Your Heroes

I wear this necklace every day of my life.

For those that know me, I’m not really an “accessory guy.” I could never picture myself getting an earring, for example. Though many in both my immediate family and extended family, especially on my mom’s side, have some tats, and though to be honest, I think some are pretty damn cool, I’ve never really considered getting any ink. I can’t think of anything permanent that I’d really want on my body badly enough. I never even ordered a class ring in high school or college. Never saw the need; I knew I wouldn’t wear it. On very, very rare occasions, I suppose I do wear a watch, but even that is pretty much only to a wedding, and at that, only when I remember. (Side note: I can never remember.) I think it’s been well over a year since I last wore my one and only watch. I can’t really even picture myself wearing a simple wedding ring. I can tell you right now, too, that I won’t ever wear another necklace other than this one.

But I wear it every day. All day, I never take it off. It’s nothing fancy. Just a thin, silver, 10-, or maybe 12-inch chain, with a single tiny silver four leaf clover charm on the end. I think the charm cost about $5 at Kmart, yet it’s priceless to me. Most of the time I don’t even notice it anymore to be perfectly honest, it’s as much a part of me as my neck is at this point. Even for those of you who’ve known me through running, or through work, or many other things where I typically wear a shirt (I guess that’s most of the time in general in a city like Boston where shirts are quite necessary at minimum for 6 months of the year), or even some of you who’ve known me for years otherwise may not even realize I wear it. It’s pretty much always under a shirt unless I’m either running, and it’s getting jostled around, or I’m playing with it absent-mindedly. I don’t really notice most of the time when I do that either. Even if you did notice, it probably didn’t necessarily occur to you to ask why. Maybe you thought I was Irish (I’m not). Maybe you thought that was my necklace choice of the day, and I have several to choose from (I don’t). Maybe you didn’t care (I don’t blame you, I don’t typically ask anyone about their own necklaces, mostly they’re just accessories). Maybe you thought I was a townie and I’m just trashy like that (ok, I sort of am at this point, being about an 8-year Somervillian).

I’ve worn it so long that I can count the number of times it’s been off my neck on one hand since I started wearing it consistently around 2003 or so, and I can specifically tell you the last time it was off my neck, since that’s FAR more noticeable to me than when it’s on.

It was May of 2010. Admittedly, I do have to look up the exact day, being on vacation in Las Vegas at the time, but I know for a fact that it was the morning after Roy Halladay pitched the 20^th perfect game in Major League Baseball history. That was quite memorable to me at the time too, since he was on my fantasy baseball team – on my bench! Sue me….again, I was on vacation…I made up for it by winning that season and riding my Boy Roy the rest of the season to victory, so no harm, no foul. I woke up on that particular morning at 10am Vegas time, 7am back home, and literally the first thing I did was text my roommate back home to ask him if I did indeed to what I had dreaded, and benched him by accident. This was before I had apps for such major first-world problems. My roommate confirmed the bad news. Benched. Shoot! So, carrying a MASSIVE, well-deserved hangover into the bathroom to try to get ready for day 3 of 5 of vacation (far too long for Vegas, by the way), I had only made it roughly 30 seconds from bed to the bathroom before I clawed at my neck, realizing almost immediately something felt very wrong. I felt naked. I PANICKED that (mom, stop reading for a minute) a stripper named “Pink” at the Rhino Club had expertly lifted it off me while….entertaining me (ok mom, keep reading) as I watched ESPN highlights from a lounge chair of Halladay’s strikeouts and perfectly induced grounders, over and over again. In retrospect, that was very unfair of me to judge her like that just because of her choice in profession, she was a perfectly nice young lady. And, as it turned out, after ripping apart the hotel room for a few minutes, I found the necklace under my pillow, the clasp to the chain slightly bent out of shape, allowing it to slip off in my sleep.

Again, no harm, no foul though. I bent the clasp back in shape, put it back on, and felt human again. Then the first thing I did upon returning from Vegas was call my sister, who worked at a jewelry store back home, to get a new, sturdier chain, with a more fool-proof clasp. Ever since then, about late spring/early summer of 2010, it’s literally been a part of me. I can’t describe the sheer panic of missing it for that 5-10 minute stretch, though.

This kind of thing had happened before, the most memorable time I can think of being in college as a freshman at Delaware in 2004, losing it at my roommates’ girlfriend’s dorm room, and panicking so bad that time that I was in tears until someone found it for me. I remember my roommate, the next day, asking me if I was in tears that night because I was a tad tipsy, and over-reacted a bit.

“Yes,” I lied. That wasn’t at all the case.

So why does simple little necklace mean so much to me? Well, like most of my blog posts, including this one so far, it’s a long story.

I think it all started around 1990 or so. I don’t remember when my family moved to Peterborough, a small town in the Monadnock Region of Southern New Hampshire, I don’t even know if I was 2 years old yet at that point – this would have been 1988 or so when we moved. But I definitely DO remember this time in 1990 or so, meeting Tommy Alexander.

We lived on a quiet cul-de-sac in our quiet town, our houses maybe 100 yards apart through the woods, so as our parents did yard work at their respective houses one summer afternoon, Tommy and I slowly gravitated towards each other. I don’t even remember saying “hello,” or “want to play with me?” as a normal 4 year old might. I just remember somehow we decided to fight. Naturally, being boys. We stripped the leaves off of tall weeds and “sword fought” with our makeshift weapons for what I seem to remember as hours on end. We would break our switches on each other over and over again (relax, we didn’t hit as hard as Adrian Peterson), and call truces and time outs to search for sturdier grass. We were at least respectful opponents. Then we’d get right back to it, whipping each other as best we could, making sound effects for a more ‘real’ feel to our little spats, until we got called in for dinner. We left each other that evening, but little did we know, from that point on throughout childhood, we’d become inseparable.

This wasn’t really a normal friendship by a 4 year old’s typical standards, though. Tommy was 3 ½ years older than me, a full three grades ahead, so though I hadn’t even entered 1^st grade yet, he was already almost in second, and if I’m remembering all this correctly, nearly 8 at the time. We should have both had other friends our age – and probably did – but not like each other. And it’s not like there weren’t other kids in the neighborhood or even on our cul-de-sac. I think each of the 5 houses, at one point or another over the next 5-10 years, either had other kids my age, his age, or somewhere in between. Down the street on Lounsbury Lane where we lived, there were plenty more. In the larger neighborhood, Pineridge, even more (see the handy and very artistic map I drew for their locations). And, of course, once school started for both of us, plenty of kids in our respective grades to hang out and play with. They just weren’t as fun as us.

We did everything together over the next 10+ years. Normal kid stuff I guess, all of it, but the kind of stuff that’s just not nearly as fun when you don’t do it with your best friend. During the fall, we’d help each other with yard work and chores, not really because we wanted to help each other, per se, but so the other would be done faster and be able to go do something more interesting. During the winter, we’d pray for snow days during school so we could build snow forts, walls around our forts to keep the other kids out, throw snowballs at them. We were CONVINCED that if there were a professional sledding league, we’d be in it. The hills at the middle and high schools were massive, and we took pride in building bigger jumps than the other kids, starting higher on the hills, and racing faster down them. When we had ice storms, the hills were that much faster, and the jumps that much higher.

The summers, though! Those were the best. We would, every year at some point, try to re-create our sword game. We had, between us, literally hundreds, maybe thousands, of those little green army men (like the ones in Toy Story), and would spend hours setting up battles on rainy days, then – predictably – minutes knocking them all down just to start again from scratch. We had GI Joes. Ninja Turtles. Legos. Lincoln Logs. All manners of cheap plastic toys. We had super soakers. Water balloons. We would build EPIC forts in the woods around our houses. Sometimes several rooms, sometimes even several stories. I think I hit my civil engineering peak at about 10 years old with Tommy. Sometimes we’d have to destroy a whole fort (if the location was prime) just to build a bigger, better one in its place. Some were expertly camouflaged in bushes so we could spy on our sisters if they ever came looking for us. That was just one more thing Tommy and I had in common to bond over – older sisters, aka mortal enemies to young boys. We’d go to Wheeler’s, a little convenience store down the street, for maybe a comic book, Italian ice, ring pops, and of COURSE, Big League Chew.  Grape. The *only* kind, that is. We’d have sleepovers as often as possible, which again since our houses were next door to each other, was constantly. We’d spend those watching the same movies over and over again: Hoosiers, Jurassic Park, all the Disney Classics, Robin Hood (Men in Tights, sure, to change it up, but Prince of Thieves was our go-to), Hook, Above the Rim, all the Star Wars movies (4-6), Indiana Jones…to name a few. We’d do these same things OVER and OVER again, and they never got old.

We’d call each other every day, too, to set up these hangouts and sleepovers, despite the proximity to each other anyways. There were woods between the houses, so you couldn’t necessarily see one house from the other, but with about a 30 foot walk to the end of the driveway you could always tell if the other was home. And if not, we had a pretty good radar for the other family’s car. His dad’s white intrepid, the family minivan, my family’s station wagons over the years, my dad’s Jetta or Beetle. Many times, one of us would get home, and pretty much just walk over to the phone and wait about 10 seconds. Most of the time, it rang right on cue. Other times, there would often be a single blinking message on the machine. The same thing every time.

“Hey Ed, It’s Tom. Call me when you get home. Bye.” This message, WITHOUT variation by the way, was left countless times on each other’s answering machine. Just change the order of the names to figure out what message I left on his machine. We did it so many times, that in fact, one time my family got home and listened to that single message, and started dying laughing immediately. “Hey Tom, it’s Ed. Call me when you get- er….I mean….” *click*. I don’t blame him. Sometimes I think our own parents would have mixed us up at times. 

By far, the worst part of summer would be when my sister and I visited our grandparents and extended family in Iowa. Not because I didn’t like Iowa – on the contrary, my friends would probably tell you I have sort of an unhealthy love of the state, and especially the University of Iowa’s football team. (That isn’t at all true by the way, my love is PERFECTLY normal by Iowa standards.) No – the reason this was the worst part of summer is that, for a minimum of 3 weeks, up to about 2 months per year, from the time I was born until I entered High School, I was ripped away from my best friend and our endless adventures at the best possible time for adventures and adventuring. It was probably even worse on Tommy. Whenever I talked to my parents during Iowa trips, my mom would tell me how he was asking when I would get home again. A couple summers, my parents would decide life without kids was so great, they’d ask my grandparents to extend their break a week or two longer. My grandparents, of course, were only too happy to do this – Tommy and I hated it.

But in addition to *just* a best friend, he was so much more than that. My parents would often joke that my “brother” called when I was out, and in every sense of the word other than blood, he was absolutely that. He ragged on me as any older brother would, but he also stood up for me if anyone else tried to do the same. He was the one who didn’t just help me learn how to play baseball, or basketball, or any other sports or activities, but who told me (not explicitly, of course), that it was cool. I wanted to be Michael Jordan because Tommy wanted to be Michael Jordan. One time, Tommy told me the story of Jordan picking his famous #23 as a high schooler. The story as Tom told it was that Michael’s older brother Larry already had #45, his favorite number (perhaps, in my mind, because he looked up to his older brother), so because Michael wanted to be half as good as him, he selected 23. Whether or not that’s exactly the real reason has never mattered to me. When I started playing youth basketball, I always chose number 10 or 11 when I could. Because Tommy was always 21. He was the older brother I looked up to. Always bigger, stronger, faster, funnier, smarter, all the things anyone’s older brother was when they were young.

So that’s what made a totally normal and random day in 2004 so difficult for me. Tommy was in college then, a freshman at UNH, and me a sophomore in high school. He was on his first break coming back home from college, which was exciting for me since obviously there wasn’t as much time for us to hang out those days. I went to work as usual that day, and being about 15 years old, my mom picked me up and drove me home. She mentioned there had been an ambulance in front of Tommy’s house when she had left, so on the ride home we speculated what it may be for. Tommy’s grandmother lived in the neighborhood as well and often visited for dinner, so we assumed it was likely for her, and hoped for the best until we knew more. The next day, though, we found out it was for Tommy, and my world was turned on its head.

Again, it was a totally innocuous story, about a totally normal day. Tommy had been playing basketball before he came home for the weekend, and shared a water bottle with a friend. The next day, while home, he felt sick and laid down to rest. Just a few hours later, he was too weak to lift his head, and was rushed to the hospital. From our local hospital, he would be transferred to UMass Worcester, and diagnosed with bacterial meningitis. Over the next several weeks, it only got worse. He suffered a stroke, and was in a coma for the better part of 3 weeks. For a while, doctors were uncertain if he would wake up. When he finally did, he would never quite be the same. Weeks of being in a coma resulted in some muscle atrophies, and I had never seen him so skinny in my entire life. The stroke cost him motor function on his right side, and left him with cognitive difficulties including aphasia and a loss of speech for a while, among other difficulties.

And at 15, I just couldn’t comprehend what was happening. This was my hero. Made of steel, or better yet, adamantium, if not totally invincible. How could my hero be reduced in this way to a hospital bed at just 18 years old? For doing nothing wrong other than share a water bottle? Something he, and I, and probably you, have done a thousand times without a second thought? Why him? Why anyone, really? What deed had he done, or could anyone do, to deserve that fate? Those questions would be in my head for weeks and weeks on end. And there were no answers. Nothing ‘logical’, at least. He was essentially just in the wrong place at the wrong time and a cruel twist of fate ripped his youth and strength away in a single swoop.

It’s not that dissimilar from the way another hero of mine, Martin Richard, suffered an equally unfair fate for an equally benign and normal thing. There are no ‘reasons’ that can justify why those things happened to those people at those times. It’s a sad but humbling reminder that, no matter who you are, how good of a person, or how normal of a day you think it is, nothing in life should be taken for granted. Like Tommy, after 2004, I don’t think I was ever the same. But the way I chose to honor the impact that he had on my life was pretty similar to what I had always done whenever I would try to follow in his literal or figurative footsteps as a kid: be as much like Tommy as I could. And the only piece of jewelry or accessory I had ever seen him wear was just a thin, silver, 10-, or maybe 12-inch chain, with a single tiny silver four leaf clover charm on the end. 

So from then on, right up until today, and tomorrow, and next week, until it’s physically ripped off my neck (good luck):

I wear this necklace every day of my life.

The Last Thing on Your Mind

There's snow point in me trying to change your mind about winter right now. Icy you out there, shoveling every day, cursing the neighbors who cover your car right back up the second you clear it out. I know it's been making commutes twice as long - at best - and forcing a lot my training buddies inside to the Dreadmill. 

As for me, I'm feeling more like Edward Snowed-In than Edward Harms these days. However, I do not run inside. In 2.5 years of marathon training, 0 runs on the treadmill (and thankfully 0 slips on the ice!). 

Recently, I've been risking narrow one-way streets and playing my own personal game of Frogger as I 'commute' to work the fastest way possible - on my own two legs. I hop snowbanks, typically making it only 1-2 miles before I finally mis-judge a puddle and end up soaking at least one foot completely. Before I can get to any sort of bike path (hoping someone's cleared it), I have to trudge a little over 2 miles, stopping every 50 yards to let another pedestrian by, wait for lights, or just to try to plan out my next 50 yards when I'm faced with an impassable wall. 

If, like me, you depend on the T to get to work...better start running.

But I'm out there.

And my MR8 teammates are out there. 

Not much room for 1 car, let alone 1 car + 1 runner

My other CharityTeams families - The Shawn Thornton Foundation, Team JAF, Flutie's Team, The NE Patriots Foundation, Last Call Foundation, The Journey Forward - they're all out there just the same. 

In conditions like this: 

"Snow for 120 minutes" = hours

Nearly every day. 

And I have to admit, at the end of the day, I still like the snow. I can't really even explain why at this point. But last night, on the way back from my Quiz For A Cause (HUGE thank you, by the way, to everyone who came out - I raised $268 with only 6 out of 17 teams actually participating in the QFAC! Next time more participation = more cash prizes = more cash for MR8!), I decided to walk back (only 2 miles) to my apartment, because the snow legitimately makes me so happy. I find myself grinning at points, again, no idea why, but it just puts me in such a good mood. When the sun is out and it's cold and/or windy, I can't stand it. But put me in a snowstorm and almost always I find myself taking off my hood and walking with my eyes toward the sky rather than the ice below my feet, as I probably should be doing. 

At this point, if you know me, you knew I was a weird guy, so I know what you're thinking. 

But to all my running friends, all the ones with #Fthesnow in their facebook statuses, here's what I'll promise you: 

1. You'll make it to the starting line, AND the finish line, of the 118th running of the Boston Marathon. Whether we have another 4 feet between now and then, or not another flake (not near a window, but I think it's snowing right now, by the way), you'll make it.

2. The snow will make you stronger. I know it feels like it's wearing you down, tiring you quicker, slowing your pace, forcing you inside or to do cross training instead - and you're right, but at the same time, you're getting tougher.

3. April 20th, 2015 will be one of the best days of your life. 

4. I'll be there at the finish line, cheering you on, offering hugs, pounds, and high fives (depending on sweatiness level), just dishing out daps left and right. 

5. The last thing on your mind will be the snow. That's a promise. 

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/EdHarms/bostonmarathon2015

Why I Run - Part 2

What a night. 

Last night, Team MR8 and the Richard Family hosted Team MR8’s kick-off party at Fenway Park. I met some great new teammates & awesome people, we had incredible guest speakers ranging from the Richard family’s orthodontist to Henry Richard (Martin’s brother), to Massachusetts Governor Charlie Baker, we learned about some of the new partnerships Team MR8’s dollars will support, and most importantly, came together in support of an amazing cause.

A slightly blurry shot of the jumbotron the Red Sox set up for us

Most of the work for the presentation of MR8’s mission, values, and future/current projects was done by Martin’s father, the incomparable Bill Richard. His voice never wavered as he called person after person who shared their most personal memories of Martin, what running for the team meant to them, or even, for Charlie Baker, just what being a parent means to him, and how he relates to the Richard family in that way. Even having never met Martin, I can barely talk about him without my voice cracking here or there, or getting a bit choked up. I have no idea how this family does it, but I got a quick glimpse into how they keep moving forward last night.

To paraphrase Bill, we cannot choose the challenges that life throws at us. We can choose how we face those challenges, and how we respond to them. Powerful words from a man and a family that has been through so much, yet still has such an amazing, positive view on the world.

I choose to run for Martin. I choose to run for Bill, Denise, Henry, and Jane. I choose to run with my teammates and spread Martin's message of Peace to everyone I can. I choose to hang out with them, sweaty and smelly, post-run to get brunch and talk about our newest fundraising ideas. And I choose to get as many other people (YOU!) involved in this as I can. 

I met some first-time Boston Marathoners last night who were nervous to come out to group runs, thinking they may not have anything in common with the rest of the group because they were too young. When I thought about it, it's true: most of us have so little in common. There are 65 year-old banking lawyers with their own practices. 50-year old mothers of 3. 40-year old fathers of autistic children. Full time students. Teachers. Doctors. Even former Patriots. Then there's me - the ultimate black sheep - a New Hampshire native living in Boston with all the wrong sports loyalties, Yankees, Knicks, Giants, random Baltimore Ravens and Colts, you name it, I don't fit in with the rest of the people I run with. Not in that sense. But we do have one extremely important thing in common: we all run for things like MR8. For what's important to us. That's more than enough for us all to consider each other 2nd families at this point. 

And I love answering those first-time questions every time, because by the end of the night, everyone left with new ideas and re-assurance for sure, but also with a renewed sense of 'this is why I'm here', and a huge smile on their faces. I love that stuff. It's so easy to run for this team. And with the rest of my CharityTeams family. I hope to eventually talk to as many people as I can from both CharityTeams as well as my donors and supporters to infect them with the same enthusiasm I have. 

Shouldn't take long. I'll get around to you soon. 

So please join me in supporting the Richard family, and give to this amazing cause today! Either a straight donation works, or I have SEVERAL fundraisers going on right now (Super bowl squares here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1187h_TPtUWChuciOWW7HUTIu3cc4ny4OktqOJ90rIJg/edit#gid=0) as well as a planned Trivia Night (February 18th, 7:30, Phoenix Landing in Cambridge), and a Bertucci's dining voucher for Wednesday, February 25th at the Children's Hospital location. Look for all those facebook events and reminders this weekend.

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/EdHarms/bostonmarathon2015

As Cool as the Other Side of the Pillow

For a man I never met, probably never even came within 10 miles of, talked to, or even tweeted at, I just realized that Stuart Scott sure had one hell of an impact on me.

In all my life, I've shed a tear for one person I never met. That was Martin Richard. That fact changed this morning as I began writing this post, listening to Rich Eisen say goodbye for the tenth time or so. Already today, Hannah's Storm's farewell message (just one of them, there are dozens...please ignore the name of the uploader...) has well over 2.3 million views as of the moment I write this. 

If you don't know who he is, this post will probably make absolutely zero sense to you. I won't even bother trying to describe who he was as a sports anchor, words will fall woefully short and in the end, you probably still wouldn't think he was any different than, say, Peter Jennings. And though Peter was an incredibly talented and well-respected news anchor himself, his passing was a sad moment for sure, but nothing like this. I'll just try to put into words how he fits into my life. 

Simply put, he was a part of my morning, afternoon, or night, since 1993. From '93 until 2004 when I graduated high school, my morning was: Wake up. Brush teeth. Take shower. Go downstairs. Pour bowl of cereal. Put on SportsCenter. Every day. On days I stayed home from school, I laid on my couch with a blanket and watched the same SportsCenter on repeat until 1pm or whenever it happened to run to that day - only taking a break at 11am for the Price is Right, of course. Every year, at the end of the year, SC runs a special showing just about every "This Is SportsCenter" commercial they can pack into an hour long special...and every year I watch it, tape it, and watch it again. Every year, I watch the Espy's, not really to see who won Best Female Athlete, but to watch Jim Valvano's speech from the same year that Stuart Scott went on the air. Again, for the millionth time. It gets better every year.

I love sports. Sports have been a part of who I am my entire life. A huge part. From tee ball at 6 years old (we were undefeated if I recall correctly. I was absolutely awful, played right field, mark of a bad ballplayer when you're 6, but loved it anyways), to rec league basketball, to high school golf team, to college club teams, to my current part-time job as a marathoner, Stu Scott has been there for it all. Telling me who went 'bonkers' last night and dropped 50 points (probably Jordan), giving me catch phrases to use at the playground, sitting back and saying to myself, "damn, that'll be on the top 10 tomorrow", when I hit a nice shot in golf or made a great pass in basketball. 

To a great many people, he was a legend. He practically created the concept of a catch phrase - from something as simple as "Boo Yah!" to the title of this post. When Saturday Night Live spoofs your ability to come up with the most absurd new ways to describe a hockey goal, you're bigger than 'just sports'. Just a guy talking about a silly game where 11 men a side chase around an oblong leather ball for 3 hours. That may be what sports boil down to at the heart of things, but for most of us, at some point, sometime in our lives, tee ball to the big leagues, sports are a big part of us. Until yesterday though, I never looked at Stuart in the same way I may have thought of a guy like Michael Jordan, Derek Jeter (sorry Boston friends who didn't already know - I'm a Yankees fan), or even Shawn Thornton. I didn't really think of him as someone you looked up to when you think about what you want to be when you grow up. But, like the end of that SNL clip illustrates, there's a ton of people out there who aspire to be just like him. To transcend the sports world into entertainment, journalism, and pop-culture with the kinds of things that kids like me would quote literally every day on the playground. All of my friends and I weren't just mini-Marshall Faulks when we played football, we were Stuart Scott, Kenny Mayne, Rich Eisen, Keith Olbermann even. We were writing an episode of SportsCenter while we played our silly games. 

If you've read Those Guys Have All the Fun (if not: read it), the story about the creation of ESPN and SportsCenter as its crown jewel, you may know that originally, ESPN's founders didn't want big personalities as anchors. They wanted it to be totally about the sports. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. They didn't want you tuning in to watch Charlie Steiner lose his crap at a Kenny Mayne joke. Well, with the re-hiring in the past couple years of Keith Olbermann, the way Stuart Scott was on TV right up until 2014 for 21 or 22 years straight, I think at some point, ESPN realized how wrong they were. 

Hey, everyone makes mistakes, and if you get really lucky, sometimes your mistakes look like absolute genius. I think that's exactly what happened in this case. 

One of my favorite stories from that book was just the simple fact that Stu and Rich Eisen would moon each other on the highway on their way to work. Again, if you're unaware of ESPN, it's located precisely in the Middle Of Nowhere. Nothing to do except work, go home, and come back. But Those Guys Had SO Much Fun, they messed around with each other even while driving to work, let alone on the job. I love my job and Dana Farber, but I sit silently on the E line and do the crossword in the Metro every day. I wish I had that much fun commuting!

As I've gotten older and like many other old high school friends, I've sort of grown apart from ESPN, I have to admit. SportsCenter may be a little too much entertainment now, in one man's humble opinion. And without the guys I grew up with, like Stuart, it's just not the same, is all. It's still typically the first channel I turn on when I flip the TV on after work, though I might not spend countless hours a day with it any more. 

Sports are still a huge part of me though, and as such, Stuart and the rest of those classic SC anchors will forever remain a part of who I am. That's the best I can put it. The world lost a great man yesterday, and I feel in a way, I lost an old friend. 

So I'll leave you and echo Rich Eisen's final words from the clip above: tonight, in his honor, before you go to sleep, flip your pillow over to the cool side. 

I'm gonna miss you, buddy. Even though I never met you. 

Emotions

I don't really know what to say today. If you've read my blog before, you know I'm not exactly the most concise writer, and rarely at a loss for words. However, I've started and deleted this post about 40 times so far, and I don't think it's going to get any better any time soon, so this will have to do. 

I'm excited. 

I'm excited because I just got accepted to run my THIRD Boston Marathon in 3 years. I'm excited because I'm running with my Other Family: the AMAZING people of CharityTeams.org and the 19 charities that they represent. I'm excited because my top choice of teams - The Martin W. Richard Foundation - chose me to be one of their ambassadors this year. I'm excited because that's such a huge honor to me. 

However, there are so many other emotions, too. I have to admit that even when writing my application, things got a bit emotional for me. Luckily, though I was finishing up the application at work, my office was empty at the time, so though I probably looked like a lunatic wiping tears from my eyes at my desk, I made it without anyone knowing. Just don't tell my co-workers...

I'm nervous. 

I'm nervous because this feels like more 'responsibility', I guess you would say. That's not the exact right word, but I'm nervous to screw literally anything up. I'm nervous (already) that I'll get injured in training. That I'll get hit by a bus walking across the street. That I'll contract ebola a week before. Or that I'll just be in a sour mood one morning before my coffee and just make an insensitive comment to someone unnecessarily. I'm nervous to portray myself even for a minute in a way that wouldn't be deserving of wearing the MR8 logo on my chest. 

I'm proud. 

I'm proud that in the past two years, I've raised over $13,000 for two awesome charities, and I can't wait to get started on my third (spoiler alert: I already started fundraising. Donated myself). I'm proud to be a part of this team, proud to represent my community, and proud that the money I'll be raising goes right back to the people and places I love. I'm proud that my running has inspired other friends and family members to do similar things in their own lives. I'm proud of everything I've accomplished these past two Marathon Years.

I'm sad.

I'm sad, in a way, that this team was created in the first place. As I said, even applying for a spot on MR8 was emotional, and I have to imagine there will be more emotional spots in training. No one should have to go through what the Richard family did, though it is true that the toughest times in life are seemingly when people band together and support each other the most, which is what happened after April 15th, 2013.

And though I'm sad, I'm inspired.

I'm inspired by the Richard family and all that they've done since April 16th, 2013, to use this tragedy as an opportunity to do something great. Last year's inaugural team raised over $1.25 million alone. Throughout training, the Richards were there constantly, supporting not only their own team but the rest of the running community by offering coffee, hand warmers, snacks, and encouragement to hundreds of us. I can't wait to be a part of that.

So, I'm excited. 

I'm excited to start training and fundraising. I hope you're excited too, 2015 is going to be an awesome year, and it starts today. Donate today, at my personal page here: https://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/EdHarms/bostonmarathon2015 and help me support the Richard Family in all that they do to further Martin's message of Peace. 

He Who Must Not Be Named

I sat staring straight ahead in the back of a cab, totally physically and mentally exhausted. 

Questions raced through my head like, "what just happened?", "what do I do?", "how could this be real?". The cab driver broke me out of my fugue state.

"Where were you?" he asked. 

The day was April 15th, 2013. He didn't have to specify what he meant. I was wearing my finisher's jacket when he picked me up on the Massachusett's Avenue Bridge, about a mile from the bombing sites. 

"Clarendon & Boylston, a block away, I'm not hurt", I replied, still staring blankly. 

"You were lucky," he said. Understatement. "That guy, not so lucky."

We had made it to the end of the bridge and had come to a red light. I looked out the passenger's side window to the man on the Hubway bike that had pulled up next to us. I didn't notice what he meant at first. The man was wearing dark sunglasses and a hat, so I couldn't really see his face. Stocky and well-built, with a dark complexion, he was also staring straight ahead, waiting for the light to change. He was seemingly unfazed by the sirens still wailing relentlessly behind us. 

Then I noticed his jeans, and what the cab driver meant. More specifically, I noticed the quarter-sized hole on the left thigh, and the trail of blood that came from it. It's not like it was gushing, and at this point, an hour and a half after the explosions changed 264 lives forever and ended 3 more, the bleeding had probably stopped. Still though, shouldn't he have been among the 264 reported that day? At the hospital, or at the very least, patched up by now? I didn't think about it much at the time. 

Still being about 65 degrees and sunny, our cab driver had the front windows down. He leaned over to the passanger's side and called out. "Hey, buddy, you OK?" 

"I'm fine," came the emotionless response. He still stared straight ahead. The light changed, and we both continued down Mass Ave. I didn't give it a second thought that day. I didn't think about it for at least a few more weeks. The entire interaction was about 20 seconds, max. There wasn't a reason to. 

Until I saw the pictures and videos in the next few days of the suspects. Until I realized they lived within a mile and a half of that red light. Until I thought about what could have been the reason he was unfazed by the wound on his leg, why he wasn't one of the 264 reported injured that day. Mind you, I don't 'know' this for a fact. But the more I've thought about that moment in the past 14 months, the more I've been more than a little unnerved by it. 

The intersection to the suspects' house, 1.5 miles. 

It was him. The older brother. I hate saying their names. 

Or, could have been. Again, similar to my Quinn story, and the 'what ifs' that followed that I think about more than what actually happened. 

Should I have told someone? 

Especially after I thought about who it was? The manhunt was over at that point. 

Should I have tried to at least talk to him, ask him if the leg was really OK? 

Shouldn't I have been concerned that someone who was clearly so close to the bombs had no desire to seek medical attention? 

Worst of all, could I have actually saved a life if I did? 

As many will tell me, or have told me, and what I tell myself, it doesn't matter now. 'What if' won't change a thing about what happened. But I still think about those 20 seconds about as much as anything else from that day. Have you ever looked a mass murderer straight in the face, and watched him ride away without a second thought? I may have. It's something I struggle a bit with, to be totally honest. These questions continue to bother me today, that's why I'm writing this post. Writing about April 15th, 2013 has really helped me deal with it, and I regret not writing about this part of the story sooner. 

That's all. I don't have a message to this post, no lesson, I was just sort of wandering down Memory Lane today and got the urge to write. I promise future posts will be back to normal stories or anecdotes or happier topics. I need to cover one major topic that will affect my 2015 marathon effort (yea, that's happening): the Bruins' decision not to re-sign Shawn Thornton. That will be a much more positive post, as will, hopefully, all future posts. But as we know all too well, the world is not always rainbows and sunshine, so I need to share these stories too. 

Thanks for reading, as usual, and as always, comments and feedback are most appreciated. 

United Airlines, Oh, The Joy!

Oy vey!  

Usually, I'm quite the laid-back, friendly, easy-going, not to mention handsome, philanthropic, and a perfect gentleman, but I had quite the 'vacation' this week in Las Vegas. United Airlines was kind enough to extend it by a day and, well, read my letter to them (sent today) for a snippet of my state of mind for the past couple of days. 

I'll update everyone with their response, but I had to get this one off my chest. 

Really, I have to get over it. I've spent the last 3 days at this point trying to control my blood pressure, as the tiniest of sideways looks get me to nearly explode. This is a great form of venting though, and what I've been trying to keep in mind was the fact that I did have a good vacation for the first three days, and beyond that, there's plenty else in the world that's worse than an extra day in Las Vegas, not that it was the happiest day ever there.

Still though, I was a tad upset, and I've channeled that energy into a strongly-worded letter, which is also hopefully entertaining for y'all. 

Enjoy! 

To whom it may concern,

I am writing today to inform United Airlines of my recent experience using your services, and to inform you of my decision to no longer use your airline for domestic flights unless absolutely necessary.

When I told friends and family about my trip to Las Vegas, an annual tradition for me and a friend from home, the first comment I got from many people was “good luck with United!” Having flown with you last year, with minimal issues (outside an airline’s control, at least), my reply was to hope for the best and rely on my good luck traveling with you in the past.

However, after my vacation began on Saturday, May 10^th, 2014, with a flight from Providence, RI, to Chicago, IL, that would be the end of my good experiences with UA. My vacation was subsequently cut short by not one, not two, but three separate customer service, informational, or mechanical issues, and that is without placing any extra emphasis on the final and worst issue. I realize there are certain things beyond an airline’s control when flying, and I certainly don’t place blame on United for those issues that are outside your control, but the response to those issues is far more important to me.

In my opinion, your response, for lack of a more eloquent way to put it at the moment, sucked.

First, the most minor and easy-to-understand issue  was  a mechanical issue with our plane on Saturday, May 10^th, when backing out of the gate in Chicago. It wasn’t a huge deal, mechanical issues are great to know about before takeoff, but we were told by the flight crew that, lucky for us, we had another plane to board, a few gates down, and we would be getting out as soon as we could get boarded and luggage moved. However, that plane wasn’t actually there. It took another 45 minutes, in fact, for that plane to arrive, an additional 30 minutes to prepare it, 30 minutes to board, and 30 to eventually get out, causing a total delay of about 3 hours to get to our destination. Again, this is not a big deal in the grand scheme of flight issues, but I appreciate honesty and the accuracy of the information given to me. Peace-of-mind goes a long way in flying and traveling in general, so just knowing the situation, for me, goes a long way in how I look back on the experience. However, the way that issue was handled, with United representatives telling 150+ people that they’d get right onto a different plane and right out, was not only incorrect, it was dishonest, because someone certainly had to know there wasn’t actually another plane waiting. That situation luckily did not affect me beyond arriving 2.5 hours late, since my final destination was Las Vegas, but to anyone looking to make a connecting flight, I hope they did not rely on your inaccurate information. That was the first issue.

The second dealt with my check-in for my flight on Tuesday, May 13^th, and also should have been very minor. When I attempted to check in online using confirmation codes or other information on Monday, the United website repeatedly was unable to find my reservation. I had to call and speak to a representative, which took a 45 minutes of the rep asking the same information (confirmation codes, names, flight #’s, etc), only to tell me that I may need to speak to a travel agent to re-book a new flight. And after this 45 minute run-around of the same 6-letter confirmation (by the way, the code is AKDQMQ, don’t worry, I’ve memorized it by now!), the conversation ended with me getting the correct email with my boarding passes, with the same confirmation code I had been using for the past hour. Again, I’m not entirely certain what causes issues like that, technology is a funny thing, but the response is more important, and the response this time was a simple ‘have a nice day’. I didn’t mind too much at the time, since I anticipated that phone call being the last of my issues, but an apology or some sort of explanation of what went wrong would have been nice. And, not having the first suggestion be “book another flight” would have been great too. Still though, my ‘vacation’ was still shaping up pretty well.

And then it unraveled on Tuesday, May 13^th, around 11AM.

The final straw was smoke in an FAA building in Chicago. Or rather, the final straw was United Airline’s way of dealing with the chain reaction and meltdown that followed. Again, a malfunction in a ventilation system is far, far beyond an airline’s control. And again, United’s response was abysmal.

Luckily, I was not one of the people that had to board and de-plane our aircraft 4 times that morning and afternoon. That joyous experience was only reserved for the elderly, active military, passengers with babies, and passengers with disabilities. I only physically boarded once, but some of my fellow travelers made it onto, and back off the plane FOUR times (presumably, the last time they were actually allowed to board, fly to Chicago, and get off the plane), and I find that somewhat absurd. After the situation began, I immediately looked it up on my phone, and it seemed like the entire time from then on, I was better informed of the situation and better understood the impact of it than United, which is hard for me to believe. Instantly, when there is a fire in an FAA building, 800+ flights were grounded for precautions, across two airports, which makes perfect sense given the importance of those folks at the FAA. I have no issue with being grounded for smoke, fire, or any sort of potentially dangerous situation.

However, we were subsequently told by United representatives, on two separate occasions, that if we could board as quickly as possible, we could get out in X minutes and hopefully many of us could make connections or get to our respective destinations, which sounded good. Too good to be true, actually. Since I had been checking from the minute the problem occurred, I was aware of the fact that at the time there were over 800 flights at two major airports grounded, delayed, re-routed, or cancelled. United had to have access to this same information, yet every time I checked United.com to check my reservation for my ORD to PVD flight that evening, it still said I would board at 6:30PM local time, and arrive at 10:10PM. Calls to United’s 800 number mentioned a ‘weather issue’ causing delays and heavy call volumes, and a promise of a longer-than-expected wait time. However, I didn’t wait on the phone. After going through the ever-so-fun-and-easy 10 step method to explain to your automated server what my issue was, I was promptly disconnected.

Additionally, it took until that fourth and final boarding of our flight (7 full hours after we arrived at the airport) to finally be able to speak to a United representative live and pry the most important piece of information - to my friend and I - out of him: the fact that our flight to Providence was, as I had a feeling it would be, cancelled.

He casually mentioned we could certainly still go to Chicago, but in the meantime he wouldn’t be able to find us anything to Providence right then, or pay for a hotel for us in either location, since this wasn’t a ‘United Airlines’ issue, it was an ‘FAA issue’. I informed him I didn’t have a house in Chicago, and thus that would be unacceptable since we were trying to get to Providence. Again, I understand the FAA versus United issues, I understand the nightmare that must come out of having to re-book and re-work over 1000 flights-worth of passengers’ issues, but at the same time, be a little realistic with your passengers. Telling me twice that I need to board as quickly as possible sounds great, but every other source I’m looking at is telling me that there are still massive delays, cancellations, re-routings, and all sorts of issues. The words “meltdown situation” were used in one article I read. I heard of other airlines cancelling much earlier, and re-booking their passengers, which would have been greatly, greatly appreciated. Any sort of feeling that United was going out of its way to improve the situation would have been appreciated. Instead, I consistently got the impression that everyone I spoke with was trying, essentially, not to be the bearer of bad news and to pass the buck to the next person to tell me. I don’t really need that when flying. It’s stressful enough as is, what I need is accurate information and again, peace-of-mind. A hotel room would have also been wonderful. I found it hard to believe that one option to rectify my situation was to fly me to Houston, then to Philadelphia, then to Providence, or even connect more ways and at who knows what cost, but a $35 hotel room (which is what I ended up Hotwiring later on, $70 after taxes and a resort fee) was out of the question in either Las Vegas or Chicago.

At no point did I feel that any person I spoke with through these three separate issues was going above or beyond to help me out or in any way rectify the issues that occurred. In fact, it felt like no one was willing to take even a centimeter step in the right direction, and in a customer service industry, I had thought the customer experience was paramount to getting repeated business. Rest assured, this week and the problems involved has led me to conclude that I won’t be flying United Airlines any time in the foreseeable future.  

Once more though, my main complaint is not with the actual issues, but the response. I would greatly appreciate speaking to another representative of your airline regarding my experience, at your earliest convenience. Should you need any more specific information regarding flight numbers, itineraries, passengers, any sort of documentation, or even to hear of a few more of the stories of other passengers whose experiences were even worse than mine (I’m single, I don’t have to worry about babysitters, a family, and luckily have a job with a very understanding group of people who were supportive of my situation, but that wasn’t the case with many other of those people), please let me know when you respond. I am more than happy to speak with anyone over the phone, at XXX-XXX-XXXX (cell), or via email at eharms1@gmail.com. I look forward to hearing from someone soon. 

Thank you,

Ed Harms

Is It April 20th, 2015 Yet?

In a word, wow. 

To sum it up, it was the absolute perfect day. 

Described in great detail, in a couple thousand words, it was....

Incredible. I don't even know where to start. Now that the euphoria of crossing that finish line is finally wearing off, after a solid week-and-a-half-long runner's high, I can finally look back and reflect on the past year and a half, and man...what a year and a half it was! 

Reflections: watch your step, folks, this post is gonna get pretty deep

This is exactly what I wanted last year. The chance to look back and think about the year that was. To think about the teammates I had trained with, the friends I made, the money I raised for the Stork Fund, the run I just accomplished, my time, and my goals going forward. I wanted to tell all my teammates what a great job they did. I wanted to see friends at the finish line, get a drink with 100 other salty and exhausted people, and soak up the rest of what had been an awesome day to that point. 

At about 2:48, I finally got through the finisher's area and was just beginning to start my reflection and put on my finisher's jacket. Those first moments were shattered along with windows, limbs, and lives the very next instant. In the extremely surreal week that followed, I felt cheated, to say the least. I was angry at the perpetrators, sad that my friends were unable to finish, guilty that I did, unsure of how proud to feel. 

My view of the finish line on April 15th, 2013, a block from the first bomb

Regarding the Boston Marathon and marathons in general, you can buy books or read articles on how to prepare. How to train, what to eat, when to taper, the best ways to recover. You can check out elevation maps, take a virtual tour of the course, you can even find a Boston-specific pace calculator that tells you exactly how fast to run each mile based on a goal time, and what obstacles you'll be facing within that mile. However, there's no guide on what to do in the event of a terrorist attack. Even though I'm sure we all had a great support system around us (I know I did), you're on your own. There were a lot of emotions, a lot of complex feelings that I had to sort out in my head before I could even think about moving forward with my life, but there was one thing that was clear: I had to run 2014, and I had to do it with my Second Family. 

Fast forward to 9:00 or so, Monday, April 21st, 2014. A day literally a year and a half in the making. The weeks leading up were full of stress, emotion, and anticipation. Every mention of the word 'marathon' rang in my head. Every time I saw the names or faces of Lu Lingzi, Sean Collier, Krystle Campbell, or most of all, Martin Richard, I welled up a bit. Every siren made me a bit jumpy. Stunts like the one pulled on Boyleston a few days earlier had me so anxious it wasn't even funny. 

So imagine my stress level at the starting line at 9AM: 

Foreground: STF teammate & new friend Mike lets the nerves get to him

Not what you pictured? Yea, I have to say, me neither. I think part of it was that I just didn't have any room left for nerves or stress. I worked my ass off with my team for over a year to get there with those people, and knowing it was finally our chance at finishing what we started was comforting. Clearly! The anticipation of getting to that point, though, had killed me for a year or more. Now that the moment had arrived, there was nothing to be anxious or nervous about any more. Just time to get out there and have some fun. 

Me with 32,000 of my closest friends, about to have the time of our lives.

Fun doesn't really begin to describe it, however. There are no words that exist that could accurately describe it. I decided a few days before that my goals for time and performance were basically useless. My overall goal to this day will be to one day qualify for Boston (3:05 for my age group, yikes!), but that day, I had one goal only: enjoy every last second of it that I could. There was no need to put any additional pressure on myself, no need to look back if I ran 3:06 to find out what went 'wrong'. There could not have been anything 'wrong' about this run, unless I created a problem in my own head. Thankfully though, it never came to that, and I was able to quite easily accomplish my goal.

I had a freaking blast. I still am. And, even at a comfortable pace, even in weather a solid 20 degrees above any training run the entire year, I ran 16 seconds faster than last year. 

3:26:18 - PR, Baby!

Even now, almost 2 weeks later, I still have a grin ear to ear when anyone asks about it, comments on my jacket (that may as well have been sewn onto me the week after), or when I check the CharityTeams Facebook group, which happens on average about once every 14 seconds. I simply cannot get enough of this event, or the people I get to associate with while running it and training for it. Though I've told people each of the last 2 years during training "I'm not sure I want to do next year", as soon as I get to about mile 3 in the actual race, all I can think is "next year is going to be AWESOME!" Such is the disease myself and a lot of my new-found friends are afflicted with. 

And man, I'm just fine with that. Again, I can't describe to you the feeling of running down Boylston with thousands of people cheering. Unless you're a professional athlete or have run Boston yourself, you probably don't know what I'm talking about either. So to that, I say, come join me. Anyone can do this. To quote our fearless leader, Susan Hurley, "never doubt yourself". She's so, so right. In my two years I've run with everyone from former linebackers (not exactly the 'runner's body' you'd look for in someone running a marathon) to lifelong runners, single parents with 2 kids and full time jobs to retirees, 18 year olds to about 65, the most outgoing people you'll ever meet to the very reserved, and everyone in between. Most are first-time marathoners. Most come to Susan at first thinking there's no way they can find the time to train for a marathon in addition to raising $5,000 or more for charity. All are wrong. 

For anyone who wants to experience it for themselves, send Susan an email. Or me. Though I'm not an official CharityTeams employee, I certainly advocate for them like one. I hope I can do for you what Susan did for me: make me believe, in one short phone call, that I was not just capable of hitting the minimums, but far exceeding my goals, and having a ball the whole time. 

Again though, words just don't do it. Check it out for yourself below, the look on my teammates' faces says it all. Quite simply put: you have to experience this for yourself. I'll help you. I know at least 309 other CharityTeamers who will, too. All you have to do is do what I did, make that first call, email, or facebook request. You won't regret it. 

STF teammate Chuck crossing the finish line

MR8 members and CharityTeamers Susan and Patrick, who happened to find each other in the final yards

Selfie from the author immediately after high-fiving Doug Flutie in mile 7

STF teammate Kristy, seeing one of her biggest fans (me) at the finish

STF teammate Emily, seeing the finish line. Priceless.

Superheroes

I just wanted to share something with you guys in case you missed it on your local Boston-area news station last weekend. 

Or in case you missed it on Boston.com.

Or maybe you didn't do your daily rundown of the Huffington Post. 

Maybe you were on vacation in Kansas City, but you didn't happen to tune in to the local Fox news broadcast that morning. 

You could have even missed it if you were in Washington, San Francisco, Las Vegas, St. Louis, or even Columbus, Indiana. 

Well, now you know. About 300 of us turned out last week to run the final 18 miles of the Marathon course to train (one slight mis-reported detail was that it was not a race...however if it was, I won) and raise awareness for our respective charities. I represented only a small fraction of the stories all over the country above, so I'd say we succeeded. 

Most of us ran in full Superhero costumes, ranging from Quail Man, to the Joker, to Thor (complete with giant homemade hammer), to "Marathon Girl," and other such newly-minted Superheroes. My 'costume' was admittedly a bit simplistic - I ran as Shawn Thornton - but I wanted to stress that, at least in my eyes, people like Shawn or the people who ran 18 miles in full costume last week are already doing heroic things.

I think I've probably mentioned this before, but running sucks sometimes. 

Running in a harsh Boston winter sucks even more. Since the beginning of the year (calendar, not running year), it's snowed at least half a dozen times and temperatures have reached below 25 degrees 43 times. That creates tough road and sidewalk conditions, which makes running even more of a pain. Jumping over snow banks gets pretty old after 12 miles or so, except at this point in the season, you still have 4-8 miles to go. This past weekend when temperatures reached 55 both days, the amount of runners on my usual paths increased exponentially. Those of us who are training for Boston don't really have the luxury of waiting for those pristine late-winter days though, we're out there clad in head-to-toe spandex, 3-5 times a week, regardless.

This happens often.

You get the idea. It's cold and stuff. But, even crazier, that's not even close to where the commitment to Boston 2014 ends. After you've put in 18 miles this morning, after your cool down, stretching, ice bath, 3000 calorie meal, and shower, you've got another job: fundraising. I'd guess that 80% of the people I'm training with this year have to raise the BAA set minimum of $7,500 for charity. The other 20% may have waivers from not finishing last year, or may have even qualified, but the minimum, with waiver, to just to be accepted to one of the teams I run with is $1,000. Most are raising far more than that. 

It's a huge commitment, mentally and physically. However, not one of these Superheroes I run with complains (too much) about the cold. It's pretty much a running joke (see what I did there?) among us now. No one complains about how high the fundraising minimum is. We all have full time jobs in addition to our running lives, but, as often happens when people do something they love, there are no complaints about the time commitment. We couldn't be happier to be a part of this. Sometimes I wonder if I'm smiling too much when I run in the snow. People think it's odd. But I can't get enough of this running season. 

We're getting down to the wire - 40 days to go now - and I have to admit I'll miss it when it's over. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm going to miss 15 mile runs, in 10 degree weather, on ice, at 8AM. I'm going to miss running with my second family, with whom, over the past year and a half, I've been through a lot. 

The one thing I ask in return: for you to support me or one of the Superheroes with whom I run. Team MR8 for Martin Richard, the Joe Andruzzi Foundation, WalkBoston, GoKids Boston, the NE Patriots Foundation, Dreamfar, Lazarus House, the Doug Flutie Foundation, or my near and dear Shawn Thornton Foundation, to name a few. There are dozens of other charities though, and I encourage anyone reading this to support them in any way you can. Obviously, financial help is great, but words of encouragement go a long way towards making the mental part of it easier. Every time someone shouts "Yea Bruins!" or "Thorty!" when I run by, my stride gets longer, my pace quickens, yet I feel lighter. It's such a simple thing to do, but you don't realize the effect it has on runners in those conditions. It's nice to know other people are taking notice, not just in Boston but around the country. It makes the extra 2-3 hours per day spent on running and fundraising that much easier. So if you're one of those people who donates or encourages, keep doing that. 

Personally, as far as fundraising goes, I'm over the halfway mark at a little over $4,000, so I could use your help! As always, HUGE thank-you's to everyone who's donated so far, and even bigger ones to those who donate in the future. Your support means everything to me. Makes being a Superhero pretty easy.