And then Jessica was there

Years ago, I developed an infatuation with the Pittsburgh Marathon. I was hired as as a freelancer to help photograph the event for the organizers. I didn’t want to brave the crowds, find parking and miss my weekly Sunday soccer game, but the pay was enough to buy an iPad so I said, “What the hell?”

By the end of that morning, I was thoroughly impressed by the stamina of the runners and the unwavering support of the spectators, further proof that I was living in a special city. As I photographed people — ordinary people — crossing the finish line, I felt envy. What had I ever done like that?

As I watched the finishers receiving their medals, a tiny idea nudged its way into my brain. “Maybe someday?”

Understand, I am not someone who runs or finds running enjoyable. I love soccer. But to run alone feels monotonous and painful. And, after years of playing soccer, my knees often couldn’t support a 3-mile run. But the idea was there. Growing. Run the marathon. Why not?

I figured I had time. Runners of all ages successfully finish. I could do it at 35, 40, even 50. But then I went and married a girl who makes me want to do everything this instant. She has an amazing thirst for life in the present. Inside a year, we had gone to Niagara Falls, the Grand Canyon and Paris, three bucket list items I had kept putting off.

• One day my “run the marathon” brain bug whispered in my ear. I went to the website. The race was scheduled for my birthday. It was fate.

I knew from day one that I might not be able physically to run the race. I had no qualms about conditioning, but my knees could become an insurmountable obstacle. I started training way too many months before the race just to see if it might be possible. I made it up to 10 miles after a month. Ten slow, painful miles. But it was a start.

The three most important training runs were the three consecutive Saturdays I was supposed to run 17 miles, 18 miles, then 20 miles. The 17-mile-run was slow. My knee hurt and, after about mile 12, I had to walk for 45 seconds every mile or so. The next week, I had virtually no pain. I ran 18 miles 10 minutes faster than I had run 17. Everything felt possible.

The next week I couldn’t make it past 15 miles. My knee shut down.

• On race day, I had the will to finish. I hoped my knee wouldn’t betray me.

When we started, it felt great. I was running faster and cleaner than ever. I passed 10 miles in a little over an hour thirty. My personal best. I felt triumph.

Then my knee locked up with 16 miles to go. Earlier than ever. This was my nightmare scenario.

I tried to walk a little. I was struggling. Every step was agonizing. I whispered to myself, “stay Zen,” but it did little to distract me from the pain.

I texted my father as I hobbled through the South Side, “Left knee out. I’m going to be very slow.” He told me to be smart, drop out. No shame in it. It wasn’t worth permanent damage.

My wife texted me. Told me she was proud of me either way.

I pressed on. Every step brought me closer to tears.

There was no good reason to continue. I did it because I knew I could never do it again. It was today or never.

• Homewood lifted me up. The people there who came out to cheer were inspirational.

I felt down again, but then ran past Mayor Bill Peduto (whom I know from my work). He smiled and gave me a high five. I continued hobbling.

My other knee went out between mile 18 and 20. More pain. So much pain.

And as I limped along, tears streaming from my eyes, an incredible thing happened. I was maybe a mile from the finish when a woman named Jessica (I think) ran up beside me. She said, hey, you look like you could use someone to run with. She had seen my teary, limping self and stopped by to encourage me.

Jessica obviously was more of a runner than me. She had already finished part of the relay and was looking for someone to help across the finish line. And that person was me.

Is this common?!? Do people do this? I don’t know. Maybe Jessica is there every year helping people. Or maybe she was just on her way home, and thought, “Hey, I can do something great right now!”

She trailed me to the finish. I passed my wife, who was standing with my parents at the finish line, and felt all the emotions in the world.

After the race I got my knee wrapped in ice at the medical tent. I spent the evening moving around on crutches.

I won’t ever do a marathon again. I am eternally grateful to my wife, Marie, who supported me for months while I trained and let me lean on her when I was too weak to walk after the race.

And someone is out there who made a huge difference in my world by helping a total stranger with a simple act of kindness.

Thank you, Jessica. The world is a great place because of people like you.