It was a different run, a lot different from the fairy tale run they once had in Switzerland; Klecker winning an 18-mile event, then hopping aboard a helicopter to watch her mom make an Alpine ascent in a 67K race.

But this time Klecker, 42, pushed her two youngest children in a baby jogger and kept a watchful eye on the four others on bikes. Horns, 68, followed in her new wheelchair.

"The power wheelchair is a big thing," said Klecker, who lives in Minnetonka.

Big, not because it symbolizes how much life has changed for Horns since learning, 18 months ago, that she has Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). Big because it symbolizes how Horns intends to live, even as she dies: actively and mindfully.

ALS, often referred to as "Lou Gehrig's Disease," is a fatal neuro-degenerative illness that results in gradual, total paralysis. Frequently patients are unable to speak and swallow; eventually, they are unable to breathe. And most people die three to five years after diagnosis.

"It's so amazing that such a healthy, vibrant person could have this disease," said friend Audrey Schroeder, 62, of Roseville. "But the rain falls on the just and the unjust."

And in this rain, Horns puts up an umbrella of activity.

The Bloomington resident wants to use her speedy wheelchair to stay around the active lifestyle she loves. She wants to be outside, wants the trips with grandchildren, wants to be able to carry water for Schroeder on her long runs before the Twin Cities Marathon.

"When you have all those things taken away, you have to figure out what you can do and work with that," said Horns. "I can't walk any more, but I've got a new high-speed chair. It goes like crazy."

Over the years both Horns and Klecker have run like crazy. Horns has completed 40 marathons, 19 ultramarathons and still holds several Minnesota age-group records. Klecker is a two-time Twin Cities Marathon champion and 1992 Olympic marathoner.

But, at this point in their lives, speed is not a concern. What is a concern is not leaving anything wasted in a day.

"We are very sad," said Klecker. "But once you get beyond the sadness and don't have to live in anger, you are in a spot where you can experience a lot of blessings. We're learning to do that, learning the art of living every day."

It is clear Horns has never made a habit of letting the joys of life, large or small, escape notice.

"It's not a pleasant disease to have," said Horns, "but I've lived a wonderful life. I've had so much fun. I'm not angry. I try not to look at the side where my muscles are wasting away. I try to stay positive. There are just little things that make life so much fun."

Things like that run she and Klecker took with the kids.

"Before she was diagnosed I wouldn't have made the time to do that," said Klecker. And, while running to a coffee shop, a park and the Dairy Queen is not quite a trip through the Alps, Horns and Klecker know they are still in rarefied air.

One of Horns' recent blessings was a trip to the Pike's Peak Marathon with Klecker and Schroeder. It was an opportunity to return to a race where she had success (she won her age group in 1996), to reconnect with old racing friends and to support Schroeder in her first Pike's Peak attempt.

"It was wonderful," said Horns.

"Wonderful," echoed Schroeder. "I'm so glad Mae could get to the mountains and coach me up to the top."

Up to that rarefied air Horns has known so well.