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Run Runnie Run

Finishing first or last, her romance with running goes on. By Amy Binder 

By the end of August, she had already completed more than 90 races for the year.

You can call her Ronnie. Or you can call her Sue. But don’t call her in the mornings, because she probably won’t be there.

Two days a week, Ronnie Susan Levy, 65, runs. Three days a week, she works out in the fitness center of her building. On weekends, she races—both days. By the end of August, she had already completed more than 90 races for the year.

Most are road races, but she does a handful of track events, including the Delaware County Senior Games. “No matter what event, I’m always last. The 80-year-olds beat me, and they’re not even wearing running shoes,” said Ronnie, a retired educator who headed Drexel University’s Early Childhood Center.

Ronnie started running 20 years ago in an unusual place: on a cruise ship. She stepped onto a treadmill and into a romance with running. She used to think anyone who ran was crazy, including her husband Marv. Now she says running helps her keep her sanity. It also gives her a needed break from being sole caregiver to Marv, 83, who suffers from Alzheimer’s disease.

She and Marv have been fixtures at races in Delaware (both the county and the state) and in Philadelphia, New Jersey, and just about anywhere within driving range. They also traveled to Finland, in 1991, to run in what is now known as the World Masters Athletics Championships. She estimates they used to spend about $3,000 per year on race entry fees, something she calls “a good expense.”

“We don’t smoke, drink or do drugs, so you have to spend your money on something. And it usually benefits a good cause,” she said.

Even if the entry fee doesn’t benefit a charity, Ronnie donates all the T-shirts and trophies she brings home to people who can use them. “I bag all the shirts up and take them to a home for runaways, where kids come with just the clothing on their backs,” she said. “Last year, I gave a load of shirts to victims of Hurricane Katrina, and recently I took another 80 or so to a church that gives them to the homeless.”  

As for the trophies, she pulls off the customized plates and gives the now-generic statuettes to organizations that work with kids. It’s an inventive form of recycling. The one trophy she does keep is from her very first race, in 1986. She didn’t win; in fact, she came in dead last. The trophy was a gift from Marv, who bought it and had it engraved to encourage his wife’s new passion.  

Encourage her he did, almost too much. She now calls running her addiction. Her motto borrows liberally from the post office: Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet will stop her. She is, however, cautious about ice. Those are the days when she returns to the treadmill, which gets used maybe five times a year.  

What drives her is not so much the trophies—with little competition in her age bracket she brings one home from nearly every race—it’s the camaraderie of the running community. “I run for fitness and to keep healthy, but I go to races to be around other people and socialize. I love to see the younger runners out there,” she said. “They tell me I’m awesome and an inspiration, even though I’m the slowest. I must seem so old to them, but I know runners in their 70s, 80s and even 90.” 

The longest race she’s done has been the 10-mile Broad Street Run, but she prefers a 5-kilometer race, maybe a five miler and the occasional 10k. Anything longer requires too much of a time commitment. Asked when she plans to run a marathon, her quick response is, “Capital NEVER.”  

She has made a few accommodations over the years to satisfy her racing jones. She no longer drives her beloved 14-year-old, turquoise Honda at night, so evening races away from her Philadelphia home base are out. She also enters races as Sue, a shortened form of her middle name, so she doesn’t skew the results by having “Ronnie” be mistaken for a man. 

Like nearly all runners, Ronnie has had her share of injuries: torn muscles, stress fractures, broken bones in her foot. When she can’t run, she’s miserable. She says she’s such a sore sport when injured, she doesn’t even want to hear the word “run” or how anyone else did in a race.  

Last summer, her doctor wouldn’t allow her to run for six weeks; she was back at it in five. She has even made running one of her criteria in choosing physicians. If they run, she thinks they’ll be less likely to sideline her without thinking twice. 

On September 8, Ronnie and Marv celebrated 33 years of marriage. A few weeks earlier, she had made reservations at a nearby, upscale restaurant to mark the occasion. “I have a race the next morning, but the heck with that,” she said. “I’ll still run, but we’ll also have a nice dinner together.”

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CAPTION: Ronnie “Sue” Levy, 65,  took first place in her age group at the Chichester Business Association 5k in June. Then again, she takes home a medal from nearly every race she runs—two, sometimes, three, each weekend—even though she’s often among the last to finish.

Originally published in the News of Delaware County, September 20, 2006. Reprinted with permission.