A Marathon Challenge, in Loving Memory
As Joe Quezada stood in his sister’s room at Good Samaritan Hospital in Los Angeles last March 4, everywhere he looked he saw pain. His sister, Bertha Quezada, was dying at age 52 after a long fight with Lou Gehrig’s disease, or ALS.
The relatives around him were grief-stricken, as he was. And, as he looked out the window onto Wilshire Boulevard, the runners of the 16th Annual L.A. Marathon were trudging through the 26th and final mile of their own ordeal, telegraphing yet another brand of agony.
Quezada spent all that day either in his sister’s room or staring out the window at the runners. Eventually, the two images fused.
“I looked at the pain in my sister’s face, then at the pain in the faces of the runners and thought, “We could run the marathon next year for Bertha.” Quezada, 36, of Whittier, recruited the others, one by one, and by the time Bertha died at 11 p.m., all seven family members around her had committed to run or walk the 2002 marathon in her honor.
On board were Bertha’s siblings: Quezada, Ramona Hernandez, 50, of South Gate, and Claudio Quezada, 30, of Whittier; Joe’s wife, Monica Quezada, 33; her sister, Olivia Lopez, 32, of Culver City; Hernandez’s husband, Juan Hernandez, 50; and their son, Adrian Hernandez, 23. None had ever run a marathon or anything remotely similar.
A year later, they are trained, fit and, though appropriately nervous, ready for the 26.2-mile challenge this Sunday. Last week, all but Adrian gathered in the Hernandez’s living room to talk about their journey, and how it has made them closer, healthier (in two cases, noticeably leaner) and helped them grieve.
Bertha Quezada never married and had no children, but she was like a mom to Joe and Claudio, who were 17 and 23 years younger, respectively, than she.
“Our parents were much older, and didn’t always have their ear to the ground,” said Joe. Bertha, who worked as a secretary for Sears for 30 years, was their real-world touchstone.
“My sister instilled in me everything I now rely on as a man, in my career and as a father,” said Joe, a police officer for the Los Angeles Police Department. “She taught me about ethics, morals and even finances.”
Claudio, a driver for UPS, said, “She taught me how to be a good person, how to behave and how to manage my life.” For Ramona, a homemaker, she was a “best friend.”
On Sunday, they’re going to express their thanks.
“I know the pain she went through doesn’t compare to what we’ll go through, but somehow, putting myself through a little bit of pain helps me keep her memory alive,” said Claudio, who at 5 feet, 7 inches has watched his weight drop from 164 pounds to a runner’s lean 138 since he started training.
To prepare for the challenge, they all joined L.A. Road Runners, a marathon training and support group, which was Monica Quezada’s idea. “I knew if I was going to do this, I would need some help.” She found the group on the Internet. Every Saturday, the Road Runners meet for a training-related pep talk and group run.
“I liked the structure,” said Monica. The Road Runners’ 1,800 members break into pace groups according to each runner’s speed, a perfect setup for this family’s varied abilities. Claudio, for example, trains with the 81/2-minute-per-mile folks, while Ramona, who plans to walk the marathon, works out with those doing 15-minute miles.
They also each train three to four more times a week. In doing so they’ve realized that committing to such a task during an emotional moment is one thing; long-term training for it is something else.
“We all get lazy and don’t feel like working out some days, but when that happens I go back to Bertha,” says Monica, who has lost 25 pounds since she started training. “I think of how hard she fought to live. If she can do that, this is the least I can do, no matter how much it hurts.”
When Joe feels his commitment waning, he, too, draws on his source of motivation. “I know I’ve got the drive and physical ability to do this, but some days that’s not enough. That’s where purpose comes in, and I’m doing this for my sister.” All say they were touched by Bertha’s will to hang on. When she was diagnosed in 1994, the doctor gave her five years, and she lived for seven.
They’ve each completed three 20-mile run-walks--the highest pre-race mileage the Road Runners recommend--and are counting on their conditioning, adrenaline and each other to pull them through on race day. Though they will all start the marathon together wearing matching red T-shirts, they’ll finish miles apart.
At one extreme is Ramona, who until three years ago smoked a pack and a half of cigarettes a day and, before her sister died, had “never walked a mile in my life.” She plans to walk the course in seven hours. Her attitude: “As long as I finish, I don’t care how long it takes.”
At the other extreme is Claudio, who says he will be “very disappointed if I don’t finish in under four hours.” The others will likely sprint, saunter or crawl over the finish line some time in between.
Meanwhile, they believe Bertha is looking down from heaven getting a big kick out of all this. “I know she’ll be watching us and smiling,” said Ramona, “not only because she loves to see us together, but because we’re together in a common goal because of her.”
Joe thinks his sister will be more laughs than smiles: “She’ll think it’s pretty comical that all of us, at our different ages and stages, are doing this at all.”