My Most Unforgettable Ultramarathon

(And What | Learned From It)

JANE BYNG

ASATCH MOUNTAINS, UTAH, September 9-10, 1989—Due to circumstances somewhat beyond my control, I came to running late in life. As a 2 consequence, perhaps, I have an intense appreciation of the benefits and blessings of running that might elude some people who have been , running mostoftheirlives.[began 4. running because of achallenge and have stayed active all these years because the challenge seems always to renew itself in interesting and wonderful ways. Allow me to backtrack a little: In 1978, at the age of 55, I was living with my husband in Hopkinsville, Kentucky. That year, a friend challenged us to prepare for and compete in a 10-mile race. At that time, such a thing was totally out of context for a mature woman of the south. Indeed, very

Ultra amazing Helen Klein—on her way to an age group world record of 109.5 miles set in

Redwood Empire 24-Hour.

few Kentucky women ran, and even fewer competed. This was true even of young women, and here I was, old enough to be a grandmother!

But I guess Norman and I were feeling feisty. We accepted our friends’ challenge, trained for 10 weeks, entered the race, ran together—and finished dead last. Looking back on it, we were pretty naive. The sag wagon followed us through the race; the sag wagon was the town ambulance.

That was my first race and, remarkably, I won the women’s masters division—because I had literally no competition. The only other women running were three members of Hopkinsville’s high school cross-country team. So, in my first race, I finished first and last, a feat I’ ve never been able to repeat.

In spite of finishing last, I felt a great sense of accomplishment just to have finished at all. Naturally, I entered more and longer races as soon as I could.

ON TO THE MARATHON

Just 16 months after that 10-mile race, I went down to Miami to run my first marathon. Here I encountered my first age-group competition, and I managed to win my age division. I entered more marathons and was thoroughly enjoying my new-found physicality.

In the spring of 1981, Norman and I traveled to Washington state. Norman, who wanted to run increasingly longer and longer races, had entered the Skagit Valley 50-miler. On my side of it, [had come up with the goal of running at least one marathon in each of the United States. My plan was to start the 50-miler but stop after the marathon distance. This way I could cut another notch in my marathon belt and not have to return to Washington.

The course was a five-mile loop. I planned to do six loops and count the 30 miles as my marathon. The course had two sections where the road was radically canted, so I decided to walk those sections to save my legs. The race had an 11-hour cutoff, so I had plenty of time. The walking turned out to be a very wise decision. By incorporating the walking into the canted sections, I was able to keep running and walking for 10:45, thus completing my first 50-miler—and inadvertently launching an ultramarathoning career that is about to enter its 19th year.

Looking back on it, Ican honestly say I was no more tired after completing 50 miles than I was after running the standard marathon distance. I attribute this to several factors. Unlike in my shorter races, I felt no pressure to progress from start to finish as quickly as possible. Of course, the intermittent walk breaks eased the tension on my legs, allowing me to keep going far longer than I had ever run before. Plus, I felt great support from my fellow runners. I had not felt this tremendous camaraderie in my shorter races, and the dedication of the volunteers was most impressive and inspiring.

Helen Klein MY MOST UNFORGETTABLE ULTRAMARATHON M87

As I continued to run marathons and 50-milers, my times naturally began to improve. But my insatiable appetite for new and exciting challenges began to rival my insatiable appetite for postrace pizza.

BIG-TIME GOALS

Iaimed my next two goals toward the ultimate aerobic challenges—the Hawaii Tronman Triathlon and the Western States 100 Endurance Run in California’s Sierra Nevada.

The Ironman caused me concern because to compete there I would need to learn to swim and ride a bike. The day I brought my bike home I fell three times just getting out of the driveway. My first bike riding lesson consisted of getting on and off the bike and making it from the driveway to the street. To this day, I’m still uncomfortable on a bike (as evidenced by the nasty fall I took during the 1995 Eco-Challenge), but my discomfort was not going to stop me from doing the Ironman.

I persevered. I took five : swimming lessons from the high school swim coach and trained five to six hours a day for nearly eight months. I completed the Ironman in fine time. The biggest problem I had was maintaining my weight at 110 pounds while training as though it were a full-time job. In spite of consuming 6,000 to 8,000 calories a day, I was still dropping weight.

With the Ironman behind me, I was off to the Western States 100 in June of 1983 to try my legs at the granddaddy of all 100-mile trail runs.

The 1983 Western States proved that, in spite of my late-in-life accomplishments, I was not invincible. The flatlands of Kentucky couldn’t provide the training I needed for the 18,000 feet of elevation gain and 22,000 feet of loss in the Sierra.

Norman and I arrived in California two weeks before the race in order to train and learn the trail. To me, these two weeks were like taking a final exam. My training became a nightmare. Record snowfall hit the Sierra, and the first 24 miles of the course were covered by 5 feet of snow and 16-foot drifts. I found it impossible to stay on my feet. My prime strength was an ability to “relax and move.” The continuous falling, combined with the severity of the climbs, undermined my ability to relax.

My dismal two weeks of training carried over to the race. At 47 miles, they pulled me for failing to make the cutoff time at Devil’s Thumb. I was devastated by my first-ever DNF. But it did strengthen my resolve to return and finish the race.

The following year (1984) I did return in more ways than one. Norman had finished in 1983, and we found we had both begun a love affair with California—especially with the beauty and magnitude of the Western States Trail. We loved it so much that Norman gave up his oral surgery practice, and we moved to California. Living close to the trail, we took advantage of being able to train on the course. I finished the 1984 race in 29:19. Not too shabby for a 61-yearold great-grandmother.

MORE AND MORE 100s

In the mid- 1980s, the fame of the Western States 100 inspired race directors to organize other 100-mile trail races. A 100-miler was put together on the Wasatch Front in Utah; with 22,000-feet elevation gain and 24,000-feet elevation loss, Wasatch was considered the most difficult of all 100-mile trail runs. (Eventually its difficulty was surpassed by the Hard Rock 100 in Colorado.)

In 1987, I decided to give Wasatch a try. My strategy was to powerwalk the steep climbs, run the flats, and fly down the descents. Because of the additional elevation gain and climbs over 10,000 feet in altitude, Wasatch allowed an additional six hours to finish beyond Western States’ limits. I went into the race well trained, ran relaxed, and had great pacers and support, which enabled me to finish in 35:10:05. This finish gained me the distinction of being the oldest finisher, male or female, to complete two of the nation’s most grueling 100mile mountain trail runs.

Still, I was not satiated. Since I subscribe to Jack LaLanne’s philosophy— “T’d rather wear out than rust out’”—I sought a new challenge. Thanks to Tom Green, an ultramarathoner from Maryland, I didn’t have to look far. In 1986, Tom had run four 100-mile mountain races in one summer. For a while, his completion of the newly coined “Grand Slam of Ultrarunning” stood alone among achievements. Then, in 1987, two other runners completed the Grand Slam: John Bandur and Denny Hagele.

At my mature age, could I do what men so much younger than I had done? I knew only one way to find out: give it a try! I wanted to prove to myself that women are as capable as men of competing in these events.

The four races that constituted the Grand Slam were the Old Dominion 100 in Virginia, the Western States (with which I was now intimately familiar), the Leadville 100 in Colorado, and the Wasatch Front 100.

I began my quest for the Grand Slam in early June of 1988. I traveled to Virginia two weeks prior to Old Dominion to train on the trails. Three days before the race I was running the trail with a magazine journalist when a small dog ran between my legs and made me fall. I sustained a nickel-sized, stilettoshaped gash to my kneecap, and thought I might be out of the race. I took care of the injury and put it out of my mind, resting until race morning.

Helen Klein MY MOST UNFORGETTABLE ULTRAMARATHON ® 89

NOT SO GRAND A SLAM

In this event, even though I was 65 years old, I was not allowed a pacer for the entire distance. Max Hooper, a good friend from Arkansas, very graciously offered to run with me until I could pick up my official pacers. I have no sense of direction so was extremely grateful for his company, which made it possible for me to run relaxed. I was extremely happy to finish in 29:40, though before the injury I had hoped to finish better. Unfortunately, this race marked the end of my initial effort to do the Grand Slam. A series of mistakes and unfortunate circumstances caused me to DNF at the remaining three races.

At Western States I seriously miscalculated the pace I would have to keep for the final 15 miles and dropped out, only to discover later that Ihad alot more time than I’d thought.

At Leadville I missed the cutoff at Twin Lakes (mile 58) by nine minutes.

At Wasach, even though I had finished the previous year, I was unable to repeat in 1988. The temperature dropped to 20 degrees overnight, and at an elevation of 9,000 feet my water bottles froze solid. [became hypothermic and withdrew at 80 miles.

Naturally, I was disappointed, but I have a creed that I live by when success eludes me. I give myself 10 minutes to whine, moan, and complain. Then I put the failure behind me and get on with life.

The year 1989 found me stronger and more eager than ever to do the Grand Slam. I found new strength in some advice I took from a young physician while on a training run on the Old Dominion course. He was the medical director of the race, and to my delight he offered to train with me for 30 miles of the trail, which included the longest and steepest climbs. He witnessed the difficulty I was having on the climbs, a problem I felt was due to inadequate lung capacity. He disagreed and contended it was due to insufficient upper body strength. He strongly recommended that I begin a weight training program to strengthen the muscles that would enable me to keep my form while climbing. I took his advice and joined a health club, where I began pumping iron for one hour three times a week. Almost immediately I noticed a change: the hills became less of a struggle for me. Better form enabled me to breathe easier.

In 1989, four women attempted the Grand Slam: Marge Adelman of Colorado, a previous winner of the Leadville 100; Lou Peyton of Arkansas; and Suzi Thibeault and me from California.

But there was a change in the offing caused by a decision made at Old Dominion. Up until that point, all of the 100-milers had a 30-hour cutoff (except for Wasatch, which used 36 hours because of its difficulty). Old Dominion changed its cutoff to 24 hours, which would eliminate most women from being able to finish. As a result, a new race, the Vermont 100, could be used in the Grand Slam quest as a substitute for Old Dominion.

WS100 UP FIRST

Western States was first on the schedule, and I ran an excellent race, finishing just a few minutes behind my best time (which I had set before the course was found to be more than six miles short!).

The magnificent countryside of Vermont was next, and again everything went beautifully; I felt incredibly strong the entire way. At 86 miles, I was on pace to break 24 hours, but my husband, concerned that I save some strength for Leadville—only three weeks away—convinced me to slow down. I ran slower until the final quartermile, when I realized I could break 25 hours if I picked it up. I finished in 24:59:55 and felt exhilarated by my strong finish.

Three weeks later I took off for Leadville, whereI made all the cutoffs with time to spare, and where I registered a time nearly identical tomy Western States time—my Western time was 29:25:03 and Leadville 29:25:55.

Only one more to go. [had company, as Marge, Lou, and Suzie had also completed the first three races. I spent the two weeks after Leadville resting, training moderately, and eating as much as possible to regain my strength.

JANE BYNG

Helen with Norman, finishes the 1992 West- Then it was off to Utah for ern States 100. the most memorable and important race of my career.

As the last challenge of my quest approached, I decided to break the race down into sections based on the steepest climbs over the 100 miles. My running friends in Utah provided me with extremely capable and qualified pacers. From the start, the initial climb up to Francis Peak, topped by the infamous “Chin Scraper,” is generally considered the most difficult climb of the race. If I could get over that one in relatively good shape and in a good time, I felt reasonably certain I could make it all the way to Midway.

Helen Klein MY MOST UNFORGETTABLE ULTRAMARATHON 91

While waiting for the start, my only concern was that I might not be mentally tough enough to get over the difficulty [had encountered the previous year between Desolation Lake and Solitude, where I withdrew to be treated for hypothermia.

Though my climb over Chin Scraper was difficult, encountered no unusual problems. My confidence soared. I stuck to my game plan and attacked the course based on the climbs.

CONFIDENCE BUILDS

I flew down the road to the “green shed” (now known as the “white shed”), and as I climbed up to Bountiful B, Big Mountain Pass, and Lamb’s Canyon, I felt stronger and more confident with each climb. The long climb on the paved road up to Mill Creek Canyon was interminable, and it was here that I had my first “downer.” I pulled myself together with help from my crew and pacer, refocused, and headed on to Desolation Lake. The good weather was holding throughout the night, so we arrived at the lake in good shape. A delightful group of volunteers welcomed us like royalty. Their enthusiasm pumped me up to the point that I left with high hopes of crossing that ridge in much better condition than the previous year.

We wasted no time. My pacer kept my confidence up by being so positive that we were moving so well, assuring me Ihad plenty of time to finish. We were looking forward to getting to Brighton, where they serve the greatest potato soup. You can get fueled for a lot of extra miles on that soup, and I would have only 24.3 miles to go at that point. All of a sudden, we could see the lights of Brighton. In a state of ecstasy, I picked up the pace. We weren’t disappointed by the soup or by my next pacer.

Although the last of the big climbs (Catherine Pass) lay ahead, at this point I felt nothing could stop me. The long, steep downhill to Pole Line Pass was difficult, but my strength is on the downhills. Iran with some caution—I didn’t want a nasty fall on the rocky trail to blow everything for me.

FRIENDS GALORE

My crew of Norman and my wonderful friends John and Linda Moise had met me all along the way, and that helped give me the strength I needed, especially during the long hours of darkness.

It was now a bright sunny morning; I felt relieved to have made it through the dark hours uninjured. Unfortunately, this good feeling didn’t last long. Shortly thereafter, when I saw Norman at the aid station, I found myself totally

1989, Helen completes the Grand Slam to become one of the first four women to achieve this goal.

With her PR finish at Wasatch in aN N, G CG LSA

overcome with emotion; I couldn’t hold back the tears. I knew that Norman, my crew, and my pacers would all be extremely happy if I finished, and I wasn’t sure I could hold it together if kept seeing them along the course. Although I told them to go to the finish line and wait for me there, they paid no attention to my request and continued to meet me at the remaining crew access points.

I owe a great deal to my pacer, who just happened to bea psychologist. He would gently whisper, us orneunxtew “Helen, keep your focus.” That was all I needed to regain my composure.

Finally, I was running across the grass to the finish line, which I crossed in 34:21:53—a PR by 49 minutes over my 1987 time. I had also PRed at Western States, so I had run my fastest times on my two latest races.

Wasatch thus became my most memorable race. Not only was I one of the first four women to complete the Grand Slam, but I was able to overcome the uncertainty of whether I was mentally strong enough to accomplish a feat at which I had previously failed. I have always been able to throw myself completely into any project I’ve undertaken; this adventure reinforced this ability and set the pattern for many future adventures.

In retrospect, I think I became so emotional during the last 20 miles of Wasatch because I didn’t want the race to end. I had trained diligently for two years, running every long race I could while building toward this day. Every runner knows the high you feel when you reach your goal. The high then begins to recede during the following days.

Three weeks later I toed the starting line at Angeles Crest 100. I was not surprised to find Suzie, Lou, and Marge there as well. What did surprise me was running my best race ever, probably because I felt no pressure. Once again, I enjoyed the loving support of great friends. Naturally, I was quite pleased with the long summer of 1989. Five 100-mile trail races in 16 weeks. I learned to never again set limits on myself based on my age or gender.

Helen Klein MY MOST UNFORGETTABLE ULTRAMARATHON & 93

What I Learned From It

IT’S NEVER TOO LATE IN LIFE TO START SOMETHING BIG

When | hear people say that they’re too old todo this or that, | cringe. We’re only as old as we think we are. Even if we have aged by

calendar years, with a positive attitude we can learn anything we want. | know hundreds of “older” people using their golden years to take on completely new challenges. If when!was 55 I’dsubscribed to the theory that | was too old to take up long-distance running, I’d have missed a whole other life— alife I’ve enjoyed thoroughly and wouldn’t trade for anything.

SET LOFTY GOALS

Too many people hamstring themselves by setting very meager goals, if they set goals atl. A goal needs to be worthy of you to “Set goals thatare lofty, that be worth doing. Set goals that are lofty, make you stretch. Often thatmakeyoustretch. Often you’ll surprise you’ll surprise yourself.” yourself.

JANE BYNG

A STEPPING STONE TO SUCCESS

If you do fail at reaching a goal, call upon one of my favorite philosophies: use failure as a stepping stone to success. | failed miserably at my first attempt at the Grand Slam. But that failure made me determined to try even harder to getit right. My so-called “failure” was part of the learning process. | learned something from each of those failures, and | applied those lessons to my next attempt.

Some people learn more from failing the first time around than they might from succeeding. Take Thomas Edison. Someone once asked him how it felt to fail thousands of times before finally getting that light bulb to light up. Edison answered that he had not failed thousands of times, nor even had failed at all. His route to success, he contended, had been a process of several thousand steps. The same is true for me—except that as … an ultramarathon runner I’ve taken several hundreds of thousands Bs) of steps.

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Brass Marathon

The Autobiography of Clarence DeMar: Part V

DeMar Does It His Way in the 1924 Olympics. Back Home, He Dominates Local and B.A.A. Fields For Years.

by Clarence DeMar

CHAPTER TEN: THE 1924 OLYMPICS

There were six runners and one substitute on the 1924 Olympic marathon team. They were Chuck Mellor of Chicago, Frank Zuna of Newark, New Jersey, Frank Wendling of Buffalo, William Churchill of San Francisco, the American Finns—Carl Linder and Ralph Williams—of Quincy, Massachusetts, and myself. Presumably Williams was the sub, since he had made the poorest showing in the try out, but that : remained to be seen. After my disastrous experience with the Olympic organization in 1912 and with the history of the boys’ troubles in1920 still ringing in my

Clarence DeMar (third from left) with his teammates (from left) Frank Wendling, William Churchill, Frank Zuna, Charles Mellor, and Ralph Williams.

© 1981 by The New England Press

ears, I determined to get better conditions for success in 1924. Lawson Robertson of Pennsylvania was head coach.

So at the Baltimore race early in March I nailed Robertson, saying that if I went to Paris I wouldn’t put up with any nonsense from coaches. He cordially agreed, saying that he had had cross-country runners at Pennsylvania who did better alone. I also wrote to Mike Ryan then at Colby, who was again to be the Marathon coach, that he must not bother me on the trip. Finally, he replied that there would be no trouble.

We marathoners were to go over early, and preparatory to starting met at a hotel in New York. There, as I might have expected, was an atmosphere of official domination, or just plain officiousness. We were told that the coach’s word was final, that we’d train together and be one big, happy family and like it. In righteous indignation I interrupted to say that it had already been agreed that I was to train alone, when I wished. Robertson said, “Sh! We don’t mean you. We’ ll keep our promise, but you’ll destroy the confidence of these men in their coach.” I wondered how much confidence Zuna, Linder and Mellor had after 1920. At that time, not having any marathon runner’s association and the other men not having asked me to fight for them, I did not feel called on to demand more than my own rights.

The training proceeded as was to be expected. Ryan rode in a taxi and hollered at the other six. “Altogether there, not too fast. Say, you’ ve only been out forty-five minutes and will have to go further!” I ran as I pleased, usually for a long time in a leisurely way. Sometimes I took a day off and went swimming or sight-seeing. Just two or three times I ran with the group for the fun of it. Since there was an extra man on the squad they were continually on edge with the fear of not making good. Two weeks before the contest we ran a practice 15mile on a grass track. I don’t recall all the places at the finish, but I was first, Wendling second, and Linder was well up.

Then the authorities pulled the prize boner. When the entries were finally sent in, Williams was entered, and Linder, who had made the team at Boston and then had shown well at our informal fifteen mile race, was dropped. Ihave always wondered just which of the Olympic officials wanted to gamble on a youngster like Williams winning the big race as a dark horse, knowing that while Linder would run a good race, he had no chance of winning. But Linder had won a place as a regular member of the team, and he was still in good condition. Williams had not shown that he was any better than seventh man and a sub. This trick destroyed any hope and morale that any of the men had left.

When the race came, as one would expect in Paris in July, it was hot. As is usual for Olympic marathons the run was 13 miles out and back. The course was flat, with macadam road most of the way, and some cobblestones in the villages. The French authorities ruled that the autos were to have one half the road and

Clarence DeMar MARATHON ® 97

the runners the other. This rule was respected by all parties, and worked very well. The best any one could do in the heat was to slow up from the usual tenmile-per-hour marathon pace and plod along, occasionally giving battle to a Frenchman, an Italian, a Finn, or someone from South America, for a better position. It was certainly grueling work racing under the hot sun, and it required all one’s determination and patriotism to keep from quitting or at least slowing down to a walk. One thing that always gives me comfort in a race of this kind when I feel very tired, is the thought that my competitors probably feel just as bad, or worse.

About three miles from the finish an Englishman shouted to me, “Take the side-walk, take the side-walk.” I continued in the street as was to be expected. He said, “The bally runner has no brains.” Hot as it was, I advised the Englishman to go to a much hotter place. The excitement of the altercation reacted on me as usual, so that I ran better to the finish. Stenroos from Finland won by a wide margin in two hours and forty-two minutes; an Italian was second; and I came third, just back of second man. They put up a big Finnish flag on the center pole and smaller flags of Italy and America on the right and left for second and third. This was the first time since 1912 when the neglected Strobino was third that we had had an American flag up for the marathon.

After being forced to train en masse with someone in authority to bother, the next American was sixteenth, about three miles back of me. All the Americans finished somewhere, away back, except Williams, the man the officials had fired Linder to make room for. Williams dropped out.

Before the race we runners had agreed that whoever made the best showing should draw up a paper telling the Olympic officials what we thought of their coaching arrangements. So I had that privilege and all signed my document, except Wendling, who considered it truthful, but discourteous. Before handing it in I read the paper to Ryan and asked if there was any reason why I should not hand it in. It stated conditions pretty frankly, and we all pledged ourselves never to go to the games again with any coach in charge. For once Mike said nothing.

The officials didn’t comment directly, although they abolished the marathon coach for the next Olympiad, 1928, when I was again a member. Colonel Thompson had some words of consolation for me for not winning, sort of implying that that was what I was displeased about. But he was mistaken. Getting third in the Olympics was very satisfactory to me and I considered it a successful, if not a victorious, race.

Alonzo Stagg, the great football coach, was present at the games in some capacity. One day he casually asked me what had been the matter with the other runners. I said that the answer was simple. They had had to put up with a coach, while I had forced an agreement before leaving that I was to train myself. Mr.

—SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Stagg smiled incredulously. With all his experience and broad sympathy, yet as a professional coach he evidently could not conceive of an Olympic coach being a nuisance.

When Ryan sent in his official report he blamed the failure of the other members of the team on the heat, and the fear of the men of coming to harm, after witnessing the cross-country run in which there had been collapsing and other disasters. As for me, he said I could just as well have won the race only I was too yellow and afraid to exert myself. I often laugh about that and think it a compliment to have been called good enough to win an Olympic.

On such trips one spends quite a lot of money out of his own pocket and much of it could be paid by the Olympic Committee if they had it. For instance we marathoners had paid ten dollars for our visa on passports (on account of going over early). We decided to make the committee pay it back. They didn’t intend to, but after the boys had called at their office a few times in a taxi, the taxi bill being charged to the boarding house for which the committee was paying, they were glad to settle up.

We were gone about ten weeks and the loss of wages was beginning to be felt, so I managed to swap my passage home for third class and some money. It took a lot of argument with the financial part of the Olympic Committee to get this cash. I couldn’t see what difference it made to them how I came back so long as it cost them the same, but they said that it was a dangerous precedent to give any athlete money for his passage home as the news would get around and many who were not responsible would demand it, waste all the cash, and then be stranded, with the American consuls demanding that the committee send the boys home. However, by persistence, I got what I was after andI doubt if the athletes were any more irresponsible than the officials.

Coming back in the steerage was a novel experience, and I’d do it again to save one hundred dollars. There were various examinations and a vaccination. There was a long line at the customs but only a superficial examination of luggage. After awaiting my turn the man said, “What, you are the fellow that did all this distance running. You ought to have come up front at once.” But people will agree that no athlete who thus habitually imposed on people because of his fame, would have the opportunity long.

On returning from the Olympics I ran a number of smaller races, making a fair showing. At this time my amateur standing changed from absolute to relative. Up to this point I had never made a cent for any race, had spent small sums from my pocket for minor races, and made sacrifices in wages to go to the Olympic games and some to go to the coast to the Legion Convention. Now I began to get offers to run in meets with surprising expenses. Still a little scrupulous, I merely hired a car to take some of my boys to the races to give them an outing.

Clarence DeMar MARATHON ® 99

It was in the fall of 1924 that I volunteered to become scout master of Troop nine, Maplewood (Malden). I kept this position for five years until going to Keene. With all the time it takes, the scout program is fascinating and Malden had a first class Council. I enjoyed the work and appreciated the cooperation of fellows like Ralph McElroy and Harry Olson, who were growing leaders themselves, and kept the troop going better than ever after I left.

While I didn’t win any marathons in 1925 I did win a big 15-mile on a track in North Cambridge, beating, among others, Stenroos, the Olympic champion. In the B.A.A. Chuck Mellor beat me by thirty-seven seconds. Then in a marathon at Buffalo on May 30 I was only third with Wendling and Michelson winning. The first Port Chester race was held October 12, 1925. Michelson and Thad a close battle most of the way, with him winning by a couple of minutes. His time that day for the full distance was under two hours and thirty minutes, which would have won any Olympic marathon.

During that summer I ran quite a number of shorter races too, and by hard work could usually get a prize. In one race in Quincy a young runner ran by my side for five miles than [sic] suddenly quit. Afterwards he told me in the dressing room, “You plank your feet down so hard, and make so much work of running, that it made me nervous and I had to quit!”

My job in Medford ran out early in the summer of 1925, and I had to change around a little before I got settled in Cambridge for a year and a half at the “Warren Publications.” Then I had another spell of short jobs before settling at the Jamaica Plain Journal for two and a half years before going to Keene. It was during one of these shifts that I picked up a job for a week at a shop near the North Station. They merely asked my experience and whether I belonged to the Union, but not my name. After five days the errand boy said, “You make me think of Clarence DeMar. I saw him working on the American one night.” I said, “Isn’t that a coincidence, what is the resemblance—a kind of a lean hungry look?” But he finally decided that I was the runner.

When the B.A.A. came around in 1926, we were pleased to have Stenroos, the Olympic champion, as an entry. Some people thought he and I would have aclose battle, but barring accident or discouragement Stenroos was a lot better than I. However, the honors were to go to neither of us that day. Johnny Miles, maritime 10-mile champion, with his heart set on a great victory, and pictures of Stenroos and DeMar in his pocket, and not spoiled by any advice or urging, just practiced when he felt like it all winter, and came down to run the fastest marathon of all time.

At ten miles, which he and Stenroos did close to fifty-five minutes, they were two minutes ahead. These two had a great battle as far as Lake Street, where Stenroos weakened and Miles romped in to win in two hours twenty-five minutes and forty seconds. Stenroos was one-fifth second better than my 1924

time, just under two hours and thirty minutes and I was acouple of minutes back in third place. This record of Miles was so phenomenal that people thought the course must be short, so it was surveyed and found to be just one hundred seventy-six yards shy. Any marathoner can do one hundred seventy-six yards in thirty-five or forty seconds, so Miles corrected time would not have been over two hours twenty-six minutes and twenty seconds, a mark that has never been approached in any marathon, anywhere. There have been two or three cases where runners have done under two hours and thirty minutes, but never anything like that. However, I have no doubt that sometime it will be done, for Les Pawson without a head wind in 1933 could have been two or three minutes under two hours and thirty minutes, and if in 1936 the Indian, Tarzan Brown, could have kept up for the last five miles the way he ran for the first twenty-one, he would have done nearly as well as Miles. But up to date many of us are very sure that Miles’ 1926 B.A.A. was the fastest marathon ever run.

Getting third to such a pair as Miles and Stenroos was not a slip and I was soon to win five marathons in a row in a year, which is the best I’ ve ever done. These five victories were the Baltimore race the middle of May, 1926; the Sesqui-Centennial at Philadelphia, early in June; the Port Chester, October 12; the Baltimore again in March, 1927; and the B.A.A., April 19, 1927. I lost the sixth try at Buffalo, on May 30, 1927, to Bricker of Toronto by less than thirty seconds.

A description of these five victories may furnish interesting reading to fans, as well as present and future runners. The N.E.A.A.U. sent me to the Baltimore marathon, which was to be the national championship that year. At the race Michelson was my logical close rival. A carload of his friends from Stamford, Connecticut, had accompanied him. I have always been sure that a carload of friends, or a girl, is a big handicap for a runner at a marathon. They are almost sure to be a distraction and victors require great concentration in these days of keen competition. But this car of friends helped some by having plenty of water, which Michelson much needed. The natives, officials, and small boys were not doing their usual generous job. Once I asked a youngster on a bike for a drink. He said, “I’ ve got some tea that belongs to Mike Lynch, you may have some.” I declined on the general principle that I never drink anything in competition that I have not first tried in practice. Afterwards Mike said, “The little cuss gave it all to some one, I never got any.” Another small boy said, “I’ll get you some water.” Half a mile further, there he was pumping at a farm house fifty yards back of the road and yelling, “Here’s your water, mister.” But Inever detour while racing. After going half way in the hot sun without water, my mouth and throat was in pretty tough shape. Then Michelson’s friends offered me a drink. I had noticed they had plenty of liquid but was too proud to ask a rival for water.

Clarence DeMar MARATHON ® 101

Iaccepted the water with great thanks and for about the next ten miles, until I got quite a lead on their man, they gave me frequent drinks. Michelson finished second and I told his friends that possibly he’d have won if they hadn’t given me the water. They laughed and said they had offered it to a lot of runners but no one except me had trusted them. So I was National Marathon Champion the first time, Mellor having won the honor the previous year when it was established. Because my throat was parched before I was given water, I had to whisper for two days.

Next came the Sesqui-Centennial marathon at Philadelphia. Early in the week I had memorized the course from a map, then had rehearsed it the night before. As a result everything seemed almost as familiar as at the B.A.A. Among the runners in this race was Stenroos. I managed to stay with him for about an hour when we struck some freshly tarred road, then some loose gravel. After one’s shoes had become stuck with the tar and then began to pick up gravel it was very annoying. The Finns usually say nothing, but this time Stenroos made a remark in Finnish (he may have been cursing the fly-paper) and then quit. I won by one-half mile, with Michelson second again. There were only a few people in the stadium to see the finish. The prize was a huge hammered silver trophy. Some one seeing it remarked, “No wonder the Sesqui went broke.”

In the fall came the Port Chester marathon again. Some Boston reporter in New York found me before the race and bought me a big steak dinner. I felt very grateful to him, until during the race he did much more than the cost of the steak’s worth of damage with his attempts at coaching. But Michelson was off form so I won in much slower time than the year before when I was second.

Then I had all winter to prepare for the big B.A.A. and Baltimore marathons. Meanwhile Stenroos had returned to Finland. When asked his opinion of American runners he said he thought I’d be good in a couple of years. (Stenroos is a couple of years my senior!)

The Baltimore race came in March this time. About a week before going down I tripped over a rough spot in the side walk and wounded my knee. It got

DAVE KAYSER COLLECTION

a little infected and I could hardly walk, but strange to say I could run all right. The doctor advised boric acid solution to take out the inflammation and I kept it wet all the way to Baltimore. Michelson had been aiming to turn the tables on me after four straight defeats, and he came very near doing it. After a neck and neck struggle for the whole distance, with the crowds seeming to favor Michelson, I won by less than one hundred yards. It took a lot more exertion than I generally care to use, but one reason I did so this time was because I had a talk to give at the “Y” in Washington that evening and I figured the speech would go better after a victory. Also, I had casually mentioned to some one that I was going to win and I wanted to make good.

Less than a month after this I again had the B.A.A. Meanwhile I had another accident, dropping the sheet metal bottom of a Poco Proof Press on my big toe and jamming it badly. It hadn’t recovered when the managers of the Cathedral run asked me to enter. I obliged. From a low mark I got twenty sixth. Some commented sneeringly that I was probably lying down for the B.A.A. next week. But people who know running realize that because you finish away back in handicap races is no sign you are lying down. That is one thing handicaps are for: to give a lot of not-so-goods a chance to be in front. Besides in an amateur race if any one wants to take it a little easy he has that right for he is not paid, but is running for the fun of it.

Before the B.A.A., for the first time in three years, I dreamed of victory. This was encouraging but the odds seemed against me for Miles was down to repeat. I started at a good pace and was with the leaders through Framingham. I was racing Miles that day. In all my other marathons I’ ve raced against time, but this race it was Miles, the fastest marathoner ever. I just wouldn’t let Miles keep the lead but would spurt ahead every quarter mile. It was hot, so hot that the tar was like fly-paper in places. So it was not surprising that before we reached Natick, Miles, from the frozen North, had quit. I’d already beaten my man but as was to be expected had put myself in difficulty. In trimming Miles I had become ‘very tired myself and I still had twenty miles to go!

Continuing with keen tension and watching everything possible, I always turned my head slightly as any motorcop came roaring from the rear. Whereupon an official from Melrose, wishing me well, but with poor judgment, yelled, “Tell him not to turn his head that way; the motorcycle won’t hit him.” Even if the rushing cops only hit me once in a thousand times, still it was worth inclining my head every time to be prepared to jump aside that once!

Before the hills I got a fair lead with Karl Koski second. Up through the Newtons I was very, very tired and thirsty. Officials and others helped with water. I found a car with a pail of ice water on the running board. First I took a few swallows of the cold liquid. It refreshed me, and I had often drunk ice water in practice. So every time I could find that car I drank a lot. It helped save

Clarence DeMar MARATHON ® 103

the day for me. This by no means implies that runners should drink ice water in a marathon. It simply means that in exceptional circumstances one may do exceptional things, so ona torrid day in a marathon it may be tried cautiously.

I finally won in rather slow time. While very tired, I probably was never in danger of collapsing except at Kenmore, when I felt very dizzy and faint. In all my running career I have never collapsed, so I feel fairly secure; but this was the nearest to a catastrophe I ever came, and the finish less than a mile away. A slower pace for a hundred yards saved me.

Naturally after a three year lapse from B.A.A. victories this one brought lots of publicity. Early the next morning a newspaper reporter wanted a picture of me running for the train. Then he took the same train and asked the fare to Boston. On being told it was twenty-six cents he said, “It’ll be more than that when I send in my bill.” He’d do all right for a “relative” amateur. At the shop on India Street he took pictures of me punching the clock and going to work. Finally, I settled down to type setting, but at ten a.m. he was back apologetically explaining that the editor of the Boston American was a nut, but he must have apicture of my feet. I said that in such cases I supposed any pair of hoofs would be OK. Who’d know whether they were mine or not! He exclaimed, “For the other papers, yes, but never for the American.” So Iremoved my foot wear and he took some exposures which were all over the sports page that evening.

Throughout the latter half of the twenties I ran my scouts, Sunday School class and mission class in the End with regularity and fair success. I often gave trophies and watches to keep up interest. For two years in succession my class of high school boys at the Baptist Sunday School in Melrose had such a close contest for giving best talks on each lesson for the year that I gave fours watches instead of the one promised.

Iremember, also, one scout in Malden who amassed a great number of merit badges to get points to win a watch two years in succession. I’m not sure that there wasn’t some over-emphasis on advancement to get the prize, yet it did no harm and he did one hundred times as much work for the watch as I.

If Ireally began to slip as arunner in the fall of 1927 I made a vigorous kick for several years and had my share of victories. In the spring of 1928 I won both the Providence-Boston forty-four mile run and the B.A.A., which was the National Championship and the Olympic try out. In both these races the odd coincidence of dreams held good. Before the forty-four mile I got a letter from my scout, Bill Benedict, then a student and a runner at the University of New Hampshire, saying that he had clear dream of my having a hard race as far as Wrentham and then winning as I pleased. After running side by side with Dodge of Melrose as far as Wrentham Square, I thought if the dream was good for anything I ought to shake this fellow. Sure enough, in crossing the bridge a few yards further, he dropped back and I won by two or three miles.

Then, for the last time in the 1928 B.A.A. the dream and the victory coincided in the same year. After that the coincidence of dreams and victory stopped. Dreams which people reported before the 1929 B.A.A. predicted my victory. I couldn’t believe it, since my condition was not right. However, I did win in 1930. Since then dreams seem to indicate another B.A.A. victory sometime, but they must be just the ramblings of a tired brain, for how can a man of nearly fifty beat the best youth in the country?

However, it was a most unusual coincidence that from1910 through 1928 in ten starts that dreams should have told of the six victories and been silent for the four defeats, and that in one of these cases the dream was by a total stranger. Also, there is that unusual dream of the college boy about the forty-four mile, foretelling the exact point where I’d take the lead. But then he was interested in running and knew the game.

During these years from 1924 through 1929 I kept in excellent health and worked steady as acompositor. Unlike my experience in 1914, when it took me forty hours to prepare a fifteen minute talk, Inow could make a speech without preparation, so that speeches now were easier than marathons.

Reprinted with permission of The New England Press. Clarence DeMar’s autobiography

Marathon will continue in the next issue of M&B withChapter Eleven: Speaking of Running andChapter Twelve: Slipping?

1999 Royal Victoria Festival of Running

Marathon 8 Km Run 1 Km Children’s Run October 10th, 1999 Victoria, British Columbia, Canada

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Clarence DeMar MARATHON ® 105

SUNDAY, Be a part of what is ranked OCTOBER 3, 1999 The Best Organized Marathon

° ° his is our 28th year! We are proud that with m Ne orth America! ! — The Ultimate Guide to Marathon, age our event has gained credibility and

tremendous accolades. However, OUT gl pe me mm me me me me me me mee me me ms ee ee a

remains to make everyone who participates feel 1999 PORTLAND MARATHON ENTRY*

Cs ‘Awards Please read carefully before completing form. Please print clearly. Please note deadlines for sending applications and late fees. Marathon and Marathon Walk entries by mail ($55) must be postmarked on or before midnight, September 10. No mail entries after midnight Sept. 10.

ie Syeeaat ro ee Note: runners and walkers may enter in person for all events at the Portland Hilton atthe late $95 fee rate on October 1 and 2. (No refunds, exchanges or transfers)

runners and walkers receive high-quality, longI

sleeved fiisher’s shit, medal, poste, food and ‘ (Please begin your name in the large box) Check one box: [LJ Marathon Run [_] Marathon Walk drink, space blaneee eee rest amo LL TTT wold ‘goody bag. Our related ‘event participants also receive | 2. Address L | L shins and an assortment of goodies.

Last year over 1,250 awards were given out. | city State Zip Code L Country We have five-year age divisions, masters, | (if other than U.S.) Clydesdale, state and country competition, as well J 3. Date of Birth 4. Age on 10/3/99 5.Sex M F as team, race waker, wheelchair, and other special handicapped categories. J & Total years of schoo! 7. Shirt size: S M L XL XXL (100% cotton)

‘An Event for Everyone i 1-1 You do not have to be a marathoner to enjoy the – – h – – Portand Marathon because there are seven other & Phone (wor) home) events that take place on marathon morning or dung the weekend ; 9. Best Previous Marathon Time: br, min. sec. Office Use Only Our Five-Miler is an excellent event for begin- 4 M&B 5/99 ning and competitive middle distance runners. | 10. Predicted Time: he min See. The Mayor’s Walkis 6.2 miles of fun along the last J 6.2 miles of the marathon course. The Kids| y 11. Completed Marathons TRAINING FOR PORTLAND MARATHON SHIRTS Maratun is @ noncompetitive approximately tWo- (check size) mile event for kids 12 and younger and anyone ! 12. Completed Portland Marathons: else who wants to join them. The 26.2 mile 1 a.sC) mMX LO) xt0 short sieeve $15.00 Marathon Walk allows the walkers to share the J thi exctomen andthe same parks a her run Entry Fee ($55) $. B.SC] MC) 101 xt01 Long steeve Crew Neck – T-Shirt $20.00 ning counterparts. And our other two events are 5 PORTLAND MARATHON SOUVENIR SHIRTS fa 24-hour ultra track run, and a three mile run ! graliing ror, Sturt (315520) § (check size) rk hel /, sae oe ae aos J Souvenir Shirt ($15/S20/835) $. a.sC] mC) LO) xt) short sieeve $15.00

Our other weekend events include a first-class – 7 B.sC] mC] LO xt0) Long Sleeve Crew Neck – T-Shirt $20.00 race directors’ conference, a spectacular sports 4] Postage & Handling (see chart). ; and fitness expo, the best pasta party in the west, c. sO) mC) £01 x10 Sweatshirt $35.00 anda eat postracfavrds pat nso, we ; Total Enclosed: a

route wanders through downtown Portiand, China Town, Old Town and neighborhoods with tree- I tyIs is AN IMPORTANT LEGAL DOCUMENT. READ CAREFULLY BEFORE SIGNING. Waiver of Liability: In consideration of your accepting lined streets. There are plenty of dramatic views | this entry. |, the undersigned, intending to be legally bound, hereby, for myself, my family, my heirs, executors, & administrators, forever waive, of the Cascade mountain range, our city skyline | release & discharge any and all rights & claims for damages & causes of suit or action, known or unknown, that | may have against The Portland and river front J Marathon, The Oregon Road Runners Club, The Ciy of Portland, Multnomah County and al other polial ene, the Portland Terminal RR Co.

The second half of the course can easily pro- # and it’s owners, including PDC, Union Pacific, Southern Pacific & Burlington Northern Railroads, all independent contractors & construction firms duce a ‘negative spi for our unners.An average | working on or near the course, all Portland Marathon Race Committee persons, Officials & Volunteers & all sponsors of the Marathon, & the relatof 33% have set PRs! The weather is normally in | ed Marathon Events & their officers, director, employees, agents & representatives, successors, & assigns, for any and all injuries suffered by me the low 50s. iis the best time of year to be in J inthis event. | attest that | am physically fi, am aware of the dangers & precautions that must be taken when running in warm or cold condiions., Portland, pene. sufficiently trained for the completion of this event. | also agree to abide by any decision of an appointed medical official relative to my Organization ability o safely continue or complete the Fun, | further assume and will pay my own medical & emergency expenses in the event of an accident,

Sur evert has gained reputation or excel illness, or oherincapaciy regardless of whether | have authorized such expenses. Further, | hereby grant ful permission to The Oregon Road lence through organization: 3,500 volunteers, 20. I Runners Club andor agents hereby authorized by them to use any photographs, videotapes, motion pictures, recordings, or any other record of enthusiastic aid and medical stations, splits I this event for any legitimate purpose at any time. | have read this waiver carefully & understand it.

called data points on the course, over 40 enterteinment groups, and a finish line where every marathoner’s name is announced to the thou- | E-Mail Address (optional) ssands of spectators. All of our event participants

I signature Date

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share in a great array of food and beverages ee ee ee ‘IF YOU WOULD LIKE A COPY OF OUR 16 PAGE a MARATHON ENTRY BOOKLET OR AN ENTRY BOOKLET tes aL a ELIE}] 226-1 1 1 1 oe THAT ALSO DESCRIBES THE FIVE-MILER, THE MAYOR’S Peo aoiencaehn et umer

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