THE CHICAGO LAKEFRONT 50K GEORGE CHEUNG MEMORIAL RACE

Istill have my bib number from the “dog” race. It’s handwritten in blue marker: “120.” The top line is written in Chinese. The second line reads: “Chinese New Year’s Dog Race #4692.” I believe 4692 was the 1994 equivalent in the Chinese calendar. (And we make such a big deal out of 2000?) Anyway, when I reported to the North Avenue beach house early that freezing “94 morning, I believe it was Cele Cheung herself, George’s widow, who wrote my name and that number on this bib.

Oh, and by the way, did I mention that this race was always free?

So now it’s April Fool’s Day. I’m panting along behind the Junk Restaurant guy heading north toward the Foster Avenue beach and the start/finish of this brand-new ancient race. In an interesting turnaround, the new race organizers have switched the start/finish to the other end of the course. The first time I did this, the only thing they had at Foster Avenue was a parked van with a water jug inside. And the heater on.

Today my bib reads: “Chicago Lakefront 50K George Cheung Memorial Race.” The organizers tried to give every participant a significant bib number. Inmy case, my number was tied to my age. And 50 is Wey Tu Yung to be history. So what in the name of Egg Fu Old does any of this Chicago junk have to do with the history of ultrarunning?

“BE SURE TO THANK NOEL FOR US; HE CHANGED OUR LIVES.”

Well, for starters, how about world records? The Chinese New Year ultras weren’t the most famous races beyond the marathon ever held in Chicago. No, those would be the annual AMJA ultras that began in 1979 and finished in 1990. The American Medical Joggers Association (which, by the way, used to be able to get you into the Boston Marathon without a qualification time but, alas, no more) sponsored an annual event directed by Dr. Noel Nequin, who has told me himself he was George Cheung’s best friend. In fact, Dr. Noel and some other friends spread George’s ashes along this same lakefront path on which we’ ve all been running ever since.

Dr. Noel recalled for me in vivid detail the day Barney Klecker, an outstanding ultrarunner from Minnesota, set the world record for the 50-mile distance in Chicago at the AMJA race on October 5, 1980. He even has a photo of the five different stopwatches used to record that historic moment. Barney’s time showing on each of them was 4:51:25. Yes, that’s for 50 miles!

Sometime afterward (like, 20 years later) it has been my good fortune to track Barney Klecker down. He’s still in Minnesota, and he’s become quite the entrepreneur in the hotel/restaurant management consulting business, with clients worldwide. Sure, he still runs, he says, but he’s the father of five (with one more on the way) and doesn’t have a whole lot of time anymore for worldclass training.

Barney, by the way, is married to Janis Klecker, a world-class runner in her own right. Janis made the U.S. Olympic Marathon team in 1992. Chicago’s south suburbanites (which includes yours truly) will remember Janis for winning the Park Forest Scenic 10-Miler in 1994. (Yours truly met her there briefly but had no idea she also ran ultras.) Way back in 1983 in Tallahassee, Florida, Janis set the all-time North American women’s record for 50K: 3:13:51. That record still stands.

Naturally, I asked Barney about his own world record. Two things struck meas historic all by themselves. He said it happened to be his very first 50-mile race ever. He also said that during the course of his entire run, he drank exactly two ounces of water and two ounces of Diet Dr. Pepper. Then again, he also said he “hit the wall at 45 miles” and had to walk a quarter mile. He remembers a famous photograph that shows him in pain cruising past an aid station. In the same picture, Janis, then his girlfriend, is shown holding out a cup of fluid with a look of terror on her face. (He says, “That’s because she thinks I won’t take the cup.”) Twenty . years later, Barney even remembers each of his 10mile splits: 56 (minutes), 57, 58, 59—and 68! Still,

Barney Klecker saves time during his 50-mile, world-record run in Chicago on October 5, 1980, by cruising past an aid station without taking anything. During his entire run he drank only four ounces of fluid.

these add up to a 1980 world record set in Chicago that held up for four years after that.

It was during the same AMJA event on October 14, 1984, that Barney’s record was broken by Bruce Fordyce, the South African intimately identified with the Comrades Marathon. Bruce’s 4:50:21 remains to this day the world record for 50 miles. Barney claims he might have been able to beat Bruce, but he wasn’t in Chicago that day. (Someone else who was there? None other than Yiannis Kouros himself, ultra world record holder in almost every other distance there is. Dr. Noel told me Yiannis DNF’d that day rather than let Bruce beat him.)

Amazing the things you learn about history from the people who were actually there.

One reason Barney felt he could’ ve beaten Bruce is because Bruce was “a 2:17 marathoner” and Barney consistently clocked “2:15 or 2:16.” And if you check the history of Chicago’s marathon, you’ll see that Barney finished its second running (1978) in second place. Of course, Barney and Bruce knew each other. But I couldn’t track Bruce down in South Africa to ask him about this. Maybe the brand-new Chicago ultra race organizers could bring them both back to the lakefront for a rematch?

Iasked Barney about George Cheung and Dr. Noel Nequin. He has known both of them and holds them in the highest regard. He told me to be sure to extend his and Jan’s greetings to Dr. Noel and “thank him for us,” he said. “His bringing me down to Chicago changed our lives.”

I did that for Barney and Janis, and then Dr. Noel lent me more photographs.

“| WAS THERE WHEN BARNEY KLECKER WENT UNDER THREE HOURS FOR THE 50K!”

Oh, here’s one more near-Chicago ultra “factoid.” Barney also ran the 50K distance, and he did it very well. He recalls a Muncie, Indiana, road race in 1987 where his 50K finishing time was 2:51:53. And that, by the way, is a stillstanding record for the third-fastest 50K ever run in North America.

Chuck Bundy, my own personal hero (and the guy who started me running ultras in Chicago at that last freezing Chinese New Year 50K) happened to be at this Muncie race watching Barney.

“T was there when Barney Klecker went under three hours for the 50K!” Chuck still beams in amazement. “I was trying for a decent split, and Barney was already done!”

There’s a lot of running amazement in Chicago lately. I myself will never forget October 24, 1999, when I crossed the marathon finish line to be greeted by the news on a huge flashing portable billboard that Khalid Khannouchi had

just broken that world record. In lighted three-foot numbers, “2:05:42” is all it said, and all it needed to say.

And now I think, hey, that gives Khalid just 46 minutes and 10 seconds to go another five miles to try to beat Barney’s record. But I also think it’ ll never happen. There’s no money in ultras—just in marathons. It’s why Barney is now a successful Minnesota businessman and all those Kenyans line up in Grant Park every year during marathon season to make big cash withdrawals from the LaSalle Bank.

FROM THE AMJA TO THE APRIL FOOLS

My own take on the AMJA ultras is what has since been retold to me by my mentor Chuck. Interestingly, Barney gives that same recognition to Arthur Lydiard, the famous New Zealand Olympic track coach, whom the Kleckers know very well. (I now have better excuses to give Chuck. “See that?” I’ll kid him. “I could be setting ultra records, too, if I only had a famous coach!” ’m sure he’ ll kick my butt for even thinking that.)

But Chuck told me that he got his start in ultras at the old AMJA. His buddy, another fine ultrarunner named Don Adolf, conned Chuck into trying one. Don’s a retired “honcho” from the Chicago Park District. He used to have keys to all the beach houses along the lakefront. That’s how they’d come to be open

The annual American Medical Joggers Association ultras ran in Chicago from 1979 and ended in 1990, directed by Dr. Noel Nequin. Barney Klecker, wearing white gloves, is standing left of the light pole.

during the middle of winter for George Cheung’s events (and there’s more to – that story, too—keep reading).

One of the old AMJA’s distinguishing features was its multiple distances. It always used the same looped (more accurately, an out-and-back) course, marked with different turnaround points at the finish. You could run anywhere from 50 to 100 miles, although the usual distances were 50 miles and 100 kilometers. (The 100-miler was run only once.) In later years, Dr. Noel says, they’d clock a split for the 50K distance as well, so if you stopped there the AMBJA would give you credit for that as your race. Another beauty of this feature was that you wouldn’t have to commit to a distance in advance. You could make up your mind as you went along just how far you were going to go.

Time shift.

It’s April 1 again. I’m still here behind this guy in the Junk shirt, and I’ mstill on my first loop! He looks like he’s also a lot older than I am, and he’s probably thinking, “April Fool’s, sucker!” (Haven’t you ever wondered what people are thinking when they pass you? I have. It’s happened a million times.)

This race is a gem, especially in the springtime when the path is plowed and you don’t have to worry about freezing to death. Now I’m even asking the aid station volunteers to take my picture—after removing my parka and mittens— to show everybody that early April in Chicago is singlet weather. They oblige. I tell them I’ll be back later for the parka and mittens.

If Chicago has one socially redeeming value, it’s this marvelous lakefront bike and running path system that stretches more than 20 miles from north to south. Maybe one reason why Chicagoland can rightly boast so many running record holders in its own right is because most of them train here—right here on this crushed limestone path that I’m now blazing along at a blistering 11minute-per-mile pace.

If you’ re a runner, this is the place to meet. Look at this now: On my second loop, here comes a guy who thinks I look familiar. After establishing that, no, I am not Mick Jagger, he tells me his name is Dan Marcus. Well, son of a gun! Didn’t yesterday’s Chicago Tribune run a front-page story about this guy? Yep, it’s true! Dan is training this morning for next week’s big race in Morocco: the infamous Marathon des Sables—a tortuous seven-day stage race covering 150 miles of Sahara Desert.

Dan asks me for training tips.

“Go to Bally’s,” I say, “and do fartleks in the sauna.”

Actually, Dan’s an excellent young runner, and because “today’s an easy training day,” he and his partner train all the way to the south turnaround with me. Me, who is busting his butt running a race.

At the turnaround, Dan’s partner takes our picture. We shake hands, they continue south, and I wish Dan good luck in the desert. Sometime afterward,

I see on the Internet that he finished the North African race in 156th place out of 570 total finishers. A superb performance in all that heat! How’d he do it? Well, he must have had a famous coach.

Now look at this one. On my third loop, I’m chasing this older gentleman named—as he tells me when I finally catch him (for a few minutes)—Paul Levy. Running alongside two gorgeous women, Paul is putting us Chi-Town hustlers to shame. So, for a few minutes, I’m Start/Finish & able to talk with them y z< North Turnaround to try to discover why F Near the Foster Avenue Beach House they’re running with Paul instead of Mick Jagger. They never say. Or, more accurately, they move out ahead of me before I can learn the whole story. Except for one. She slows down, and I catch her again.

: Cex. We introduce our- | ——_iningPark WH aia Course selves,andshetellsme | “No Ma hernameisCarolBond. | | WEpS Tower the p Sowhydidsheslow | ~=—-& A 10.3564-mile

out-and-backs

This is the longest distance she’s ever run inher life, she says. She

came to help “(chicago | ame vate, “pace” Paul during his | | Lakefront Range 9 last loop only. She says | coe : ai she’dplanned torunjust 780. am. Stan one way and then take a Key cabtothefinishfromthe J | gavel as

south turnaround. co

I seize the opportu- bier, nity. I coach her into | | 40° @ running the whole way Spectator pp = eN North Ave. down and back. Some- Parking – EN borage

where along the way, I stop and take her picture.

Rich Limacher THE CHICAGO SHUFFLE & RESHUFFLE Mi 115

Carol may be destined for fame herself one day. She told me these 10+ miles might be her longest run so far but not her most ambitious sporting endeavor. She’s a triathlete. She’ II be doing Mrs. T’s Triathlon in the summer. Jn the lake! Some people might say that’s foolish—but not me. I’m in the middle of an ultramarathon.

THE AFTERMATH

And now, suddenly, after my coach Chuck finally passes me with two miles to go, I’m out of the ultramarathon. But when I cross the finish line, one of the delightful volunteers swings a heavy medal down over my head, and I’m delirious.

Icheck the time on the clock. Well, lookee there. I beat my last time out on this course by some 24 minutes. Of course, that was winter. But I was younger then. And now I’m older, almost history.

But that’s not what I remember most.

What I remember most about this version of Chicago’s still-famous SOK is wanting to interview the overall winner but first having to wait for him to finish his pickup basketball game on the outdoor courts at Foster Avenue beach.

Incredible, eh? To have that much energy left afterward? Of course, like the speedster Ben Johnson before him, Ryne Melcher is Canadian. There must be some connection there somewhere, eh?

When I finally caught up with Ryne, he was putting the basketball away in the trunk of his car. Next to him was his girlfriend, Jennifer Dick. I wanted a coaching tip.

Actually, he didn’t say that. He told me about all the other tougher races he’d been doing in Canada and how, probably, Ryne Melcher wins the resurrected Chicago the most famous mentor of his Lakefront 50K in April 2000. young life is Michael Jordan.

But here’s the thing I really will never forget: This new Chicago SOK was his girlfriend Jennifer’s very first race ever! No, not first ultra. First race, period. And she beat me!

MY OWN MEMORIAL TO GEORGE CHEUNG

Finally, here’s the thing I will never forget about that last Chinese New Year 50K back in ’94. George had a long-standing cutoff time of six hours flat. And I didn’t make it. (The new Chicago ultra race organizers had publicized a cutoff time of six-and-a-half hours, which I suggested to them was “rushing it.” It turns out that the last finisher came across in 7:08, and they were pleased to allow it. But things were different in ’94.)

At that time, when I finally finished, Chuck and another budding ultrarunner were already back inside his van—with the heater going—and so I staggered on alone to the North Avenue beach house to warm up, change my clothes, and retrieve my gym bag. But, with tears in my eyes, I discovered that Don Adolf must have already been there. The door was locked! My gym bag had been tossed out into the snow.

Well, go ahead. Ask anybody. They’ Il tell you Chicago is one tough town.

But then, I guess George Cheung and all those other fabulous ultrarunners who ran here and routinely beat a six-hour cutoff for the 50K must have ‘ been pretty doggone tough themselves, eh? Pi.

Adventure Running At Its WORST!

In 1989, two runners set off to become the first to run from Death Valley to Mt. Whitney and back—in mid-summer. Lottsa luck, fellers!

Send $22 in US funds (shipping/handling included) to: Rich Benyo, Box 161, Forestville, CA 95436, USA

Zip/Mail code Country

Allow 6 weeks for delivery. If you wish a personal autograph, please include name of person for whom book is intended.

Rich Limacher THE CHICAGO SHUFFLE & RESHUFFLE 117

Ny Most Unforgettable Marathon

(& What I Learned From It)

BY SANDY JACOBSON

S ACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA, December 5, 1997—My most unforgettable marathon is what I refer to as a test of strength, guts, and determination. The race was the California International Marathon: my first international race.

I had competed in a number of local marathons in and around my home in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, but this was the first time I traveled to an international race. I was entered in the women’s elite field, another first for me, and which intimidated me to some extent, although on all other levels I was ready. I had high expectations for myself, believing I was capable of placing in the top five if I had a good race. But I was to learn a very hard lesson. As Bill Rodgers wrote in the wake of the 1977 Boston Marathon, “the marathon can humble you.”

Let me backtrack several days before the Cal International Marathon. Leading up to the race, my training had gone great. The weather in Edmonton had cooperated, providing me with the rare opportunity to train outside for most of the fall. We usually have two feet of snow on the ground and cold temperatures toward the end of October. I took the weather as a good omen sent by the gods, a sign that things were going to continue well around the corner. Boy, was I naive.

My final workout before flying to Sacramento was on a treadmill in my basement. I loaded a copy of the 1997 New York City Marathon into the VCR and pretended I was running with the lead pack. I mimicked their every move. I visualized myself in Sacramento. I savored the images as I viewed them again and again, visualizing how I was going to run the race. I remember how excited I was that I was going to be going far south, to a warm climate, where I could race in a pair of shorts and feel the sun on my skin.

When my husband John and I arrived in Sacramento—a new city for us both—the weather was great. We took a cab from the airport to our hotel, enjoying the scenery along the way. When we arrived at the host hotel, we saw “Welcome Runners” banners plastered all around. We could feel the excitement. But I began to feel intimidated when I looked around the lobby and the restaurant and saw how fit and fast everyone looked.

We checked into our hotel room and made ourselves comfortable. Then we went down to check out the sports expo; it was extremely convenient to have everything for the race weekend happening in the same hotel. As we wandered the expo, though, I found myself repeating the same refrain: Everyone looks really fit—and fast.

A CHECK OF THE COURSE

The next day, I concentrated on shifting my focus to the upcoming race. John and I rented a car so we could drive the course and check out the surroundings. This is a process we’ ve done many times; it allows me to see the course and get out at various points to familiarize myself with the surroundings and the neighborhoods. Frequently, P’ll get out at the 10-mile mark, the halfway point, and the 20-mile mark so I can further visualize myself coming through those points during the race. I like to also visualize what the time on the clock will be when Thit those points. Although the Cal International course is overall downhill and everyone says it’s fast, it has its share of uphills. I assured myself, after again consulting the course elevation chart, that the hilliness was an optical illusion; the course was overall downhill.

After our drive over the course, we returned to the hotel and jogged over to the finish line. This would constitute my final “workout” before the marathon. It was a light 30-minute run, more to relieve built-up energy than anything else, but I also took the opportunity to visualize my finish, including the time that would be on the clock. I had rehearsed this scene so many times in my mind!

Back at the hotel, we cleaned up, relaxed, and I made sure to hydrate properly. [have found that the day before a marathon goes by very quickly, as though it has its own overdrive gear.

As night approached, we listened to the weather forecasters on the local TV station predict rain for race morning. (What had happened to my positive weather gods?) I tried to dismiss the forecast. How often are weather forecasters correct, anyway? It’s the only job in the world where you can be wrong most of the time and not get fired.

Ilay in bed and again visualized my race, concentrating on my splits. During the night my water bottle sat at the nightstand, and every time I opened my eyes to either use the bathroom or look at the clock, I took a drink. Sleep, I assured