High school and collegiate runners are masters at abusing their bodies. Guys who compete seriously between the ages of 15 and 20 are virtual running machines who, because of their youth, are able to hammer through various injuries. Perhaps runners who start at a later age are less susceptible to injury because they’re not as prone to try to run through a more-serious problem. This point is probably summed up best by Dr. Niedfeldt.

“T certainly think that the competitive situation of younger runners may contribute to their being more likely to develop an injury,” he says. “Older runners tend not to be in that competitive team situation, which probably contributes to their being more likely to listen to their body.”

The runners themselves have many thoughts on their longevity.

“Good nutrition, proper rest, and have your life in order,” says Burgasser. “You also need to have a supportive spouse or significant other and close friends who do the same thing that you do. The most important thing for a long career is training partners. It’s hard to do this sport long term solo. You need someone to run with.”

“You need good genes, luck, and motivation,” says Conway. “It gets harder to motivate yourself to train hard as you get older. Sometimes you need to travel to get good competition.”

Whatever the reason may be for the success of late-starting masters runners, in the end, it appears that all runners eventually lose out to the pounding of the years. Though all of the runners interviewed had successful campaigns in 2005, a couple of them were battling their first major injury at the time of the interviews. This inevitable fate of every long-term runner was explained nicely by Terwilliger.

“When I started,” he begins, “I heard every runner has 11 good years.”

So it appears that nothing in the world can prevent our eventual decay as serious runners. In the end, it appears, we succumb to the hardship of the miles in the same way as the old beater in the garage. However, the success of these masters runners does indicate that we can extend our careers with proper maintenance.

We can buy good shoes, ice at the first sign of pain, and take the day off if we feel out of sorts. We can strengthen our core, see the specialist if we feel an injury coming, or just plain cut down on the interval work. Perhaps the most important lesson is to listen to your body. When we are young, the healing powers of our seemingly invincible bodies will allow us to defy pain for a while, but the evidence makes it clear that we need to follow the example of our senior counterparts and take it easy sometimes if we hope to last throughout the years. i

(And What I Learned From It)

HICAGO, ILLINOIS, October 12, 2003—Like a lobster in a pot, I was

slowly coming to a boil. The temperature at start time had been in the low 40s, with runners wearing sweatshirts, plastic bags, and various other garments to stay warm. But by mile 10, the temperature was moving the mercury up in spurts. By the time I hit mile 22, the temperature was in the low 70s, and my body was rejecting itself.

The cramps started around 22, but when I came to mile 23, I was suddenly and viciously hobbled by knots the size of softballs in both hamstrings. Running was no longer an option, and what I was doing could barely be called walking: stiff legs swinging forward as I swiveled my hips, all the while talking to myself, You’re strong in the Lord and in the power of his might! | repeated this command for around 100 yards, when suddenly the softballs were tossed aside and running came back.

My journey to the 2003 Chicago Marathon began in the fall of 2002 when my oldest daughter was entering her freshman year of high school and decided to join the cross-country team. Grand Blanc High School in Michigan was blessed with a great team that year, both boys and girls. The boys had a young man, Chris Catton, a senior who was an eventual state champion and who went on to the nationals. He was recruited by Wake Forest and has had a good college career. He was inspiring to watch.

Because of this young man and three young women, I was motivated to begin running again. I had been running off and on since high school, where I had been the first person from Ainsworth High School to compete in a Michigan state track meet in a lot of years. I ran the half mile, and not in a very impressive time, although I had run well in a regional race to qualify.

In the regional meet, I blasted off the line with two other runners from different schools. We hit the quarter mile in 54 seconds, which was only slightly slower than I ran the 440. When I heard that time, something snapped in my brain and

my body began to shut down. My stride slowed to what seemed like a crawl as I entered turn three, while the two runners ahead of me seemed to do the same. As we passed down the backstretch, we were caught by two different competitors, and now I was fifth. Only the top three from the region went to state, and my journey threatened to end as all my teammates’ had. When I realized this, another switch seemed to flip in my brain, and I put on a burst of speed. I zipped past the two who had been front-runners on the first 440 and managed to finish third, securing my trip to the state finals. I was jubilant, though alone from my school in making the cut.

A COACH WITH A LONG STRING OF SUCCESS

The coach, a young and energetic fellow just beginning his career, has gone on to lead the school’s track and cross-country teams for 32 years and has taken quite a few competitors to the state meet since that spring of 1976. But for me, that had been the pinnacle of my competitive running.

Now, as I watched my daughter run, I was caught up in the joy of running once again. I was motivated by her efforts as well as by watching the camaraderie of the girls’ team and the speed of young Catton. I started to run with an eye toward getting into better shape. I had been running some and doing cross-training for the past three or four years, but now my running began to take on a serious note. I started doing interval training as well as adding mileage gradually each week.

I recall my first crack at speed during this buildup. I ran a mile as hard as I could go and did it under seven minutes, although I don’t remember how far under. I do remember experiencing oxygen debt as never before. I was lightheaded and dizzy and felt that I was dying. I had to sit down for several minutes, but I eventually recovered and continued building my speed and stamina. At that time, Thad no thought of ever running a marathon, only of becoming competitive as a racer again.

As the cross-country season wrapped up and the winter loomed, I found a club that had an indoor track of nearly a quarter-mile length. I am not a big fan of running in snow and ice, so this was ideal for me. My wife and I joined the club, and every Saturday I ran more and more miles. From January to March, I had lost nearly 20 pounds and was a leaner 170 pounds. By the middle of March, I was up to 18 miles and enjoying every run. I decided to enter a local half-marathon the first weekend in April 2003. I ran well, finishing in 17th place overall in a time of 1:35:55 on a cold, blustery day on a miserable course. I ran this race the next year and swore I would never run it again. It is a very miserable course.

After completing that half and two weeks later running a 15K, I began to ask the question: “Why not run a marathon?” The answer was that there was no reason not to, so I set out to find and prepare for a fall marathon. I can’t recall any

specific reason that I chose Chicago for my first; Detroit is closer and has a fine marathon that even crosses the border into Canada. I have since run Detroit and found it to be a good race for beginners, but I think I enjoyed the idea of going to Chicago with my wife. We both have enjoyed the city whenever we have had the occasion to go, so I signed up for the race and committed myself.

We did not immediately make our room reservations, however, and that was a mistake. We made them in July and thus had a room that was past mile 15 of the course and a way from the start/finish area. The hotel we stayed in was probably a2 ona scale of | to 5, but we made the best of it.

We live only about four hours by car from Chicago. We asked my mother to sit with our kids and headed for Chicago on Friday. We learned a great deal about getting around in the city and about preparing for a marathon. One thing the runner should do is not get stressed out about what to do.

FUELING UP THE NIGHT BEFORE… EVENTUALLY

The night before the race, we went looking for a place to get some pasta or pizza and spent far too much time traveling the city. Restaurants were crowded and the waits were long; we went from place to place until we finally returned to our hotel to eat in the restaurant. Another couple from our church had come to Chicago to have some time away and to support me in my race, so the four of us were gathered in the hotel restaurant trying to get service, which was difficult. I’m not sure why, but we also were not able to get any pasta. It’s a good thing I’m not choosy about carboloading.

The next morning we caught a bus as far as we could go and were still about a mile from the start when we got off. We had to hoof it along with hundreds of others but finally found ourselves approaching Grant Park.

» Church members and friends, Joe and Julie Favil, offer support before the start.

Mary Williams

I was part of the preferred start group, which is the third of four corrals. Elite runners are followed by those who have run better than a 3:15 marathon or a 1:20 half-marathon. The preferred corral is for those who have run better than a 3:45 full or a 1:35 half. The fourth corral is the open field. After locating my corral so I would know where to go, I went and stood in line to use a porta-potty. While we were waiting in line, we noticed people all around us using alternative facilities. The most amazing to me were two women who were behind the potties and took turns squatting behind some low bushes. They were quite a way from the line I was in and behind the opposite potties so they mostly had privacy, but it wasn’t something I wanted to be doing.

I finally reached the facility and emptied my bladder. We then went looking for water so I could hydrate further. We found some, and I downed a cup. The problem was that I had been downing water for most of the previous day, so my bladder was again feeling a bit full by the time I entered my corral. I didn’t want to leave because the cutoff to get to the corral was 7:45 a.m. I had worked hard to earn my preferred status and wanted to take advantage of it.

My wife stood just outside the fence, and we talked as I tried to stay warm. The air was crisp with no hint of the warmth to come. The sun was rising but not yet high enough to pour down on us. We stood in shadows as we waited for the 8:00 a.m. start. I bounced around a little and looked around as my wife snapped

A The author ready to go, but needing to “go,” just minutes before the start.

pictures. Then I told her I really had to go! But I thought I would wait until I hit the first aid-station potty.

One minute to go to the start. Everyone pushed forward as we waited for the starting signal. That last minute seemed as long as the previous 15. We were bunched together and headed for the timing mats.

As we crossed the mats and headed down the road, we were approaching an overpass so filled with cheering people that it was a wonder it didn’t collapse. What a great way to start my 26.2-mile adventure, except for the fact that I still very much needed to go. As we raced under that same overpass filled with spectators, an unusual sight assailed me. Men by the dozens were peeling off and lining the edge of the road, which itself was an overpass for another road below us. They were all stopping to go to the bathroom! I ran several dozen yards before I finally decided to stop. I stopped behind an abutment past the underpass below and finally got relief. Of course, I lost some ground as the open runners streamed by.

Lhit the road again, feeling a little lighter and much better. Here I was, running my marathon and feeling good. My first few miles went quickly, and eventually I tagged on to a woman who seemed to be running a good pace for me. I followed her for a little over a mile before I realized she was running just a bit faster than I should be going. My goal was eight-minute miles, and she was hitting about 7:30! My plan was to qualify for Boston my first time out, and running too fast wasn’t going to help me accomplish that.

I backed off at around eight miles and tried to establish my own rhythm as I settled in for the long haul. I had run 27 miles in training, so I knew I could go the distance. The question was whether I could go the distance in under 3:35. I sure hoped so.

A NEW GOAL OF SUB-3:00, AT LEAST TEMPORARILY

While I was out running, my wife had begun her own marathon event as she tried to be as many places as she could to cheer me on. She was determined to be there for me as often as possible. To that end, she was heading to as many junctions as she could reach, and I was blessed to have her out there. She makes running worthwhile.

She managed to place herself in position to see me at least five times during the race, including the 20-mile location, which turned out to be a lot farther from the finish line than she thought. She was not sure how to get back in time to see me finish but managed to hail a cab, the only one in sight. He got her as close as he could, and she hoofed it from there.

I remember hitting the halfway point feeling good, but I was sweating a lot. Thad electrolyte caplets that I was taking as well as gels and some of my own hydration drink on a fuel belt. But the day had grown warmer than anticipated,

and I was using the aid stations to ensure I stayed up on my fluid intake without running out of the stuff I had brought.

Around mile 15, I came up behind a guy wearing a “100 marathons” singlet. I slid up next to him and asked if that was his goal or whether he had already done 100 marathons, fully expecting to hear it was a goal. To my surprise, being new to the marathon scene, he reported that he had already completed well over 100. I was impressed!

About a half mile later, as we approached 16, a spectator shouted out that the winner was finished. I admit that I was a tad discouraged at that moment, realizing that I had at least 80 minutes still to run. But I was still feeling good and figured it wouldn’t be any more than 80 minutes, which would qualify me for Boston by at least 15 minutes. At least that was what I thought, but somewhere I had gone wrong. I had read, or at least thought I had, that the qualifying time for my age was 3:35, when in fact it was five minutes faster than that. This would become significant as the race continued.

From 16 to 18, I was feeling the effort but not feeling that I was struggling in any way. From 18 to 20, I was starting to realize just how far it was to race 26.2 miles, but I was still doing OK. From 20 to 22, I was having some trouble and was using my walk breaks more frequently but still thinking I was in good shape to complete this race well under 3:35. At 22 miles, all that changed.

I was walking at the aid stations, drinking as much as I could get in me. The sun was high and hot, and the sweat was pouring off of me. I started to run again and had made about 200 to 300 yards when someone threw those softballs at me. My hamstrings caught them and held on, and running was no longer something my legs seemed to understand. That’s where I expressed my confidence in God, and within 100 yards I was running again.

“Running” might be a generous term, for I was not flying toward the finish line but essentially shuffling along faster than a walk. Nevertheless, I was moving forward, still under my own diminishing power, although I was uncertain that I would be able to reach the finish line ahead of my goal. I tried to push the pace several times, but I would quickly tire and be forced into an unscheduled walk break. Each time I would resume running, thinking, OK, now I can push it, only to realize very quickly that shuffling was pushing it.

WHEN A RUN BECOMES A SHUFFLE

For much of the next four miles, Iran with my head down, thinking only of putting one foot in front of the other. I didn’t walk much but maintained a slow, steady shuffle. I was counting on the flat course to help me through. Imagine my shock when I glanced up as I approached the next-to-last turn on the course. There, off to my right, was a mountain—at least it looked like a mountain to me. It was a

The author still looking strong at mile 20.

bridge, and it went up to mile 26. Up and up and up! I didn’t have any idea how I was going to get to the top of this thing.

One thing that helped, though I didn’t acknowledge them much at the time, was all the spectators on both sides of the bridge cheering and yelling for all the runners. As I heard their encouragement, I put my head down, pumped my arms, and started to make my way up the mountain. I think I ran every step, but I believe my pace was slower than a walk at this point. I didn’t look up to the top at all, and suddenly I found myself there!

There was an immediate left turn, and the clock at mile 26 was there showing the gun time. I then glanced at my watch and realized I had about three and a half minutes to complete this final .2 mile if I wanted to come in under 3:35. I started to run, and the closer I got to the finish, the faster I managed to run. I was amazed at the speed I seemed to be going. I was passing people and being passed. We all smelled the finish. I watched the clock tick down, and for a moment I thought I wasn’t going to make it in time.

Mary Williams

Then I realized there was a difference between my chip time and the gun time as I crossed the finish line. I stopped my watch at 3:33:18. I was glad to be done, and I thought I had made my goal. I couldn’t walk; my calves were cramped as were my quads.

I shuffled through the finish area getting my Mylar blanket, finisher’s medal, and some fluids. I found the finish line photo spot and got my picture taken, then had trouble picking up my stuff from the ground. I headed to the gear check because I didn’t know whether my wife had turned in my stuff. I was looking for her as I went but didn’t find her.

My stuff wasn’t at the gear check, but a very nice volunteer helped wrap my blanket around me again, and I shuffled off toward the exit.

The Chicago Marathon has the family meeting site inside Grant Park at the fountain. I had to walk down a sidewalk past lots of people looking for their runner. I looked for my wife there and didn’t notice the terrain. Suddenly, from behind, I heard someone exclaim, “Oh, s—, steps!”

I wasn’t sure I had heard right, so I turned and said, “What?”

ONE STEP AT A TIME

She repeated, “Steps!” I then looked in the direction of the fountain and saw what seemed to be an insurmountable obstacle: three little steps. Inside, I agreed with the girl. In spite of what she had said, though, she seemed to navigate those steps with little difficulty. I, on the other hand, had to swing my left leg at the hip and kind of roll everything up and forward to make each step successfully. I think it took me 30 seconds to climb those three little steps.

At the top, I looked up again to try to sort out where I would find Mary. We had agreed to meet at the family meeting area, but being novices, we didn’t know how it was laid out. As I searched the area, I saw placards with letters of the alphabet, beginning with A-D closest to me. I hoped urgently that Mary would be looking for me according to my first name, Drew, so that I would not have to walk all the way around the fountain.

I worked my way through the crowd, heading toward the A-D location, and began looking for her. She was not there, but hundreds of people were, and I wondered how I was going to find her. I cried a little more as I realized I would have to continue on; I’d been crying quiet tears since I started my walk to meet Mary. Realizing I had finished, even against the difficult conditions I found myself in—hot sun and temperatures in the 70s, cramps and fatigue—I was overwhelmed by emotions I had not expected.

I searched through the crowd as I made my way over to the W-Z placard, wondering whether I would see her and, if not, how I would find her. Suddenly, there she was. She rushed over and hugged me, and we cried together as we both were overwhelmed. Mary had made me a bouquet of candy packaged to look

like roses. It was perfect. We had some pictures taken, and then I tried to get my clothes on. I needed a lot of help to get my legs in my pants.

Mary was talking and I was grunting as we discussed her adventure race through the city of Chicago and my marathon journey. She mentioned that my face was white along my jaw line, and I rubbed my face. My hand came away with white flakes that I realized were salt. I was very crusty! We were both pleased and proud, but now we had to find our friends and some food!

THEN THERE WAS THE BOSTON-QUALIFYING TIME

We found our friends fairly quickly, to my surprise, and we were all excited as we talked about my running a qualifying time for Boston. I was excited and proud, and I wore my medal and my shirt to dinner that night. We ate at a nice restaurant, and I was congratulated by many of the other patrons, providing a lot of warm, fuzzy feelings and helping me to forget the pain of the ordeal.

We returned home the next day, and I went to the Boston Marathon Web site to check on entry fees and other details. I decided to double-check the qualifying time and was startled to find that the site posted the qualifying time as 3:30. Thad been euphoric, thinking that I had qualified by nearly two minutes, only to find that I had missed by 2 minutes, 19 seconds (the B.A.A. allows a 59-second buffer). I was dismayed, to say the least, but I recovered from the disappointment and qualified for Boston the next spring at the Bayshore Marathon in Traverse City, Michigan.

And What | Learned From It

Marathon running is more about mental toughness than physical talent. No matter at what level a person competes, the marathon requires an attitude that says, “I cannot be defeated, and | will not quit.”

| know there are some circumstances under which a person may not finish a race, but recording a DNF should be the last resort in most cases. I’m not suggesting that a person die attempting to complete any footrace, but we are often quick to accept limitations that are false. Adjusting your pace, maintaining your fluid/fuel intake, and being persistent will help you push yourself to new limits and ensure that once you complete the marathon journey, you are better equipped to compete in the race of life.

| have since completed eight marathons and three ultras (each 50 miles) and have made many life-changing decisions. Each event I’ve described has required me to use what | learned in Chicago: “I cannot be defeated, –

and | will not quit.” A