Electing a Life on the Run

"It's not ideal, but we're making it work," says Cameron, taking a sip of wine on what happened to be Beliveau's 31st birthday. She had cupcakes delivered to him for the occasion. There is always a "next visit" planned and the couple talk several times a day, conversations they jokingly call "business transactions": " 'Did you pay this bill?' 'Do you remember tomorrow's your mom's birthday?' "

None of it is the way she thought her first year of marriage would be, but it came down to this: "He got a great job. And he's really good at it. How do you tell the person you love, the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, 'No, you can't do this.' "

That's one question the campaign couples who end up on psychologist Michael Radkowsky's couch end up asking. Others include: "What does it say about me that I want to leave my family for six weeks?" "What does it say about me that my partner wants to leave me for two months?"

Part of what it says, he tells clients, is that individual goals still matter, even in the context of a family. "If you make your relationship your only priority, or even your top priority, it can limit your potential as a human being," he says.

Plus, Radkowsky adds, campaign junkies constitute a certain breed. While campaigns snap up hordes of young people -- in their 20s, single and kidless, full of energy -- only a few become addicted. Those are the ones who will tell you campaigns are ingrained in their being. They feed off the pressure and competition and the ideal -- the belief that they can impact society more profoundly doing this than any other job.

"It's in my blood," says Sean Noble. He is 37 years old, chief of staff to Rep. John Shadegg (R-Ariz.). He also has five children and over the years has taken leave from his job to work on 20 different campaigns, at all levels.

His wife, Julie, is pretty much a single mom when he's gone. And he's gone a lot. He takes vacation time to work on campaigns. His family takes vacation time, sometimes, to go see him work on campaigns. "I haven't burned out yet, much to the chagrin of my wife."

"You just have to suck it up and say, 'That's who I married and that's what I'm giving to my marriage -- my support,' " says Julie Noble, on the phone from their home in Phoenix. "It was really hard, though. It took a lot of nice discussions for me to get to this point."

"It's not been without a struggle," her husband concedes. He's not on a campaign now, but almost certainly will be by next summer. "It would be ridiculous to pretend that this kind of activity doesn't put a strain on marriages. And I can't imagine doing this if my wife didn't support me the way that she does and believe in the things that I do."

That helps -- that she believes what he believes. They're Mormon and he works for conservative candidates -- "so for us, it's fighting right against wrong," she says.

It helps. But there are still times it doesn't feel worth it.

"It's really hard when you know the candidate's probably not going to win," she adds. "And they're still gone 24/7 and you just think, what is the point?"