I used to think I was the health poster child. My parents cooked well. I moved. I ran, I did martial arts, I lifted weights. It was simple. Balanced. Then at 22, the universe punched me in the gut.
Sarcoidosis. A rare inflammatory disease. Lumps everywhere. Joints screaming. Nosebleeds. Fatigue that felt like wearing lead armor. It attacked my lungs, stripping away 40 percent of their function. Doctors had no cure. They gave me meds and hoped. I went into remission. For ten years.
Then I turned 34. My heart gave me notice. A hole in it. A faulty valve. Open-heart surgery to fix the mess. An artificial valve replaced the real one. It took over a year to heal. So I stopped running. Not because I didn’t want to, but because my new heart was fragile. I hiked instead. Danced. Did yoga. Movement kept me sane. It was the only constant.
25 years passed.
At 60, my mom died. Something broke. Or maybe something finally clicked. I needed to run. To honor her. To feel alive again.
I saw an ad. Team for Kids. NYC Marathon. They offered coaching. That was the lifeline I needed. With my doctor’s okay, I signed up. The 2020 NYC Marathon. I had 60 percent lung capacity. How was that going to work?
The first runs were brutal. One minute. Then walking. Just walking. I wondered if I was delusional. Who signs up for a marathon with damaged lungs and a plastic valve?
My coach introduced me to Jeff Galloway’s run-walk method. Run. Walk. Repeat. It felt like cheating. It wasn’t. It worked. I extended the running. Shortened the walking. Confidence built, inch by painful inch.
Then COVID hit. The marathon canceled.
Did I quit? No. I was already moving. In 2021, I ran the Boston Marathon virtually. 26.2 miles on GPS. I cried when I finished. Not from pain. From shock. From gratitude for every beat of my repaired heart and every shallow breath of my scarred lungs.
Now I am 66. Fourteen marathons down. Seven of the World Majors. I’m not stopping.
Training for a Body on Borrowed Time
I don’t train hard. I train smart. My coach builds a plan. I follow it. Four days a week I run. Intervals, long slow runs, easy shuffles. I swim. I do water aerobics. Strength training four days a week. Yoga two or three times to keep the rust off the joints.
The goal isn’t speed. It’s sustainability.
Recently, I ran the 2003 Boston Marathon? No. I ran a future one. Let’s call it 2024 or 2026 or whatever timeline the universe is operating on. I joined Team Abbott. Runners with health challenges. We don’t hide behind the disease. We run in spite of it.
This one went sideways.
Rhabdomyolysis. A terrifying name for a terrifying condition. Muscle breakdown. Toxins flooding the blood. During the final miles, I slipped in and out of consciousness. The world faded to black, then returned, then faded again. My coach and med staff pulled me across the line. I don’t remember it clearly.
I spent three days in ICU at Tufts. They saved me. Probably. The cause? Maybe genetic. Maybe meds. Maybe overdoing it. Maybe just bad luck.
I’m scaling back now. Yoga. Water aerobics. I went back to Boston recently. Ran a 10k. With permission. To kill the fear. To prove the muscles could still hold the body.
Respecting the Broken Parts
I have survived serious diagnoses. Sarcoidosis. Heart surgery. A near-death muscle failure. Each time, the body says no. I say wait. Then yes, but differently.
Listen to the signals. Slow down. Adjust. Rebuild.
This isn’t about returning to who I was at 22. That person is gone. This is about who I am at 66. Flawed. Fragile. Furious.
Resilience isn’t bouncing back immediately. It’s showing up anyway. It’s trusting the process. Even when the process involves hospital beds. Even when doubt creeps in. From others. From myself.
I train intentionally. Not for glory. For longevity.
Every workout has a purpose. Even the slow ones. Especially the rest ones.
It’s not about doing more. It’s about doing what sustains me.
I respect the limits. I push gently at the edge of them. I never break past.
God helps. The community helps. The doctors help.
And I run. Or walk. Or swim. Or wait.
Whatever the next mile requires, I will find it.
