ever cracked 170, the impact blew my mind.  It felt easier, lighter, smoother. And my splits dropped. Even on what were meant to be easy jogs between fast miles.

What was going on here?

It called to mind a frequent experience in college when our lightweight crew team raced practice pieces against the heavyweight squad.  Even though they were, on average 5-10% taller (with more length for each stroke) and 30-50% bigger (more raw power), the days we rowed cleaner, more in sync with each other, and more efficiently, we beat them every time.

Over the weeks and months of training since then, I have been obsessed with cadence.  And as I have calibrated closer and closer to 180, my race-day goals have also risen. I started out aiming just to run and finish strong, maybe to beat the Boston Qualifying time one bracket older and slower than where I am now (as my current target time is one I already missed five and a half years ago - and then the BAA made all the times five minutes faster).  Yet, now I'm aiming at my own personal best, which I ran years ago, at 27.  I am doing my best to hold lightly to that goal - knowing that race-day weather, or health, or starting-line traffic way back in the charity wave may all work against me.  But now I know it's possible. A reach. But possible.

What a difference a coach can make.

Running For, Powered By...

We closed out last week with our longest training run, and last long-run before Marathon Monday - capping my longest training week at just north of 51 miles.  Tired. But feeling good.Excitement and anticipation mounting.  

Early Saturday morning, the Dream Big! team and hundreds of other charity runners piled into busses and made our way to Hopkinton, to the actual start of the race course. Then we ran the first 21, all the way to the top of Heartbreak Hill.  Only 20 days and another 5.2 to the finish line on Boylston Street.

Now into the blessed tapering phase. Soon we'll all be obsessively checking race-day weather reports.

Stay tuned for more details on how and where to watch and/or track me and others online, on the course, and via text.

Here are a few of us mugging for the camera in our new Dream Big! race shirts at the starting line...

And here, as promised, the back of my race shirt, now emblazoned with the names of all the girls and women in whose honor folks have contributed to this collective effort for girls' sports - and the brothers and dads and sons who are also champions of the cause, and whose gifts and spirit are powering my run.  With thanks to each and every one of you...

10 Steps to Meeting That Marathon Charity Fundraising Goal

With only a few weeks until Marathon Monday, this is the #HeartBreakHill moment for many charity runners in their fundraising efforts. Time to find that second, or third, or fourth wind, to try something new, and to keep going.

Here are some ideas.

Having run a few marathons before, when I signed on to run and raise this year for Dream Big! and their mission of empowering girls through sports, I was far more intimidated by the prospect of the fundraising than by all the training miles ahead of me in the dark and cold of a Boston winter. I fully expected that goal to loom over me right until race day, and that making it across the finish line would include my credit card being charged to fill the gap between my goal and wherever I was at that point.

To my surprise, however, I ended up meeting my goal months ago. As I wrote in an earlier post here, I think my first fundraising mistake was to calibrate a goal based on what I thought I was capable of in terms of outreach and asking, rather than on the incredible generosity of friends, family, and colleagues that would be unleashed by the opportunity to advance the mission of this small nonprofit doing big things for girls, and to support me in my efforts on their behalf.

So, to the extent it's helpful for others still on the upward climb this year (and to help me remember if ever I take on the challenge again), here is everything I've done thus far. This is by no means a comprehensive list of all the tools in a fundraiser's toolkit. It's just what one novice tried one year. So, please feel free to suggest other strategies via the comments section below.  

And if you're a believer in the power of sports to impact girls, and reading this prompts a spirit of generosity in you, please consider a gift to encourage one of my Dream Big! team members still on the uphill slog towards their goal.

1. Give first. My first fundraising act was to make a gift myself. I didn't want to ask others to follow where I wasn't willing to lead.
2. Be social. After I set up my fundraising page, and made a gift myself, I Tweeted a link to it. And almost right away I got a donation from two folks in my network. Over time, these gifts proved more the exception than the rule. Most of my contributions were prompted by other means. Though social provides a great way to keep steady drumbeat about your efforts. I included a note about my fundraising efforts and link to my donor page on my Twitter profile (and would have used Facebook too, if I were on it.)
3. Blog. I created this blog as another tool to share about my fundraising and training effort, and for deeper reflections inspired by the mission of the organization I'm raising for. I started posting weekly, and always Tweeted out new entries - tagging Dream Big!, our coach, and/or others who inspired each post.
4. Make it about we, not me. Two of my colleagues are also running and raising this year for another charity. We organized a single email appeal to all of our colleagues at once.  I think this may have contributed to a sense that folks had a chance to support "our runners," "our team," not just me. Following the "give first" mantra, we each contributed to each other's efforts before sending the blast appeal. Most of the many who gave did so to all three of us.
5. Blast it (but don't just blast it). Other than that one group email, the only other blast email I sent to a large group all at once was via a Google Group I am on with 40 or so runners I train with in my neighborhood. As with social, while there were a few gifts prompted by those blasts alone, and while I think they are important as awareness builders, they shouldn't be counted on alone. In most cases, an actual gift followed a face-to-face conversation, or at the least a personal email (where they say, "Oh, yeah. I remember seeing something about that. Could you send it again?)
6. Make it personal. Given the cause I am running and raising for - empowering girls through sports - I knew that the mission was one that would resonate personally with many of my potential contributors, the same way it does for me as a dad of a powerful, sports-loving daughter. So, much of my personal outreach was directly to parents of girls. I also started offering up space on the back of my race shirt, which I am going to cover with the names of all of my contributors, and the girl and women athletes in whose honor they gave.
7. Put it in your email signature. I added a sentence to my personal email signature about the fact I was running and raising and why, and included links to my donor page and to this blog. This led to at least one unsolicited - though mostly, I think, is useful in the category of keeping up that steady drumbeat - and possibly of helping someone follow through on an intention prompted by some other means you've already used.
8. Leverage events. Some terrific friends of our were generous enough to host a party in their home to help me and another Dream Big! teammate in our fundraising efforts. Before the Evite went out, I sent individual emails to the 75+ folks on my list. Some came. But even more gave, prompted by that invitation.
9. Tell everyone. When folks say, "What's new?" tell them you're running and raising. Several folks - especially those who've ever raised themselves before - beat me to the ask when I did. "Be sure to hit me up," they'd say, knowing how hard it can be.
10. Say (and show) thanks. Possibly more important than any form of ask is what you do after the gift. I acknowledged most gifts by email. But I thanked all with a hand-written note. If it's worth your time to give, it's worth mine to take the time to say thank you. At an early point in our fundraising, I won a friendly competition among my Dream Big! teammates, and a gift card to the Adidas RunBase Marathon Museum and Store. I thought about buying myself some new gear for the big run, or using that card as enticement for more new donors.  I decided instead to raffle it off among those who'd helped me to that point. Glad I did.

Good luck all you charity fundraisers. You can do it!

Great Expectations

My mistake, I think, was setting a fundraising goal based on my best guess at what I could do in terms of outreach, creative awareness building, and asking for support.

I should have set a goal based on my best guess at the generosity that would be unleashed from friends, family, and colleagues for the cause of empowering girls through sports.

I never imagined I'd be here this early, but thanks to the overwhelming generosity of nearly everyone I asked - and some who just found out and contributed even before I asked, I hit my fundraising goal over this past weekend - three months ahead of race day.

Somewhere out there is a young woman very much like you, your daughter, your niece. But times are tight for her family. A lost job, scaled back hours, and they've dropped decidedly into low-income status. They may even face homelessness for a time.

She'd love to be active, to play sports and engage in physical activities with her friends. And her family would love for her to. Lately, however, they could only say, "We're so sorry, honey. Maybe next year."

But now, they're saying, "Go for it!" as Dream Big! is turning the $7,000 I pledged and have raised thus far into 150 pairs of new running shoes; or 70x tuition for an 8-week dance or other class; or 35 brand new bikes and helmets; or 14 registrations in a week-long summer sports camp; or uniforms, equipment, and coaching for 7 whole sports teams.

That's a lot of good.

Now, let's do more.

The only time I ever beat a marathon running goal was my very first effort. Crossing the finish line in a respectable time, but with gas still left in the tanks, I realized I had set my goal too slow - and I have failed to reach my goals ever since. I take that as indication of sufficiently aggressive goals; and also of flawed execution.  Yet  with smarter training, some terrific coaching via the Marathon Coalition, and a smarter race day plan, my confidence is growing on the execution piece of beating my running goal.

In the meantime, let's bury my initial fundraising goal, and over-deliver for Dream Big! and girls sports.

A Dream Big!-outfitted softball team

Run your own race

In my last post, "The Power of the 'Near Win'," I focused on the motivating power of competition, and especially of the second place finish. In contrast, today's reflection is on the importance - for marathon running, for career, for creative pursuits, for life - of tuning out how anyone else is doing, and running your own race.

There is a 1993 New Yorker cartoon (you can see it, and buy your framed copy here) that has always stuck with me on this point. A man is reading a newspaper and we are looking over his shoulder. We can make out that it is the Obituary section. And though we can't read the text of any of the entries, the headlines all stand out. They read, "Two years younger than you," "Twelve years older than you," "Exactly your age," etc.  Seeing this, I right away thought about it in terms of achievements - how easy it is to read of others' professional, personal, creative, athletic or other accomplishments and to wallow in a sense of envy, inferiority, or - sometimes, if we are CRUSHING IT! in some field of endeavor - to feel smugly gratified by how we are doing in comparison to peers - when the only comparison that matters is between what you are doing and what you're capable of, and how you respond when you run up to your literal or figurative Heartbreak Hill and every fiber of your being and the inner voices begin to say, "Go ahead. Ease up. Walk a bit. No one will know. You'll still finish faster than so many people."

What do you do then?

In one of my opening post on this blog, I wrote about my earlier marathon running efforts, and my repeated failures to achieve a Boston Marathon qualifying time.  I was so fixated on the aggressive and specific pace fast runners were supposed to be able to achieve. And indeed I find, in this round of training again, I am eyeing my new, slower (because I'm older) though still fast qualifying time.

So, it was a counter-intuitive bit of counsel from our coach, Rick Muhr, to forgo any kind of running watch on race day.  The important thing, he counseled, is to listen to your body, to run the smartest and best race you can on race day. Not to chase others, or give in to the anxiety of trying to grab and hold on a pace you have in mind to keep. That is the only way to run your best race. To access that inner calm, strength, and power that is only diffused when our attention is focused on technology strapped to our wrists, or others we are passing or passed by in the midst of a run.

Easier said than done, but that is my aspiration. Only yesterday morning, on my way home from an early training run, I cut through the Arnold Arboretum, and on a trail through the woods suddenly heard the steps of someone running up behind me, catching me, and passing me. Instinctively, even though I was in the wind-down phase of my run, I felt myself winding up, speeding up, and then feeling a bit demoralized as he passed anyway (without even a "Good morning!"). But as I settled back into my own rhythm and pace, by the time I returned home, I had really let him go.

Following the 2013 bombings at the Boston Marathon, while we still follow and cheer the elite runners, a whole new set of runners surged to the forefront of our attentions - those survivors who, running their own race like no other, fought their way back to the finish line.

Here is just one example caught on video:

The Power of the "Near Win"

Nothing gets the competitive juices flowing quite like a second-place finish. That was one of my chief takeaways from reading The Rise by Sarah Lewis - a fascinating exploration of how so many of the world's greatest achievements are rooted in failure. The bronze medalist is just happy to have made the podium. The silver medalist, however, seethes with restless dissatisfaction for nearly winning, which often turns into unstoppable motivation to do more, to do better, to win. One of the prime examples of this dynamic was Jackie Joyner-Kersee, who in the 1984 Olympics in LA won the silver medal, losing out by just five points to Australian Glynis Nunn. Four years later, in Seoul, South Korea, Joyner-Kersee won gold in the same event, setting a world record (7,291 points) that still stands today. She also won gold, and set an Olympic record in the long jump (7.4 m). She was later voted by Sports Illustrated as the Greatest Female Athlete of the 20th Century. Here's a recap video of her in Seoul:



The other story that really stuck with me was of 23 year old Julie Moss in the 1982 Iron Man Triathlon. A total unknown, she came out of nowhere, surprising everyone - including herself - by being far ahead and on track for a win by the marathon portion of the race. But then, her stride started changing, something was wrong, and she collapsed to the road, in total exhaustion. She waved off spectators, who came to her to help her stand (it would have disqualified her if she let them). She tried standing a few times, and fell each time. Finally, she started crawling, hand over hand towards the finish. In the dark of that evening, with the TV screen trained on her, making her slow way forward, you can see the feet of the second-place runner overtaking her only a few yards from the finish line. An unbelievable picture of grit and determination. Millions tuned in to that race. And Moss is credited with being the catalyst for the explosive growth in her sport, especially, but not only, among women inspired by her example.

Here's her race:



In a small way, I had my own near win experience on my long training run this past weekend. In preparation for running Boston, I splurged on a GPS watch, and have enjoyed loading and tracking and studying my data on Strava - one feature of which is that it compares your performance not only to yourself (and I will have some future post on the Marathon Zen wisdom of "run your own race" - not here), but with others on various segments of your runs. A few months ago, after a run through the Stony Brook Reservation, in Boston's Hyde Park neighborhood, I came home to discover I'd run the 2nd fastest time on a 3/4 mile climb through the woods. It's been goading me ever since.  I tried again and closed the gap just before Thanksgiving - but still came in second. This weekend, I ran the segment twice. And beat the record the record twice. And got my first little Strava crown icon.

A little silly I know. But it called to mind again The Rise, and these amazing stories.

Somewhere out there is a girl who has never yet tapped the power within her of that "near win." The equipment and coaching fees that you and I would never hesitate to pay for our girls are simply too much for her parents to absorb. Times are just too tight.

This Holiday Season, would you give to Dream Big! so she can play?

Running "Like an Old Lady on a Frozen Lake"

The marathon - especially Boston - is so riddled with meaning and metaphors. The most prominent of which is probably, "Life's a marathon, not a sprint."

I got a new one on Saturday, at the first charity team group training run of the season. Here I am with the others running for Dream Big! because we believe in the power of girls' sports.

Before our run, we heard from coach Rick Muhr, with words of encouragement and counsel - mental, physical, and a little metaphysical.  One thought, and new metaphor, that stuck with me, was on the importance of running NOT like a long-legged gazelle with great leaping strides, but "like an old lady on a frozen lake," with a measured, quiet, shuffling stride that, however counter-intuitive, turns out to be the most efficient way to propel oneself for 26.2.

It's all about efficiency, Rick told us. And though it seems like the way to go faster and further is with a great, reaching stride, the name of the game for marathon success is efficiency - i.e., no wasted effort. And with that long, leaping stride sets one up for striking first with one's heel, and actually throwing the breaks on with each step, even as you are propelling yourself forward. It's also a greater muscle strain for each stride. More difficult to sustain. Heart rate too high. Cadence too low. Each step too loud, too much effort, and leaving one more susceptible to injury. 

The goal, said Rick, is to be at a cadence of 180 strides per minute, three per second. Quiet. Efficient. Heart rate relaxed. Unhurried. Conservative. Like you're driving with the low-fuel light on even when your tank is full. No wasted effort. And then, the metaphor I carried with me for our first training run along the race course (until just shy of Heartbreak Hill) - to run like an old lady on a frozen lake.

There is power and potential in what we might, at first blush, or based on flawed stereotypes or cultural norms, dismiss as weakness. Which reminded me of the #LikeAGirl campaign unleashed at last year's Super Bowl.

A great inspiration and reaffirmation of the importance of Dream Big!'s work, empowering girls through sports. 

For #GivingTuesday, Would You #GiveBold for Girls Sports?

Do you believe all girls should be able to play sports if they want to? 

Maybe today is the day to make that gift to Dream Big! so thousands more can? 

In the spirit of #GivingTuesday, CrowdRise - the group that provides our fundraising pages for the Marathon (and many, many other causes) - is running a campaign called #RunBold. 

For the charity runner who raises the most by midnight tonight(!), Crowdrise will contribute $100/mile (i.e., $2,620) to their cause and $1,000 each for the nine runners up.

Why not help direct that generosity for the sake of girls who just want to play sports?  

Here's my page: https://www.crowdrise.com/dreambigboston2016/fundraiser/stefanlanfer

Here... I.... Go...

There is nothing quite like that first time at the starting line, on the blocks, wound like a spring ready to spring at the official's whistle, or, in the case of this little girl, at the top of the jump, trying to psyche herself up, ready to go for it, a little terrified, hearing the encouraging words of her dad, and then...

And now that jump is part of her legend. Part of who she is. A cause for adrenaline-fueled celebration scream. Arms raised in the air in triumpgh. An inspiration.

Would you consider a gift to Dream Big! to help more girls go for it like this?

The Long Road to Her First Race

Last year, she tried out for the team, and didn't make it.

We thought about advocating with the coach to let her swim anyway. Come on! She was so close! And now she is going to have to come to all the practices and meets and watch her brother anyway.

But we didn't.

Instead, we signed her up for a class. She spent all year working on it. Getting better. Getting stronger. And faster. Determined.

This fall, she made the team.

And last week was her first race. Freestyle. That's her in the center lane...

And now, this race and her efforts over this past year enter the mythology of who she is - a tough, un-deterred, patient, goal-oriented, go-getter. A force to be reckoned with.

There is power in sports to help us see what we are capable of. To give us the stories about who we are and how we show up in the world.

The $200 we paid for those swim lessons, or fees for the swim team this year - they were no brainers for us.

But for some girls, living in poverty or even homeless situations, they are impenetrable barriers to this kind of experience they would so love to have.

Thanks to Dream Big!, 6,000 girls every year are breaking through those barriers.

Would you consider a gift so that even more will next year?

"When I got that call, I cried."

Last week I wrote about my journey of failures and inspiration en route to the Dream Big! 2016 Boston Marathon Team, including one of the things that had always given me pause about signing on to run and raise money for a charity team - the sense that requests for support from friends, colleagues, family, or strangers for a charity team are requests both for gifts to advance worthy causes and subsidies for charity runners' running hobby/obsession. And I wondered about that mix - in particular, how much difference these gifts actually make to the charities in whose name I might run and raise.

That wonder was allayed for me last week, when I joined other members of Dream Big!'s 2016 Marathon Team and guests at their annual gala event in downtown Boston. We had the chance to meet and hear from students, like Takora McIntyre (pictured below), who was honored with the Kathy Dooley Inspiration Award & Scholarship. She spoke with passion, poise, and power about the impact of Dream Big! and sports on her life and aspirations.

Takora McIntyre is presented with the Dream Big! Kathy Dooley Inspiration Award & Scholarship from MC, Candy O'Terry and Dream Big! Founder & CEO, Linda Driscoll

We also had the chance to hear from Tom Grilk, Executive Director of the Boston Athletic Association - who related the story of a dinner conversation with his wife, when it came up that Dream Big! was, after its allotted years in the lineup, scheduled to rotate off the Boston Marathon's charity roster. "She looked at me," he said, "and said, 'NFW.' And that was that."

Significant to that question that still hung with me - about how much difference these charity team efforts make - Dream Big! Founder and CEO Linda Driscoll shared the story of the day she got the call at her home office from the Marathon with news Dream Big! had been selected to participate in the charity team program. "When I got that call, I cried." she said, "Because I knew what it would mean we wouldn't just serve 1,500 girls that year as we had the year before, but many times more."

A few years later, Dream Big! is still a lean operation. Linda still works from that home office. She is still Dream Big!'s only full-time employee. But the group now reaches 6,000 girls every year through equipment donations, program scholarships, sports clinics and the annual Dream Big! Leadership Conferences - a total of 16,000 girls since they started in 2010.

And in support of that work, and of their growing reach to more girls each year, the 5, 7, 10 thousand or more each runner commits to raise does add up to something very meaningful. Linda noted that, as of last year, Dream Big! had raised almost half a million dollars through the Boston Marathon Charity Program. That is a lot of barrier-removing power for girls who may be living in poverty, or even in homeless situations, but still want to play - and would, if only they had that $200 for a bike and helmet, $100 for that dance or fitness class, or even just $50 for that new pair of shoes. And now so many can. 16,000 and counting.

Proud to count myself part of this team effort.

Thank you for considering a contribution to help me run and raise for girls sports.

Failures and More on my Road to the Dream Big! Boston Marathon Team

As a kid, I only ever ran when training for something else. But in 1999, I raced my first marathon - in Seattle - just to see if I could finish.I did. I loved it. I finished in a respectable time, but also with a feeling I'd left something in the tanks.

Casting about for a new, more ambitious goal, I came upon the Boston Marathon qualifying times. The under-35, time to qualify at the time (its gotten faster since) was 3 hours 10 minutes - a 7:15/mile pace. That was a full 20 minutes faster than my Seattle time. But, maybe, I thought. Maybe.

I tried again in DC in March, 2002, and I missed it by 2 minutes, 52 seconds.  So close! And I'd felt a little sick that race day. So, I couldn't help wondering if, on a better day, and a faster course, I might just pull it off. Seven months later, in Cape Cod, I tried again, and got faster - by 31 seconds - but not fast enough. Significantly, on that third try, around mile 24, I experienced my first marathoners' "bonk" - I got fuzzy-headed. My hands got tingly. The color-coded, but somewhat vague racecourse map described "memorable hills." They proved to be more memorable than I'd bargained for. It was not a strong finish.

But, I remember thinking, as I lay there in the white canvas massage tent, where the line would later be out the door, but when I got there was still so empty that I was led to a massage table by two volunteers...I remember thinking (wow this feels good and), at least I found my limit. I finished empty.  And my Boston Marathon dreams melted away...

But not completely. By then, we were living in Boston, caught up every April in the city-wide fever of Marathon Monday. And so, the year I turned 35, the year my Boston qualifying time added 5 minutes, I tried again, and bonked again, and missed again - this time by quite a bit more. And I let go of my dream of qualifying for the Boston Marathon for good (cemented some years later when the BAA made all the times faster by five minutes) - surprisingly, to me, in a wave of gratitude and gladness, not disappointment and sadness. Here is the story of race day, originally published on the dad blog I was keeping at the time...

And by five A.M., I was wide awake, gearing up in the cold and dark.

At 5:45, I was out the door and walking to the Metro's Braddock Road Station - where an unusually high concentration of lean, fit, running-gear-clad passengers were congregating.

I sat and chatted with a nice woman from Ontario, Canada, who was also returning for her first marathon after years and years.

We all got off at the Pentagon Station, and joined a new throng on a LONG march, across the Pentagon's parking lot, through security, and into the runner's "village" - two white tents in the middle of a massive, empty parking lot, ringed by lines of porta potties.

Under one of the white tents, they were holding a prayer service.  I walked up to the periphery.  A small band played a lackadaisical rendition (hard to be too fired up at 6:45 AM) of "How Great is Our God." I sang along, while trying to stretch. A calming moment.  It was still pre-dawn dark.  A military chaplain (who was plenty fired up for any hour of the day) took the microphone, offered a brief prayer, quoted Hebrews 12:1, with an emphasis on "run with ENDURANCE," and shared a five minute homily on "running with a purpose" - one of many reminders why this was called the Marine Corps Marathon.  He challenged us all to discover or recall the purpose for which we were running - and began a list of possibilities with the idea of running for all those serving now overseas, for fallen comrades, for the charities we'd raised money for, and...when he got to, "or to achieve your personal best marathon time," well, my purpose for running this particular race seemed kind of petty.  Still, I always appreciate a reminder to live a life of PURPOSE.

As the sun finally appeared, and the start time neared, I shed all but my throwaway long-sleeve t-shirt, and deposited all my other gear in my runner-issue clear plastic bag, with my sticker number 18602 along the side.   I dropped this off in UPS truck number 18 in the line of dozens and dozens of the familiar brown boxes.  Then I joined the throng for the mile-long walk to the start.

After passing under a bridge, I spotted the special, elite, V.I.P. porta potties. I remembered seeing and scanning some email about them.  I don't remember the cost to partake of their just-like-home flushing convenience.  It looked like someone was standing out front passing out hand towels.  There was a long line.

Not five yards past, a line of guys were taking advantages of the semi-private bushes.  I joined them.  "This the V.I.P. area?" I asked.  "It is," said somebody. "You got your ticket?" said another.

Then the rest of the walk to the starting line.  And I tried not to let myself think about how many more than the recommended (i.e., as close to none as possible) pre-race walking miles I had logged since the previous day. I started spotting the banners for projected finish times - 6 hours, kept walking. 5 hours, kept walking. 4 hours, kept walking. And finally stopped with the group in the 3:00 - 3:20 corral. Less than five minutes to the start.  Everyone bouncing, stretching, giddy.

To my left, 20 yards away was the starting line MC, beside the official clock, and a stoic guy dressed in plastic looking Grecian garb holding a flaming torch. 

At two minutes to go, the MC launched into a final, melodramatic, gung ho torrent of encouraging and you-go-conquer words that just washed over me and the rest of the crowd.

Then Jill Biden shot a gun.

And OH, SH*T! we were off...

Me and close to 22,000 others (probably over 10 Million training miles between us) finally starting.

My target pace for a 3:15 finish was 7:26 min/mile.  On that first mile, I wondered how long it would take to calibrate my pace, and whether I'd get an adrenaline boost to overcome the cold, cold early morning and end up with a time buffer from the get go.  No such luck.

I overheard a pair of runners talking about 3:15 as their goal too.  I set my pace off of them.  Until I we passed the first mile marker, and I checked my watch.  7:40.

I picked it up.

The next were a 7:16, then a 7:06, then a 6:59, and a 7:12, and I got to thinking I need to start slowing DOWN.  I won't be able to keep this up.

Around mile six, I started running with a guy named Brad.  Also with his name on his shirt.  Also 35.  Also targeting that Boston qualifying time.  And, unlike those two from my first mile, actually on pace - aided by a GPS watch that beeped at us and gave us our pace every half mile.  As we ran, we concocted and tweaked a race plan we thought would get us both to our goal.  A couple minutes ahead by miles 13, 14, 15, we deliberately stepped off the gas, to an easier pace we thought we could hold.  And we hung together until about mile 20, where, as we left the cheering crowds, and DC, and the final pairing of "Go Stefan! Yeah Brad!" we'd gotten used to over our nearly two hours together, as we made our way up the gradual ascent of the 14th street bridge, without words between us, over a minute or two, Brad went from running at my side, to five, to ten, to twenty yards ahead.  At one point he turned and flashed a thumbs up, as if to say, "You OK?"  I waved him on.

I replay that mile in mind, that point when I let go of my goal.  I wonder if maybe I just wasn't tough enough mentally, if that was the mind over body moment I didn't rise to, the push through the wall I didn't pull off.  Maybe that was the point I needed somehow to train harder for, longer for.  Ashley had prepared me with some powerful self talk for just that moment - chief for me, a college rowing workout memory of climbing back on that dreaded ergometer moments after failing to meet a goal, and obliterating it with my lifetime best.  Maybe if I had locked that image of my POWERFUL self in mind just so...maybe then I would have found my pace again on the other side of the bridge.  I still had a solid two minute buffer when we got to the bridge...

Or maybe that was my smartest moment of the whole race when, fighting a stitch in my side across the desolate, wind-swept 14th street bridge, my body said no.  And I said...

OK. 

And maybe when I did, I avoided doing serious, permanent damage to myself. 

I'll never really know. 

What I do know, however, is that, when I gave myself permission to let go of a Boston qualifying time (that goal that had needled me for so many years, having twice come so very close), I was overwhelmed.  As my pace slowed to 8's, then to 9's, then to a final pair of 10+ minute miles, I was utterly overwhelmed - and not with a sense of sadness or disappointment, or even melancholy at the acceptance of the fact my fastest days are now in my past, and that this goal, this silly, sort of arbitrary goal of qualifying for Boston may always be just beyond my grasp.

No, I was overcome by the deepest sense of joy and gratitude -

That of the 22,000 people in this race, I'd somehow connected with this great running partner and new friend;

That old friends Doug and Lindsay, even though they had to navigate the mayhem with their two young kids, managed to meet me and cheer for me and run with me and encourage me, at miles 5, and 8, and 16, and 20, and at the finish;

And for friends Steve and Julissa, and their new baby Jessica, whom I couldn't help but stop to kiss at mile 23.5. And why not? By then, these were miles to savor, not to dread;

For whoever came up with, and spent the time creating, and delivering, and placing all of those signs for us along the otherwise lonely Hains Point at the race's half-way point.  Some memorable ones:

PUT YOUR MAN PANTS ON

CHUGGING THAT MILK WAS A BAD IDEA


REMEMBER - YOU LOVE RUNNING

WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

IF SARAH PALIN CAN RUN, SO CAN YOU

YOUR FEET HURT BECAUSE THEY ARE KICKING ASS

(and my favorite)

26.2 - BECAUSE 26.3 WOULD BE INSANE!

For the dozens and dozens of absolute strangers who called "GO STEFAN!" along the way - and especially that freckle-faced, braces wearing tween, whose absolute WAIL on STEFAAAAAAAN!!!! was so long and loud and heart-felt and piercing, I couldn't help but smile, and know, at least for a moment, what it must be like to be Justin Bieber;

For a sound mind and able body (in this military marathon, there were multiple amputees, rolling themselves along the course, surrounded by their comrades, jogging in solidarity with them.  Sobering and somber and inspiring.  How could I possibly be upset about going a little slower than I'd hoped in my home stretch?)

For Ashley;

For our kids;

For love and for life;


Sort of a cruel joke - though a relatively flat course overall, the last .2 of the 26.2 is up hill


When I finally finished, one marine wrapped me in a runners blanket.  Another hung a finisher's medal around my neck.

I hobbled my way to the massage station and saw a line of over a hundred going nowhere.  Most of them 10K runners with their orange bibs.  

I walked back up a little hill to a grassy spot in the sun, and I lowered myself to the ground like an 80 year old man.

As I lay there, trying to stretch, one stranger leaned over.  "Are you OK?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

Then another marine, Max from Chicago, asked, "Want a stretch?" - he'd just finished helping his colleague, who had just run too.

"That would be great," I said, my throat dry, my voice barely audible.

"Looks like you'll have to work on your salt intake," said Max, as he gently but surely stretched one leg, then the other.  And I noticed the film of white all over my arms and legs, and now his.

"That's salt, huh?" I said.

"It is," said Max. "It's all over me."

"People are going to start lining up behind me," I said.

"Anyone else is going to have to pay," said Max.

I thanked him, and he left, wiping salt off his sleeves. 

I eased myself to a standing position, and shuffled in to the Verizon tent, only a few yards away from where I had lay down.  They were offering free cell phone calls.

I dialed Ashley, hoping to catch her, and James, and Maya.

I got her voicemail.

Trying to leave a message, my voice trembled.  Tears welled up.

"It's not because I'm sad," I said, "for missing my goal..."

I was just so overcome, so physically and emotionally spent.

It is hard to put into words.


"You did it, Daddy!" said James, running to meet me at the airport in Boston, "You got the medal!"

I told him I won.

He never doubted it.

I put the medal around his neck.  "Do you like it," I asked?

"I like it," he said. "I like it very much."

Monday, he asked to wear it to school.

"My Daddy won this in the marathon!" he announced to his teachers, greeting him and me at the door to his classroom.

"Wow," they said.

Wow.

And that

was


that.



I really thought I was done after that.

But then I met and started running with a group in my neighborhood - the "JP Pavement Junkies" (JPPJ) - and discovered how much more fun training can be, how those miles can just tick by almost unnoticed, in conversation.  Many of them are avid marathoners. So, on any given week, the conversation that ranges around Jamaica Pond, into the Arboretum, through Franklin Park, or the Allendale Woods, up and down Lars Anderson hill, includes a race report from some recent Marathon. And for those who have done many, Boston is always described as being in a class of its own.

And the sense of Boston as our hometown race, and as something more than just a race, was cemented in 2013, by an act of domestic terrorism near the finish line.  A week after the tragedy, a group of us ran together to the memorial on Boylston Street. A year later, a group joined the solidarity 

Last, year, one of our crew ran and raised for Team MR8 - the foundation created in memory of, Martin Richard, the 8 year old boy who was killed.

And this year, with encouragement from several of my teammates (and colleagues - also running), I found myself at the BAA's charity page. I had always resisted the idea before - at first because I thought I just might qualify; later, because of the daunting fundraising bars (most have a minimum threshold of $5,000 or $7,000) - combined with the sense it fundraising in part for a worthy cause and in part for a less worthy cause - to subsidize my running.

Yet, scanning the possibilities, I came across Dream Big! and, surrounded as I am by women athletes I love and admire, immediately gravitated to their mission of making sure girls can play sports.  I know I would never let anything stand in the way of my daughter and her competitive streak. And I thought this is a cause I could raise for and run for.

Once upon a time, I ran marathons to chase personal fitness goals. This year, I am running, and running Boston, for more.