Endurance

Published: March 25, 2013 ~ 5

By Laura Edwards

In the days, weeks and months that first followed my little sister’s infantile Batten disease diagnosis, we operated on overdrive. Our determination to win for Taylor fueled our fight. When we looked at her – the golden-haired angel who lost her way in the dark and struggled in math but seemed perfect in every other way – we clawed for a branch or a rock to grasp as our world fell away beneath us and everything we’d ever known – everything we’d ever taken for granted – slipped away.

We were angry; scared; defiant; we knew the facts and the statistics…and still, we dared Batten disease to take Taylor away from us. We gave new meaning to the word “believe.” We rallied friends and family to believe with us. We raised more money than we ever thought possible. We shared Taylor’s story till it reached all the developed continents of the world. We learned more about fatal diseases than we ever wanted to know.

But a second wave always follows the first. The best sprinters in the world can only sprint for so long. And that second wave brought real fear; the kind that isn’t fueled by adrenaline; the kind that comes from knowledge; the kind that doesn’t go away overnight.

This is a journey – not a sprint.

Taylor's first 5K

Batten disease will soon steal Taylor’s ability to walk. But my little sister used to run.

Taylor ran her first race on a chilly December morning in 2008, just 11 months after she endured invasive, experimental brain surgery in a hospital thousands of miles from home. I played cheerleader; an oft-injured soccer player, I didn’t do races.

After watching my little sister run across that finish line, I signed up for my first race.

One year later, I returned to the site of that shared moment to run my first half marathon in her honor.

Tar Heel 10 Miler

Since then, I’ve traded my soccer cleats for running shoes and hit the road for good. Last year, I ran over 1,000 miles – and I took every step for my sister. The way I see it, running is one of the many gifts Taylor gave to me. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I tried private therapy, but I didn’t like having to talk about Batten disease at predetermined times. Instead, I spend time with the people I love, I blog, and I run.

So I face this thing called Batten disease each day. It’s a test of endurance. I’ve learned to face it in chunks. I don’t think about a long race in terms of the total number of miles. I think about running a great two miles – or whatever distance lies between each aid station. In the same way, I try to focus on having good days. When I tried to fix everything about Batten disease, I felt like I couldn’t win – for Taylor or for the larger mission of Taylor’s Tale, the non-profit organization we founded in her name. But I figure that if I face “it” in small pieces, I can string together some good days. I can focus on recognizing miracles – both large and small.

It might just be that a “small” miracle is all we need.

I still believe.

Running for Taylor on 11-17-12

Published: October 29, 2012 ~ 0

By Laura Edwards

For as long as I can remember, I’ve run to deal with pain.

Since Taylor’s infantile Batten disease diagnosis in July 2006, I’ve run a lot – on average, more than 1,000 miles a year. Running doesn’t give me solace – not exactly, anyway – and besides, my feet can’t carry my sister to survival. But it’s a lot cheaper than counseling and massage therapy and once-in-a-lifetime trips to faraway wonderlands – all of which have also contributed their fair share to my survival over the years. And running clears my head. It helps me feel alive. It makes me appreciate my (mostly) healthy body – for instance, two eyes to drink in the amber, gold and crimson leaves and powder blue sky that framed last weekend’s run and two legs to carry me over a never-ending course that goes wherever I tell it to go and stops only when I want to rest.

I played soccer all my life, and I always had running in my bones, but I didn’t run in my first organized distance race until five years ago. Around that same time, my sister, Taylor, signed up for Girls on the Run at her school. Blind and less than a year removed from major brain surgery, Taylor nonetheless went to practice with the other girls and walked or ran her laps every day after school. Near the end of the semester, a crowd of kids joined in as she finished the final laps of her practice 5K. And that December, Taylor and her running buddy, joined by a simple jump rope, ran the entire length of the Jingle Jog 5K in uptown Charlotte without stopping even once to rest. Five months later, they did it again in the Girls on the Run 5K.

Since watching my little sister cross the finish lines of those races nearly four years ago, I’ve run every last mile for her.

On Saturday, Nov. 17, I’ll run in Charlotte’s Thunder Road Half Marathon for the fourth time. Last year, I had surgery the morning before the race and couldn’t run. I’ve had a light year so far in 2012 – the Charlotte 10 Miler and Frostbite 10K in February and the Tar Heel 10 Miler and ourboys 10K in April. So I’m hoping to finish with a bang at Thunder Road.

Thunder Road is Charlotte’s biggest race of the year, so if you’re a runner and live in the area, chances are, you’re signed up too! If so, and if you’re interested in running in Taylor’s honor/for Taylor’s Tale, please let me know ASAP. If you’re not running but want to come out that morning and cheer on the runners, simply click on the link above to access a course map – then be on the lookout for the girl decked out in Taylor’s Tale purple. 🙂 And – if you’re so inclined – you can make a tax-deductible donation to our Miles to a Miracle campaign in Taylor’s honor by clicking here. All proceeds support the search for a therapeutic treatment for Batten disease.

We’ve made a ton of progress in the race to save children like Taylor. Thanks for helping us get to the ultimate finish line!

4 TAYLOR

Published: April 23, 2012 ~ 0

By Laura Edwards

On Saturday, I ran the Tar Heel 10 Miler in Taylor’s honor for the third consecutive year.

I awoke to the sound of my iPhone alarm and my friend’s guest room clock playing a heinous duet – I’ve never been able to bring myself to trust a single alarm to do the job pre-dawn – before 5 a.m. I dressed by the light of a single lamp and inked my sister’s name in block letters on my left arm with a purple marker, packed for the occasion. I ate my traditional pre-race breakfast – a bagel with cream cheese and a fruit smoothie – in the dark, silent kitchen. I swung my Explorer’s headlights out onto Orange County’s rural roads before 6 and drove about 30 minutes from my friend’s home in Hillsborough, NC to a parking lot tucked beneath the watchful gaze of the Dean Smith Center and the Kenan-Flagler Business School on the campus of my alma mater, the University of North Carolina. I checked and re-checked my pack for my license, credit cards, health insurance card (it’s never a stretch to assume I’ll get injured), car keys and sport jelly beans. Satisfied, I began the 10-minute walk to Kenan Stadium to join 2,734 other runners for the 7:30 a.m. start, led by 2012 U.S. Marathon Olympic Trials champion Meb Keflezighi.

When the gun sounded, I inched my way around the stadium track amidst the crush of bodies. As soon as I reached the tunnel leading out of the stadium, I took off.

Around mile three, I got awful cramps (I never get cramps after three miles). The course seemed hillier than usual. I wondered if the other runners nearby could hear my breathing. But I kept going.

Over the first five miles, I recorded a 7:50/mile pace. I knew that if I kept it up, I’d smash my personal record (PR) for 10 miles – 1:25:27, recorded in the 2011 Tar Heel 10 Miler – and my previous 10-mile race time – 1:26:10, recorded in the Charlotte 10 Miler in February of this year. And oddly – though physiologically I’m better suited to sprinting – I tend to finish distance races much more strongly than I start them.

Around mile seven, things got a little uglier. My bum ankle (sprained about six weeks earlier and never fully healed) complained. My hamstrings and quads screamed. My lungs burned. I cursed myself for not getting more sleep (I didn’t turn out the lights till after 1 a.m.). And the notorious Laurel Hill – a 0.8 mile climb near the very end of the course that is so punishing, it gets its own separate timing mats at the bottom and top (because scaling Laurel Hill quickly warrants serious bragging rights) – still loomed.

When the first Laurel Hill timing mat came into my field of view, I think I audibly groaned. I wanted to walk. Normally I can run 10 miles (and farther) non-stop without any issues, but I’d really pushed myself for the first eight-odd miles of the race, and I could feel the effects.

At that very moment, I glanced down at my feet; as my eyes traveled downward, I happened to see the message inked on my arm: “4 TAYLOR.”

I churned my legs and arms up that hill. I ran it a good bit more slowly than last year, but I MADE IT. And soon enough, mile marker nine came into view. The end was near! I experienced a wave of emotion at that moment – relief that my exhausted body would soon have water and a cool metal stadium bench, and disappointment that my favorite race in the whole world – and the high I get from running for a cause in which I so deeply believe and for a little girl I love so much, would soon come to an end.

I ran the final mile in 6:28 – my fastest of the entire race.

When I approached Kenan Stadium, I slowed long enough to stuff my sport beans safely into my pack and remove my hat so I wouldn’t lose either during my customary dash to the finish line. As I burst through the tunnel and into the sunlight that soaked the stadium, I broke into a full-on sprint. All of the pain in my muscles was gone, and I was no longer tired. At that very moment, I felt as though I could run another 100 miles.

One hour, 25 minutes and 34 seconds after crossing the start line, I crossed the finish line. I missed my PR by a mere seven seconds – amazing considering the length of the race. I briefly regretted the precious wasted seconds outside the tunnel just before the end of the race, when I slowed to take off my hat and put my sport beans back in my pack.

And then, just as quickly, I dismissed the thought.

I finished 722nd out of 2,735 overall (men and women), putting me in the top 26 percent of the field. Yes – I came agonizingly close to setting a new PR – but I had a fantastic time missing it, raised awareness of Batten disease and honored my little sister, who once told me she dreamed of walking that campus as a student someday.

God built me like a sprinter, but the fight against Batten disease is a long and difficult race. Outside of my finish line dashes, I’ll never stand out in a distance race field, but if my times show anything at all, they show I’m consistent. And I’ll never, ever stop fighting this fight. I’m in it for the long haul, no matter how many Laurel Hills we face.

To honor Taylor and support the fight against Batten disease, I’ll make a donation to Taylor’s Tale’s Miles to a Miracle campaign. Please consider making a gift, too! Click here to visit my page; scroll to the ‘Support My Cause’ section at the bottom to donate. Thank you for your support!

2012 Tar Heel 10 Miler

Published: April 7, 2012 ~ 0

By Laura Edwards

In two weeks, I’ll run for Taylor in my favorite race of the year, the Tar Heel 10 Miler. The course meanders through the streets of Chapel Hill, NC, and the campus of the University of North Carolina, my alma mater.

I graduated from college nearly eight years ago. Often, I feel as though the time I spent in Chapel Hill happened in another life. So much has transpired since then. And yet, some moments seem frozen in time.

I felt particularly homesick one day during the fall of my freshman year when I received a message from my mom’s email account. “Dear Rar Rar,” it read. “I wanted to send you a message, too. Here goes!” (insert several lines of unintelligible gibberish here) “Love, T.”

I printed that email and posted it on the cork board that hung on the wall over my desk in my dorm room. Every time I moved throughout my college career, the cork board came down and went into a cardboard box and onto the next temporary dwelling. The piece of paper with T’s email survived all of the moves, including the final journey home to Charlotte after graduation. I still have it today.

I used to imagine that my little sister might someday follow me to Chapel Hill – or wherever her dreams led her. Now, I hope that Batten disease does not steal her from us before she reaches the age when kids typically head to college, their entire lives still ahead of them.

Last year, I ran the Tar Heel 10 Miler in 1:25:27 – my personal best for a 10-mile race (I came close to matching it in the Charlotte 10 Miler in February with a time of 1:26:10). I’ve been hobbled by a sprained ankle for the past month, but I still hope to post a strong result on the 21st.

Once again, I’m running in honor of Taylor’s valiant fight against Batten disease. I’ll make a donation to Taylor’s Tale after the race, and and I’m also asking friends to give anything they can in support of my run. I’ll post my results here on Sunday, April 22.

To make a gift to Taylor’s Tale on behalf of my race, visit my fundraising page here, scroll to the Support My Cause section near the bottom of the page and enter your donation amount in the space provided. All gifts are 100 percent tax-deductible. Thank you for your support!

No Dead Ends

Published: February 26, 2012 ~ 0

By Laura Edwards

Yesterday morning, I awoke to the sound of my alarm at 4:45, swung my legs to the side of the bed and braced for a shot of late February as my bare feet hit the hardwood floor in the silent, dark room. Ordinarily, I can’t bear the thought of rising before dawn. But I stood and walked to the kitchen without hitting the snooze button even once. I had a race to run for Taylor.

My husband, God love him, doesn’t understand this crazy race stuff but still dragged himself out of bed early enough to head to the race site with me and play on his iPhone in the relative warmth of his car for 70-some minutes while he waited for texted-in-stride instructions at mile marker nine to get to the finish line.

A few minutes after 7:30, I lined up with 333 other brave souls for the start of the first-ever Charlotte 10 Miler. I run the Tar Heel 10 Miler in Chapel Hill, NC on the campus of my alma mater every April, love it and couldn’t believe my luck when I learned that my hometown had gotten its own version of the wonderful but rare distance and – better yet – had chosen to put it almost in my own backyard.

At 7:55, the horn sounded.

Last year, I set a personal record (PR) for the 10-mile distance when I ran the Tar Heel 10 Miler in 1:24:00, finishing in the top 20 percent of the field.

Five days later, I injured my left Achilles tendon in a soccer game. I spent the next three months in a boot. Since then, I’ve run a grand total of one race – a 10K in the rural NC mountains last weekend. I missed last November’s Thunder Road Half Marathon for the first time in several years. Needless to say, I had no clue how I’d do in the Charlotte 10 Miler. And though the field was small, it was strong. My non-runner husband’s first words when we arrived were, “These people look serious.” So when I took off at the sound of the horn and let the cold air fill my lungs, I told myself I just wanted to run a respectable race in my little sister’s honor.

When I passed the first mile marker, the app on my phone announced my current pace – 8:35 per mile. I knew that put me close to my 2011 Tar Heel 10 Miler time (when I averaged 8:24 per mile) but didn’t think I could keep it up.

But even after I reached the halfway point, my pace held steady.

Around mile marker eight, the course cut through a neighborhood, rounded a bend and presented my fellow runners and me with the second-steepest hill I’ve ever encountered in a race (the steepest being Laurel Hill – a monster near the end of the Tar Heel race so notorious that it gets its own separate timing mats). And right then, my legs voted unanimously – without consulting me – to quit. Every muscle from my feet to my waist burned right down to my bones.

I thought about walking to the top of the hill. What harm could it do? With such a small field, I didn’t have to worry about the psychological tear-down effect of watching scads of runners pass me while I caught my second wind.

And then, just as quickly as the thought had entered my mind, it dissolved. In its place I saw a timeless image of my sister in her first 5K; falling, scraping her knees and palms; being given a chance to walk; gracefully turning it down; getting to her feet and finishing the race; running – not walking – across the finish line.

I ran up that hill, using my arms to propel my body when my legs refused. When I got to the top, I found my second wind. As I caught my breath, I sent my husband the promised text – “Get to the finish line!” – stowed my phone and picked up speed.

finish line

Taylor can’t run 5Ks anymore. But she is with me for every race I run. Never is that more apparent than when my body begins to fail me. I maintained a steady pace the entire race – except for the final mile. I ran mile 10 a full minute faster than any of the previous nine miles. I crossed the finish line at 1:26:10; I averaged an 8:37/mile pace, fell just two minutes short of my 2011 PR and beat half the field.

After the race, other runners talked about the hill that almost claimed me. Many thought it warranted a name, like the famed Laurel Hill. One runner suggested “Dead-endhaven Hill” (after a nearby street, Endhaven Lane).

My next race is seven weeks away, but my race to save children like Taylor from Batten disease never stops. The latter makes the Charlotte 10 Miler – even with a field chock-full of “serious runners” (in the words of my husband) – look like a walk in the park. But I know that I have to keep going – even on the days when the hills seem like insurmountable mountains.

Batten disease comes with a lot of pain. Our fight with this monster is far from easy. There will be many difficult days. But there are no dead ends.

Run for Taylor on February 25!

Published: January 8, 2012 ~ 0

By Laura Edwards

If you live within a reasonable distance of Charlotte (or if you don’t but like to travel!), you’re invited to join me for my hometown’s only 10-mile race on Saturday, February 25. I’ll bundle up in purple, the color of Taylor’s Tale, and run in honor of my little sister on what will be a chilly morning. The 10-mile distance is my favorite – I run the Tar Heel 10 Miler in Chapel Hill, NC each April – but it’s rare, so I was ecstatic when I heard about the Charlotte 10 Miler.

If the thought of running 10 miles sounds miserable to you, don’t worry – the event will also feature a four-mile run. The four-miler will start at 7:30, about 10 to 15 minutes prior to the headliner. Both races will begin by Urban Active in Ballantyne and follow south Charlotte’s McMullen Greenway to Four Mile Creek along gorgeous paved trails; they’ll end at the Earthfare on N. Community House Road. So if you’re not a runner, at least you know where to cheer! 🙂

The Charlotte 10 Miler officially benefits the Crohn’s & Colitis Foundation’s Team Challenge and the American Cancer Society. You can add a third cause, Taylor’s Tale and the lives of children fighting Batten disease, to the list by joining me on race day. All in all, there are plenty of reasons to run on February 25:

Support three amazing causes
Running is great exercise
Receive a free t-shirt if you register by Feb. 18 (everyone loves free t-shirts, right?)
Hang out with me 🙂

To learn more about the race (and register), click here. To learn more about running for Taylor’s Tale, contact us. I hope to see you on race day!

The Search for the Invisible Finish Line

Published: January 1, 2012 ~ 0

By Laura Edwards

My Charlotte elementary school held an annual field day competition – for me, the highlight of the year. Back then, I spent many recess periods reading novels in the shade of the old campus’ stately oaks, too introverted to insert myself in the hopscotch and foursquare games and friendship bracelet-making parties of the other girls. But when field day rolled around, I showed up in Umbros and a t-shirt, handed my thick glasses to my teacher and smoked all of my classmates in the fifty-yard dash.

Throughout my soccer career, I wasn’t always the most talented player on the field, but I was almost always the fastest. As a right midfielder, I loved to sprint down the sideline with the ball at my feet, beat the defense to the corner flag, wait for my teammates to catch up and curl a cross back to the top of the box for a shot on goal. I never led my team in goals scored, but I often led it in assists. During the spring of my senior year, my high school coach moved me to defense; prior to each game, he instructed me to mark the opposing team’s fastest player.

My best friend on my high school and club soccer teams could juggle the ball till the sun went down; I couldn’t juggle the ball for more than five seconds. But I had a killer cross, could throw the ball farther than most of the men’s team, and could outrun the whole conference. If I’d run track, I’d have specialized in the 400. And on the soccer field, I made my living as an athlete.

Nearly 20 years after I took home my first blue ribbon for the 50-yard dash and 14 years after I first stepped onto a sweet-smelling, freshly mowed soccer field, I learned that my little sister likely wouldn’t have the opportunity to chase her own dreams. After her Batten disease diagnosis, Taylor ran two 5Ks. But she last crossed a finish line in May 2009. And today, that singular moment feels as if it happened in another lifetime, to another family.

When doctors discovered the fatal flaw in Taylor’s genetic makeup, I ran to escape it. When adrenaline coursed through my veins, I felt unbeatable. Rather than turn to alcohol or drugs in an attempt to blur the sharp edges of my family’s tragic turn, I became addicted to running.

But Batten disease didn’t tire easily, and it became clear that we had a long fight on our hands. One morning, in a moment of perfect clarity, I realized that I wouldn’t find salvation at the end of a 50-yard sprint. So I did the only things I knew to do. I gathered all of my stamina. And I reinvented myself as a distance runner.

After passing the 13th mile marker during my first half marathon, I wanted to quit. My lungs burned. A fire raged in the soles of my shoes. A soccer player accustomed to sharing a field with 21 others, I discovered at that moment that running can be a very lonely sport – if you let it. But then, I rounded a corner and came upon a gray-haired lady sitting in a lawn chair on the side of the road. As I approached her, her eyes met mine. A look of understanding crossed her face; at that moment, I believe she understood me better than I understood myself. She smiled, put her hands together, and yelled, to me and only to me, “You can do it!”

finish line

I probably overtook 100 people in that final .1 mile, sprinting at full speed through a tunnel of spectators under a clear winter palette dotted with the skyscrapers of uptown Charlotte.

About five months later, I entered a spring race held among the blooming dogwoods and azaleas on the campus of my alma mater; in just under 90 minutes, I jogged through the tunnel and onto the oval circling the field at Kenan Stadium, where my legs found new life and carried me past almost everyone and across the finish line of the Tar Heel 10 Miler.

The races have gotten a lot easier since I christened my long-distance career. Despite a sore Achilles, I finished in the top one-fifth of the field in the Tar Heel 10 Miler this past April. A couple of weeks ago, I went out and ran 13.1 on a beautiful Saturday afternoon – just because I felt like it. But our battle with Batten disease – our search for the invisible finish line – has gotten more difficult with each passing year. Sitting here now, writing these words on New Year’s Day, I know that 2012 will be, without question, the toughest test yet.

I also know, from experience, that it is indeed possible to accelerate when, moments before, you thought you had nothing left to give. And I know that no matter how painful or exhausting it may be, I must be faster in 2012 than I have ever been before.

Yesterday, I ran 10 miles in my last personal physical challenge of 2011. My time for the first mile? 10:01. For the tenth mile? 7:24.

Digging Deep

Published: April 12, 2011 ~ 1

By Laura Edwards

I managed this self-portrait before dawn
the morning of the race.

As promised, following are my results from the 2011 Tar Heel 10 Miler, run on the campus of UNC and the streets of Chapel Hill on a misty Saturday morning before the sun ever broke through the clouds.

Time: 1:25:27
Pace: 8:35/mile
Laurel Hill time: 7:35
Place: 734 out of 2,189 overall; 267 out of 1,252 females; 60 out of 200 females ages 25-29

I began the race on Stadium Drive with a nasty head cold, an injured Achilles (pulled in a soccer game two days prior), and maybe an hour of sleep (worried I’d sleep through my 5 a.m. alarm, I never quite made it to dreamland).

Around mile marker two, I felt a burning sensation in the ball of my left foot. It never went away, forcing me to change the way I run (more naturally a sprinter than a distance runner, I run entire road races on my toes). Hours later, I’d discover the source of the pain – an enormous blood blister.

Near mile marker five, the pain in my Achilles relented, blissfully replaced by a runner’s high.

A few miles later, I called my parents from the course just to check in. Their voices gave me the boost I’d need just moments later.

Soon after we said goodbye, I reached Laurel Hill – the most difficult part of the race, featuring a 200-foot vertical climb over the course of a mile. By then, my lack of sleep had caught up with me. But when I crossed the first timing mat, I pushed myself, getting as close to a sprint as my body permitted. Each time my ruined feet hit the pavement, I heard my little sister’s laugh, and I dug deeper. I crossed the second timing mat at the top of Laurel Hill seven minutes and 35 seconds after crossing the first – meaning I’d run the most challenging mile a minute faster than my average mile pace.

Soon afterward, I heard the music at the finish line as I rounded a bend. And when I reached the final straightaway, as in every race, I pulled out one more sprint for “T.”

I ran the 2011 Tar Heel 10 Miler 12 minutes faster than in 2010, so tonight, true to my word, I’ll make a $60 donation to our Miles to a Miracle campaign. But more importantly, I’ll never stop running. In fact, I got back out on the track tonight, ready to tackle the next race for Taylor. Laurel Hill has nothing on the mountain we have yet to climb. But I believe.

Please consider making a gift of your own to help Taylor’s Tale cross the finish line of the ultimate race: the race to save the lives of children like my little sister. Give Now

Laurel Hill

Published: March 22, 2011 ~ 0

By Laura Edwards

Two weeks from Saturday, I’ll run my favorite race, the Tar Heel 10 Miler, on the streets of Chapel Hill, NC and the gorgeous campus of the University of North Carolina.

I’ll pass mile marker one on the L-shaped road I used to take to UNC basketball games at the “Dean Dome” and soccer practice before they turned our old field into a parking lot.

Around mile marker five, I’ll run past the Forest Theatre, where I got initiated into the co-ed honor fraternity the same night a student proposed to his girlfriend with a candlelit dinner on the stone amphitheater’s grass-carpeted floor.

Near the very end of the race, I’ll climb Laurel Hill, which earned its famous rep due to the fact that it climbs more than 200 vertical feet over about a mile. It’s the most difficult part of the race – so much so that race organizers place separate timing mats at the bottom and top for the simple fact that any runner who notches a killer split on Laurel Hill earns automatic bragging rights.

Laurel Hill isn’t easy, but my playlist, my Asics and my love for my little sister will carry me to the top. And soon after I reach that pinnacle, I’ll cross the finish line.

This will be the third race I’ve run for Taylor since Thanksgiving, but this time, I’ll have additional motivation. In 2010, I ran a slow 1:39 in the Tar Heel 10 Miler. Just two days ago in Charlotte, I ran 10 miles and beat that time by almost 20 minutes. Granted, south Charlotte doesn’t have a Laurel Hill. But I’m almost a sure bet to improve on my 2010 tortoise pace this Saturday, April 9.

To honor my little sister’s valiant fight against Batten disease, I’m pledging $5 for every minute under my 2010 time. I’m also asking friends to give anything they can in support of my run. I’ll post my race result here on Sunday, April 10.

To donate, visit www.taylorstale.com/miles and click on the ‘Donate’ button in the sidebar.

I’m incredibly grateful for the support of all of our angels. Though we have many Laurel Hills ahead of us in the fight to save Taylor, we’ll never stop fighting – or running.