Ny Most Unforgettable Marathon…

And What | Learned From It

ANNE KESTON

At age 71, John Keston is a good bet to break 3:00 in the marathon.

Vans SPAIN, February 5, 1995—“Animo! Animo!” “Go, go, go!” “Fuerza, Ale!”

The shouts of encouragement broke against me like warm Mediterranean waves. I was living the dream of every mature marathoner: At age 70,

I was leading a field of 2,000 eager runners through the streets of Valencia,

John Keston MY MOST UNFORGETTABLE MARATHON ® 61

Spain, on my way toward the finish line in the local stadium in the world’s very first age-graded marathon.

THE WORLD’S FIRST AGE-GRADED MARATHON

As I passed the 20K mark, I grabbed a bottle of water. Each kilometer was falling behind me in 4:12, a 6:45 mile pace. I felt good, smooth, and comfortable. A quilt of thoughts warmed me. I was running alone, protected by a police escort and led by the pace car. I was the first runner in my age group to ever enjoy this experience. It was at once intimidating and exhilarating.

As I clicked off another kilometer along a picturesque Valencia straightaway, I thought to other marathons. I time-tripped back to the 1987 Los Angeles Marathon and felt a smile crawl across my face. After finishing in 2:52:38 at age 62, I assumed I’d come in first in my age group. I inquired of several officials if ’’d won my age group, but an hour after I crossed the finish line I still had no answer.

With a plane to catch, I called my wife Anne, who promised to attempt to track down the results over the phone from our home in Minnesota while I was off on a sabbatical in California and Oregon. It took several days to track down the results, but eventually Anne learned that Dick Van Dyke had taken first. Yes, Dick “Mary Poppins” Van Dyke, the actor! I was astonished but impressed that Dick Van Dyke, who had gone through many personal traumas in his life, had apparently pulled himself together and whipped himself into shape enough to run a sub-2:52:38 marathon. I was very impressed with his fortitude and dedication.

The Thursday after the LA Marathon, I went to La Jolla to visit Jim O’ Neil, one of my running heroes. I related the Van Dyke story to Jim, and he phoned LA Marathon race director Bill Burke, who clarified the situation. Yes, Dick Van Dyke had finished a little ahead of me, but he’d run only the last mile, as he was part of a 26-man Hollywood relay team. My official place was 243rd of 15,000 starters. As a stage actor myself in British theatre, films, and television, I had been upstaged several times but never to this extent! (As it turned out, I had, in fact, won my age group.)

THE VALENCIA COURSE

Irolled smoothly around a corner and tossed my half-empty water bottle toward the sidewalk, still amused by the memory of being beaten in the marathon by Dick Van Dyke.

Valencia is a big, bustling city of more than half a million residents. Physically, the city sports very wide boulevards, but other sections feature buildings crammed together with narrow streets and alleys.

Having been told that I would most likely be leading the race, I was afraid of getting lost, but Paco and Tony (the men who had invited me to race here) relieved my fears, assuring me that there would be a continuous blue line to follow and police and lead car escorts.

I was not driven around the course before the race. Being superstitious, I was content not to see the course in advance. I prefer to race marathons following other runners.

The start of the race was on a side street near a big supermarket, Continente, a major sponsor of the race. The course proceeded south on a fairly wide boulevard for about 2K, looping around a commercial district with storage buildings. It then turned east toward the center of the city, passing several impressive monuments. At the 6K mark, we came to a tunnel under a boulevard called Tunel Grandes Vias, which was the only hill on the course, rising no more than 10 meters.

Turning southeast, the course ran alongside a dried riverbed. The river was diverted in the 1950s to alleviate flooding and to turn it into a recreation site with beautiful gardens, parks, running trails, tennis courts, and the athletic and soccer stadium where the marathon finished.

Atthe 10K mark, there were more warehouses and industrial buildings. The course looped around this site, and then turned north for another 1K before heading south along the port of Valencia.

The course looped around the north end of the port, then turned south to a wide esplanade along the Mediterranean, where I had just discarded my water bottle. The esplanade featured cafes and restaurants with outdoor seating. The course ran for 4K through this area.

It then passed the Universidad Politecnica, did a few residential loops, and then turned west along the north side of the riverbed. After another horseshoe loop through residential areas, you hit the 40K mark. We ran one more loop passing the Continente supermarket, turned east for 1K to a sharp hairpin, and then down a steep ramp to the riverbed and onto a running trail that led to the stadium and the finish.

THE STRANGENESS OF FRONTRUNNING

It felt eerie to be running in front at this point in a marathon. I usually have plenty of company while running marathons—most veteran marathoners do. But I had started 46 minutes and 10 seconds ahead of the open elite field and ahead of other masters runners who carried varying degrees of handicap.

I was alone but did not feel lonely. I had the company of the police escort and the crowds along the streets—crowds that were wildly encouraging.

John Keston MY MOST UNFORGETTABLE MARATHON M 63

The race director and officials of the sponsoring running club Correcaminos had seeded me as one of the favorites to win overall. Six months before my 70th birthday I ran 2:58:33 at the Clackamas River Canyon Marathon in Oregon. That had reputedly made me the oldest runner ever to break three hours in the marathon, a fact that had impressed the Correcaminos officials and led to my seeding.

In November of 1994, I first

learned about the race in an issue of National Masters News. The 1995 Valencia Marathon was listed as the world’s first age-graded marathon. I called the number listed and spoke with Toni Lastra, president of the hosting club. When I ran down my running credits, Toni became eager to sign me up. Within two weeks a package arrived with a complimentary entry, brochures describing Valencia, and a course map. This would be the 15th annual running of the marathon. Since all my previous races had been run in the United States, a marathon on foreign soil seemed like a good idea. During the next month I had several long-dis- Keston has a stride length many younger tance phone conversations with runners would die for. Paco Borao, publicity director of Correcaminos. On behalf of the club, Paco offered to provide $1,000 for expenses. I could hardly believe that at age 70 I had become an invited runner to a foreign marathon. I rushed back my entry before they came to their senses.

LEADING UP TO VALENCIA

The next few weeks sped by. At the time, the world record for the marathon in the 70-74 age group was 3:01:14. I hoped to break the mark at the January 5, 1995 Houston Marathon. My 20-mile runs had gone well and were now behind me. My training consisted of tempo runs and recovery days. I was now tapering

to short walks three days before the race. I had been very careful to avoid injury. I was feeling very strong, rested, and confident concerning my chances for success.

The Thursday evening before Houston a group of invited runners were hosted at a moussaka supper at a local Greek Orthodox Church. The next morning I woke wracked with a severe case of food poisoning. We later learned I was not the only marathoner so afflicted. Although Anne had eaten the same meal, she had not been affected, likely because she was served from a different dish. She generously wished that she had had the tainted food and I the good. The next 18 hours was a losing battle to replace carbohydrate stores, fluids, and trace minerals lost through diarrhea.

My race was a disappointing 3:14:25. [had managed to break Clive Davies’s American 30K record by nearly 6 minutes by going through it in 2:07:05, although it would not count because my American citizenship had not yet been finalized.

The final 7.7 miles of the race took me more than 77 minutes. I had dropped from a 6:49 pace through the 30K to an 8:47 pace. As I walked/jogged the final miles, I recalled the story my good friend and age-group record-holder Alex Ratelle told me about how his doctor informed him that a man his age shouldn’t be running at all. Naturally, the doctor who told him that is long dead, while Alex continues to run well.

THE ROAD TO RECOVERY

My recovery from the food poisoning and the ragged latter stages of the Houston Marathon was remarkable. Five days after the race Iran a 12-miler ata 7:20 pace and the next day ran 10 x 400 on the track beginning with laps of 1:50 but ending with laps of 1:23. [had two weeks before Valencia. The next three days, Sunday through Tuesday, I ran 30 miles, including a 14-miler at a 6:58 pace. Wednesday through Saturday were travel days, as we flew from Seattle to Spain by way of London. I didn’t run at all during that period.

When we arrived in Valencia, we were greeted by Toni Lastra and Paco Borao. Anne and my sister Dorothy had come along on the trip. Toni and Paco were accompanied by several reporters and photographers. They put together a brief interview and photo session and then whisked us off to a resort 50 miles south of the city.

We unpacked, and I took a 6K jog along the beautiful, remote beach at San Fernando in an attempt to loosen my tight legs. The beach faced east, looking out at the Mediterranean. To the west were mountains with the sun setting behind them. The evening was calm, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of orange, making my first run in Spain romantic.

The Sunday before the race, I was scheduled to run my last long run, an easy 25K. I found a country road with orange groves on both sides. Thousands of trees burgeoning with fruit and blossoming at the same time relieved the tedium of my last long run. I recalled as a child finding in my Christmas stocking a Valencia orange wrapped in colored tissue paper with gold lettering. The wrapper was a treasure kept for many months and later pasted with other similar wrappers from different parts of the world onto a board in our geography room at school. Lost in reverie, I ran north to the town of Oliva before turning to retrace my route. I had run faster than I’d intended.

I continued to walk in the evenings to stay loose, and I maintained my stretching regimen. The next day I ran 10K along a well-marked road; three of the kilometers were faster than planned, 4:05 (6:34 per mile pace). Tuesday was dedicated to 1K intervals following a 3K warm-up. I ran six 1K intervals from 4:05 to 3:36 pace (6:34 to 5:48 per mile). On Wednesday I walked 2K in the morning and 3K in the afternoon. Thinking I might be undertrained, I jogged 6K on Thursday. That afternoon we drove to Valencia to join the Correcaminos running club. We went to a cafe overlooking the Mediterranean and enjoyed the best paella I’ d ever eaten. It was presented tous as a work of art ina large, round, shallow pan held high above our table by the chef. We were spontaneous in joining our hosts’ applause for the cook. This had to be carboloading at its very finest!

Friday was a day of blissful relaxing, eating carbohydrates, and keeping my legs elevated as much as possible. I was beginning to feel energized and strong, hungry to run.

CONSIDERING THE GOAL

My secret goal was to run under three hours, and the prospect launched butterflies in my stomach. I tried to think in terms of just finishing the race in a good time, but the three-hour goal persisted. Paco, our interpreter, kept telling me to treat the race as a training run, that whatever I did was just fine with the club members. But the press continued to list me as a favorite to win. The club’s humane attitude removed some of the pressure, but I wanted to do well for them. In my 15 years of competitive running, I’d never experienced such respect and affection as was shown me by the Correcaminos running club.

Nationwide, Spanish newspapers were carrying photos and articles of a John Keston who was beginning to seem almost alien to me. They trotted out all the records: a 37:52 10K at age 68, an 18:22 5K and eight sub-3:00 marathons in the 60-69 division. Considering the handicap start before the elite runners, the experts in the running club were predicting my adjusted handicap

time would be 2:12:30 to 2:14:00 if I went under three hours. The previous best time at Valencia was 2:14:28.

The feeling that the people of Spain were behind my effort grew by the day. And there were other considerations. Besides being the very first age-graded marathon, the race was also offering prize money, including $2,000 for first place, $1,000 for second, and $500 for third. In other races I’drun in the United States, some enterprising mathematics whizzes had calculated that on an agegraded system, I’d been an overall winner. Of course, I’d never had the opportunity under those systems to cross the finish line first. Here there was that chance—as well as the chance of becoming a professional. Geeze, I thought to myself, what have I gotten myself into?

It occurred to me several times that it had been only three weeks since the troubles in Houston. Had my body come back sufficiently from both the race and the food poisoning?

What I knew at this point was that three runners in the 70-74 age group would start the race 46 minutes and 10 seconds in front of the elite field. There were also excellentrunners in other age groups, all with diminishing handicaps. There were good runners from Russia, Switzerland, England, Morocco, Portugal, Sweden, Germany, Spain, and other countries. Could I lead and win?

THE START OF SOMETHING BIG

At 7:30 on race morning we were met by Paco in the lobby of the downtown Valencian hotel to which we’d moved. We walked to the starting line a few blocks away. It was cold—48 degrees. I walked to warm up and gently stretched several times. Paco could see that I was nervous and cold, so he put his arm around me like a mother, telling me that I was going to do well and that they didn’t expect any more of me than what I was capable of on that day. Paco’s words settled me down, and I began to think constructively of the task ahead.

At precisely 8:32:45, I began the race with two Spanish 70-year-olds and immediately went into the lead, a totally new experience for me. The Correcaminos officials drove the lead pace car, and we were surrounded by the police escort. The Correcaminos officials kept the spectators along the route informed of our progress over a loudspeaker that kept repeating my name and age and that asked the crowds to “put palms together for applause!” At every corner, crossroad, and turning, the invocation rang out ahead of me: “Here is John Keston, applaud, applaud!”

By now I had settled into a 4:06-per-kilometer pace (6:36 per mile). I was running smoothly, feeling no stress or pressure. The kilometers flitted by, and I enjoyed the encouragement of the crowds.

a John Keston MY MOST UNFORGETTABLE MARATHON M 67

“Animo, animo!”

“Fuerza, go, go, go!”

Leading a race is not a bad experience. With a continuous blue line on the pavement, alead car, anda police escort, it was difficult to feel I was out there alone.

Aseach kilometer fell beneath my feet, my mind focused more on the finish. What would it be like entering the stadium? I couldn’t imagine entering alone. I pushed these thoughts out of my head and concentrated on sustaining an even pace. As I discarded my half-empty water bottle just beyond the 20K mark, I remembered that Paco had told me that the marathon was being run in strict adherence to the rules and regulations of the Association of International Marathons and Road Races (AIMS). This meant that water stations were placed every SK. The sport drink Isostar was also available.

Because I was not yet feeling stressed, it didn’t occur to me to take two water bottles off a table and carry one for a kilometer or two so that I would stay well hydrated. I had never had any problems running and finishing marathons and didn’t anticipate any problems in this one. With my experiences of running sub3:00 marathons over the past decade, I felt quite comfortable and confident. But Thadn’t yet taken into account the climactic conditions in this part of the world: cool nights and often very hot days.

At the half marathon mark, I knew a sub-3:00 race was possible. I still felt reasonably strong. I’d begun to feel warm as the temperature rose rapidly, so at every aid station I wet my head and drank as muchas I could. At the 30K mark I was still moving well, but I was slowing and had dropped from a 4:12-perkilometer pace to a 4:18 (from 6:45 to 6:55 per mile). I was still within the window of breaking three hours, but it was becoming progressively hotter, and I was slowing down noticeably. It still did not occur to me to take two water bottles and carry one farther along the course.

The crowds grew as the race progressed. The cheers grew louder, and the encouragement kept me running well. I was determined to finish this race even though I was beginning to feel incapable of breaking three hours.

SLIP, SLIP, SLIPPING AWAY

At 35K I was still leading, but my legs began to feel heavy and I was finding it difficult to sustain the pace. I had slipped to running 5-minute kilometers (8:03 per mile). Between 39K and 40K I walked about 30 meters, and at 40K I stopped to drink water for the last time and lost another 30 to 40 seconds.

Because of those two brief respites, however, my heart rate dropped from 155 to 146. I was racing with my heart rate monitor, and I believe that had I not taken those two brief breaks I might well have collapsed from fatigue before reaching the finish. I knew now that I could—and would—finish.

FOTO MENDOZA

But not nearly as well as I had hoped.

I was still determined not to let down my new friends of the Correcaminos running club. I gutted out the final 2K, but with 1K to go, the 41-yearold Russian Yuri Milhailov passed me. He looked very strong.

Surprisingly, I was not discouraged by this, as I was certain I was close to finishing with what would be the second or third fastest marathon time in the world fora 70-yearold. AndI felt I would not have disappointed the good people of Valencia.

When I entered the stadium,Icouldn’tbelievethere- 4ohn Keston finishing second in the 1995 ception. The entire stadium Valencia Marathon chanted “Keston! Keston! Keston!” It was the biggest thrill of my running career. I had never experienced anything like this.

When I ran onto the track, the finish line was 300 meters away. By now I was lumbering forward, my torso flagging and pitching forward. I was no longer in that elegant upright running stance of the confident, dynamic, seemingly fresh finisher.

With only 200 meters left to go I had a desperate thought which I’ll never forget: Amid the overwhelming cheers, I said quite loudly to myself, “God, there’s still 200 meters to go!”

I crossed the finish line nearly doubled over with fatigue. Paco caught me before I could fall. I had finished in second place overall with a respectable 3:02:50, an adjusted time of 2:16:40, which put me 1:45 behind Milhailov’s adjusted time of 2:14:55.

Toni and the other members of the Correcaminos were all over me with their congratulations, and it was a warm feeling I would carry with me for many days after the race finished. .

I must admit in retrospect that I had no idea what was in store for me now that the race was finished. My entire focus had been on running the race. I was

John Keston MY MOST UNFORGETTABLE MARATHON ® 69

suddenly surrounded by photographers, reporters, and fans wanting autographs. Parents asked me to pose with their children in photographs. I was soon plucked out of this maelstrom and ushered away to the drug testing facility. Like much else I had experienced in Valencia, this was an entirely new experience for me. After 20 minutes I was released, my specimen safely sealed and ready for its delivery to the lab.

THE BLISSFUL AFTERMATH

Ataceremony in the stadium after all the runners were in, the mayor of Valencia presented the winners their awards. Even though I was second finisher, I received the most enormous silver cup I’d ever won. It was 19 inches tall and a foot across at the top. I couldn’t help but wonder how it would fit in the overhead luggage compartment on the flight home. But there was more to come.

At a postrace celebration that evening, Correcaminos presented me with another silver cup, nearly as large as the first. And I still hadn’t received the age group award and finisher medal. Four awards for one race seemed a bit over the top, and that wasn’t even counting the $1,000 which would be sent following a satisfactory negative drug test result.

It was difficult to put the Valencia Marathon in perspective while it was happening, for it swirled around me like a wonderful dream. It is only in retrospect that we can place races in their rightful places. Fortunately, it is easy to

FOTO MENDOZA

John Keston with Valencia mayor Rita Barbera and Correcaminos club president Toni Lastra.

place the 1995 Valencia Marathon as the most interesting and exciting race I’d run since I wandered to the starting line 14 years before and won my first 10K. a

What I Learned…

BE very race we run is like a laboratory experiment, the results of which are the distillate of every training mile we pour into the test tube. The more significant the race, the more likely we are to learn something from it: either what we did right or where we erred. In the wake of my experience at the Valencia Marathon, three points became very clear to me.

WAVA TABLES ARE ACCURATE

The World Association of Veteran Athletes (WAVA) age-graded tables fairly accurately give older runners valuable data about their level of race competency were they younger. Many masters and seniors don’t begin dynamic running careers until later in life, so it’s valuable to have a measurement for reference. | didn’t begin running until age 55, and although | will always wonder about the performances | might have turned in if I’d begun running several decades earlier, the WAVA tables give me a reasonable estimate.

DRINK, DRINK, DRINK

Keep hydrated. | knew this going into the Valencia Marathon, of course, but failed to use this basic tenet for good marathoning. The temperature in Valencia rose 32 degrees during my time on the course. | should have taken more fluids along the way. | should also pick my races more carefully. In all the best marathons | have run, the temperature has stayed cool throughout the race (55 to 65 degrees). Drink, drink, drink.

DON’T GO OUT TOO FAST

Going out too fast is detrimental to one’s overall finishing time. By going out fast, | don’t necessarily mean significantly fast. In Valencia, | definitely ran the first 15K too fast. From the outset, | rolled into an easy rhythm, about a 6:36 pace. Had | been content with 6:48 pace and picked it up in the later stages, | would have had a better finish. Max Jones, a 69-year-old British running friend and world record holder at several ultra distances, took charge of me at the London Marathon seven weeks after Valencia, making me run the first five miles at 6:55 pace. | picked up my pace later and finished with energy to spare, even though the temperature rose to 78 degrees. | bettered my Valencia time by one minute and 15 seconds. —J.K.

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