JENICE: This is an inspiring tale from a non-athletic friend of mine who nonetheless just walked the entire L.A. Marathon. (It brought tears to my eyes.) The writer is Vonda Paige, a spokeswoman for Peco Energy, and she has agreed to let us publish it.

Vonda’s Marathon Story

You won’t find my name among the top finishers and I’m definitely not in any of the media photos, but I was one of many first-time walkers who completed the 19th Annual Los Angeles Marathon on March 7.

On March 15, I will turn 40 and I figured what better way to celebrate than an ultimate physical challenge and raise money for my favorite charity - The Tavis Smiley Foundation. My goal was to finish the 26.2-mile trek the same day I started.

I left Philadelphia at 6 a.m. Saturday, March 6 and arrived in Los Angeles just before noon to face my first obstacle. The airline had lost my luggage. "You must be kidding me," I said to the Air Tran representative. I took a deep breath, steeled my tongue and started filling out paperwork.

I couldn’t convey to the representative or on the baggage claim form that this wasn’t just a lost bag of clothes. I had spent months training and had sacrificed to make the trip. Runners and walkers know that a cotton T-shirt and regular sweats won’t do for endurance races. I had special gear and since I am well beyond a size 6 it had taken me weeks to find clothes that fit.

Finally, I left the airport about two hours later with no assurances that my bag would be found in time for the race and went to the Los Angeles Convention Center to pick up my credentials. Since it was my first time I didn’t realize that vendors would be present. Thank God. I dashed through the convention until I found a shirt, pants and socks. I walked to a department store to get lingerie. Fortunately, I had worn my walking shoes. Note to self: Travel with extra panties in your purse.

Back at the hotel around 7 p.m., I tried to relax and calm myself from the airport drama and jet lag. I slept fitfully and woke around 5 a.m., ate, drank a ton of water and put on my new clothes.

About 10 minutes before the start of the race, I met up with my friends from the foundation - Andrea Foggy-Paxton and Detra Payne. Both had run previous marathons and I questioned if I should be in the back, thinking that I might be trampled by the thick pack of runners. They assured me I would be fine. They were right. At the start gun we all shuffled quickly together until the crowd of more than 24,000 found room to move and runners from everywhere darted swiftly and politely past me.

By the time I arrived at Mile 2, the crowd had thinned to walkers, but you could see the remnants of the swarm runners who had passed through like locusts as the streets were covered in a sea of squashed and discarded white paper cups that used to hold water and Gatorade. Between Miles 4 and 5, the Cougars’ cheerleaders, one of several groups cheering the race participants, shouted, 'Go Vonda, Go Vonda Go,' as I passed. Several of them gave me a high 5.

I made it through to Mile 13 pretty easily. I had done 13 miles in four hours during training and I felt I could finish the race in about 8 hours. But around Mile 15, the heat began to take toll. I had trained in temperatures ranging from 30 degrees to 40 degrees, sometimes trudging through snow and ice at 6 a.m. or 9 p.m. But the Los Angeles heat was no joke. I later found that the 80-plus degree temperatures had claimed many runners and walkers. Leading up to Mile 13, buses picked up fallen participants. I just ignored them and the volunteers who asked if I wanted a ride. I had to keep moving.

I had forgotten to bring my route map, but fortunately just before Mile 16, another foundation friend Olivia Mitchell called me on my cell phone to see where I was. I think she knew I was a little delirious because she shouted, "I think you might be in my neighborhood. Vonda, look up and tell me the name of the street." It was Hayworth Ave. "Stand still, I’m coming out," she ordered.

She’d ripped out a copy of the map from The Los Angeles Times and scribbled her phone number on it. "If you want me to pick you up anytime, call me," she said. I nodded yes, but inside I thinking, 'No, I’m not stopping.'

Between Miles 16 and 19, I gratefully inhaled bananas provided by a volunteer. Once, when I thought I was lost, one of the volunteer bikers who had been keeping up with me rode ahead and helped me to stay on track. He kept telling me I was doing well.

Around Mile 21, I started having a breakdown. I thought, ‘what in the hell am I doing out here? It’s dark. They’re going to close the finish line and I won’t even have anything to show for all this work.’

I started getting pissed thinking about all the time I had had to work late and it how it had cut into my training. That is going to stop I vowed. I was mad that I didn’t have on the socks I had trained in. I had spilled water on my now soggy and crumpled map. Damn. A man I had passed on the street told me that race was over. I told him it wasn’t and asked him to please move so I could pass.

As I turned on Wilton Avenue I was walking through a crowd of folks leaving a church. They were slowing me down, but at that moment, I remembered my strategy. It was to think about the race 6 miles at a time: 6 and 6 and 1 equals 13. Then add 6 and 6 and 1.2 for a total of 26.2. My first long walk had been six miles and I had told myself if I got into trouble just think about how I had done six miles with no problem. I lied out loud: "This is just like being at home in Philly. It’s no big deal."

At Mile 13 I had grabbed a cheeseburger at McDonald’s and met 11-year-old Ian, Ian’s mom, and Ian’s grandma from Mission Viejo. They were impressed that I had come from Philadelphia alone. I was impressed that they were three generations walking together. Throughout the evening I had seen them on and off and at Mile 23 I caught up to them on Olympic Blvd. We decided to walk together.

Another volunteer biker met us around Mile 24 or 25 and said they were waiting for us at finish line. We just had to walk to the bright light.

My friend Andrea called me. I couldn’t even talk. I told her I’d call her when I was finished. Ian’s mom told her son we were going to take it step-by-step to the finish line. I followed that advice too on what seemed like the longest mile of the race.

Around 9 p.m. I moved from participant to finisher. It had taken me 11 hours and 32 minutes. Like Oscar winners and Olympic champions, when the finisher medal was placed around my neck - I cried. Then, I fixed my hair and asked a volunteer to take my picture.

Happy 40th birthday to me!