“Guess we proved ourselves right,” she said, and we shared a laugh before our individual paces separated our push for the finish line.

Participating in a marathon was never something I considered doing. Until shortly after New Year’s, that is, when my daughter Emily, who lives in Portland, Ore., announced to my daughter Jennifer and me that her goal for the year was to complete the Portland Marathon. Wouldn’t it be fun if the three of us did it together, she asked?

Jennifer’s answer and mine were the same and came equally fast: No.

Then I thought about the goal Emily had set for herself. The farthest distance she had run was six miles. To complete a 26.2-mile marathon meant training, focus and self-discipline. And it meant the support of all of us who cared for her. She’d invited me to share the experience. How could I refuse? The answer to that question overshadowed my first response: I couldn’t.

Boundless though my maternal support may be, however, my running ability is limited. I’m not a runner. Period. Then I read an article about the Portland Marathon being a walker-friendly event, and on the marathon’s Web site I found a training program for first-time marathon walkers. I had found my solution.

In June, I began a three-day-a-week program to get in shape to participate as a walker. I walked Homer Spit. I walked up Baycrest Hill. I got blisters. I wore down my shoes. And I experienced a few tense moments in July after Emily ran a half-marathon and decided to give herself another year of training before attempting a marathon. The tension eased, however, when she chose to enter this year’s marathon as a walker.

In August, my friend Gayle Forrest also registered for the marathon as a walker. Like me, it was her way of sharing the experience with her daughter Gwen, who lives in Seattle, Wash. With three marathons already to her credit, Gwen was preparing to run the Portland Marathon.

Gayle and I met Wednesday and Friday afternoons and early Sunday mornings, faithfully sticking to the training program. Over the course of two months, while we walked hundreds of miles, we watched summer’s wildflowers bloom, fade and die; listened to Kachemak Bay’s surf; battled rain and wind, sunshine and darkness. We discussed walking shoes, blisters, sore muscles, chiropractors and massages. We shared our research about walking, marathon strategies, energy foods and beverages.

Sometime around mid-September, I suffered a “what the heck am I doing” attack. Gayle, Emily, Jennifer and incredibly supportive family, friends and co-workers talked me through my anxiety, assuring me all the training would pay off. Even for a nonathlete like me.

Then, in the pre-dawn darkness of Oct. 1, more than 7,000 entrants filled downtown Portland. At 7 a.m., the starting gun went off, a marching band struck a brisk tempo and thousands of spectators cheered as the runners — Gwen among them — and walkers, including Gayle, Emily and me, crossed the starting mats.

With a pace of 8:50, Gwen crossed the finish line three hours and 51 minutes later. Gayle, Emily and I stepped over the finish line with our hands raised in victory six hours and 48 minutes after we began. Factoring in two bathroom breaks, we nailed our target time of 6.5 hours.

Gwen Forrest manages a wave and a smile for her dad's camera as she runs the Portland Marathon.

More importantly, as Gayle recently said, the marathon was about the journey. Having a front-row seat on summer. Focusing on a plan. Getting in better physical shape. Learning how to walk. Learning how to walk faster. Supporting each other. Pushing ourselves. Achieving our goal. And, for Gayle and me, sharing it with our daughters.

Now that I think about it, I guess that’s not so crazy, after all. And there’s the next marathon to consider. And doing it in a faster time. And maybe Jennifer will join us.