A PRISONER'S RELEASE
BILL O'SHIELDS
41, She Runs to Reclaim Her Identity After Assault
reader since 2008
Many runners wax poetic about the feeling of freedom that running brings about. But for Bill O'Shields, running brought him his literal freedom. Midway into a 15-year sentence at a maximum-security prison in Indiana for robbing a bank, O'Shields was bitter, beaten, and bored. "I started running as a way to stay out of trouble," he says. In 2006, after being transferred to a medium-security facility in South Carolina, O'Shields's footwork caught the attention of Jimmy Craft , a clean-cut 62-year-old inmate (now released) who ran long distances within the confines of the high barbed wire.
"I didn't realize it at the time, but I guess I was looking for guidance, and Jimmy gave it to me," says O'Shields, who now works at an industrial distribution center. Together, the unlikely friends started out run-walking quarter-mile loops around a threadbare halftrack, then one mile, and so on. "By fall I was doing 70-mile weeks."
When he wasn't running, he was reading about it. "Jimmy would pass his issues of Runner's World to me. When I got out, I wanted to keep them. But by that time I'd inspired other guys in prison to run (some still track my race results), so I left most of them behind."
Three days after his release in 2009, O'Shields toed his first starting line. "It was a 5-K
The new Bill O'Shields is no longer a public nuisance, but he does admit to getting on his friends' nerves "because running is all I talk about!" Turning serious, he says, "Running gave me a whole new life. I can't even remember my past—it's like it wasn't me. I have a good life now, and it's all because I run."
A MOM'S HEALING GROUND
35, Running in the Cold
reader since 2009
Christine Orr ran cross-country and track in high school and was in it to win it. As a young adult, she laced up to lose weight. But in all that time, running was always a "should," not a "want." That changed in December 2009 when her second son, John, was born with a severe form of hemophilia (a bleeding disorder) that had the family rushing to the ER frequently. It took that diagnosis to discover one of running's true powers: release.
"I started running so I could just go cry without upsetting my kids [James Jr., 5, and John, 2] and husband [James]," she says. "Then I started going farther, and I'd push the kids along. On weekends, James joined us. Our sadness was going away."
Running in the Cold A Part of Hearst Digital Media with Speeders for Bleeders to raise money for hemophilia. But when they came back from their first 10-mile run in February 2010, it "seemed ludicrous" to wait five months to run just 13.1 miles with the Speeders. A friend encouraged them to sign up for the Runner's World Challenge to train for the full SF Marathon. That marked the beginning of a fairly packed race schedule for Christine, who ran a personal best 3:31 at the 2010 Rock 'n' Roll Arizona Marathon.
While the Orrs still "sleep with one eye open," John is now able to do normal kid stuff , thanks to an aggressive treatment regimen that involves receiving medicine every other day via a port in his chest.
"Running is the only thing I have that's mine," she says. "To go sweat, breathe, cry in the rain, and scream or sing in the woods is why I love running."
Go to runnersworld.com/readersissue for video interviews with several of the readers featured in this issue.
A Part of Hearst Digital Media
26, Nutrition - Weight Loss
San Diego Rock n Roll Marathon
I associate healing with a body in motion," says Amanda Gladin-Kramer. In 2006, as an overextended and overwhelmed Tufts undergrad, Gladin-Kramer welcomed her senior year by locking herself in her dorm room and swallowing a bottle of Tylenol PM. "All summer long I'd been dreading going back to school," she says. "My junior year I knew something wasn't right. I was exhausted all the time, and my work was slipping. Now I realize that I was clinically depressed, but as I started a new school year, all I knew was that I dreaded everything."
Gladin-Kramer's desperate attempt to escape from her life—what she now calls her "episode"—thankfully had a happy ending. She passed out, but managed to get herself to a hospital once she came to. She left school and sought professional help while staying with her parents.
The time off worked its magic, and she returned to Tufts the next fall. That's when a friend invited her to watch a half-marathon. "The swift-moving crowd of muscled legs drew me in, made me want to feel like the women I saw," she says.
Soon after, Gladin-Kramer started running in the neighborhood. "I was reclaiming myself on those runs," she says.
It's been four years since she laced up for the first time. Gladin-Kramer, who takes a mild anti-depressant daily, is now married, studying law, and "busier than ever." She's also the proud finisher of the Outer Banks Marathon. "Running didn't fix me, but it's my reward for the difficult and scary work of fighting through depression. I feel a world away from the girl who crept home, but I'm connected to her with every stride, every mile, every strapping on of my watch. Each run is a choice to give myself this gift."
A TRANSPLANT'S SECOND CHANCE
42, San Diego, California
Running From Substance Abuse Toward Recovery
Healthy living has been the centerpiece of Tom Krumenacker's adult life—out of necessity. At age 10, doctors discovered he had congenital scarring of the liver, a birth defect that meant a lifetime of close medical observation.
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That's when his frat brothers watched him pass out after complaining of flu-like symptoms and unquenchable thirst. After reviving him, they took him to the hospital, where doctors determined he was bleeding internally as a result of his scarred liver. Surgeons used tiny rubber bands to tie off the problematic veins. A similar procedure would need to be repeated every six months for the next 11 years. What he needed was a new liver, but with a small supply of donors, finding a match wouldn't be easy.
Knowing he had a life-threatening condition, Krumenacker was determined to stay in tip-top shape. "I made it to 35 and was a generally healthy guy," says the financial planner from San Diego. "I ran a little and spent a lot of time at the gym. I was really proud of my 30-inch waist."
But by 2003 the internal bleeding was more frequent and toxins were getting into his brain, causing memory loss and confusion. Krumenacker's wife called her sister, Heather Walsh, whom they'd recently found had the same blood type as Tom. "She asked me if I'd get tested to see if I'd be a liver match," says Walsh, who now lives in Richmond, Virginia. "It didn't take long to decide—all I had to do was look at my year-old niece Samantha.
"The night before our surgery [May 2004], Tom made me promise to run a marathon with him if we both lived," Walsh continues. "I thought he was out of it. I mean, I hated exercise and didn't even know how long a marathon was!"
By that August, just three months after the transplant, Krumenacker was toeing the starting line of a half-marathon. (He and Walsh's sister divorced later in 2004.) Walsh took much longer to heal, as the remaining 60 percent of her liver needed to regenerate. But when her birthday rolled around in March 2005, she opened Krumenacker's card and was shocked to see he'd given her an entry in the San Diego Rock 'n' Roll Marathon that June. "I'd literally never run before," says Walsh, "but I did that day."
"Something happened when I crossed the finish line," she says. "I became a runner. It makes me feel so good about myself. I'm no longer afraid of anything because I've seen what I'm capable of." She's since completed 12 marathons—five with Tom—25 half-marathons, 15 10-Ks, and 10 triathlons. Krumenacker, who's since remarried and has an infant son, fits in six half-marathons each year.
"Running got me back to me," says Krumenacker. "I think I can speak for Heather when I say that running is proof positive that we can do anything."
AN OFFICER'S PERSONAL MISSION
31, Fort Hood, Texas
How Des Linden Keeps Showing Up
For Capt. Colby Phillips, there's running and then there's running-in-the-Army. The former is "fun," a way to unwind and do something solely for himself, while the latter is "demanding," "regimented," and "never fun." For one thing, iPods and clothing that wicks sweat aren't allowed. Then there's the inescapable dust and stench of burning oil, sewage, and trash that he had to endure while stationed in Kirkuk, Iraq—"it's a brutal assault to your senses." Add to that the constant state of alert when you're in a war zone, and it's easy to see why Phillips, a former high school sprinter, was trying to "get back the love of running" earlier this year when he signed up for the Chicago Half-Marathon as part of the Runner's World Challenge.
"Running's always been a part of my life," says Phillips, who recently returned to Fort Hood, Texas, after his third yearlong tour in Iraq, where he helped plan humanitarian and security missions. "But what it's meant to me has changed many times. In high school it was about the thrill of competing and winning. As a young officer, I viewed it as a need just like water; it's critical for combat officers to be in shape to lead my men through the rigors of combat. Now that I'm older, I see running as a way to fight back the toll of time and combat."
Phillips chose the event in part because it took place on the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks and it would be a way for him to honor those who died that day and in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. "It was tough to train for a half-marathon in Iraq, but I like challenges," says Phillips, who has a wife, Kalley, and a 6-year-old daughter, Xona. Unfortunately, a stress fracture forced him out of the race. No problem: "Once my foot is fully healed, I plan on running with renewed vigor."
"In my mind I'm just a small-town kid giving back to the greatest nation on Earth," he says. "The real inspirations are my brothers and sisters in the military who have given arms and legs or their lives to America. People around the world still envy America, whether they will admit it or not, because of the wonderful freedom we have."
