An Encounter With Angels

[Ed. note: the following was taken from a letter that Cathy Troisi wrote to all her Dana-Farber sponsors after this year's Boston Marathon.]

I normally send a follow-up post card with my finishing time to all my wonderful Dana-Farber sponsors. This year's time, however, was atypical and I think a little more explanation is in order.

Boston is my favorite city, favorite marathon weekend, and favorite marathon. What makes it favorite goes beyond its history as the oldest marathon to its association with the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. With 71 marathons under my soles I am still envious of anyone doing a first marathon; nothing quite like it. If it's a first marathon at Boston, it is even more special. If it's a first marathon at Boston for Dana-Farber, to me that's a running trifecta. It doesn't get any better than that in marathoning.

I wanted to keep my streak of sub-five hour Boston marathons intact. Possible, yes. Probable, maybe. I've accumulated 1,834 marathon miles and know anything can happen in 26.2 miles, particularly things over which you have no control, e.g., weather. I reviewed my sponsor sheets, noting projected finishing times. The sponsor closest to my finishing time would garner a marathon souvenir. Most of the 'guesstimates' were in the 4:30 range, give or take a few minutes with extremes of 3:59:59 (a very optimistic niece) to 4:57:27 (a more realistic niece). If you tracked me on the computer during the marathon, you know my official finishing time is 5:22:16; chip time (from the time I crossed the start line) is 5:08:19.

I was well into marathoning when I first ran Boston for Dana-Farber in 1995, so in that sense I'll never have the running trifecta. But the 2001 Boston marathon had a trifecta of sorts when I met Jen on the bus ride to the marathon start in Hopkinton.. I found out that 1)she is from my home town, 2)her dad is a friend of my cousin, 3)her mom is a high school classmate of mine. This day Jen would have her running trifecta of which I am most envious: it was her first marathon, it was her first Boston, and it was her first marathon for Dana-Farber.

We continued our conversation while awaiting the noon start. I learned she moved to Quincy (a Boston suburb) for job opportunities a couple of years ago. I know where she works in Boston. I know what she does to earn her paycheck. I know she has a boyfriend who doesn't run but lifts weights. I know she can run 5k and 10k races at eight minute mile pace (which I've only done once in my seven years of running). I know when she was a high school sophomore (1991) the bothersome 'swollen glands' were, in reality, a manifestation of thyroid cancer. I know in the subsequent four recurrences she's been treated at Dana-Farber. And I knew this would not be a typical marathon.

As we waited, she became increasingly nervous, routine for any first time marathoner. Her medical background undoubtedly magnified those feelings. I told her to "take a deep breath and breathe in, breathe out." Four hundred Dana-Farber marathon runners assembled for the annual group photo. Following that was the smaller assemblage of "living proof" runners, Dana-Farber runners who are cancer survivors. Jen went to join the eight survivors but stopped short of being in the photo when her emotions caught up to her, brimmed her eyes, and spilled over.

We walked to the start line together. Despite having done this particular walk six times before, I have never reached the Boston start line without my emotions catching up to me. I know those for whom I run 'in honor of' or, more sadly, 'in memory of' will be with me in spirit this day and go the distance with me. I made ribbons. The 'in honor of' ribbons were pinned on the left side of my singlet, the 'in memory of' ribbons on the right. I positioned them so they grazed my arm with every arm swing. Mine and your loved ones were with me every step of the way. Jen caught me trying to surreptitiously wipe away my 'spillage' and reminded me to "breathe in, breathe out. You taught me that." And I remember my cancer survivor friend who taught me that.

We ran to mile one together and I was pleasantly surprised when she asked if she could stay with me. I was glad to have her company but concerned that I'd be able to maintain her pace. I decided to enjoy her company for the time I could stay with her. Early on it was obvious that Jen's first marathon was going to be less than pleasant. Although sufficiently trained for the distance, it's the other variables over which one has no control that deflected her from an overall positive experience. Her initial nervousness kept her from a comfortable breathing pattern while running the early miles. She experienced side stitches. Even worse was the stomach distress which never let up and kept her from taking in adequate calories, sports drink, and eventually even water. Having had the distinct displeasure of this experience, I knew dehydration was looming on her horizon. She also had tight calf muscles.

I watched her carefully and kept her just off my right shoulder within peripheral vision. I watched her shadow next to mine. When her pace slowed, I matched my pace to hers as unobtrusively as possible. She was concerned that "there are people behind us, aren't there?" Although we weren't maintaining anything near eight minute mile pace, I made sure she realized we were still passing people. She apologized several times for not being able to maintain pace. I reminded her that of the people we were passing, probably 99.9% were not cancer survivors. To her question if we could walk Heartbreak Hill I replied, "in my previous Bostons I have never run Heartbreak Hill and I see no reason to break that tradition now."

I knew two hours before she did, at mile 14, that we wouldn't make the sub-five hour marathon that she wanted. I watched her do yoga-type breathing exercises to stay focused on the remaining task ahead, now quite formidable with every step. I noted her physical condition as it slowly deteriorated commensurate with the deterioration of her communication skills. She went from maintaining general conversation to short sentences to single word responses to single syllable responses to a barely perceptible nod until I hoped that my words were registering on some level as she no longer had the physical, mental, or emotional energy to do anything but concentrate on reaching the finish line.

I tried to distract her with stories of other marathons, other runners, and running camp. At mile 9 I told her the Tarzan Brown story as we passed the lake he jumped in to cool off before going on to marathon victory. I showed her Wellesley High School where the Jimmy Fund pasta dinner is held. I 'warned' her about the cacophony of the Wellesley girls who line the course in front of their college and told her she'd hear them before she'd see them. I showed her the Marathon Sports store, also in Wellesley, where I buy my running shoes. I showed her where Bill Rodgers' Running store was in the '70s during the first running boom, now a florist shop at mile 22.2. I showed her the building where the office of "New England Runner" magazine is housed about 22.3 miles of the marathon course. We agreed that the best mile was 25 where the Dana-Farber patients are waiting to cheer the D-F runners on to the finish. I pointed out various landmarks along the course and hoped these were distractions from her physical discomfort which I knew would be temporary. It's akin to labor and childbirth. It's painful while you're going through it but once it's over and time passes you forget the discomfort and plan another one. Without her stomach distress, she would have had a good first marathon.

She talked about this being her first marathon. "Actually," I said, "this is your second marathon. Your first was your radiation treatments." About mile 15 she asked if she could complain. "It hurts," she said. I could sympathize. "Yes, it does, but it can't be as bad as radiation." I don't know if it ever crossed her mind to DNF (drop out and show up in the results as "Did Not Finish"). If so, she never verbalized it. I told her that one-tenth of one percent of the world's population finishes a marathon. As a cancer survivor finishing a marathon she is in an even more exclusive category of marathoners.

As we made the final turn onto Boylston Street in Back Bay Boston, the finish line now in view, I could feel her picking up her pace. There were a couple of times in that last four-tenths of a mile when I didn't think I could keep up with her. But I was determined that we would cross the finish line together. We did. I turned to her and we hugged tightly. I knew I'd cry. I did.

Jen's first words--in many miles were to apologize for not finishing in under five hours. "Jen, it's not about clock time. It's about shared time.". I shared her running trifecta with her. I shared 5:08:19 with a new friend who demonstrated courage, determination, and true grit. It wasn't her best time in any sense of the word, but undoubtedly it was easier than her previous marathon of cancer treatments. I shared an afternoon with her when she extended herself beyond her own experiences with cancer, beyond her own physical discomfort this day to help others who are facing their daily marathon against cancer.

It wasn't my best finishing time at Boston. So, if you were using my previous Boston marathon times to gauge this year's estimated finishing time, you weren't even close. I was too busy having the best time running a marathon at Boston for Dana-Farber with a Dana-Farber cancer survivor. Much better than a running trifecta. At Boston, it doesn't get any better than that.

-- Cathy Troisi