As I neared the end of my long run, my phone buzzed. It was Friday, and I'd come to prefer tackling my long runs on this day, especially with the chaotic weekends filled with kids' sports, birthdays, and various activities. On this particular Friday, it happened to be my oldest son’s eleventh birthday. Typically, his school allowed parents to join in the classroom celebrations, a tradition I cherished, but this year, there was a twist - the celebration had moved to lunchtime. 

A call from my wife informed me of the change, and I realized I had misjudged the timing. I was four miles away from home, and the clock was ticking. With determination, I kicked into high gear, pushing myself to race home at a pace reminiscent of a 10K race. The effort was intense, fueled by the urgency of the moment. With a few minutes to spare, I turned left – not onto Boylston Street – but onto my home street. I sprinted the final 100 meters to my driveway. I made a swift dash to the shower, hastily dressed, and joined my wife in the car bound for my son’s school. Beads of sweat still clung to my skin, a reminder of the sprint home.

Thankfully, the birthday celebration went off without a hitch, and my son was delighted to have everyone there, especially with cupcakes in tow. No one else knew the rush and effort it took for me to make it to the event, but that was alright - it was my own fault from the start, after all.

 Reflecting on the experience, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the ability to complete that impromptu sprint home. Amidst the rigors of training, it's easy to overlook the simple marvel of being able to run, especially at this stage of life. Not everyone can call themselves runners, and for that, we should be proud and grateful. After all, you never know when your running skills may come in handy in unexpected ways.