I like to dream big—and then carry out my dreams.
Last summer, while careening across France in a spiffy TGV, I got the brilliant idea to run this year’s Boston Marathon—thereby obscuring an inglorious high school athletic career and, more importantly, proving to myself once and for all that I can do almost anything if I put my mind to it.
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So it was that I found myself plodding my way up Heartbreak Hill last Monday afternoon, my legs aching, my body complaining, my will to carry out my dream of running the Marathon in question.
This is my story.
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