It Was a Very Good Year …and a Half

A retrospective of the high points in a very long career.

Part 1 of 3

first 50-miler. I wrote up the experience in the Winter 1979 issue of The Marathoner. This is a quote from that piece: “The big gun in attendance was the ultramuscled ultramarathoner Marine Frank Bozanich. And in his red-white-and-blue silky uniform with the Nike symbol on the breast, he was the center of attention on a rather calm sea. I’d never seen Bozanich in the flesh, although I’d seen more than enough photos of him and read enough astounding times associated with his running. Built like a weight-training instructor, Bozanich sported a skull with Marine-recruit hair, a hawklike profile, and that intensity in the eyes that prizefighters and Indy car drivers get just before the bell or the starter’s flag. He seemed confident, in fact just a little cocky as he was pampered by his army of handlers; he was mentally tight like a tootightly-wound wristwatch. He exuded the confidence that he was the strongest runner there and certainly one of the most experienced in ultramarathons. He planned an attempt to break the world record for the distance. He thought he could do it; so did his handlers. There was almost a halo around Bozanich because he was the in-residence superstar and because his intention to break the world record had been made public. Other runners, in drab garb compared to Bozanich’s, hushed when he walked past.” Bozanich failed to break the world record that day and in fact failed to win the race. It was Frank Bozanich’s strategy always to go out fast and either win or break. What follows is his account of 18 months in which he won more often than he broke.

would like to cover a period of my running career that stands out for me. [have

had several runs that mean a lot to me, but what really stand out and are most

memorable for me are all the runs from late 1978 to the end of June 1980. That was probably my most productive and consistent period of my career.

I did have some good races prior to this period, but things really came together for me, and I was absolutely focused on running as well as I could for as long as I could. I wanted to run well in my ultramarathons and decided to run shorter races as good, hard training runs. You must remember that this period was prior to all the emphasis on trail ultras that continues today. Probably 90 percent of ultras were run either on the roads or on tracks.

I did nearly all of my training much faster than most of the other ultrarunners in the United States. My slow miles were in the 7:00 range, and most of my hard miles were in the 6:00-or-below range. I did all my training on my own time, which was usually early in the morning, at noon time, and again after work. The only time I ran on Marine Corps time was when I ran with my recruits or did physical training with my unit. My family suffered more than did the Corps, as I sacrificed time with them to train or race. I was lucky to have a wife who was willing to put up with my desire to be one of the best ultrarunners in the world.

I learned in the late ’70s that I had to step up my training for the ultras and also not to worry about winning or losing but to just run hard. This lesson really became clear to me when I went to Great Britain in October 1978 to compete in the London-to-Brighton 53-miler. It was one of the most prestigious ultramarathons in the world at the time. The start was an eye-opener for me as I found out just how seriously the Europeans took their races.

The gun went off, and suddenly everyone was running hard, and of course I went off with them. I had not seen the course prior to the race and was in for a rude awakening as the race unrolled. I remember going through 10 miles in 56 minutes and being in 10th position and wondering what I had gotten myself into. I then hit 20 miles in just under two hours and thought to myself that I still had 30-plus miles to go. Oh, yes: we hadn’t hit the hills yet.

When I did finally get to the hills, it became a struggle for me as the wind and heavy rain also hit. I began to go into a mental low and had to reach down inside myself to push on to the finish. The hard effort over the first part of the race took its toll on me, and I can remember telling myself on the long downhill into Brighton that this was going to be my last ultra. (I think we all have these inner chats with ourselves. I know I still do after 35 years of running ultras.)

After crossing the finish line in 15th place, I immediately headed across the beach and took a swim in the English Channel. It was very cold and the waves were huge because of the storm, but it felt great.

I then joined some of the other runners in the Roman baths for a nice soak. While sitting in the bath and soaking away the physical aches and pains along with the disappointment of my race performance, I was approached by some of the race officials. I was offered an invitation to compete in a 24-hour track race in London in two weeks. Remember that just a few short hours earlier, during the last portion of the race and even while sitting in the bath, I had been contemplating this being my

last ultra. Without any hesitation (or any thinking, for that matter), I immediately answered in the affirmative—amazing how we can overcome our doubts and pains so quickly. Oh, yes, the winner of the race was Don Ritchie of Scotland; he would later go on to set some world records at 100K and 100 miles.

Twenty-four hours at the Crystal Palace

A day after the race, I flew home to San Diego and spent some time at work and with the family prior to flying back to London for the 24-hour track race. I stayed at the Marine Barracks where I was able to get a couple of young Marines to help me out at the race. This was to be my first attempt at 24 hours, and I had no clue as to how to prepare for it or what to bring. I was one of 12 athletes invited to the race, which was held at Crystal Palace Stadium.

The race was set to start at 0800 hours, and so the two Marines and I arrived at the stadium an hour prior to the start. I could not believe my eyes when I gazed down upon the track and infield and saw tents set up all around. My support crew and I had arrived with an athletic bag containing a change of clothes, extra shoes, and some candy bars and cans of Coke. We had no chairs or tent to set up, so we took up a position on the infield near the track and waited for the start.

All the runners were introduced, and then, at the appointed time, the horn sounded, sending us on our way. Having never been involved in anything like this, I had no idea what to expect.

I took off quickly but was by no means out in the lead. I was feeling good and set a decent pace, running close to Don Ritchie. Don was relentless and focused in his pursuit of a record, and he set a blistering pace. It was amazing to watch him go after his goal; he simply put his head down and kept a steady pace lap after lap.

I finally had to come off the track because my toes had blistered very badly and were too painful to carry on. There was no corpsman to call up to administer to my ailments, so the Marines and I made do with some pins to puncture the blisters. Good old Marine Corps adage: adapt and overcome. I put my shoe back on and reentered the fray.

Jan Knippenberg of the Netherlands was also in the race, and having done one of these things before, he had brought a team with him that included his brother, who was a doctor, and a massage therapist. Eventually, I had to stop a second time due to the blisters. Jan’s brother saw this and came to my austere camp to assist my team. He was able to fix my feet and then cut out the toes on my shoes, thereby relieving the pressure and allowing me to continue. Robert, Jan’s brother, then suggested that my team move our camp (the two young Marines and the few things we had with us) over to their camp, and his team would assist my team in crewing for me.

The race went much smoother after that, and I was able to get into a rhythm of running and taking breaks to refuel. Robert was amazed that I had come to the race

A The start of the invitation-only 24-hour track race at the Crystal Palace in England, with Frank Bozanich wearing number 1. To his left, wearing number 12, is Don Ritchie, who set a world record of 11:30:51 for 100 miles in the race.

with only candy bars and Coke as fuel. The Knippenberg team then took over my refueling so that I might have a chance to enjoy some success. You must remember that the longest I had ever run prior to this race was 50 miles, and that was in the 5:15 to 5:45 range. I had no idea what to expect out beyond 50 miles.

Don Ritchie continued to keep the hammer down, staying focused on his goal. He was an inspiration to the rest of the field. Don eventually had to take a break after passing 100 miles with a world record of 11:30. He rested for a while and tried to continue, but the blistering pace he had set early on eventually took its toll, and he retired for good at about 105 miles.

Inheriting a crew

I continued to run, but it was becoming more difficult as the miles and hours built up. Jan had some difficulties and finally retired early. Robert told me that if I were to continue on to the end, he and the crew would stay with me and help me in reaching my goal to complete the 24 hours. It was a great relief to have Jan’s crew and my two Marines support me in my effort to reach my goal. I finally reached 100 miles in 17 hours (my longest run up to that time), and let me tell you, my quads were screaming at me. It was difficult to run as each step sent excruciating pains throughout my body.

I was finally down to running (if you could call it that) for a few laps and then coming off the track for some nourishment. I would sit in a chair and Wim, the massage therapist, would work on my legs so that I could get back on the track and stumble around for a few more laps. It is funny now, but on that day it was not a pretty sight as Wim, after completing the massage, would literally pull me out of the chair and assist me to the track. Once on the track he would give me a

push and I would walk and stumble into a jog for a few more laps. My legs actually felt better when I was able to run faster than at a jarring, jogging pace, but I just didn’t have the energy to sustain the effort. I continued this routine until, mercifully, the sound of the horn came, indicating the end of the 24 hours.

The most difficult part of the entire experience came when it was time to leave the stadium, as we had to climb stairs. I think my Marines and Jan’s crew probably carried me more than I walked. I got a final massage from Wim in the locker room, and then it was a return to the Marine Barracks. To add misery to all the aches and pains, when we reached the barracks I had to climb up (again, with assistance) a set of spiral stairs to reach the bunkroom and a bed. I spent a long rest day at the barracks prior to heading out to Ruislip, a small village on the outskirts of London, where the headquarters for Marine Barracks London is located. I did lots of walking and eventually some easy running on the base and about the village. I was happy that I did not have to get on a plane directly after the race; I would have to have been loaded aboard in a wheelchair. I can honestly say that I have never suffered so much during or after a race as I did at that first 24-hour race. I did have a great time meeting and competing with some great runners who supported each other during the endeavor, each and every one suffering in some manner. It was also a delight to see my name in lights on the scoreboard for coming in fifth among such an all-star group of ultrarunners.

Later in December, I had the opportunity to spend a week with Don Ritchie and Tom Osler. Runner’s World hosted us at its annual National Running Week. We also spent quite a bit of time with Rich Benyo, who was working at Runner’s World and who had done some ultras. It seems like that week the four of us would end up having lunch together, four ultra guys bonding together amid the army of elite international runners who consider ultra guys a bit odd.

Learning a lot from Don Ritchie

Training with Don that week really got me focused on getting tough both physically and mentally. I learned how to run hard without worrying about the results. The British ultrarunners at that time believed in racing hard, often knowing full well that some races would not deliver the desired results but would benefit them later. I guess you could say that I adopted this same philosophy. During the week Don and I ran several good hard runs. (Other than being at the seminars and being on a couple of panels, we had nothing else to do.) We capped off the week with the Runner’s World Invitational 5-Miler on December 31.

In the morning Don and I did a hard and hilly 16-miler in which we ran six miles at a six-minute pace after an easy five and capped it off with five miles at a sub-6:00. We then ran an additional five miles in the afternoon before the five-mile race at midnight. Iran the five-miler in 25:40; Don managed to break 25 minutes— not bad for a couple of ultramarathoners. We surprised a few of the shorter-distance guys. It was a great way to finish up 1978 and to welcome 1979!

100K two weeks later in Miami. I ran Mission Bay with a fellow Marine to help him get through his first marathon. It was a nice, easy run for me, and I was able to run 2:55, which gave me confidence toward doing well in the upcoming 100K.

RRCA National 100K Championships, Miami, January 26, 1979

The Monday prior to the 100K, I ran 22 miles over a hilly course with my good friend and fellow Marine Dave Pound. On Wednesday I flew to Miami and rested up for the Saturday race. I stayed with Kari Johnson and his family, which really helped me. Kari and his friend were my crew for the race and of course, being Marines, did a great job in seeing to my needs and motivating me throughout the race. The race was held in Larry Thompson Park, and on Thursday Kari took me out to the course so I could run a couple of laps to get a feel for it.

I went into this race with some confidence; I had run 7:14 for 100K in Hawaii in 1977. On Saturday morning we arrived at the race and got our little aid station area set up near the start/finish line. I did my usual one-mile warm-up and then some striders. I liked this routine, as I knew that I would start out quickly and wanted to get my muscles loose. Park Barner, the American record holder for 100K

Frank Bozanich (center) getting fueled on
the run during the 1979 RRCA National 100K
Championships in Miami.

(7:11:44) was in the race, as well as Jim Pearson. Jim was a talented runner and had turned in some good times. He and I also had some good races against each other. A little-known fact: Jim and I grew up about 40 miles apart in northwest Washington State and ran against each other in high school. Don Paul, another great ultrarunner, also grew up in northwest Washington during the same time period.

The course was dead flat but was difficult in that it had several turns in the 3.3-mile loop and there was absolutely no shade to lessen the harsh sun. Each lap consisted of three 180-degree turns on narrow roads and paths, as well as six 90-degree turns. The turns made the course slow as we had to ease our speed at each 180-degree turn, nearly coming to a stop, and then having to get back up to speed. It was mentally tough to keep forging ahead because with each lap, we knew what was coming up, and it became more difficult as the day wore on and the sun beat down on us.

I went out fast, as usual, and many of the other runners were hoping that I would crash later in the race as I had in other races. My crew was great at keeping me well hydrated and motivated. Remember, this was before the days of sports drinks and gels. I kept myself focused on the task at hand and refused to let up the pressure I was putting on the other runners. I knew that if I could build up a big lead, even if I fell off the pace a bit over the last few miles, anyone trying to catch me would have to really put on the speed. I also knew that the other runners would be suffering as much as | was in the heat, and it would be difficult for them to catch me unless I stopped—and I had no thought of doing that. I also felt that no one in the race had the leg speed I did; also, I knew that I had done the hard training required to stay strong throughout. I hit 50 miles in 5:25 and then knew that I just had to carry that as far as I could for the next 12 miles. I knew that I would eventually slow down some but hoped it would be minimal.

I was able to push myself through to the end and got both the win and an American record of 6:51:20. Jim Pearson finished second with 7:44. It was a great personal victory for me to overcome many doubters and become the first American to run 100K in under seven hours, in the process knocking 20 minutes off the

Photo courtesy of Frank Bozanich

record. I was elated but also somewhat disappointed, as I felt that I could have tun faster if the course did not contain numerous sharp turns and if the weather had been cooler. I was somewhat amazed that the record lasted four years, as I felt it would have fallen sooner. I learned that day that if you believe in yourself and do the work, anything can be achieved.

I flew home the next afternoon and started my training again on Monday, totaling 98 miles for the week. My next race would be the Pacific Association AAU 50-Mile on February 25 from Marysville to Sacramento, along the Sacramento River. The weeks prior to the PA 50-miler, I put in training weeks of 136, 141, and 101 miles. These were weeks of a combination of speed sessions on the track and roads, hard 10-mile tempo runs, and long runs on the roads.

Pacific Association 50-Miler, February 25, 1979

I was ready for this race and knew that it was going to be difficult as it was coming just short of a month after the hard effort at 100K. I remember that the thoughts at this time in America were that you should wait a year or two after a 50-mile race before running another one. Greg Soderlund, currently the race director of the Western States 100 and the American River 50, reminded me of my prerace warm-ups that day. This was to be Greg’s first ultra, and he stated that he began wondering what he was getting into when he saw me do sprint strides and pushups at the start. As previously stated, I liked a good warm-up as I wanted to get off the starting line quickly and did not want to pull a muscle; that goes back to my days as a sprinter. I might have been showing off a bit and could have been pulling a little psychological ploy to burnish my rep as a tough Marine.

What I remember most about the start is taking off quickly at a 6:00 pace and another runner going out ahead of me. I decided that no one could last at that pace and I went with him, as I had no intention of letting anyone build a big lead on me early in the race. I had no idea who the runner was, but Mike Fanelli came along on his bike and informed me that the runner was Jim Bowles and that he was trying to take me out fast and burn me out so that his friend, Chris Hammer, could then take over the lead. Jim Bowles had no intention of finishing the race. I figured that I was already into the race and would just maintain what I had started and carry it as far as I could. Besides, how could a Marine let a couple of Air Force guys get the better of him? Bowles finally dropped from the race between 15 and 20 miles after we had pushed each other along at a 6:00 pace.

I continued alone in the lead, pushing the pace, but began to have some difficulties at about 33 miles and started to slow. At about 37 miles Chris went by me and held the lead until the 44-mile point. I just dogged him and refused to give up. I knew from previous races that I sometimes have difficulty in the 35- to 40-mile range and would need to dig down mentally and push myself onward

until things sorted themselves out. At the 44-mile point, Chris pulled off the side of the road to relieve himself, and I went past and dug deep and told myself it was time to refocus. It was time to push the pace and make it difficult for him to catch back up. I was able to hold a tough pace and crossed the finish line as the winner in 5:19:10. This was a very satisfying run because I had to overcome being tired from the 100K and from the heavy training load. I was pleased with my splits, which broke like this: one mile in 5:35; five miles in 30:09; 10 miles in 61 minutes; 15 miles in 1:31:30; 20 miles in 2:02; 30 miles in 3:06; and 40 miles in 4:12. I was pleased that I had been able to dig down enough to run the last 10 miles in 66 minutes.

I returned home and continued my training. On March 11, I ran a 9K race in 30:30, winning it. Then on March 25, I ran the Catalina Marathon and finished second in 2:46. The following Sunday, I ran a five-mile race in San Diego and placed fifth in 26:10. I was pleased to see that I still had some speed left.

On April 15, I was in Hopkinton for the start of the Boston Marathon. Boston always had a strong field in those days, and 1979 was no different. I went through five miles in 26:10, 10 miles in 53:15, and was able to run strongly from 15 miles to the finish, chalking up a 2:26:59. The trouble with Boston back in those days was that a 2:26 effort got me a mere 178th place. I was happy with the time, as I wasn’t pointing at Boston but rather dedicating the year to my ultras.

Photo courtesy of Frank Bozanich

<4 In between his ultras, Frank Bozanich ran several marathons and is shown here finishing second in the Catalina Marathon in

won the inaugural running the year before.

Back home, I continued to train with big miles and on April 28, I placed fifth in a 10K race with a time of 31:45.

Then my wife, Jan, and I flew to Seattle, visited some friends, and drove to Yakima, where we stayed with Dick Goodman, the race director of the next ultra on my schedule.

Coca-Cola Ultras, Yakima, Washington, May 6, 1979

The ultras consisted of three races in one: 50K, 50 miles, and 100K. All of the races were done on the same 5.7-mile rolling, road-loop course. The race attracted some of the best runners in the world. Jim Pearson came in to run the 100K, and he redeemed himself from our race in Miami by winning the 100K in 7:15.

Iran very strongly and won the 50-miler in 5:18:45, my second sub-5:20 effort for 50 miles in the year. I went through the marathon in 2:37 and came through 40 miles in 4:03. I finished the last 10 miles with a strong effort in 65 minutes. After Thad finished and rested for a few minutes, my wife, Jan, knowing my ability to recover quickly and my willingness to help others, sent me back on the course to run with Marcy Schwam. Marcy was going for the American women’s record for 100K, and I was thrilled to be part of her getting the record in a time of 8:51.

The Yakima race was great for me and instilled the confidence that I had the ability to run a strong race in the future and that I had the strength to run backto-back ultras. The Wednesday after the race, Jan and I returned home to Vista, where I ran easily for a couple of days.

On May 12, I drove to San Diego to run a 100-miler at San Diego State University. I wasn’t worried about time; I just wanted to see how I would feel

running long again so soon after the Yakima 50. I was not going to start out hard as I usually did, but rather at a comfortable pace. It turned out to be a very hot, humid day, so after reaching SOK, with the temps soaring to 105, I decided to call it a day. I was running a 7:30 pace and finished the 50K in 3:59.

Carlsbad 24-Hour Relay, May 19-20, 1979

A week after the SDSU 100-mile race, I joined my training partner and fellow Marine, Dave Pound, in a 24-hour relay. We decided to run as a two-man team, appropriately calling ourselves The Double Nuts. This race was held on a dirt track in Carlsbad, and it was special to me because when we entered the second day, I would celebrate my 35th birthday.

We planned a party that afternoon after the race, but Dave was so tired that he really did not enjoy the festivities. On the other hand, I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of the event and the cake afterward. Dave was and still is a great friend. He may not have been in the same league as me with his running, but he had heart and gave his all, and I could not have asked for more from anyone. Dave was probably my most consistent training partner, and after my wife, he was my greatest supporter.

The race was difficult for Dave, as we had to take turns running a mile and then hand off the baton to the other, trying to get some rest while the other was circling the track. I was comfortable running six-minute miles or better with little rest, but Dave was not. Dave’s slower miles gave me enough time to rest and also to warm up before hammering out the next hard mile. As a result, Dave was not getting as much rest between miles as I was. At midnight I made the decision for us to take a three-hour rest so that Dave could recover and we could finish strongly. We ended up running 154 miles. I think this was one of my happiest running experiences, as it involved my teaming with Dave, which allowed us to support each other in a unique racing format.

Frank celebrated his 35th birthday on
the second day of the Carlsbad 24-Hour
Relay, which he ran with Dave Pound
on a two-man team. Running on a dirt
track, Dave and Frank ran 154 miles.

Photo courtesy of Frank Bozanich

The following weekend I ran a 10K in Carlsbad in which I placed sixth in 32:04. Shortly after finishing the race, I ran 28 miles north up the coast to join my family at a friend’s home. This was sort of typical of my training and racing at that time. I was not frightened of the distance and had no doubt that I could achieve the goals I set in training or racing. The next race is probably typical of my thinking at the time.

Huntington Beach 24-Hour Run, June 1, 1979

This race was scheduled to start at 8:00 p.m. I knew about the race but did not have any intention of running it. I left for work early that morning at Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego and stopped at Mission Bay Park for my usual before-work training run. At the time we were living in Vista, which is about 40 miles north of San Diego. My training run was about 12 miles, and after I got to work I began thinking about the 24-hour run later that evening. About 10:30 I made the decision to run the race as a workout.

I called Jan and told her of my decision, so she had the things packed in the car and the kids ready to go when I got home from work.

We made the two-plus-hour drive north and arrived at the track with time for me to register and get our little base camp set up for Jan and the kids. After we were set up at one end of the field near a goal post, I went to meet my lap counter and visit with Park Barner. Park came out to California from Pennsylvania specifically to have a go at the American record for 24 hours. I remember that the track was dirt, and there were several 55-gallon drums set up around the track’s infield. Jan and I wondered what they were for. Well, we found out later that night when all of a sudden a couple of them flew into the air and came crashing back to earth. Apparently the race director had no control over the sprinkler system, and he had placed the drums over the sprinklers to prevent them from spraying the track—and all of the runners and support people who were set up on the infield. Let me tell you, his plan failed miserably, and there were runners, crews, and fans running for cover. Jan did a magnificent job in getting the kids moved and resettled while I continued the race.

Early on I was feeling great and running comfortably. I had lapped Park several times and was not taking any rest. I kept running, thinking that all was well and that my lap counter was doing his job. I knew that I had to be in the lead as Thad not stopped except for taking my drinks—this was long before the advent of energy drinks and gels—and had continued to pass Park.

To make a long story short, I stopped to check with the race officials to see how I was faring, and to my despair I found out that I was trailing Park by several laps. I then left the track and went over to relay my concerns to Jan, who had been watching the event while keeping an eye on the kids. She told me that my

lap counter had been off visiting with everyone and chatting about how he was counting laps for the “famous” Frank Bozanich. He apparently spent more time chatting than watching me and counting my laps. I then made the decision to forgo any thoughts of running well and would continue only to get more miles in. To say that I was disappointed and upset would be an understatement.

I left the track for good after covering about 85 miles in something less than 12 hours. I stayed around the track and rested while the kids slept. I found that the race officials were only keeping mile splits and not the splits for each lap that is required for ensuring that records are official and certified. After the race the officials announced that Park had set an American record of 162 miles. I then went over to the officials and informed them that the record was not official and that they had nullified a great performance by Park because of their sloppy lap counting.

I don’t know if I would have beaten Park at the end, but my desire and focus went out the window when the lap-counting errors were discovered. I was happy with how I performed considering that I entered at the last minute and wasn’t fully rested for such an undertaking. It was truly disappointing to take on such an endeavor when the people putting on the event did not carry out their part to provide a proper event for everyone.

New York 100-Miler, June 15, 1979

After the Huntington Beach debacle, I decided to head for New York City for a road 100-mile race in Flushing Meadows Park. I was looking forward to the race and to visiting with my buddy Don Ritchie, who was also entered. It was great to see Don again and have the opportunity to run with him. I knew that Don was focused on the race and wanted the world road record for 100 miles.

Don is probably the toughest runner both mentally and physically that I have ever known and had the opportunity to race against. I knew that I would start with Don and go as long as I could before having to back off the pace. Don and I went out together at about a six-minute pace, which was not the wisest thing I could have done, but then if you want to reach lofty goals, you sometimes have to take great risks.

Thung onto this pace until about 30 miles, when I began to falter and dropped off the pace while Don kept pushing and forging ahead in his usual head-down style. You must remember that we were running a 100-mile race and not a 50. Who else but Don would go out at a six-minute pace in a 100-miler? Nobody else I knew. At around 45 miles my left hamstring began to tighten, and my lower back was also tightening up. I decided around 52 miles to call it a day as my ailments were not easing up and it would be a long struggle to reach 100 miles. I was disappointed in the results but not with the effort. I gave it all I had, but the furious and probably insane pace did me in. I really was not a 100-mile runner but more of a 50-miler and 100K guy, and I never learned to train specifically for the 100-mile and then taper leading into the race.

I stayed around and watched Don go on to establish a world record for 100 on the roads. I feel fortunate to have been a part of both races where Don set world records. Because of my disappointment in the 100-miler, Don and I went to a 10K race in Central Park on Sunday, June 17, where I placed 11th overall in 34:25. It was a comfort to know that my hamstring and lower back had loosened up, and I was able to run easily through the 10K.

My next challenge would come three weeks later, when I would be running a new race in California called the Western States Trail 100-Mile. This was going to be a real challenge for me because I lived at sea level and much of this race would be at altitude and on trails. At the time I trained 95 percent of the time on roads and raced exclusively on roads. A week before New York, I had headed for Sacramento for the weekend where I would get the opportunity to run on some of the WS100 course.

Idid some running in the Sacramento area, and on Monday I went to Michigan Bluff with Sally Edwards (the founder of Fleet Feet) and ran from Michigan Bluff out to Devil’s Thumb and back. (This was the only section of the course I saw before the race.) I continued training, and the week before the race I tapered and rested,

Frank Bozanich
practicing form
and speed drills,
showing off some
running attire that
the Smithsonian
probably would
like to own.

as I knew this was going to be atough challenge for me. It featured none of the specialty areas at which I excelled. Not only was I getting ready for one of the toughest running challenges in my life, but my family and I were also going through another big change in our lives. I was leaving the Marine Corps at the end of June after nearly 12 years of service. I think the focus on the race was making coping with the life changes easier. I would be taking a new career in a field of work that I had never imagined. I would be going to work for Bill Rodgers as an outside sales rep and working out of the Seattle area.

gS < a < ‘6 ze g £

Western States Trail 100, Squaw Valley to Auburn, California, July 6-7, 1979

On July 5, I traveled to Sacramento and then on to Squaw Valley for the start of the race. There was no big fanfare for the event and no expo. We picked up our numbers and did the medical check before going our separate ways to get ready for the early-morning start. I met Alex Gonzales, the winner of the previous year’s race; he appeared to be very nervous and afraid of me. Apparently my reputation as a fast runner at 50 miles had reached Squaw Valley before my arrival. I could not figure out why anyone should be afraid of me, as I had never attempted anything like this and had no clue what to expect. Most of the runners were from the local area and had trained constantly on the course. I knew little of trail running.

After getting registered and medically checked out, I went to a room to get settled in for a night of rest (if that’s what you want to call a night of tossing and turning).

Earlier in the afternoon I had met Corina Nelson and her husband, Greg, at the start area. Corina was writing an article on the race and wanted to interview me. She was going to follow my progress during the race and was amazed that I was going to run without a crew. I did not know anyone in the area whom I could have tapped as a crew and, quite frankly, didn’t much know what I was doing. I knew how a crew worked in a road ultra, but I had no idea what a crew could do for me on the trails. I would rely on the aid stations and just run from one to the next. This was the era before CamelBaks, water bottles with carriers, gels, and chronographs. I had met a person who had designed a water-bottle carrier that he called a BodaBelt. He gave me one to try out, and I filled it with cold water and wore it buckled around my waist.

This was to be my first trail race and first race of any kind at altitude. I still had no idea of what lay ahead. Compared with today’s WS100, there were very few aid stations, and we carried nothing with us. I did start out with the BodaBelt but abandoned it about five miles into the race when it became uncomfortable and caused pain in my lower back. I was confident that I could do well but still had lingering concerns about what I had gotten myself into.

The race started, and I went out in my usual singlet, shorts, and racing flats. I wore Adidas TRX Comps, which had lug soles. The shoes were lightweight, had good traction on the trails, and gave me great support. I still think they rank as some of the best trail-racing shoes made, and they were not even designed for trails. I also sent out a drop bag that I hoped to meet up with after crossing the river.

I went out in my usual fashion: fast. I was first to the top of the mountain, which showed my strength was there. The course went from 6,300 to 8,900 feet in the first four to five miles. Getting to the top first while not knowing the course was my first mistake; I turned right and kept going higher. I turned to see what was behind me, and it was then that I realized my error as the other runners were below me and heading down a different trail. I quickly turned around and got back on course, catching up to and passing most of the runners.

As we approached Hogson’s Cabin, I observed the now-familiar yellow ribbons going straight ahead and continued straight ahead instead of turning. I soon found myself running out of trail in a thicket of trees and once again realized that I was off course. I was not a happy person at this point and wondered where I had gone wrong. I turned back and found another runner who had made the same mistake. I had been ahead of Gonzalez at the time and asked the runner if he had seen him, but he said “No.” I was angry now because I figured Gonzalez had let me go off course as he went the right way. He knew the course, having won it the previous year, and also he lived in nearby Colfax, very near the course. I will always make sure that others stay on the course even if they are ahead of me. I can remember racing in Europe when the competitors would share their drinks with each other.

I was ready to give Gonzalez a piece of my mind when I caught up to him, and catch him I would. When I did finally catch up to him, he was lying on the side of the trail, being attended to by a friend. I still have no idea where the friend came from, but they lived in the area and knew the trails and the roads.

I began to struggle as the going was getting tough and it was starting to warm up, causing me to dehydrate because I was not carrying any water between aid stations. The aid stations that were provided basically had water and sandwiches. Ido remember getting really dehydrated sometime after leaving Duncan Canyon as it was getting really hot. I finally stopped, lied down next to a stream, and drank as much as I could. I was not concerned about drinking the water, as I had consumed water out of much worse sources in Vietnam. I then continued on to Robinson Flat, the first major checkpoint and medical check.

Into second place by Robinson

By the time I reached Robinson Flat, I had moved up to second place. I quickly drank lots of water to get my weight up before stepping on the scales. I also poured lots of water over my head to cool down. I jumped on the scale, passed the test, and just as quickly got off the scale and took off down the trail on my way to