SOMETIMES YOU LOSE – AND IT’S OK. The Women’s World Cup championship game between the U.S. and Japan honored the rise and intensity of women’s soccer. The back story was compelling: The U.S. Team’s dramatic run-up with Abby Wambach’s YouTube-play-it-again (and again) headers versus the determination of a team whose nation hungered for a win in the wake of the tsunami. The game was memorable for being both gritty and elegant. It reflected best things about sport: A game played hard and well – and fairly.

THERE ARE OTHER COLLEGE SPORTS BESIDES FOOTBALL AND MEN’S BASKETBALL: The sex abuse scandal at Penn State is just the latest and most troubling reminder of the power gap between big-time sports programs and other teams on campus. The power dynamic is further skewed by commercial quests of big-time teams that – as in the cast of conference realignments – change which other colleges a team will play. The Big East, for example, beginning this year will stretch from San Diego to Providence – and it’s not just football and basketball players getting on planes and missing classes. It’s field hockey players, cross-country runners facing six-hour flights to away games. Might college sports need a new structure – one that separates big-time sports-entertainment ventures from the extracurricular activities of student-athletes who fully intend to stay all four years and earn a degree?

GIRLS CAN DO WHAT BOYS CAN DO: We saw Justine Siegal become the first female to throw batting practice at MLB spring training. The Olympic Committee (finally) voted to add women’s ski jumping in the next Winter Olympics in 2014. We saw high school girls, including Monique Howard playing football – on the defensive line — and saw girls and boys in Massachusetts competing for swim titles. In New Jersey, a boy wasn’t allowed to play on a high school field hockey team, but a co-ed field hockey team in Princeton is growing and USA Field Hockey now wants boys to join the sport. Rigid gender divisions may still rule in sports, but common sense (and budget pressures) are changing the landscape and revealing that – gasp – males and females can compete with and against one another (or in the same events). We don’t, in other words, need to start with gender as a hard dividing line (most especially in school and recreational sports).

THE WOMEN’S MARATHON RECORD IS STILL 2:15:25. The IAAF’s decision to change the rules by which women runners can compete for world record times in the marathon – and the decision to revoke and then reinstate Paula Radcliffe’s 2003 London Marathon record – reveals challenges ahead. Women being paced by men can run faster. It reflects the maturation of the sport to require particular courses (only loops) and conditions (women’s race separate) for an official world record. It’s a quest for uniformity in a sport that takes place out in the natural world. But what about other factors? Rain? Temperature? Winds? Crowds? Seeking a standard may make sense for record books (though eliminating mixed-sex races narrows the acceptable pool and, in real time, sends a negative social message by exaggerating the gap in male and female performance). We are far from the days when running the distance was the simple point. But the pacing issue still lacks resolution. Men may still have rabbits, and it’s helped spur records. Women can’t have male rabbits, but they do need female ones.  We now need women who are able and willing.

By Laura Pappano

Lately, major marathons have become a showcase for record-breaking male performances and today’s New York City Marathon was no exception: Kenyan Geoffrey Mutai finished in 2:05:05, setting a new course record (all three top male finishers broke the record).

So much men’s record-breaking has been going on, in fact, that American marathoner Meb Keflezighi predicted that a two-hour marathon was not only possible, but “hopefully we can see it soon.”

This is not happening on the women’s side. But something else IS happening: We have more top women runners, more contenders, more speedy women clustered at the top of marathon finishes. Consider New York.

While Ethiopian Firehiwot Dado won New York with a 2:23:15, New Yorker Buzenesh Deba was just four seconds behind — and the top 10 female finishers were within 5:48 of Dado. Last year, the top 10 women were within 1:35 of one another.

Obviously, each year’s particular field changes, but if we go back a decade – to 2001 – top finisher Margaret Okayo’s time of 2:24:21 was 7:22 ahead of #10.

In 1991, the difference between Liz McColgan’s 2:26:32 and #10 was 14:34.

In 1981, Allison Roe’s winning time, 2:25:29 was 17:21 ahead of 10^th place.

In 1971, we didn’t even have 10 top women, but let’s just say that the gap between #1 Beth Bonner at 2:55:22 and #4 was, well, nearly two hours.

This, believe it or not, is progress. In the decade marks between 1981 and 2011, the top female finisher’s time improved by just 2:14, but the spread between #1 and #10 over that time improved by a stunning 11:33.

Yes, we need to be faster, to break records – and we can. But to have so many top women in contention is surely a start.

The international track federation’s (IAAF) decision to nullify women’s marathon records from mixed-sex events reflects a crude double standard: Men can have rabbits; women can’t.

The use of pacesetters is common in running, from short track distances to marathons. Boston and New York no longer allow pacesetters, but many marathons do, including Chicago, London, Berlin, and Rotterdam. (New York used to, paying rabbits several thousand dollars to set the pace and then drop out at the 25K mark).

By framing the matter as a gender problem — women’s marathon records can only count in women’s-only events — the IAAF conveniently sidesteps the more controversial issue: Should rabbits be allowed?

Competitive sport has long relied on athletic challengers meant to set a pace or spur improved performance. It is part of bicycle and car racing. While use of male practice squads in women’s college basketball spurred debate several years ago, the NCAA decided to allow them. (BTW colleges, including Ohio State are looking for a players).

Does the practice provide an unfair advantage? If so, are we ready to apply the same standard to men’s records achieved with the aid of pacesetters?

That would be a blow to many, including Roger Bannister who ran his historic sub-four-minute mile in 1955 — with the help of two pacers.

Until we have female rabbits (a thought) it’s easy for the IAAF – as it was for opponents of male practice squad players – to argue that women are relying on physically large and speedy males to improve their own performance.

But then, aren’t male runners using rabbits doing the same thing? And let’s remember: Paula Radcliffe really did run a 2:15:25 marathon (and in 2003 when she did it, no British runner, female or male, ran faster).

Yes, we’ve heard the exciting Chicago Marathon results. Despite the heat (78 degrees according to my iPhone) Moses Mosop set a course record (2:05:37) and Liliya Shobukhova finished in 2:18:20, making it her third straight Chicago win, and her the second-fastest woman behind Paula Radcliffe who holds the women’s marathon record with a 2:15:25.

The elites commanded the headlines, but if you were in Chicago this past weekend – as I was to cheer on my 19-year-old daughter as she ran – you bore witness to the collision of two major cultural events: The Marathon and the Mourning of Steve Jobs.

It was impossible to miss pilgrimage to the Apple Store on North Michigan Ave. with it’s growing shrine of colored, handwritten post-its, flowers, candles (and, of course, apples) – juxtaposed against the running-shoe clad marathon throngs (45,000 runners!) prepping for their personal journeys.

The connection was in plain sight: Jobs has changed how we marathon.

From the iTunes playlists downloaded onto shuffles to the ability to track your runner or navigate a new city, Apple has altered the race. I saw it over and over yesterday as I joined the shadow marathoners – loved ones with neon posters, pomp-pons, clown wigs, (anything to catch an exhausted runners’ attention!) trying to spot runners at various points along the route.

Because Chicago has a looping course (unlike, say, Boston), it’s possible to pop on and off subways to cheer for your runner in multiple spots where CTA stops coincide with the marathon route. But the sheer volume of runners means that to know when your runner will be at any given spot, you rely on text messages to your smartphone.

Chicago Marathon route map with subway stops

Throughout the race, my iPhone pinged me at various markers along the course with an update on my daughter’s progress, pace, and expected finish time. And I wasn’t the only one glued to these messages; the audible pings of people’s iPhone updates became as much a fixture of the day as the guys in yellow shirts handing out water and Gatorade.

It was common to hear a “ping” and then see people sprint for the subway station with rolled up signs tucked under an arm. I found myself, in between the pings, using the calculator to re-figure when she’d arrive where I planned to be. Then, of course, I used the map feature as I walked from Mile 20 to the finish (taking a shorter route than the runners).

And as my daughter finished, I received her unofficial time, pace, and the real time so I could guess when to meet her at the family reunification area. By the time we met, she’d taken out her ear buds and turned off her iPod shuffle. After her roommate called (she’d been getting the pings, too), I took a photo of her that she immediately posted to Facebook (using her iPhone app) — setting off a popcorn of pinging congrats.

Apple Store shrine the morning of the Chicago Marathon

Last July when Federal District Court Judge Stefan Underhill found Quinnipiac University violated Title IX, in part, because it counted cheerleading as a varsity sport, most of the debate was about – you guessed it: Is cheerleading a sport?

The decision, however, also discussed the school’s “roster management” practices that made it appear that there were more female athletes than there actually were.

At the time, ESPN writer Gregg Easterbrook complained that “the decision includes a good 20 pages of hair-splitting arguments regarding how many members the school’s various teams have…” – what he found to be “ultratrivia” that made the complaint a “junk-science lawsuit.”

What Easterbrook (and others) feel is focus on minutiae, however, turns out to be a pattern of dissembling that colleges use to skirt Title IX rules. NY Times reporter Katie Thomas has done compelling reporting to reveal a practice that is nothing short of – well – widespread cheating.

What women’s college cross-country team has 75 runners on its roster? Answer: The University of South Florida. (The men’s team has nine).

Thomas interviews women who don’t even know that they are included on the rosters of women’s sports teams – as well as those who know they are included but are not required to attend practice if they don’t want to. Not attending practice is unthinkable – even for children playing recreational sports.

All this reminds us that those who sound the drumbeat of Title IX hurting men’s sports are missing the point: Despite the law, despite “progress,” many institutions are still just pretending to play fair when it comes to gender equity in sports.

We’ve known for years that Title IX is not well-enforced. But the level of dissembling that Thomas’ investigation reveals is downright embarrassing to the Office for Civil Rights and to the colleges and universities who take public dollars and tuition money — and, by the way, not just from their male students.

Campus protest, anyone?

Whether or not the IAAF decides to recognize as a new world record Geoffrey Mutai’s win in the Boston Marathon, crossing in 2:03:02 – 57 seconds faster than Haile Gebreselassie’s 2008 record of 2:03:59 – is, in some ways, immaterial.

He was fast. He was so thrillingly fast (and on a course that – let’s be honest, rarely sees records) that people are resurrecting that tantalizing debate: Will someone break a two-hour marathon? Could that happen?

Sadly, the discussion about speed and possibility is only on the men’s side.  On the women’s side, we wonder: Will anyone ever again run as fast as Paula Radcliffe did eight years ago?

Consider that in April 2003, when Radcliffe ran the London Marathon in a new world record time for women of 2:15:25, the men’s record was held by Khalid Kannouchi with a time of 2:05:38, set the previous year in London.

But here’s the stunner: His time has been bested 29 times since then (counting Mutai’s race in Boston last week).

Not only has Radcliffe’s best time not been beaten, it hasn’t even been challenged (the next fastest time is also hers, and it’s nearly two minutes slower). The next five fastest women’s marathon times were recorded in 2005 – and earlier.

The most recent “fast” times for women were this year in London — Mary Keitany finished in 2:19:19 and Liliya Shobukhova came in second in 2:20:15. But these are several minutes from the record.

The nagging question: Why have women’s marathon times plateaued?

While Radcliffe’s 2003 record put her on par with men’s records of the 1960s, women’s “fast” times now – 2:19 — are what record-holding men ran in the 1950s.

Debate about female limitations and what women are “capable of” is not new. In 2001, conventional wisdom held that women weren’t physiologically able to run a sub-2:20 marathon. Then in a spurt of speed, that record fell, again and again.

So what’s next? More women are running marathons. We have better training, nutrition, coaching, support, prize money.

In the week that we lost the great Grete Waitz, it’s time to reflect: How do we find the next gear?

By Laura Pappano

Just in time to save us from seasonal affective disorder, writer and blogger Mina Samuels has published Run Like a Girl, a relentlessly optimistic book (doesn’t mean there aren’t trials) about the transformative power of sports.

Yes, sports can make you happy. (And more successful. too!)

In her part-memoir, part-girlfriend/life coach tale (replete with interviews and examples from top athletes), Samuels grapples with the challenges we face –motivation, burnout, injury, failure, and self-doubt — to show us how conquering athletic challenges can help us conquer our demons and find our best selves.

Like an encouraging voice at the toughest stretch of a race, Samuels offers the kind of support that we all crave. Her anecdotes are funny (the first time she ran in NYC, she ran around Central Park, only to later discover many more runners inside) and inspirational (the woman who trades her wheelchair for a bicycle, climbing aboard and heading downhill before she has even figured out how to pedal).

She challenges the dumb debates women have about sports (Is it okay to wear a skirt to run a road race? Do real athletes wear pink?) to push at what really matters.

I spoke with Samuels, 44, lawyer-turned-writer who lives in NYC, about lessons we can take from her book. So go ahead, get out the sport shoes and lace ‘em up!

FGN: How did you get the idea to write this book?

MS: I was talking to a writer friend and we were both brainstorming non-fiction book ideas. She said, ‘What do you feel passionate about?’ And I woke up the next morning to go for my run and I thought, ‘this! This is what feel passionate about.’

From the very beginning I didn’t want it to be how to run, how to do triathlons. I had 10 women over for dinner and I gave everyone a questionnaire. That evening sealed for me that I wanted a book that captured  a night when we were sharing our stories, feeling the connections, but more revved up about ourselves. There’s that feeling: I have friends around me and they are supporting me and I can do more.

FGN: Why do sports make us able to do more off the court or race course?

MS: Sports are indisputable. In so many areas of your life – promotions at work, publishing a book and how it does, if you get the corner office or not, it is easy to discount those things. With sports, you have a measurable goal. It is completely quantifiable. You did the marathon – or you did not do the marathon. The quantifiable thing of sports: That specific thing I thought I couldn’t do – I did it.

FGN: What are you hoping women will get from your book?

MS: I want women to take away the knowledge that what they think they are capable of is probably no more than half of what they area actually capable of – for most of us. No many how many strides we have made with feminism, with Title IX, with trying to achieve equal pay, there is still some road to travel for women. I want them to travel that road more equally and own how great they are. When you do sports, it is not a mental exercise, it is not fantasizing about potential success. You are showing yourself what you can do.

By Elizabeth Chabner Thompson

Each August a group of running/eco-challenge lovers, trudge through surf and sand of Nantucket to make the 50-mile Rock Run around the island (the course changes yearly with beach erosion and tidal variances). As race director Hector MacDonald, puts it, “You can count on sand and sun pretty much on every leg.”

The race can be run as a 5-person relay or as a soloist. In 2007, after training for my first ultramarathon, I felt I could run solo – until my family staged  an intervention and refused to crew for me if I ran. While my husband, (“Military Dad”) supports most of my training endeavors, he didn’t think my ankles and knees could withstand 50 miles of soft sand. My father, a doctor, and my mother, a worrier, protested. So in 2007 and 2008, I ran as part of a relay team.

In 2008, I went to the after-party and met Lauren Esposito, who ran as the only female soloist for 6 years. I couldn’t imagine how tired and sore she was yet she showed up and closed the Chicken Box down later that night. After an Ultra, I eat salty Chinese food, take two Percocet and toss and turn all night, too tired to get up and take another. She was dancing!

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t get the idea of running solo out of my head. I have a very short ultra running bucket-list: Rock Run and Badwater. So when my daughter did not qualify for a swim event that would have conflicted with the Rock Run on August 7, I emailed Hector MacDonald to tell him I was running — myself.

I also texted my only potential crew man, Trevor and begged him to get out of work on that Saturday. Trevor, a recent Rollins grad, had been our “Manny” for many summers, playing golf, tennis, kickball, bike riding, cooking, body-surfing and helping me in any way possible with our four very energetic children born within 5 years of one another. Five seconds after sending the the text, Trevor replied, “I’m in.”

Now, I had to do the race. I packed five pairs of shoes (just in case), body glide, sunscreen, and several changes of clothes (what was I thinking?). I made it to Nantucket with 3 of our 4 children. (My husband and our 10-year-old son were in Pinehurst, NC for the 2010 USKIDS Golf World Championships.) If something happened to me, I figured my mother would cart me off to the Massachusetts General Hospital for my father to oversee my recovery.

We arrived to a glorious, blue-sky day on Nantucket. It was 70′s with a gentle breeze. After a light dinner of pasta, I set my alarm for 4:30 a.m. and tucked the kids in for the night. I fell asleep easily. Saturday morning came in no time and my mother waited for me in the kitchen. I wore gaitors on my shoes to keep out loose sand, carried lip balm, salt tablets and Advil. After I applied sunscreen and downed a PBJ, we got into the car and my mother sped off towards town.

A small motorboat waited at the pier at Children’s Beach to take the 17 soloists to the starting line. Runners begin at Coatue, located on one side of the mouth of the harbor. We would pass three light houses on the course; Brandt Point Light House marked the start. We finish at Jetties Beach on the other side of the harbor. Only seven runners showed by 5:40 a.m., so after dousing ourselves with bug spray, taking off our last layers, and saying goodbye to loved ones, we set off across the harbor. There was an absolutely stunning sunrise.

We stepped off the boat onto soft sand and virtually no beach. At that point, we all wore shoes of some sort — two runners in “5 Fingers” and the rest of us in trusty running shoes. Some soloists had no crew, relying on the good will of fisherman and beach goers to supply water and nourishment. I counted on Trevor to meet me at Great Point, 10 miles east of the start, at the tip of Nantucket.

Hector set us off promptly at 6:00 am. He gave soloists a two-hour lead over relay runners, but warned that the race would end by sundown. We spread out immediately, with one seasoned Rock Runner darting off, never to be spotted by rest of us again. Because I had run this leg twice before, I quickly found my place in the relatively flat hard pack sand. After 90 minutes, I had reached the lighthouse at Great Point, ahead of pace (I told Trevor it would take two hours). He was nowhere in sight, but I had plenty of Gatorade.

The views of Nantucket Sound were spectacular. I could not imagine the next leg would be so painful. Two miles down the beach, Trevor, his mother Pam, and my daughter Bebe, 12, met me with smiles, a peanut butter sandwich and words of encouragement. Yet, I was beginning to have doubts about completing 40 miles more in soft sand. I trudged along, my legs beginning to feel the weight of the sand and the energy it took to push off. The landscape was so beautiful with the morning light on the beach grass, intense green meeting water on both sides of the spit of land. Yet I felt like I was running upstairs with weights on my ankles. My greatest fear was disappointing Bebe who counts on me to follow through with everything. But I kept going.

About two miles before the Sconset check point at Cod Fish Park, a 19th century fishing village, Trevor came running towards me. “Give me your shoes and get onto the hardpack at the water’s edge,” he instructed. I argued, worrying that my ankles could not handle the slope for the rest of the race, but he insisted. “If you can’t do it, I’ll give you fresh shoes in Sconset.” I relented, off went the Nikes. My right ankle immediately felt the stress and I told Trevor I couldn’t do 33 more miles. I worried about my achilles, too. Trevor ran ahead of me at the water’s edge and told me stories; we made it through a few more miles.

At the Sconset checkpoint (mile 20), my spirits lifted with another sandwich. A completely buff, friendly girl waiting for her relay hand-off, told me that the next leg was the easiest and I should try to get through it before giving up. I pushed on. Dozens of seals kept me company between Sconset and Tom Nevers. Trevor and my daughters ran beside me for a half mile and boosted my spirits.

The next 12 miles were the best part of the race. The sand was smooth, without pebbles, and ocean water cooled my feet. I could manage the 20 degree slope by taking tiny steps and expending as little energy as possible. I passed Tom Nevers as fishermen offered encouragement.

Then I reached Madequesham, “my beach.” Our family home sits about 1/2 mile from the ocean. On a clear day, from the front porch, I can not only see the surf, but hear it, too. Euphoria set in as I saw my two youngest, Gus and Louisa playing in the surf. “Go Mommy!”

With no new complaints and renewed energy, I looked forward to the Surfside checkpoint at 32 miles. At Nobadeer (the Airport Beach) Trevor, Pam and Bebe met me with another sandwich, water and Gatorade. I took two Advil and a salt tablet and begged for the anti-chaffing stick. Trevor did not have it in his pocket and offered to retrieve it from the car. Not wanting to stop, I said, “forget it.” He promised to bring it to Surfside. I should have waited. My thigh chaffing, humorously known as “Chub Rub,” was starting to sting. My genetically generous inner thighs, salt water, and shorts material, were making hamburger meat of my skin. I tried to block it out. At least my underarms arms weren?t rubbing.

Surfside checkpoint was uplifting as relay runners, (passing me in droves) cheered me on. Beachgoers offered beers and snacks. Just past Surfside, a nude beach is nestled between that family-friendly spot and the hardcore surfer’s beach. I had forgotten about the nude beach. It’s a jolt to the system to see completely naked men spread eagle on the beach. I tried to avert my eyes.  Past the nude beach, surfcasters and surfers were out, a diversion that took my mind off the chaffing and some right ankle pain. Miacomet and Lady’s Beach came and passed. I dreamed about a Vidalia Onion Pie, tomatoes and corn from Bartlett Farm and waved to friends who recognized me running.

Just before the Madaket checkpoint, I had to navigate around a house that was falling into the ocean.

Huge sandbags and boulders barely kept the once-glorious summer home from being swept away. The owner, understandably grouchy, was on property, yelling at runners climbing the bluff to go around his house. There was no beach at all. If I had the spring in my step I might have been able to jump off the cliff going back down to the beach after circumventing the house, but instead I had to slide on my behind. What a mess!

The real calamity came when navigating Madaket. The slope was now 45 degrees and the tide gave us little hardpack upon which to run. Two solo runners were gaining on me and I did not care if they passed. I only needed them to tell me where to turn at Smith’s Point. This skinny penninsula is often an island. This year Smith’s Point was connected and we were told to go “to the truck and run around the truck and then turn into Madaket harbor to the checkpoint.”

For delirious, exhausted runners the mental challenge of figuring out which truck (among dozens) we were supposed to run around was too much. The three of us stupidly ran to the end of Smith?s Point and then turned back. The mushy mud on the harbor side was a relief from the burning hot sand, but we had run an extra 2.5 miles (a point Trevor wisely did not share as I reached the last checkpoint). Pam baby powdered my feet, wincing at the blood blisters that had popped, Bebe fed me another sandwich, and I put on my running shoes. Runners were all over the checkpoint, as all of the relays had caught up with the soloists.

I passed the former Westender, the Madaket Marine, and began the eco-challenge portion of the run. I should have carried my shoes until the other side of Eel Point, but instead I left them on the beach, unwittingly causing myself unbelievable grief for the rest of the race.

The low tide, now upon us, helped me actually see the eel grass upon which I was running. It wasn’t quite submerged, but it was treacherously slippery. I ran through the boggy terrain desperately trying to avoid shells and eels. The mental energy of worrying about my footing took my mind off my fatigue. I stopped singing “I?ve been working on the Railroad” and focused on each tiny step. I knew that I would slice open my feet if I stepped on even one shell.

Everyone passing me had water shoes or some foot protection. Trevor admitted later that he was crestfallen when he saw everyone finishing with shoes. I was the only one with bare feet on the last leg! The shells were mixed with kelp making it even harder to find a spot to place my sore feet.

Hector instructed us to “watch out for the 14 bulkheads” around which we would have to navigate once we reached Dionis. The bulkheads were nowhere in sight. How much longer?! It seemed that I would never reach Dionis. I became so confused that I could not remember if the tide was coming in or going out.

Finally, I saw a beach ranger and asked him how far to Dionis. He told me, “this is Dionis.” I rounded a bend and met my first bulkhead, made out of huge boulders. I took a swim around it. The next 13 came and went and soon I spied the colorful umbrellas of Jetties Beach. Sailboats were gliding into the harbor and the sun was low on the horizon. I had trouble composing myself when I realized that the finish line was in sight. Jetties Beach had never looked so beautiful and the sand became smooth and relatively firm.

My mother and Trevor were pacing the beach worried that something had happened. Because I was behind schedule and without shoes, Trevor worried that I had given up. When he saw me he sprinted and ran me in to the finish. My mother was chanting, “you can do it, that?s my girl, you can do it!” There it was: 10 hours 38 minutes after leaving Cotue I crossed the line in the sand.

I was the only solo woman so Hector handed me the trophy. After a dip in the ocean, we headed for the Juice Bar for some really delicious ice cream.

That's me in the blue, heading up Heartbreak Hill

By Davi-Ellen Chabner

On this morning of the 2010 Boston Marathon, I‘m thinking about where I have been for the past nine years:  At the starting line in Hopkinton, wondering if I have it in me to run through pain and 26.2 miles to the finish line.

Why, one might ask, did I — at age 57, never a distance runner, not in the qualifying-time group, and on the heels of breast cancer treatment – decide in 2001 to run Boston?

In the summer of 2000, my daughter (who usually motivates me) had said, “Mom, you should start running again.”  I had run in the 1970s and 1980s, but stopped after knee problems and followed that up with 20 years of non-aerobic activity on the golf course.  So my husband and I entered a 5K race supporting “Friends Fighting Breast Cancer” for the Massachusetts General Hospital Cancer Center.

By some great fluke, I came in first in my age group (50 and up) and was handed a huge trophy! At that race, the woman organizing a Boston Marathon team for MGH approached me to join them. I was doubtful about accepting the challenge. I had never run 10 miles, let alone 26.2!

So, why did I say “yes?”  Looking back on that decision these are my thoughts:

– Growing up in the 50s and 60s when there were few opportunities for women to play sports. I had wanted to be “in training” and do something extraordinary athletically. I saw the marathon as a great challenge and that chance – even at 57.

– Of course, I also wanted to convince myself that I was still strong and healthy, even after surgery and chemotherapy for breast cancer.  I thought about other women who had faced serious illness and wanted to prove something for them as well.

Bottom line: I was passionate about the challenge and not afraid to put myself through the grueling training, including daily runs in winter cold and wind, painful stretching, and cross-training. I read Jeff Galloway’s book on marathon training and believed him about being able to train ANYONE to run a marathon.  I believed in myself.

Once I started down that first momentous mile in Hopkinton and heard the crowd cheer, I knew it WAS all worth it — every minute, every hamstring and piriformis twinge, every screaming quadriceps and hip flexor. When the going got tough, I chanted my “YOU CAN DO IT” mantra and with conditioning, endurance and mental toughness on my side, I willed myself through the miles to the finish that first time in April 2001.

So why do it again – nine more times? (I did New York in 2002). Sure, I craved the excitement and euphoria that I knew would be there on race day.  But, what I really discovered was that the marathon had became a metaphor for my life. It was about meeting serious challenges to the body, mind, and spirit in both training and race – and deciding to summon the determination and courage to finish, and finish strong.

And because I received my number by raising money for the pediatric oncology unit at MGH, I was not just doing this for myself. I was helping kids fight cancer. That was a huge motivator.  Over the years, those brave kids became a part of my life and journey.  Knowing that they were battling more than 26.2 miles, cheering ME onward, and counting on me to finish, propelled me forward – and inspires me today.

Look for me. I’ll be cheering.

Davi-Ellen Chabner is an avid golfer, photographer, instructor of medical terminology and author of 3 books: The Language of Medicine, 9th edition, Medical Terminology: A Short Course, 5th edition, and Medical Language Instant Translator, 4th edition. She has run 9 Boston Marathons and 1 New York Marathon in the past 9 years. She mentors in an after-school program for inner city girls (Mellon Academy of Goodwill Industries) and is on the board of The Boston Conservatory and Friends of the MGH Cancer Center.  She is perhaps best known as grandmother to Bebe, Solomon, Ben, Gus, and Louisa Rose.

]]> http://fairgamenews.com/2010/04/why-at-57-i-decided-to-run-the-boston-marathon-nine-times/feed/ 1 http://fairgamenews.com/2009/11/childbirth-a-barrier-not-when-five-of-six-top-nyc-marathon-winners-are-moms/ http://fairgamenews.com/2009/11/childbirth-a-barrier-not-when-five-of-six-top-nyc-marathon-winners-are-moms/#comments Sun, 01 Nov 2009 23:47:29 +0000 Laura Pappano http://fairgamenews.com/?p=639

By Laura Pappano

It has become a provocative theme: Marathons and motherhood. Five of the top six women to cross the finish line in the 2009 ING New York City Marathon are moms.

1.    Winner Derartu Tulu, 37, of Ethiopia – an two time Olympic gold medalist at 10,000 meters in 1992 and 2000 – was making a comeback to the sport after giving birth to her second daughter in 2006, and having adopted four orphaned children.
2.    Ludmila Petrova, 41, of Russia won the 2000 NYC Marathon, but had taken seven years off to raise daughters Inna and Sasha.
3.    Christelle Daunay, 34, of France. Not a mom (as best as research suggests).
4.    Paula Radcliffe, 35, of Great Britain, famously won the 2007 NYC Marathon 10 months after giving birth to her daughter and hinted in a pre-marathon press conference that she wanted to try to have a second child before the 2012 Olympics.
5.    Salina Kosgei, 32, of Kenya who won the 2009 Boston Marathon, has two children, Billy (born in 1996) and Ruth (born in 2001). Plus, she’s also employed in a job other than running: she and husband Barnabas Kinyor, both work as prison guards.
6.   Magdalena Lewy Boulet, 36, of the USA, is mother to four-year-old Owen and ran right up to the day before she gave birth.

The fact that five top finishers are mothers plainly challenges myths about the destructive effect of childbirth on athletic performance. This has been a recent theme in other sports – tennis, beach volleyball, basketball – and, we can hope, will fuel a broader revelation: Your body isn’t wrecked by pregnancy and childbirth.

The emphasis, however, has been on female physical resiliency. But interestingly, a more resonant message – one that has applications for women inside and outside of athletic contexts – was articulated by both Boulet and Radcliffe in press interviews surrounding today’s race.

Both stressed the psychological benefits of competing as a mother. Marathon running is challenging, both physically and mentally. And not just during the race, but in managing through intense training and setbacks. (Radcliffe has been recovering from bunion surgery.)

In a video clip you can watch here, Boulet observes that while “there’s plenty of bad workouts and bad races” that as a mother, “I don’t have time to think about that.”  Likewise, Radcliffe notes that motherhood has put into perspective the criticisms she’s faced in her racing career, allowing her to swiftly distance herself from critics and focus on her own career goals.

To parents, this reality may be obvious. But in the workplace, in competitive settings, there remains a view that motherhood is a distraction from tasks and career ascent, rather than what it is: Something that helps one clarify, prioritize, and — yes — get things done.

Those are skills useful in governing, managing, top-level decision-making, and — yes — marathon running.