The short-version…
Over 30 years ago I ran the Chicago Marathon with a Boston qualifying time. I didn’t apply to run Boston.
Fast-forward almost 36 years and it remains one of my lifetime regrets. This blog chronicles my journey to erase that regret.
The long-version…
Over 30 years ago…
On October 9, 1986 at 26 years old, I crossed the finish line of my first Chicago Marathon, 76th out of maybe a little over 1,000 female runners.
I found out that my time of 3:21 and some change qualified me to seek an entry into the Boston Marathon. That sounded kinda cool, but I was young and thinking I hadn’t really done all that great. I mean my time was 10 mins away from NOT qualifying. And it was my first marathon. I’d only just started running regularly a couple years before. Surely there would be plenty more marathons I would run. And maybe I could even get a little faster. So many running years ahead. There was clearly no need to jump into it this year.
Fast forward thirty years to 2016, and I’d only run but one more marathon… it was in 1992, a year after the birth of our second son Christian. My time was a respectable 3:45, but no where near a Boston qualifying time for my age group.
Does it really matter? Plenty of people have qualified and chosen not to run, but for some reason not taking that opportunity has bothered me in a big way. Running Boston is one of those bucket list items that keeps calling out to me – especially during life’s challenges.
One particular challenge arrived in 2014 as I listened to my radiologist tell me that my 3 biopsies were cancerous. On March 26, my oncologist confirmed stage 3 breast cancer that had spread to my lymph nodes. I promised myself if I got though the treatments, I would erase some life regrets. Attempting Boston was one of them.
Three emotional years followed…
My memories of 2014 and early 2015 include 6 rounds of chemo with daily shots to keep my white blood counts up, followed by surgery and 22 radiation sessions. I had no hair, eyelashes or eyebrows. My body was broken down. I was exhausted but ecstatic to hear that the cancer was eradicated. And I was grateful to have a husband who held my hand every step of the way. I was counting my blessings.
In June of 2015, we celebrated joyously as our oldest son Nick married his college sweetheart, Kelly. I had willed my hair to grow back enough to look decent. I laugh when I look at pictures because I had those super short bangs that reminded me of when I tried to cut my hair as a child. Who cared though, I was regaining my strength and we had loads of family and friends gathered in Raleigh for that wonderful happy event. A week later we were sending off our youngest son Billy to the Air Force Academy to live out his dream of playing Division 1 hockey. Things were righting themselves in my world.
Two months later though, another unexpected event would shatter our lives. My Mom died on the operating table in a surgery that was supposed to have been non-invasive and routine. Our family was devastated.
The blur of planning services and helping our Dad navigate the myriad details that accompany such a horrific event were punctuated by more bad news. One year after having breast cancer and lymph nodes removed, I again went under the knife, this time for advanced skin cancer. The cancer was deep enough to require extensive plastic surgery that left me with 108 stitches and some deep scaring in my forehead. The pain was numbed by the need to help plan the memorial for our Mom back in our hometown outside of Chicago. Many of those who were in Raleigh to celebrate a joyous wedding just 2 months earlier, were now coming forward to pay their last respects to our Mom in the Church in which she was baptized and married.
They say life goes on, but I was starting to feel pretty battered. My Dad was not in the best position to care for himself in Florida where no other family resided and he was grieving the unexpected death of his life companion of 60 years. He refused to leave Florida and move in with any of us kids. We tried to respect his need to maintain his independence but he was clearly still in shock and making unwise choices. We did our best to help him from afar but things were quickly spiraling out of control. He was reaching out to strangers to come live with him – he just couldn’t bear being alone. Eventually he found someone who shortly after meeting him was agreeing to marriage. For several months we battled her attempts to estrange our Dad from his family.
Then in June of 2016, Pete’s father died. Another funeral. The emotional roller-coaster was overwhelming. I was still in follow-up treatments and trying to manage being back at work full-time in a demanding position. There were some very dark days.
I can only believe it was an angel that intervened when after a couple months, my Dad reached back out to us for help in getting out of that ill fated relationship. He was ready to leave Florida. This was good news but also meant we had to manage a new set of difficulties. In February of 2017, he moved in with us in Raleigh while the family worked through the details of what the future would look like. We were now care-givers and my Dad’s declining memory had us navigating the unfamiliar territory of elder care.
About 5 months later, we moved Dad in with my brother and sister-in-law in Chicago as we were taking turns giving him a place to feel comfortable and well loved. It was not without some very difficult times though as Dad’s dementia was worsening and his behavior was often irrational and demanding. We were all feeling worn out as it was taking an inordinate amount of time and energy to straighten his affairs and come to terms with the fact that his long term needs were likely going to require an Assisted Living or Memory Care community.
A ray of sunshine split the clouds on July 30th, 2017, when our middle son Christian married his college sweetheart Michelle in a beautiful ceremony at Duke Chapel in Durham, North Carolina. The celebration was attended by many family and friends both local and from as far away as Brazil. Our youngest son Billy was in-town from the Academy and for a few weeks we got to focus all of our attention on that joyous occasion. Could this be a turning point? I was cautiously optimistic that despite the tragedies of the last three years, we could look to the future with hope.
Later that year in October, I was sitting on my couch watching a replay of the first runners cross the finish line of the Chicago Marathon. I bolted to attention. It was almost 2 years since finishing chemo, surgery and radiation treatments. Earlier in the week, I had gotten another good report from my doctor. I’d begun running somewhat regularly again. We were slowly putting in place the plans for Dad’s long-term needs. There was no question, it was go time. Time to re-start the running engine.
That restart lasted less than a year as on July 22, 2019, Dad passed away from the ravages of Alzheimer’s.
Join me as I train for and run the Chicago Marathon in an attempt to qualify AND run Boston.
HERYL