On most days, somewhere between soundchecks and late-night sets, Jeff DaRosa laces up his running shoes and steps into a quieter world.

For nearly two decades, the 43-year-old has been a multi-instrumentalist for Dropkick Murphys, the Boston-bred Celtic punk band synonymous with packed venues and relentless touring — most recently with their new split album “New England Forever,” released March 17. 

Discipline, by his own admission, was never part of that life.

But this April, he’ll take on a different kind of stage: the 2026 Boston Marathon, running in support of the Claddagh Fund — and, in many ways, for himself.

‘It’s kind of like a drug’

Running first entered DaRosa’s life casually — some 5Ks with his sister, a turkey trot, the occasional half marathon. It had a subtle pull.

“It’s kind of like a drug,” he said. “You just need a little more. You find it to be more attainable.”

Still, running Boston — one of the world’s most iconic races — felt distant. After the 2013 bombings, and the band’s performance at the Boston Strong benefit show, the idea lodged in the back of his mind. 

“It was this weird fantasy,” he said. “Like, maybe one day.”

A turning point at 40

For years, the demands of touring kept the fantasy at bay. The band’s annual March run of St. Patrick’s Day shows always collided with marathon training season, making serious preparation impossible.

The shift came when DaRosa turned 40. He quit drinking — on Marathon Monday, coincidentally — and found himself craving something new.

“I was just a rock musician that kind of didn’t have much discipline in my life. All I had to do was be on stage,” he said.

Offstage, life was accelerating. A father of three, he felt time slipping. 

“I was really craving to hold on a little tighter to life or something.”

Running became an antidote — a form of meditation, he said, that made him feel more present and grounded.

Starting over

Since getting sober, running has become both ritual and anchor — even on tour. He recently wrapped a five-week run of shows while training nearly every day.

His approach is simple: “I just wake up and go,” he said. “If I think, it totally stalls me out. I have a coffee. I go.”

In that repetition, he’s found what he’d been missing. “It’s been a life changer for me — the discipline I so badly craved.”

He trains mostly alone, though friends cheer him on and join him for the longer efforts when schedules align. Even mid-run, listening to music, his mind drifts to gratitude. 

“The whole time, I’ll be thinking about how grateful I am for my kids,” he said. “It’s so weird.”

Lessons from the road — and the race

DaRosa ran his first marathon in 2024 at the Mesa Marathon in Arizona — an experience he called, with a laugh, “a disastrous situation.”

By mile 15 he was limping, and an 89-year-old runner beside him offered simple wisdom: that’s why they call it a marathon.

He finished anyway. 

“Part of this experience for me is to show my kids that you work at something, and you can do it.”

That lesson reshaped how he sees the sport. The race itself, he’s come to believe, is almost beside the point. “It’s the training that is the true — I don’t know,” he paused. “It’s where you really find out about yourself, I think.”

Boston, at last

This year, the timing finally aligned. The band will be in Boston. The training is there. And an opportunity that once felt abstract is now real.

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He’s keeping his expectations low, including his finishing time.

His one lighthearted goal: to beat Oprah’s marathon time — a 4:29:15 mark he narrowly eclipsed in Arizona.

“My friend wrote to me, ‘You beat Oprah,’” he said. “And I just laughed and laughed and laughed.”

But beneath the humor is something quieter, something more intentional. Running, he said, has brought him back to himself after decades lost in the noise of the road. 

“Somewhere along the line, life just started to fly by,” he said. “I just wanted to hold on closer to it.”

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For DaRosa, the Boston Marathon isn’t really about the finish line. It’s about showing up — for his kids, for himself, and for the version of his life he’s still shaping.

“To just be present,” he said. “That’s it.”

Annie Jonas is a Community writer at Boston.com. She was previously a local editor at Patch and a freelancer at the Financial Times.

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