Life became more precarious this spring when doctors discovered two new tumors in her liver. She found a doctor at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center in New York who has made his career out of fighting this disease. The Grunewalds met with him a week before the Prefontaine.

“He doesn’t look at me like I’m a dying person,” she said. “You can tell when doctors look at you like that. I don’t think it’s my situation, and even if it is, it’s not helpful.”

Neither Gabriele or Justin has use for pretend. They know the nature of their enemy. Grunewald will complete her chemotherapy regimens and then perhaps a clinical trial.

“It gives me hope,” she said. “Hey, maybe we can get this under control. And I can turn one year into another and I can have a long life.”

Grunewald is not certain how long her body will accommodate a battle with an aggressive cancer and professional running. She had planned to stop after the Prefontaine for chemotherapy. Instead she has kept running while getting chemo. (A medical waiver from the sport’s governing permitted her to take two steroid pills after surgery.) She hopes to run in the United States Championships late this month in Sacramento, where daytime temperatures can top 100 degrees.

I do a poor job of hiding my surprise. She gives that shrug. “I’m relentless or insane,” she says. “I can’t pretend that I’m fine because I’m not fine, ya know?”

There is silence, and she said: “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

She excuses herself. She has postrace stretches and a cool-down run. Her husband and I talk as cool fingers of night air descended from Eugene’s hills. He is an internist in his final months of his residency; he knows disease and its paths. He tried to focus on being a husband.