To the next traffic light.
On Monday, I ran my second Boston Marathon. I crossed the line in 3 hours and 24 minutes, but that’s not the story. As the saying goes, it is a marathon, not a sprint, but for someone who puts in 40 to 50 miles a week, all year round, race day is the time to squeeze everything you’ve got. To strategize, to keep fuel in the tank for the final miles, and still cross the line giving your best with the body you have at that moment. That means digging deep when every muscle is screaming at you to stop. It means having your dreams and goals confronted with a reality that depends almost entirely on you. You don’t control the weather, or whether someone pushes you off course, or falls right in front of you, but you control how you respond to unforeseen events.
For me, feeling proud of a race is not as much about my final time as it is about how I finish. If I can walk without a struggle after I cross the line, I didn’t give everything I had.
Until mile 20, the legendary Boston crowd carried me. A man in his underwear held a sign that read “Run fast, or I’ll drop the sign!” I laughed out loud. Another read “Don’t trust a fart after mile 9,” and right after our last climb, “It’s all downhill from here.” For miles, the noise and the energy kept me moving, distracting me from my own effort.
And then came the familiar pain cave, around mile 21. My legs were heavy, my energy depleting. And the doubt crept in: “Can I finish this? Can I maintain my pace?” As I already expected to get there, I tapped into my mantras to make them louder than my self-doubts. On repeat, I told myself, “The braver I am, the stronger I get.” I played a mental game: “Just make it to the next traffic light”, for five miles straight. I found gratitude for the people who helped me get there: the love and joy of my kids, friends who helped me through an injury, the volunteers handing us cups of water that we grab, drink halfway, and throw on the ground, splashing their shoes as we pass.
I thought about work. The exciting moments when I felt like part of something bigger than myself. And the challenging times, when I witnessed self-interest placed ahead of shared missions, insecurities disguised as power. In both situations, I had to stay true to myself, to remind myself of my principles, my strengths, without forgetting the beginner’s principle, to stay humble. With every step forward, I felt that same grit carrying me through traffic light after traffic light. The same grit that has carried me through life.
That’s the thing about endurance sport that took me years to fully understand. It builds more than your body and your mental toughness. It builds your character and gives you the humility to recognize your limitations without losing the enthusiasm to push your boundaries. That desire to get better. The discipline and consistency that get you out the door on the days when all you want is to stay in bed a little longer. The character that holds together and makes you show up even on a rainy day.
Not everyone loves running or sports at all. But everyone can find a passion that brings discipline, resilience, and joy at the same time. One that trains your mind, builds the kind of inner peace that tells you exactly where to dig in when you need it most, and quietly shapes the principles you choose to live by.
