Mama Monday #98 - and Marathon Monday!

 

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.

With deep gratitude and joy,

Emily 

p.s. And this is pure joy as you know: 

 About Time | The Secret Formula for Happiness

and here is your letter: 

Joy

noun: a source or cause of delight

 

October 20, 2025

26 weeks until Boston!

Dear Mom,

As I shared, when I began thinking about my intentions for Boston, my guiding question was simple: Who are the people who make me think of Snoopy doing a happy dance—or Joy herself, leaping with arms outstretched?

And of course, you are the very first person I wanted to write to.

When I think of you, one of the first memories that springs to mind is from the Camino: you, Anna, and me laughing so hard on the trail that I might have just wet my pants a little. That kind of laughter—the kind that “bubbles up and sings”—is the best kind, and it’s so often found in your presence.

You’re 79 as I write this, but you have the energy of someone half your age (or younger). Joy is written all over the way you keep making the most out of your life—from the impressive number of steps you log each day (and the competition with Dad that comes with it) to the countless vines you’ve pulled in the field to make that a more beautiful place to the way you show up at Barre3 as the oldest and fiercest member, refusing to slow down.

I’ll never forget when I was 51+ hours into labor, exhausted and discouraged, and I asked you what could possibly be good about having a baby on the 13th—a number often thought of as unlucky. Without missing a beat, you reframed it and said, “Oh, it’s a wonderful number. It’s the baker’s dozen.” From that moment on, 13 became one of my favorite numbers.

You’ve always been my biggest cheerleader—encouraging me with care packages, books, thoughtful gifts, stocking stuffers, and so many little surprises over the years. Your joy has been such a consistent thread through my life.

And then there’s the joy of you with the dogs. Golden retrievers have their own kind of magic, but when they’re with you, it’s pure delight. The three of you together is simply the best kind of joy.

I’m so grateful that you’re my mom—that your laughter, energy, and open-heartedness are part of my story. You’ve handed down to me a legacy of joy, and it’s one of the greatest gifts I carry with me.

With so much joy and gratitude,

Emily 

p.s. (which I am writing on Sunday 4/19) 

Mom, I cannot tell you how much joy I have had in being with you this weekend.  Thank you for your belief in me that I could qualify for Boston back in 2012. I don't know if I would be here today at this Boston Marathon if that had not been a part of my story and I caught the bug for it then.  Thank you for the delightful lunch together at the Copley Hotel on Sunday. And thank you for being here and delighting in this wonderful pilgrimage of joy. In honor of you and your whimsy and delight, hear these words from the wonderful Kate Bowler: 

"This is the pearl of wisdom I gleaned after thinking about and researching joy for so long in my new book, Joyful Anyway. Theologian Karl Barth once said it like this, joy is both a gift and a task. It’s something that mysteriously pops up out of nowhere. When we least expect it, like grace. And it’s something we have to put ourselves in the way of because we can’t always be happy, but we can be joyful anyway. 

So my dears, here is a blessing for you. 

May you have permission to be odd in a world that prefers the shiny and put together. 

May you find one friend who understands your particular blend of weirdness. 

And when the news feels unbearable, 

may silliness and delight fill you like oxygen to your lungs. 

And when you get confused, 

may you remember, 

play is not frivolous, 

it is how some of us survive."