by Claire A. Williams
USA/Kenya

For my first marathon, I trained in cotton socks. I didn’t know better, and four months of blood blisters punished me for this oversight. My shoes were old, and I never measured the miles I ran. Instead, I relied solely on my own overly optimistic minutes-per-mile calculations on the city streets where I trained. I had no cause, raised no money, and was lucky to have my one and only spectator on race day. Naturally, she forgot to take any pictures.

The second time around, though, I decided things would be different. I would finish in a timely manner and prove not only that I could finish a marathon, but make good time as well. I got an iPod Nano, a red one at that, which meant that I was supporting charitable causes.

But the best laid plans are rarely the backdrop for success. Thus it happened that in November of 2006, I traveled to climb Mt. Kenya, stayed at a nearby orphanage overnight, and never left. I never climbed the mountain, but in its absence emerged Hope Runs, the organization my traveling partner, Lara, and I started, to train the AIDS orphans of the Tumaini Children’s Center in Nyeri, Kenya, for the Mt. Kilimanjaro marathon on June 24th, 2007.

By Claire A. Williams, USA

Because I over-think everything, when I see something particularly sad, it can sometimes take me forever to keep it from flashing through my mind at random, unwelcome moments. I still remember the dog ears I saw in Nicaragua so riddled with ticks that I thought they were sand, and the mother screaming and hitting her child in the parking lot of a Nevada McDonald’s over a decade ago.