I run for me. And I run for my Mom.

My mom had always been very fit and health conscious (save the Donatos personal pizzas she couldn’t get enough of). As kids, we were always involved in activities, constantly outside running and playing. She grew a lush garden and canned a crazy amount of vegetables. My mom, the suburban hippie, even made our baby food from the garden. I don’t recall a meal on our table that was ever missing a fruit and vegetable.

And she ran. She ran a lot. Although she didn’t start as a runner. My mom was a walker all her life. Whether it was on the beach, or through her hometown, she could walk for miles and miles. Often accompanied by a neighbor, a sister, a friend, or one or both of her daughters, we used this time to talk about everything going on in our lives. I remember in high school, we’d start down our sidewalk, and walk what seemed half of Lancaster, covering 4-5 miles roundtrip. Schoolwork, boyfriends, swim team, colleges. We talked about it all – with no interruptions.

She decided she could run. And she did. She had a couple close friends who were her regular running partners. What started as a couple miles, a couple times a week, grew into a love for the sport. She had all of the appropriate apparel, entered all of the 5ks, and eventually, registered for a half-marathon. She and her friend, Jenny, ran through the countryside on a mission. They wanted to run, run strong, and finish. And they did. A few half-marathons were under her belt now. It was hard to find the time to train, as she worked full time and had three children and a husband. She continued to run in the evenings, on the weekends, whenever and wherever she could. She ran the Spring 2006 marathon with her best time yet.

Always maintaining her stamina, she returned to training for another half marathon the next year. Her running partner and friend, Julie, started noticing something strange during their training. My mom was starting to weave. Typically very balanced and strong, she would work her way partly across the road without noticing. Julie adjusted, and moved her to the inside. This helped. Although once, while running through Lancaster, she suffered a fall and injured her face.

There were some other strange things going on that year – without solid explanations. My mom had been in a handful of fender benders. Although mostly involving her going up over a curb and flattening tires, these seemed more than fluke incidents.

When it came time for the half marathon in May of 2007, my Mom felt strong, but not as strong as she had following her training in previous years. To cheer for our running Momma, I met my Dad and his friend, Matt, in German Village along the running route, at the 11 mile mark. We waited. We waited what seemed to be too long. Her pace was faster than this. Then we saw Julie, looking great and running strong! This was odd, since my Mom was typically a stronger runner than Julie. Assuming she was close behind, Julie let us know that she had fallen back a bit, and there was a concerned medic watching her for a little while. We told Julie to run on, and we would find my Mom. We started heading against the runners, along the route, looking for her. Then we saw her. She was walking. She was leaning very far to one side, and was again weaving along the road. Do you remember the old V8 commercials where someone would lean to almost a 90-degree angle before their V8 allowed them to walk upright? Well, she looked like that. The medic asked that we stop her. This went without saying, as she was very visibly not ok. It took some convincing. And some anger. And some tears. But she stopped. In walking distance, we went to Matt’s house and she had something to eat and drink, and decided she really was fine, just tired.

Two months, three leading hospitals, and four neurologists later, she was diagnosed with Corticobasal Degeneration. A wicked neurodegenerative disease with no treatment and no cure. Those strange symptoms we were noticing were really just the beginning. She continued running casually, and going on long walks with friends, until it became unsafe for her.

A lot has transpired for my Mom since the Summer of 2007. In three short years, she’s aged as many decades. She won’t be able to travel to Columbus to the race to cheer me on tomorrow, for my first half-marathon, as it’s been difficult for her to leave the house lately. My husband, son, sister and others will be there when I cross the finish line. And I know, without a doubt, that my biggest cheerleader will be cheering me on from home. I hope I make her proud.

My mom and friend, Julie Boyd, after the 2006 1/2 Marathon