It’s been a bountiful year of running for me and I am deeply grateful to be able to share it all with you.
May you enjoy another day running on this beautiful earth.
It’s been a bountiful year of running for me and I am deeply grateful to be able to share it all with you.
May you enjoy another day running on this beautiful earth.
Yes, it was hard (even more so than I imagined it would be.)
No, I’m not still sore (honestly, my recovery was much less painful than I expected.)
Yes, absolutely Yes. I am glad I trained for and ran the Boston Marathon on behalf of Boston Children’s Hospital.
Will I do it again? TBD.
Here’s what it was like the first time around…
The race was not without moments of doubt and despair, mind you. Yet those doubts passed quickly, about as fast as any thoughts I had of running a PR that would further establish me as some kind of reverse prodigy, kind of like I did with my Mulligan Mile 10 years previous.
What the day left me with most of all was an appreciation of the personal transformation that takes place when a person sets an ambitious goal and pursues a great endeavor.
The training and the race not only helped transform me physically, but opened doors to relationships with new friends, reconnected me with old friends, and reinvigorated a way of positive living that I sometimes lose sight of– the way of the mulligan.
Living the way of the mulligan is more than just taking a second chance at something, like you would get on a golf course when your playing partners allow you to redo a shot that has gone awry.
While those do-overs are moments of grace that are critical to embrace and take every advantage of, they only appear from time-to-time in light of some kind of perceived failure.
But living the way of the mulligan is something we are called to every day, during good times and bad. Today, now in this and every moment, we can take another chance at making our lives vibrant and alive and worthy of our humanity.
Now we begin.
Every breath is just one breath that’s never been breathed before and won’t be again. Every step is one step that we can appreciate in mindfulness.
And what is a marathon more than breaths and steps– and potato chips and… . But I’m getting ahead of myself.
It’s easy to feel like an imposter when you run the Boston Marathon on a fundraising entry, instead of qualifying based on your fastest marathon time of the past year.
So I was heartened by the enthusiasm of my fellow team members at Boston Children’s Hospital, the sincerity of the hospital staff and families who shared their stories, and the palpable gratitude of so many spectators who cheered us on. With apologies to the Seinfeld bit, it was proud day for my blue and orange checked laundry. That singularly ugly-on-the-outside-beautiful-on-the-inside jersey was cheered on loudly in every neighborhood of the race, and made me feel very much at home on the course.
The weather was perfect, a little on the warm side by the time I was on the most difficult part of the course. So I was glad that I had gotten in a little heat training during a quick trip to Florida right before the race. But guess what else I got in Florida? Yup. COVID-19. I know, imagine that, in FLORIDA, of all places?
So after more than 9 months of training and more than two years of diligent avoidance of the virus, Florida finally got me.
Thanks to the Moderna vaccine and booster, my symptoms were mild and mostly cleared within the first week after they started. However, I did still have a little lingering heaviness in my throat and chest, another week later. I can’t say how it affected my performance on the course. I do know that testing positive cost me a week of training and sowed more seeds of doubt that sprouted when things started to get really difficult in the run. This was not the kind of “positive psychology” I have studied and written about.
I was told by a grizzled old veteran of the 1970’s and 80’s running boom that marathons are supposed to be hard. In as many words, he basically told me to suck it up and quit my bellyaching about how I wilted in the later stages of the race.
Which is exactly what I had been trying to do during the marathon with one major issue: my bellyache. I had expected to be tired, of course. I expected my legs to start to wear down — which they did on the famous Newton Hills leading up to Heartbreak Hill. I had felt that feeling before and had always been able to pause, walk it off, take a little something to eat, put all the pieces back together again and start running again.
But what caught me a little off guard this time was that bellyache. Whenever I would start up running again on the hills, I would get the feeling like I was on the brink of throwing up– something I saw several fellow runners do alongside me.
I didn’t exactly hit the legendary “wall” that mythically separates runners from the final 5 or 6 miles of the marathon. It was more like climbing over a series of small boulders not long after the halfway point.
It reminded me of the couple times when I’ve been seasick. Queasy, unsteady, blech. What I also remembered about being seasick was once I started throwing up, there was no stopping it. So my internal coach made it clear to me: must. not. vomit.
Just the thought of that took its toll on my pace– my 9:50/mi first 5K went to over 15 mins/mile by the final 5K leading up to the last mile. Which basically means I was walking half the time. That was no really what I had in mind, but each step did take me one step closer to the finish.
Looking back, I thought of a few technical corrections that might have alleviated the discomfort. Ultimately, I think I needed a few more calories and lot more sodium. That became clear when I paused to lay down in the medical tent after the race, knowing I was too queasy to get in the car and drive the hour back to where I was staying.
The nurse prescribed the kind of medicine that we wish could cure all our physical ailments: potato chips. After eating half a small bag of them, one tiny bite at a time, I popped up on my feet like Popeye after a can of spinach. And was able to ride home without incident and enjoy a big Italian dinner that evening.
If there was a drone following me on the run it would have captured some damning footage of me. The video would show me running happily in the sections of the race where I hugged my sister Liz, my daughter Eve, and other friends who had come to see me pass by. And there could be an inspiring montage where I took time to exhort the crowds and blow kisses (Thank you, Women of the Wellsley Scream Tunnel and cheering fans on Boylston St.)
It would also show stopping to walk almost immediately after I passed through all the attention. The people were carrying me through.
So I don’t know why it took me almost a week to realize an overlooked remedy (beyond the salt tablets that I was carrying but failed to ingest) that maybe, just maybe, could have helped me keep up my running pace as I was struggling.
It took days filled with an outpouring of calls and messages, congratulations, affection, and good wishes (more than 400 likes on FB. Probably my most-viewed post ever) from friends and family.
It took a week of thinking how I couldn’t have gotten to the starting line of that race without so many countless people, known and unknown who were part of my team of support.
It took a week of looking over my list of more than 150 donors who contributed to my fundraising for the hospital’s research and programs. [NOTE: My fundraising page can be found here and will be open until May 9, 2022. Please pass this along to anyone you know who might be interested in supporting their great work!]
It took a week of posts, stories and photos streamed from my fellow fundraising runners at Boston Children’s, who I had spent the run either passing, or more often, being passed by. None of whom I personally knew beforehand, but who were running the race in the same laundry as me, so easily identifiable.
The answer may have been right there, running alongside me, hiding in plain sight in those garish checked singlets. It finally struck me.
What if I had just asked to run along with one of them and started to talk with them about, well, anything? Would that human interaction, that social fuel been enough to get me a little more straightened out during the run? And that may have been all it took to make adjustments to my nutrition and pacing to the finish? And even if my time wasn’t improved (which in the end is pretty darn meaningless)f, could my run have been more enjoyable? I tend to think yes, yes, and yes.
So that became perhaps the major life lesson of the day– we have to do certain things on our own. We have to do the hard work, the training when no one is looking. We need the resolve to keep rising up over the adversity that inevitably will arrive, since life will be hard at times. But in our determination for self-determination, perhaps it’s best if we don’t overlook that others are there to help also. And by reaching out, you may be helping them too. We all have our Heartbreak Hills to climb.
And all along and with every breath, step, and potato chip, we could have all been finding our own Way of the Mulligan, appreciating whatever we were experiencing together and individually.
Now we begin.
On weekdays when I run it’s often on a local campus, where I meet up with a friend who works there and we just kind of meander over the hilly streets and through surrounding neighborhoods. Without any pre-set course in mind, we just kind of go where the run takes us that day. No two runs are ever identical.
On Sunday mornings, there’s a group I meet in a park where we run the exact same route. Every single time. The same path, the same direction, the same turn at every intersection. No two runs are ever identical.
No two runs are ever identical. Period.
No matter where you are or who you are with. There is something unique on every path that’s never been there before. What’s more, you’ve changed too since the last time you ran it. In fact, you are changing the whole time you are running any route.
You know what else is true?
No two runs are every truly different, either.
There is always something familiar and known when we enter into our stride. Not the same. Not different.
The trick is paying attention to what appears uniquely that day, as well as acknowledging what’s held fast. The familiar shows up uniquely, and what’s new rings the bell of the familiar.
In a few days I will be running a new course. In an unfamiliar city. Over a distance I haven’t run in 20 years. With more than 30,000 I’ve never run with before. You see, I’m entered in the 126th running of the Boston Marathon and every aspect of that day will be new– except for what is very familiar.
Let me explain.
I asked some veterans of the race about their “mental map” of the course and I discovered how my fellow runners approach specific segments of the race, how they get through the challenge while savoring the joys of the course, and how they experience one of the greatest achievements of their athletic lives.
While I’ve never actually lived through any of the exact details of what they’ve told me, I found myself identifying their experiences with places I’ve run, emotions I’ve felt, insights and visions and connections I share regularly and have enjoyed throughout my many years of running.
I put together some of their thoughts– and mine– to illustrate this paradox. Read on to see what’s unique to the Boston course– and yet what may be familiar to your everyday run next time out.
So even if you never run Boston, you can join in.
Come run with us.
TAKE THE ROAD LESS TRAVELLED
“I love the start seeing a sea of runners ahead of you going down the descending grade as your adrenaline and emotions are getting the best of you. That’s why you go out slow, easier said than done.”
“Of course the start line and that first mile are a rush – seven thousand people in your wave all shuffling toward the start line, subtly speeding up their walk until you cross the timing mat and everyone starts to really run, still pretty tightly packed. Then down you go… the first stretch is a downhill out of Hopkinton – all you see ahead is a sea of bobbing heads and shoulders, undulating down the hill and… we’re on our way!”
The beginning of every run is what I consider a fork in the road of our lives. Before we begin, we are on a certain path– our civilian life, if you will. Responsibilities, constraints, details. But when we take that first hop, feel our knee bend, then extend and swing the other along like it, we take the first step along a new path. We have veered off into different territory– along with everyone who’s ever run before us and with us. The people who inspired us, taught us, protected us. Made us laugh. Made us think. Given us a reason to run. It is the road less travelled, but we are not alone. And that makes all the difference.
“A mile or so after the start, you hit a stretch of quiet where there are very few homes and even fewer people lining the roads. It’s the brief calm after the boisterous clamour of the start. All you hear are runners’ footfalls, breaths both heavy and light, an occasional cough or throat clearing.”
“I imagine it’s the time when most of us consider the enormity of what’s ahead, take in our overall fitness, assess our current pace and prepare for the grueling miles ahead of us. It’s really what most marathons are: a lot of quiet miles. But Boston has precious few stretches like that and the closer one gets to the end, the louder and more explosive the impact of the crowds become.”
“the course gets quiet, no cheers as its not a spot accessible to spectators . It’s then I think of why I am running, who I am running for as I listen to nothing but feet hitting the ground.”
Buddhist teachers and Catholic mystics, among many other spiritual traditions, emphasize the importance of silence as a way to center ourselves in the awareness of the present. No matter how noisy a race or run can be, if we seek we will find a quiet moment within. Here we can listen to our breathing, feel the miracle of running on this earth, and be present to the moment we are experiencing. In this silence, we can find our why– the pieces of our life that running makes better.
LONG LIVE ROCK
“The biker bar in Ashland. Heavy drinking and hard rock.”
“Ashland: in the first mile or so, runners scamper into the woods to pee.”
“I also love the dogs in Ashland; and now learned one has terminal cancer.”
Running can seem like it’s a spiritual practice–but let’s not get carried away. It’s also just fun. Rock ‘n Roll, dogs, the the childlike peculiarities of our bodies. It’s fun to be human and experience parts of our run that are just that– human and real. It’s also terminal. It will end. Don’t take it for granted. Eventually, one of your runs will be your last. And you probably won’t know until it’s over. So find the moments in each run to celebrate your freedom, liberty, and the privilege you have to indulge in it.
LOOK IN THE MIRROR
“In Framingham, there is a glass store where you can check out yourself in the window’s refection.”
Find a place on your run to look at yourself– in a physical reflection or a personal one. There’s no better time to get new perspective on who we are becoming, physically and otherwise.
NO SHADE / NO SHELTER
“In Framingham, by the railroad tracks- the most desolate section of the course. Also, the section of the course with the least shade.”There are going to be times where you are exposed and vulnerable. Be aware as you go through these stretches on your run, remember later how you got through the worry, the discomfort. Summon that energy of success and sense of achievement when you face adversity in your life.
THE HAIL MARY
“Natick: very nice town center where you can experience an adrenaline rush from the crowds.”
I’m sure Natick is a lovely town. However, I only know of it for one thing…Natick is the hometown of Doug Flutie, a Boston sports legend known for his famous Hail Mary pass in 1984 to beat Miami. Talk about an adrenaline rush! Take a minute to appreciate all the unlikely, wonderful surprises in your life. Maybe even say a prayer.
THE QUIRKY LANDMARK
‘”At about 7.75ish miles in. There’s a Wendy’s at the top of this little hill and my coach always called it Heartburn Hill”Look for those hidden little markers, even in plain sight, that make you smile and remind you of important people in your life. Or make you laugh. For example, I ran into an old friend of mine unexpectedly on an otherwise unremarkable corner that I rarely run by. Now, even months later, when I come at that corner from that direction, I think of him and smile remembering our friendship.
“Wellesley scream tunnel by the college”
“The scream tunnel of course. Always my fastest mile.”
“passing the Boston Children’s Hospital cheer section. Seeing the kids and their families and hearing them cheer for you was so emotional for me…”We are often called on to give. Some of us get quite good at that and forget what it’s like to be able to receive. To receive other’s gifts to us graciously, to feel heartfelt appreciation, and to harness the goodwill from the exchange to bring us to better places in our lives. On your run, find something to receive– whether it’s a wave and a smile from someone along the way, or the shade of a tree, the warmth of the sun, the cool of a breeze or chirp of a bird. Much is being offered to you. Don’t squander it.
“the Mile 13.1 mark in Wellesley Center – big crowds cheering, and psychologically a big spot: halfway done, now it’ll be less distance to the finish than the start…”
“… the two enthusiastic young lady runners I once overheard on the first of the Newton hills saying ‘Is this heartbreak? It’s not too bad at all’ [actually a couple miles away from the famous hills].”
No matter which side of the hill you believe you are on in your life, the midpoint of your run can be a reminder that our lives, like this run, won’t last forever. And we never know how much time is left– or what it will be like for us. There will be a day when you really wish you were on this run, feeling this fatigue, being in your body and strong enough to continue home. Don’t squander it.
“At Newton Lower Falls where our wives dutifully unfurl the same signs they have been using for years. They are back home before we hit the hills.”
The familiar can give us assurance and help us feel safe. So that even in an ever-changing world, we can rely on some stability and tradition. Especially when there are people in our lives that have been with us through ups and downs. Find moments on your run to celebrate the familiar, the time-honored places, people, things that are there for you, time-and-time again.
“I struggle with the newton hills so hoping one day I can enjoy that part pain free.”We will each have our struggles– some will be recurring, others appear suddenly, or slowly over time. Running is really good at pointing out when we struggle. There’s no place to hide. Yet the struggle can also be what meditation teacher Sharon Salzberg calls ‘the magic moment.’ It’s our chance to do something differently, to acknowledge the adversity, and simply resolve to get through it. If we have to keep coming back to the struggle and our resolve to address it, it’s ok. It’s the magic moment again. Just pick yourself up and go at it again. This happens regularly to me on difficult stretches of a run. So keep going.
SNIFF IT OUT
“And BC where everything smells like beer. “Next time out, really make an effort to take in the scents you can identify on your run. Our smell is probably the most overlooked of the senses when we run.
DO THE WORK
“While Heartbreak Hill is a great relief to finally summit (the Newton Hills are done!), everyone learns that the big mental work really begins at the top of that hill – it’s only 5 miles to go, and mostly downhill, but as some people have put it: “The last five miles are the second half of the Boston Marathon.” Legs are tired, whole body is tired, there are still some small uphills sprinkled into the net downhill stretch.”
“Beacon Street seems like a mini marathon in itself getting there”
“That damn overpass into Kenmore Sq. That hill sucks!”There are no shortcuts on the marathon. The only way past is through. Don’t shy away from putting difficult elements into your runs, particularly once you are fatigued. Yes, they will hurt. The more you can master them in your runs, the better you will master adversity in your life. Don’t let yourself be defined by your adversity. Instead, identify with your response– your rise into your own power. Sustained by that view of yourself, you can better conquer the heartbreaks, obstacles, insufferable opposition, traffic, and all the annoyances great and small that complicate our lives.
WHEN YOU SEE THE SIGN
“Brookline when I first see the Citgo sign”
“Finally catching a glimpse of the Citgo sign, [which is at] around mile 25. “Is there something that signals to you the end is near? In Boston, it’s the Citgo sign across from Fenway Park. Take a moment to be grateful for the run while you are still enjoying it. As I often remind myself in my exhaustion near the end of a run: as hard as this is, this could very well be the best part of my day. Don’t squander it.
BE WHERE YOU ARE
“,,,and then to go under the little dip and hill before Hereford Street you start to feel the crowd.”
“And the last two “hills” – coming up out of the Mass Ave underpass, and then “Mount Hereford” – the two blocks of Hereford Street that can feel like Heartbreak Hill after 25.9 miles. These are memorable – the last big hurdles before the shuffle to glory down Boylston St.”
“Boylston St, only .3 miles long, can feel interminable.”
Running keeps us from deceiving ourselves. There’s no teammates to blame or to carry you to victory. Much like life, you have all kinds of support, but no matter the race or the run, you start alone and you finish alone. No one will have the same race you had, no one will have the same life you had. No one will completely understand your struggles, your burdens, your drive, your vulnerabilities, your pain, your joys. So run in awareness of where you are, who you are, why you are doing this. Run your own race.
TURN, TURN, TURN
“Final turns onto Boylston are the most amazing right and left you’ll ever take! – [right on hereford, left on boylston]”
“…and once you turn on Boylston Street you feel like Brady walking onto Gillette Stadium!”
“Near the finish line where the memorials are now in place from the bombings; still brings me to tears every year I run by them by the Finish Line always will be with me.”
Life is everything at once. Feel it all when you run–and you will live your whole life more happily at every turn.
See you in Boston.
[NOTE: There’s still time to join my team. Just click here –> DONATE NOW <– any amount will be appreciated by me and even more so, by the patients and families at Boston Children’s Hospital]
Thanks to the following runners for contributing to this article: Samantha Gasbarro, Mike Doherty, Joe Caruso, Josh Brand, Frank Gens, Warren Kerper, Brittany Broderick, Steven Iannacone.
“What do you think about when you run?” is probably the most common question I get when I tell my non-running friends that I run for long distances by myself with no headphones.
I have as many answers as there are runs, as my thought patterns are unique every time I go out. Yet there is one habit I do come back to time and time again, often when I am struggling at the end of a long run.
This has been happening frequently this winter and spring, as I’ve been preparing for the Boston Marathon 2022, my first full marathon in 20 years.
So if you are wondering what I wilI be thinking about as I’m going up (and down) Heartbreak Hill in Boston on April 18, here’s your answer.
In many ways, my entire training regimen for this race has been one great gratitude mantra. After more than 45 years of competitive running, I am humbled by gratitude for the health, opportunities, resources I’ve had to sustain my efforts, the places I’ve been able to run, and most of all, the people who have supported and inspired me.
The people have been particularly vivid for me during my recent training. I’ve been raising money for Boston Children’s Hospital, who has sponsored my entry in the race, and have had contributions from more than 120 people from all stages and phases of my life. It’s mind-boggling when I look at the list of donors.
(There’s still time to join my team. Just click here –> DONATE NOW <– any amount will be appreciated by me and even more so, by the patients and families at Boston Children’s Hospital)
In my Gratitude Mantra, there’s room for all of them, and all the things and all the places and so much more. Here’s how I approach my mantra, and how you can form and meditate on your own, whether you are running or not.
I took a workshop with a writing hero of mine, Lynda Barry. Known more as a cartoonist, she has an astute mastery of how to slip into a reader’s mind and take you on a journey that’s a combination of her characters and your own life. She taught me the single most memorable writing tip I’ve ever learned in a classroom.
I had always been taught that the action and descriptions of a story are what people are drawn to, the verbs, adverbs and adjectives, if you will. She pointed out that what people most remember of their own lives are the nouns. People, places, and things form the structure of our memories. Once we recall a noun, the rest of the memory fills itself in. It makes sense that a cartoonist would have this revelation– she draws objects that tell stories. And that’s what we can do with our words.
She suggested we pause journaling about activities and just start listing nouns as a way to remember what a particular day was like– something I’ve done on trips in lieu of more detailed travel diaries. It’s very effective and detailed in a granular way that holds up over time.
I bring this up because that’s also the way to approach a Gratitude Mantra. Keep it simple and tangible. Stick with the nouns — then drill down in any way you see fit on the people, places, and things you want to savor.
For example, when I’m running I find it more emotionally rewarding and uplifting to express gratitude for people. So I go deeply into individuals, known and unknown to me. The same could be done with places and things, and as my run goes on, the lists often merge in a stream-of-consciousness. There is no need to be so grammatical in the distinctions between the people, places, and things that we are grateful for as they have appeared in our lives.
Often, the things we know (like our socks) have so much unknown behind them: the people who we will never meet (those who made the thread and elastic and designed the packaging) and the unknowable places we are only vaguely aware of (the manufacturing plant, or the fields that grew the cotton, or the wells that pumped the petroleum that’s the source of fabrics, or the forest or recycling plant or steel mill that were the source of the boxes they were shipped in.)
Once you start drilling down into all the nouns that have touched us, you will find an almost infinite array of people, places, and things to be grateful for and honor with your running.
I express my gratitude through the joy (and ‘joyful pains’) of running by repeating the phrase “I run for.” Then I list people who come to mind, known and unknown, who have either helped me, inspired me, or now motivate me to get through the end of the run when the going gets tough.
It often goes something like this…
I run for those who can’t run
who no longer run
who have never run
for those that wish they could
for those who don’t know the joy of running
I run for those that help me run, taught me, coached me,
for those who ran before me
for those who run with me
for those who run ahead of me, behind me
I run for the people that made these shoes
the people who designed them, sewed them, molded the plastic, made the laces,
for the people who desired to build the manufacturing plant,
financed the company which made them, cleaned and maintained the places where they are made and sold, for everyone who’s transported them to me, helped me find them and choose them.
For my socks and the people who made them.
for all the gels, equipment, clothing,
for the grass, the dirt, the earth that supports me
the creatures in the soil, and water, and air
… and it just goes on to whatever comes to mind as I let that gratitude take the place of the pain and fatigue in my mind. When it works, it’s almost like I’m floating to the finish of my run on the wings of all these people who have brought me here.
When you are considering your own gratitude mantra for running (or otherwise), consider this list that came to mind for me. The beauty of this approach is that you can choose whatever level of detail you want to dive into. Each of these categories of people on my list could be drilled down into dozens and dozens of individuals of their own. For example, just listing people you have learned from, either in school or in life or in history, could keep you running a marathon or more!
The family I was born into, the family before me
the family I’ve made
the families I’ve felt a part of
People in neighborhoods where I’ve lived
Teachers at school, teachers in life
Companions and playmates and teammates and work mates
the coaches and trainers and referees and officials
the mentors, friends, and experts I learned from
The runners who came before me
The people who see me as I am
the people who see me for more than I am, give me more than I deserve
The people I inspire
The people I love
The people who made my shoes and clothes and watch and glasses
The people who grew, transported, sold, prepared my food
The people who organized my races
The people I train with
The people in this race with me, people cheering for me
The people who have kept me safe, provided, volunteered, worked
The people keeping the air and soil and water clean,
The people who built and maintain and paid for these roads and planted these trees
and cared for all the roads and trails I’ve trained on
The people who have loved me
The people who have fed me, healed me, cared for me, listened to me
the people I remember
the people I’ve forgotten
the people I will never know
The people who I will soon meet
the person I am becoming as I run
the persons I have been
The people I’ve laughed with, cried with.
The people on my side
The people who doubted me, fought me, rejected me, competed with me
The person I am because of the people that are now and the people that have been
Every time you head out, you will find you recall different people. Even if you are running 26.2 miles or more, if you really think about, you will never run out of people to be grateful for.
And if you do, there are always places and things to get to!
We all have THOSE moments.
And when you are training for the Boston Marathon like I am (please CLICK HERE to support my fundraising for Boston Children’s Hospital), THOSE moments happen constantly.
But all of us, throughout our days, face THOSE moments: the infinitesimal nanoseconds of adversity and apathy when we find ourselves choosing from one of the Big G’s.
1) Give in
2) Give up
3) Give effort
That’s alot of G’s to keep track of, but I’m adding one more even bigger G that makes the decision easier: Gratitude.
When I move into a Gratitude mindset, I immediately sense my shift from feelings of obligation (I should…) to joy (I get to…). I move from making excuses why I can’t (Meh, but….) to reasons why I can (Yes, because …). In gratitude, I see the decision and its corresponding call to action with a refreshing and appropriate perspective– not too myopic, not too vague.
Keep in mind, even for a runner, the “right” decision isn’t always to Give effort. Sometimes, it’s important to Give in to what you are feeling and pause. Sometimes, it’s critical for your well-being to Give up a certain goal, or a certain relationship, or a fixed mindset.
We don’t only get stronger by pushing harder. We also grow by knowing when to rest and recover. Gratitude helps. When we consciously appreciate what we have and understand how we’ve gotten here, feelings of clarity and resolve can guide us throughout it all.
Maybe Gratitude comes naturally to you. Maybe you wake up with a smile on your face and joy in your heart, grateful for another day to live a beautiful and loving life.
Me? Not very often. I usually wake up with quick metal recap of things that went wrong, things unresolved and eating at me, and things I have to do in order to feel better. More focused on what I don’t have than on what I do have. More focused on what to do than how to be.
So I had to earn a Certificate in Positive Psychology from Wholebeing Institute at Kripalu to fully grasp the human potential of Gratitude, the Biggest G of all.
Let me be clear: Gratitude matters.
Let me be more clear: Gratitude is (almost) everything.
It’s incontrovertibly the most powerful remedy for human happiness. Time and time again, in countless experiments and social observations, the heartfelt expression of gratitude is shown to be the most immediate and lasting method of happily sustaining a meaningful, pleasurable, and thriving life.
And yes, like the Italian delicacy of wild foraged cardoon, it’s free when you know where to look for it. (Hint: find a mirror.)
For Gratitude isn’t something to do exactly. Gratitude is how to be.
This article from Psychology Today is the best piece I’ve ever seen to summarize key research studies and 28 Benefits of Gratitude. You can also download a free report on 3 Gratitude Practices from a link in the story.
In my next post, I’ll share how I move into gratitude during my long runs with my Gratitude is Every Stride Mantra.
Please CLICK HERE to check the progress of my fundraising or to contribute to my fundraising goal of $10,000 for Boston Children’s Hospital.
Only FIVE MORE MONDAYS before Marathon Monday! Every dollar matters for this great cause! Please help me meet my goal!
This month I’m marking the 101st birthday of Louie, my dad, by publishing legendary recipes that feature two of springtime’s premier delicacies. These Cooking With Love recipes (along with all the others that have been revealed so far) can be found here.
Take a look and let me know what you like best, foraged wild cardoon or homegrown fava beans, the first crop planted in the spring garden?
This is a classic match-up: wild v. domesticated, found v. cultivated, weed v. legume, stringy v. furry (see below). About the only thing they have in common is the Romano cheese that accompanies them both so well on your plate.
I love them both but have to give a slight nod to the cardoon. The burdock plant, often found on the border of fields, is best picked when it is young (but not too young) when the stalk is about the width of your ring finger. In our family, it has a mystique all its own, because of the very miracle of finding it– for FREE!– in the secret locations that were scoped out in advance and discussed only in hushed tones among family.
Cardoon brought us together like nothing else could because it involved all three wings of the family– the hunter/gatherer (my dad), the sous chefs (the kids), and the cook (my mom until she got fed up with the feeding frenzy that ensued, and would let my dad cook ’em with love).
As you’ll see from the recipe, the real time-consuming work isn’t so much finding them and cutting them down, it is in the peeling of the stringy, fibrous plant. And the cooking takes a little longer than you might imagine because if you rush the flour and egg dipping, you end up with “globs of gardooni” — and that’s as bad as it sounds.
So keep in mind, cardoon are a laborious team effort to prepare. In our house, they were treated with the ultimate respect. Meaning they were eaten with our fingers while standing up, still warm from the pan, as they were being cooked, as soon as they hit the serving tray lined with paper towel.
The fava beans have a much different arc to their story. They are planted in the garden in early spring. Here in Pennsylvania (Zone 7), around March 1. Growing up in western New York (Zone 6) a week or two later, definitely by St. Joseph’s Day (March 19). I planted mine last week.
They hold a special place in my heart because, when my daughter Eve was 2 1/2, in the last year we could select a Halloween costume without her input, we dressed her in a fava bean costume for trick or treating. The outfit’s primary feature was a furry vest, like the luxuriously soft inside of the pod. It was a big hit for the handful of people who actually got it. Not to mention, a sensibly warm ensemble for a cold northeast evening of going door-to-door foraging for candy. Eve has largely forgiven us for the transgression (I hope). Since it was before iPhoto, I don’t have the images at my fingertips to insert into the article quite yet.
I hope you enjoy all of Louie’s favorite recipes. My goal is to put up some more seasonal favorites during the year, so please be sure to COMMENT, LIKE, SUBSCRIBE, and SHARE the page to get them all.
And who knows, maybe I’ll find the photos of that fava bean costume!
By now, some of you who have been paying attention know that I am running the Boston Marathon this year. (Before you read on, click here to contribute to my fundraiser for Boston Children’s Hospital. Thank you~)
When I’ve told people, there are basically two responses: “!” and “?” Roughly translated these are “Congratulations!,” to which I politely remind them I haven’t run it yet, and “What made you want to run it?”
I can’t say there is a singular, catch-all reason that I chose to take on the challenge of Boston. Here’s my attempt at explaining, including the bottom line they all add up to.
Eligibility – Of the most popular races in the USA, it’s really the only one I could get into, because I’m not a horse (Kentucky Derby), a CART (Indy 500), or an ass (Presidential Race).
The Big Birthday Training Plan My running has followed a very predictable training pattern. While it’s been a constant companion since I first started running in my teens (with the exception of my early 20s, which were spent chasing other pursuits), it only ratchets up once a decade. I ran my first marathon at 30 and my next one (NYC, again) at 40. At age 50, I flipped the script to focus on going faster, at the Fifth Avenue Mile. (You can read about my mulligan mile here). Now, it’s been 10 years since that race, and it felt like it was time to finally take another crack at the marathon. As slow as I’ll be now, I still think it will be better than waiting to see what’s possible if I get to 70.
Friends, Family, and The Famous Boston and New England have particular appeal to me, despite their insufferable sports fans and shady athletic “heroes.” My sister lives in Boston and my daughter works on Cape Cod. One of my running mentors, and one of the few honest and true New England sports heroes, Amby Burfoot (pictured above with me and the statue of John J. Kelley in Mystic, CT) happened to win the 1968 Boston Marathon. According to the campus tour our family once took there, Amby even attended class at Wesleyan University the next day.
I also have several great friends who live in the Boston area, including my University of Rochester grad school buddy Warren Kerper, who’s run more Boston Marathons than I’ve run errands. I finally got to see him and his training buddies from Lexington run in last fall’s race (pictured below, wobbly, the day after the race) and it was the tipping point to convince me that now was the time to do it. Bonus: I can hit him up for free food, lodging, and spurious training theories for the weekend.
The Great Endeavor – I wrote recently about the concept of the 5 Elements of Adventure, which are also sprinkled in the mix of this attraction to the race at this point in my life.
Wanting to Run More This was kind of weird for me, since I have been content to stay within the bounds of 3-6 mile runs for most of the last 20 years. As the pandemic hit, I found I wanted to occasionally go a little longer– and in the past 6 months, that urge continued to grow and grow. I actually just wanted to run more and longer and longer. To many dedicated distance runners, this may not seem like any big deal, but to me it was a bit of a revelation. Running longer started to feel better. And committing to the longer distances felt more like liberation (from doing other things) than work.
Health I’ve had some health challenges over the past 6 years. (I hope to write more about that someday, but now’s not quite the time yet.) So if all continues to go well in my training, this will be a bit of a celebration of the continued good health and strength that makes this great endeavor possible. We all have a tenuous hold on our well-being, and I’d like to put mine to good use while I am enjoying it.
Boston Children’s Hospital Speaking of health and putting it to good use, my entry into the race is sponsored by the incredible life-protecting, life-restoring group of people at Boston Children’s Hospital. I can’t begin to explain the ways they help families, but I know I’m proud to help raise money for their Miles for Miracles program.
I hope you can join me in contributing to their work for the families most in need by clicking here and making a donation of any size. Every dollar helps– and every person who reaches out gives me more strength to train and run to raise money and awareness for their important work.
Most of all, what I find still propelling me on my long runs is a mantra I started using when I was training for my last marathon, 20 years ago. I only bring it out in the most difficult moments in a long run, when stopping seems like the most reasonable thing to do. The mantra is a litany of all the people that have inspired my running– I’ll share more about the mantra– and my gratitude for everyone, including you for reading this far in this post– over the next 7 weeks.
I hope you stay tuned. There’s a lot to be grateful for.
“Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone; it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.”
—Ursula K. Le Guin
Those were the words on the last slide of the last presentation of the Embodied Positive Psychology Summit I attended a few years ago at Kripalu in Lenox, MA. I didn’t know who Le Guin was and, to be honest, by that point in the week, I figured I’d learned enough that I didn’t need to write down what seemed like nothing more than a trite quote.
I filed those notes away and carried on. After surviving another St. Valentine’s Day (historically, a holiday of particularly horrific romantic blunders on my part), it seems like a good time to forage my emotional refrigerator for leftovers and revisit that quote– and thoughts from other speakers at that conference that I found in my notes– to see if there are some new ways to get bread from that stone.
We all know relationships can be confounding and that love can’t be taken for granted. Personally, I learned that stuff through my own, er, research. Which is to say, I found out the hard way through relationships that had ended in disarray– either from neglect (too little effort) or despite intense and well-intentioned attempts at repair (too much).
The notion that a relationship that is hard work has always seemed to me to be a losing proposition. I want to put in the effort and attention– but if it’s really “work,” it sounds mandatory. and, frankly, awful.
I prefer play.
So how can we acknowledging that love takes some effort, but what kind of effort? And how can we approach the work of relationships so it feels more like play and less like work?
I have had relationships that have worked well—effortlessly, actually. Relationships that didn’t seem like work at all—until they had a great fall. And then, all the work and all the king’s horses couldn’t put them back together again.
So what kind of effort was Le Guin talking about? What is this remaking and reconstituting the “bread of our love”? This artisan loaf of passion that can give us the sustenance of enduring love?
I looked over other notes from that session and given it some more thought. Which secret ingredients could be in this elusive delicacy?
Here’s my first attempt at putting them together into a recipe that I would like to cook up in my own relationships. Please feel free to try this at home and let me know how it tastes for you.
1 growth heartset
Into this, mix generous amounts of intentional acts that:
Express our strengths
Spot strengths in others
Sprinkle with micro-moments of positivity resonance.
Bake for as long as you can, stirring often.
The growth heartset is the ever-expanding bowl into which we knead all our other ingredients for love.
With a nod to the pioneering work of Carol Dweck’s growth mindset, Megan McDonough of Wholebeing Institute coined this phrase to help us to move toward the attitude that we can increase our capacity to love. As we act in awareness of this capacity to expand, we can see love as a force that can keep pace with our lives. There are complexities of life that can otherwise deaden the love that we notice ourselves feeling—and, if we don’t work to expand our love, we can shrink toward those limits.
The two main ingredients that we mix into this growth heartset are intentional actions that complement each other perfectly: Expressing our strengths while spotting strengths in others.
Neil Mayerson, chairman/founder of the VIA Institute on Character, illuminates the fallacy of what he calls “scorecard love”—when we offer only as much love as we feel is being returned to us. That kind of relationship can’t break free and expand. It’s made small and petty through calculation and reciprocity. This limits how and when we can express our love—and our selves. Neal pointed out that research into the role of character strengths is clear: When we express our strengths, we witness an increase in health, positive relationships, and flourishing.
So where Megan assures us of our ability to grow, Neil gives us a way to do that: by expressing our strengths.
The complement to this comes from the work of Todd Kashdan, director of the Well-Being Laboratory at George Mason University, who unveiled his first presentation on a multi-year research project into the role that characters strengths play in love relationships. His findings show that a central driver of relationship satisfaction is expressive appreciation for our partner’s strengths. How often and well you express this heartfelt appreciation actually shapes our partner toward their strengths—and fosters togetherness. Likewise, the more you choose to perceive and focus on the costs of your partner’s strengths (which I think is a nice way of saying “reminding them about all the crap that bugs you”), the more the relationship erodes and lessens the sense of belonging.
So while Neal is calling us to express our strengths, Todd is showing us the importance of recognizing the strengths of our partners, even in situations that may be otherwise frustrating to us.
To know and be known. This should sound familiar to CiPPsters and anyone who’s studied with Tal Ben-Shahar, as it is one of the fundamental tenets of his approach to his teaching and his life.
The yeast for this recipe comes from Barbara Fredrickson, principal investigator for the Positive Emotions and Psychophysiology Lab at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Her presentation on micro-moments of positivity resonance (which contained the slide with Le Guin’s quote) summarized work that shows how love truly is the supreme positive emotion—the one that has the most influence in broadening and building waves of positivity that shape us, in tiny bursts of positive emotions.
With a foundation of safety and connection, these micro-moments appear among couples in the form of shared (although not necessarily mirrored) positive emotions, bio-behavioral synchronicity (that ripples back and forth between partners), and mutual care and concern. That broadened foundation allows us to build embodied rapport (“We clicked!”), social bonds, and commitment.
So that may be the recipe that I, and perhaps you, have been looking for—express our strengths, see and appreciate the strengths in our partners, tune in to the micro-moments of positivity that resonate between us.
When we can be aware of these ingredients for love, we are ready to fold this dough into the bread of love that can expand to sustain us throughout our lives. Which leaves just the baking—whether it be the burning fires of romantic love or the gentle warmth of the other kinds of love that give our lives meaning.
So turn up the heat. And bon appétit!
My running career began on a crisp autumn evening under the bright lights of completely-packed Hartwood Park stadium in the bucolic rural town of LeRoy in western New York.
You could describe my first endeavor as an “out and back.” The run itself was short—only about 40 yards—and I walked back. You see I wasn’t on a track, I was on the sidelines of a football field.
I was wearing full pads for the Notre Dame of Batavia Fighting Irish and was called on the field to grab a stretcher and carry off my, at the time very unconscious, friend Tommy. I was a third-string linebacker but felt more like a pall bearer than a football player. So by the time he woke up a few miles outside of town in the ambulance, I had already decided I was switching to cross country next fall. I was getting out while my head, and one of my thumbs, was still unbroken.
So it’s a touch ironic that, once again, football will launch my running career. Let me explain…
After those two years of running cross country, I wrapped up that stage of my career by placing 23rd in Genesee County, good enough for a trophy I have to this day.
See if you can spot a pattern in the way I’ve chosen to train since…
I basically didn’t run at all for about 10 years, until I started working at Runners’ World and training for my next adventure: the New York Marathon, which I completed in 1991. I dialed down my running for a while, then ramped up and again to run New York in 2002.
Then, 10 years later, I returned to race in New York City, but this time I went to Central Park at the start of the race, not just the finish. I trained all out to try and break five minutes in the Fifth Avenue Mile in 2012. I recounted my transformative journey in Runners World, and as the focus of a memoir which is sitting idle (for now).
And now, again, 10 years later, I am training for The Boston Marathon on April 18, 2022 . I’m also fundraising for Boston Children’s Hospital. I launched my campaign with a Super Bowl football squares game that has contributed about 25% of my fundraising goal– so once again I am grateful for the role that football is playing in my running career.
I’m also feeling overwhelming gratitude for all the people who have helped bring me this far in all chapters of my running life I hope to share more stories and memories about them as my training continues.
Every stage of my running history has been anchored by a momentous goal. From the high school county championships to the Cross Country Club Nationals which I ran almost 35 years later– and the marathons and mile races in between (but decades apart!) I’ve been drawn to what author Matt Walker calls The Great Adventure.
I learned about the phenomenon at a workshop at Omega Institute several years ago. The concept stayed with me and reveals itself from time-to-time when my heart tells me it’s time to do something out-of-the-ordinary.
Here’s what distinguishes a Great Adventure:
All those came into play in my other Great Adventure races. And I have already experienced all 5 Elements in my early training for Boston.
Please follow TakingMulligans and my social media posts on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram to stay in touch and witness my progress. I’m going to try and keep my feet on the ground and my eyes wide open to all the ups and downs of running my first marathon in 20 years.
To contribute to Boston Children’s Hospital in support of my work with the Miles for Miracles campaign, click here and donate. Gifts of any size will be greatly appreciated.
If my running career has taught me anything, it’s that when a Great Adventure looks one in the eye, we best not blink.
To mark the 100th anniversary of my father’s birth on March 3, 1921, Taking Mulligans is establishing a special section dedicated to some of his favorite recipes, called Louie’s Cooking With Love.
Louie, as he was known to all, was an avid gardener and forager who took great delight in bringing his harvest into the kitchen. My mom Rita, who spent several years of her youth helping to run operations at the Eagle Hotel in town, was a marvel at cooking to feed. She kept us all happy with her homemade dishes, even though she claimed she actually liked doing laundry more than cooking. My dad, on the other hand, enjoyed the creativity and traditions of cooking. Mom cooked the meals, he cooked the delicacies like cardoon, puff balls, fried dough, and stuffed calamari. As Rita would often say, “I cooked to feed, but Louie. He cooked with love.”
That became the name of a spiral-bound notebook of handwritten notes and recipes put together to pass along his recipes. With these foods come the love of family that my parents both shared with gusto. Now these homemade recipes can be yours too right here in Louie’s Cooking With Love. (Thank you to Mark and Maria for all your care and work on that treasured keepsake, and to my siblings Mike, Anthony, and Liz for photos.)
To commemorate his 100th birthday, try one of these favorites. And come back for more. I’ll be adding more recipes as time goes on, so subscribe to the blog or follow Taking Mulligans Facebook page to see the full collection.
Buon Compleanno, Luigi!