(And What | Learned From It)

Photo courtesy of J.D. Fischer

OS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, | February 19, 1984—The

cool, crisp air plays across our bodies as we line up just outside the small stadium, runners nervously discussing their goals for the day and trying to hide the insecurities in our racing egos. At the sudden blast of the gun, we are off on another speedy trek of several hours in our quests to finish yet another marathon.

As we leave the environs of the Santa Monica track, the slap-slap of hundreds of shoes on the pavement echo their boring repetitions. The flat street stretches out before us as we settle into our individual thythms, heading somewhere toward the distant future just over 26 miles away. I check my watch as the first mile marker glides by, the seconds flashing furiously toward the seven-minute mark. Right on schedule—maybe a little too fast, A The author (#337) charges down the final stretch my mind quickly calculates. Just — to complete his own Olympic Marathon race while over 25 to go. Craig Newport gives him encouragement.

Now versus then

Each March, thousands of runners place themselves behind the starting line of the Los Angeles Marathon. On March 9, 1986, 10,868 participants headed across the starting line, making it the largest inaugural marathon in history to that point. Two Americans, Ric Sayre and Nancy Ditz, won the race that year. Since 1986, this event has evolved into one of the most popular in the country. [Note: In 2009, the race was in May, but it returned to March in 2010.]

Other marathons had been run previously in Los Angeles, but the inspiration for that 1986 marathon came two years earlier in 1984, with the running of the women’s and men’s Olympic Marathons. Most of us who have been running for many years remember being glued to our seats on August 5, 1984, as we beheld on television the young Joan Benoit in her baseball cap take an early lead and maintain it en route to winning the first women’s marathon in Olympic history in 2:24:52.

Just a week later, on August 12, we watched in astonishment as Carlos Lopes, a grand old man of 37 years, captured the men’s event in 2:09:21, an Olympic record that held until 2008.

In the wake of the Olympic marathons, the modern Los Angeles Marathon was founded by Dr. Bill Burke and Marie Patrick and became a resounding success.

The early miles

Our bodies settle into that special rhythm that marathoners have nurtured throughout the many weeks of training, clicking off each early mile within seconds of each other. Only a tiny uphill or downhill slightly changes the pace. After all, the real race won’t start for a couple of hours at least. My partner David and I have planned to run together, he being somewhat faster than I am. We are out to run well but want to enjoy the race as a very special event.

As we meander along winding streets, often near beautiful homes, the crowds of spectators are absent, as is typical of most marathons of the times. A few observers are up and about in the early morning, but they seem more curious about the event than really rooting for the runners. Suddenly David stops in his tracks. Having fallen into my rhythm, I refuse to stop with him. Moments later, he catches back up with me. He tells me he stopped to pick up a nickel he saw on the road. I laugh with relief. We are running 26 miles, a difficult task at best, and he stops because he can’t allow a stray coin to remain in the road. A nickel for his thoughts. Onward we run.

Bringing back Olympic memories

As I watched the runners hit the different sections of the city during the Olympic marathons, I recalled my own journey along that course just a few months before.

A David Calderon, Jeff Pierce, and the author (left to right) stand at the overlook after the completion of the American River 50, less than two months after the Los Angeles race.

You see, I also ran the Olympic Marathon course that year, struggling alongside other runners, trying to stay as close as I could to many internationally famous marathoners of the day. You see, my three friends and I were running that marathon several months prior to the real Olympic marathons.

In fall 1983, several members of our running club noticed an advertisement for a race to be held February 19, 1984, in Los Angeles. It was to be a marathon distance, and you needed a Boston-qualifying time to enter. The kicker was that the race was to be run on the same course the Olympians would run.

The race had two purposes. First, it would give the organizers a chance to test the logistics of the course, to allow them a trial run for the real thing. Second, it was planned that the race would then be run each year as a citizens’ race. Thus the official title of the race was “First Annual Los Angeles International Marathon.” Since it was the first, the implication was that more would follow.

Running was very popular in 1984 but not so popular that thousands would enter the race just to finish, as many do today. Most marathoners in those years were serious about their racing. Because of a lack of entries, the requirement for a Boston-qualifying time was dropped, and anyone could enter. With much excitement, I got together with three of my running friends—Craig Newport, Jeff Pierce, and David Calderon—from our club in Visalia, and we decided to enter.

Craig and David were 2:30 marathoners, and Jeff was an emerging fast runner who had several marathons under his belt. I had run 3:06 the previous spring in the San Francisco Marathon. The plan we settled on was that David and I would run together at my pace, and Craig and Jeff would run together at Jeff’s pace.

Photo courtesy of J.D. Fischer

The long and lonely road

Even the lack of spectators can’t ruin the pace we are on. I realize that lam running a course that is about to become historic in just a few months, so I want to savor each step. My legs are still fresh as we gently fly down the Venice boardwalk, the blue of the ocean catching our eyes and the gentle breezes playing across our faces, cooling the sweat on our bodies.

Walkers are out for morning strolls along the pathway next to us. Other people on bicycles speed along in both directions, enjoying a morning of exercise. They appear too involved in their own activities to notice the runners, and perhaps they aren’t even aware of the event.

Meager numbers

We expected thousands of runners, but to our surprise, only about 400 or so showed up at the start. Many of them were top runners from countries using the race as their qualifiers for the Olympic Marathon that summer. That would give the qualifiers six months to recover and a chance to experience the course firsthand.

Back then, our country held qualifying races close to the Olympic race, a process that was criticized because our runners didn’t have as much recovery time as other countries provided. Of course, none of the competitive American runners showed up at Los Angeles for this race. However, there was an international flavor as runners from numerous other countries ran it.

A couple of parts of the course were different from the upcoming Olympic Marathon course, especially the start and finish. In the Olympic race, the runners went around the Santa Monica track and headed out into the streets. We started on the streets. At the end, the Olympic runners circled the track before finishing. We entered the tunnel and went down the straightaway to the finish line. However, those minor variations made little difference to us. We were running the real course, and that was all that mattered.

The four of us showed up race morning to begin our warm-ups at the Santa Monica track. There we were in our club singlets, stretching on the grassy infield next to one of the African teams. On the other side were the runners from Mexico. Down the track came a group of runners from the USSR. (Their country later boycotted the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics, as we had boycotted Moscow’s four years before.) We felt like Olympic stars ourselves. We knew all that would change once the race began, but we felt we would fare all right, as there were several hundred other regular-citizen runners in the race.

To this day, the race is kind of a blur, but throughout the course I tried to memorize the easy and tough parts, the sections that were scenic and those that weren’t, so that when the Olympic races were held that summer, I could put myself in the shoes of the Olympians as I watched them on television.

Getting serious

Once the race becomes serious, there is very little talking among the marathoners. The only sound is the noise of the shoes and the breathing patterns of the runners around us. No one seems stressed out. The elite runners stretch out miles ahead of the main pack. One runner is dribbling a basketball as he takes one step after another, the thunking of the ball somehow a metronome marking his pace.

Soon we reach a newly constructed freeway on ramp, which we gently stride up, quickly reaching an abandoned new expressway six lanes wide that is closed for the running of the marathon. On we go for several miles on the eerily boring piece of concrete and asphalt, no signs of cars anywhere. Maybe we are headed for the end of the world, or perhaps the world has already ended. It is like that old story where civilization is wiped out by a disease and all the structures remain with no signs of life. Somehow there are always a few survivors—in this case, all of us running somewhere we know not where.

The classic finish to the Olympic Marathon

Olympic marathons always end with the runners entering the main stadium, followed by a triumphant lap by the winners in front of thousands of screaming people. It is a tradition of the event and one of the highlights of any Olympics, which is why the men’s marathon has traditionally been the last event contested.

The 1984 Olympic Marathon was no different as the runners approached the Los Angeles Coliseum (site of the 1932 Olympic Games) down a long stretch of paved road and entered the tunnel, reappearing at the other end inside the stadium and making their final push.

The Coliseum holds over 100,000 people, and their roar was like a clap of thunder when the runners emerged from the tunnel to take that special lap. It is difficult for us mere mortal runners to know what was going on inside the minds of the winners or the other finishers as they entered the track and took their victory laps.

Final, hard miles

Downward we head the last few miles toward the giant stadium in the distance. By now, my legs have become heavy and my pace has slowed, but I am trying to find enough energy to reach the finish line. One of our group, Jeff, has suffered blisters and dropped out. His running partner, Craig, rushes ahead and joins David and me for the final push. Boy, does his humor help during the last couple of miles. The spectators pick up slightly in numbers at the intersections. Craig starts hollering at the people standing silently along the side of the road like statues watching the suffering runners shuffling by. “Hi, Mom.” “Save a seat for me.”

The author still treasures
his finishing certificate
showing his time and
place and the fact that he
actually completed the
1984 Olympic Marathon
course.

“Keep a cold beer for me.” These and other inane comments finally get the spectators to open up and laugh and cheer us on.

Photo courtesy of J.D. Fischer

Finally, after an endless straight stretch, we reach the entrance to the stadium. As we dip inside, it suddenly cools off and sounds reverberate off the walls. While we round the corner, ahead we can see the bright sun at the end of the tunnel, the red track, and the massive, empty stands. As I enter the track, the roar of the crowd, 100,000 people, crashes into my imagination as I am about to finish my

triumphant Olympic Marathon. Downward I waltz, lunging across the finish line and looking up to see a few hundred people in the stands with sweaty runners and other people milling about. I have crossed the finish line in 3:08:52, in 183rd place and only a couple of minutes slower than my PR.

The winners are Gidamis Shahanga of Tanzania in 2:10:19 and Jacqueline Gareau of Canada in 2:31:57.

Putting it in perspective

After the race we returned home to resume our normal training and get back to our regular lives. However, never again did we run in the race, for it was never held again on that course. In 1985, there was no race, and in 1986 its successor was held on a different, and vastly inferior, course. This time thousands showed up and in 2010, on a much better course than was used the previous 24 years, some 25,000 ran it. What a far cry from the 350 finishers on that clear, cool February day in 1984.

The main question I have always had was: why was that race such a flop but the new event so successful? Runners had a unique opportunity to run the Olympic Marathon course. I always believed that even though that first year had a low turnout, runners might flock to the race the following year to be able to run the same course on which Joan Benoit made history. A completely different course two years later still drew 10,000 runners.

The rerun never happened. Perhaps no one was willing to give it a second go following the low turnout in 1984. Maybe the race needed a year off and a new start. Certainly the name of the race seemed poorly thought out, because the acronym for the race, Los Angeles International Marathon, is LAIM, and those are the letters that were on the T-shirts. [know a few of us became a little LAIM 5 at the end of the race, but the other spelling and pronunciation gave runners more than just

The T-shirt is old and
battered but still shows
the name and date of Los Angeles I ti smal Marathon

the real first Los Angeles Marathon. The logo from

the certificate is on the F 4984 back of the shirt. EBRUARY 19,

2sPhoto courtesy of 1D. Fischer

a few laughs. The back of the shirts had the quotation “I ran the road to gold,” along with the names of several landmarks on the course emblazoned inside a gold swirl.

The race probably failed because the Olympic course presented logistical problems, especially running on a freeway, which had to close for a while. Putting thousands of runners on such a course would cause some major headaches. Maybe getting the Coliseum each year for the finish was a problem, although it certainly had enough room to accommodate thousands of runners and their friends.

I began my own running journey in 1979, running my first marathon in 1981. My time in the LAIM event was the third fastest of my long running career in just my eighth marathon. Later that spring I ran my first ultra, the American River 50, the first of 10 straight races at that venue.

Craig Newport continued to run marathons for many years in the 2:30 range. Jeff Pierce and David Calderon both made the switch to ultramarathons, as I did. David did well at the Western States 100, and Jeff excelled in 24-hour events and shorter road and trail races.

Eventually I ran the Western States 100 twice, as well as numerous other mountain and trail marathons and ultras. By 2001, I had run 35 marathons and 39 ultras. Currently I run and race walk shorter races, usually from two miles to the half-marathon.

But on a very special day in 1984, I had a rare opportunity to be a trailblazer on the same course on which Joan Benoit followed my footsteps through the City of Angels and into the marathon history books.

And What | Learned From It

Although I wasn’t world class, I learned that I could apply the same training and determination as the top runners to accomplish similar achievements.

I discovered that long-distance running was a sport where the average citizen could compete alongside, or slightly behind, the greatest athletes in the world.

I found that long-distance runners of all abilities are great people. These athletes talked to us before the race and treated us with respect.

From these lessons, I forged ahead with the determination that I learned from these Olympians to create for myself a fun and fulfilling running career. |V/\e