I am a RUNNER. I used to be a runner, but now after completing a marathon I am a RUNNER. I started running when I came home from college one summer. My steady college diet of beer and Willards doughnuts had taken its toll and I was determined to lose weight. So I started running a couple of miles a day and I went on a diet. By the end of the summer I had lost about 40 pounds. Of course, old habits are hard to break. That next school year I quit running, reverted to the college lifestyle, and gained back 30 pounds. The next summer, 1984, I became a runner and have never stopped.

Over the years, I occasionally entertained thoughts of running a marathon someday. This remained just a thought, however, until about a year ago. Having doughnuts (in moderation) after church one Sunday, I was talking with a woman and the subject of cancer came up. She told me that her daughter had leukemia which was in remission. I related that my sister had Multiple Myeloma and that I was the bone marrow donor for her successful transplant about 10 years ago. I added that my friend’s son, Michael Scherzer, was going through his fourth bone marrow transplant in the last six months. Later in the conversation she said that she had seen me running in the neighborhood, and asked if I had heard of the Leukemia Society of America Team in Training (TNT). She told me that people run or walk marathons to raise money for the Leukemia Society. The idea of running a marathon and raising money for a good cause was intriguing. I wrote down the time of the next TNT meeting.

The Leukemia Society Team In Training is a program of participating in a marathon or triathlon to raise funds to fight leukemia. The TNT program involves a two-sided commitment. Each runner commits to raising a designated amount of money and training for the event. The Leukemia Society provides coaching, training schedules, fundraising support, professional training, medical advice, and travel and lodging for the race weekend. Runners are divided into groups of about 10 people. Each group has a lead Mentor and an Honor Patient in whose honor the runners train and raise funds. Some team members may choose to run in honor of a friend or family member who has or had leukemia.

The two upcoming Leukemia Society marathons were in San Diego, California and Anchorage, Alaska. The San Diego race required raising $2,700 in funds and the run was in May, while the Anchorage race required raising $4,000 in funds and the run was in June. My decision was made. With the thought of what Michael was going through, the memory of my sister’s battle with cancer, my enjoyment of running, and my life-long dream of visiting Alaska, I joined Team In Training.

The TNT meeting was attended by about 65 participants, evenly split between San Diego and Anchorage people. My group Mentor was Jim Burt, a director for the Leukemia Society who has run several marathons. Jim’s job was to help us with fundraising and to share his knowledge of marathon running. Our coach, Karl Keltner, gave us our first-month training schedule. The training schedule was designed for "first-time" marathoners, and it included running on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Cross training by bicycling or weight lifting was scheduled on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Sundays were our days off. The weekday runs ranged from two to eight miles and Saturdays were reserved for the long runs. The first Saturday we ran six miles, and four weeks before the race we were scheduled to run 22 miles. Since I was used to running almost every day, the schedule was easier than I expected.

My Honor Patient was Michael Scherzer, the son of friends of mine. He was diagnosed with leukemia in the spring of 1998. Michael’s first three bone marrow transplants failed, but the fourth seemed to be successful. However, even successful bone marrow transplant patients have to battle infections and rejection of the donated bone marrow. At the time I decided to run the marathon, eight-year-old Michael was still fighting for his life.

In addition to the training, my fundraising began in January. I mailed about 140 letters to friends, family and business associates to beg for money. Most of the people who received my letter knew of my sister’s cancer fight and many also knew Michael. Others just thought I deserved a donation for being dumb enough to run over 26 miles. The response to the letters was incredible. I received about $2,500 in the first month. One day in February, five other team members and I stood in an intersection with signs and asked drivers for donations. In three hours we each made $220. By the middle of March I had raised the $4,000, and I knew for sure I would be going to Alaska. At the beginning of my training I had doubts about the fundraising aspect of my commitment. Thanks to the generosity of my friends and family, the fundraising was easy.

The training went well for the first three months. Over the years I had developed two running habits: I rarely ran first thing in the morning and I always ran by myself. Those habits changed on the Saturdays of my training schedule. We had a fairly large group of people on the long Saturday runs, so I talked as I ran with others on the team. I found that having a two-hour conversation with a fellow runner seemed to lessen the pain and help the time go by quicker. During the marathon training I never liked getting up at 5:15 every Saturday morning, but after a few weeks I no longer dreaded the alarm going off.

I met some great people throughout the TNT experience. Many days I ran with Doug Gray, whose dad was being treated for Acute Myelogenous Leukemia. There was Tom Coones, whose 10-year old son Jared had died of leukemia just three months before. Kathy Wood ran with us for about a month until she developed stress fractures in both of her legs. She then trained for three months by herself in a pool and was still able to finish the San Diego marathon. Because we ran at about the same pace, I usually ran with our Mentor, Jim Burt. During the long runs I would pick his brain about different aspects of training and marathons.

In early April, on a short, four-mile run, my right calf suddenly knotted and would not loosen up. I had to hobble the remaining two miles to my house. I assumed it was just a cramp, but it was still sore the next day. Just to be on the safe side, I took three days off before heading out again. I was a mile from home running in a light rain when my calf popped again and I almost fell. I knew then that this was no cramp as I hopped home on one leg.

The doctor said I had a slight tear of the soleus muscle - a small muscle that is under the main calf muscle. He recommended doing nothing for two weeks and then, if there was no pain, I could begin running again. Two weeks later on my first run, my calf tightened up two blocks from my house. I then went to a physical therapist, who told me to place the balls of my feet on a stair and do 60 toe-raises three times every day for two weeks. He also said that it was okay to do any exercise that did not cause pain in my calf. So for two more weeks I did my toe-raises and rode a stationary bike.

I almost went crazy because this was the longest break from running I had taken in 10 years. This layoff was happening at a time when I should have been running the peak mileage of the training schedule. In training for a marathon, there is typically a "taper" during the three weeks before the race. During this period there is a 22-mile run, followed the next two Saturdays by a 13-mile and then a 10-mile run. The idea is to conserve energy and muscles for race day. Because I had lost a month at a critical time, Jim said I should consider skipping the Anchorage run and instead participate in the October TNT run in Toronto. There was no way I was going to miss going to Alaska. Also, I was not going alone. My sister, who walks around with my donated bone marrow, had made arrangements to go to Alaska with me. Finally, Jim, Karl and I decided that I would do a two-week taper and I would try to compress the schedule so I could squeeze in as many longer runs as possible. With my new schedule, I was able to complete long runs of 16 and 18 miles before starting my two-week taper.

I awoke about three hours before the race. I did not sleep well that night for a couple of reasons: I was a little nervous in anticipation of the race and I visited the bathroom several times during the night. I had learned that RUNNERS don’t drink water, they "hydrate." My "hydrating" consisted of consuming more than a gallon of water a day for the three days prior to the race.

My pre-race meal consisted of two bagels, water (of course), and three Ibuprofen. I developed tendonitis in my left knee during training that sometimes flared up during the long runs. Using the Ibuprofen, the knee pain was reduced or was nonexistent. During my long runs I wore an elastic knee wrap around my ankle so that when the tendonitis pain started I could pull the wrap up around my knee. I tied an electronic "chip" on my shoe. The chip is used to track each runner during the marathon. Each chip is individually coded to each runner’s race number. There is a sensor at the starting line and finish line that records each runner’s race time. I finished dressing, put on a wristband on which I had written Michael’s name, and hurried out to the TNT bus.

Over 3,600 runners packed into the high school parking lot before the start of the race. 3,000 of the runners were wearing purple, TNT race singlets (tank tops). There were TNT runners there from 48 states. Music was being played over a sound system and everyone was yelling and clapping their hands. There was a noticeable high energy level in that parking lot.

In the minutes before the race, those of us on the Kansas City team stretched, talked and took in the scene around us. Much to my delight, Jim asked if I wanted to run with him. I said yes, but that I didn’t want to hold him back if he was going for a good time. He assured me that his race time did not matter. About five minutes before the start, Jim and I ran into some woods to relieve ourselves one last time. I was a little worried that I would have to stop at a bathroom during the race.

With the theme from "Rocky" blaring, the Mayor of Anchorage counted down and shot the starting pistol. We were about 50 yards behind the starting line and it took 30 seconds for us to begin moving. We walked for 100 yards and then we were able to jog slowly. The route went from a parking lot, to a driveway, and then on to an asphalt trail. The trail was only eight feet wide and there were high weeds on each side. We were all jogging shoulder-to-shoulder with almost no room to pass people. The trail lasted for the first four miles before we moved onto a paved road. Jim looked at his watch and said that we had run each of the first four miles at a 10-minute-per-mile pace. We wanted to start the race slow, but not quite that slow.

The crowd of runners spread out on the road and we could finally run at a comfortable pace. The road lasted about three miles. There were aid stations every two miles or so throughout the course. Jim and I would walk for about one minute at each aid station and drink some water or PowerAid and sponge off the sweat. At mile 7 I ate my first Power Gel. This is a flavored gel in a 2.5-ounce squeeze packet that consists of sugar and carbohydrates that are needed to provide fuel during long periods of exercise. I would use five Power Gels during the marathon.

The racecourse made a drastic change at mile 7. We left the paved road and ran the next nine miles on a dirt road. The road was mostly dry with occasional puddles to dodge. We ran those nine miles surrounded by clouds of dust from all the pounding running shoes. Towards the end of the trail portion I notice my socks were black with mud. I enjoyed the trail running. Because of the uneven ground I had to watch every step, and the concentration helped pass the time. The trail snaked through the woods and there were no houses, roads or spectators in that section. Our pre-race packet informed us to stop if we encountered a bear or moose on the course. A few grizzly bears were reported on the trail a few days before the race. We joked that a course record would be set if a bear decided to chase us. We saw a lot of moose tracks, but no large animals.

The race organizers set up signs inscribed with poetry along the course. There would be several signs for each poem, with one line written on each sign. At mile 13 a poem reminded us: "Halfway home. You can do it. Gatorade will C U through it." The poetry was a nice distraction to keep my mind off the pounding legs. The pounding took its toll, though, and near the halfway point I pulled my knee wrap into place.

We left the trail at mile 16 and ran the next three miles on roads that were lined with people. The screams of encouragement were a nice boost. Our coach and others from the Kansas City Leukemia Society office were there to show their support and snap photos. At one point a person was playing the bugle, and I yelled my request for him to play "Taps." Jim checked his watch during the spectator-lined stretch and laughed as he said we had run the last couple of miles at a 7:15 pace. We had unconsciously sped up in all the excitement.

The course changed to a paved trail near mile 19. Over the next several miles Jim repeatedly asked how I was doing. I felt okay, but we both knew I was running in unexplored territory since my longest training run was 18 miles. I found myself looking forward to the aid stations so I could walk. At mile 22 I was ready for the race to end. I was not going to quit, but I thought having the finish line at mile 22 would have been a nice idea.

As we went up a slight incline near a lagoon I took in a timely poem: "Long hill, legs lead. Thighs burn, feet dead. This, fun? Who said? Feet beat, pound ground. Soles slap steady sound. Done! Fun! Some run." Well, I was not done, was not having fun, and I was not humored by that poem.

At the last aid station at mile 24, someone said to hang in there - only a mile to go. I informed them that I had over two miles to go and that they should not lie to someone in my condition. Jim said I was doing great. I was glad he thought so.

We were introduced to "Insult Hill" at mile 25.5. Some sicko decided to have a huge hill near the end of the race. Aptly named "Insult Hill," it was about a quarter-mile long with an elevation change of one hundred feet. In other words, it was steep. Karl, our coach, had ridden the course on a mountain bike the day before the race so he could let us know what to expect. He was so shocked at the size and location of the hill he decided to keep that portion of the course a secret.

About one-third of the way up the hill, I was done. My knees hurt, my legs were heavy, and I was stopping, and I told myself to keep running. Many thoughts were going through my head: "I’ll just walk a little. I’ve got to run! I’ve got to stop! Michael had four bone marrow transplants in six months and he didn’t quit." I looked ahead and Jim was looking back at me. "Do you have a cramp?" he asked. "Nope," I said. "Are you hurt?" he asked. "Nope," I replied. Jim said, "Well, come on, damn it!" That jump started me. I leaned forward and my legs were forced to move or I would fall on my face.

I would like to say I felt great at the crest of the hill, but I didn’t. Jim pointed to another runner about 200 yards ahead of us. "Let’s catch him," he said. I focused on that far away person in the white shirt, pushed the pain and fatigue away, and picked up the pace. After passing "white shirt," we looked ahead at two other runners to chase. We entered the high school grounds as we passed those two runners. The adrenaline kicked in as I looked ahead to the running track lined with screaming people.

It was amazing - as we ran onto the track all the all the pain went away. I looked ahead to the finish line as we sprinted the final 100 yards. As I crossed the finish line the race timer read 3:46 and I was officially a RUNNER.

My teary-eyed sister was right there at the finish. Although it was an emotional moment, I didn’t feel like crying. Instead, I felt like I was going to throw up. Every part of my body hurt, I was nauseous, and sweat kept running into my eyes. I hugged my sister and she commented on the crusty salt formations on my face and neck. I thanked Jim repeatedly for all his help. A race volunteer approached me and said that he needed the chip off my shoe. I told him that I could not bend, so that if he wanted the chip he had to untie my shoe and get it himself.