But as innocent and inspiring as that statement sounds, it stung many long-standing New Zealand athletic administrators of the 1960s, who back then were probably both jealous and unmoved by Lydiard’s talent. You’re never less of a prophet in your own land than when that land is small and isolated, so Lydiard took his talents elsewhere. He became the national coach of both Mexico and Finland, where he had prodigious results, the most spectacular being Lasse Viren. Lydiard toured the world lecturing, increasing his renown, and was welcomed back to New Zealand, both by his always adoring public and by now even athletic administrators.

Years later, they are all crowded into an elegant banquet hall honoring him, hurts forgotten, triumphs celebrated, and hijinks relived. The scores of athletes—mostly male, mostly in their 50s and 60s—enjoyed reliving the antics as muchas theraces, and they talked about the old races on film as if they had just seen them run in the stadium.

I was also struck by how fit most of them had stayed, no one more than Arthur, who moved through the room like a young warrior, the eyes of strangers and disciples alike following him. For, indeed, Arthur attracts. Even now, at age 80, Arthur doesn’t seek runners to coach. They come to him. Whether they buttonhole him after a speech or travel around the world to show up stray and homeless on his doorstep or phone him all evening, long after he’s put down his

thunderbolts for a soothing glass of merlot, Arthur listens, then advises. Everyone has talent.

BOULDER, COLORADO, December—For a number of years now, I’ ve found myself wishing that I had more time to develop deeper friendships with some people in running that I’ ve known briefly but admired for years. Recently, every year was bringing a sense of loss, as I allowed myself to be concerned with getting back from events to meet family or work demands rather than taking the time to get to know running friends better. These were not major tragedies, merely lost opportunities.

Those “same-time-next-year” friendships at Boston or London or New York or Utica are now moving on 20 and 30 years. With these friends I’ve shared some of my happiest triumphs and lowest losses and together ridden the various waves of our sport’s history. I now realize that all this deserves more than an hour every year at the awards ceremony following the race.

But let me hasten to contradict myself by also saying that one of the greatest things about running is its temporary homogeneity. We don’t have to get too close. You know this when the only thing you have in common is the sport and the lively banter afterwards. A lawyer, a farmer, and a dry cleaner aren’t expected to rush off and become soul mates.

Maybe this sense of loss has to do with getting older. Who am I kidding?

ON THE ROAD WITH KATHRINE SWITZER ® 7

Of course it does. And being childless by decision is also a factor. As Richard Harteis notes in his book Marathon, at a certain age, if you’re not going to have any children, you’d better be sure to get a good circle of friends. For me, this means getting to know better the people I admire, those with whom I have a shared passion. There are a few people, women in particular, who have travelled a long road in sports with me, and it’s the essence and significance of those relationships that I’ve been longing to capture.

Sitting in a coffee bar one snowy afternoon in Boulder with Lorraine Moller, we began discussing our long careers and the importance of friendships like ours. I found myself saying, “I wish you could meet…” and “I wish we all had time to get together with…,” when I thought, why don’t we just make the time?

This year, Roger and I had given up most of a New Zealand summer to spend Christmas with parents in Virginia and England when it occurred to us that we could have fun with our friends, too. We could rendezvous with Lorraine and her husband and go together to hang out in Aspen with runners Joan Ullyot and Joyce Rankin and race car driver Janet Guthrie and their husbands. It was perfect; it fulfilled all aspirations.

It turned out we all were ready for a little vacation on our own terms. So 10 successful, active, highly-demanding, and independent people headed for ski country. No egos, no preening,

no sparring. No lawyers, no shrinks, no “exes,” no kids. And for three days, no dogs, no cats, no deadlines.

So what did we do? Well, we had fun. In fact, we had a ball. It snowed a ton the whole time, and we felt and behaved like kids on the front of a Christmas card. We cross-country skied, snowshoed up and down the mountain, went out to dinner, and sat by the fire and told plenty of terrible jokes. We drank a lot of wine, including a bottle of Harrier Rise, which I had taken with me from New Zealand in honor of Arthur Lydiard, who in a way had brought us all together over the years.

We talked about work and projects and ideas, and, of course, we talked about running: the triumphs, the hurts, the hijinks. Mostly, though, we talked about training, because that is what we all still do and, in one sense, what we care about most. Being at altitude was important, and whether the running had to share time with snow-shoeing or heli-skiing or snow-boarding, it was the sense of the physical endeavor that was most important. We had all made training a priority and were totally unrepentant. We were fit as trout and bloody proud of it.

Was that it for earth-shattering revelations of cemented friendships? Believe me, it was a very good beginning. Like Arthur’s athletes, the talent—for fitness or friendship—is everywhere. It only needs the opportunity.

(© PHOTO RUN

A good idea takes on a life of its own, while a bad idea tends to die, even if shored up by all the fortunes of the world.

In less than a century, major institutionalized world powers boasting tremendous resources can rise, shine, and decline. Yet a modest idea such as the American Sanitary Fund, established to provide medical supplies and services to combatants in the Civil War, rolled itself into the American Red Cross and survives today as a viable institution, well over a century after its inception.

© 1997 by Human Kinetics Publishers, Inc. March 1997 THE “REAL” 100th BOSTON MARATHON 9