Running a successful course out of the Philadelphia streets

I grew up on the streets of Philadelphia.

And the streets saved my life.

Born in the projects, I spent my most formative years as a teenager literally running through neighborhoods from West Philly to Olney and places in between as a long-distance athlete for Central, before trading in my track shoes for wingtips after high school graduation, then college, grad school, marriage, kids, and a career.

I didn't know it then, but the beat of the street as a runner kept me from stumbling into the path of temptations that claimed so many inner-city black kids then - and that still do today. Crime, drugs, and violence still rule the corners from which I escaped nearly 30 years ago, luring a new young victim almost every minute of every day.

It wasn't that I was running from anything. To the contrary, I was running for something. Whether it was to better my time, prepare for a race, or just enjoy the pure joy of exercise, I had purpose in each step, and that kept me motivated not to veer off course, on the track and then later in life.

It was probably that spirit of purpose that prompted me to join 30,000 other crazies in the annual spring ritual we know as the Broad Street Run. This 10-mile jaunt starting at the top of Broad Street (Broad and Somerville) and concluding in South Philly at the Navy Yard attracts all types - racers, joggers, gawkers - who decide to take on Philly's most celebrated avenue for the thrill of victory, or just the free grub at the end.

For me, this was the second time on the run; I'd wheezed through the race a couple of years ago. I hadn't been serious about training and thought my long-distance instincts would simply kick in and carry me nonstop through the finish line. (Instead, I actually considered hopping the subway near Temple. Who would know?)

I gutted it out, finished, and was inspired along the way by a group of African American youths wearing shirts that read "Students Run Philly Style." But it wasn't the shirts that caught my eye (I'm an ad guy by profession). It was that each runner was paired with an adult coaching him or her every step of the way. Sometimes the companion coached the kid; sometimes the roles reversed; but the mantra each couple followed was that neither would leave the other behind. They would finish the race together, or they wouldn't finish at all.

I discovered after the race that Students Run Philly Style is a nonprofit in town that uses the discipline of distance running to teach goal-setting for inner-city youths. Each participant is paired with a caring adult who serves as a mentor on and off the running path. In the process, relationships are formed that make both people better for the journey.

This year, the organizers of the Broad Street Run encouraged participants to register through various nonprofits that, in turn, would be the beneficiaries of the money raised. Students Run Philly Style was one of the groups, so I ran for it.

As I paced from block to city block, I couldn't help but think about the intersections I was crossing. These same street corners so filled with supporters on Sunday morning had been populated only a few dark hours earlier by drug dealers and hustlers, claiming the lives and the ambitions of our city's youth who weren't lucky enough to have a caring hand to steer them clear.

All I kept hearing in my head was the steady admonition: "Don't leave them behind." It fueled my training and powered me through to the end.

I didn't do too badly.

Got to the end in less than two hours (and didn't once consider boarding the subway).

It was the last mile that was the most memorable. Throngs of people urged every one of us on. Friends cheering on strangers. Strangers being embraced as friends. Things would be so much easier if life were this simple. An encouraging word or act would make the difference between finishing the race once started and falling behind, never to recover.

I've mentored kids all my life and know such relationships are more of a marathon than a sprint. In times like these, finishing first is not as important as finishing together. Even after the cheering stops.