What I mean is the season that for me now comes between summer and fall: marathon-walking season. A time when a summer of training combines with anticipation of the event. A time when, after walking hundreds of miles, I take my place at the starting line with thousands of other walkers and runners, my brain and body ready for the 26.2-mile challenge. A time when my shoes switch into auto-pilot -- for moments when mental and physical preparation wear thin -- and methodically move me toward the finish line.

This season began taking shape four years ago, when my youngest daughter, Emily, invited my oldest daughter, Jennifer, and me to join her in training for and running in the Portland Marathon.

"We can do it," she said, trying to spark our less-than-enthusiastic response, assuring us with the right training we could actually do what she was suggesting.

In my mind, marathons were something only extreme athletes would consider. The thought of running that distance seemed completely absurd. However, "bad mom" guilt hit as soon as I declined Emily's invitation, driving me to seek alternative avenues to help her achieve her goal.

As it turned out, the Portland event is not an exclusive runners-only club. It is extremely walker friendly. Don't get me wrong; it's a serious athletic event, and a large percent of the thousands of participants crossing the starting line are serious walkers.

That gave me hope. Maybe I wasn't a runner, but I loved to hike. Besides that, I've been accused more than once of being stubborn. Combining those two things seemed like the perfect solution. Maybe I didn't want to try running a marathon, but by walking it, I could share training stories with Emily, share her excitement as the event approached, and -- from way back in the crowd -- send her all the positive energy I could spare come marathon day.

Armed with a first-time-marathon-walker training program I found on the Web, I laced up my shoes and went to work. The plan got even better when my friend Gayle decided to join in support of her daughter who also was running the event.

Since then, Gayle and I have walked three marathons, one a year. Each year has brought different challenges.

Like the 2007 Equinox Marathon in Fairbanks. Event organizers told participants to expect to add 30-60 minutes to targeted finish times because of the course's difficulty. They weren't kidding. It was tougher that I'd imagined and took 60 minutes more than we'd hoped.

Last year it was the Kenai River Marathon. The course was easier, but the ambitious finish time Gayle and I were targeting required some jogging. As we neared the finish line, she was ahead of me, which was good on two counts: first, I didn't want her to see the pain on my face; second, her strength was the carrot I needed to keep going.

The difference this year is that Gayle and I are testing our training in two different events. She's returning to the Equinox Marathon in Fairbanks this Saturday. Gayle's a strong athlete and I have no doubt her finish time will be the exception to the organizers' caution.

Not being with her will be bittersweet. Side-by-side, we've walked God-only-knows how many miles on the Spit, up and down Baycrest, up East Hill and out East End Road. We've covered beaches, gone down side roads and cut through back streets. We've worn out shoes, bloodied our toes and bandaged huge blisters. The backseats of our vehicles are littered with sweatshirts, jackets and hats to match whatever Mother Nature throws our way. From gorgeous sunny days to wind-driven rain, we've had it all.

For me, this will be the culmination of what began four years ago. On Oct. 4, I'll be crossing the starting and finish lines of the Portland Marathon with both my daughters. I'm sure, with no small sense of motherly pride, they could run the entire thing, but we'll be walking it together.

With Emily in Portland and Jennifer in Los Angeles, we've shared training experiences and lessons learned long distance. Miles, pace, footwear, clothing, hydration, warm ups and cool downs have been subjects for phone calls and e-mails. I look forward to sharing the race's wave of adrenaline, giving and depending on their encouragement when the going gets tough as I know it will, overcoming the challenge of the infamous wall that lurks around Mile 18, sinking into the hushed single-mindedness that descends at Mile 20 when each step seems an incredible effort and, finally, the thrill of seeing the finish line and the joy of stepping over it.

Good luck Saturday, Gayle. I look forward to choosing next year's marathon after we both get home. And I hope there's some fall left for us to enjoy.

McKibben Jackinsky can be reached at mckibben.jackinsky.@homernews.com.