By Paul Hackley

Kaboom! The race started with a cannon shot. Everyone jumped and shouted involuntarily and we were off down the hill. I knew already that it was going to go better than my last marathon because I didn’t have to kill any cockroaches in my hotel room.

Everything about Steamtown was great – starting with the weekly pre-race emails from race director Jim Cummings. By the time race day arrived I felt like I was part of his family. The red-headed stepchild.

Scranton is a bit of a drive from Loudoun County, but I had a good head start, leaving from the Germantown SoccerPlex after watching my daughter’s team get pummeled, twice. Stopping in Wilkes-Barre at Appleby’s, I ate dinner at the bar and listened to some tool talk to his tool friend about what tools do on Saturday night. I decided it was better to be old and boring.

The hotel clerk wished me good luck and I was snoring by nine.

Steamtown is a point-to-point race and an army of buses was waiting in downtown Scranton to take runners to the start, 26.2 miles away. I was on the first bus with all the other Type A punctual personalities (A stands for anal) and off we went into the dark towards Forest City. My seatmate was about my age and we shared happy running stories. His young daughter had written ‘Go Dad’ on his hand in bright red Sharpie and he was running for her.

The Forest City High School kids greeted us with enthusiastic cheer, pep, and vigor, which is simply amazing because I have never seen a teenager awake before dawn, much less shouting excitedly and shaking Pom Poms to and fro.

One of the disadvantages of being punctual is that you spend your entire life waiting for other people to show up for things – so I took a little nap on the warm floor of the gym as 1,859 other runners filed in. Then out into the cold for the port-a-potties, the Star Spangled Banner, and …… Kaboom!

And it went downhill from there. Literally. The course drops close to a thousand feet overall and most of that is in the first half. It went by like a breeze on a rural highway and the October scenery and tree colors were fantastic. We ran through several small towns – Main Street, USA – and the spectators were just hooting and hollering. Those folks must have been bused in too because there is no possible way that that many people could live out there. Out in the ‘country.’

Between miles sixteen to twenty there is a fantastic trail section along the Lackawanna River. For parts of this I could hear the river splashing through riffles over the sound of my footfalls and ragged breathing. It was quiet and beautiful and remarkable that it was part of the same course that had such landmarks as the ‘Lackawanna River Basin Sewer’ and the industry of Enterprise Street.

And then the hills. The notorious, obnoxious, infamous hills. The guy next to me at the start of the first big one turned and said “this is just ridiculous” with a completely serious and pissed-off expression. As though it were some evil plan foisted upon us by the Northeast Pennsylvania Running Club.

Around mile twenty-four we were accosted by a teenage boy with a hose. Even though it was just cracking sixty degrees it really was quite a sprinkling relief. Although it probably would have been considered a criminal act in any other context. His neighborhood was filled with cheering, waving, uplifting people.

Finally the last downhill to the downtown finish and suddenly my legs were confronted with the feeling of walking again. Wandering, tired, confused, I needed to see another runner with his bib number marked on a plastic trash bag to remember that I was supposed to pick up my own trash bag filled with things I didn’t need to carry 26.2 miles.

Nadine was relieved to hear my voice on the phone and I was proud to tell her that I hadn’t qualified for Boston but yet still alive with a new PR of 3:23. A hot shower in the University of Scranton field house sealed the deal and I will be back in Scranton next October. If she lets me………

by Wilson Chua

After completing my fifth Marine Corps Marathon last year, I decided to take a year off running the full marathon. However, I wanted to get Wallace involved; I thought it would be meaningful for him to run and would provide him with good exercise, while also raising money and awareness for autism research.  I knew it would be a big challenge for him as he had never run more than a quarter mile in the past.

It turned out Wallace was more than willing to give it a try.  He’s a very easygoing person.  He has gone with almost anything that we have asked him to do, even though he might not have liked them.  We started our training with one-mile walks a couple of months before the Marine Corps 10K.  It wasn’t always easy because Wallace needed constant verbal prompts and pushes from behind to keep going.  For all of the hassle, it was worth it to spend time with Wallace and to get him running and keep him healthy.

While raising money and awareness for the autism community are certainly key parts of this story, an even larger part is our father-son bond.  We had a lot of fun running together.  My younger son, Cameron, would go along on the training runs on his bike.  For all of the struggles Wallace faces and the things he cannot do, I always see the potential in Wallace as I realize that ‘nothing is impossible’ for him.  Given opportunities and being patient with him, the sky is the limit.  For example, a couple years ago, Wallace was unable to swim 10 meters. Now, after practicing, he can swim over 1,000 meters.

The morning of the 10K was chilly, the start line was crowded and the bridge was slippery, which may have been why Wallace didn’t start out very enthusiastically.  I had to push his back to get him running, but he would frequently push back and suddenly stop.  However, he sped up after the two-mile marker. It was a great experience for both of us because of all the people who ran or walked past us giving encouragement.  We crossed the finish line in 1 hour 30 minutes.  Our finish time was definitely too slow for all the serious runners out there; for Wallace, it was a monumental achievement.

Soon after the Marine Corps Marathon 10K, I received an inspiring e-mail from another runner. I think this stranger’s story best explained our running experience: “A few weeks ago I fractured my wrist so yesterday I was walking rather than running the Marine Marathon 10K in Washington, DC.  Sometime along the course in Crystal City area, I witnessed an extraordinary moment.  I saw a father and son (I think) wearing OAR [Organization for Autism] shirts… The younger man or perhaps he was a teen was happily running along with rosy cheeks and clearly enjoying the sheer delight of freedom at that moment, more or less oblivious to the thousands of others around him.  The other man, a male relative or friend, was close behind…  Later at the finish area near the Iwo Jima memorial I saw a woman and a much younger boy who looked like (but just a guess) to be the mother and little brother of the two still out on the course.  I just wanted to write and say (though I really can’t describe it) how moving it was to see this father’s love and dedication to the best interest of his child. Quite a pair of athletes! And what a team of ambassadors for OAR!”

Wallace was the reason and inspiration for this challenge. He may never understand what he had accomplished – that is who he is and part of his autism.  I figured that a few months of training and dedication was the least we could do for the autism community.  Since we had so much fun running together, we will aim for a more challenging course next year: the Woodrow Wilson Bridge Half Marathon.  It is my hope that perhaps in the not too far in the future, Wallace can run the Marine Corps Marathon with me!

by Heidi Ambrose

Dingle, Ireland, Sept 3, 2011

Since 2000, I think it’s been in the stars that I run the Dingle Peninsula Marathon in Ireland. It all began with the Marine Corps Marathon in 2000. I ran my first marathon for a little, red-headed Irish girl named Katie O’Brien, who later died from complications due to Leukemia. For that race, she made a small wooden cross with her name inscribed on it for me to carry as inspiration. Since then, I’ve carried that cross for every marathon I’ve run to give me strength, for it is a reminder of what she endured and what I endured as cancer patients.

A several years after that, while running the Charlottesville Marathon, I met two Irish students who were spending a year in the United States. They talked a lot about their homeland. I never thought I’d go there, but it was nice to hear about it. Not long after that, I was offered a trip to… yup, Ireland.

As planning for that trip began, it happened that it would coincide with the Dingle Marathon. I signed up for the Sept. 3^rd run only to find out that that day was Katie O’Brien’s birthday. I took that as a good sign.

After arriving in Dublin, we began driving south to Dingle. As we left the city, we drove past a pub called Katie O’Brien’s.  I smiled thinking someone was giving me another good message that I was definitely supposed to be there.

Dingle turned out to be a wonderful place on the Southwest coast. Simply the picture perfect fishing village you would expect to find in Ireland: great pubs, friendly people and stunning scenery.

The day of the marathon dawned with partly sunny skies and temperatures in the 40s. This seemed like heaven since I’d been training all summer in Virginia’s heat and humidity. Fueling myself with traditional Irish scones and oatmeal, I joined approximately 500 runners at the starting line on the waterfront in Dingle.

After leaving Dingle town, the marathon traveled around the spectacular Dingle Peninsula. The scenery was truly breath taking with magnificent views of the ocean, soaring cliffs, and green hillsides dotted with sheep and lined with a patchwork of stonewalls. From the course you could also see the Great Blasket Islands. We ran through the beautiful villages of Ballyferiter, Dunquin and other small, idyllic spots. In each one, we were treated to orange slices or licorice candies from the locals.

Shouts of “Well done!” were heard over and over as we passed water stops (where we were handed an entire bottle of water) or from the occasional spectator. With the only road in the area closed, we didn’t have many spectators.

I joined a pace group and began chatting with a group of people who were from the surrounding counties. As some of the runners sped up or slowed down, the group dwindled. One runner and I seemed to wind up together and at the same pace. He and I talked for over half the race.

I counted down the miles over a number of grueling hills, twists and turns. Once through those sections I was at a point where I could see over the entire landscape. From there, we had a solid mile down hill and then a two-mile flat, straight stretch to the finish line. More “well done” cheers greeted me as I re-entered Dingle to the finish.

At the finish we were served grilled sausages and, of course, Guinness. No pretzels, no bagels, no bananas… just the meat and beer! Across the street, a local pub was filling up with marathon finishers looking for another pint. The sun came out fully by then, and pub goers spilled out onto the street wearing their marathon shirts and medals.

I finally got around to asking my running buddy his name. He replied, “Paudie. Paudie O’Brien.”

All coincidence? Maybe, but I choose to believe that a little red-headed Irish girl named Katie O’Brien was somehow guiding me to this destination and helping give me the inspiration to run a tough but rewarding marathon.