If you could see me now, you’d be surprised to learn than I once trained for and completed a marathon — The 2000 Los Angeles Marathon.

The year was 1999. I was 57 — most would think too old to begin running in marathons, but years before that I had had a very vivid dream in which I did run in a marathon. I saw myself stopping for water and food and running up hills.

When I woke up I was exhausted. Okay, that part is just my sense of humor, but it really was a dream, and I tucked it away into a corner of my psyche. That dream stayed with me and popped up once in great while — usually during the running of any marathon I would happen to catch on television.

Many years passed, and, as is often the case with me, it took someone else pushing me and encouraging me to set a goal for myself.

It was late summer of 1999, and I was working at Kinko’s at their headquarters in Ventura, California. A woman named Frannie K. was hired to work as an assistant to our CFO. She was a southern belle, but with an edge. She didn’t try to influence you with charm; she threatened you with murder. For some unknown reason, we were drawn to each other even though we were so very different.

Frannie was very fit. She was a runner and rode her mountain bike most weekends in spite of the fact that she was almost 60, a fact no one knew but me. Frannie was very protective of her age number, and indeed, she looked several years younger than 60.

She started talking about doing the LA Marathon. One day, while she was going on and on about it and whether she would enlist, she stopped talking, looked me right in the eyes and said, “Let’s do this together.” I laughed, but deep inside I could hear a chord striking.

And so it was that on a hot August morning in a gym in Venice, California, Frannie and I signed up to train with the LA Roadrunners — a huge running group. I was petrified and felt like a fish out of water with all those super athletes. I just knew everyone there was better, faster, fitter than I. That very first day, we jogged/walked to the pier and back for a total of 20 minutes. I WAS EXHAUSTED and wanted to quit then and there.

I decided to approach it on a day-to-day basis. I’m sure you’re familiar with that old nugget – One Day at a Time.

I started gathering my List of Excuses to Quit (LOETQ); however, I kept plugging along despite stubbed toes, sore knees (ruined for life, by the way), double vision? I never did figure out that one, although Frannie said it was purely psychological because I just needed another bullet on my LOETQ.

Frannie soon left me when we were all divided into the runners, joggers and walkers. She was much faster than I. I remained in the jogger/fast walker group.

I wasn’t alone, however. I met some great people during my training. We named ourselves the Bitchin’ Old Babes (BOBs) and laughed our way throughout — not taking ourselves too seriously. Had it not been for them, I don’t know if I would have made it.

We joked that we would be the only people in the history of the marathon who had not lost one pound.

Up to the very day of the race, I gave myself an out. If it didn’t feel good, I’d just drop out. but it didn’t go down like that. What happened were some little miracles and surprisingly, a very spiritual experience.

APRIL 15, 2000 – DAY OF THE RACE. There we were at the starting line! No, wait, we were way behind the starting line. The elite runners were at the front; we were in a mass of 20,000 or so people in the very back.

The smell of burning rope was in the air. After all, this was LA. Randy Newman’s song, I Love LA was playing from the loudspeakers. It was glorious and exciting — and it was raining — pouring out of the sky in buckets.

Next to my group, there was a small group of young guys dressed as bananas?

The gun went off and we started our slow shuffle. About mile six, when we had a little more forward momentum, I heard a young voice ring out, “Hurry up, man. We gotta at least beat the bananas and the old ladies.” I forgave him. How could he know we were the BOBs.

At mile eight, we knew the elite runners had already picked up their prizes and were on the way home to Kenya and Norway.

Then came the little miracles.

Around mile 12, I said — out loud to no one in particular — “I think I’ll die if I don’t get some something to eat right now.” A hand shot out of the group in front of me and handed me a bag of orange sections.

Jogging through Echo Park, a man on a bike pulled up next to me and asked if I wanted some bread and bananas.

A church had boxes of bagels on benches on the sidewalk.

I considered them all to be my angels.

The rain diminished the usual group of supporters, but we did have some stalwarts along the way, and their encouragement was an important factor in keeping me going.

Around mile 15, I saw my husband and daughter on the sidelines. They had found a spot to cheer us on. It was so uplifting for those of us running together. If you could see the route of the race throughout the city, you would know this was a miracle, and it was such a boost to our morale.

Then, our small group started to separate. One of the BOB’s was really suffering. We stayed with her for a long while, but soon she and her friend told us to forge ahead. *

And so it was that I was paired with Gloria. We turned out to be a good team. I urged her on by singing Shirley MacLaine’s version of “If They Could See Me Now” from Sweet Charity, and she made me laugh through the last miles with her cursing, moaning and groaning. We were struggling to get beyond mile eighteen and had pulled out all the stops. By this time, there weren’t many onlookers, but whenever I saw one, my only question to them was: “Are there still runners behind me?” After all, I didn’t want to be LAST. In that case, I would have had to shove Gloria out of the way and behind me. Thankfully, there were many people who took longer to finish.

We didn’t have the greatest time — 8 hours — but we didn’t care because we had the greatest time.

My family was waiting for me at the finish line, and we all cried with joy. I had completed a MARATHON.**

Most importantly I had seen firsthand what is possible when you put your heart and soul into something. I apologize for this cliche’, but dreams can come true.

The End
*She ended up finishing about an hour later than I did.
**I also lost three dress sizes, but they have revisited and stayed.