For the past 26
weeks, I’ve been practicing joy—one letter, one person, one memory at a time. I
decided that this Boston Marathon would be a pilgrimage of gratitude, a way of
honoring the people who have sparked joy in my life. So I wrote lots of letters
for the past 26 weeks to the people who make me think of Snoopy doing a happy
dance or Joy from Inside Out leaping with her arms outstretched.
What I
learned is this: Joy grows when you name it. Gratitude deepens when you
practice it and embody it. And love becomes visible when you trace the threads
of your life back to the people who wove them.
Running Boston
dressed as Joy wasn’t just a costume choice. It was the outward expression of
an inward journey—one that taught me that joy is not the absence of hard stuff
in our lives but the presence of connection and love.
Every mile of
the race felt like a prayer stitched together from the people who have shaped
me. I carried your names, your stories, your laughter, your wisdom, your
presence. You were with me in the crowds, in the cheers, in the hills, in the rough
miles when I needed strength. Thank you for being part of the joy that carried
me to the finish line. Thank you for being the reason I could run with a full
heart. Thank you for being the gift.
Boston 2026
will always be the marathon of joy—because of you.
You’ve spent
six months practicing joy like it’s a muscle, a discipline, a calling. You’ve
written letters that turned your training into a pilgrimage of gratitude.
And now you get to step into Boston dressed as Joy herself—blue hair, bright
spirit, heart wide open.
Today isn’t
about splits or perfection. It’s about presence. It’s about delight.
You get to be
the runner who smiles at strangers, who high‑fives kids, who lifts the energy
of the course just by showing up in color and courage. You get to be the
embodiment of the thing you’ve been naming in others for months.
When the miles
get hard, remember: you’ve already done the deeper work. You’ve trained your
heart to notice. You’ve trained your spirit to choose joy. You’ve trained your
body to keep going.
So run light.
Run grateful. Run with your people in your pocket. Run with the happy dance in
your mind. Run as Joy.
And let Boston
see the glow you’ve been cultivating all along.
(thanks to Co-Pilot for helping generating ideas for this above and the following blessings after I uploaded
a few of my letters that I'd written to folks, some of my reflections so far, and my intention letter I'd written about the marathon)
from Kate Bowler's book Joyful Anyway
three generations at Hopkinton
mother daughter pre-race joy!
Anna read this to me before the start...
💙💛💙💛💙
A Blessing for the Starting Line
May this
beginning be spacious. May your breath settle, your shoulders drop, your
heart open. May you remember the faces and stories you’ve carried for
months— the ones who taught you joy, the ones who held you
steady, the ones who made you braver. May their love be the
ground beneath your feet. May delight rise in you like a tide. And
as you cross the line into motion, may you feel the quiet truth humming
through you: You are not running alone. You are running beloved.
You are running free. You are running in joy.
God of
strength and steady breath, meet me in these miles where the road tilts
upward. When my legs grow heavy, give me the grace to take the
next small step. When doubt enters the game, remind me of the joy that
carried me here. Let every hill become a place of presence— You
with me, my people with me, my own spirit rising again. Teach
me to choose joy, anyway, even here, especially here. Amen.
The first 13 miles of the Boston Marathon felt effortless—like I was floating on cloud nine and everything just clicked. Then the charley horses showed up uninvited and decided to stick with me for the rest of the run. With every mile, they got stronger and harder to ignore, and it took everything I had to keep pushing forward. Digging deep, I managed to get to the corner of Hereford and Boylston (just about 1/4 mile to the finish line). At that point, I got the worst charley horse of all, and it stopped me in my tracks. Two runners stopped to check on me, helped me steady myself, and got me moving again.
Thanks to them (and every ounce of grit I had left), I found my stride again and pushed through to the finish. That’s the magic of Boston spirit, and I'm so very grateful for the gift of this day.
Pure Joy!!
A
Benediction for the Finish Line
May this
finish be a soft landing. May the breath you draw remind you that you
are held. May the ache in your legs testify to courage, and the
glitter still on your face bear witness to joy lived out loud. May you feel the
nearness of every person who carried you here— the ones you named, the
ones you remembered, the ones who shaped your stride. May
gratitude rise in you like a blessing. And as
you wrap yourself in the foil blanket and step into whatever comes next,
may you know this deep truth: You ran with joy. You ran with
love. You ran your prayer all the way home.
it really does not get much better than this.... 💙💛💙💛💙
JOY
MANIFESTO — Boston 2026
I run because
joy is a gift and a discipline. I run because gratitude deserves a body. I run
because the people who have loved me into being deserve to be carried mile by
mile.
I run dressed
as Joy because play is holy, because silliness is needed, because joy is
resistance, because the world is heavy and still— there is light everywhere.
I run to
notice. I run to bless. I run to remember that joy is not the absence of pain
but the presence of love.
I run with a
happy dance in my mind, with a cloud of witnesses in my pocket, with the God
who meets me in every ordinary moment.
Today, I choose
joy— not as a mood, but as a way of being. Not as a feeling, but as a form of
gratitude. Not as a costume with a dumb blue wig, but as my truest self.
Here’s a letter that I drafted in October explaining my
intention for the Boston Marathon this spring and how you have been an integral
part of it.
TL;DR (Too Long; Didn’t Read):
I decided that the 2026 Boston Marathon would be about
joy—and I’m leaning into that by running dressed as Joy from Inside Out.
Over the 26 weeks leading up to the race, I’ve been turning joy into a little
practice of its own, writing weekly letters to people who have sparked it in my
life. This letter is my way of bouncing a little of the joy, light, and
gratitude you bring into my life right back to you.
Long Version:
I was on a flight home from a hike with friends in
California on October 15th when I suddenly knew exactly what the 2026 Boston
Marathon would be about for me. I decided I was going to ham it up again and
dress up—because life is far too short not to be a little silly and ridiculous.
In 2013, I ran Boston dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard
of Oz. This time around, I’ve decided to dress up as Joy from Inside
Out. Not only does Joy’s blue hair and yellow dress perfectly match the
Boston Marathon’s signature colors, but she embodies exactly what I want to
hold onto and celebrate as I run: joy.
I’ve often used races as a way to honor the people I
love—assigning each mile to a different friend or family member, turning the
race itself into a kind of prayer. For Boston 2026, I knew I wanted to do the
same. This time, though, the guiding question was simple: Who has sparked
deep, unexpected joy in my life?
Who makes me think of Snoopy doing a happy dance—or
Joy herself, leaping with arms outstretched?
I started scribbling names on the back of an airplane
napkin. And then I realized: October 20th—just a few days later—would mark
exactly 26 weeks until Marathon Monday. Perfect. I decided that each week
leading up to the race, I would meditate on joy and write a letter to people
who have been “joy incarnate” in my life.
On my Gmail signature, I have a quote from Karl Barth: “Joy
is the simplest form of gratitude.” As I’ve trained for the Boston Marathon,
I’ve been trying to practice that kind of joy- without bypassing pain. The
world is heavy. There is real heartbreak, real ache that needs naming, and I
don’t want to rush past it. And still, for these 26 weeks, in the words of Ross
Gay, I’ve been “running the sponge of gratitude over every little thing,”
because joy also deserves our attention. It’s become a weekly discipline: to
name, savor, and celebrate the joy that so many people — including you — have
brought into my life.
So, thank you. Thank you for being someone who makes my
heart sing and for being a gift of joy through the years.
Attached is the letter I wrote during these past 26 weeks of
meditating on joy—about you.
(thanks to Co-Pilot for generating this after I uploaded a few of my letters that I'd written to folks and my intention for Boston)
THE NIGHT‑BEFORE
REFLECTION — Boston Eve
Tonight is for
stillness. For letting the noise settle and the meaning rise. For remembering
that this race began long before Hopkinton— in letters written, in people
cherished, in the slow, steady practice of noticing what is good.
Tonight is for
remembering the faces: the ones who taught you to pay attention, the ones who
taught you to laugh, the ones who taught you to pray, the ones who taught you
to keep going.
Tonight is for
gratitude that has been building for 26 weeks— a quiet, steady tide rising in
your chest.
Tonight is for
blessing your body: these legs that have carried you through grief and beauty,
this heart that has held so much love, this breath that has steadied you
through every mile.
Tonight is for
remembering that joy is not naïve. It is brave. It is defiant. It is a choice
to keep your heart open in a world that gives you reasons to close it.
Tonight is for
trust. Trust that you have done the work. Trust that you will be met on the
course. Trust that joy will rise to meet you just when you need it most.
And tonight is
for blessing tomorrow: May the miles be holy. May the crowds lift you. May the
joy you’ve practiced become the joy you embody.
