In each monthly issue, Inside Texas Running will publish one chapter from the new book "First Marathons." This month's story begins in the March 2002 issue of ITR.

To order your copy of "First Marathons: Personal Encounters witht he 26.2-Mile Monster," send $23 per copy (plus $2.95 per order for shipping/handling) to Inside Texas Running, P.O. Box 19909, Houston, TX 77224. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

Then came the Fourteenth Street Bridge. The slight incline became a mountain and I couldn't make it. I had to lie down three times while crossing. I can still feel the gravel cutting into my back as I lay across the road. When I finally made it to the other side, my brother Michael was there and that was a real shot of adrenaline for me. He screamed out, "You've got two more miles. Suck it up, buddy!" His energy helped carry me the rest of the way, even though I was dead tired. I must have looked like a drunken sailor trying to run, slowly weaving in and out of everyone around me. I just kept focused on the finish, knowing that my family and Leah were waiting for me. The final loop of the race goes around the Iwo Jima monument and that is so emotionally stirring, I started to cry. It was such a powerful moment for me. I could see the finish line and knew I had done it.

I decided to go for a big ending, despite how tired I was. I didn't want to drag myself across the finish so I hit the gas pedal and sprinted across on the last few fumes of energy left. It was definitely one of the top ten moments of my life. I never doubted that I could finish, but when it was finally over the tremendous strain of the last five hours suddenly lifted and an incredible weight left my body and disappeared along with all the mental pain and exhaustion. It was exhilarating.

But then the hunger kicked in and I just stuffed myself with candy bars, oranges, bagels, anything I could find. Later on, Leah told me just how miserable I looked when I finished running 26 miles, 385 yards. She has a vivid memory of me leaning on the fence, wrapped in my space blanket, looking pale and ghostly, sweaty and gross, shoving candy bars in my mouth. My family had a huge party for me, but unfortunately the next day I had to work a twelve-hour shift at the hospital. I refused to call in sick. I was proud as a peacock of my accomplishment and I wanted to share it with my doubting friends. Actually, some people didn't know how to react to the news. They'd say, "You ran what? A marathon? How many miles is that?" It really takes the wind out of your sails when you have to explain it. Heck, I know women compare it to having a baby. Well, when Leah had our babies I gave out cigars. I felt like someone should have given me a cigar for running the damn marathon!

On a more serious note, running the marathon reconfirmed that I can accomplish anything in life if it is within my grasp. I have the courage and the power and the drive to make it happen. I ran this race under the worst possible conditions; I set a goal and achieved it. As a result of the experience, I became hooked on running -- but I wanted to learn how to run the right way! I took a year to train properly and then ran my next marathon. I have become a running fanatic. I look forward to my long runs on the weekends. It's my time to slow down the hectic pace of the week and start to notice things that otherwise I don't have time for. I'll appreciate the beauty of a simple stone wall set in a field and I find myself wondering, "Who built it and why?" I probably drive by that wall every day on my way to the hospital but my mind is so clogged I never see it. On my runs, I can empty my mind of the day-to-day events that get in the way of seeing my surroundings and appreciating them.

Running gives me the balance in life that I need, especially when I am dealing with pain and death every day. I need to get out and see life being renewed.