THE VOICE OF CHICAGO'S GAY, LESBIAN, BI, TRANS AND QUEER COMMUNITY SINCE 1985

But, boy, is she glad hundreds of Chicagoans annually run one as part of the National AIDS Marathon Training Program, which trains everyday Americans to complete the ultimate running experience, which might take six hours or even more to complete.

Franklin, 53, lives in Uptown and is one of the direct beneficiaries of the AIDS Marathon runners. And also those who participate in—and fund-raise for—the annual AIDS Walk and AIDS Ride. She has AIDS and been HIV-positive for 27 years, since being infected during a blood transfusion.

Franklin receives about $5,500 annually from AFC-supported organizations, such as Chicago House, to aide with her rent payment and groceries, among other living expenses.

"I'm blessed and highly favored," said Franklin, a South Side native. "It's because of the efforts of those who, for instance, run marathons for the [ National ] AIDS Marathon [ Training Program ] that I'm working and … a lot more. I got well enough mentally, emotionally and physically to go out and get a job.

"Every single one of [ the AIDS Marathon runners ] is helping me. And to help another person, that gives me hope for the world; that says that there are people out there who feel like me; they care about others. If you can help another person, it will enrich your life to the point of wanting to do more [ for others ] ."

Franklin is a medication specialist at the University of Illinois-Chicago. She works with HIV-infected patients, counseling on medication and adherence, a post she's held since April 2007. Franklin's work is with patients around the city and in the suburbs too, from Evanston to Oak Lawn. She counsels HIV-positive patients from 19 to 61; some have full-blown AIDS.

"It's a very rewarding job," she said. "I'm thrilled to be able to do what comes naturally to me, and get paid for it. I'm a good talker and a better listener. The people who I come in contact with start out guarded, shy and a little reserved about their personal [ situation ] , but before it's over, we are great friends.

"The reward I get [ from the counseling ] is, I know that I made an impact on that person's life; I know I did; it shows. I see them blossom into someone more capable of taking care of themselves and they are more educated.

"Nothing has given me as much joy as this job does."

Especially consider all of the sorrow she has endured from AIDS. That's directly to her and through the hardships—and deaths—of literally hundreds of others she's known.

Such as Vera, a friend who died in the late 1990s.

"I felt so overwhelmed, lost and helpless [ as Vera was dying ] that I had to do something; I had to take action. But I didn't know what to do," Franklin said. "Before she got sick, Vera said, 'Waver, if I get sick where I cannot talk anymore, I'm gonna go up to the tattoo factory and I'm gonna get a tattoo that will say Until We Meet Again, and you'll see it on my ankle.'"

Then one day in the hospital, while Franklin was putting lotion on Vera's feet, she spotted Vera's tattoo.

Franklin left the hospital and went directly to a tattoo shop; she got the same tattoo—the same slogan and the red AIDS symbol—on her right shoulder.

Vera died the next day.

"I've seen the face of AIDS become something that both makes me angry and makes me happy. I'm glad that people recognize the severity and the importance of AIDS better then they used to," Franklin said. "I don't think teenagers today care as much about getting [ AIDS ] because it's treatable. My niece, for instance, had unprotected sex at 15 and [ the man ] was HIV-Positive. She said, 'I want to be just like you, Aunty.'"

Her niece is now 27, and she, too, is battling the disease on a daily basis.

"All of these places that are funded by AFC … they are literally helping hundreds of thousands of people with literally everything in their life," Franklin said. "Chicago House, for instance, they give me nothing but love. The staff there is the most loving, kind, gentle people I've ever met. That place is all about love and kindness, understanding, forgiveness."

Franklin is straight; she has been married three times—to the same man. She also works as an outreach worker for the Chicago Women's AIDS Project.

"AFC helps to provide my housing, and that's no little bitty thing to me. It also provides case management for personal, professional, AIDS-related, or whatever issues I have. And so much more," Franklin said. "This disease knows no gender, no race, no financial bracket; it knows no boundries. The homosexual community and the AIDS community go hand in hand because, a long time ago, it really was a gay disease. Not anymore."

Franklin has three grown daughters, ages 31 to 37, and 12 grandchildren. All are negative and all know she's positive. Plus, "they all know how to talk about AIDS; they all know what AIDS is. All of my grandchildren are educated and, hopefully, practice safe sex," she said.

Franklin said she now is celibate—by her choosing. "I have not found a suitable partner, one who is HIV Positive," she said. "I am never going to have the feeling that I gave someone this disease; I will never do that to myself."

For those interesting in joining the National AIDS Marathon Training Program, which begins training in late April, go to www.aidsmarathon.com .