Running into opposition

The sense of accomplishment he got from it, he thought, would be worth sharing with others in need of direction, and so the 26-year-old analyst, laid off from Goldman Sachs, decided to start a running club at the New England Center for Homeless Veterans. The plan was going well and over the past two months, about 15 homeless veterans joined him three days a week for workouts that began at 5:30 a.m.

Then he hit an unexpected snag.

Last week, the shelter sent him a letter, ordering him to “immediately cease and desist.’’

When Varney called officials at the shelter, they told him they didn’t want any association with his budding organization, which he dubbed Veterans Up and Running and hopes to expand to other shelters for homeless veterans. They told him that he couldn’t use their name in his literature and that they were concerned his money-raising efforts could hamper their own. He was barred from going into the shelter to recruit more runners or supporting those who had already joined him.

“I couldn’t believe it - and the guys who started training were furious,’’ Varney said. “The most maddening thing is that I’m serving their constituents. I’m trying to help improve their lives, and it seemed to be working. The guys kept coming and felt they were getting something out of it, something that would help them get back on their feet.’’

The shelter originally welcomed Varney at one of its monthly meetings, where he shared his story and found a group of former runners - many of them suffering from addictions to alcohol or drugs - who were looking for a focus and a way to get healthy.

“He’s a young and well-intentioned fellow, but I don’t think we realized what he was looking to do,’’ said Larry Fitzmaurice, the shelter’s chief executive. Fitzmaurice noted that the shelter, which relies on donations to pay for one-third of its $6 million budget, must compete with other nonprofit organizations for contributions. He said he didn’t want the shelter to get involved with anything that could jeopardize its future and the 450 people it houses on the coldest nights.

“I can’t be Mother Teresa to the world,’’ Fitzmaurice said. “My job is to make this place work. I just can’t be spending all my time with people who want to do a good thing for veterans. That’s not what I’m paid to do. That doesn’t mean I don’t wish him well.’’

Why not allow Varney to recruit runners at future meetings but make it clear that he’s from a separate organization?

“I know he’s unhappy about it, but if he’s here, it appears we’re legally supporting what he’s doing,’’ Fitzmaurice said. “If he wants to meet the guys on the sidewalk, they can do that. But we just can’t make it a New England Center for Homeless Veterans-sponsored event.’’

Since receiving the letter, Varney, who has been out of work a year, has removed all references to the shelter from his marketing materials and has started meeting the veterans on City Hall Plaza.

But he worries that his plans to grow his organization - he hopes to raise $125,000 this year to sponsor scholarships and job-training programs, and pay himself a salary - will be blunted without the ability to enlist veterans and reward them for their efforts in group meetings.

The shelter’s cold shoulder has disturbed many of the veterans who have signed on and are just starting to build up their stamina.

“It’s very discouraging,’’ said John Broder, 45, a veteran of the Army National Guard in the program. “It’s hard not to be disparaging to the shelter as a result of this. The shelter is supposed to be about getting vets back into society and getting us ready for work. What we’re doing here is the foundation of that: We’re building self-esteem and working toward a goal.’’

Varney’s plan is to build the veterans up slowly until they’re ready to run a race, perhaps a 5K or 10K. Those who prove their commitment by attending the workouts regularly will get uniforms and running shoes; some of the men now are running in jeans, desert camouflage pants, and other street clothes. Many already have running shoes, as a result of philanthropy efforts by New Balance, the Brighton-based shoe company.

“It would be better if we didn’t have to do this on the down-low,’’ said Bill Morris, 41, an Army veteran who trained as a paratrooper and hopes to recapture some of the glory from his days in basic training, when he said he won a platoon competition by running 2 miles in less than 12 minutes. “There’s too much legal mumbo-jumbo. We’re trying to do a good thing. I don’t understand why the shelter’s being unreasonable.’’

On a recent morning, Varney rounded up 10 runners, including his fiancee and his sister, both of whom have taken part in much of the training.

He handed out Military Channel T-shirts - one of Varney’s first sponsors - organized the group in two lines, and led them on a slow jog from City Hall through Faneuil Hall Marketplace to Christopher Columbus Park in the North End, less than a mile away.

Like a drill sergeant, their “fearless leader,’’ as the veterans have started calling Varney, put them through a series of stretches and a battery of exercises, including sit-ups, push-ups, and jumping jacks. The veterans struggled through it and sweated profusely.

As they jogged back to City Hall, shouting military sound-offs along the way, some of the veterans joked about cheese steaks and Starbucks. Others complained of cramps.

“It feels good to sweat,’’ said Jean Occeus, 30, an Army National Guard veteran. “My goal is to run until I can’t run anymore.’’

Then Varney ordered the group to sprint up and down the stairs from Congress Street to City Hall Plaza. The more they did it, the slower they climbed.

But they kept going until they reached the goal they vowed to complete.

“These guys are really fired up,’’ Varney said. “That’s got to be a good thing. We want this to be more than some street-corner affiliation. We hope the results speak for themselves.’’

David Abel can be reached at dabel@globe.com.