Runner’s Spotlight: Kelly

I met Kelly in running club and we have run a few times together. I love how asking club members and running blogger friends to share the story behind why they run or how long they have been running opens a door into knowing them better and how it is encouraging to many of us. When I go about my errands in the morning, I often see Kelly on her runs and honk at her to say hi. I knew that she had run some marathons, but never knew how many and how long she had been running. I am honored for her to share her story with us!

Here is Kelly’s runner’s journey in her words!

I ran my first mile when I was 5 years old. My parents were college students at the University of Georgia, and they would go to the track and run around it while I played on the field equipment. This was in the early 70s before running was a popular sport. One day I just decided to try running a lap behind them. One lap led to four and somehow I did a mile and never forgot that feeling of accomplishment. My dad signed me up for a 5k when I was nine years old and we ran it together. After that, I was obsessed. I ran many 5ks and 10ks in my early teens. Dad and I would train on the track at night and inside the UGA coliseum when the weather was bad. We started running 10ks together and ran the Peachtree every year that I was in high school and college. In 1987, my dad and I ran our first half-marathon together. It was the Thanksgiving Day race, back when they bused us out to Clarkston for the start. We continued that tradition almost every year for the rest of his life.

I ran my first full marathon in 1996 in Atlanta. The “blue line” from the Olympics was still painted along the route and it was so cool to follow the path of the Olympians. My dad was there to cheer me on. In 1997, I ran the NYC marathon in the pouring rain and loved it. Bu after those two races, I thought I would never run that distance again. I dropped back down to running half-marathons throughout my 30s, as we started our family and raised our kids. When I turned 40, I decided I wanted to try marathoning again. I signed up for the Chickamauga Marathon and Dad drove me up there and met me along the course to cheer. I was surprised that my finishing time was only 2 minutes over a Boston Qualifier, so I quietly set my sights on that ultimate goal. My next marathon was in Jacksonville, Fl and I was thrilled to run a 3:54, which qualified me for Boston. In 2011, Dad and I made the trip to Boston.

Running the Boston Marathon was the greatest athletic achievement of my life to that date. When I boarded the buses for the long ride to the race start in Hopkinton, I felt like I was in a dream. Everybody on the bus was immediately like family. We were all sharing our stories of qualifying and past races and our hopes for the race ahead. During the race, it was so thrilling to run past all the historic landmarks, through the Wellesley “scream tunnel “ and up the dreaded “heartbreak” hills of Newton. Finally, I turned “right on Boylston and left on Hereford” and there was the finish line. And, of course, my dad was there yelling and beaming. I truly felt that I had reached the epitome of my running career. I knew I would probably never make it back to Boston and I felt so grateful and blessed to have this once-in-a-lifetime chance. I continued to run marathons but never dreamed of going back to Boston.

Then came April 15, 2013.

On that fateful day of the Boston Marathon bombing, my phone did not stop ringing. So many friends were worried that I was there. They wanted to know I was ok and to share in the horror of that event. We honestly didn’t know if there would ever be another Boston Marathon. I made up my mind that day that, if there were to be a 2014 race, I would be there. I had recently run a PR at the Jacksonville Marathon of 3:39:54. I knew that would be a good qualifying time, even with the rolling admissions. In September, I submitted my time and was accepted. I was going back to Boston to show the world that runners are strong and unafraid and to honor those who were killed and injured that day. Honestly, I was nervous to go back. We didn’t know if there would be another targeted attack. It’s the world’s largest athletic event and there is no way to secure an entire 26.2-mile course that winds through small towns and cities all the way to Boston. That year, the bus ride to the starting line was more somber and we were all anxious. Once again, I was in Hopkinton waiting to start the world’s most famous marathon. But this time there was such a feeling of unity and pride. Millions of spectators and tens of thousands of runners were so proud and honored to be out that day. I was never so happy to be a runner and to be a part of an event that showed the world our overwhelming love and support for the sport of running. We mourned those who were killed and injured while celebrating the spirit of freedom, all through the simple act of running this race together. I think I cried through the whole run, but so did everyone else. It was a beautiful day to be in Boston.

As fate would have it, I qualified for Boston the next two years and went back to run it again in 2015 and 2016. Since then, I am no longer the runner I used to be and I know I’ll never make it back, but I wouldn’t trade those 4 Boston medals and that experience for anything else in the world.

Tragically, I lost my Dad in 2018. He was hit by a car while running in his neighborhood in Athens. He had just set an age group record for the Athens Half Marathon, a race he had never missed. He suffered a traumatic brain injury and passed away after spending 8 days in the neuro ICU at Piedmont Hospital in Athens.

Running became more complicated after losing my dad. It was hard to get back out there without thinking of him at every step. He taught me the love of running and had cheered me on at so many races. But ultimately running became the one thing that has helped me heal. I now run to remember him and all the miles we ran together. This lifelong sport of running is the greatest gift he could have given me. A few weeks ago, I ran my 22nd marathon in Huntsville Alabama. I know I’ll never be the runner I used to be, but it has taken on a new meaning for me now. I am grateful every time I lace up my shoes and step out my door for another run.

Thank you, Kelly for sharing your story with us! What a journey, what a special bond with your dad!

A bientôt!

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