Going the Distance

One step at a time, straining muscles carry bodies to the next mile along Wright-Patterson Air Force Base's 26.2 mile course. Before legs go numb and muscles ache, marathon runners reach a euphoric state that transcends physical pain. But the "runner's high" of some 3,000 participants in the Air Force Marathon can't compare to the rush of going the distance to the finish line.

On a crisp 47-degree Ohio morning, ideal running weather, almost 3,000 people waited. They stood in the dark watching their breath rise, like their blood pressure, at the starting line of the Air Force Marathon.

An assortment of bodies, some partially exposed, others covered in trashbag plastic, rubbed their arms and hopped around as they waited anxiously for the kickoff of the fourth annual event at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. Each ready for a challenge beyond the everyday rat race.

Not just anyone can run a marathon. Most Americans haven't. Much like the Marines, marathoners are the few, the proud. And they should be proud. Just training for the event takes discipline, courage and determination. It requires pushing the body beyond normal limitations. The rest of us observe the endurance of the human spirit from the sidelines as they race towards the finish. These are everyday heroes - ordinary people with extraordinary stories.

Touch and go

Senior Airman Celena Lea'l's positive attitude doesn't reflect the touch-and-go situations she's been through the past two years. When she first swore into the Air Force more than four years ago, she looked forward to pursuing her education. But she was faced with an unexpected pursuit when she stepped on a scale before sewing on her second stripe in 1997.

"I was surprised to find Out I was 6 pounds over my max [weight] and either 2 or 3 percent over my body fat [maximum]," the Wright-Patterson airman said.

Her promotion was withheld, and she was enrolled in the weight management program.

Although disappointed, exercise melted the weight away, and within three months, she made rank.

A few months later, she really started to gain weight -- she became pregnant. In March 1999, when her daughter Makayla was eight months old, Celena again became eligible for promotion. For a second time, the scale brought disappointment, only this time she was 9 pounds and 5 percent over.

Again it took three months of sweat to slim down to Air Force standards. A month after she received her promotion, a change in body measurement standards sent her back on the program. Although she kept her stripe, she again struggled to meet standards.

At the same time, Senior Airman Michael Lea'l, her husband, was leaving to attend Chinese linguist training in Monterey, Calif. Saying good-bye to him was bittersweet. Although she knew he was looking forward to the career change, her support system was moving 2,500 miles away for almost two years.

With her weight under control, she focused on another challenge -- single parenting.

The transition has been tough on the 23-year-old.

"I'm in need no matter what -- it's a constant thing," she said. "But the busier I keep myself, the faster time goes by."

Since April, she's kept busy -- and fit -- by training for the Air Force Marathon relay. She walked and ran at least four hours a week to practice for her part on an office team.

"Being on the office relay was a real morale booster," the airman said. She agreed to take the fourth leg -- one of the hardest and longest -- because she wanted to be the one to cross the finish line.

When race day came, she was surprisingly calm. She stood in the crowd at the third hand-off point listening for her number. She stepped into the exchange zone and searched for her partner. Capt. Michael Kelly scanned the crowd, spotted her pale blue bandana and passed her the timer chip.

She planned to walk some of the 6.7 miles wearing a headset and aimed at finishing before her 90-minute cassette tape ran out. She ran until the end and breathed a sigh of relief, with four minutes of music left.

Major mission

Chain-smoker Mark Tesmer was aware of the health implications of his habit. As chief of financial management in the Air Force Materiel Command surgeon's office at Wright-Patterson, the major couldn't help but know the consequences of his actions.

The contradiction of working in health services pushed him into being a "closet smoker." "I'd be at the hospital, take a break, go out to the car and drive around the block to have a cigarette, and then come back," he said.

His cigarette secret had been safe for years but another concern was gaining on him. His weight.

Two years earlier, while stationed at Offutt Air Force Base, Neb., he met a major who had lost 70 pounds through diet and exercise -- mostly running. This got Major Tesmer thinking.

His upcoming promotion board had been weighing on his mind and at a drive-through window, July 4, 1998, he decided his 210-pound body needed independence from fast-food. He quit drinking his five sodas per day, started eating scheduled meals and avoided fat. Hard candy and water kept him on track by curbing his appetite. He also began to run.

"I pounded the pavement until it hurt. And anything you do that hurts, after awhile you just aren't going to continue," he said. "So I quit."

He found that his new eating pattern became habit, and he shed 30 pounds the first year. In September 1999, he reached a weight-loss plateau and turned to running again. But this time, instead of a "no-pain, no-gain" attitude, he turned to an exercise reference guide, proper shoes and a heart-rate monitor.

"I always figured that because I had ankle and knee problems, I couldn't run," he said. "But I found out that if you have the right equipment, it'll compensate for a lot of those problems."

At first, the portable monitor urged him to walk as his heart escalated above the suggested training range. Although he walked most of the three miles that day, he slowly worked into running and started aiming at farther distances by staying within range.

"It didn't hurt anymore, and that's when running became fun," Major Tesmer said. "And of course losing weight helped me run a little faster."

He sprinted into 2000 by testing his new-found fitness at "The Resolution Run" in Beavercreek, Ohio. The 5-kilometer race started just before midnight New Year's Eve and ended in the new year. He was surprised to finish fourth in his age category.

"Once I decided to get fit, not just lose weight, smoking just didn't fit," the major said. "I couldn't go out and run five miles and then go light up a cigarette. I'd feel like I wasted everything I just did."

He found that the farther he ran, the farther he wanted to run. And his pursuits paid off proportionally.

"The Air Force says my ideal weight is 177 pounds. I remember -- back at 195 or 200 -- thinking I could never weigh 177. The next thing I knew, I was going by 177 -- then going for 170, then 160," he said.

During the summer, he gained momentum. But it wasn't until he talked to his supervisor, a lieutenant colonel in his forties with three marathons under his laces, that the major realized he, too, could run a marathon. He set his sights on one in his backyard, the Air Force marathon.

"My big hurdle in the winter was running 10 miles. Once I did it, I thought, 'That was nothing,'" Major Tesmer said. "This whole thing has been a series of little goals."

One of those goals was to average an 8-minute mile during the marathon.

His wife, Julie, and their three sons waited at mile 20, where he was five minutes ahead of schedule, to hand him nutritional encouragement. And it's a good thing they did because the major said he was getting grumpy prior to the reunion. Even though his lungs were hurting, once he heard his son, Jacob, 7, yell for him, things got easier.

Two years and 55 pounds after he first decided to get his life on track, the major finished with a time of 3:30:42 - 43rd in his age group.

"You don't have to be a superjock to run a marathon," he said. "Running changed my whole life, and it doesn't make my fingers stink."

What's next for this goal-oriented officer?

"I'm going home to take a nap."

Combat readiness

Even though he's been retired from the Air Force for more than 25 years, Bob Rogers is still combat ready.

Now 71, the closest he's been to the front line has been among the runners at this year's marathon. He and grand-daughter Rikkii Clement, 22, decided earlier this year to run the Air Force marathon together. It was her first and Mr. Rogers, a veteran of the 1978 Boston Marathon, thought it would be appropriate for his second one.

So they lined up with the rest of the pack, waiting for the start of the race, in matching shirts with their names and ages printed on the back.

Mr. Rogers didn't expect that introducing Rikkii to the thrill of endurance would include training her in the art of combat. At mile 22, a bicyclist ran over grandpa.

"He ran right up my back and knocked me over. Look, I've got the tire tracks on my back," the light-hearted warrior exclaimed as he lifted his shirt to show off his war wound.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one thrown by the incident. The distracted cyclist flew over the handlebars and landed on the pavement. After Mr. Rogers made sure the cyclist was uninjured, he got back on track.

"I dusted myself off and kept running," he said.

They crossed the finish line, hand-in-hand, later than most other runners. Considering the circumstances, the two-some was content knowing they finished the race together.

'America's Marathon Man'

If marathon runners are in a class all their own, then Jerry Dunn, 54, is at the head of the class. Not because he was the fastest runner at the Air Force event -- he was two hours behind the leader -- but because it was his 149th marathon of the year.

"America's Marathon Man," Mr. Dunn hopes to set a record for the most marathons in a year with 200 in 2000. He said the Air Force race was one of the best of the year.

He also ran from San Francisco to Washington, D.C., to support Habitat for Humanity in 1991. And two years later, he set a record for running 104 marathons in a year to commemorate turning 47 -- the age his father died of a heart attack.

He met his wife, Elaine Doll-Dunn, 63, running a race and took just enough time out of the Disney World Marathon to marry her at mile 9 in 1995.

This love for endurance hasn't been lifelong. Running became the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel in 1975.

"I replaced my addiction to drugs and alcohol with running," he said.

To monitor Mr. Dunn's progress, log on to: www.marathonman.org.

Service stations for the 'sole'

Long before the opening ceremonies, before the runners arrive at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, the race has begun. Tom Fisher and his team of volunteers keep the event alive, taking care of everything from paper cups to post-race awards.

Mr. Fisher said nothing would exist without the almost 2,OOO volunteers it takes to put the race in motion. Many volunteers are more like participants, like Kathy Schweinfurth, who looks forward to the race every year.

She's been at mile 23 since the race started, and her entire family gets involved in helping the runners. The family has even camped at the site to make sure they arrived on time. Her station is one of 27 stops along the way where volunteers provide water, sports drinks, wet sponges and fruit. But to most runners, it's the encouragement that they most appreciate. And Ms. Schweinfurth said the appreciation is reciprocated.

"The runners are great," she said. "They make jokes with the volunteers and most of them say thank you as they pass by."

Every year Ms. Schweinfurth's volunteers write inspirational and humorous sayings -- like 'Rest stop 3 miles -- in chalk on the pavement going up the challenging incline of Wright Memorial Hill. At the top, volunteers energize runners with applause, water and wet sponges.

Over the years, many of the aid stations have evolved to more than pit stops. Many have motivating music, costumes, decorations and props. Ms. Schweinfurth's station sports two inflatable aliens holding a sign saying "Live long and perspire," to poke fun at an urban legend claiming aliens were once warehoused on base. This year she added "flying saucer" pancakes thrown to a few runners.

"I wanted to be part of the race," she said. "And we have a ball. I can't wait until next year."

COPYRIGHT 2000 U.S. Air Force, Air Force News Agency
COPYRIGHT 2001 Gale Group