Kelley’s Dream Come True

Posted by Marcia Wieder - 130 Comments

Yes, she threw up!  Yes, her feet bled!
And yes, she… well, you’ll have to read the story below!

Kelley’s Story…the fear, the pain, the tears and the aftermath…

Gun went off at 8:00 AM sharp. BANG!

What have I done? I can’t do this. I can’t run 26.2 miles.

In that moment I want to give into the fear and doubt and yes, I want to run…the other way, away from the starting line! But I don’t. I breathe. I remember that I’ve trained. I trust my body will carry me the distance. I realize that I only have to take one step, just one, one step to get me started and then just one step at a time.

The first few miles are brutal, air thick with humidity and pollen on an unusually hot, humid day for Dallas, Texas. I began training in November and couldn’t run even ½ a mile straight. All winter it was cold…crazy, ridiculously cold. Today loomed hot, thick and soupy.

At mile 4, I finally found my legs and began to settle into a rhythm that allowed me to relax and chat with fellow runners, look around and enjoy the scenery around White Rock Lake. I saw ducks paddling for their breakfast, fishermen casting their lines, birds announcing the glorious beginning of a new day. For a short while, I felt strong.

As I turned the corner to leave the lake at mile 9.5, a wall of concrete greeted me. I don’t remember any mountains in Dallas…where the heck did this huge “hill” come from? I slowed to almost a crawl, barely managed to crest the top where a medic crew waited and watched the runners as they tackled the largest incline on the course. I somehow cracked a joke and smiled even though my lungs felt like sopping wet sponges and my legs burned like a bonfire. Then I heard cheering that energized me until I realized the cheers were on the other side of the street for those speedy folks who were already on their way back “home” at mile 16!! UGH! I had to run right past that cheer station into a quiet neighborhood of antebellum homes. I desperately wanted to cross the street and blend in with the crowd of runners who were miles and miles ahead of me. Instead, I entered no man’s land, in the back of the pack—way in the back!

Mile 16 almost got the best of me. I wanted to quit. My legs hurt, my feet hurt, my lungs hurt, my hair even hurt. I threw up and then I cried. I cried for 5 year old Jordan who has Leukemia and can’t run and play as a carefree child. I cried for 80 year old Murray who fought hard to go on his African Safari Dream-of-a-Lifetime trip in spite of having Lymphoma. And, I cried for me because I knew that no matter what, I was going to finish even if I arrived dead last and everyone else had packed up and gone home and even if I was embarrassed by how slowly I was moving. In that moment, I realized I was doing this for ME. I shucked the protective armor of the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s Team-in-Training. Until then, I had trained for Jordan and Murray and all the other honored heroes who still fight every day for their lives. And all that still mattered. What also mattered was that I had the courage to push myself. What also mattered was that I had the courage to try something knowing that I might fail. What mattered is that I would finish no matter what others thought or thought of me. I found the strength to take just one step. For a moment, I realized that I was proud of me.

Pride only carried me so far, though. I hurt. At mile 24 I felt the blood begin to seep out of my shoes. My feet were shot. I wanted so badly to just stop, curl up in a ball, and give up. If it weren’t for the support of my team and that small, quiet voice inside that whispered, “just one step”, I would have quit. It would’ve been so easy to give in to the lonely miles and the pain.  Jordan, Murray, my TNT teammates, my family and friends were all there with me, some in person, some only in spirit. I reached out and called on their strength. I let them figuratively carry me when I didn’t feel strong enough to carry myself. I’ll never forget the feeling of crossing that finish line—joy, elation, relief. My family was there beaming with pride and love. My friends cheered and cried. I laughed, cried, and did all I could to just keep breathing!! What a ride!!!

Now, how about one of two things (or maybe both). Either leave Kelley
a message and spread some love around OR share your remarkable
achievement and encourage all of us…can’t wait to read these…Marcia