Written by Claudette Bardwil; As told to Peter Kelly.
When I signed up to do the Amica Newport Marathon in Rhode Island, I envisioned running on a beautiful New
England autumn day by the Atlantic Ocean in a town dripping with history. I talked two of my closest running
partners into joining as well; Dave Preuss and “Captain” Fior Bruton, whose years of running and constant
encouragement had made her the unofficial coach of our weekly running group.
As runners we had set our goals. Dave and I had trained to do four hours and thirty minutes. The Captain’s goal
was to finish in five hours. Each of us had our own personal goals.
I am the founder of Autism Family Tours with Brianna, named after my youngest daughter. Many friends and
supporters had sponsored my efforts to run the marathon. Their donations would go towards funding the various
programs our organization supports for children with autism and their families.
Dave, unbeknownst to me, had engaged a similar program of pledges from friends and coworkers.
Fior, who has asthma, and twenty marathons to her credit, had privately decided this was going to be her last
marathon.
On race day, October 18, my visions of a scenic marathon were met with disaster. A full-fledged nor’easter had
hit and it appeared that Newport was getting the brunt of it.
The Glossary of Meteorology has a highly technical definition of a nor’easter. I whittled it down to a few words
– high winds and freezing rain mixed in with gale force winds and freezing rain.
Standing at the starting line, the downpour changed from rain to sleet; and at times came in horizontally. Fior,
always the coach, “adopted” two first-timers and I started to consciously think about not doing the race. Then I
thought about the struggles that families go through every day with their children with autism – including my
own experiences. I decided that running in a nor’easter was a walk in the park. When the race started and the
first gust of wind slapped me in the face with frozen rain I realized I was wrong.
The next four hours and fifty-five minutes was the most grueling physical challenge I’ve ever faced in my life
and that includes natural childbirth.
It seemed that as we started to get into the first few miles that the storm worsened. I was hoping to get into a
rhythm and warm up a little bit. But that never happened. As Dave and I moved along, we left Fior with her
new charges. Never missing an opportunity to coach, she shouted, “Don’t forget your salt.”
As the miles progressed, nothing changed. At mile thirteen, Dave and I followed the flight of two umbrellas as
they got sucked into the Atlantic Ocean, which was a swirling basin of furious waves and whitecaps. I thought
for sure that Newport was going to suffer the same fate as the umbrellas.
As the struggle continued, I relied on mental tricks as well as the one Advil, three GU packs, and six salt tablets
(to prevent cramps), which I split with Dave. I could hear the coach’s final instructions as I popped one into my
mouth.
Dave sensed my struggle and pulled everything out of his own mental arsenal. He asked me questions about my
childhood, my job, anything he could think of to keep my focus off this HELL we were running through. I told
him about a fishing trip to Block Island when I was kid. A trip I had not thought about in years until that
morning. Stress can do nutty things to the mind.
Beside Dave, the volunteers in this race were the best I ever came across. It was bad enough running in these
sub-Arctic conditions. But, to stand still and serve drinks to washed-out, grotesque runners was above and
beyond the call. At one point, a volunteer dressed as some kind of monster, opened my GU because my gnarled,
frozen hands just couldn’t do it. One volunteer gave me a smile so big it was as if the sun came out. I will never
forget that smile.
As I hit the wall at mile 18, I tried to visualize the many families that struggle with autism every day. I thought
back to when Brianna was diagnosed and the trials my husband, Jim and I endured. I also focused on the support
of our programs, our friends and the strides that not only my own daughter has made but many other kids as
well.
I watched many runners drop out as we neared the last few miles. I refused to buckle and Dave made sure I
stayed focused with more questions and encouragement. I thought of Fior coaching her new pupils and guiding
them to the finish line as she had done for everyone in our running group at one time or another.
The last test was mile 24, a huge uphill. Typhoon-like winds and buckets of cold water were hurled at us like
Nolan Ryan fastballs. It took every last ounce of spiritual, mental, and physical energy we had to get through
that.
Approaching the finish line, I asked Dave to hold my hand so we could cross together. When it was over, Dave
finally told me he never thought of quitting because he had over a thousand dollars in pledges for my charity. I
cannot adequately describe the emotions I felt when he told me that. He had helped me every step of the way
and this was the cherry on top.
Not long after, Fior came in with her crew. She too never thought of quitting.
“How would it have looked if the captain jumped ship?” she said.
A few days later I looked up the definition of friendship and endurance in the dictionary. Friendship is, “one
attached to another by affection or esteem.” Endurance is the “ability or strength to continue or last, despite
fatigue, stress, or other adverse conditions.” My definition of the two is weathering a nor’easter together, while
running 26.2 miles with unwavering conviction of the finish in unison – together until the very end.
From Left to Right – Claudette Bardwil, Dave Preuss and Fior Bruton
