“Let me tell ya about Tarzan [Ellison Brown]. Everybody loved the guy. They said few bad words about him. The worst was that he never trained or ate right, and of course that he was a hellion. He was that, for sure, but the first two were at least part baloney. Tarz was a smart cookie. And he was loaded with talent. He might have been the greatest of us all, but he had some bad luck. Those hernias finished his racing.”

Seeing me getting antsy, he drops the running-related stories.

“Enough of this stuff, kid. How’s teaching?”

“Thank God, I’ve had this whole week off.”

Johnny knows too well the dubious honor of being the marathon’s favored son. In fact, last April 19, the day of my fast run, he dropped out for only the third time in his career. Johnny, too, is looking to prove he was the victim of a fluke.

“John,” I say, “did you ever read Walden?”

He scratches his head doubtfully. “The fellow who lived out there in the Concord woods?”

“Yes! The pond he lived beside is Walden Pond. Anyway, I’ve been reading the book this week.”

Laura has returned with dessert. Johnny’s eyes follow her dotingly, then dart back to me. “Is the book good, kid?”

“Well, you know, it’s a revelation,” I say. “It’s like a tonic for pressured lives. I’m toting it around like a good-luck charm these days.”

“Good, kid, good!” Johnny assents emphatically.

As we dig into our dessert, the hallway phone jangles. “What the heck!” Johnny exclaims. He has given his reporter brother the word: keep “those guys” from disturbing us tonight.

“No, no, he isn’t,” he rebuffs the caller, adding, “But even if he was, I wouldn’t tell you. Don’t call again, pal.”

Back, he says, “Kid, someday you’ II realize that the worst combination in this world is ignorance and arrogance.”

Laura tells Jessie, “When you’ re ready for bed, it’s right in there. Why don’t you take a look and tell me if there’s anything you need.”

The clock strikes nine.

“Kid,” Johnny suggests, “if you think you’d like to take a little stretch on the golf course, just out our back door, I’ll tap on your door about six, okay?”

“Oh sure, John, that’ll be great.”

For atingly 10 seconds, Finnish marathon champ Veikko Karvonen’s grim countenance flickers in my brain. It mercifully vanishes as I see Jessie moving toward the room which, for the next eight hours, at least, holds about the same promise of escape as that famous hut in the woods held for the author of Walden.

SATURDAY, APRIL 20, 1957—

“12 noon: BAA Marathon: won by 2 minutes, 45 seconds over Karvonen. Ran easily behind group of 8 to 10 until Natick, then accelerated pace with Lin (Korea) and Karvonen until the Route 128 overpass (16 miles), pushed pace to build up | minute, 40 second lead by BC. Felt good, straining at finish. Weather fair and warm (71 degrees, fresh SW wind).”—Kelley running diary entry.

Easter Saturday 1957 breaks clear and early over Boston. Birds chirp in the burgeoning box hedge outside the room where my wife still sleeps. Popping awake with the nervous athlete’s surprised realization of having slept, I focus new eyes on my surroundings.

On the bedside table, I see my Modern Library edition of Walden open at the page where sleep overtook me. I pick it up once more and resume reading: “What youthful philosophers and experimentalists we are! There is not one of my readers who has yet lived a whole human life. These may be but the spring months in the life of the race.”

I drift off to sleep again, only to be awakened for good by the promised knock, followed by the ever-eager voice asking, “Up and ready, kid?”

Minutes later, shaved, brushed, and with PJs traded for a warm-up suit, I’m trotting beside my namesake around Belmont golf course’s manicured perimeter. Like myself, and, I suspect, most of our breed, Johnny draws much from his running days’ ingrained rituals. “His” Belmont golf course, like the Shennecossett course in Groton for George and me, has assumed a centrality in his patterned marathoner’s life.

“Tt’s not that we need to run at all this morning,” he says, as we commence the panoramic downsweep from the clubhouse heights. “It’s just something I like to do to start my day—kinda sets me up, ya know?”

“Of course, Johnny.”

Johnny flashes that canny pol’s smile and wink.

The sun is well up as we close on Laura’s backyard. Robins dart everywhere, vying for the early worm. Early bird golfers, too. Recognizing Belmont’s most famous interloper, they shout, “Go gettum today, Johnny!”

The famous interloper answers, “Hey, don’t forget my ‘son,’ here!”

“Sure! You go gettum, too, Johnny J!” they shout.

At9:25 a.m., Laura pulls Johnny’s car to a halt at the Hopkinton State Forest signpost.

Johnny gingerly probes the contents of his gym bag and comes up with a honeybear jar and two spoons. The honey ritual observed, we have ignition again, and now there’s no turning back.

With two and a half hours to tick until high noon, the tummy butterflies are already off their marks.

Laura drives across the race’s new starting line, 1,180 yards west of the old one. Johnny nudges me. “What d’ya think the longer course will do?” he asks, softly and kind of scared.

“Don’t know. Not much, I hope,” I answer, softly and kind of scared.

The quaint suburb is rapidly filling with its horde of fly-by-day visitors. According to this morning’s Globe ’s Marathon Edition, the race field has closed at 140.

“That’s not a big field, is it, kid?” Johnny asks, though he knows the answer to his question. “I can remember times in the ’30s when there were over 300.”

“T’dsettle for 150 more Americans for the subtraction of 15 foreigners,” I say.

Colonial dames and militiamen mix with tonic and hotdog vendors and the runners’ retinues on Hopkinton Green. In the near distance, a cannon explodes.

When starter Walter Brown finally delivers his own blast using a sawed-off shotgun, I depart Hopkinton with the strange, buoyant feeling that I’m leaving the right place at the right time and racing toward the same. A good night’s sleep on the heels of seven good nights’ sleep in the course of a perfectly timed April school vacation; a wife attuned to my purpose; a good adviser and physiologist, Johnny “Jock” Semple, to smooth out the kinks yesterday and shout encouragement from the press bus today; friends like Johnny and Laura; a happily discovered book . . . such are my sustainments as I stride into the 61st Boston Marathon.

And certainly I can’t forget my “Corsican Brother,” George, running not quite effortlessly beside me, himself sustained by the grit of Yankee ancestors and determined to beat the devil out of his ’56 undoing.

The weather as we set out seems ideal, temperatures inching upward into the 60s, wind freshening out of the west, cumulus clouds slowly building. Our dozen-member lead-pack featherfoots through Ashland. Three miles in, Jock pokes his head from the pausing press bus’s window and bellows, “Ow’re ye feelin’?”

“So far GREAT, Jock! Wow!”

“Tl keep up on ye!” he promises.

I turn my attention to the grimly concentrated faces around me. Except for George and our New York Pioneer buddy, Rudy Mendez, the fellows are the cream of today’s 15-strong foreign crop. The good news is there’s no need to waste breath on pleasantries. So, on Irun, wrapped in my cocoon of unswayable purpose.

At Natick, I accept the first of three orange quarters.

We’ re five minutes past the 10-mile checkpoint when George grabs his right thigh, grimaces, and wishes me luck.

Two miles more, and the muscular Mendez tips off his demise by asking me how much longer I can keep “this pace.”

“Fifteen miles, if I have to,” I tell him truthfully.

Then he, too, is gone, leaving me racing in tandem with the smooth-striding Korean, Lin. The BAA’s 1954 champion, Veikko Karvonen, covers us like Marley’s ghost, 10 yards in arrears. In the way of the Finns, Karvonen underscores his presence by frequent throat clearings and snortings.

Mindful of the quadriceps-numbing drop into Newton Lower Falls, followed by the sapping climb out toward the Route 128 overpass, I trail Lin on the descent—down, down, to the course’s lowest elevation before the Back Bay finish line.

The stratagem apparently works. Lin fades as we begin our ascent.

But there’s no rest for the wicked. Lin is immediately replaced by the implacable Finn. How could I forget that it was at this very spot that Karvonen broke Britain’s Jim Peters three years ago?

My nemesis turns up the heat as he puts Route 128’s buzzing traffic canyon behind us. For an instant I read his move as the handwriting of doom. However, studying his sunburned neck, I begin to think he’s sweating too heavily, given our so-far moderate pace. I wonder if, on a gamble, I might even play Veikko Karvonen to his Jim Peters of 1954.

I also remember how I lost out to Karvonen’s countryman, Antti Viskari, last year, after a race of attrition. I decide on the gamble.

We have reached Newton-Wellesley Hospital. I jack the pace up by 10 seconds a mile.

Surprisingly, Karvonen doesn’t respond. If he’s hatching some strategy of his own, I can’t second guess it. I’ve made my critical move.

The crowd roars its approval. I’m alone in my race at last. Turning sharp right onto Commonwealth Avenue, Newton, driven now by the thought that I must win, I make a silent prayer to Saint Mary. Irun regardless of the dreaded Newton Hills, crest Heartbreak Hill three miles later in mind’s-eye sight of victory.

After Boston College, pandemonium reigns. Huge crowds have turned out on this double holiday. Flags of many nations flutter along the line.

“Ye’re two minutes up on ‘im! There’s nobody near ye!” Jock blares his final apoplectic posting as I emerge from Brookline’s “mysterious mile” and head down past Chestnut Hill toward Beacon Street.

Kenmore Square. Twenty-five miles. The jubilant crowd, informed by radio and television of an impending American win, pulls out all the stops. For this unrepeatable instant, I long to slow the pace, to savor the moment.

But I know I have to push on, through the jubilation, past the last remnant of self-doubt.

Massachusetts Avenue crossing. Twenty-five-and-a-half miles. The legs that have performed like flawless pistons to this point suddenly stiffen. Fear floods over me. Will the prize so close at hand be snatched away?

I must continue. Five minutes more. Three minutes. Two.

On Exeter Street, magnetized by the great crowd’s welcoming roar, I raise my right hand cupping the gold watch, which reads 2:20.

The BAA’s blue and gold finish line ribbon snaps. Mayor John B. Hynes places the laurel wreath on my head. Jock sweeps me up in his scratchy army blanket. Jessie, escorted to curbside, plants the sealing kiss.

The 61st Boston Marathon is history.

On my way to meet the press, I close my eyes and think of Henry Thoreau’s triumphant finishing line in Walden: “There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.” Pe

ANDY YELENAK

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Trail Marathons

An Essential Guide to Getting Away From the Maddening Crowds.

OGET the most out of your

marathon training and money, consider a trail marathon, an entirely different experience and culture than the traditional road marathon. Although aspects of trail courses such as rugged surfaces, elevation variation, and water crossings typically produce slower times than the same distance on a flat road course, racers are both challenged and invigorated by these running-withnature elements.

Trail marathoners are frequently rewarded with top-of-theworld views and a sense of achievement that gives the word “demanding” a whole new meaning. On top of this, there’s the draw of the far-from-the-maddeningcrowds aspect: smaller fields, out-of-the-way venues, camaraderie, and a psychological and physical high. A trail marathon will take you away from

And drawn they are. The larg- the maddening crowds and reward you with est trail marathon in the United top-of-the-world views.

States is the Pikes Peak Marathon, established in 1954. With a field limited to 800, the mid-August race’s registration closes early in the spring. Trail marathoners with lofty goals race 7,815 feet to the top of Colorado’s most famous peak (14,110 feet), then turn around and run back down to the start/ finish line. To participate in this popular trail marathon, runners must first qualify via one of three options: (1) run a sub-5:00 ascent of the Pikes Peak course, (2) be a prior Pikes Peak Marathon finisher, or (3) complete an ultramarathon within the ultra race’s cutoff.

But in case newcomers to trail marathoning think these races are a haven for slower-paced runners or declining talent, be aware that runners competing in trail marathons are capable of clocking very fast marathon times. Russell Bollig of Boulder, Colorado, won the 2000 Snow Mountain Trail Marathon, contended at an altitude above 9,000 feet, in 3:07:16. As demonstrated by the final finisher in this trail marathon, who crossed the finish line in 6:32:30, trail marathons can also provide an opportunity for recreational runners to enjoy the trail environment while achieving their marathon-distance goals.

Could a trail marathon be your next marathon challenge? If you’ re thinking about it, look at what follows as your essential guide to trail marathons. We’ Il identify the character and attitude of trail marathoners and give information on how to get started in this exciting and incredibly varied sport. We’ ll also suggest gear we consider essential for trail running and provide trail training tips and trail marathoning opportunities and resources.

TRAIL CHARACTER AND ATTITUDE

Trail marathons often have radical geographical features absent from road marathons. Trail marathons are usually held in remote locations difficult to access other than by foot, and they attract fewer competitors than road marathons.

And then there’s attitude. Who knows if the trail develops the runner’s attitude or the runner with attitude is drawn to the trail, but trail runners are easy to identify. Primarily, trail runners are independent, self-sufficient, at ease being alone, and adept at focusing on the demands that trail running throws at them. In other words, they are rugged individualists.

Since trail marathon courses are generally remote and do not have aid stations with paper cups of water every few miles, an independent, self-sufficient attitude is essential. Because there can be long stretches of time or distance between aid stations, trail marathoners take self-support in stride, carrying their own fluids and fuel. And since part of the challenge of trail racing can be finding the course and staying on it—a challenge absent from most road marathons—trail runners have to be comfortable relying on their own outdoor skills. This characteristic can have a downside when the independent trail runner

Trail marathons offer new challenges including occasional water crossings.

encounters potentially lifethreatening wildlife in the form of snakes, mountain lions, and bears. Injuries are also a concern. No one who runs trails regularly escapes injury. If you runa lot of miles on trails you are going to eventually fall and suffer trail rash, or strain or sprain an ankle, or sustain some other sort of trail-related injury. Everyone whoruns trails falls at some point. Many become skilled at the art of learning how to fall to minimize the bad effects.

Another characteristic of trail marathoners is their ability to focus. As trail marathoners are scurrying over scree and snowfields while struggling for oxygen at 11,000 feet at the Leadville (Colorado) Marathon, they are pretty serious and focused. There are not many trail marathon competitors dressed in Mickey Mouse costumes or hula skirts, outfitting not uncommon at thematic road marathons. Trails require serious attention for safety to sustain any kind of a pace over the radically varying surface.

Perhaps, overall, trail runners are interested in and able to connect with nature in a special and intimate way. They want to use their running ability in anatural environment without being reminded of civilization through asphalt, portalets, and other man-made conveniences—without belly dancers as race entertainment, without throngs of cheering crowds. They don’t need the approval of the crowds to validate their existence. Their existence is validated by the sweep of nature through which they are privileged to move under their own power.

In our modern society dependent on immediate ego gratification, a surprising attitude of trail marathoners is how remarkably understated they are about their trail-marathoning accomplishments. They modestly rack up numerous trail marathon finishes in a single season; afterward, they are understated about their accomplishments.

Trail marathoning seems to be much more about personal accomplishment than the traditional social, if not party-like, celebration that characterizes road marathons. Trail marathons are not as commercialized or sponsored or highly attended as the more visible established road marathons. This makes for both good news and bad news for the emerging sport. Trail marathons struggle with the balance of preserving their character and attracting participants, sponsors, and visibility, but growth and popularity can directly change the character that caused the race to exist in the first place.

KISS PREDICTABLE GOOD-BYE

Another important characteristic of trail marathoners is flexibility. Since trail marathon courses are usually on remote trails typically at higher elevations, they are more susceptible to swings in weather and acts of nature than are paved venues in highly developed downtown locations. When adverse conditions arise that wash out or close a portion of a trail marathon race course, trail runners generally take in stride the extra distance, extra water crossings, or muddy conditions. If 26.2 miles of trail are fun, the extra distance of a course extended because of extenuating circumstances is a bonus.

An unexpected snowstorm in Boulder in September didn’t faze entrants in the 2000 Boulder Backroads Marathon.

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GETTING STARTED

You can get an idea of what trail marathoning is like by participating in a shorter-distance trail race. Many trail marathons offer half-marathon events along with the marathon. The trail marathon itself may also be offered on the same course as ultra trail races. The Snow Mountain Ranch Trail Challenge near Winter Park, Colorado, offers a half-marathon, marathon, 1-1/2 marathon, and double-marathon on a 13.1-mile trail loop. Race director Scott Weber offers this range of distances in a single venue to allow trail runners of all abilities to experience the spectacular race course in the shadow of the Continental Divide. “The race has grown in popularity, primarily the half-marathon event,” he reports. “I think when the half-marathoners realize that they can complete a trail race and they see the double-marathoners running on the same course they are inspired to try a trail marathon.”

Another introductory approach to experiencing trail marathons is to run an “in-between” marathon, such as the two-year-old Boulder Backroads Marathon, which meanders through beautiful countryside on mostly soft-packed dirt roads and quiet rural lanes. Not the true definition of trails, certainly, but the country venue approaches the traditional trail marathon’s more remote character.

Also, trail races on paved trails or “rails-to-trails” can offer a transition from road marathon venues to mountain/trail marathons for novice trail marathoners. Such venues offer a transition from traditional urban landscaped marathons on pavement, but the lack of cheering crowds along the more remote areas of the race course could cause an unprepared road marathoner to feel pretty lonely, if not lost and off-course. This “solitary” factor can help prepare new trail marathon runners for the truly remote traditional trail marathons where a racer can go miles without seeing another human being.

Depending on the characteristics of the course, expect to be out much longer when yourun atrail marathon than you would be for aroad marathon. To enjoy successful trail marathoning experiences, runners rely on gear not traditionally part of road marathons. Most trail marathons are in locations meant to showcase a particular attraction, such as rugged mountain trails, desert environments, or remote coastal areas. Although each of these environments has unique considerations when it comes to choosing running gear, the overriding concern is to be prepared for running in the environment for an extended time.

Gear common to trail marathons in remote locations starts with good hydration systems. Because an independent, flexible character is not enough, trail marathoners need to support their independence with a hydration system that can take them from one distant aid station to the next. Of course “distance” in

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these events is relative—time between aid stations is what you’ll need to prepare for. As aroad marathoner, you might cover six miles in 50 minutes, but six miles on a mountain marathon course could take 90 minutes or more. With this in mind, you’ll want to carry fluid and extra calories. If the time between aid stations is within the 60-minute range, most trail marathoners are comfortable carrying a 20-ounce water bottle (with a hand bottle strap) and refilling it as the time between aid stations dictates. Bottle straps prevent fatigued hand and arm muscles that come with clenching a nearly 2-1/2-pound full water bottle. The strap may also keep the water bottle attached to your hand instead of tumbling down a 1,000-foot dropoff. When approaching a course new to you, research the course profile and description or run the course in advance of the race for training if possible and determine your hydration requirements between aid stations. Then prepare accordingly. For really long stretches between aid stations or to allow a fast runner to minimize rehydrating time at an aid station, consider a backpack-style hydration system (such as Camelback). These systems, made by several manufacturers, are available in running, cycling, and sporting goods stores. Remember, though, that although you can go much longer between fill-ups than you can with handheld bottles, when the time comes to fill the backpack-style hydration container, it’s more complicated and may take longer than filling a bottle.

Fueling, always an important aspect of a successful marathon, is even more of a consideration in trail marathons because of extended time on the course. Fortunately, the same fueling products used in road marathons apply to trail marathons; the main difference is that you use more.

Sport gels are easy to use and carry and are readily available. The biggest consideration when using sport gels during a trail marathon is to make provisions to pack out the empty packets to the next aid station to avoid littering. Littering on a pristine mountain trail is not only uncouth but can be a violation of permits issued by the United States Forest Service, the authority over the nation’s national forests.

You can pour gel into a plastic flask that attaches to your waterbottle belt or slides into the pocket of your running shorts. But remember that gel flasks, like water bottles and backpack hydration systems, can leak. Sticky, gooey running shorts are not uncommon in trail marathon training and racing. Rely on your flexible trail marathoner personality to get you through these inevitable annoyances.

Because of the gravelly conditions of some trails, trail marathoners should consider gaiters to prevent a collection of stones, gravel, and grit accumulating in their shoes. Trail shoes designed with a higher profile may reduce the effects of this condition. When you run on trails, you’re going to get trail stuff in your shoes. It’s not a big deal, and you generally get used to it.

Trail running shoes may be the most important piece of gear for successful trail marathoning. Look for a pair that is truly functional. When trail running shoes first hit the market in the early 1990s, the emphasis was on hiking shoe lookalikes. The more substance to the shoe, the more the manufacturer charged. The danger to a runner of dragging an inflexible, overbuilt, high-profile shoe across rocky trails and slick water crossings was not a consideration. Over the years, trail running shoes have become lighter, more flexible, and safer. And, depending on the surface of the trail, trail running shoes may be a liability and not ahelp. If the trail marathon course is relatively smooth, not very steep, does not include water crossings or scree, road shoes may work just fine. Don’t compromise your marathon time by carrying the extra weight of a trail shoe you don’t really need. But also don’t compromise your trail marathon safety by running in road shoes when something more substantial is called for.

TRAINING

Part of the appeal of trail marathoning is that it’s different from road marathons in both character and in training. If you’ re looking for a change in your training program, trail marathon training could be just the spark you need. You cannot run a successful trail marathon unless you train on trails, which is usually not a component of road marathon training.

The first step to training on trails is locating convenient trails in your area. This can be a challenge for the urbanlocked runner or those residing on flatlands. Although trails can be found nearly anywhere, mountain trails aren’t always as convenient. If you don’t have mountain trails in your area andareinterestedin You need to train on trails to find success as a training for a mountain trail trail marathoner.

marathon, crank up the grade on your treadmill. Even without the experience of weather, wildlife, trail surface, and descents, an inclined treadmill produces a demanding uphill workout.

GOING UP

As you begin your uphill training for mountain/trail marathons or as your fitness increases and you progress to steeper hills, use the “baby step” technique. That is, use a shortened stride that looks like baby steps, or imagine that you’re using a granny gear in a motor vehicle or bicycle to continue moving upward in a jogging motion. Balance this technique with power-hiking walks when the energy-exerted-to-distance-gained ratio does not produce a fast enough pace.

Another technique when running uphill is to focus your eyes uphill and keep your head up to allow oxygen better access to your lungs. This is easier said than done because when you’ re fatigued from climbing a trail, your head drops and your eyes fall to the trail surface. With practice you’ll become stronger and more powerful and better able to execute a more effective style.

GOING DOWN

The same trail descents that can be a great thrill for the veteran trail runner can be downright dangerous for the inexperienced. Experienced trail runners use one technique to distribute weight efficiently for a steep descent and another technique to travel over uneven, steep terrain. As with most things involving physics, it’s easier to experience these techniques than to explain or understand their written specifications. The goal of successful trail descents is to be light on your feet, which allows you to quickly adjust a misplaced foot before your body’s full weight compresses it toward an injury as it impacts a rock or root. Speed, aggressiveness, and confidence help you to become light on your feet. Sitting back and “holding on the brakes” harms your lower back and buttocks more than an aggressive forward approach and makes you heavier and slower to react to quick adjustments you need to accommodate the trail.

Use your arms to distribute your weight more horizontally than vertically. Think of chicken wings: elbows bent and out away from your body to add balance, much like a tightrope walker with a balancing pole. This technique lowers your center of gravity, keeping you closer to the ground. Also, anticipate your foot plants in advance. When descending, keep your eyes on the terrain ahead of you.

Trail descents demand fitness and experience. You have to run a lot of trail miles, both up and down. The more time you spend descending trails, especially trails with obstacles like roots, quick turns, and rocks, the better trail runner you’ll become.

ADVANTAGES

Along with the advantage of running through beautiful, natural outdoor locations, a special feeling of achievement comes with the trail marathon experience. The challenging marathon distance covered in a really tough environment offers a satisfaction running on smoothly paved roads does not. Another advantage is quicker recovery times. Because trails are typically softer surfaces and cause less impact stress to a runner’s body, recovery comes quicker. Additionally, the diversity of the geography over which you’re running distributes the stress over the muscles from a number of angles, as opposed to stressing the same muscles from the same angles over 26.2 straight miles.

OPPORTUNITIES

In addition to a wide variety of trail-racing opportunities, from short races to full marathons, a number of “related” sports lend themselves to making you a better trail racer, including snowshoeing, cross-country skiing, and orienteering

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(also called “rogaining”). It’s to your advantage to engage in some winter sports, such as cross-country skiing, as even though trail marathons are held in summer, you’ Il likely run in patches of snow, depending on the elevation of the course.

RESOURCES

As trail marathoning grows, so do the resources available to the sport. The All American Trail Running Association (AATRA), whose mission is to represent and promote trail and mountain running, posts a Web site that is the Internet’s most comprehensive source for trail running, focused at both the seasoned trail runner and the road runner considering a break from the pavement. AATRA offers memberships that include a newsletter as well as their Web site www.trailrunner.com that lists mountain/trail marathon events by state and country and race results.

Pikes Peak Central (www.skyrunner.com) includes detailed information on training at altitude, frequently asked questions about Pikes Peak and highaltitude trails, course photos, and a Pikes Peak racing history.

Inresponse to the growth in the niche market of mountain/trail marathoning, Trail Runner was launched in December of 1999. A bimonthly, full-color magazine, Trail Runner includes short articles and information about trail runners, ultrarunning in trail venues, and adventure racing with profiles of races, runners, and equipment. The photography is inspirational and the list of trail-running events comprehensive. Visit the magazine at www.trailrunnermag.com.

The move to trail running is on the rise, which makes many road runners curious about what the attraction is. Well, why not give your adventurous side a chance? Get out there and run in the great outdoors—find out if trail running is part of your nature. PRs.

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Canada’s Best Marathon Destinat

¢ Pikes Peak . and Bust

Since the 1950s, the Ascent to the Peak Has Lured the Brave and the Impetuous.

\ N ] HEN [arrived in Colorado Springs in 1963, one year after becoming

a California resident and expatriate Brit, I learned that there was a high mountain nearby named Pikes Peak. (Following common usage, “Pikes Peak” is usually written without the apostrophe, although the sense is clearly possessive. The Encyclopedia Britannica uses “Pikes.”) I was 33 years old but had never heard of Pikes Peak. Perhaps as a youth I had not paid close attention to the many westerns I watched in English cinemas. I was then unfamiliar with the phrase “Pikes Peak or Bust.” But I was about to learn more about this famous 14,110-foot mountain—perhaps more than was good for me.

Lieutenant Zebulon Montgomery Pike and his party were the first white

ploration of the headwaters of the Mississippi, involving 2,000 miles on foot and by boat. His party attempted to climb the mountain in winter, probably by a difficult route, and understandably failed. He recorded in his diary his belief that “… no human being could have ascended to its pinnacle.” Zebulon, promoted to brigadier general, died six years later in the attack on York in the War of 1812.

It was not until 1820 that the mountain was first conquered, by Edwin James and two companions, members of Major Stephen Long’s expedition. At 14,110 feet, Pikes Peak ranks 32nd in altitude among some 50 Colorado peaks higher than 14,000 feet—the “fourteeners,” as folks in Colorado refer to them. Interestingly, James’s ascent was apparently the first of any 14,000+ foot mountain in the United States.

from Kansas. On July 10, she first sighted Pikes Peak, already a famous landmark and still snowcapped. She and her husband, James Holmes, determined to climb it. With minimal equipment, they started up the peak on August 1,

reaching the summit on August 5. This was the first recorded ascent by awoman and was a remarkable achievement for those days.

COLORADO SPRINGS, 1963

And so, oblivious to the existence of Pikes Peak, the Wood party arrived by rail in Colorado Springs. My wife, our daughter, and I were traveling with my mother-in-law, who was visiting the United States from England, determined to see the American West. We had already been mightily impressed by the glitz and heat of Las Vegas in August and had marveled at the Grand Canyon. I had run down from the South Rim to immerse my feet in the mighty Colorado River and returned by noon. Now our travel agent felt we should see the Colorado mountains, and so we arrived at the “Springs.”

As we were strolling around the small town, I saw anotice in a shop window, I think, announcing a marathon race from nearby Manitou Springs to the top of Pikes Peak and back, on August 25 (my birthday). As a 2:50 marathoner at the time, this was difficult for me to resist, so I called the telephone number listed and learned that at 7:00 that night medical tests were being conducted on some of the runners in the race. I went to the church hall and joined some 10 other runners undergoing strength tests and having blood pressure taken and blood drawn.

There I met Dr. Hubert Sturges, who was also providing some medical coverage for the race. We had a common interest: the physiological charactera q

Colorado’s Pikes Peak, at 14,110 feet, the site of the annual Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon.

istics of endurance athletes, an emerging field at that time. Dr. Sturges planned to drive up the Pikes Peak Highway to the top of the mountain on race day to check on the runners at the marathon turnaround point. He said he’d be happy to take my wife with him to witness the race and, with luck, my arrival at 14,110 feet of altitude.

There was something of an aura surrounding such a height, and I knew that strange things could happen to runners at rarified altitudes. I had never heard of a marathon race going anywhere near such a height, although I had run briefly at 7,000 feet at the Grand Canyon.

In those days marathons, especially small and exotic ones, were intimate affairs. Generally, everyone knew everyone else, and if this was not the case, it was soon remedied.

The next morning there was a knock on the door of our modest motel, and Rudy Fahl introduced himself. I was not aware, of course, of Rudy’s long and distinguished relationship with the mountain, and especially of his part in organizing a race to the summit of Pikes Peak and back. He told me something about the trail and mentioned the race was for “mountain men.” He said that I would be the first Californian to run and that two other Englishmen had also entered the race. He told me about his cabin on the mountain and invited us to see it. But my family had other plans for the day, and so he returned later with some pretty rock samples from the mountain for us. Has an unknown runner ever received this much attention from the race director the day before a marathon?

THE BIG DAY

The next day, Dr. Sturges picked us up early from our motel and drove us to the start at Manitou Springs Cog Railway terminus. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm. About 25 runners had assembled at the starting line. We were checked in and given a bib number secured by tape around our neck and chest. (This was a first—and last—for me, although I understand that this numbering method was common in running events years ago.)

Rudy Fahl, addressing the impressive field, outlined the route to and from the summit.

Question: “Will there be water on the trail?”

Answer: “Well, we can’t provide water, but there are some creeks near the trail. And we are all mountain men, are we not?”

My only photograph of the start of the race seems to show that none of the runners (including me) was carrying water; only one wore a hat; and none had any protection in the event of a snow- or hailstorm on the mountain. None of this occurred to me at the time.

The start of the 1963 Pikes Peak Marathon with 28 runners, among them a young doctor named Peter Wood.

The gun was fired without further ado, and off we went to the top of Pike’s Mountain. Christine drove with Dr. Sturges to the summit via Pikes Peak Highway, famous for its annual car race.

My recollection is that the trail was good and not quite as steep as I had expected for the first hour or so of running, up to Barr Camp. I fell into conversation with a runner whose pace was similar to mine and learned that he was one of the Englishmen, John Grundy from Wakefield in Yorkshire. He had finished second a year or so before in a 1,000-mile race in Britain, from John o’ Groats to Land’s End. I recalled that this event received much media attention in Britain, not least because of the participation of a woman—remarkable enough in itself—who claimed to have run the race subsisting only on water and . . . grass!

I was most impressed by John’s credentials and flattered to keep up with him. He also said that he, Geoffrey Garnett (a fellow Yorkshireman), and Bob Mohler (defending Pikes Peak Marathon champion) had all been training on the mountain at altitude for some months, working with a Cog Railway maintenance gang. He warned me of the substantial effects of altitude above 12,000 feet, now some 2,000 feet above us. My concern about the impending altitude was beginning to be compounded by worries about dehydration. I greatly wished I had some water with me. I had not stopped at any of the few creeks I’d noticed early in the race, and now that I would gladly have clambered down from the trail for water, the creeks had disappeared. The sun blazed down, and with less and less tree shade, sweat evaporated rapidly into the thin air, and I was hot and thirsty.

I recall few landmarks on the trail from my first ascent of Pikes Peak, but the “A-frame” and the notorious 16 “Golden Stairs” leading to the summit stick in my memory. John Grundy and I arrived at the A-frame at 11,800 feet (the 10.2-mile mark) in fair shape, with just over three miles to go. The trail became

steeper and rockier. I dogged John’s footsteps and gritted my teeth as we started up switchbacks of the Golden Stairs. We could see the summit above at times, looking only a stone’s throw away.

I was now well above my “altitude record” of about 11,000 feet (in Switzerland) and so was not surprised at increasing fatigue, nausea, and dizziness. In spite of his extended training at altitude, John did not seem to be doing much better. We traded rest periods of a minute or so every few hundred yards when we could find a rock on which to sit, pant hard, close our eyes to alleviate the dizziness that was becoming dangerous over the rough terrain, and to consider throwing up.

HIGH AND DRY

To the extent that I could think about anything other than making it to the top as soon as possible, I recall that I attributed all my nasty symptoms entirely to altitude. They were worse than I could have imagined. How did mountaineers ever climb Everest?

With excruciating discomfort, we slowly counted off the yards to the summit. I finally tottered up the last few rocky steps to find Christine with Dr. Sturges and a few race supporters. As it turned out, my ascent time was a disappointing 3:23 for the “half-marathon.” I guess John must have sat on rocks a few less times than I did, as he’d arrived in 3:21.

I could do nothing at the top but lie on the ground, oblivious to everything. After perhaps 15 minutes I managed to get up and was urged by the bystanders to “Get on down” and not lose further time. I was never more certain of anything in my life that this would be physiologically impossible and extremely dangerous.

And so I dropped out of a marathon race for the first (and, to date, last) time in my running career. (Did I ever tell you the story of how I completed the Boston Marathon in over six hours with a raging flu, throwing up at regular intervals? Perhaps another day.) John was made of sterner stuff and turned around promptly to finish the race, as befits a 1,000-mile competitor. I never saw him again.

My wife and Dr. Sturges were justifiably concerned about my condition. At the top of Pikes Peak is a large, flat area with a parking lot, the upper Cog Railway Terminal, and a gift store with a cafeteria. I found a water fountain in the cafe, sat down beside it with a paper cup and drank .. . and drank and drank. Now I could dimly discern that most of my condition was due to dehydration. Dehydration and altitude are a very bad combination. After about an hour I felt a little better, and we drove down the highway to our motel, and to a kinder, gentler altitude.

Later I learned that John Rose won the marathon in a new record time of 4:01:23 (ascent: 2:31); Geoffrey Garnett, the third Englishman, was second in 4:09:05; my ascent companion, John Grundy, was ninth in 5:13; and Rudy Fahl, at 65, was 17th in 7:19.

Three women completed the ascent, but I don’t recall seeing them at the starting line. One was Mrs. Katherine Fahl, in 6:13.

I wasn’t much good for anything for two days, when we had to catch the plane back to San Francisco. I suffered from headaches for the next month after the ascent, but otherwise I had no aftereffects. I was lucky. I had renewed respect for the dangers of altitude and dehydration.

FORWARD TO THE PAST

How should I rate one failed attempt at the Pikes Peak Marathon in comparison with 14 successful Bostons or eight successful New Yorks? And what do I say if asked which of my 100+ marathons I remember most vividly at age 70? I suppose I would recall especially my first marathon, in Melbourne; my fastest marathon, in the Pacific Association Championships, in Marin; my 35th place in Boston; and, perhaps, the only “marathon” I ever won (actually, a 33-miler from San Francisco to Stanford, with only two runners).

Butin any listing I would have to include my first Pikes Peak ascent because the circumstances of my running it were so unusual, the terrain so remarkable, and the run, well, so pathological!

I never considered the possibility of challenging this mountain again after 1963, although I did do some regular mountain climbing in the United States and Mexico.

But then, in 1999, an opportunity arose. I have a very long connection with the Fifty-Plus Fitness Association (formerly the Fifty-Plus Runners Association, founded by the late Ibrohim Clark), and I was the first president of this national organization, based in Palo Alto, California. A small group of endurance runners from the association have been in the habit of traveling to selected long-distance running events and training together prior to the race. In 1997 I had run the London Marathon (my “hometown” marathon) with Walter Bortz, Sr., MD, and Karin Bivens. Now the plan was to tackle the Pikes Peak Ascent Race, to be held on August 21, 1999—four days before my 70th birthday. The running group included Ruth Anne Bortz (distinguished ultrarunner and board member of Fifty-Plus), Joyce Hanna (immediate past president), Karin Bivens (committee member), James Fries, MD (consultant to Fifty-Plus), and me. We were joined for the race by David Bauer and Robert Warner (Colorado residents and Fifty-Plus Ambassadors). Walter Bortz acted as our honorary team manager.

In. spite of busy schedules, we managed some training before the race, running mostly on the steepest trails we could find within 10 miles of Palo Alto. It was impossible to run above 4,000 feet, so short of going out well ahead of time to Colorado to train on the Pikes Peak trail (which none of us could do), we had to accept not being altitude acclimated or trained.

Several of us had transitory minor injuries in training. And there were a number of falls, though none were serious. I was a major contributor to the tally of falls, registering three in training. These may have had something to do with my incipient senility, but I do have another explanation, which amounts to not looking where I was planting my feet. In any event, in exchange for putting my teeth through my lower lip twice, I finally learned that I must “watch my step” on the big mountain.

OFF TO MANITOU SPRINGS

After some discussion of the best way to get some altitude acclimation ina short time, most of us traveled to our motel at Manitou Springs (6,300 feet) about two days before ascent day. This small mountain town is very pleasant and exuded great enthusiasm for the coming races: banners, posters, television coverage, and runners on the streets everywhere. Quite a contrast to my accidental discovery of this obscure event in 1963.

We stayed at Wheeler House, a nice motel run by two charming people, Penny and Edd Bever. We were very close to the beginning of the Pikes Peak Highway, the lower terminus of the Cog Railway, and to Memorial Park, the center of activities and the start of the Pikes Peak Ascent (Saturday) and the Marathon (Sunday). Over 1,700 runners were entered in the ascent (one third were women), and 800 in the marathon.

There were numerous prerace events. I attended an outdoor party given by the Peak Busters, an exuberant group of experienced women runners who specialize in mountain running, including Annabel Marsh, noted trans-America runner. The Fifty-Plus Fitness group enjoyed a great barbecue at the home of Bud and Emily Warner, Fifty-Plus Ambassadors. I also went to the official prerace Pikes Peak spaghetti dinner, which was very well-attended.

One morning I took the Cog Railway to the mountain’s summit. The rail cars were crowded with runners and other visitors. I was seated among a group of Midwest farmers for the one-hour ride up the mountain and also for the return trip. I learned more about the trials and tribulations of farming in Iowa than I needed to know. The farmers asked me where I came from and what I was doing in Manitou Springs. When I replied, “I come from Stanford, California, and I plan to run up this mountain tomorrow,” the conversation quickly and permanently returned to hogs, corn, and bureaucracy.

Peter returns to the summit of Pikes Peak the day before the race via the Cog Railway.

The summit’s air was clear and cool. I felt no effects from the altitude. I jogged and scrambled afew hundred yards down the trail and was immediately reminded by the steepness of the very rocky path of the miserable last few miles of my 1963 ascent.

I was also reminded one evening ofa possible hazard of Pikes Peak running: sudden hailstorms. About 6:00 p.m. the sky darkened, clouds rolled in, dramatic thunder echoed between the mountains, and hail fell furiously for an hour. The race booklet, sent to all entrants, warns of the unpredictability of weather on Pikes Peak and advises carrying at least a hat and windbreaker as protection should a sudden hailstorm hit during the race. The probability of hail is low on an August morning but increases as the day wears on.

These sudden storms are quite ferocious, and one can only imagine being caught unprotected on the exposed, treeless upper flanks of Pikes Peak. Perhaps Zebulon Pike had this experience. I stuffed a windbreaker into my fanny pack, together with a water bottle and some energy bars.

READY TO RUN

The Saturday morning of the ascent race, August 21, was clear and cool. The runners had been assigned to one of two waves, starting at 7:00 and 7:30 A.M. I was in the second wave. We were all aware of published cutoff times at two points along the trail, which we understood would be enforced. One reason for this was to keep very slow runners off the exposed, upper part of the mountain in the afternoon, when the probability of hailstorms and snow was increased.

For my 7:30 start, I would need to reach Barr Camp by 10:45, and the Aframe, an alpine structure off the trail at the trimberline, by noon. Otherwise, I would suffer the indignity of being turned away and never seeing the summit.

So with that daunting thought, my warm summit clothing and a cellular phone (to notify the world of my success) went into my sweatbag to be driven to the top.

The race started under the banner on Manitou Avenue, at 6,295 feet. The first half mile was on roads, up to the Cog Railway terminus (from which the 1963 race started), and these roads are quite steep. I and quite a few others were reduced to walking briefly already! In fact, I think I felt more pessimistic about the whole undertaking at this early stage than at any other point in the race, and I was seriously concerned about those cutoff times. But the trail flattened out somewhat for the next few miles and running felt much better.

The early going, past the first water station and up to the junction with the Barr Trail (1.7 miles; 6,800 feet), which was to take us to the summit, was remarkable to me for the sheer number of runners jamming the trail and, particularly, for the number of women of all ages. From this point on in 1963, I hardly saw another runner, apart from my running partner, John Grundy, and Inever saw any women at any time.

The trail wound through lush forest, past the second water station, up The Incline on Mount Manitou to French Creek and the third water station (4.3 miles; 8,800 feet). With all this water, dehydration was the least of my worries this ! time. I was entirely concentrating on getting to Barr Camp by the | 10:45 cutoff.

There were some downhill sections on this part of the trail, which I really enjoyed, but I knew there would be no more downhill sections from this point to the top.

I ran along quite well, passing many slower runners (most of whom passed me later), and was

Thirty six years after his first — assault on Pikes Peak, and four days shy of his seventieth birthday, Peter runs along the French Creek section of the Pikes Peak Ascent, on his way to the Barr Camp checkpoint.

pleased to get to Barr Camp (7.6 miles; 10,200 feet) with 30 minutes to spare before the deadline. We were past halfway, but the tough part was about to begin. The next objective was the A-frame near the fifth water station (10.4 miles; 11,800 feeet). This stretch was taxing for me, with the cut-off time at the back of my mind all the way. I doubt that I could have covered the distance any faster, although I was now walking on some steep parts, as were many of my fellow runners. It was with considerable relief that I arrived at the A-frame with only 10 minutes to spare. Now I was bound for the summit, come what may!

LAST CALL FOR WATER

The next section took us up to the Cirque (“a steep-walled mountain basin”) and the sixth and last water station before the summit. We toiled across a barren, rocky wasteland along a steep trail. [jogged a few sections, but most of the time a fast walk, with much scrambling over boulders, was all I could manage. Looking off to the side, if you dared to take your eyes off your feet, you could see down some 1,500 feet to the depths of the Cirque.

The first of the three signs appeared announcing three, two, and finally one mile to the summit. We arrived at the first of the 16 Golden Stairs, with their seemingly endless switchbacks. Now and then we could look up and catch a glimpse of the summit, periodically enshrouded in cloud, and we could faintly hear snatches of amplified music (could that be the theme from Rocky?) drifting down to us, giving us hope that there really was life up there.

At this point the oxygen shortage began to register. For me, the limiting factor was severe fatigue of my leg muscles as well as the familiar shortness of breath. On this ascent, unlike 1963, I did not experience dizziness, disorientation, or nausea, for which I was most grateful. This contrast, particularly since I was 36 years older, emphasized to me the enormous importance of adequate water for this type of racing.

T’msure the problem of providing water at multiple points on the trail, even with only 28 runners, seemed insurmountable in 1963, but I’m also sure its absence presented a substantial hazard to the competitors. These days, so I understand, water is conveyed to the less accessible water stations (for some 2,600 runners over the two days) by ingenious means, including running water from the summit (supplied by road) through long, flexible tubes, down to the stations. Clearly, a difficult operation, but truly lifesaving.

I suppose the elite runners in these races run every step of the way up and (for the marathon) back down. Of course, I have never witnessed this feat. At my end of the now very strung-out field, over the last miles, everyone was walking, some almost in lockstep, as automatons, or resting! Although I was nothing like as far gone as I was 36 years ago, I was still obliged to rest on arock,

however uncomfortable, every so often. While resting, I could see walking “runners” stretched out below me and also above me walking-resting-walking.

Over the last half mile my walks were down to a hundred paces (counted out) and my rests up to a minute. I was distressed at the way time was ticking away, and I hoped that I would make the summit in time to be officially recorded and timed. As I pushed slowly upward, the summit seemed very close and sounds quite audible. I began to wonder how my Fifty-Plus Fitness group had fared. I had glimpsed only one member since the start. Most of all I was filled with the pleasurable certainty that I would finish.

When I did finally reach the Promised Land in 6:07:41, there was no crowd, no teammates, no music, apparently no officials (although some kind person did record my arrival and time). Curiously, I recall a more rousing welcome at the top in 1963, but then I was one of only 28 runners. It was decidedly chilly once I stopped climbing, and the summit was in cloud.

But I felt pretty good—so much better than last time. But where were the 1,000+ runners who must have finished during the hours before me? There were a few in the store/cafe, but understandably the vast majority had left in the fleet of vans provided to take us back to the warmer clime and thicker air below.

NO CONTACT WITH THE OUTSIDE WORLD

I retrieved my gear from the sweat check, donned my sweats, bought a cup of coffee and a T-shirt, and then sat down at the highest point I could find with my cell phone to inform the world of my arrival. But horrors! The battery was dead. So the world would have to wait.

And so we went into the van and back to Wheeler House. A dinner had been arranged for the Fifty-Plus Fitness group at the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, which didn’t leave me much time to rest before getting ready for this most pleasant and relaxing event. I was anxious not to miss it, as [had served in the Royal Air Force myself many years before. This was also a good opportunity to catch up with the fortunes of my teammates.

Joyce Hanna, my frequent training partner, had excelled herself with an outstanding first place in the F60-64 year group, with Ruth Anne Bortz third in F65-69. Dave Bauer was fourth in the M60-64 group. I consoled myself that I would have been fourth in the M70-74 group had I been four days older! And everyone made it to the top in time to be recorded:David Bauer, 4:01:06; Joyce Hanna, 4:37:05 ; Ruth Anne Bortz, 5:17:31; Karin Bivens, 5:28:47; Robert Warner, 5:42:21; Peter Wood, 6:07:41; James Fries, 6:16:07.

On the plane home the next day I craned my neck to catch a last glimpse of Pikes Peak, on which the full marathon was now being run. I ruminated for a while on the events of the past two days: how well our entire group of seven had

done, all reaching the summit, most of us with no altitude training at all, some in outstanding times. I wondered whether I would have believed some mountain-top seer who might have told me in 1963: “You will not return until you attain three score years and 10, when you will ascend the mountain again—and feel much better.”

Ithought of Rudy Fahl and his kindness to his “mountain men,” and also the kindness and dedication of all his heirs and successors: Dave Zehrer, the race director, all of the coordinators, the water and aid station staffs, the El Paso County Search and Rescue team, the van drivers, and countless other volunteers who made this two-day festival safe, enjoyable, and memorable for so many runners and walkers. I truly relived a little of my youth for a day. ¢

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Wi SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 2001 his is our 30th year! We are proud that with age our event has gained credibility and tremendous accolades. However, ‘our goal remains to make everyone who participates feel like a winner Goodies and Awards We do not spend our budget on purses for an elite few – we spend it on each entrant. Our Marathon runners and walkers receive high-quality, long-sleeved finisher’s shirt, medal, poster, food and drink, space blankets, and a great goody bag. Our related event participants also receive shirts and an assortment of goodies.

Last year over 1,250 awards were given out. We have five-year age divisions, masters, Clydesdale, state and country competition, as well as team, race walker, Wheelchair, and other special handicapped categories.

‘An Event for Everyone

‘You do not have to be a marathoner to enjoy the Portland Marathon because there are seven other events that take place on marathon morning or during the weekend.

Our Five-Miler is an excellent event for beginning and competitive middle distance runners. The Mayor’s Walk is 6.2 miles of un along the last 6.2 miles of the marathon course. The Kids’ Marafun is a noncompetitive approximately two-mile event for kids 112 and younger and anyone else who wants to join them. The 26.2 mile Marathon Walk allows the walkers to share the thil,excitement and the same perks as their running counterparts.

Our other weekend events include a first-class race directors’ conference, a spectacular sports and fitness expo, the best pasta party in the west, and a great post-race/awards party. In short, we offer ‘an event for everyone in the family Course and Weather The marathon course is rolling with a few long gradual hills on the first part of the course. The route wanders through downtown Portland, China Town, Old Town and neighborhoods with tree-lined streets There are plenty of dramatic views of the Cascade mountain range, our city skyline and riverfront.

ly produce a “negative split” for our runners, An average of 33% have set PRs! The ‘weather is normally inthe low 50s. It isthe best time of year to be in Portland. Organization

‘Our event has gained its reputation for excellence through organization: 3,500 volunteers, 20 enthusiastic aid and medical stations, splits called at points on the ‘course, over 65 entertainment groups, and finish lie where every marathoner’s name is announced to the thousands of spectators. All of our event participants share in a ‘great array of food and beverages. WV peter w stor FOUND:

(IM Go PowerBar Mr»

Hilton@) Portland Crown Pacific

ATION

‘The second half of the course can easiBe a part of what is ranked

The Best Organized Marathon in North America! ! —t0e Uttimate Guide to Marathons

pocorn Hone oe – 5-5 I 2001 PORTLAND MARATHON ENTRY* 1 Please read carefully before completing form. Please print clearly. Please note deadlines for sending applications and late fees

I J Marathon and Marathon Walk entries by mail ($60) must be postmarked on or before midnight, September 1. No mail entries ate J Midnight Sept. 1. Note: runners and walkers may enter in person for all events atthe Portland Hilton at he late $100 fee rate on y J September 28 and 28. (No refunds, exchanges or transfers) i I (Please begin your name in the large box) Check one box: [_] Marathon Run [_} Marathon Walk ! ] 11. tastnane|_|-L TT ] First Name I J wa 1 7 T T T 12. adaress |_| [| IU | THT); 1 7 = 7 + 1 1 City LT State Zip Cod LEL Country. 1 1 [ (if other than U.S.) 1 1 3. Date of Birth 4, Age on 9/30/01 5.Sex M F 1 1 1 16. shits: s] mL) ol) wl] sol} 10% caton) 1 I a . – 1 1.7, Phone wort) |_| | |-[ [TTT tome (TT 1-C1 ] I 1 ~ This form may 1 1 8. Best Previous Marathon Time: he min, sec, be reproduced, Office Use Only I _— duplicated or M&B 3/01 1 19, Prodictes Time: |_| |r min, ener aed 1

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March/April 2001

¢ The Couple That Runs Together

Martin Duffy and Rusty Stieff Have Gone the Distance and Pulled an Army of Eager Runners After Them.

I T’S 6:15 ona hot summer night at the outdoor track at Harvard University, and I’m getting my butt kicked by a 60-year-old.

Eventhough’ maturtle by birthright, it’s only a small consolation knowing that this particular 60-year-old once kicked a way-more-famous butt than mine: that of none other than Johnny A. Kelley, Boston Marathon legend, in the 1970 race. This guy Martin Duffy, my track coach and local Boston running guru, doesn’t like being beaten by anybody, even if Kelley was 61 to Martin’s sprightly 30 back in 1970. My turtle legs don’t stand a chance against Duffy. Fortunately, they don’t have to.

While I labor through another set of 200-meter repeats, Martin, a businessman by trade and a 3 1-time (yes, you read that right: 31-time) Boston Marathon finisher, scoots past me with the effortless form of a truly gifted runner. In my less kind moments—like when I’m huffing through another track repeat—I want to kill him. But since he’s my coach, and since I’m training for the 2000 Chicago Marathon under his tutelage, and I’d actually like to finish without wanting to amputate my legs this year, pure envy will have to do.

THE JOURNEY BEGINS

About a year and a half ago, Ted Hammett, one of the regular attendees at my weight-training class at the Original Mike’s Gym in Cambridge, Massachusetts, told me he was trying to interest the Boston Globe in doing a profile of a friend of his who was running his 30th consecutive Boston Marathon. He had my attention right there. The friend turned out to be Martin Duffy. Ted had a typed bio and a list of finishing times (fastest: 2:40:54 back in 1975) to show me, but unfortunately the Globe writer never got back to him. Evidently, Ted

Rusty and Martin.

| hadn’tmade the Globe’s deadlines for suggestions of Boston Marathon articles for that year, and the story went unreported on Martin’s 30th anniversary. (The Globe did get its act together in 2000 and featured Martin as one of their “Faces in the Crowd” in their annual marathon feature on ‘ race weekend.)

I asked Ted more about Martin and learned that he and his wife, Rusty Stieff, were both members of the gym and that Ted had run several Bostons with Martin back in the early days, when they were burning up the track together. I’m not sure if it was Ted or Martin who told me about the Wednesday evening workouts at the Harvard track. I just knew that someone with 30 Boston finishes to his name—consecutively, no dropouts ever—had to know a little something about how to train for my favorite distance.

A few weeks later, there I was on the track at Harvard with Martin and Rusty, who just happened to be a 1984 U.S. Olympic Marathon Trials qualifier with a lifetime marathon best of 2:51:12. My marathon PR at the time? A cool 4:20:24. Tortoise, meet hares. This was going to be one long summer.

© MARY NICOLE NAZZARO

RUNNING LONG AND RUNNING SMART

“It takes three years of consistent training—including speedwork—for you to begin to see what your potential as a runner can be,” Martin said to me early that summer at the track. I hadn’t done a whole lot of speedwork before hooking up with Martin and his crew. I’d dabbled a little with speed and even showed up for a track club workout or two a few years back, when I was considering joining a training group.

But as the slowest, or one thereof, in just about every group I joined, I felt pressured to either perform way above my head or accept not being taken seriously by the group’s coach. I knew I was a marathoner: I’d been a Boston Bandit in 1993 in my senior year in college, and I’d eked out two more races in the ensuing years—a long, painful Philadelphia Marathon in 1997, when a long-term relationship was ending, and a much happier Marine Corps Marathon in 1998, the year I discovered weight training and knocked 21 minutes off my PR in one fell swoop.

But I still couldn’t find a coach who treated me as though I was a “real runner.” It’s not that I couldn’t do a set of 800-meter repeats—I just couldn’t keep up with the women who did them in three minutes flat. And in the Boston running club scene at that time—at least the part of it I’d tried out so far—there didn’t seem to be much of a middle ground. You were either a speed demon or a turtle for life.

That first night with Martin and Rusty, I knew this training experience was going to be different. I was a runner, and so were they. That was good enough for them. Suddenly I didn’t feel like I had to recite my race times sheepishly; Ijust got to run and was able to set goals—and meet them—from that first night onward.

Martin’s group workouts are a blast, partly because Martin understands what it’s like to be “the slow one” in the group. I have no idea how he ever came to that understanding, given his DNA, but that’s the mark of a great coach. He knows I will try too hard to keep up with the clan—so he sets it up so that I don’t have to.

“Each person will take a repeat,” he explained that first time out. “Whoever starts the repeat finishes first. So if you think you’ re faster than the leader of that repeat, you can’t start when the leader starts. You have to wait until you know enough time has elapsed so that you can run your own workout without interfering with the leader.”

We started with a mile easy, four laps around, talking easily, laughing about the week’s follies in the areas of family or career. No problem there. Then, two 200-meter repeats with 200 meters of rest in between.

The first 200 of the day is the slowest, Martin reminds us. “It all goes down from here!” he laughed in his trademark good-hearted, Zen-master-esque way. We ran the first 200 and stopped our watches. Each of us reported our times to Martin, and he said, “Okay. Now on this next repeat, run 1/10th of a second faster!”

That was enough improvement for Martin.

Just from that bit of coaching, I realized he wasn’t looking for Olympiclevel times. He was going to teach incremental improvement and smart training, things I’ d never experienced before. He was going to take me seriously, and

Rusty would too. The rest of the workout was more of the same: a pyramid of distances from 400 meters to 800 meters, and then back down to 200 meters. Every repeat just a little faster than the rest. I could do that. And I did. We jogged a mile to cool down, and I went home with a big smile on my face.

And so began my education in the science of longevity in distance running.

A bunch of people started that first summer with us, showing up for the Wednesday evening track sessions. People came and went, showed up when their schedules permitted.Me? |

I was hungry. I wanted to learn what $28. ——2J#£— Martin and Rusty knew. I’d beenrun- Martin and Rusty in the 1983 Silver Lake Marathon.

COURTESY OF MARTIN

ning for 15 years but hadn’t experienced a breakthrough in my race times until the previous autumn when, spurred on by the loss of a relationship and the ensuing grief (or desire for revenge, ’m not sure which), I took 21 minutes off my marathon PR ina single race. The tide was turning. I wanted to improve. I’d never done track work, let alone with someone of Martin and Rusty’s caliber. It was time to get serious and learn how to race well and how to run well. This was our mission, and Martin and Rusty were up for the challenge.

MARTIN’S BEGINNINGS

Before I ever ran with Rusty and Martin, I knew that Martin had been informally coaching many of his friends for years and that he had coached Rusty to an Olympic Trials qualifying standard. Behind every great runner, there’s an equally awesome coach—or at least someone who won’t let their athletes get away with undertraining, overtraining, or doing anything rash in the days leading up to a major race. That’s Martin in a nutshell: his calm is equaled only by his dry, effortlessly hilarious sense of humor.

Martin began running as a student at Fall River High School in southeastern Massachusetts. “City of hills, mills, and unpaid bills!” Martin jokes. Then, a hint of seriousness crossing his expression, he talks about how running came into his life.

“My introduction to running was 45 years ago, when I ran a sub-5-minute mile as a high school sophomore. This was the biggest high school in the state, and there were only three lettermen in the sophomore class. There were only a few sports—baseball, basketball, football, and track. I don’t remember any other sports. For women, there was only basketball. And because of my running, I was one of the lettermen in high school.”

After undergraduate studies at Tufts University in Medford, Massachusetts, he moved to the Philadelphia area for graduate work at the University of Pennsylvania. Martin ran his first Boston Marathon in 1970 while still a grad student.

It was a soggy day but memorable for Martin because his mother came out to cheer for him and stood on a street corner despite the rain to watch him run. Soon after, he came back to the Boston area to work for the president of Harvard University. Martin ran the stifling hot “Run for the Hoses” in 1976 and the 100th Boston—with Rusty—in 1996. And he’s run every Boston in between. And since.

LEARNING FROM THE MASTER

No matter what happens in a race, Martin sees it as an opportunity to learn more about the craft of racing. When I almost stayed home from the 1999 Marine Corps Marathon for lack of fitness due to illness, Martin encouraged me to run it to see what would happen. I wound up cramping severely over the second half of the race. Determined to finish no matter what, I ran the second 13 miles 24 minutes slower than the first, shuffling home in a painful 4:30. I returned to Boston and dutifully reported to Martin what had happened.

“Water,” Martin said simply. “You were sick the week before and didn’t drink enough water.” Martin had counseled me if I wasn’t feeling well to consider dropping out at the 7-mile mark, where the course loops back past the Arlington Cemetery starting line. I reminded him of the year he finished the Boston Marathon with a 103-degree temperature.

“Yes, but that was crazy!” Martin laughed. By the way, did I mention that Martin also ran Boston one year with a stress fracture in his foot?

“Running Boston is like climbing Mount Washington,” Martin philosophizes. “It’s something you do once a year.” Has he ever thought of dropping out? The stress fracture, the 103-degree temperature, the heat of ’76? Nope.

“But Martin has dropped out of marathons before,” Rusty jumps in. “He’s just never dropped out of Boston.”

And the rest, as they say, is history: one of the longest current streaks in the Boston Marathon.

LIFE AND RUNNING AT CHEZ DUFFY-STIEFF

Martin and Rusty don’t just run well. They run smart. They run consistently. Both of them work full-time jobs. They are busy people. And yet they make running a priority in their lives. Not enough to become obsessive, but enough to remain great runners and stay human while doing it. Just hearing about them from Ted was enough to get me to rearrange my Wednesdays so that I could consistently make it down to the track for their workouts.

While visiting their home in Belmont, Massachusetts, I asked them about their running trophies. You would think that with a double running pedigree as impressive as Martin and Rusty’s, their home would be something of a shrine to their accomplishments in the sport. Shelves and walls covered with trophies, medals, and framed singlets, right? Not quite.

“Honey, come help me with the silver polish,” Rusty called out from underneath the dining room dish cabinet. A pair of silver bowls—prizes from the Ocean State Marathon in 1983, the race in which Rusty qualified for the 1984 U.S. Olympic Trials—sat tarnished with age in the back corner. She’d had to dig three layers deep in the cabinet just to produce them. Now the three of us were sitting there with paper towels and polish, getting the bowls ready for a single photograph, after which time, I was sure, the bowls would be returned to the cabinet. Sure enough, after a group photo, back they went.

Rusty and Martin at home with a small part of their race memorabilia.

Mary Nicole Nazzaro THE COUPLE THAT RUNS TOGETHER Mf 59

As we sat in the living room reminiscing about Martin and Rusty’s running origins, their daughter Brianna bounded into the room. A lean, energetic, little blonde girl of seven, she ran from kitchen to living room to sit with her parents as they talked with animation of their experiences running in everything but the kitchen sink in the Boston area over the past 20-plus years. All I could think of when I saw her was, “Kid, you have no idea how lucky you are.” With genetics like that, you just have to believe they’ ve spawned an even faster specimen of Duffy. Belmont High School, prepare for all those track records to be broken in about the year 2009.

RUSTY’S STORY: FROM NON-JOCK TO OLYMPIC TRIALS

This past spring I asked Rusty about her unexpected journey from self-professed nonathlete to Olympic Trials qualifier. Rusty wasn’t the family jock. “I was at my family place in Rhode Island, and my cousins were going out to run. It was about a 2-mile run, and they said, ‘Do you want to come along?’ It’s the first time I remember running, and then I just started doing it for exercise a little.” Of such inauspicious beginnings are Olympic Trials marathoners made.

We were sitting in her living room, a scrapbook of running photos and newspaper clippings littering the coffee table. It had been 16 years since her U.S. Olympic Marathon Trials experience. I was eager to hear what it was like to participate in one of the most meaningful events in women’s Olympic sports history: the opening of the marathon (and all shorter distance events from the 800 meters on up) to women competitors. Not to mention what it was like competing against eventual Olympic gold-medal winner Joan Benoit.

Lest anyone think that the debut of an Olympic Trials competitor is a glamorous coming-out party, take heed in Rusty’s first racing experience. “The first race I remember was pretty memorable, actually! I wanted to run the Bonne Bell [now Tufts Health Plan] 10K for Women. I thought I’d do another race first, to try it, so I did the 5-mile race at Fresh Pond in Cambridge. I had no idea how to pace myself because I’d never run a race before. I thought you just kind of ran! So I did the first lap faster than I’ve ever run anything. I did it at something like a 6-minute pace, and at that point, I was not running 6-minutemiles in training! And my second lap around the pond, I could just feel I was dying, getting slower and slower, and I was thinking, ‘I just want this to end!’ But I knew that the first three names got in the paper, and I think I was third, but I got a quarter of a mile from the end, and my legs just went under me. It was a hot summer day, and I hadn’t eaten lunch, and I fell down and couldn’t get up. So I never finished the race. And in fact, I ended up going to the hospital.”

Rusty in the 1986 Tufts Health Plan 10K. She and Martin have run the gamut of Massachusetts races.

Things improved after that. “My second race was a local Belmont 5-miler. Johnny Kelley the Elder was there. This time I was going to pace myself. I started at the back of the pack. Even though it wasn’t a big race, I was going to make sure I didn’t overdo it. The whole race I passed people. I think I was the third woman and 19th overall.”

There was another memorable quality to that race, Rusty added. “Martin’s girlfriend at the time won it. But I didn’t know!” she said with a laugh. That was in 1978. Itwould bea few more years before she and Martin would team up—first as coach and pupil, later as husband and wife.

“We met through running, actually,” Rusty says. “I think when you’re a runner, you kind of know the other runners around, especially if you’re in the same geographical area. I saw Martin occasionally on the streets of Belmont, and I ran into him a couple times at the Harvard track. In fact, I think that’s where I first really talked to him, sometime in 1982. I was asking him, ‘Okay, I’m going to do the Bonne Bell 10K again, and I want to improve my time— do you think I can do it? My goal was always to run a 6-minute pace for a reasonable length of time.”

Iask Rusty if she was aware at that time what an extraordinary pace that was for a female distance runner. “You know, I just knew from running the Bonne Bell for a few years,” she replies. “I’ll never forget the first year I ran it. It was pretty daunting. There were about 3,000 women running it back then. You see all these women, and a lot of them look like they’re in pretty good shape, and

<< Mary Nicole Nazzaro THE COUPLE THAT RUNS TOGETHER M@ 61

you have noclue where you’ re going to fit in. I think I came in about 160th or something. And that’s the first time I realized, I guess, I’m pretty good at this!”

She laughs before continuing. “I hadn’t really trained that much. But I was never great. I had some talent, and I wanted to see what I could do with it. And Martin was great. He coached a number of people. And so we bumped into each other, and I had this goal, and he started helping me with my running.”

Rusty pauses for a moment, and Martin, seated opposite us in a soft easy chair, pipes up in a deadpan voice: “And since then, we’ ve had a child.” And laughter fills the room. Martin and Rusty with daughter Brianna.

A 3:05 FIRST MARATHON

From her beginnings running the local 10K races, Rusty graduated to the marathon. Her first marathon was the 1983 Silver Lake Marathon in Massachusetts. She ran with Martin and Rich Cowgill, a colleague from her workplace who ran with her during their lunch breaks. They had been gently encouraging Rusty to run strong during the race, but by the time they got within a mile of the finish line, she had had enough. Spotting a female competitor ahead of her, she yelled at Martin and Rich: “Now don’t tell me to pass that woman!”

Of course, as soon as she gave herself permission not to run any faster, she did exactly that. “Once the pressure was off, Icould relax alittle,” Rusty recalls. She was able to pass her competitor to finish in 3:05:36, placing third overall in the women’s division.

From there it was on to her Olympic Trials qualifying race, the Ocean State Marathon in 1983. She had to find just over 14 minutes of improvement, a goal that Martin had convinced her was achievable with her level of talent. Rusty

explains: “The way they came up with the qualifying time for the Olympic Trials was that they took the top 100 women’s marathon times for the previous year. The 100th time was 2:51:16. So that became the qualifying time for the Trials.”

I asked Martin how to go about taking 14 minutes off an already impressive marathon time in less than a year. With a grin he replied, “You find a downhill course for them to run!”

Then, more seriously, he talked about the training process. “What you need to do is very gradually build your way up, have a goal, and then run a system, basically, to achieve that goal, or to come as close as you can to accomplishing it. So it’s a question of putting in the time and having the luck of having your health hold up to do your time.”

THE QUALIFIER

“My qualifying for the Olympic Trials was a miracle,” Rusty says. “Ocean State was a race that Martin ran every year. I started off with another woman who hadruna good marathon. I think she had run a2:45. We started off together, and she was saying, ‘You can’t go out too fast, you can’t go out too fast.’ Well, Iran the first mile with her, thinking, ‘This feels really slow.’ We get to the first mile, and it was about a 6:42 first mile. I had to average 6:32s for the race to qualify. And I thought, ‘That’s it! I’m running my own race!’ I ran the next two miles extra fast to catch up.”

Unbeknownst to Rusty, though, her time woes weren’t over. “The race felt like work the whole way. But then I got to about a mile and a half to go, and I thought, ‘I think I’ve got it made; I think I’m okay.’ And there was some guy in the crowd who sounded like he was a coach, a gym teacher, a track guy. He yelled at me, in a not particularly friendly way, ‘You better kick butt to have a chance of making it!’ It’s almost like he knew I was trying to qualify. And I thought, ‘okay,’ and I gave it what I had the last mile and a half, and I made it by four seconds. So who knows? If he hadn’t said that, maybe I would have missed the whole thing.” Rusty clocked 2:51:12.

So it was on to Olympia, Washington, for the legendary race where Joan Benoit, fresh off arthroscopic surgery 17 days earlier, would win the race and, later in the year, the Olympic gold medal. Rusty recalls that she and many of the other competitors were friendly but that the contenders—Benoit among them—kept to themselves before the race. Rusty’s race in Olympia wasn’t particularly satisfying. A recent flu bug took the spring out of her step, and she finished well behind the leaders—but she made it to the starting line of the firstever Women’s Olympic Marathon Trials.

Not bad for a runner who had only been plying her trade for seven years.

PATIENCE, YOUNG JEDI

It’s five days before the 2000 Philadelphia Distance Run Half-Marathon, and I’m preparing to run there to test my fitness for the Chicago Marathon, five and ahalf weeks away. In my heart I have a PR goal in mind for the Philly race, but it’s been a tough summer, having spent a couple of months in Asia running in stifling heat and humidity, not being able to crank out a single fast mile even ona track. I want Martin to run my legs off, help me get my confidence back by putting me through a tough track workout. But he doesn’t. Instead, we run a simple pyramid workout, one of the easiest I’ve ever done with him—a mile warm-up, then 2200, 2400, and 2200, each successive repeat a little faster than the last, but not by much. In the middle of the workout he takes me aside, and as we watch the other runners circling the track, Martin observes their running form.

“See that guy?” Martin points to a young kid, maybe 19 or 20, leaning into the wind on the far side of the track. “Too much upper body. He needs to straighten up and run from the hips more.”

About another athlete right behind him: “He’s overstriding.”

Yet another: “His arms and shoulders are too tight. He needs to relax his upper body.”

Then he looks at me and, with the sly and knowing grin of a runner who has seen a hundred thousand miles, delivers his lesson. “Efficiency shall not be sacrificed at the altar of speed!” His remark is accompanied by a hearty laugh, and although the two don’t look alike, I’m reminded of Yoda somewhere in the middle of Luke Skywalker’s Jedi training in The Empire Strikes Back. Complete with me, cast as the impatient apprentice.

“Why are we worrying about form when all I want to do is run faster?” I think to myself as he explained, ever so patiently, that a fast track workout could only hurt me right now. “Tt will increase your chances of getting injured so close to the race, and it won’t benefit your fitness enough to matter right now.” Man. I’m standing there champing at the bit to get back to the workout, steam practically coming out of my ears, and my coach is all up in arms about proper running form. “Think Michael Johnson!” Martin smiled. “Run from the hips. Upper body directly over your legs. And relax your wrists. Just let your legs do the work.”

Even though’ ve always believed myself to be far from a running novice— I’ve been lacing up my Sauconys for the past 16 years—I’m embarrassed to admit my initial impatience at receiving this lesson at the importance of running form.

Especially considering what happened five days later in Philly. With that one mantra running through my head the whole way (“Efficiency shall not be

sacrificed at the altar of speed!”), Iran a carefully paced effort and was amazed at how much easierit all felt. Exponentially easier. Even though started slowly to assure myself of running negative splits, I was still passing other runners right up until the final stretch on Benjamin Franklin Parkway. And all those runners just looked so uncomfortable: shoulders hunched, stride irreversibly shortened from cramping and from—darn, there goes Martin being rightagain!— lack of proper form. The result of Martin’s lesson the previous week? A five and a half minute personal record for Yours Truly. This guy definitely knows what he’s talking about.

EPILOGUE

I guess you might be wondering how my marathon went in Chicago, after all that training. Well, after two years of speed workouts, Martin’s patient coaching, teaching me how to reel myself in instead of trying to get better too quickly, knowing Rusty’s history with gradual, constant improvement to the nationalclass level . . . I guess you could say I got a little inspired. Not to mention determined, especially when in the late spring of 2000, just before embarking ona three-month trip to China, I mentioned my goal for the year’s marathon to Martin: four hours. He was thoughtful and agreed that if I did everything right, someday I d hit that time goal in the marathon.

Wait a second. He sounded—just a bit—as though he thought four hours was the limit of my marathoning potential. To someone with Boston blood coursing through her veins, dem’s fightin’ words. I wanted four hours this year, to prepare for an all-out assault on that 3:40 Boston qualifying time before I turned 30. I was determined, just this once, to show my coach that I could do it: set a huge goal and deliver.

Long story short: 4:02:37 on a sunny October day in Chicago. “Must have been the inspiration of all those Kenyans!” Martin joked in a short e-mail to me the day after. Naah. Must have been the influence of my two great coaches and friends. Not to mention the other carrot dangling in front of me: one other small goal I’ ve got in my head. That huge Boston running streak of Martin’s? I figure he’s going to be out there for a while more. And I’d like to run at least one of them with him. To come full circle in this running journey, in this world in which two fabulous national-class runners took a veritable turtle under their wings and helped me find my own marathon, my own potential as a runner.

And, hopefully, this budding runner, inspired beyond belief by this amazing running family in her own backyard, will rise up to keep the streak going thanks to the good humor, patience, and love for the sport that Martin and Rusty hold in their hearts and share with anyone who wants to get out there with them. Stay tuned. ’

50 Down, ‘100 to Go

In Ultrarunning, the Lesson Learned Best Is the Lesson Learned the Hard Way.

O N MY final lap of the Umstead 100/50-Mile Endurance Run outside of Raleigh, North Carolina, I encounter several race casualties. One man is sitting on the side of the trail with his head in his hands. Soon, I pass another man who is limping badly and literally dragging one of his feet behind him. I pass another man who makes a strange whimpering sound with every step. A woman running in the opposite direction looks at me and asks, “Why are we doing this?” I think about her question very hard and can’t answer it, but I do reflect on how I came to be in this race.

MY PLAN

My running background was limited before my first marathon in 1998. I had been jogging short distances for weight control since 1994 and usually ran a few 10Ks each year. The only longer distance I remember doing is when I set out for a six-miler one night and, feeling good, ran 12. Apart from that, I had never been interested in long distances.

In 1996 I switched all my efforts to lifting heavy weights and bulking up in size. In one year I went from my 175 pounds (at six feet tall) to 225. The craziness stopped toward the end of 1997, as I was getting married and now wanted to lose weight. To aid my cause, I decided to train for a marathon.

To help achieve my goal, I picked up my old Jeff Galloway running book and set up a plan: regular runs during the week with a slowly increasing weekend long run. It worked great.

By October 1998 I ran the Marine Corps Marathon in 3:38 and was down to my regular old 175 pounds. But I had a problem. Before I ran my first marathon, I was so hyped up after reading how finishing a marathon has changed peoples’ lives, how it was the toughest thing a person had ever done, and so on,

that I felt very let down after finishing my first one. It simply wasn’t that hard. Ihad stiff legs for a few days afterward but felt I could have run another one the following weekend.

Four weeks later, after finishing the Atlanta Marathon, I remained disappointed and dissatisfied. I started searching the Web for other marathons to run and came across information on ultramarathons. “I’m in!” I yelled inside my head. I immediately signed up for the Umstead 50, which was a mere four months away.

To train for the race I ran the Myrtle Beach Marathon (February), Shamrock Sportsfest Marathon (March), and PowerMan Alabama (10K run, 60K bike, and 10K run, also in March). I also ran a 32-mile training run, which felt much harder than a marathon plus six miles. It was during this training run that I realized the 50-mile distance would not be easy.

RACE DAY

Conveniently, my wife and I have friends who live a few blocks from the Umstead course. Curiously, they had never heard of the race. We spent the night at their house, where I drank three cups of hot tea before going to bed. At this point I learned my first lesson: don’t drink caffeine the night before a race.

The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m., and after only two hours of sleep, my first reaction was to turn over and sleep some more. But then I remembered why I was here: my first 50-miler.

The start of the 1999 Umstead 100/50-Mile Endurance Run, Kevin (wearing #45) on the far right.

I dressed, and my wife and I drove the three-minute drive to Umstead State Park. There, we made our way down the long, dark, winding, rocky trail to race headquarters, where we heard lots of laughter and talking coming from the meetinghouse. Inside we found probably 75 (mostly) guys, hanging around talking and joking. What a sight at 5:00 a.m.!

After getting my race number, I did my quick prerace preparation. I applied Vaseline in the right places, ate a PowerBar, drank lots of water, and stretched. Lalso tried to eat some Hammer Gel I’d recently bought for the first time, but Thad a hard time sucking it out of its plastic flask, so I tossed it away. I learned my second lesson: bring foods you know; this isn’t the time to try something new.

THE FIRST 10 MILES

Umstead is staged in Raleigh at Umstead State Park. It’s primarily a 100-mile event, but a 50-mile race option is also offered. The race consists of a 10-mile loop with an aid station at the start and halfway point. For the most part, the course consists of continuous rolling hills with 4,000 feet of elevation gain for the 50 and 8,000 feet for the 100. At first sight, the hills don’t look that difficult. The course is 100 percent trail and carpeted with small gravel rocks that (also) at first sight don’t seem to pose much of a problem.

My wife and I follow the crowd of about 150 runners heading down to the start, situated at the bottom of a short but fairly steep hill covered with small rocks. As the gun goes off I find myself at the front of the crowd and racing to the top of the hill. I make it up to the top first and am a bit surprised since I don’t have a flashlight and have no idea which way to turn, so I slow down and tuck in behind a couple of guys with flashlights. I take off at a fairly good pace and follow these two front-runners, who are chatting away.

Ilisten in on their conversation, which concerns some of the 100-mile races they’ ve run, including Western States, Leadville, Wasatch, and Hardrock. Hearing the descriptions of these incredible mountainous races leaves me in awe. I join in the conversation and discover one of the guys is named Jose Wilkie, who seems to talk at 100 mph, and is attempting to run 13 100-milers in one year! (Wilkie ended up running 14. See Marathon & Beyond, volume 4, issue 5.) The other guy, Tom Green, seems to have run every major 100-miler in the United States. Both guys apparently know everyone in the race, as most runners we see on the out-and-back shout “Hi, Tom!” or “Hi, Jose!” as they pass.

At the five-mile point I run straight past the aid station crew, who stare at me, while Tom and Jose stop for a drink. After running down a tiny path for about two minutes, I hear Jose yelling behind me. I run back to the station to catch up with the two guys. They tell me the aid station was the turnaround

Kevin clips along early in the race at a pace he would later regret, while Jose Wilke, “Mr.-14-100-Milers-in-OneYear,” keeps pace behind him.

point, even though there are no signs. I learn my third lesson: know the course you arerunning, and don’t rely on signs or aid station crews for directions!

During this first 10 miles I get the opportunity to talk to many runners since at this point everyone is running relatively close and all are in good spirits and enjoying the run: trail racing is certainly more enjoyable than marathon road racing. It occurs to me thatultrarunners area great bunch of people.

THE SECOND 10 MILES

I keep the pace up well and continue running with Tom and Jose. My legs feel good, with no problems whatsoever. Jose is still speaking at 100 mph, and I wonder how in the world he has the energy to run at the same time. On this loop, Jose and Tom start to walk up the steeper hills. I’m really surprised by this and think these guys can’t be the great runners I initially thought they were since I know I could easily run up these hills.

We talk with many other runners as we pass them and others pass us. Some run with us for a few miles, and from them I hear stories about such races as Badwater, Marathon des Sables, and the Eco Challenge. These people seem invincible as they tell me of their experiences of surviving hypothermia at high altitude, sleeping in deserts and on mountains overnight after losing equipment, and various other near-death experiences. It is indeed an honor to run with these guys.

As the sun rises, we run past many of the beautiful freshly blooming flowers the Umstead course has to offer, and with the smell of the early morning dew on the grass and the sound of the river running by, I feel it’s going to be a great day.

THE THIRD 10 MILES

I keep the pace with Tom and Jose, but it gets tougher. My early enthusiasm wears off as reality sets in and I realize this is not going to be easy. As I pass the marathon distance my legs start to tire. During training I had run my 32-mile loop very slowly, and I realize I have taken off way too fast by running with these two experienced ultrarunners. It is at this point I realize that most of the runners were saving their legs by walking the steeper hills. I feel I have just crossed a threshold of fatigue I haven’t experienced before.

Toward the end of this 10-mile loop, Jose moves ahead, and Tom and I run together. When we reach the aid station Tom and I split up; I figure he has run ahead of me since I spend about 10 minutes chatting with my wife. At about this time I suddenly feel extremely tired and realize I am moving into new territory in terms of mileage.

Psychologically I am strong, but I am concerned about how my body will react to this new distance. I feel like changing my shoes and socks but don’t because I am so tired I don’t have the energy. I also now want to get the run over as soon as possible.

At the end of 30 miles I have learned another lesson: never take off fast in an ultra unless you know what you are doing.

THE FOURTH 10 MILES

As I head out for my fourth loop, I’m glad I’m on my own since I can run my own pace and not have to keep up with the faster runners I have met (and also not slow them down, which I probably did). But about two miles into the loop, Tom runs up from behind me.

“T thought you were in front of me, Tom!”

“No,” came the reply, “I spent some time at the aid station.”

Oh no, I think. Now I’m gonna have to keep up with him. We run together for a while, and I think Tom realizes that I’m tiring since by now I can hardly reply to anything he’s saying. Somewhere around four miles along the course, Tom takes off ahead and I’m on my own again; as muchas I liked running with Tom, by now I am so tired I cannot even force a word out of my mouth.

The original upbeat demeanor of all the runners has at this point disappeared, as friendly “Hellos” have been exchanged for, at most, grunts as we pass each other. At this point I wonder if I’m on the last lap. This illusion seems to help me get to the main aid station, whereupon I realize I still have 10 more miles to go.

Stopping at the 40-mile point confirmed for me that one of the best features of the Umstead race is the main aid station. An extremely attentive woman

Hoisting his water bottle to say “Hey” would prove burdensome for Kevin during the last 10 miles of the race.

immediately asked approaching runners what they wanted and then handed them whatever food ‘or drink they | asked for. Unfortunately, I never gota chance to thank her.

By the end of this loop, Iam really hurting. Ihave never before come close to experiencing this kind of pain in my legs. Even walking is painful. My feet feel like red-hot pokers and have by now swollen a great deal; in fact, they feel like they are going to burst |p through my shoes at any moment. By now I am walking up all of the hills | and can only shuffle along slowly on the straights. The one thing that keeps me sane is knowing a downhill will arrive soon. Next lesson: bring an extra, larger pair of shoes to each ultra.

THE LAST 10 MILES

Leaving the aid station after running 40 miles was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I am absolutely physically wasted and probably shouldn’t have set out again, but I do. I have to finish. By now my body is in total pain; every step is torture. I feel as if I’m running without shoes on a bed of nails. With each step the rest of my body feels as if baseball bats are pummeling it. Even the handheld water bottle I have been carrying the whole race feels like a50-pound dumbbell, so I empty it out, thinking I can drink the water supplied on the route.

My mind starts to wander; I lose focus and start to think crazy thoughts. I wonder to myself if I could actually experience any more pain than I am experiencing at this moment. That is, is there any limit to pain?

I try to imagine how painful Ironman would be, or being stuck high on Mount Everest overnight with no oxygen, or even running a six-day ultra. I even think about asking one of the few mountain bikers passing if I can borrow his bike!

As the miles slowly pass, all I can think about is my next step and where I should place my foot to avoid the small rocks that are now becoming extremely menacing, pain-inducing obstacles. Part of the rock problem was my fault since Thad worn my regular marathon-running shoes. Lesson number 10 or so: wear the right shoes for the terrain!

The miles slowly pass, step by step. I finally reach the finish line after 10 hours and 57 minutes on the trail. Strangely, I have enough energy left to sprint for the finish and beat another runner up the hill to the line. I hug my wife and talk with friends, including Tom, who looks like he has just been out for a nice easy jog in the park.

I sit down, remove my shoes and socks, and find several huge blood-filled blisters. This sight teaches me my final ultra lesson of the day: make foot care a top priority during a race, even if you don’t feel like it.

AFTERTHOUGHTS

Umstead is considered one of the less-arduous 100/50mile courses in the United States, but this can be misleading since it is a continuously hilly course covered with small rocks, which bothered many runners. In fact, many of the experienced 100-mile starters switched to the 50-mile option. Don’t let the Umstead course elevation profile fool you: the course is not easy. This race was by far the hardest mental and physical event I’ve experienced. It was harder than I had ever expected, much harder than “two marathons backto-back.” All I could think about for the next several days was that I was in more pain than I had ever imagined, let alone experienced, and yet a number of runners stayed out on the course running through a stormy night on their way to a 100-mile finish. I was unable to comprehend how they could do this. For the next several days I swore to my wife I would never runa 100mile race. Just one week later, though, I was contemplating signing up for the Umstead 100 next year.

Kevin, with his wife Dawn, fellow racer Tom Green, and local Raleigh friends, relaxes after the race.

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Running With ‘ the Kenyans

Is There a “Secret” to the Kenyan Domination of Long-Distance Running? Yes. It’s Running.

By MICHAEL SANDROCK

E LDORET, KENYA—We’ re halfway up a steep hill leading out of the town of Iten when our Range Rover sputters to a stop. Our driver, Charles, climbs out and lifts the hood, and we watch as steam rises into the deep blue afternoon sky.

“What’s wrong?”

“T don’t know,” Charles says, shrugging his shoulders. “Could be many things. Maybe a leak in the radiator. We need some water to check.”

I volunteer to get some water. Some local kids have been watching us, and, barefoot and nimble, they lead me to their nearby family farm. We cross a field, slide on our stomachs beneath a fence, then clamber through some bushes before arriving§ –—H—_—__—_—_____—_ at a neat, mud-brick house. A cook- Runners and giraffes share the trail in ing fire burns in the yard, and ona Kenya. plank set across two tree stumps a woman sits with her children. After explaining what we need, the kids and I grab buckets and fill them from a 55-gallon barrel.

For a minute, I don’t want to leave. Here is a quiet, far-off place, where the Internet, cell phones, and satellite dishes have not yet intruded. There are no deadlines, no e-mail. The yard is crowded with fruit trees, and the woman’s

© PHOTO RUN 2000

bright smile is framed by the green scarf covering her head. I drink in the scene. But the others are waiting, and we run back, the water sloshing back and forth in the buckets.

Back at the Range Rover, Charles pours the water into the radiator, and it streams out the bottom onto the asphalt road. “Yes, you see, it is leaking. . . .”

Sieg Lindstrom, a writer for Track & Field News, shakes his head and mutters that we are in trouble. agree. My AAA membership won’t work here, and there are no auto shops around, no service stations, no used parts stores where we can buy another radiator. “I’ll hitch a ride back to Eldoret and get a car to pick us up,” I say. “Or I can run to Brother O’Connell’s [whose school in Iten has produced scores of elite runners] and ask for a place for us to stay for the night.”

Charles shakes his head, not listening. “Does anyone have some curry powder?” he asks. Curry powder? No, don’t make a habit of carrying it around. Don’t have any black pepper or cumin, either.

Charles rummages around in the glove compartment. “Ah, here it is,” he says, holding up a package of curry powder. He opens it and pours a bit in the radiator with some water. The water still leaks right out. Charles fills the radiator once again and adds more powder. This time, the leak slows. Finally, he tops off the radiator, mixes in the rest of the curry powder, and, like magic, no water leaks out. The radiator leak is sealed.

Charles starts the Range Rover, leans out the window and waves to the large group of locals watching us, then turns and says, “Everyone in Kenya is a mechanic.”

I was in Kenya as part of a trip with several other journalists to the Filasponsored training camps in the Rift Valley. Since the Kenyan domination of long-distance running began in 1968 with Kip Keino’s two Olympic medals, people have asked why this small, East-African country has produced so many outstanding runners.

The line of greats that began with Keino has continued unbroken to this day. In 1999, Kenya had an astounding 106 marathoners faster than 2:14. The total for the United States, which has roughly 200 million more people than Kenya? Two.

Oh, it’s the altitude, the genetics, the diet, the talent, people have said, attempting to explain the Kenyan success. What I found during my visit to Kenya, starting with my first morning there, is that the success springs from all these reasons, along with something more.

I woke up early my first day in Eldoret, a town of 18,196, near the border of Uganda. I pulled on my running gear and jogged up the street, past the slaughterhouse on the outskirts of town. Even at 6:00 A.M. crowds of men are

lined up at the entrance. The stench from the butchering is overwhelming, and I quickly run past and up a hill to the outskirts of town, where the asphalt ends and endless miles of dirt roads begin.

In the distance, flames rise from burning fields in preparation for planting. Itis quiet and cool, but even at this early hour, scores of people are walking into town. I turn and run past a small cluster of huts, then loop back to the main road. A young, fit runner is coming my way, and in the universal greeting of runners around the world, I ask, “How far you going?”

“One hour, 30 minutes,” he replies. “Would you like to join me?”

We begin running together. He tells me his name is Daniel. We talk as we run over the small hills, the soft dirt feeling good beneath my jet-lagged legs. The conversation ebbs and flows with the rising and falling of the hills, and as we run, I look out at the distant mountains, the lonely acacia trees, the broad fields, and I think of the history of the Rift Valley.

Fossil skulls discovered last year in the Republic of Georgia provide evidence that our ancestor, the mysterious Homo erectus, left Africa, perhaps somewhere near where we are running, roughly 1.1 million years ago. According to news reports, those first humans, armed only with a few primitive stone tools, started a dispersal across the globe that eventually led to you and me, reading and writing, running and relaxing.

As Daniel and I run along, I listen to our rhythmic breathing. When we travel, I think, we too take our primitive tools (pen, paper, a pair of running shoes) and go on our own migration around our city, state, nation, and world. In that, we are driven by what must have driven those first Homo erectus. Like them, we explore our world, and when we visit a new country like Kenya, it is as new for us as it has been for all who have come before.

It was here in East Africa, the great mythologist Joseph Campbell explained, that the ancestor of the Homo erectus, the australopithecine, emerged. In his lecture series Transformation of Myth Through Time (Harper & Row), Campbell provides an artist’s rendition of australopithecine running across a field that does not look much different from the fields we are now passing through. “He has picked up a tool andis running, but the important thing is the legs,” Campbell writes. “Apparently the first essential development of the hominid, distinguishing him from the arboreal ape, is this kind of running leg, which released the hands.”

Apes, Campbell says, walk using the knuckles of the front legs or arms. “It used to be thought that the brain enlargement was the main distinction; not so anymore. It was the legs. This left the hands free for manipulation, and then the brain increased.”

When we run, we are tracing that evolutionary development. Watching the sun rise in the distance this African morning, I feel an empathy with our lineage

of ancestors, australopithecine, then Homo hablis, then Homo erectus. I don’t imagine them being cautious creatures, creeping through the grass. No, that is not how our ancestors would move. They were runners, our first human ancestors, just like you and me. They ran across these same plains, I think.

Maybe those first runners chased antelope or wildebeest to get food, or maybe they were chased by lions or leopards that hoped to make them food. Either way, when they were done chasing or being chased through this valley, Ihave the feeling that our first ancestors would then run for the sheer joy of it, simply because they felt like it. Just as we do sometimes.

But, ah, what heartache, what suffering, what unforeseen disasters Homo erectus unleashed with those first steps out of Africa. A few miles down the road, Daniel asks me what I am thinking. I explain all this to him and tell him that perhaps it would have been better if Homo erectus had stayed put in the Rift Valley, had been content to hunt and be hunted and not to have populated the world. “Maybe if we had not become erect, thinking people . . .”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Read the paper any day,” I say. “You want to shake your head in shame and cover your eyes to avoid knowing what humans do to each other.”

Yesterday’s Daily Nation newspaper, I continue, had an editorial titled “The God of Women Is Dead,” in reference to another terrible incident in Nairobi. “That is what I mean.”

Daniel listens and is quiet for a stretch. “No,” he finally says. “I don’t agree at all. I think there was no way around it. When our ancestors’ brains grew bigger, their dreams grew bigger as well. They wanted to explore, to see what was beyond that mountain range, that river, that forest. That is what all of us want to do. That is why I am training every day. I want to see the world. I want to have a nice home, a nice car, like the good runners here. I will be running the Discovery race on Sunday. Can you introduce me to [Fila coach] Dr. Rosa there?”

“T don’t know him well, but I will try,” I say. “What are the races like?”

“You are running strong,” he tells me. “Iam sure they will let you enter. That way you can see for yourself.”

That is how I found myself standing with two-time Boston Marathon winner Moses Tanui at the Fila Discovery Cross-Country 12K race ona hot Sunday morning late last winter. The others in my group were sitting in the shade, sipping some cool drinks and chattering with the myriad world-class runners who volunteer to help at the race.

“Are you certain you want to run?” Tanui asks.

“Sure.” I am in pretty good shape, I tell him, having run 27:52 for five miles at altitude recently and averaging about 10 miles a day with people like former