Marathon Madness-I Did It AS and All!!!

I set out on March 1st, 2026, to do something I had dreamed about for most of my adult life, something I once believed I would never get the chance to do. Yet somehow, with every odd stacked against me, I did it.

But the road to that starting line began long before race day.

My setbacks started in 2023, just after I almost died from septic shock following my sixth spinal surgery. That trauma led to a seventh spinal surgery, the one that changed everything. When I survived, when I opened my eyes and realized I was still here, I made myself a promise: I would never again take the simple act of moving my body for granted.

So, I walked. Slowly at first. Then farther. Then with purpose.

Doctors told me repeatedly that I would never run again. They said it gently, clinically, with the kind of certainty that comes from experience. But one day, I tried to jog, just to see. That tiny act of rebellion lit something in me. I learned what my body could tolerate, what it couldn’t, and I created my own strange, quirky little running cadence. It wasn’t pretty, but it was mine.

Then, fourteen years after dropping out of the Peachtree Road Race and being told I’d never run again, I crossed that finish line in 2024. Two days later, I stepped off a storm drain, broke my foot, and watched the rest of my 2024 running season crumble — the ten‑miler, the half marathon, the marathon I had planned for 2025. All gone. But I didn’t quit. I couldn’t. I modified. I tried again. I rested. I cried. I cussed. I doubted myself, and then I kept going anyway, because something in me refused to let this dream die.

I trained from January 2025 through March 1st, 2026, pushing through injury after injury — many caused by my Ankylosing Spondylitis- and then on race day, I showed up with every ounce of grit I had left.

The first eleven miles were magic. My fueling was perfect, the weather was cool, and my body felt strong...Then Atlanta did what Atlanta does: it heated up to nearly 70 degrees on March 1st, after months of training in the cold. Thanks to the Atlanta Track Club In‑Training program and Coach Bob Wells, we were ready. We carried extra fuel, salt tabs, electrolytes, everything we needed to survive the heat. I ran with Alyssa, who is now my marathon buddy for life. Around mile 14, we made a decision that only people who have suffered for a dream can understand: finishing mattered more than PR’ing. We shifted to run‑walk intervals and kept going.

Along the way, we passed runners who were struggling. We handed out salt tabs, shared electrolyte water, and alerted medical staff when someone needed help. We sacrificed our own time to make sure others made it home safely. And honestly, that was the most beautiful part of the entire race, choosing compassion over competition. We kept going despite her asthma and the sharp pain that hit my leg at mile 13. And we finished. So did the people we stopped to help. That is the kind of victory you carry forever.

Our final time was 5:42:25.

Waiting at the finish line were the people who had carried me through years of pain, healing, and hope:

• My spinal surgeon, Dr. Philip Ploska, the man who rebuilt my spine seven times

• His nurse practitioner and her assistant, Lisa and Dana, two of my favorite humans

• My therapist, Joe

• My best friend of 30 years, Kristin

• And the first person I ever ran a mile with, one of my biggest cheerleaders, who had just survived his own major spinal fusion, and whom I had helped coach through recovery.

These people held me together when I was falling apart. They loved me when I was stubborn, hurting, angry, hopeful, determined, and exhausted. They believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.

It’s now June, and I still don’t think the reality of what I accomplished has fully settled into my bones. Maybe that’s why it took me so long to write this. This wasn’t just a race. It was a resurrection. A reclamation. A reminder that I am still here and still capable of extraordinary things.

This marathon taught me that I can overcome anything. That I can rise again and again. I can use my story to be a light for others living with chronic illness, especially those who don’t have the support system I did.

Now that this chapter is complete, I’m asking myself what comes next: first, finding a career now that I’m healthy enough to work again. Then, building the peaceful, gentle life I’ve needed for so long, while still chasing running dreams. I’ll keep running long distances because they remind me every day how tough I am. I’ll keep surrounding myself with the people who inspire me, and I’ll keep running with my Atlanta Track Club family.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I know it will challenge me, stretch me, and reward me, just like this marathon did.

Enjoy the finish‑line video. The voices you hear cheering are my people, especially my spinal surgeon, who once told me I’d never run again. When I crossed the line, he looked at me in shock and said, “I really didn’t think you could do this.” He should’ve known better. He knew me. Yes, proving my spinal surgeon wrong, and watching him be elated to be wrong, that was one of the sweetest victories of all!!!!

Chase your dreams with chronic illness. Don’t let them die. They may look different, but they will never mean less. In fact, they will mean more because you will discover what you’re made of, and you will show others that hope belongs everywhere.

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/e666d0_bc01c70bc3064ca5ad4b3c593ac4390d/1080p/mp4/file.mp4

As I approached the finish line. You can hear all of my people cheering me on, but especially the spinal surgeon who rebuilt my spine a total of 7 times and truly didn't think I could achieve this goal. He should have known better; he knows me!!!