September 14, 2008 - Lucy Ricardo

I ran the Rochester Preferred Care Half-Marathon today--the first real race I've ever run.   Yes, it was boiling hot and very humid, but I loooved the experience!

This was a personal victory for me for several reasons; I was diagnosed in July 2005 with breast cancer.   I had radiation, chemotherapy, and 6 surgeries, culminating with reconstructive surgery in October of 2007.   In July of this past summer, my friend, Molly Lawler, suggested that we try to do the half-marathon.  I said "why not," and on July 20th, we did our first training run.  My first goal was simply to finish the run, and my own secret, personal goal was to finish in less than 3 hours.  I achieved both of those goals.  And, in the process, developed a wonderful and everlasting bond with my incredible friend, Molly.  She is my biggest cheerleader and an amazing woman.

Thanks for a terrific experience.    

- Lucy

________________________________________________________

September 13, 2008 – Raymond Nanni

My name is Ray Nanni, I live in West Henrietta,NY and the Rochester half marathon will be my first race at 13.1 miles.   At first I started running to get in better shape and lose additional weight.  My training started back in April this year. The more I ran, the more enjoyable running became to me.  My training regimen pushed me to run further each week. I found out I could run up to 19 miles and thought I could compete for the full marathon.  I decided to scale back and start with a half marathon.

My goal with the half marathon was to finish, the race was a way to tell me I could push myself to do anything.  My family was supportive through out my training.  Recently, I have another reason to compete and push myself to finish.  My friend, Rick Storie has been battling brain cancer.  Rick has been my friend for the past 14 years.  Rick and his family have been suffering with his illness for the past few years.  Recently he just completed chemotherapy, lost his hair and is resting at home dealing with pain and agony of this dreadful disease.  When speaking to Rick, he has accepted his fate and remains upbeat and strong.

My goal with this race is to run a strong race.  To let my friend know I'm thinking of him and his family.  I love him and admire him. I want to let Rick know that his strength, courage and inspiration have filled my heart to succeed.  My hope is to provide Rick, a world of happiness and minimize his pain through running this race.  I have buzzed my hair off to show my friend we have equal amounts of hair.  I look forward to the race tomorrow and I wanted to let you know my reason for running the half marathon.  

- Raymond Nanni

________________________________________________________

September 12, 2008 – Travis Earley

I just completed my 3rd Ironman at Ironman Wisconsin 7 days ago on 9/7/08.  I am running the Rochester Marathon because I want the challenge of breaking 3 hours only a week post IM :o) I have all of this fitness, I feel generally recovered and want to run fast.  Cheers.

-Travis Earley (Bib # 622)

September 10, 2008 - Beth Starzynski

I am running the 1/2 marathon in memory of my dad who was completely crippled by the time he had his hips replaced when he was 59 years old. My grandmother never had them replaced but was in a wheelchair by the time she was 82.

I have had osteopenia since I was 45 and am diligent about taking my glucosamine, calcium and fozomax. There is still a slight decline each year but I keep on running. I will run this half marathon and then do a marathon on Nov. 16th in San Antonio.

- Beth Starzynski

September 22, 2006 - Steve Rowe

Hi. It's me again (scroll down to last years stories). It's a year later now, and this time I made it through my training and arrived at the starting line healthy! I ran just a bit better than my goal pace for 18-19 miles, then things started changing. The right-leg IT Band started acting up (this was the cause of my aborted attempt last year). Then my calf muscles starting cramping badly, and I was losing energy. I started walking through the all water stops after mile 22, but doing the math, I thought I could still make my goal time. But then I had to stop several times to stretch those calves, and the walking breaks were becoming more frequent. After finishing, I felt weak and light-headed, and spent over an hour in the medic tent cooling down and hyrdrating, while my blood-pressure stabilized, and fighting off those leg cramps. Kudos to the great people at the medic tents, and to all the great volunteers who helped out today!!!

Ultimately, I missed my goal time ( which was sub-4 hours) by a mere 6 mins, 48 secs. However, I absolutely blew up my one and only other marathon time by 62 minutes! So, I'm psyched about that. Considering everything, I'd call it a successful marathon.

- Steve

September 12, 2006 - Drew D. Saur

In 2003, I began a comprehensive effort to lose weight. In January of that year, I was 325 pounds, and was tremendously out of shape. Over the bulk of 2003, I lost 100 pounds - first by counting calories, and then through walking and, ultimately, running. By mid-2004, I had lost over
150 pounds and was running regularly, just to keep my weight off and to stay healthy.

(The National Weight Control Registry at Brown University is currently tracking my weight loss story: http://www.nwcr.ws/stories.htm)

During my first year of weight loss, my initial walking (5 miles, once per week) turned into short distance running, which turned into 5Ks, 10Ks, 15Ks, 10 milers and, ultimately, half-marathons. Today, I enjoy running all of these distances, to challenge myself and to stay healthy. However, I have not yet run in a competitive event.

I had planned last year to run in the inaugural Rochester event, but a mid-summer medical checkup uncovered a large tumor (initially believed to be malignant) in my right kidney. As a result, I had to have my right kidney removed. Luckily, the tumor was benign....but throughout my wait for surgery - and within a month afterward - my doctors told me to keep running, and that my running would play a big role in a quick and thorough recovery. Indeed, it did. I was lucky to get healthy just in time for that surgery!

Alas, I wasn't in the shape I wanted to be last September, so I elected not to run. But this year, I am happy to be running my first "official" half marathon, after having lost over 165 pounds since 2003! I am proud to have made the change from obesity to athletic fitness, and am very much looking forward to my first competitive run.

- Drew

September 12, 2006 - Carl Evans

I have been a runner for 26 years and completed my 20th painful marathon at the 2004 Ontario Shore Marathon at Hamlin Beach. My goal was to run 20 marathons before I needed to quit as I had a severe case of OA. After 3 arthroscopic surgeries by a Doctor that knew I was serious about my goal, I did make my 20th marathon but that was the end of running almost immediately after.

As my OA got progressively worse, to the point that I could hardly walk or move at times, I had my knees replaced in 2005, the first on April 19th and the other on September 20th.

So now almost a year to the date I find myself never being able to run again but I am going to walk – and finish – the half marathon on Sept. 17th!

What a great day that will be as a year ago I thought it would never be possible.

That’s it,

A short story with a happy ending,

- Carl Evans, Always a marathoner

September 18, 2005 - Ron Cunningham

I woke up at 4:30 a.m. Saturday morning and checked the weather. It was in the fifties and drizzling. Perfect. I had slept six and a half hours. Pat was concerned about us having plenty of time to get to the event, and suggested leaving by 5:30. We watched Nowhere In Africa on DVD Friday night, but it was over two hours long, so I packed it in about ten with an hour left to watch. Excellent film.


I put on my running clothes, gathered up some clothes to change into, had a glass of orange juice and we were ready to go. The excitement was building. A misty rain filled the pre-dawn darkness as we motored toward the Geneva Thruway entrance. Another hour and I’d be on that unimaginable starting line. I felt confident that we would get to where we needed to be, because I had the directions.


I was reading the wrong directions. We ended up at the Clarion Hotel. We were supposed to go to Frontier Field, where I would pick up the race packet and get the timing chip. I needed a restroom desperately. I could feel the anxious near-panic rising; it was after seven, and the packet pick-up closed at seven-thirty, but I took advantage of the hotel’s men’s room. Now I could think. We were definitely close; I saw lots of people who looked and dressed as if they were going to run, but the line to the desk was too long. I wouldn’t be able to get information quickly enough. I went back to the car and checked the directions sheet again. D’oh! Directions for Frontier Field were on the flip side. Nice going, Brain Cell.


Shivering in the cool, gray damp inside the stadium mezzanine, I looked around for the place where I could pick up my race packet. Hundreds of people were milling around; the pickup areas for the packet and timing chip were poorly marked and in separate places. After parking the car, Pat found me as I shuffled slowly forward in the line to get the timer. It looked like a house arrest ankle bracelet and was being passed out by a woman who barked the instructions like a concentration camp guard. “Easy, easy!” I said, and several people chuckled, knowingly. She was definitely in need of some calming herbal tea.


We took the stuff back to the car. I put on the long sleeved event souvenir shirt for warmth. I asked Pat if she was going to go to the starting line, but she said there’d be too many people. I guessed she was just going to read in the car. She wished me luck and I took off the event shirt. I made my way to the men’s room and then the starting line. As I warmed up by walking around a small city block by the starting line, I saw that it wasn’t that crowded. I went back to the car to try to persuade my companion to see me off. She wasn’t there. It was time to go, so I jogged back to the line.


The temperature was fifty-nine degrees when the horn marked the beginning of my longest journey on foot. The 2005 Inaugural Rochester Marathon had begun! Seventeen hundred people slowly accelerated from a walk into a jog past the banner where our timing chips would mark the first second of our run. Not two hundred yards into the race, two men in the middle of the pack did an inexplicable about-face and began running against the current of moving bodies. I thought of the warnings in the instruction packet against stopping suddenly, or making unexpected lateral movements. They made their way through unscathed, at least in the range of my hearing, which now picked up anecdotes of bloody incidents in other races. I stayed alert for potholes, as recommended in the race instructions.


Three days’ rest found my legs strong and pain-free as downtown Rochester moved by slowly at the periphery. Chatter cropped up around me, but I was silent. I was saving every ounce of energy I had for this run. I was determined, but by no means 100% convinced I would finish. I regulated my breathing cadence. A wide spectrum of body types moved around me. How many were just running the relays? How many were only here for the half marathon? How many would finish the entire 26.2 miles?


About five miles out, a man in green shorts came flying by on the left as the marshals shouted for everyone to stay to the right. The half marathon leader, no doubt. It’s silly, but for a few moments I wondered if it could have been the full marathon front-runner. I almost made the wrong turn at the half way point, and did a little dance of indecision while shouting to a marshal, “Full marathon! Full marathon!” They got me back on track, and I paced on, breathing strong and thanking goodness that the cloud cover and drizzle held steady on my fully warmed up body. One of the course officials complained of being cold as I ran by.


My name was now my bib number, 141. “Looking good, 141! Good job 141! Nice running 141!” the onlookers cheered. The spectators were most densely concentrated around the refreshment tables, spaced every two miles. “Run, Amy Jo, Run!” said signs every so often. I predicted some sore hands the next day from clapping out encouragement. I planned to wait until mile twelve to hit the Gatorade and power gel. I refueled at ten during training.


The course had been mostly downhill until we hit Pittsford, where I saw the entrance to Nazareth College of Rochester, which I attended in 1975. Soon after, we were shunted onto some docks, and then were running next to the Erie Canal on a gravel path. The whole feel of the race switched gears. The city streets had given way to a narrow path with water on the right and woods on the left. Cheering groups of well-wishers were few and far between, and the lay of the land was absolutely flat. The middle grind kicked in. At this point I became familiar with several runners whom I would see on and off until the end.


At mile twelve, I stopped to hydrate and get some power gel, a kind of twenty-first century food-fuel offered every so often. I stopped to consume the liquid. Trying to drink from a cup while running can be counterproductive, especially if it results in choking on inhaled liquid. I’d sacrifice a few seconds against my goal of four hours to not have the disrupting jostled drinking attempt. I got the sports drink down and resumed running. I began working on the power gel in its foil package with a narrow neck through which the raspberry cream-flavored goo came out and filled my mouth.


I don’t know whether it was the stopping or the eating and drinking, but I started to feel lousy. My legs began to get heavy and my stomach seemed surprised to be asked to do its job after such a nice rest. The running became increasingly difficult. I was carrying two packets of the gel, and every portion was increasingly unappealing. I guess I should have trained for it. The sun came out. I was getting concerned that I was in for a rude awakening. The run had been very pleasant up until then. After mile fourteen, the drudgery of the canal run, with its brown water, flat gravelly footing and the occasional jogger going the other way, ended.


We now had been corralled into a little park with hundreds of people cheering, holding up signs and offering refreshment. We ran up a little hill out of the park and onto a bridge that led into the village of Fairport. A legless man in a modified wheelchair struggled beside me. He got up on the bridge and kept pace with me for a while through the quiet village streets. Traffic jams were now the norm everywhere we went, with long lines of cars on the other side of bright orange traffic cones. Some in the cars cheered. Some sneered in their impatience. The turnaround in Fairport commenced the return to the center of Rochester.


I was still holding the last packet of the power gel in my left hand as I headed toward East Rochester and mile eighteen, where I’d originally planned to take and consume the second pack. The terrain was up and down now, with more and more people walking, then running, then walking; passing me, dropping behind me. My pace was slowing, and I still hadn’t really recovered from my first stop six miles back. When I got to East Rochester, I got a couple of cups of drink at mile eighteen. As I started back up, I struggled to tear the gel pack open with my teeth. It was stubborn and, of course, burst open when I didn’t expect it. My hands were now sticky.


The incline was now about five degrees uphill. As I neared mile twenty, my previous longest distance run, I was struggling against gravity. I was going through all the motions of running, but I was nearly unable to catch up to people who were walking in front of me. I had seen the course profile on the website. It was all uphill between twenty and twenty-five. I was still hoping for relief. Now I was seeing the same people, over and over, passing me, stopping to walk, passing me, stopping to walk. “Well,” I thought, “at least I'm able to keep running.”


I probably shouldn't have even thought it.


Mile twenty-two was the last stop for liquid and gel. I had been going uphill for at least two miles and I started walking as we went under the intersection overpass of interstate routes 390 and 590. Back apiece, I had passed a group of five men and women running together all in the same t-shirts. But now they went by me as I struggled up the desolate thoroughfare of the blocked-off four-lane that crossed the Rochester city limits. The refreshment tables were just ahead. If I could only make it there, I’d get some more energy. I was in agony as I plodded along, wondering if I could get started again. A tall, thin septuagenarian with yellow-white hair now passed me going up the hill, as I’d passed him on others. As I took my last drinks of the race, I could feel my body shutting down. This was the longest I’d ever gone on foot, and my body was in a strange and excruciating rebellion.


Still going uphill, trying to re-start my running, I entered mile twenty-three. As I turned left onto the street that would in only 3.2 miles lead me to the end of this suffering, all my faculties were collapsing. I began groaning in agony, caught in a tug-of-war between my will to finish and my instinct to preserve myself. Every step was slower than the first. I was having that peculiar nightmare effect of running away from something but unable to make any progress. As I trudged through residential streets, I dreaded having to walk for another hour. It would surely take me that long at this pace. In spite of my present condition, I refused to concede to the strong desire to give up. People along the way lent encouragement: “Mile 23’s at Culver, a quarter mile away! It flattens out after that!” “ Keep going, you’re almost there!”


With a grimace on my face and involuntary moans erupting from my gut with every breath, it was all I could do to continue. As I approached mile twenty-three, the street still didn’t look any flatter. My hopes for even finishing, much less breaking my goal of four hours were dwindling. As I passed a group of twenty-something males, one called out, “You’re in the LEAD!” As their laughter faded behind me, something clicked inside me. I started running.


All the groaning and gnashing of teeth had stopped. My face went calm. My breathing was easy and regular. The pain in my legs was still there, but it no longer controlled my thoughts. I just moved along, slowly, but in relative ease. I had 3.2 miles to go, and I knew I was going to make it. The course flattened out. The sun was shining, but the air was cool. I passed a couple walking a huge, furry dog. It suddenly lunged and snarled ferociously. It was focused on another dog across the street, not me, but I was grateful for any startled adrenaline I could get. I was getting closer to the welcoming high-rise arms of Downtown.


Mile twenty-five, and I’m home free! I tried to ignore the cop drinking beautiful, bottled water next to his cruiser. As I turned right off Broad onto Allen, I could hear the announcer at the stadium. Just a couple of blocks left to go. A policeman (who reminded me of Al Chmura), blocking an intersection with his prowler, said as I approached, “I want you to dust that group of four up there ahead of you!” I had been behind them for at least a mile now. I had been unable to pass them, even when one of them had to stop with leg cramps. A tall guy in a gray shirt was behind the group. He’d passed me when I was walking and had been in front of me now for several miles. Incredibly, at the cop’s prodding, I actually jumped up and accelerated toward the group, who were at least fifty yards in front of me on a down slope. The surge lasted about ten seconds.


To blazes with that group! I just had to make it around one more corner and I’d be done. At the corner, an enthusiastic voice told me to keep going; you’re almost there! I wondered if Miss Pat was going to see me cross the finish line. The day was now bright and sunny, and I had run a complete marathon. How I hoped she would share that with me! At least I thought I’d completed the marathon; I now had to run around nearly the entire outer perimeter of the stadium to enter and cross the finish line. This last segment seemed to take forever. I was so close, and yet I was being guided around those ubiquitous orange cones through a desolate back corridor of the arena that seemed endless.


Finally, I emerged through an entrance in the right field corner of the baseball diamond. An official warned me about the softness of the red gravel warning track that hugged the outfield fence. I still had to circumnavigate the entire field to reach the inflatable finish line set up between third and home plate. I was alone. I watched the group of four and the gray-shirt-guy go through the final gate across the field ahead of me. I rounded the left field turn, looking into the stands for any sign of my wife. As I crossed the finish line, I still hadn’t seen her. The clock read 4:25:58, and I put on a brave face for the camera. I’d done it!


An official stopped me and removed my timer chip. A smiling young woman handed me a very heavy medallion on a yellow ribbon, my victory medal. The sounds of the surprisingly sparse crowd swirled in my ears as my body began its descent into true and complete exhaustion. I saw runners stretching and recovering inside a barrier fence and on the grassy infield. There were only a few of them, and though I wanted to join them, in my fog I decided to just look for an exit. This required going up stairs. Argh! I needed to keep walking, I thought, so my body didn’t turn into one giant cramp. They’d have to pry me back open with a crow bar. My right calf had started cramping at about mile twenty-two. Now both calves were refusing to function, and my steps were getting shorter and shorter. Where was that confounded exit?


I finally got through one of the openings to the mezzanine, and what I saw next brought sweet tears to my eyes. Joyfully waving arms framed that famous smile I’ve known for over thirty years. My wife Pat was rejoicing in the completion of one of the most astonishing feats of my life. The beautiful melody of a Ruthie Foster gospel-folk song was playing in my head, the soundtrack for our reunion. I was wearing my medal. It was all I could do to keep from breaking down and blubbering.


You have to keep moving,” Pat said, and we wandered through the milling crowd, every step more difficult than the first. I was bent over and walking like the Tim Conway old man character on the old Carol Burnett Show. My stride couldn’t have been more than six inches long. I tried lying down on a picnic bench and elevating my legs, a technique Pat suggested while I was training that seemed to work pretty well. As I raised and lowered my legs, oh-so slowly and painfully, she told me she was the voice at the corner that shouted keep going; you’re almost there! She was laughing because I hadn’t seen her yelling and waving her arms, not ten feet away. She had heard me say to a group of people on my left, “God, it hurts!” at which they all tittered. She said she’d seen me at the starting line, too. Aren’t I observant?


I got up, and we started off to find something to drink. Tim Horton’s had a booth at which they were giving away fruit juice, and I got there just before they closed. The man under the banner handed me an apple juice and said, “Congrots.” I noted the interesting pronunciation. I sat for a bit and sipped, but we decided I should keep moving for a while. Pat was very amused, because now it was I who was the slower of us two, and I was getting my just desserts for making fun of her pace when we go shopping. I was a virtual cripple. We were looking at one of the number of chiropractic and massage areas, offered gratis to participants, when a woman said, “If you sign up, they’ll fix you.” I mumbled something incoherent. Pat took the sign-up clipboard and filled in my particulars for me. I was leaning on a table, completely unable to function, moaning.


It was only half an eternity before I was called in. A young, good-looking guy in his twenties, a student getting some practice, introduced himself and went to work on me. Pat derided me for letting out a huge “OH!” when the kid popped my back back into place. She said I was over-dramatizing; she’d had that done a thousand times after her back injury. I weakly reminded her that she hadn’t run over twenty-six miles before having it done. I felt a little better after some deep-tissue calf massage; we thanked Matt and moved (slowly) away from the operating room. I was getting cold. As we opened up the car, the sun-warmed air that flowed out felt marvelous. A woman along the way to the car told me I’d looked good out there; she’d seen me. I told her I wasn’t looking so good now. But I was feeling superb. Mentally. I changed into dry clothes, dropped slowly and painfully into the front seat, and as we drove away, I smiled, replaying the whole race again in my mind. I had been changed, significantly, forever.


- Ron Cunningham

Sunday, September 18, 2005 - Megan Clark

I am writing to tell you the story of a runner in the September 17 th Rochester half-marathon. Megan Clark, my daughter, is currently a freshman at Nazareth College. Running the marathon was a personal victory for Megan. She discovered the joy of running in her junior year of high school when she joined the cross country team at Wheatland-Chili Senior High. When she returned to the sport the following autumn, she suffered what was then believed to be a muscle injury early in the season. She continued to cheer on her team while attending practices in a modified form, riding a mountain bike, swimming to regain muscle strength, and eventually running a mile at a time. Through the pain, Meg persevered. However in November it was discovered that her hip was actually fractured and she was inches away from a life-changing experience. Dr. Goldblatt of University Sports Medicine saved her life with his expert care. With three pins in her hip, Meg worked all winter to prepare for the track season in March. She was ready when Wheatland-Chili's first track team took to the practice field, an oval painted in the schoolyard since there was no track in place. Meg set herself a personal goal of running the Rochester half-marathon, an event prior to her one-year anniversary date of surgery. She and her dad ran side by side through the summer, training, healing, and growing strong. On Saturday, they finished the half-marathon together, an important milestone for Megan and our entire family. Meg placed first in her age group and first in the eyes of those who watched her pursue her goal with determination and courage. Thank you for continuing the tradition of the Rochester Marathon. I am sure its heroes are many.

- Wendy Clark

September 18, 2005 - Bob Fagioli

My name is Bob Fagioli and I have never run in a full Marathon but I have been running on and off for many years. A few years back I decided to run more consistently and flirted with the idea of running a full marathon but knew it was take a huge effort to get ready for it. In June of this year I decided to get serious about training in hopes to run the Rochester Marathon. I increased my weekly duration and frequency quite a bit and ran some very long runs on the weekends. My goal from the start was simply to finish the race and if I happened to cross the finish line in less then 5 hours 30 minutes all the better. About four weeks ago I started to have some serious doubts that I was capable of doing this. Then something happened. Three weeks ago my Dad quietly passed away in his home with my Mom at his side. His long struggle with Alzheimer's Disease was over. My Dad was wonderful man and I loved him dearly. He loved the outdoors and was an occasional runner. When I was a child I recall him saying that he would run a marathon some day - he never did. At his funeral I decided that I would have no more doubts about myself and my capabilities. I am running the full Rochester Marathon and if you happen to come across me on the course and it appears I'm muttering to myself - not to worry I'm simply having a quiet chat with my Dad because I know he'll be at my side the whole way.

That's my story. Thanks for listening.

- Bob Fagioli

September 18, 2005 - Steve Rowe

I'm not running in the Rochester Marathon this year. Instead, I am volunteering as a course marshal. But it didn't start out that way. I trained all summer long to run a PR on September 17th, right here in Rochester, but a knee injury dashed those hopes just 4 weeks from race day. I am disappointed, of course. After putting in all the work to prepare, and I was ready, only to be sidelined - it seems a shame. I am back running again now, but not quite ready for that PR run. But I decided that I can still participate in a different way, by volunteering. Perhaps I can help someone else to reach their PR goal. My time will come later.

- Steve Rowe, Course Marshal volunteer

May 13, 2005 - Scott E. Lewis

I listened with envy in February 2004 as Kelly Hursh shared excitedly about training for her first marathon, (the Ontario Shore Marathon) and thought, “I want to do that”. My heart started to beat with excitement just at the thought. With only 9 weeks to prepare, I asked co-worker Rauni English (a Hawaii Iron Man Finisher) if it was too late to consider. The look on her face preceded her words, ”Well... you might consider the half, but you need to be serious, you’re right at the cut off point”.


Having never run over 13 miles at one time, and no more than 6 every other week lately, I started with 1½ miles every day, 6 on the weekend, more short stuff the next week, and quickly caught up to a program called “Randy’s Favorite Marathon Schedule”. This, and other inspiring and helpful articles were linked to OSM web site. When signing up for OSM I found it was held May 1st, my 50th birthday!, (also my wife Esther's 50th birthday, which is a different story, the important thing being she's my best supporter and was happy to celebrate this way). God is good. The training progressed well, and my target finish time changed from 5 hours, to 4 ½, to a hopeful sub 4. I finished in 3:59:08. (Oh yeah... against sound advice, I opted for the full marathon.)


The Wineglass Marathon starts in Bath, N.Y. (near mom) and finishes in Corning (yes, New York, but not so near mom) and was held on October 3rd. If I could finish a marathon with 9 weeks training, what could be accomplished with proper training? On a perfectly beautiful fall day and ideal temperatures, I qualified for Boston with over 10 minutes to spare! (OK... 3:23:58.)


“Coach” Rauni encouraged me to come for Saturday morning runs with the Oven Door Runners. Meeting and becoming friends with so many great people in this group has been the highlight of my running experience. The winter 2004 Freezeroo Series races were also a good way to meet other runners and an excellent supplement to fuel my training for Boston. Improvements were coming fast.


Boston was tough. Warm weather (great for spectator's, not so great for running), excitement, and in-experience led to too fast a start, an early “bonk”, and difficult finish. The race itself though was awesome. Having family with me and friends at home monitoring my progress on-line was a great support and made it very special.


God's goodness touched my heart to the point of tear's many times over the year, (hey, I'm an emotional guy, OK?). I couldn't have dreamed that just over one year ago I would complete my first marathon at age 50, qualify for, and run the Boston Marathon, and be blessed with so many friends and supporters. This has been my “Year Of Jubilee” (see Leviticus 25: 8-55), a year of restoration, freedom, renewal, and celebration of God's goodness to me.


The Rochester Marathon scheduled September 17, 2005 is the day before my brother Gary's 50th birthday. I plan to run to honor him in a way that has meant so much to me.

- Scott E. Lewis

Julie Mitchell

I am a local Rochesterian living with arthritis. I was diagnosed just after my first birthday with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. I am now thirty-five years old and an English educator in the area. I am one of the lucky ones. I was supposed to be crippled but have lived basically with just flare-ups and chunks of time on anti-inflammatory medication.

Following my first birthday in Northern New York, I was stung by a bee. The swelling in my ankle refused to cease, and I was transformed into a very irritable infant. After many tests, my family doctor, Dr. Bernard Musselman, diagnosed juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, and he advised my parents to seek treatment at Upstate Medical Center in Syracuse, NY.

The terms of doctors under Dr. Hannan in Syracuse as well as our family doctor were honest with my parents about the two extreme scenarios for my future: a wheelchair or the possibility I would outgrow the disease. I cannot imagine what my parents must have been experiencing emotionally and spiritually. All I ever remember is their positive energy and support. I never once remember tears or fear or different expectations for me. I credit this to their immense strength and love. I do also know that the doctors, in particular, Dr. Musselman, were extremely helpful and supportive when my parents were in such need.

So, the following eight years of my young life involved sixteen baby aspirin a day, a time on steroids, nightly exercises, and monthly trips to Syracuse – a mere three hour drive – for blood work and strength tests. During the early part of this period, in particular, my mother has described me as docile. During the early part of this period, in particular, my mother has described me as docile. For a time, she would have to help me into a chair when I wanted to read, for instance. My knees would not straighten for full range of motion and my left thumb began to cripple.

As I grew, I became more aware of this disease we call arthritis as I began to absorb the visuals I experienced while visiting the Pediatric Arthritis Clinic so often. I became more attentive to those children like me in the waiting room. I looked beyond the band-aids with smiley faces after blood work, the walks for the doctors trying with all my might to keep my knees straight, and the neat squeeze-pressure tests with my hands as I hoped I could make that little metal ball rise to the top of the apparatus. I began to understand that I very well could become ravaged by this disease as so many of them. I, luckily, was the one who stood out in this crowd. I was not like them ….. yet.

Thankfully, with my amazingly positive parents and their energy, brilliant doctors, and the grace of God, I WALKED into the future in remission. I know my parents and my sister still continued to make sacrifices and were always – though in an unobtrusive and subtle manner – mindful of the disease. We did not take camping trips, for instance, as the damp ground could spark a flare-up or least discomfort for me. There was always encouragement regarding my interests in school that were not related to sports, also. Life happened; the arthritis became a chapter not the whole story.

There were, of course, bouts of pain and struggle. I remember my knees, in particular, waking me from sleep numerous times “on fie.” I would have to call for my parents to bring me aspirin and water. It was excruciating! Then, in my senior year of high school, as a teenager will be, I was relentless in my quest with my parents for permission to try martial arts. A couple of weeks into my practice, I hyper-extended my knee and ended up having arthroscopic surgery to remove torn cartilage. Thus began another eight year period of an arthritis attack. Physical therapy, medication, and trips back to Syracuse all throughout college and a bit into the start of my professional life were the reality. It wasn’t easy with arthritis as a roommate in college, if you will, especially being away from home. I remember times of overwhelming emotional strain as I could barely walk up the stairs to class or to visit good friends. I would stop and remember how my parents must have pushed through the hurt, and I would recall the crippled bodies of infants in the waiting room at Upstate Medical Center. I had to fight on for them, too.

Again, remission was finally realized, and arthritis became yet another chapter not the turning point. I have now been at a sedrate level of zero for about ten years. I teach high school English at Fairport High School; I walk, lift light weights, and enjoy yoga, Pilates, and aqua aerobics; and I was recently married. Life goes on with arthritis. I don’t have to remember the disease each day, but I am often reminded of its presence if my diet changes, my sleep is deprived, the weather changes, or I try to push my body too much. So my attitude simply has to involve a bit of pampering for myself. I must keep moving, but I also have to know when to stop and perhaps enjoy a warm bath … and a prayer.

If children are in the future for my husband and me, I know the arthritis will be a consideration. With my parents and family, my doctors, and my husband as my support system, perhaps the turning point can involve a continuation of remission even through childbirth.

I walk on this marathon course for so many. I walk first and foremost for my family and their steadfast and positive energy and spirituality. I walk for the nights they helped calm the “fire” in my joints, for the countless trips to Syracuse for treatment, and for the floods or tears I never saw. I walk for those I met in the waiting rooms whose crippled bodies I must now carry because I can. I walk for public awareness and education and plead for continued research. I walk for the future for me and my loving husband. I walk because the grace of God has allowed me to keep moving. I walk on a marathon course in my own community for LIFE with and eventually after arthritis!

- Julie Mitchell

Kate Latas

Thanks for this opportunity to tell my story.  I am running the marathon relay to honor my friend, Mary Wojnowski.  Mary and I met when we were 12 years old and she is the first "real best friend" I had ever had.  Mary was always an athlete, she ran track and played soccer in high school.  She was the kind of person who thought about exercise and being healthy, even during our college "hey day" when being 20 years old made you feel invincible.  Mary continued on a healthy lifestyle,  and has been running several 5K races per year. 

Last September a mysterious bump appeared under her jaw.  Everybody said the same thing, I'm sure it's nothing, but you better get it checked out "just in case".  Turns out the "just in case" was more than that.  In October 2004 at the age of 37,  Mary was diagnosed with non Hodgkin's Lymphoma.  I remember the day she called and said "i'ts cancer".  The next words out of her mouth were "what about my girls".  Her main concern was not about herself , but her three daughters (at the time, ages  7, 5,and 3). 

True to Mary's grit and determination, she looked at cancer as a mere bump in the road. She endured 6 sessions of chemo and though she responded exceptionally to the treatments, they were very difficult on her.  The hardest days were the day of, and the day after, the treatments.  I called her everyday on "the day of" the treatments, and by number four, she confided "I could see how people could quit chemo".  But I couldn't blame her, she is a working mother with a husband and three young children.   And although she had an extensive support system and continued to work through her treatments,  they really took a toll on her energy level.

It was then that I decided to start running to show my support for Mary and her determination to beat this disease.  I trained in secret, hoping to tell her about my plans to run all the 5K's she ran when I  accompanied her to her  6th (and FINAL) chemo treatment.  Ironic thing, about a week before the final treatment, when my "big secret" would be revealed she told me she was going to run a marathon.  I was surprised but not shocked.  She told me about how inspired she was by fellow cancer survivor, Lance Armstrong.  Suddenly my ability to train and compete (well, complete anyway) 3.1 miles seemed insignificant.  Mary finished her chemo treatment in March 2005, and started training for the Rochester Marathon. 

When I finally told Mary of my plans, she was speechless.  She was genuinely moved by my efforts.  All the while, I felt a little silly.  Here she was pushing herself beyond her limits and she was impressed by my desire to find a way to honor her.  When I ran my first 5K on Mother's Day she was waiting for me at the finish line (she had finished 5 minutes before me, of course) to cheer me on, with tears in her eyes.  She would send me inspiration emails the next day, with our race times.  Encouraging me to make the next time, my "personal best".  She even surprised me by showing up for the ALS Father's Day 5K (she ran a different race two days prior) just to cheer me on.  She kept saying, "you are really getting into this running thing".  And I told her it was for her; she endured chemo, was training and pushing herself to run a marathon the very least I could do is run 3.1 miles.

It was a few weeks after that race her sister, Tina,  came up with the idea to run the relay marathon.  Tina has been one of Mary's closest friends and loves the way Mary pushes her.  Tina started running the 5K's with Mary about a year before I did.  At first,  I was concerned that while I could run a 5K, between 6 and 7 miles would be a different story.  Then I came to understand Mary actually needed some pacing help to run the whole 26.2 miles.  She was accustomed to running shorter distances fast, but the longer runs would require her to slow down, which is not exactly a familiar feeling for her.  So I have been training to run a leg of the relay, and if I ever feel like quitting, I remember that my dearest friend endured chemo and just 11 short months after being diagnosed with one of the deadliest forms of cancer she plans to run a marathon, and for me to be at her side, is an honor that I will never forget.

- Kate Latas