On Christmas Day 2015, I went for a run at about 9 a.m., wearing shorts and a long-sleeve T-Shirt. A
In a wet, sweaty embrace, I felt the weight of my father on my shoulders. We had crossed the finish
I’m not prone to crying. At the Boston Marathon this year, I came very close to tears — twice.
Another spring, another Boston Marathon, my fifth in six years. The same obsessive anxieties over the minutia
I’m married to a non-runner. He is entitled to his own opinion and happens to be a damn good writer.
It was sunny when I finished the Boston Marathon. I stopped my watch and walked, congratulating runners around
I’m just a runner. I don’t know what it feels like to be a mother who loses a son, a
In running, as in life, I tend to focus on what I failed to do, or didn’t do
This year I trained almost exclusively on my own for the Boston Marathon: no club run, no competitive races and
I’ve been trying for months to write about how not being able to run feels. In vain. I had a