This article originally appeared in the Fall 2025 issue of Runner’s World.
The finish line didn’t feel like an ending
After 26 miles, Buckingham Palace came into view. I’d reached the finish of my sixth World Marathon Major, a milestone plenty of runners spend years chasing. Volunteers guided me through the finish chute, placed a London medal around my neck, then added the Abbott World Marathon Majors Six Star Medal. I joined the line for a photo beneath the Abbott sign, medals on my chest and hundreds of finishers around me. The thought that surfaced was unexpectedly flat: Is this it?
The next day at Heathrow, I wrote in my training journal that I’d run two marathons in one week. That should have felt enormous. Instead, I felt hollow, wondering whether the whole exercise was a little silly. I was flying home with two oversized medals. What, exactly, had I done it for?
I’d been wary of pairing the London Marathon with Boston, just six days apart. Boston falls on Patriots’ Day, the third Monday in April, and I’ve run every edition since 2013 after qualifying. Giving up a year in Boston to focus on London wasn’t an option. But my partner, Paul, and I were planning another IVF cycle, and I’d begun paying closer attention to how racing affected my menstrual cycle and how long my body took to recover. Pregnancy and motherhood could also change how freely I raced and traveled.
Aly Ellis, Runner’s World’s Content Hype Director, was also running both races. She put the timing plainly: “We’re at that age where we want to start families; you have to take these opportunities now.” Her point landed. The chance to do something difficult and travel for it might not always be so easy to take.
How the six stars came together
The Abbott World Marathon Majors series started in 2006 with five races: Boston, New York City, London, Chicago, and Berlin. Tokyo joined in 2013, creating the six race set that earns runners a special medal. I knew about the series, but that medal wasn’t a goal I cared much about. Getting into the races—all except Boston have lotteries—and paying to travel to them seemed like an extravagant project.
Then the opportunities arrived one by one. By 2022, I’d finished the U.S. majors. After running under three hours in Chicago, I learned that Berlin offered qualifying entry. I applied with a time below the 3:10 cutoff for women ages 18 to 44 and got a place in the 2023 race. Asics, Tokyo’s sponsor, offered me a 2024 bib; New Balance, London’s sponsor, invited me to this year’s race. The sixth star suddenly looked within reach.
And when I got it, I felt empty. Part of me wanted a do-over. Abbott had supplied a second bib reading “Today is the day! Cheer me on,” with all six races listed and London 2025 in bold red. I left it in my hotel room after its safety pins kept coming loose from my sports bra. On the course, I saw other Six Star hopefuls wearing theirs. I felt connected to them, and regretted that I wasn’t visibly taking part in the same pursuit.
I also had no one beside me for the finish photo. I shuffled through the Abbott booth, tried to smile at the camera, and heard the heavy medals knock together. The moment felt lonelier than I’d expected.
When a medal turns into a moving target
The award itself had started to feel less definitive. Abbott announced that Sydney would become a seventh major, but there would be no Seven Star Medal. At the time of writing, Shanghai and Cape Town were also under evaluation as possible additions. It’s easy to imagine a future Nine Star Medal, with the goal expanding every time a new race joins. That raises a fair question: where does the chase stop?
Money and access already shape who can take part. Runners who weren’t NYRR members paid $315 for the previous year’s New York City Marathon, before adding flights and accommodation for races abroad. Getting a bib is harder, too: the London 2026 ballot drew more than 1.1 million applications, while this year’s race had about 56,000 finishers.
The crowds don’t always make those limits obvious. Major race weekends now fill up with live shows, packed shakeout runs squeezed onto narrow sidewalks, and activewear pop-ups so busy they run out of extra-small sizes. The scale is good for running. Still, a Nine Star goal will be easier for people with money—and, in some cases, connections. I got access to two of my six races through my job.
That’s why the expansion gives me pause. A longer list of races can make the achievement more demanding, but it can also make the path depend more heavily on resources beyond a runner’s control.
The races mattered because of the people
Even so, I found myself entering the Sydney ballot last December while tipsy on a holiday cocktail. I assumed my odds were poor; I’d never won a marathon lottery. At dinner, staring at my phone, I asked Paul, “Could you imagine if I got in?” Weeks later, an email from Race Roster arrived with a “Claim this registration” button.
By then, Sydney’s status as a major mattered less to me. I’ve always loved racing, especially marathons, partly because running is something athletic I’m good at; tennis, volleyball, and basketball have never been my strengths. Now races give me a reason to travel, while the event itself can become a small part of a bigger trip. I never expected to visit Japan or Germany. In Kyoto, I fed monkeys. In Berlin, I ate apfelstrudel in the Literaturhaus garden.
Paul has been part of those trips, cheering at the finish after supporting my spur-of-the-moment registrations. We celebrated my personal record in Chicago, shared the free post-race beer in Berlin, and toasted with sake after Tokyo. London was different: I sat alone in a New Balance VIP tent with a lager too large to finish.
On the flight home, an air traffic control delay stretched my six-hour trip to Newark into 14 hours. The extra time gave me room to think. Paul wasn’t there, but other people had helped carry me through the race: Aly beside me on the bus to the start, a runner who offered a hand after I fell, and a graduate school friend who joined me for fish and chips afterward.
When you’re focused on completing something big, it’s easy to lose sight of why you started. I wasn’t running for the hardware. I wanted to prove something to myself, and I did—more than once. These races mean more now when I share them. Sydney will be one to share with Paul.
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Amanda Furrer, Editor, Running Reviews
Amanda Furrer studied journalism at NYU and writing at Emerson College. She has reviewed gear and covered running for almost 10 years, and has run the Boston Marathon every year since 2013. She holds a master’s degree in gastronomy from Boston University and worked as a professional baker for two years.
