As the journey to Boston continues, today, more than ever, we honor the women who opened the doors for future generations to run the course.

After 70 years, in 1966, Bobbi Gibb became the first woman to run the iconic race, finishing in 3 hours and 21 minutes. She had to do it unregistered after the race director claimed that "women were not psychologically ready to run that distance."

A year later, Kathrine Switzer became the first woman to run the race officially, having to battle the ego of a straight white man named Jock Semple, who assaulted her several times along the course.

In 1971, Nina Kuscsik was officially recognized as the first female winner, becoming a crucial figure in enabling women to participate in other marathons.

Today, we celebrate those who, with guts and bravery, stood up for the future of women in the sport—those who broke not just records but the barriers of inequality. Those who fought through performance, showing the world that being a woman means strength, courage, and determination. Those who defied outdated notions of femininity.

Because when women race, we don’t do it against each other, but against something bigger. With each relay, we pass the baton to future generations. With each finish line, we break a wall.

Extended article coming soon in the next printed zine.
In the meantime, pace in peace ✌🏻

How many times was I going to say that again?
“Yes, I want to get out of the city and do trail running more often.”

How many times would I end up spending a Sunday doing the same thing again?
A loop around Dulwich or Brockley. Some sticky oats. Throw some Strava Kudos while I clean my coffee cup. Sit in front of my laptop like a puppet, prisoner of my own discipline and control, and re-create the same tasks from last week.

“Maybe I should change the website of Track&Record.”
“Maybe I should have gotten rid of the sofa and gotten an armchair instead.”
“Maybe I should think about where to eat next weekend when I’m seeing my friend.”

How many times would I excuse myself from plans, saying, “Yeah, sorry, I can’t go because I have to do some stuff”? What even is that “stuff”? Isn’t it just a strategy to break the day into bits that don’t really mean a thing? Three hours of the day are now gone, and I haven’t done much apart from writing down to-dos I will end up delaying—just spending time writing more tasks instead.

How many times was I going to say that again?
“Yes, I want to get out of the city and do trail running more often.”

Well, why don’t I just do it today? Why don’t I forget about “the stuff”?
Training has been a bit boring this week, so maybe I just need to switch the scene to find the joy of running again. I knew a week off my marathon training wouldn’t change my performance, but it could change my mind.

Got a train. Got the vest. Got a route. Got there.
And once I slid—one, two, three times—over the mud, the only task in my head was to stay there: mind my feet, not go too fast, embrace with my ears every bird singing, every leaf breaking, fight that nagging voice wondering if this would be enough for my weekly mileage, ignore the frustration of realizing yet again that I’m terrible at following a map.

I stopped a few times and contemplated the vast green forest, feeling helpless trying to capture those colors somewhere. Maybe sometimes I should just stay on the side, observing, recording with my eye and not with my phone. Guess it’s too late now that my gallery is full of pictures of trees, mud, and moss.

Came back reading Joan Didion on the train. Took a Lime Bike home and devoured some pasta. Posted some stuff on Instagram.

Did that trail run change my mind? Well, I was too tired to even process that.
Did I wake up the morning after thinking about one single thing? I did.
And what was that? Well, it was definitely not “the stuff.”

P.S – I really enjoyed listening to Sam Fender’s new album while running this morning. The first time I listened to it I was like “This sounds very similar to The War on Drugs” and then I found that Adam Granduciel has produced it.