My wife started it. I was fat, dumb, and happy running a couple of miles three or four times a week. Then one beautiful spring day in 2007, she walked in and announced, “We are running the Marine Corps Marathon.” She said it in that tone and manner that precluded any possible answer except, “Well, yes, dear, of course we are.”

As calmly and reasonably as I could, I asked Catherine why she thought we should run the Marine Corps Marathon. She calmly, and with a mind completely made up, stated that since our son-in-law Garrett was deployed to Iraq and still would be at the time of the marathon, we would run it in his honor and the honor of all the other soldiers. Now, Garrett was in the Army and not the Marine Corps, but it did not seem right to get picky at that point. Instead, I decided it was time to start training in earnest.

The Marine Corps Marathon is run in Washington, DC, in late October, so that meant training through the sweltering mugginess of a south-Georgia summer. Only those who have done it can appreciate three hours of shuffling through 80-plus temps combined with 70-plus percent humidity . . . at seven o’clock in the morning! We employed long runs, walk breaks, trips to the gym, and appointments with the physical therapist. On our vacation to Hilton Head, SC, we dutifully ran our long run. Catherine had money to stop for sports drinks and water at the convenience stores along the way. Instead, she bought beer and ran the last two miles to our condo with a six-pack under her arm. I love my wife. We topped our long runs at 18 miles, and Catherine suffered an injury that resulted in a two-month taper. At least she would be well rested.

Since this was our first, and probably only, marathon we decided to go all out and take in the entire experience. We stayed at the host hotel. We rode the bus to the race expo and bought lots of stuff we did not need. We bought coffee cups and socks that were guaranteed to prevent blisters. We listened to the guest speakers and met ultrarunning legend Frank Bozanich. He was at a display selling $100 sunglasses, and I almost bought a pair of those before Catherine dragged me away.

As we wound our way through the expo, I saw a display for the Air Force Marathon. I was in the Air Force many years ago. If I ran the Marines’ marathon, then should I not run the Air Force’s, too? I will get back to that later.

Race day was clear and cool, perfect for a first marathon. Catherine and I followed the mass of runners from the hotel to the Metro entrance and made our way to the starting line. There were hundreds of porta-potties lined up in the parking lot with hundreds of runners standing in line and hundreds more behind every bush and tree in sight. After standing for the national anthem and finding a good spot at the starting line, we reviewed our race strategy. We would stay together for the first two miles, and then we would settle into our respective paces and find each other at the finish.

When the race started, we began our combination of running and walking along with numerous trips to the bushes to relieve nervous bladders. At one stop, as I followed Catherine to the side of the street, a voice came from the underbrush, “This is the ladies’ side of the road. Men to the other side.”

After two miles, we hugged and wished each other luck. As I left Catherine I thought about our respective goals. Mine was to try to stay around a 12-minute-permile pace, and hers was to make it to the 20-mile mark before the course closed.

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Courtesy of Micah Ward

The Marine Corps Marathon gives you until 1:00 p.m. to make it to 20 miles, and if you do you can take the rest of the day to finish. That was Catherine’s goal. Our oldest daughter, Elizabeth, and her husband, Chris, were riding bicycles

around the course and taking pictures of us. They were surprised to see me smiling and having such a good time. But when you are as slow as I am, you might as well have fun because you sure aren’t going to win. Running through

Washington, DC, was amazing and we enjoyed every minute of it. Seeing the monuments and the neighborhoods was great, and the spectators could not have been better. Catherine and I had shirts printed with our son-in-law’s name on the

front and his unit, the 82nd Airborne Division, on the back. We received a lot of support throughout the course. There were a lot of military-themed shirts in the race as well as a lot of Virginia Tech shirts because this was the year of the

horrific shooting on that campus. And there were fun shirts. I passed a woman wearing one that read, “Naked Marines at the Finish.” Well, whatever motivates you! I made it to the finish line just short of five and a half hours and received my

finisher’s medal. I then wandered around with the rest of the walking wounded wearing my medal, space blanket, and a grin from ear to ear. Elizabeth and Chris found me, and about an hour later we saw Catherine coming down the sidewalk

with her medal and space blanket grinning from ear to ear also! It was the greatest moment in my running career. Later that night we hobbled down to the hotel lobby wearing our medals to enjoy a celebratory beer and burger. As we made eye contract with dozens of other

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Micah and Catherine complete their mission at the Marine Corps Marathon.

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hobbling medal-wearers, we smiled and nodded and realized we had joined that special fraternity of marathon finishers. Catherine’s idea could not have turned out better. Remember the Air Force Marathon? Well, it took two years, but in 2009 Elizabeth offered to run it with me. Elizabeth was not in the Air Force, but she was born in an Air Force hospital so it seemed appropriate that she would run it with me. So once again I hit the sweltering summer training routes to prepare for a September marathon, this time at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio. And this time I had huge ambitions beyond just finishing.

You see, Elizabeth was a college cross-country runner. Elizabeth has run several marathons. Elizabeth has run the Boston Marathon . . . twice! Elizabeth would pace me to a sub-5:00 finish. Or so went the plan.

I drove to Dayton from Georgia, and Elizabeth flew up from Texas where she was now working as a physical therapist. Yeah, I had my own physical therapist for this race! And at the advice of my own physical therapist, we limited our time walking around the expo. Instead, we walked around the national Air Force museum at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. Maybe it was not the best thing for our legs, but it was great for boosting the morale of this former Air Force officer.

Race day was another perfect day for marathon running. It was sunny but cool, and when we lined up for the start we were treated to a flyover by two F-16

fighter jets. As they roared overhead Elizabeth said, “You know, the 20-mile mark is where we could really use those.” We were pumped up and ready to begin. At the start we fell in with the five-hour pace group, but before two miles passed I was feeling impatient. This was too slow. So we left the pace group behind and I gave it no more thought—until we hit the 20-mile mark. That is when I heard voices from behind and saw them gaining on us. It was also at that time that Elizabeth’s starting-line request was answered. We were passing a runway, and two F-16 fighters roared down the runway and streaked into the sky. My adrenaline spiked straight up, but the five-hour pace group kept coming. It slowly caught and then passed us as we passed the 22-mile marker.

As the pace group faded into the distance, Elizabeth kept up a steady stream of encouragement. We made it into the home stretch and sprinted—well, it felt like a sprint—between two rows of vintage airplanes, crossing the finish line hand in hand in five hours and five minutes. Air Force colonels were draping finisher medals over the head of each runner, and after getting ours, we headed off to the pizza tent. I sat there thinking about how great it was to have finished a marathon with my wife and my oldest daughter. Life was good.

But then there were the other two daughters: Amy and Abby. Amy and Abby are twins, and I told them that if they ever decided to run a marathon, I would run their first one with them. I was not worried about that promise. The twins were not runners. The twins were soccer goalies and basketball players. They only ran sprints up and down basketball courts. Amy and Abby were power forwards, and power forwards do not run marathons. They ran one season of high school track and swore they would never do it again.

So I made the promise secure in the knowledge that I would never have to run any farther than a 10K ever again. But didn’t someone say something somewhere about the plans of mice and men? Amy is married to Garrett. Remember Garrett and the Marine Corps Marathon? Well, the Army transferred Garrett to Colorado Springs. It seems that everyone in Colorado Springs runs. I think there is a city ordinance that requires it. So Amy started running. But I was not alarmed yet. She and Abby had run a couple of 5Ks in the past on absolutely no training. They were not the type to get excited about base-building and long runs. They were more excited about carboloading and tapering.

But then the announcement was made: Savannah, Georgia, would host the Rock ’n’ Roll Marathon in November 2011. Amy is a smart girl. Amy knows that Savannah is flat and sits at sea level. Amy lives at 6,000 feet elevation and runs on hills all the time. Amy knows that Savannah would be perfect for her first marathon.

Abby does not live at altitude. Abby lives in Indiana. But if one twin decides to run a marathon, then the other one will do it, too. Twins are funny like that.

So after roundly cursing my promise to the twins, I set about training to run the Rock ’n’ Roll Savannah Marathon. I started with speed work in the spring by trying to keep up with my hound, Bella the Wonder Dog. As spring turned into the hot and humid monstrosity that is a south-Georgia summer, Bella the Wonder Dog started growling at the leash and refusing to leave the air-conditioned house. Bella the Wonder Dog obviously has more sense than her master.

We all made it through the summer, and two days before the race the twins arrived for the big adventure. Abby brought her boyfriend, Jake, and Amy brought our 3-year-old grandson, Grant. My wife had made reservations for the two of us at a haunted bed-and-breakfast inn in downtown Savannah, and of course Grant insisted on staying with Grandma and Grandpa. As I pulled up to the inn my car radio was playing the Grateful Dead singing “Going Down the Road Feeling Bad.” Was that an ill omen for the next day?

I was not worried about ghosts disturbing my sleep, but having a 3-yearold grandson sleeping with Grandma and Grandpa is not conducive to proper premarathon rest. But what does it really matter? There was no danger of my winning the race.

I sneaked out of the room early the next morning and left Grant and Grandma to snooze until it was time for them to meet us at the finish line. I walked down to the start area and found the twins and Jake. Jake would spend the morning running around town to various parts of the course so that our pain and suffering could be recorded on camera.

We settled into our corral, and it slowly made its way to the starting line. When our time came, we bolted from the start and I immediately shouted for the twins to slow down. After all, this was going to take all morning! The twins chatted endlessly as twins do as we looked for Jake and waved for the camera. After 20

Courtesy of Micah Ward

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Elizabeth is smiling after she did her best to get Dad under five hours.

Courtesy of Micah Ward

▲ Amy and Abby show off their medals before returning to the champagne after the Portland Marathon.

miles of running through Savannah neighborhoods, the eventual finally happened. The wheels came off. I guess there really is something about that Wall thing. I was starting to slow dramatically, and Amy and Abby were starting to complain of pain in their knees. It seems that both of them were hurting in the same knee. I guess it was that twin thing again. So we agreed that they would go on ahead and get ice on their knees as soon as they could, and I would finish when I finally got around to it. That wound up being about five and a half hours after I started.

The twins finished 12 minutes ahead of me and were in Forsyth Park drinking champagne when I arrived. Yes, they really were! A friend of theirs was waiting on them with the bubbly, and the celebration was in full swing.

I eased onto a bench beneath a magnificent old live oak tree and watched the Spanish moss swaying in the breeze. I had fulfilled my promise to the twins, and now I was enjoying the sublime knowledge that there were no more marathons to run. Then it hit me.

I had retired three months earlier. Catherine, Elizabeth, Amy, and Abby had conspired to get me a special present for my retirement. Did they buy me a gold watch and a new recliner? No! They bought a Garmin Forerunner and entered me in the Big Sur Marathon in California. I have yet another marathon to run!

I wonder if Bella the Wonder Dog will growl when I reach for the leash.