Triumphant in Dublin

So there you have the proof. We walked the Dublin City Marathon, all 26.2 miles of it in 7 hours, 58 minutes, and 46 seconds. Kari is sauntering. I am just hoping to hit the timing mat before keeling over. And beautiful Laura, the true hero and true athlete of the three of us, lifts her hands triumphantly.

Laura was off work most of last year, dealing with cancer, doctors, chemo, hair loss, being sick, getting weak, getting weaker, fighting for life. At one point in our marathon trek, she said with a quiet amazement, "I was just thinking that a year ago, I could barely even walk to the corner."

I went to Ireland for her really, and found something for myself as well. Laura needed to walk the marathon--it was her way of saying, in the midst of chemo hell, "I will get out of this alive." It gave her something to shoot for, a bright ray of life and living at the end of a dark and scary tunnel.

I was just a tagger-on in the beginning. "Sure, I'll walk your little walk!" Now, I do know something about grueling walks. I completed the first Avon 3-Day ever held in Seattle, in 2001. I had trained for 10 months. I had raised the $3000. And I was motivated. I did it in honor of my friend Susann, who'd died early in her 30's to breast cancer.

So when the question of walking the Dublin City Marathon came up, I thought to myself with more than a little superiority, "Sheesh! Only ONE day of walking 20+ miles? Pfft! A baby could do that!" But I'm five years older than the last time I attempted a feat like this, and he last two years have been probably the hardest of my life, and as our training progressed, I could see that the pain and the mourning had taken a mental as well physical toll on my heart, brain and body.

So deep down inside, I had a sinking feeling that maybe I would not be able to walk 26.2 miles in a day. Maybe I was past the point in my life where I could pull that off. Maybe....I was too old, too out of shape and, well, just too screwed up.

From almost the very beginning of race day, it felt like I'd forgotten how to walk. I had to concentrate with virtually every step. In my mind, it sounded like this: "Left foot now, ok, right foot, good going, keep it up, left foot...." For eight hours. The shin splint kicked in around mile 15. The right foot cramped up, and stayed cramped up from mile 18-to the end. I swallowed a bug at mile 22. Oh, and they ran out of Gatorade after mile 12. I kept trying to come up with a song in my head that I could keep cadence with, and none would come. My brain had become jello, only capable of, "right foot...don't trip, pick up the left foot, way to go...."

The last 1.2 miles was just the worst. We came around a corner, and there it was! (Insert heavenly choir singing here.) The finish line! It was in reach! But wait! Cruelly, it was not! We had to make this big loop around a couple of city blocks, and it seemed like that we could only move in slow motion and it was taking f o r e v e r. No matter how fast we limped, we seemed to be making no progress. There was yet another corner to turn. And we'd look hopefully up the street-"Surely, we'll see the finish line again now!" No. Another turn. No. Next turn, again, No. It was excruciating.

But before the final turn, we did see a lovely sight. Our families. Running out in the street to meet us. Cheering us! Wildly proud of us! The kids had to trot to keep up with us, even now, at mile 26. Seeing them gave us a final burst of energy.

We turned the final corner and saw that the finish line actually was there and the clock was still running, there were a bunch of firemen urging us on with, "Way to go girls! You can do it! You've almost made it!"

And we ran across the finish line.