Surprised to find
How much I love
Running in the heat.

​I posted a picture from under the bridge in Astoria
The one that looks like the Sydney Harbour Bridge
And friends from Oz thought I was back home
And I felt the love
From across the oceans. 

In the fun of a family group call spanning
Australia and England and the US
(Remember when Vicky first left and it cost a fortune to make a single international call?!)
I forgot to eat before I headed out on my run
Stopped by Kinship Coffee
And grabbed a ginger molasses cookie
And I ran my intervals around the park
And the air was warm
And the flowers were bright
And I felt
​Good.

It feels so good to be running again
I have fallen in love with the track at Astoria Park
Where every age and every level
Every body size
Every kind of human
Is present
All of us working
To be stronger
Fitter
Faster
More flexible
More agile
The looks of determination
The casual conversations
The kids running around
The puppies out strolling
It’s all delightful.

I finally went for a run and
I signed up for the United Half in September and 
​I'm feeling good. 

​I finally got some new running shoes
A promise to myself
​To start again.

In previous years
The lead up to the anniversary of my transplant
Has been emotional
And hard
I have felt robbed
Taken away from myself
Frustrated that I have this anniversary at all
This year
I’m too busy to be thinking about
Stupid Cancer

On the morning of the 5th anniversary of
Having my sister’s T-depleted stem cells
Injected into my port
I’m rushing to the Jacob Javits Convention Center
To pick up my race bib
Number 65800
(How fast do I have to be before I can get 24601?!)
Collect my t-shirt
Over to the Fred’s Team table
Friendly faces

Up to rehearsal at Ripley Grier
Spend the morning singing
Dancing
Running lines
In the afternoon the director starts rehearsal with a question
Who has a New York story?
I have a New York story
Five years ago today
Halloween. Hospital.
Stem cell transplant
Life/death
Here we are

On Friday
It is an honor and a thrill
To walk in the NYC Marathon Opening Ceremony
As a part of Team MovedMe
26 inspiring runners representing 53,000+, including
Yvette, who had been told as a child she would never walk again after being hit by car who is now a retired 26-year army vet running her 18th marathon,
Natasha, completing the Abbott World Marathon Major Six-Star in memory of her sister
Issac, a trans person representing Front Runners New York, and
A leukemia survivor running her 5th marathon on the 5th anniversary of her stem cell transplant
Walking over the Finish Line
Keep the emotions under control
Save it for Sunday

Saturday night
Italian for dinner
Hot date with my love
Traipsing the streets of NYC
To get new iron-on letters for my shirt
Thank goodness for daylight savings

Race day
Up at 4am
A&D cream to prevent chafing
Under arms, under boobs, inner thighs
Soles of feet and between the toes
Sunscreen
Sports bra, shirt, leggings, socks, shoes
Belt with dates, gels, phone charger, earphones, ID, and a bank card just in case

Meet the Team MovedMe bus at 51st between 6th and 7th
Everyone is shivering in the cold
Wishing for coffee
We board the bus
Head down through midtown
Past Times Square where Fred’s Team is gathered
I wish I could be in two places at once
I sleep

We arrive at Fort Wadsworth, Staten Island
The police are lovely
A security guard yells in my face
Your bib needs to be on! Stop! Don’t move!
But almost no one has them on yet
We’re saving them from being crinkled
I try not to be rude to her
She’s been up since god knows when
She’s just doing her job
She’s going to have a long day
Samantha from New York Road Runners leads us to the
Broadcast and Media Tent
Heated, and stocked with bagels and pastries and fresh fruit

The sun rises behind the Verrazano Bridge
Revealing a pale blue sky
The mercury promises not to climb too much
Perfect conditions for a nice long run

Our bags are collected
We hear the canon
The professionals are off
They’ll be almost done before we’ve even started
We are led to the corral
Extra layers are stripped off
Tossed in the giant blue bins to be taken to charity stores around the city
Christy Altomere sings the national anthem
Normally I get teary
But I’m too nervous/excited/emotional about running to get emotional about the anthem

We are called to the start line
Inch forward
On your marks
The canon fires
Frank Sinatra croons
It’s up to you
New York, New York!
We’re off

I’ve only ever run on the lower level of the bridge
Wave 1 runs on top
I thought I’d be afraid of the height
I don’t even register it
The views are stunning
The dark blue of the Lower and Upper bays
Against the pale blue of the sky
Manhattan to the left
Brooklyn to the right
Wave to Lady Liberty
Helicopters hover right next to the bridge
The pace of the runners is astonishing
I move to the side
To let myself go slow

Welcome to Brooklyn
Immediately off the bridge
The cheering begins
The crowds are insane
Several people deep
Holding homemade signs
“You’re running better than our government!”
“You’re running faster than the MTA!”
“Kick some assphalt”
“Only 26 miles til beer”
“Tap here for a power up” with Mario Cart stars and mushrooms
“Punch here for a power up” with Trump’s face dead center
And my personal favorite
“If you want to restore your faith in humanity
Go watch a marathon”

Here are 53,000 runners
Young and old, and tall and short
People with hearing or vision impairments
Prosthetic limbs and wheelchairs
Survivors and servicefolk
Writers and waiters and workers and all manner of
Human beings
From all across the globe
Out running a Very Long Distance
Because they can
And hundreds and hundreds of thousands of their friends and loved ones
And perfect strangers
Are lining the streets
Cheering them on
And another 12,000 more have given up their Sunday to
Hand out water and gatorade and bananas
And the coming together of it all --

If you’re reading this you likely have a physical body
And sometimes
That body is creaky and tired and you may feel
Your very blood cells have betrayed you
And yet, here you are
Isn’t that an astonishing thing?!

We run down Fourth Ave
Through the flavors of Brooklyn
Russian, Polish, Chinese, Hispanic
You know you’ve hit Park Slope when the puppies appear
Mile 8, past BAM
(Remember when I worked there?
Too soon after treatment
I wasn’t ready
I was itching to work)

Turn right onto Lafayette
I hear a familiar voice
“LU!”
It’s Adam from London from Australia
I give him a hug
Familiar faces are a boost
Keep running

The Emmanuel Baptist Church
On Lafayette and St James
Is holding its service outside
The steps are packed with people
The preacher is singing
The gospel choir is singing
My heart is singing

It becomes quieter in the Hasidic neighborhoods
The men seem to ignore the runners
The little girls in their uniform dresses cheer from the sidewalk
Or from windows above the street
The parties are raucous in Williamsburg
I hear someone yelling “LU!”
It’s Adrienne from camp
I give her a hug
Keep running

Aaron said he’ll be at mile 13
I take out my phone to message him
My phone is dead
I stop to pee
I don’t see Aaron
Keep running

Over the Pulaski Bridge
Into Queens and
Before you know it you’re at the Queensboro Bridge
The red and white stacks of Big Allis
Forever in mind intertwined with Sloan
Transplant. Recovery. Anniversary. Five.
We round the corner onto 59th
Welcome to New York City!
Turn left onto First Ave
The crowds
The cheering
In my head
Five years, five years, five years

Mile 17
Past the hospital
I make heart signs at the nurses in scrubs
I say thank you in my head to Dr Stein and Dr P and Kim
And every single nurse and porter and attendant
And to every power there is
That I don’t have to be there anymore

Somewhere on the upper east side
I see Rickey from chorus
Give her a hug
Oh the precious souls we meet

Coming to mile 20
I know I’m going to see Aaron and
The Rabinowii Tribe
David joins me
A needed boost
I’m beginning to hurt
The front of my ankles
My hips
My heart, I know I’m not going to make it in less than 6 hours and
I’m disappointed
David talks me off the ledge
He tells me to go slow
Encourages me to get pain killers at the Medical Tent
Drink water and eat a gel
Remember
You just ran a marathon 6 weeks ago
You had rehearsal all week
This is your third marathon this year
It’s ok to walk
You’re doing the thing

Into the park
It smells of fallen leaves and a warm fire
The Rabinowii’s appear again at Mile 24
David steps away

The last two miles feel like forever
The crowds are incredible
No one is laughing at me for walking
No one is telling me I’m slow
Or pathetic
They’re cheering
“You can do this Luisa!”
“You’re so close”
“Go Fred’s Team!”

Briefly out of the park on 59th and 5th
The sight of Columbus Circle lifts me
I know the end is close

Back into the park
The music from the finish line
I can hear the announcer calling out names
The crowds are cheering at full volume
I run
Step over the line
Marathon number five is done. ​

Fly up to Rochester
Feels incongruous the day after hundreds of thousands of people
March to save the world from climate change
Business as usual on the airlines
Plastic water bottles
Disposable single-use everything

Greeted by Bonnie at the airport
A new friend and immediate kindred spirit
We spend a delightful afternoon
With husband Kurt, and puppers ROz and Teddy
On a boat
Floating around Lake Honeoye
Dipping our feet in the chilly water
I envision abandoning everything to become a writer
Residing on the smallest of the Finger Lakes
In a little cabin
Making friends with the ducks and egrets
And learning to paddle board
Easy to have those visions
On the eve of a summery autumnal equinox
And not in the middle of a north-east frigid arctic winter

An enormous salad and grilled chicken for dinner
Downing gatorade. It’s going to be hot tomorrow.
Lay out the running gear
Place gels and dates in the pouch
Charge my phone
Charge the spare charger
Sleep and recharge myself

Wake up in the dark
A&D cream all over my feet
Under my sports bra
Under my arms
Don my uniform
Tie my laces
Bonnie and I head out as the sky is beginning to light
We drive to the finish line at Frontier Field
The parking lot is full of runners
School buses are lined up to take everyone down the road to the
Start line in Maplewood Park
We board with the other runners and a few supporters

A golden ball of a sun appears through the trees
Illuminating a sea of humanity
Over a thousand runners
Stretched out on the tennis courts
Bodies large and small, young and old
A celebration of humanity

The runners flex and chat
Nibble on apples and bananas and sachets of peanut butter
While their spouses and parents and loved ones stand by
Holding puppies and the remnants of breakfast

The announcer calls the runners to the start line
A benediction is given
While I’m in the port-a-loo
Thank you for the day, thank you for the runners, thank you for the volunteers
The national anthem is sung
It always makes me emotional

Last call to the start line
Bonnie waves,
I call out
“See you in six hours!”
A horn blares and we’re off
The Rochester Marathon 2019

Through the green and leafy park where
The air is cool and fresh
Out into an industrial looking area
(I later learn it is a Business Park)
One mile down,
Twenty-five point two to go.

Turn right onto Lake Avenue, a
Pretty tree-lined street
Running through the middle of two cemeteries
At the first water stop
I’m impressed that runners are throwing
Their cups into strategically placed bins
In New York, I’d be running on a sea of disintegrating paper

Make a right into Turning Point Park
Onto the Genesee Riverway Trail
Downhill under a canopy of trees
Someone has built cairns along the side of the path
Large and small stone towers precariously balanced

We come to the Genesee River
At the entrance to the boardwalk
A guitarist is playing
We run right over the water
And past mile four

Up the hill into suburbia
Turn right and come upon the entrance to a large bridge
The Colonel Patrick O'Rorke Memorial Bridge
It’s one of those bridges that can split in two
A marina below is filled with boats
The river is bounded by trees
A glorious sight

Over the bridge we enter
Irondeqouit
And begin a long loop back down to the start
I spend time wondering how to pronounce this place name
Iron-de-coit? Iron-de-quit? E-ron-de-quit?
The relay runners trade off
I envy the fresh runners
And try to run at my own pace
And not beat myself up for feeling slow

We come to a hill
Volunteers and onlookers at the top
You’ve got this! You made it!

All along St Paul’s Avenue
Families line the side of the road
They’ve set up their own water tables
Laden with snacks
Baked goods, fruit, and candy
“Take whatever you want! It’s all for you!”
One family has rented a jumping castle
Further down the road, a horn trio is set up on the grass
On one block, signs for Trump
On the next, signs for Biden and Warren
A kid tries to play saxophone while his friends
Run around him

A concrete bridge back over the river
A woman has the same hat as me
I tell her she has a nice hat
She laughs

Just before mile 10
We hear sirens
Motorbike police come down the road
“Move to the right. The leader is coming through!”
The man in first place comes sprinting past on his second lap
He is running so fast his feet seem to be touching his butt
His pace is incredible
We cheer for him

Back onto the Genesee River Trail
Through a parking lot filled with enthusiastic teens
Dressed in brightly colored outfits
Handing out water and gatorade

Back into Maplewood Park
The half-marathon runners can taste the finish
I breathe
End of the park
Back into the industrial zone
Half-way mark.
I’ve got this. I feel strong.
Marathon number four, you are mine.

Somewhere between mile 15 and 17
The sun begins to feel hot
I start to feel wiped
I begin to walk/run.
We turn right to make a loop through the Riverside Cemetery
To add an extra mile to the course
It’s quiet in the cemetery
I imagine the skeletons in their graves cheering for me
Wooohoooooo!
The occasional living volunteer with an orange flag points the way
I thank each one for staying on the course
I silently thank the volunteers unseen
Who placed yellow arrows on the ground

Genesee Riverway Trail
Trees. Cairns.
Downhill.
Run again.
The boardwalk. The river.
The guitarist is still there.
Thank you for being out here.
Thank you for playing.

I realize I’m not going to run this thing
In less than 6 hours
If I could run the rest of the way, I could do it
But the air is hot and
My legs and feet are burning
Tears sting
The goal is to finish, the goal is to finish
The goal is to finish

The Rochester Gilda’s Club volunteers
Are a welcome sight
At the end of the boardwalk
I want to run
I cannot run
I tell the volunteers what I’m doing
And that I’m a member in New York
They cheer extra loud
I try to run again

Suburbia.
The bridge.
Irondeqouit.
The hill.
The families have packed up
The saxophonist has gone inside
The horn players are still holding strong
One of them plays the call before a sergeant would yell
“Charge!”
I cannot charge. I wave.
Occasional police guard the road barricades
Volunteers.
Concrete bridge.
Maplewood Park.

The sweet teens from the
St John Fisher Rowing Team and
Harley Allendale Columbia Cross Country Club
Provide much needed water and cheering
The pink sports drink tastes like medicine  

Head to the part where on the first lap
The half-marathon runners peeled away
I must be close?!
I am in agony
My feet hurt
My legs hurt
My sides hurt
My brain hurts
I’m slow
I’m last
Where is the finish?
Two miles to go.

Through Lower Falls Park
Run back over the river
A spectacular waterfall
I wish I had time to take a photo
I wish I had energy to take a photo
We leave the trail

Just before the 25 mile mark
A torturously steep hill
Toward the top, I see a guy bent over
Puking his guts up
I’ve never seen anything quite like it
He just keeps puking torrents of clear liquid
I wave to the volunteers at the top of the hill
They think I am waving because I need encouragement
I yell out, “He needs help!”
“What?”
“He needs help!”
The volunteers leap into action
An ambulance siren can be heard behind me
I hope the man is ok

Past another waterfall
My god, Rochester is gorgeous
I wish I could appreciate it
Right now, I have a marathon to finish

Turn onto a main road
The river becomes obscured by industrial warehouses
There is no shade
Only blazing sun
The world is unforgiving concrete and warehouses and trash
Cars crawl down the road on my left
Some guy rolls down his window
“Bit warm isn’t it?”
In my head, I tell him to fuck off
How many marathons have you run today, asshole?
I keep walking and trying to run
I know I’m so close

Turn right
Less than a kilometer to go
A volunteer: They’re going to close the course in 10 minutes
Me: No. I’m going to finish. Please tell them to let me finish.
I start running again.

The sky is bright blue.
My legs are burning.
My feet are burning.
Everything hurts.
Where is the goddamn finish line?!
I see it up ahead
I shuffle run
I desperately want to finish
Bonnie spots me. She cheers.
It gives me the last bit of oomph I need
I cross the finish line and burst into tears.

My calves cramp.
My feet cramp.
I am starving.
I down gatorade and a bagel.
And ice cream.
And water.
And more gatorade.
A massage therapist helps me through the cramping.
I have awful chafing between my legs. Didn’t think to put cream there. I know for next time.

That hurt.
That was hard.
I did it.
Marathon number four.

At 29, I was a health-conscious organic eating vegetarian who exercised regularly and meditated. I was newly married, newly graduated from drama school, and excited to live and work in the city of my dreams, New York City.

Six weeks before my 30th birthday, I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, a disease that normally affects men in their sixties and has a survival rate beyond 5 years of around 25%.

I underwent 3 rounds of chemo and 11 doses of full body radiation, endured over a dozen bone marrow biopsies, and had a stem cell transplant with cells donated by my sister, Anita.

While life-saving, the treatment was painful and debilitating. I lost weight and gained weight. I went into early menopause. My fingernails fell off one by one. I spent long periods unable to walk due to fatigue and sores on my feet. I couldn’t eat take out, ride the subway, or go to the theatre. Depression, fatigue, and anxiety were a constant.

Whilst at Memorial Sloan Kettering for my stem cell transplant, I watched the 2014 NYC Marathon from my room in the isolation ward. I wondered if I would ever feel well, or even be up to running again. I could barely shuffle a lap of the transplant ward! 

It took almost two years before I could run again. Then, in 2017, on the 3rd anniversary of my transplant, I ran the NYC Marathon, my first marathon. I ran it again in 2018.

This year I’ve set myself a big goal. I’m running 3 marathons — Queens, Rochester, and NYC. The NYC Marathon will be my 5th marathon, and it takes place on the 5th anniversary of my transplant. I’m running 5 for 5 baby!

I’m thrilled to be running with Fred’s Team and raising vital funds for leukemia research at Memorial Sloan Kettering. Will you join me in making cancer history? You can make a donation here.

I’ll be sharing my training and runs on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. Make sure to follow along!

Please feel free to share this post, and use the hashtag #LuisaRuns5for5.

​Thank you for your support! ​

​​Then, onto the bus! 
I don’t know how many buses are driving into Staten Island
But it must be hundreds
The logistics are mind-boggling 
The number of runners
And volunteers 
And paper cups
And liters of water and gatorade 
And gels and bananas 
And green ponchos 
And blue ponchos 
And trucks to pick up clothing 
And medics 
And port-a-loos 
And pots of vaseline 
And the list just keeps going 

It is unnerving to pass an army tank
A soldier stands with rifle at the ready
We pass through security 

At the Start Village
We wait in the Fred’s Team tent 
I meet a girl who is running because her mom passed away ten years ago from cancer 
Another worked in admin at Sloan and is now re-training as a nurse 
We sit on a tarp and chat 
Nibbling bagels and drinking water 
Four friends dressed as Dorothy, Lion, Tinman, and Scarecrow, delight

An announcer calls for the Wave 1 runners
Everybody cheers
A little while later, the start gun booms 
A wave of nerves sweeps through the tent 
Wave 2. 
Wave 3. 

11am, several hours after we arrived
Wave 4 is finally called
In the excitement, I don’t get to wish my new friends luck
Thousands of people stream over to the start line corrals 
Divided not only by wave, but by number and color
Wave 4, Corral A, Green 

As I walk into my corral
Someone says we’ll be on the bottom half of the bridge 
Phew, won’t need to conquer my fear of heights today! 

A woman sings the American national anthem 
She belts it out, sings even higher when we aren’t expecting it
Before jumping in to run the marathon herself
The runners cheer 

A male voice: “On your marks…” 
I don’t hear the gun
But everyone starts running
So I run too

Straight onto the lower level of the Verazzano
The low hanging clouds mean
There isn’t much of a view 
Just thousands of men and women
Shuffling on down the road

The first mile goes by in a blink
As soon as we are off the bridge
Men peel off to the sides of the road to pee
Women call out, “Not fair!”
One brave woman yells “Penis envy!”
And the other women laugh

In Fort Hamilton 
Small groups of people 
Stand on the overpasses above the road 
Cheering despite the cold and wet 

We run past Dyker Heights, Bay Ridge, and into Sunset Park
The different flavors of the neighborhoods 
Polish, Chinese, Latin
Evangelical churches with giant billboards 
And tiendas buenas 

I get a kick out of running past Green Wood Cemetery 
This is my neighborhood 
(The area, not the cemetery)
I live in Brooklyn!
I’m running the NYC Marathon!

In Park Slope the crowd is wild
Thousands of people line the streets 
I am so glad Paula sewed my name to my shirt
Perfect strangers yell out 
“Go LuLu!” “You got this LuLu!”
While others chant, “LuLu! LuLu!”
​Aaron texts and tells me to slow down
Not to go too fast too soon
It is hard not to get swept up in the excitement 

At mile 7
Paula happens to be the first person I see that I know 
I pull over and give her a hug 
Within the same block
I see Gabriel and Deborah
Miles and Matt and
Alana 
It is so encouraging to see my people in the crowd
Faces beaming

The course takes us past the Barclays Center
Giant screens and an announcer calling out names
We run past the Brooklyn Academy of Music
I worked there briefly, before I was really ready to work again
It was hard
Now I’m running the marathon. 

The Hasidic section of Williamsburg is quiet
Except for gaggles of bemused looking schoolgirls
Who are trying to figure out how to safely cross the running river

The party resumes in upper Williamsburg with
DJs leading enthusiastic crowds
In ecstatic beat-driven dances 
The air reeks of beer 
The ground is littered with paper cups 
I didn’t expect to hurt from smiling

​Over the Pulaski Bridge into Queens
Rounding the corner I see
My name in rainbow letters on a card
Being held high in the air by Katherine,
Next to her, grinning like Cheshire Cats,
Aaron, Jesse, Brenda, Paul, Naomi, and David
I run to them, smooch Aaron, and keep running
I see Annie, Marc, and Laura
Well, I hear them before I see them --
An excited “Lu Lyons!” yelled across the street 

Walk/running across Queensboro Bridge 
I start getting emotional
The red and white stacks of Big Allis 
Familiar sights from my first hospital room at Sloan

Everyone had said coming into Manhattan
We would be met with a wall of sound
It isn’t as loud as Park Slope 
But the crowd is enthusiastic 

Up First Avenue 
I keep wanting to cry 
We have driven up and down this road 
Countless times for hospital appointments 
When my immune system was too weak for mass transit 
And my life was pick lines and ports and needles and counts 

Don’t waste energy, stay focused
Mile 17
Memorial Sloan Kettering 
The glorious Fred’s Team supporters 
Orange and white pompoms waving in the wet 

Up through East Harlem 
Thinning crowds 
The water stations are treacherous 
Thousands of discarded cups 
Disintegrate into a pulpy mess in the rain 

Across the Willis Avenue Bridge
Into da Bronx and mile 20
Body flagging, legs cramping
Feet hurting
Lower back aching and
Brain no longer computing
Is a marathon 23 miles or 26?
How many kilometers are in a mile? 
I have no idea how far I have to go
It is raining and 
Everything Hurts

Aaron and the Rabinowii clan appear 
I tell them I’m dying
I want to stop and fall into their arms 
But they all look so excited 
I have to keep going 

Further down the road 
I see my name on another giant card 
Beneath it is Bob from the Lyric 
His smile and cheers give a much needed boost 
Even though I’ve been walk/running 
By chance, I am always running, when I spot my friends in the crowd ​

​Across the Madison Ave Bridge and
Down Fifth Avenue 
I have been running forever and 
I’m never going to finish 
Whose insane idea was this???

Into Central Park
My legs and feet ache 
I am walk/hobbling 
A policewoman calls out with a loudspeaker 
“Come on LuLu, you’re so close! Keep going, you got this! 
I start running again
“Atta girl. Keep going!”

Mile 25
Oh my god. When does this thing end? 
It is dark, it is raining
Where is the finish line? 

Turn right onto West 59th
The crowd is ecstatic
I am shuffling/running/crying 
I realize they’re going to take us through Columbus Circle
Faaark. It’s so far away. 

Across the longest block in the world
Make a right
Back into the park 

I can hear the finish line
I want to see it 
I want to scream and cry
I want the pain in my legs to go away 

Keep moving keep running
You got this, you got this
You’re nearly there 

The finish line is brightly lit 
The crowd is cheering 
The announcer says 
“Lulu from Fred’s Team sees that finish line!” 
Yes she does!!! 

I try to remember to keep my head up as I cross the line 
You want a good photo
You want a good rest 
You want to never run anywhere ever again 

I walk/cry toward my medal
I walk/cry down the road 
Someone hands me a recovery bag
I spot the Fred’s Team volunteers
One of them comes over, takes my bag, guides me to the tent 
I am a blubbering mess
I am so proud of myself 
I can’t believe I just ran a marathon 
Everything hurts
I just ran a marathon
I am so happy
Everything hurts. 

The Fred’s Team folk are warm and wonderful 
People who I only met in person 24 hours ago
But have tracked my journey
Since I signed up in May, and
Have become my lifelines 
The sit me down and ply me with gatorade and chips

I have to walk to meet my family 
Up and over the pedestrian bridge 
(Who puts stairs at the end of a marathon?! 
Cruelty!!!)
Out to 72nd Street to meet the Rabinowii clan 
Katherine places a laurel wreath on my head 
Danni appears, he had seen me at the end but 
I was in the zone 
And missed him 

​Downtown to David and Katherine’s
Naomi massages my feet 
We marvel that I don’t have a single blister
I shower and discover awful chafing beneath my sports bra 
The water stings but it’s also
A huge relief

I eat a mountain of salad 
Fresh crusty bread 
And two helpings of homemade lasagne

Paul and Naomi drive us home 
Where I collapse into bed
The next morning I am still on a runners high

To my own amazement
I head back out to Sloan Kettering
I have been invited with Fred’s Team to visit the pediatric ward 
It is strange to smell the antibacterial foam
See patients with their rolling dancing partners 
Just a few floors down from where I was a few years ago 

We meet a sixteen-year-old boy
Who is undergoing treatment for leukemia
I tell him I was going through the same thing three years ago
His eyes widen
You’ve got this, I tell him
You’ve got this

The end. ​