One step at a Time: Boston Marathon 2008

I'm a Bostonian. Since as far back as I can remember I have loved 3 things: my family, the Red Sox, and the Boston Marathon. I grew up amid the era of the great female Boston Marathon runners. Joan Benoit Samuleson and Uta Pippig were my heroes in the same way that today's young Boston athletes look up to Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz. I admired Joan and Uta's grace, speed, and humility. As a mostly mediocre high school athlete, I dreamed of becoming a marathoner, but understood that this idea was, at best, a lofty goal. In 2006, my dream became a reality when I signed up to run my first marathon with my employer's charity team. My experience running the 2006 Boston Marathon with Masaachusetts General Hospital's Pediatric Oncology Marathon Team was an incredible journey. I completed the Marathon in a time of 4:04 and was invigorated by a quest to keep on running and improving my time.
The 2007 Boston Marathon was an event of epic proportions. The story of the day's torrential wind and rain has become legendary. After finishing that race with a time of 3:51, I felt like I was on my way to seeking the Holy Grail of Marathoning: a qualifying time at the 2008 Boston Marathon.
On April 21, 2008, I was 30-years old. For a woman, under the age of 34, the qualifying time is 3:40. My training had gone very well all winter. I ran harder, faster, and in colder, snowier conditions than I had ever run in before. I was pumped and prepared to have a great run on Marathon Monday. The night before the marathon I attended Team MGH's pasta dinner with my 19-year old patient partner. Amy is receiving treatment for a brain tumor. Despite her cancer diagnosis, Amy has managed to maintain a rigorous academic schedule and will graduate from high school next month. She loves to play video games, enjoys watching Project Runway, and is immensely patient with her 5-year old sister. The day before the marathon I wrote Amy's name on the back of my running singlet as a reminder of her strength and courage. I never could have imagined the importance of having Amy's name and my charity's logo "One Step at a Time" emblazoned on my shirt would be to my marathon mission.
My strategy for running Boston was to maintain an 8-minute mile pace, which would give me ample time to get to the finish line in 3:40. Despite the unusual warmth of the sun, I was able to stay on task and posted a time of 1:44 at the half-marathon marker. Around mile 15, I felt a stitch in my side, but was able to run through it. By mile 17, I was tired, but felt a surge of energy as I began mile 18. Midway into mile 18 I noticed that the nagging heel pain I had been feeling for the last 2 months seemed more prominent, but I had other things on my mind, namely Heartbreak Hill. As I powered up Heartbreak and ran downhill into Brookline, I was disappointed that my speed was not picking up the way I hoped it would. Something felt off, but I wasn't exactly sure what it was. Then, just before I reached my family at mile 23, I took a step and felt as if my right heel exploded or ruptured. I've never experienced such sharp, sudden pain. As a nurse, I could not imagine what had happened inside my foot. I gritted my teeth, fought back tears of pain, and jogged the next mile and a half until the pain became overwhelming. I decided that I would walk a few strides and see if I could run again. I was devastated! I have never walked in a race before. I looked at my watch and noticed that I still had time to make it to the finish line. I started power-walking. Every step hurt and made me feel nauseous, but the pain was more manageable than trying to run. I p&ssed the mile 25 marker and tried running again, but after 2 excruciating strides, I knew running was no longer an option. I had to get to the finish line for Amy. I started power-walking again. The crowd read my name on my running tank and cheered, "C'mon Kerri" and "You go power-walker!" Meanwhile I said to myself, and aloud, "One step at a time. This is for Amy." I said this mantra over and over until I crossed the finish line. I cried- tears of joy, disappointment, relief. I knew I had missed my goal, but was glad that I had made it to the finish line.
I hobbled to collect my bag of belongings and found my Mom and sister. They helped me into a physical therapist's treatment room at a nearby sports club. As I sat on the examination table and iced my heel (I have been diagnosed with "fat pad syndrome"), I wondered how close I had been to the 3:40 marathon time. My phone rang and my older brother read me the official results from the Boston Athletic &ssociation's website- 3:40:57. "What does that mean I asked?" He said, "It meeans you qualified. The BAA gives you 59 seconds over the allotted time in which to qualify. You made it with 2 seconds to spare." I couldn't believe it!
I am sure that some will credit my months of training to my success, but I know that Amy got me to the finish line. Her strength, spirit, and determination to fight inspired me to keep on moving, even if I couldn't run. As I power-walked my way along mile 25, I saw a banner for Lance Armstrong's Livestrong Team that read, "Giving 100% doesn't always look pretty." My marathon accomplishment certainly did not look pretty, but the memory of the day feels great.