A Tribute to Perseverance--and a Loved One

This is the story of how the world’s least athletic person (me) ran a marathon--26 miles, 385 yards.

Until I married a marathon runner in 1980, my idea of exercise was turning the pages of a book. My husband, Ralph, nagged me about exercising until, in 1986, I grudgingly started running two or three miles several times a week. A 10-to-11-minute-mile runner, I was beaten to the finish line in 5K races by people with baby carriages, by race walkers, by people with dogs, and once by a recovering heart transplant patient.

In March 1990, inspired by watching the Los Angeles Marathon that morning, I enjoyed my run and wistfully told Ralph that it was too bad I could never run a marathon. “If you can run three miles, you can run a marathon,” he said, and became my coach. We decided on the San Francisco Marathon on July 1 of that year.

Every week until then, I was to do one short run for speed, two medium runs and two long endurance runs, starting at 30 miles a week and working up to 50.

I decided to follow my training schedule as far as I could, and to my surprise, I “hit the wall” only once, on my first 18-mile run. In mid-April, I ran a half-marathon and did surprisingly well, finishing in just under 2 hours, 15 minutes, an average pace of 10 minutes, 17 seconds a mile. I set 5 hours as my goal for finishing the San Francisco Marathon.

In San Francisco, I couldn’t sleep the night before the race, which Ralph said was common. The marathon started north of the Golden Gate Bridge. Across the bridge, through the Marina District and North Beach into downtown, I flew easily through the first eight miles. The big hill on Hayes Street at mile 11 was a killer, but Ralph was there to cheer me on.

As I ran through Golden Gate Park at mile 14, I could hear the finish of the race being announced over loudspeakers. It was demoralizing because I was only half done. Around mile 17, near Lake Merced and out to the Great Highway along the ocean, I got cold. I had trained in hot, dry Griffith Park, but summer in San Francisco is cold and damp. Ralph appeared magically and gave me his shirt to put on over my clammy one.

At mile 22, I decided the run would never end. Ralph met me at the entrance to Golden Gate Park near mile 26 and, encouraging me, ran with me into Kezar Stadium, where the race ended. I was happy to finish, although disappointed not to reach my goal of 5 hours. My time was just under 5 hours, 15 minutes, or 12 minutes a mile. I finished 352nd of the 355 women who raced. Still, Ralph was right. I ran a marathon.

This story is a tribute to my husband and coach, Ralph Dickson, who died of cancer late last year.