The Cure for the Common Cold

But I'm moving them.

I have to keep flexing my feet and calves to keep the cramps away.

But I'm flexing them.

I ache in areas of my body I wasn't aware were even there.

But I feel the ache!

My toes are bruised and bloody. My body aches from neck to toes. I'm sunburned, and I'm still fighting the dregs of one nasty headcold.

Thanks to the support of friends, family, and complete strangers, I have my medal.

I had some barricades to tear down. First, the psychological wall that I encountered earlier this month. Then, the physical one that knocked me down just last week. A headcold doesn't sound like a big deal, but I was so congested I couldn't get much air. Training was out of the question, and I could barely talk.

Just last Thursday, I went home from work early (big thanks to Chris Dorobek for having my back!) and went to bed. I cried myself to sleep, thinking how I'd come so far only to get so sick just hours away from the big day.

A colleague texted me. "No marathon for you."

I texted back, "Not giving up" and I meant it.

My mantra: "Just get me to the starting line. Just get me there, and we'll see what happens."

I was feeling weak but excited when I met up with WTOP's Kate Beal early Sunday morning. She and I made our way to the starting line and shivered in the pre-dawn cold with our husbands until the cannon fired and we were off. There were so many people in line ahead of us, it took us nearly 23 minutes to cross the official starting line!

Right off the bat -- a hill. A big one. And the congestion kicked in. I felt the nasty stuff in my lungs, and I started coughing. I wondered, "Wow. Already? Can I do this?"

Then, right around the very first mile marker, a young man ran past us. Clearly a young war veteran, he had one leg. His missing leg was replaced by a shiny aluminum runner's prosthesis. He wasn't sprinting, but he wasn't stopping.

I turned to Kate. "When I start to get whiny, remind me of that guy."

"Will do!" she said.

She was a rock throughout the race.

It was Kate's first marathon, and watching it through her eyes was amazing. She helped me keep pace and remember that my goal today wasn't to beat my old time but merely to finish. Kate had the presence of mind to take in the sights, relax during the run, and appreciate the supporters.

I cannot say enough about the supporters. Amazing people. The cheering, the signs, the music, the festival atmosphere all helped us keep pace and forget how much pain we were in. If you've ever been on the sidelines during a race like the Marine Corps Marathon, thank you. You have no idea how much we runners draw on your support and enthusiasm. We need you. During the Key Bridge portion of the race, there are very few -- if any -- bystanders. It just isn't logistically possible. That's where a lot of runners really hit the wall -- not only because the bridge is concrete, long, windy, uphill and generally a horrible place to run - but because there's no love there.

After the bridge we hobbled a bit, then got right back up to speed, focused on getting to Mile 23.

That part of the run was awful -- a complete mind game the way it was set up.

I turned to Kate and said, "I don't think I can do this."

Kate chirped up, "You've got three miles to go! You can do that in your sleep!"

But I was hurting and a bit delirious.

Then I saw WTOP's Kristi King with a microphone and a speaker.

Well, that's not true.

I heard Kristi King shouting through that speaker.

She was encouraging all the runners as they went by. I recognized the voice, looked around, and there my friend was. I ran right up to her and hugged her tight, nearly crying.

"Don't stop! Don't stop! Go Amy, go Kate! You're nearly done! You're almost there!"

We chugged along. I had my second wind. Kate laughed and said, "Wow. We really needed that!"

Off we went.

The longer Kate and I ran, the more I coughed. The more the congestion loosened, the more wind I could get. I was beating the cold, and I was beating the race. Then Kate said the magic words, provided to us by our old friend Steve Dolge.

"GO GET YOUR MEDAL."

As we passed mile 26, realizing we only had two-tenths of a mile to go, I took off. As we approached the finish, and the Marines lined our path cheering us on, I turned to look for Kate. She was a bit behind; not far, but slowing down.

I stopped. I went back, grabbed her arm.

"Together! We finish strong, and we finish together!"

And, together, we sprinted to the end.

Hear Amy and Tom talk about the race by clicking here. We also have some great video of Amy during and after the race!