Spotlight - Kristin Tice Studeman

Each week we will be picking members to spotlight to tell their Alzheimer's story and why they are running in this year's New York City marathon. Check in each day for new updates on who will be spotlighted and get to know your teammates...(each person is picked at random)

Grandpa Phil Laskey with my grandma LaVerne Laskey

A marathon is a race like no other sport can offer. Within the boundaries of 26.2 miles, people of all ages, sizes, backgrounds, and physical and mental capabilities collide. How many sports pair the world’s top athletes and first-time runners in the same exact race? Not many. But what unites them all is a dedication and willpower unlike any other. The human body might not be meant to run 26.2 miles, but all of these people have risen to the challenge.

 Alzheimer’s is a lot like a marathon—it presents great challenges, both to the person suffering from it and to their friends and family. During the course of a few minutes, or hours, a lot can change. There are small triumphs and of course, there are low points. There are moments we’ll forget even though they happened just seconds ago.  And without your crowd of dedicated supporters,  you could barely keep running. But Alzheimer’s, in my opinion, is a much greater battle because it extends far beyond the limits of hours and miles.  It’s a battle against mental and physical that you have no control over. It’s a race that has no finish line.

Not yet, at least. That’s where I come in. I am running the marathon this year in hopes that together, we can help find a cure for the millions of people suffering from this life-altering disease. Each step of the journey, I will be thinking of my family, friends, and colleagues who have generously donated funds to support a race that really only starts when I cross that finish line. And most of all, I will be thinking of my grandmas, both of whom tried outrun Alzheimer’s with the spirit, determination, and strength of the best marathoners ever to compete. They ran through the agonizing pain of not being able remember your own daughter’s name, or not recognizing their husbands. They got back up when their minds, and later, bodies, started to fail them on the home stretch. And when they could barely communicate their true emotions (we’ll call this what marathoners call hitting a wall at mile 20),  they did their best to not let anyone see that they were slowly fading. Mile 26 is for two of the strongest women I have ever known, who, due to Alzheimer’s, didn’t stand a chance at finishing the race. The last .2? That’s dedicated to the future, when hopefully, we can all race and remember.