When my first child was about a year old, I found myself feeling like I was out of control of my own life. I was trying to balance my marriage to a submarine officer, a career as a radio news anchor, and a baby boy. I had everything I had been praying for over the years, but my efforts to balance work and homelife left me feeling stressed and overwhelmed. I needed something to ground me, relax me and keep my vision clear. But I did not know what.
I kept seeing signs for the Whitman Walker Clinic’s AIDS Marathon Training Program. It was a month’s long program that prepared participants for the upcoming Marine Corp Marathon in October. The signs were everywhere, the supermarket, beauty supply store, coffee shops. They seemed to be strategically placed in all the places I frequented. It almost felt like a personal invitation that I kept declining. I thought about it repeatedly, then made excuses not to sign up. My longest run, at that point, had only been six miles and it took place years earlier while my husband and I were living on the campus of the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis where he was stationed. I was not a regular walker or runner. Since Ricky’s birth, I had not exercised at all. What made me think I could run twenty-six miles? Where would I find the time to train with work and the baby? Participants were also required to raise money for the Whitman Walker Clinic. I hated fundraising, asking people for money. Who would I ask and what if they turned me down? No matter how much I tried to talk myself out of it, the possibility kept coming back to me. Could I train my post pregnancy body to run a marathon, mommy belly and all? The idea excited me. I finally cast my doubts aside and signed up. The group training took place on Sunday mornings beginning at 6am at a park in Montgomery County, about 30 minutes from my home. I did not miss a single session, not even during the grueling hot summer months. We trained using the Galloway Run/Walk method where participants run for a time then walk for a time. We were divided into groups according to our skill level. I eagerly took my place with the beginners. During the week we followed a training schedule.
On Sunday, October 24th, 1999, the day of the race, I could not find my training group. It was before the cell phone boom. I could not simply call one of the group leaders to find out where they were. After months of training with the group, I ended up running the race alone which took more mental toughness than I ever knew I had. I ran across a group of about four women who I recognized from the training but none of them were regulars. They were people who would show up every now and then. I realized as we began the race that they were not following the Galloway method. They were randomly stopping and starting, so I slowly drifted away from them and weaved deeper into the crowd until they were completely out of sight. For the next six hours, my mind was in constant battle with itself. Just when one inner voice would tell me that I could not run another step, another would tell me I could. I rode a rollercoaster of emotions… highs, lows, and everything in between. I have never felt so alone in a crowd, but when I crossed the finish line after 6 hours and 48 minutes, the victory was like tasting a chocolate Hersey Bar for the first time. It was surprisingly sweet and delicious. It was mine to savor alone. I have been running solo ever since. I have run thirty-seven half marathons in twenty-five states. Over the past 26 years, running has become my moving meditation. While training for races gives me a goal to achieve, running gives me a chance to connect with nature and to simply be Stephanie, not mom of four, wife, news anchor, business owner, just Stephanie in all her imperfect glory.