Happy Marathon Monday and happy launch day to The DNF, a mere mortal’s running blog. Today is the 129th running of the Boston Marathon, and it is also the second running I’ve been personally rejected from, so it seemed like a fitting day to launch a website that, by its very name, is obsessed with failure.
Why is this blog called The DNF?
Well, I workshopped a lot of other names and they were lame. The DNF is catchy and counterintuitive. It’s fun and I like it. There are other DNFs out there—a Formula One podcast, various reading blogs—but this one is mine. Maybe it’s not the best for SEO, but it’s also not hurting anyone. Anyway, this is the most boring reason why this blog is called The DNF.
It’s also called The DNF because stepping off the course at the halfway point of the 2022 Philadelphia Marathon (and walking a mile and a half in below-freezing temperatures to get a ride home) has become a foundational memory of my running career. I will eventually dedicate a post entirely to that race and the effect it had on me, but part of that effect is this blog.
Finally, it’s called The DNF because a DNF is the most painful race result, and therefore the most human. After any other bad race, the non-runners in your life will tell you Hey, at least you finished, and that’s so impressive—like that has anything to do with it. Everyone understands a DNF. This is good, because a DNF is when you most need to be understood.
Every DNF is a story, each unhappy in its own way. Three letters contain multitudes. For sale: running shoes, never used.
My DNF is my story, and it is part of my story. The DNF is my blog. Welcome.
The DNF will update every Monday with thoughts, posts, and essays from my life as a runner. Let me catch you up on that, briefly:
I started running as a high school cross country and track athlete in northern New Jersey. I graduated with 800/1600/3200 personal bests of 2:04/4:34/10:18. Times don’t matter in cross country, but without any real accolades they’re all I have; Jersey kids will know what my 17:41 at Holmdel means, and that’s about it.
I joined my college team as a walk-on, underwent two surgeries for chronic compartment syndrome, and never ran a step faster than I did in high school. I was cut after three years, in effect DNF-ing my college career, and walked away from the sport.
I started running again three years later as a bored young professional living on his own in Montclair, New Jersey. I was completely out of shape and had a lot of work to do, but it was two more years before I really started doing it; in 2017 I told myself I would qualify for and run the Boston Marathon.
In 2025 I am still chasing that goal, as a less-bored, less-young professional living in Nutley, New Jersey with my wife and son. I recently ran 2:52:48 at the Rehoboth Beach Marathon and will likely be rejected from Boston a third time this September. I originally wrote about that experience on Medium, and you can still read those posts there. All new posts will be right here at The DNF.
I invite you to follow me through training blocks, down rabbit holes, across finish lines, and of course on social media.
A DNF is unfinished business. The DNF is my attempt to finish it, and to share it with you. Thanks for running with me.
theDNF 
Leave a comment