Why I’m going to run 40 miles on Dec. 30 to raise money for Alzheimer’s research

One of the things I really like about running is that I’m not very good at it.

I’ve run five marathons, for example. Know which one was the fastest? Did I get better with each one? Nope. The first was the best and there for a while, even though I was grinding out more and more miles, I only got slower and slower.

But maybe I’m figuring it out.

In June, I ran a half marathon five minutes faster than I ever had before. And because I had struggled through a hip issue and hadn’t really trained for it the way I wanted to, I was curious.

What if I got healthy, stayed healthy, did more work to figure out this training thing and followed a real training plan?

Turns out I just might set another personal best.

At the Belmar Bridge Half Marathon on the Sandy Creek Trail just outside Franklin, Sunday, I shaved another six minutes off my fastest time ever, down to one hour, 49 minutes.

And you know what? I feel like I could do better.

I lost a handful of seconds, for example, making my way through this super dark tunnel.

It was a little after 8 a.m., and as we get deeper into fall, the sun is slower and slower to climb in the sky. So about a quarter of the way through this tunnel, which was — and I’m bad at estimating distances — a few hundred yards, slowly, everything started to disappear.

The walls were gone, the paved path was gone. Everything disappeared into the darkness. Leaving only this pinhole of light — the light of the end of the tunnel — to orient by.

I felt myself drifting toward the walls, searching for the floors with my feet. I felt like I was drifting, floating, crashing. I kept running toward the light, but it didn’t seem to get any closer. Disoriented, I slowed down. (And got passed by someone apparently a little more comfortable with risk. I like my ankles unbroken, thank you.)

After making it through, somewhere up the next hill, I looked back at the wall of earth above the tunnel and thought, I bet that’s what Grandma feels like.

About two years ago, my grandma, Ruth Shannon, was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease. Although I’d read about it and written about Alzheimer’s, it, like anything else, is different when it’s somebody you love.

The first few visits to the nursing home, I went alone. She recognized me, she still does, which I feel pretty fortunate about, but, obviously conversations aren’t the same.

Time is different now for Grandma. More fluid. She asks me about the farm. The place where she spent her formative years, but a place I’ve only visited a handful of times. We talked about fairs — the Great Stoneboro Fair and Sheakleyville — and Christmas. Memories of my youth. Times we were closest.

She’s back, deep in that tunnel. With only a little tiny pinhole light to tell her which way is up. Which way to go. Whether she’s falling or not.

And she can hear us. She knows we’re there. We’re just way at the other end of the tunnel, and that makes it a bit harder to talk.

It would make for a better story if I could say that as I stumbled my way through the darkness, that’s when I decided it.

That just like how Grandma soldiers on through the dark, I decided that I should take on something that seems insurmountable.

You see, since I’ll be turning 40 at the end of the year, awhile back I decided I should run 40 miles and use it as a way to raise money for Alzheimer’s research.

Because it’s not fair that after a lifetime of regimented beauty parlor appointments that Grandma’s hair should fall flat. And that a woman who started her own business in a time when banks told her they weren’t really interested in helping a woman start a business should lose that authority in her voice. It’s not fair that a woman that kept an immaculate living room but didn’t even think about getting mad when I broke her Jesus plate display should not fully understand what me and my sister and my mom and Grandpa say when we say we love her (My Grandpa drives down the hill every day to see the woman he loves, you know. Chances are if you drove past the home today, you’d have seen their big white conversion van sitting out front. That’s real love, if anybody ever asks).

None of it’s fair. And if there’s people out there doing research to prevent this, to keep it at bay, to at least give people a few more, genuine, meaningful years, maybe we can help.

I chose the charity Cure Alzheimer’s because it puts its money toward research and is well rated as a charity. So, consider giving. Maybe $40 or $12.30, because I’ll be celebrating my 40th birthday on 12/30.

I’ll be doing my run on my birthday — Dec. 30 — so I’ll keep donations open for a couple days after, till Jan. 1.

Wish me and Grandma luck. Forty miles is a long way, but from what I’ve seen, Grandma’s journey is much longer.

Interested in donating?

Here’s a link: https://www.facebook.com/donate/852409096133496/