The Last Pick: The Boston Marathon Race Director's Road to Success
272
The Last Pick: The Boston Marathon Race Director's Road to Success
272eBook
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Overview
In this heartening book, Boston Marathon race director and motivational speaker David McGillivray shares the challenges he has overcome to inspire readers to similar triumphs in their own lives.
Always the last pick for team sports because of his small stature, David McGillivray drove himself to excel at individual sports. Whe he was 16, he set himself up for the one "failure" that would motivate the rest of his life. He attempted to run in his first Boston Marathon--without training for the event. Not crossing the finish line could have been a crushing blow. Instead he went on to complete 115 marathons and eventually to become the Boston Marathon's race director.
At age 23, McGillivray completed his celebrated 3,452-mile run across the United States to raise money for cancer research. The story of his journey and what he learned about himself will give all readers a new understanding of how to prepare for and achieve success. McGillivray's many accomplishments will convince readers that virtually any goal is possible. This book will motivate them to overcome the mental obstacles that often keep dreams from becoming reality.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781605294544 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Harmony/Rodale |
| Publication date: | 04/04/2006 |
| Sold by: | Random House |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 272 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
LINDA GLASS FECHTER is a freelance writer who has worked for over 16 years with various charities and athletic organizations.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The Home Run
Ladies and gentlemen, a Fenway Park greeting for Dave McGillivray . . .
Ken Coleman, executive director of the Jimmy Fund, August 29, 1978
The man standing at the microphone just behind home plate at Fenway Park was Ken Coleman, a legendary sports announcer whose voice was known for reporting at bats, strikes, and home runs for the Red Sox. But on that night, he stood in his role as executive director of the Jimmy Fund--the official charity of the Boston Red Sox.
It was 7:40 p.m., August 29, 1978.
I couldn't see the 32,000 baseball fans from my vantage point just outside the gate entrance near the left-field wall, but I could hear Ken's booming voice echoing throughout the stands. It was Jimmy Fund Night at Fenway Park, a night when a portion of ticket sales went to support cancer research and patient care. The crowd was on hand to watch the Red Sox face the Seattle Mariners and also to welcome home a 24-year-old runner who had just completed a solo transcontinental run of 3,452 miles across the United States: me.
It wasn't until my support team and I had crossed the Mississippi River that I allowed myself the luxury of thinking about the actual finish ceremony and how it would feel to be reunited with the family and friends I'd left behind. Prior to that point on the route, there was too much doubt looming in my psyche as to whether or not I would make it--and make it on time. But after passing that milestone, I felt that I was heading out of the woods. Fenway became a magnet pulling me home.
I had begun in June at the Seattle Kingdome, also during a pregame ceremony. But being well over 3,000 miles from home, as well as running out into a rather empty stadium, rattled my confidence a bit. I hadn't accomplished anything yet, and as Tom Kinder--my support-crew member--and I stood there on the field, I had briefly wondered if what I was about to embark upon made any sense at all and if I would succeed.
In fact, it was not my reputation as an athlete that led me from the former Seattle Kingdome to Fenway; it was just the opposite. As a youth, I reached a height of 5 feet 4 inches--and then stopped, while others my age grew taller and taller. It was my small stature and people's incorrect perceptions that got me cut from both baseball and basketball in high school. I was chosen last for most teams in gym class and at recess. I was also the boy who often got into fights while defending my brother or myself about our somewhat vertically challenged bodies.
Somehow, I always held on to my desire to be an athlete. I believed I had ability, and for most of my boyhood years, I shared the dream of so many: to be a baseball player. I practiced throwing, catching, and hitting for hours on end. At age 15, on the Babe Ruth All-Star team, I got the closest I'd come to the majors--until now. I believe that I was the first person, other than the ballplayers themselves, to ever run around inside the park, a place steeped in history and superstition.
On that summer of '78 night, I wondered what the reaction of the sold-out Fenway crowd would be: Would they heckle me or, worse, make no noise at all as they scratched their heads in bafflement at the kid in running shorts who was delaying the start of their favorite pastime? The answer came as the doors I waited behind opened to the thunder of 64,000 hands clapping together and I began a victory lap around the warning track.
Prior to going out on the field, I had asked Ken if I should do one lap or two. "It's up to you," he said. Toward the end of the first lap, I felt that the crowd was as full of adrenaline as I was, so I decided to go around once more; after the thousands of miles I'd already run, what did it matter? As I passed the Red Sox dugout, Bill Campbell, a relief pitcher, threw his cap to me. I put it on my head, and the applause of the fans grew even louder. I glanced up into the stands and saw that even Mrs. Yawkey, the owner of the Red Sox, was applauding.
Running onto the field felt like my own little Olympics, as if I'd just completed the marathon and was running into the Olympic stadium. I was a good runner, a solid runner; but I would never make such an elite team, so I savored every moment in that ballpark. It was the first time I ever felt like a legitimate athlete.
As I ran, I turned a bit to get a good look at the billboard hanging in right field: "Help Make a Dream Come True," read the sign that had led me to call Coleman just 8 months before. It was an advertisement to encourage people to donate to the Jimmy Fund. For 3 months, my support team and I did all we could to educate people beyond New England about the Jimmy Fund's mission. Knowing that the organization was counting on me helped me stay the course. Quitting was never an option.
The standing ovation lasted for what seemed like 10 minutes. I wondered if there were any former cynics or playground bullies from my childhood in the stands--those who knew me in high school and had low expectations of my success in any sport at all. On that night, I knew I had made believers out of doubters. One's genetic makeup is not as important as the will to succeed. I, Dave McGillivray, of Medford, Massachusetts--always the last pick--had done something I was proud of, and that night, I was 10 feet tall. "I knew I could do this," I thought to myself as I decided to go that second time around.
The guy who stands 5-foot-4 dares to stand apart. He challenges others to do the same in their lives, whatever their dreams may be.
Barry Scanlon, the Lowell Sun, March 29, 2000
It began because I wanted and needed a challenge . . . a big one. My desire was to do something unique that very few people had done before. As I told David Hartman during a Good Morning America interview the day after I ran into Fenway, the reason I ran was twofold. First, I wanted to dedicate a good portion of my time to running something that I didn't have to qualify for; there were no real parameters other than what I set for myself. Second, as I told people across the country, "Strong legs are running so weak legs can walk."
I've always had a deep concern for those who weren't given a fair chance in life, especially children. Even so, there are always skeptics who question the motives of those doing positive things. Was I really running for charity--or for myself? No one in my family was ill with any particular ailment, though my mother has since been diagnosed with cancer.
The bottom line is that I felt a responsibility to help, and I still do. I didn't have the financial wherewithal to give away thousands of dollars to charity, but I thought I could persuade those who did to step up to the plate.
The Red Sox connection went deeper than the use of the stadium for my official finish. My idea to run across the country had been years in development, yet it wasn't until I called the Jimmy Fund and met Ken Coleman that I truly believed it was possible. This man--the "voice" of the Boston Red Sox for many years--truly gave me a chance. He brought the Red Sox into the fold of the run plans and instantly turned my personal goal into something of greater magnitude and very much in the public eye.
The moments of the two victory laps were not for me alone to celebrate. I had a sponsor, Pro Specs. Without their financial help, the outcome might have been different. I also had a support crew of guys who only 80 days before had been strangers to each other and over the course of the run became people I counted on: Dan Carey, Jeff Donahoe, Tom Kinder, Kent Hawley, and my brother Alan. Last, and maybe most important, I had the people in New England who supported me. I thanked them all when I was allowed to say a few words.
I wanted nothing more than to convey my exhilaration as I ran around the park. I did everything I could to show the crowd how excited and appreciative I was to be home and among all those who had followed my progress and stuck with me the whole summer.
When you give to someone else, the feeling you get back is worth significantly more. The Jimmy Fund received 1,500 donations from people who had been at Fenway or were listening to the radio. The gifts for that night added up to more than $19,000, including a check for $1.26 from an 8-year- old boy who'd been at the game. That total, in addition to the money we'd raised before and during the run, helped the Jimmy Fund. Knowing that perhaps we'd introduced a new audience to the groundbreaking research being done at the Sidney Farber Cancer Center (now the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute), however, was all the incentive we needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Excuse me if I cry a little. I want you to know this: David . . . called me on the phone, and I thought, "Well, I can't imagine anyone wanting to do something like this." And when he came in, he was with me and my assistant, Charles Kilty, for some 3 hours because I wouldn't let him go. And believe me when I tell you that this trip was no ego trip. This trip was done for the children and the adults we see at the Sidney Farber Cancer Center and the inpatients at Children's Hospital.
Ken Coleman
One might assume that running across the country was the culmination of my little-known athletic career, yet it was only the beginning, a catalyst for a lifetime of journeys. I calculate that my feet have logged approximately 130,000 miles thus far. If there's a challenge that few have done or many believe cannot be done, then that is what I strive for, including a 24-hour run, a 24-hour swim, competing in eight Ironman triathlons, and even my annual tradition of running my age in miles on my birthday. These activities may sound off the wall, but they're simply ways I've found to challenge myself. When I started my birthday run, I was 12 years old, so I ran 12 miles. The challenge is much different now that I'm 51, but pushing myself and keeping my body and mind in working order are a big part of who I am.
Running across the country was a life-altering experience. I learned about logistics, planning, discipline, and overcoming odds. I realized that doing something that seems impossible is a lot easier when you break it down into attainable pieces. It wasn't a run for 80 days; it was 1 day of running, 80 days in a row. The same with fund-raising: I didn't need to help thousands. If I made a difference in one life, that was good enough for me.
I lost more weight organizing the trek across the country than the 9 £ds I shed during the 2 1/2 months running it. I put everything I had into preparation and planning, the two elements that are key to every success I've had. At the time, as I checked and rechecked, I didn't realize that I was also preparing myself for the future. I now plan and execute events for a living. I used to joke that my job as a race director is very secure because no one else would want it. The truth is, even with all the challenges that present themselves with each project, I don't see it as work. I'm passionate about it--I took the hobby I loved and made it into my career.
We all have the capacity to make great things happen in our lives. I believe in all that self-fulfilling-prophecy thinking. I'm not saying there won't be hardships; I've literally been to rock bottom and back again. If you think back to what brought you to where you are today or imagine where you see yourself in the future, you'll likely find that your life direction has been shaped by a handful of well-made decisions. When the high school basketball coach cut me, self-pity could've prevented me from pursuing anything requiring physical ability. Instead, I saw it as a challenge. It was a choice.
I go with my gut, even when an idea defies logic or practicality. Unfortunately, it can take a long time to find out if I've chosen the right path. If I truly believe in something, though, then it's worth giving it a try. I have no regrets. I learn from each experience, even when the results aren't as planned.
Running helps me maintain positive self-esteem and confidence and provides some direction to my life. It has lifted me up when I thought I couldn't get any lower, and it has been a significant part of my overall happiness due to the friends and experiences I've encountered along the way. Some other sport or vocation might have served as well, but running is what I know and enjoy. Yes, the cross-country run was an athletic challenge, but for me, it was not as much about athleticism as it was about accomplishing a goal.
Maybe for once, the game will not be the story tonight, but David McGillivray's amazing trek across the country for the Jimmy Fund--no matter what happens in the next few hours--will be the story.
Dick Stockton to Ken Harrelson, Red Sox announcers
On that one Fenway night, I shared common ground with heroes whom I had admired since I was old enough to count to Ted's number 9. It was 15 minutes of fame that will last a lifetime. The Red Sox won the game that night, 10-5. A number of players, including Carl Yastrzemski, George Scott, and Carlton Fisk, hit home runs. In a sense, after 4 years of planning and 80 days on the road, I had done the same.