Courtesy of Elizabeth Thompson

She had not exercised vigorously for years. She discussed the plan with her medical oncologist who did blood work, a chest X-ray, and an EKG. She had received Adriamycin, a potent anticancer chemotherapy agent, when she had breast cancer. The drug can affect heart-muscle function, and he wanted to make sure that she was healthy enough to withstand 26.2 miles and potentially six hours of continuous exercise. He gave her the green light to train; she was strong.

Just to prove that the athlete was still alive, my father suggested that my mother support a local three-mile race for Friends Fighting Breast Cancer. My mother would claim that it was a fluke, but she entered and won the race in her age category, women over 50! The reinforcement of the trophy added fuel to the fire. The athlete inside her woke up. When I asked her about it, she recalled, “I did it for one main reason. To me, running a marathon, training and sticking it out to finish meant that I was strong again, even after a diagnosis of breast cancer, losing a part of my body, and receiving chemotherapy. I was making a statement to myself and to other women that it was certainly possible to accomplish an endurance athletic event after great trauma to the body. My breast cancer and recovery was a great motivational factor in my training and the race itself.”

Plodding along

The Jeff Galloway method seemed reasonable for her with the run/walk scheme. (I was a devoted Hal Higdon follower.) She planned on building her base for four months and then following the 16-week training plan. On Nantucket, she would complete serial loops around the one-mile paved road. I could watch her from the deck and keep an eye on the kitchen clock. If she didn’t come around once every 15 minutes, I would set out with my two children, Bebe and Sol, then ages 1 and 2, and we would check on her and run beside her. The first few runs of two to three miles, she found that she had trouble catching her breath. That gradually eased up once she built up her stamina. Eventually, after a few months, she

<4 The author and her mom at the 2002 New York City Marathon expo.

began to think that she would be ready for more serious training. She had trouble with recovery. To help her cross-train on her days off, she put on her “granny belt” and ran in the pool. Committed to finishing her first marathon, she took everything seriously. In addition to building endurance that summer (eight months before Boston), she decided to lose the extra weight. The combination of training and weight loss was amazing; she began to see the athlete again. But she had several hurdles to overcome, even with the positive start.

Running shoes

While the blue-and-orange Adidas of the 1970s had been her favorite back then, my mother discovered a brave new world of running shoes; but this time, she needed to go up a few sizes.

She found good shoes in the men’s section—size 10 men’s!—and realized that her feet had the tendency to swell on long runs. She needed orthotics, thick socks, and lots of Bodyglide to prevent blisters. She wore a running belt and carried a stock of Band-Aids and other goodies for her long runs.

Bra and prosthesis

Initially, she had a hard time finding a comfortable running bra and figuring out which prosthesis to wear. Foam or silicone? Most running-bra companies do not make a bra with a pocket for a prosthesis, either. Who could imagine a breastcancer survivor needing a running bra? Crisis! She had to go to the “old-lady bra store” and persuade the ladies there to sew a pocket into an exercise bra. ““You’re doing what?” they asked with a look of complete confusion. Balance and weight of the prosthesis must also be taken into account. A foam prosthesis weighs less than a silicone prosthesis, but after an hour of running the body can detect a weight difference, so silicone seemed a better idea. Silicone is closer in weight to a natural breast, so one feels balanced side to side. The silicone prostheses were heavy and made for sedentary women. Prostheses for athletes did not exist. Once halfway through a run, my mother took her prosthesis, which kept sliding around, and put it in her fanny pack! Instant Brazilian butt lift.

Lightweight foam prostheses for athletes did not exist either. My mother commissioned her Japanese friend, Kyoko, who sewed “falsies” out of Japanese stockings and cotton batting. Although weighing less, the foam hardly felt natural. After several months and different bras, she decided to ditch her prosthesis altogether and run without it. Any runs over 12 miles would leave her with hot spots where her skin chafed. She had altered sensation on her chest wall and under her arm anyway, so it felt better with no prosthesis. “Who cares what I look like?” she asked. She ran unbalanced, but soon the rhythm of the running took over, and she forgot about the right side.