The Woman Without a Name

An emotional reflection at Mile 12.5.

Author

Ed Clementi
November 10, 2025

In July, I ran a Spartan Super.

I finished it, but I walked away with this quiet sentence in my chest:

I know I can do better.

So I made myself a promise.

I signed up for another Spartan in October. The Sprint this time.
Then the Italian Stallion Half Marathon in November.
And now, in just a few days, the biggest test of all: the Spartan Beast in South Carolina.

21 kilometers.
30 obstacles.
Around ten hours, at my level.

People hear that and laugh.
They say, “You’re crazy.”

And maybe I am.
But I’ll come back to that.

Seven Years Ago

In 2018, I ran this same Italian Stallion half marathon.

I was 42.

Two days before the race, a colleague came to my office.

“Ed… I need a huge favor. The speaker for my charity event tomorrow night cancelled. Can you help?”

I should have said no.

I had to wake up at 4:00 a.m. the next morning and drive to Philly.
I needed to rest.
I needed to fuel.
I needed to get my head right.

But I looked at her, and I said yes.

I prepped.
I showed up.
I spoke.
And as these things go, I didn’t get home until after midnight.

Four hours later, I was on the road in the dark, heading to the start line on no sleep and no real meal.

And the race was brutal.

I ran.
And ran.
And ran.
And I wanted to quit more times than I’d like to admit.

Half a mile from the finish, I started to fade.
Like really fade.
My vision was blurry. My legs felt hollow.

And at that exact moment, someone hooked her arm through mine.

“C’mon,” she said.
“You’re finishing. I got you.”

She was older. Maybe in her seventies.
And there I was, a 42-year-old former athlete being physically held up by someone half my size.

I didn’t care.
I needed her.
And she was there.

She wasn’t thinking about her finish time.
She wasn’t thinking about glory.
She saw someone struggling, and she decided to help.

I crossed the finish line because she chose to stay with me.

I thanked her, but I never got her name.
She just moved on with her life.

But I’ve never forgotten her.

Yesterday

Seven years later, I ran that same race.

This time, I was the one with something left.
This time, I wasn’t fading.
This time, I had enough strength to pick up my phone, turn the camera on myself, and smile while I crossed the finish line.

Same road.
Same race.
Same me, just seven years wiser, stronger, clearer, more alive.

And as I was running that last half mile, I thought of her.

That stranger who held me up.
That moment of grace.
That simple human choice to help someone finish.

And I realized:

We remember the people who show up for us in quiet ways.
We remember the ones who see us when we’re almost out of fight.

The Part About Being “Crazy”

People ask me why I do this.

Why I sign up for things that push my limits.
Why I test myself mentally, physically, emotionally, at 49.
Why I keep putting myself in the arena.

And I think about it:

People have been calling me crazy my whole life.

Crazy for thinking I could play pro ball.
Crazy for walking into Morgan Stanley as an Executive Assistant and saying out loud I would be an MD.
Crazy for leaving a successful career to start something of my own.
Crazy for believing I could build something that matters.
Crazy for wanting to feel more, not less, as the years go on.

But here’s what I think:

Maybe “crazy” is just another word for belief.

Belief in yourself.
Belief in what you’re capable of.
Belief that your story is still being written.
Belief that you’re allowed to want more.
Belief that you can get back up, again and again and again.

And sometimes…, belief in others too.

Because I said yes to my colleague that night in 2018 when I could’ve said no.
And a stranger said yes to me when I was falling apart.

Belief goes both directions.

My Hope

I hope you get called crazy.

I hope you get called unreasonable.

I hope you chase something that doesn’t make sense to everyone else.

Because the people who don’t understand will say:
“You’re crazy.”

And the people who get it will say:
“I see you.”

If that’s crazy,
then I wish crazy for all of us.

Next stop: South Carolina.
One foot in front of the other…, like always!

True leadership is brave.
And if that’s crazy, well, then I’ll keep being crazy.

P.S. If these articles have brought you any kind of value, perspective, or spark…just wait for the book!! Join the waitlist and be part of what’s coming next 👉 Leadership At The Dinner Table.

With Absolute Sincerity,

Ed Clementi
Founder & CEO of Inspired Fire, LLC

Make an Impact and Feel an Impact!