There I was at 2am, eyes wide open, on January 31, 2010 in our hotel room on the fourth floor of the oh-so-elegant Eden Roc Hotel in Miami Beach, FL. By 3:30am, I was literally jumping up and down on my bed in excitement. After all the months of fundraising and planning, the day of the marathon was here. It was especially a momentous event to me, as my youngest child is trached and vented and needs 24/7 nursing. The planning that it took to get her healthy and the house prepared for me not being home with her, and her care instructions articulated to my husband was about the same amount of planning it took to get her ready for her stay at Camp Simcha Special last summer.

But here I was with my 14 year old son Joel, ready to take on the ½ marathon. In my mind, for months, I imagined how emotional it would be for me personally to partake in the marathon…and it always ended with me at the finish line. So in the early morning hour of 4:00am, we both got into our race gear that we had carefully laid out the night before and charged down to the lobby. All the other Chai Lifeline racers had the same idea.

My first marathon, I had no idea what to expect. I loaded the waist of my pants with a line of granola bars (for emergency boost of energy needed during the race), ate quickly the muffins and bananas provided to us and loaded onto the first bus to get us to the start line. The pitch black of the early morning was exhilarating as we listened to the marathon announcer/DJ blast through the now 5am pre-dawn. “Welcome to the Chai Lifeline Team” was announced over and over. We screamed. We shouted. We cheered as we took pictures of ourselves in our gear.

Mile one, I looked over at my son Joel and he at me, and later we told each other that we had each the same thought. How are we going to do it? I am a 44 year old woman with arthritis and Harrington Rods in my spine. I spend my days caring for my daughter and her needs. In spite of my constraints, I have been exercising daily for the past 15 years. I have actually been preparing for this moment for my entire life. I raised money for the race using every trick I know. I have biked miles and miles to build up my stamina. Here I was, ready for the journey to begin. A 44 year old woman, feeling like she was 20 again, with granola bars lining my pants waistband, cell phone and iPod clipped to my clothes, and a water bottle in hand. I was ready to power-walk the 13.1 miles for myself, my son, my husband, my daughters and for all the children of Camp Simcha.

With each completed mile, Joel and I slapped each others hand in a high five, and laughed in amazement and joy at what we were accomplishing. Many times at home before our journey, I was overcome at times with emotion just thinking about how it would feel to walk the race. And as this race was actually taking place, it was just like that only more.

The last 3 miles went by in a blur. We walked. We talked. We screamed. We cheered. We spit water and Gatorade out onto the streets and threw orange peels and our cups to the side of the road. We thanked the policemen and women for clearing the roads. We waved to the Chai Lifeline supporters lining the route. We felt the spirit of the runners who had already finished, and were cheered on by many. We rang the loud clanging bells that had been given to us at mile 9 and made the most possible noise with them for those last miles. We were noisy. We were exhilarated. We were proud. We were in awe of the event and of the racers who seemed to each run for a purpose. A cause. A life. We were Team Lifeline.

As we rounded the last bends of road in the last half mile, I called my youngest daughter from my cellphone. I needed her to be with us, to hear us scream and cheer as we would cross that finish line. I told her that Joel and I were doing it together with her, that is was as if she was with us for the entire race. And she was. She might never run a marathon, or power walk one like we had just done, but she might just be there in the 2011 Miami Marathon, waiting in the sidelines, waiting to be pulled in to the last mile to cross the finish line in her wheelchair with us.

We wore our medals through the Miami airport and back to NY. We could barely move. We had blisters, aches, pains. We were happy. We were proud. We were Team Lifeline.

Two days later, I brought my medal and Team Lifeline shirt to a meeting of friends to show them what I accomplished. My boasting and bragging never came to fruition. I received a phone call that my husband, age 45, was having a heart attack at work. We almost lost him, but because of his quick thinking, he was able to get the help he needed. He is going to undergo another surgery a week from now. I am planning on having him race with us in Miami in 2011 with Team Finkelstein.

So, I have learned many lessons from my experience, ones that I will take with me forever. But I would most of all like to express my gratitude and thanks for letting my family take part in this journey. I am deeply grateful for the joy and pride that it has given me to be part of Team Lifeline. To be part of something bigger than me, my family, and the trials that we face as a family and our child’s illness.

Sincerely,

Lori Finkelstein
Wife, Mother, ½ Marathoner (Time: 3:23:09)