When I decided to run my first marathon, I had never run more than six miles and I had done that only once-downhill.

As a matter of fact, I did not even particularly like running; I was a swimmer. I loved putting on my goggles, slipping into the pool, sliding into the water-and swimming. It was as close to heaven as I could imagine myself here on earth. The only thing I could hear while under water was my breathing-and my thoughts. My daily allowance of thinking, I used to call those daily one-mile swims. And then, I decided to run a marathon!

{quote_top} Whatever possessed me to even attempt such a crazy thing? It seemed that I came to my decision rather suddenly, feeling a need to get some sense of control in my life after having lost my mother to a stroke. The seeds of this decision, though, had been sown earlier. An elderly neighbor, who saw me jog every now and then with my dog Jessie and who herself was still running half-marathons in her mid-seventies, suggested to me one day that I should run a marathon. "You must be out of your mind!," I thought to myself, while out loud politely denying the possibility of such a thing ever happening.

A few years later, my hairstylist Tomás, who is always trying new things, ranthe Los Angeles Marathon and told me how fabulous it had been. "You should run a marathon," he told me; "You would really like it." I laughed in his face. The following year, I found myself signing up for the Roadrunners training group in Los Angeles, with the intention of running the Los Angeles Marathon in March of 2002. I wasn't quite convinced of my sanity. My husband Michael also doubted that I would ever be able to get up at the crack of dawn every Saturday morning for six months, drive 35 minutes to Venice Beach, and run anywhere from 3 to 20 miles. I am not exactly your morning person.


So it began, one August morning in Venice, California-my journeyOn the marathon road. I followed the training schedule diligently during the week, and on Saturday mornings I got up at the crack of dawn, drove 35 minutes to Venice Beach, and ran with the Roadrunners. We started slowly. The first Saturday we ran 30 minutes, making our way up to 45 minutes, and finally 60 minutes. The first six-mile run was a big event; the first ten-miler a huge victory of spirit. We celebrated these victories as a group. We gave each other high fives; we went to breakfast after our runs; we talked about setbacks and injuries. We supported each other in incredible ways. And you know what? I grew to like running. I began to look forward to those mornings when I strapped on my running shoes and headed out with the group along the Pacific Ocean.

{quote_middle} My first marathon dawned on Sunday, March 3, 2002. The race Started 45 minutes late, at 9:30 in the morning. It was crowded out on the streets of Los Angeles as thousands of runners jockeyed for position. As the crowd thinned out, I realized what a way this was to see the City! We ran past the Staples Center where the Los Angeles Lakers play basketball. We ran past tall office buildings where, during the week, tens of thousands of people make Los Angeles one ofthe centers of world commerce. We ran through ethnic neighborhoods where people were sitting on lawn chairs, drinking coffee-and as the morning turned into the afternoon, beer-cheering us on. We ran past the mile markers telling us the distance we had gone-and the distancethat remained.