The Boston Marathon is huge. Iconic. Legendary. If you qualified to run it, you’re lauded as a Real Runner – fast, dedicated, and maybe a little bit crazy (well, all of us marathoners are a little crazy, aren’t we). It’s the holy grail – this fierce, fragile thing just outside the average mid-packer’s (like myself) grasp. We dream of it. We hunger for it. We’re not sure we’ll ever get there – on those runs where we break down in tears, bonk so hard we’re not sure we can move another step, fail to make our goal time by a smidgen. We want it so badly.
Thousands of others are there for other reasons, innumerable charities for which runners spent hours and sent dozens of emails and phone calls and Facebook posts and blog posts and tweets scraping together as many pennies as possible for a worthy cause…
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