Running on wings of Hope at the Boston Marathon.Chad Leathers 4/27/09 Tumornators.com
Four days ago I agreed to run the 113th Boston Marathon. I consider myself in shape, but not marathon shape. I mean, hell, round is a shape. As we began to drop out of cell phone coverage, I really started thinking this may have been a bad idea. [enter gulp noise here]. My 21-year-old brother Drew, suffers from a painful nerve disorder called Schwannomatosis, a part of the Neurofibromatosis family (NF). He has endured 13 surgeries to remove the tumors that grow uncontrollably on nerves throughout his entire body. The resulting scars measure over six feet in length, and yet he remains in constant pain from this incurable monster. A little more than two years ago, upon returning home on Christmas Eve from a surgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Md., my family decided to get off the sidelines and do something about this. Enough was enough, and the aptly named "Tumornators" were formed. We joined forces with The Children's Tumor Foundation and their NF Endurance Team to raise money for NF research. We have packed venues for concerts, held wine tastings, got tattooed on TLC's Miami Ink, and continue to receive support from sports stars like Jeff Francoeur of the Atlanta Braves and NFL brothers Matt & Jon Stinchcomb. Tumornators.com has seen visitors from all 50 states, and more than 50 countries around the world. The Tumornators have done all of this through luck, persistence, and drive, which is exactly what I would need for Boston. I have never run a marathon, let alone the Boston Marathon. Steve Kendra, president of the NF Endurance Team who I have worked closely with as part of my involvement with the Children's Tumor Foundation, was the only reason I was even given the opportunity. A member of our Boston team had a family emergency, which forced Steve to ask himself, "Who do I know that would agree to run a marathon without training?" Let me rephrase, "Who do I know [stupid enough]..." Oooo, me me me me, pick me, pick me! The week before the race, Drew underwent an almost impossible spinal surgery at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore where surgeons removed a pingpong ball-sized tumor from his spinal cord. His recovery was going very well, so when Steve called, I felt OK about leaving my family. I very rarely say no to anything, especially when it could raise much-needed awarness of NF. I figured Drew doesn't choose when his pain starts or stops, so why should I turn down an opportunity based on possibly being in pain. Then, three short days later, there I was with an ever-growing pit in my stomach, 26.2 miles away from my only way out of this. What no one tells you about running Boston is that your arms hurt as much as your legs from giving high-fives for the entire 26.2 miles. It is truly a sight to see. These people cherish this event. I mean during the race, I must have had four beers, ten kisses from the Wellesley girls, two chest bumps, a million high-fives, and at least one head butt (college kids, gotta love em!). The first six miles went by in a blink of an eye. I was running so fast you could only see the neon glow of my color coordinated neon socks, shoes, and NF Team jersey. I felt good, which, was a bad sign. Our coach, George Haddad, had told everyone, "GO SLOW! Enjoy the people, enjoy the race, the half-way point begins at mile 18." He could not have been more right. At mile 11 my legs were feeling it. At mile 14, I entered uncharted territory because I had never run further than a half marathon. I knew if I could get to mile 18 and get a big hug and high five from the twisted man who got me into this, I could make it! At mile 18, you begin a four mile stretch of climbs and plateaus. At mile 20, you reach Heartbreak Hill: a devil of a course deviation that culminates in a roar from the locals, the likes of which are rarely seen on race courses, especially five miles away from a finishline. At this point, with a big bear hug from Steve and his shock that I had made it this far, I still felt pretty good. I mean, I was running, I was high-fiveing and I was heading home. Then I hit the wall. Ah yes, the infamous "runners' wall" oh how I loathe thee. It felt like someone pulled the plug. I went from cruising to walking to almost crawling, and then I remembered why I had agreed to do this. I looked down at the crumpled Johns Hopkins wristband on my left arm and thought about Drew. I thought about the pain he has no choice but to fight, and what would happen if he quit? I thought of the thousands of mothers, brothers, sisters, and friends who wake up everyday in the dark tunnel that is NF. And then I thought about the light at the end of that tunnel that our beaming NF jerseys represent. The hope for a cure. "COME ON MAN, YOU'RE ALMOST THERE!" "YOU CAN DO IT!" "COME ON!!!" It was like coming out of a trance. I was totally spent. My legs hurt to the bone, and I was literally thinking "left, right, repeat, left, right, repeat..." but I pressed on. "ONLY TWO MILES MAN!" Blisters popped on the bottoms of my toes. The Red Sox famous Citgo sign was in sight. My friend Matt Garvic's voice rang in my head, "Mind over matter. If you don't mind, it don't matter! Hooraahh!" (Matt has a 7 year-old son with NF). Then, Five hours, 27 minutes and 55 seconds after I first questioned my sanity on my morning bus ride, I crossed the finish line of the Boston Marathon. I did so on the wings of hope, agreeing to undertake a task even my closest friends thought was "questionable at best" to my own health. There were no flash bulbs or reporters or ticker tape explosions. There was only an overwhelming warmth of pride and understanding that you can do anything you set your mind to. We can end Neurofibromatosis through research, and that light is getting brighter with every step we take. |
As I sat crammed amongst a school bus load of runners, rattling away from downtown Boston, I could not help but wonder; who's idea was this again? Trees whizzed by, city turned into suburb and then into rural farmland. Man, when is this bus going to stop? I should of brought a bike, or at least some roller blades. My God, did that sign read 'Welcome to Virginia'?