With the Rock ’n’ Roll Marathon on the horizon May 31, I’m reminded of the positive impact running has had on the lives of three ladies who have bonded for life through running. Our trio of veteran marathoners is celebrating a 30th anniversary of friendship this month, runners whose chosen sport was part “fairy godmother, sometimes a painful teacher, but always a faithful companion,” as defined by Ellen Hart in Colorado Sports Monthly. Joanne has run nine marathons. Linn has finished four and I have run two and a half, the half being the first half of the 2000 Rock ’n’ Roll on June 4, 2000 and the last race I entered. Although we’ve hung up our running shoes for tennis, golf and aerobic shoes, we reflect on running as a spiritual choice as well as a healthful choice, a friendship choice. At one time, we three runners considered celebrating our silver anniversary of friendship five years ago by running the Rock ’n’ Roll 2004, but in 2009 we may hoist a Gatorade with a little something stronger in it and reflect on where we’ve been, where we’re going and what running has taught us. First of all, with due respect to the gay and lesbian population so visible in the news these days: Thirty years ago, before rainbow flags appeared as symbols of gay pride, we three became the Rainbow Runners and dressed accordingly: hats, shorts, shirts. Joanne, the one with the nine marathons under her belt, including Boston and New York, was a runner-up in the Miss America Contest behind Maryann Mobley and ahead of Anita Bryant in the early ’60s, but she knew there were no beauty queens at 20 miles. Linn once ran 20 miles of the San Diego Marathon with a stress fracture, her tenacity being upended by a medical crew pulling her off course. Naïve in my first attempt at a half marathon in 1978, I ran 13 miles the day before my first half marathon on a July 4 in Coronado to see if I could really run that far, rather than rest and relax the day before. The three of us gathered one June morning in 1979 at Mission Bay to run together in preparation for the San Diego Marathon. Mutual friends encouraged us to get together for training since we loved running. At first we ran the 8.5-mile course around Mission Bay past SeaWorld and around Crown Point, through the campus of Mission Bay High with a finish at the information center. We did this run once a week. On Sundays we would gather with a group training at Mission Bay and run various distances. Our other favorite course was dodging cars in University City, starting on the west end of Governor and running to UTC and back, a 7.5-mile course. For at least 15 Thanksgivings we got up at 6 a.m. and ran from the west end of Governor to La Jolla Shores and back, and still had time to make gravy. Friends would ask how we could run while talking so much. Conversation has never been a problem for us. In 1980 we headed north, me by plane and the other two with spouses in a VW bus, to the Avenue of the Giants Marathon, a beautiful out and back course through the redwoods. Joanne was “angel of the Avenue” as she ran me through this one at a particularly low point of my life. We were proud of the fact that the next night we were able to walk the hills of San Francisco, a place we stopped at overnight on the long ride back to San Diego. One year Joanne and her husband Tom and two young teens ran the Boston Marathon. When they were finished and resting in their hotel room, someone would say, “If anybody is going to the bathroom, would you please bring back the aspirin and a glass of water.” Linn was a competitive swimmer as a kid and would have made a tenacious triathalete if only she liked biking. Being a bit of a showoff, one year I ran the San Francisco Bay to Breakers dressed as a cow. My udders attracted a lot of folks, and the heat from the costume kept me humble. We three runners have raced and hobbled through rain, wind, hail, snow and heat as well as death, divorce and depression. A marathon, of course, is a metaphor for life. You are terribly excited about the journey but you know it is going to hurt sometimes, how much and when remain undetermined, and the finish line may see you laughing or limping or both. Our lives have tightly intertwined like the laces on running shoes. It’s been 30 pounds since I ran a full marathon. However, I know there is still one in me if only I can pass by Baskin Robbins. Joanne has taken on tennis with a vengeance. She and her husband, a semi-retired veterinarian, are a skilled mixed doubles team. Linn’s knees keep barking like an angry Doberman, so she has chosen to keep her aerobics going on a home treadmill, although she’s a gifted endurance athlete. I’m the only one who dreams of one more marathon. I recall entering the 2000 Rock ’n’ Roll. On the uphill leg of the run on Route 163, at mile 7 or 8, a guy on the sideline yelled, “The Kenyans are already finished.” I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. At the half I quit, worked my way back to the start in Hillcrest where my car was and decided to take up golf. The Rainbow Runners, celebrating 30 years of friendship through running, encourage the Rock ’n’ Roll Marathoners to pace themselves. It’s always two races: 20 and six. Runners and joggers develop more than good lungs from their sport. They bond with their running partners and realize what a gift running is. To quote Ellen Hart again, “This gift, like any other, is subject to abuse, to the ravages of compulsiveness, insensitivity, overindulgence and self-importance.” Hopefully, the first-time marathoners will have some fun along the way on Sunday. With bands playing at every mile, the music should just wash over you as you pound the pavement. Hopefully you’ve been blessed with friends to run with. A special blessing to the back of the pack even though “the Kenyans have already finished.”