Every. Second. Counts.

It is really kind of outrageous, the hold that qualifying for Boston has on so many runners. It means so much to us to hit this arbitrary time. We believe that it validates our hard work. We believe that it confirms that what we are doing is meaningful in some tangible way. It is something for us to strive towards, something to keep us dedicated to a task, but sometimes we let it distract us from the truth that what we are doing is meaningful and valid no matter what.

When we let that happen, we often give up too soon, we let the thoughts that "hope is lost," "why try," "it's not worth it," or "it's useless," come into our brain space. That is what happens when a benchmark to strive for becomes a limiter, and no longer something that keeps us striving forward. It is a delicate balance to manage intrinsic drive to be your best self when external standards, like a BQ, come into play.

Which brings me to Tom.

Tom retired from his long career as a dentist. And upon retirement, started training with me. He really wanted to BQ and he believed this was his time. He needed a new purpose. He had been trying for nearly a decade, and had repeatedly come up short. But he was eager to invest all his energy into this now that he was retired, and he was determined to make it happen.

And on his first attempt, he came up short.

Very short.

We had our work cut out for us in terms of getting him on track with nutrition, fueling, actually committing to a pacing strategy, and keeping his easy days truly easy.

On his next attempt, he made massive improvements and he hit the qualifier! The time he had to hit was 3:35 and he ran 3:28. He had a 6:17 buffer. We had hope that it was going to be enough. And when acceptance emails were sent out come late September, both our hearts sunk as it wasn't enough. He was 34 seconds shorts of the cutoff. 1.29 seconds per mile and it would have been his. So little, but so much.

The hardest part of that rejection was that Tom felt shame about it. He dedicated his time and mental energy to this goal. This was his new purpose. He used to go to dinner parties and talk about dentistry, and now he talked about running. He felt that people only understood it in terms of objective accomplishment, and not the intrinsic gift it had given him in finding himself again. Being respected by his peers is important to him, important to all of us.

That year, it was announced that the qualifying standard would be dropped by 5 additional minutes. Now he had to run sub 3:30 instead of sub 3:35. But he was all in. He was going to make this happen for himself.

The night before his next attempt, he crashed his e-bike and had to deal with not only the physical pain and discomfort, but also the trauma of the incident sending his body and mind into stress mode. He did his best to take care of his wounds and settle down, but sleep and nutrition was less than ideal.

Still, he persisted. He showed up the next day, battered and bruised, and hit the new qualifier!!! 3:25:25. Less than 5 minutes. We were not certain it would suffice, but again we were hopeful.

I saw the news in late September. The margin necessary was 4:34.

He made it by 1 second.

Every second counted.

From the gut-wrenching rejection of missing it by just over a second per mile, to the joy and relief that he made it happen by the skin of his teeth.

He qualified, but more importantly he realized that it wasn't so much even the qualifying that gave him so much joy. It was the story of it. It was the journey. And like every hero's story arc, there must be failures. There must be something to overcome. The story would be so boring if there wasn't a little drama to it all. The story he initially told himself was one of accomplishment and hard work paying off. Which is true. But the story turned out to be so much more about self-acceptance, patience, and the thrill of it all rather than simply hitting a standard.