2001 Issues

Vol. 5 #1 | Vol. 5 #2 | Vol. 5 #3 | Vol. 5 #4 | Vol. 5 #5 | Vol. 5 #6

Volume 5 | Number 1 | January/February 2001

Departments

Editorial
Big Time

In this issue, M&B editor Rich Benyo reflects on the Hi-Tec Badwater 135 race from Death
Valley to the shoulder of Mt. Whitney in far southeastern California. As of 2000, Chris Kostman and his AdventureCorps
company, whose primary race used to be a 508-mile bicycle race through Death Valley, took over the Death Valley
footrace, renamed it the Sun Precautions Badwater Ultramarathon, and changed the format (by adding wave starts) to
accommodate more runners.
Catch the rest of Rich’s editorial in our January/February issue.

On the Road with Scott Douglas
What if They Held an Olympics and Nobody Watched?
This is Scott’s last column as our “On the Road” writer.

As I write, the Olympics have been over for a week. Remember them? That was the deal where great athletes—
not to mention some really good synchronized divers—gathered Down Under to see who was supreme in the world,
or at least best in the assembled field at the allotted time. Most Americans, a few months later, find the Games as worthy
of a rehash as Elian Gonzalez minutiae. Being a member of the Marathon and Beyond family, though, you, dear reader,
are used to taking the long view, and it is with your patient perspective in mind that I offer the following random thoughts
about the scene in Sydney.
You’ll enjoy Scott’s humorous take on the Sydney Games.

My Most Unforgettable Marathon (And What I Learned From It): 1998 Key Bank Vermont
City Marathon
by Gordon Bakoulis

BURLINGTON, VERMONT, May 24, 1998. Okay, so I’m over the hill. I ran 2:33 three times during my best
marathoning years, 1989 through 1992, and it’s safe to say I won’t approach that standard again in this lifetime.
I’d love to reclaim my former youthful fitness without conceding the wisdom and maturity I’ve gained with age,
but wouldn’t we all? These days my goal is to stay healthy and continue to drink from the fountain of knowledge and
self-actualization that competitive long-distance running represents to me.

That’s why, when people ask me about my “best” marathon, I cite a relatively recent race that I finished in a time
nearly 10 minutes slower than my PR. At the 1998 Key Bank Vermont City Marathon, by successfully (finally!)
applying some of the most basic marathon lessons, I performed at a level far beyond my expectations and ran what
I consider the best race of my career. As always, the event humbled me, but this time it was by driving home the
simple truthfulness of maxims I’d heard (and passed along to others) countless times yet, I realized, never truly embraced.

You can read the details of Gordon’s race in Vermont in our January/February issue

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Yukon River Trail Marathon
Struggle where the stampeders struggled, but leave all hopes of a PR at home.

This quad buster is located in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. It’ll hurt to read about
this great but grueling race.

Letters
Lively responses to our most recent issues.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers’ training and competition questions. This month’s question:

I’M 44 YEARS old and have been running for two years. I’ve completed eight marathons and in each one I
have cramped up, usually between miles16 and 24. All of my cramps occur in my hamstrings. I have followed sound
training programs with long runs, tempo runs, and speed days, and I take one day off a week. I feel I do everything
by the book and set realistic goals for myself. Then I go to the marathon, run relaxed, sticking to my training pace—
and boom: I cramp up. I hydrate well during my marathons and take my carbos. I follow a good healthy diet. I
never cramp up during training. I have run 20-mile workouts on weekends and tempo runs and have worked up to
10 X 800-meter speedwork sessions before marathons. My best time is 3:32, but I feel that I am in condition to
run much faster if I could keep from cramping. Any suggestions?
Our experts answer this question in our January/February issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue’s authors are Scott Hubbard, Rich Benyo, Paul Reese, and Jeffrey Horowitz.

Features

Special Section: Special 25th Issue
Going for the Silver

M&B is 25 issues old and you win.

This is the 25th issue of Marathon & Beyond. And yes, it seems like only yesterday we were honing the concept
and putting the first issue together. But then it seems like only yesterday we could still hope to PR in the marathon.
Because we like to celebrate things as often as possible, we’re treating this occasion as though it is our silver anniversary, even though we’re 20 years shy of that lofty goal.
Naturally, we’ve come up with a series of articles spun around the “25” theme for a very special issue.

The rest of this intro is in the January/February issue.

North America’s 25 Toughest Marathons
You want challenges, we got ’em for you.
Here are some of the races that made the list: Grandfather Mountain, Ridge Runner, Big Sur, and
Pikes Peak. Read all the details in this issue.

25 Books Every Marathoner Should Own
A library that will enhance the marathoning experience while broadening its focus.
by Scott Hubbard

Compiling this list was fun but frustrating. While not every book is directly related to marathoning, every marathoner
would benefit from reading these selections. My list is a mixture of autobiographies, history, instruction, fiction, and
expository nonfiction. It pained me to trim many great titles from the list, and you may question some of my choices.
That’s fine. I used just one rule: one book per author.

My thanks to those who sent in nominations. I hope you’ll be inspired, informed, and amused as you live events
through the eyes of this diverse set of exciting authors. Enjoy!
Which books make the list? Check it out in our January/February issue.

Roll ‘Em

Too few Hollywood films have used marathoning as a theme. It’s about time that dramatic lapse was reversed.
by Richard Benyo

Marathoning’s ABCs
Keep it basic, keep it enjoyable, and just plain keep doing it.
by Paul Reese

At age 47, I took up distance running, and in the 35 years since I’ve run hundred of races and logged over
124,000 miles. Obviously, along the way I must have done some things to make running enjoyable or I wouldn’t have
lasted all those years, run all those races, logged all those miles.

What things did I do? Glad you asked. Here are 26 suggestions for making your running more enjoyable. Let’s call
them Marathoning’s ABCs.

I was going to drop one letter of the alphabet to accommodate the “25” theme of this issue
of Marathon & Beyond, but I decided, nah, it’s gonna be the whole alphabet—after all, there are 26 letters in the
alphabet and 26 miles in a marathon.

So, we’ll include 26 tips here—and just for a challenge (which I’m always up for), we’ll do them in alphabetical order.
Paul’s insightful and witty piece will inspire you to new heights in 2001.

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Weightlifting for Marathoners

Don’t overlook weightlifting as an important part of your long-distance running. Part One
of Two.
by Jeffrey Horowitz

Millennium 2000KM

Running the length of New Zealand to celebrate the dawning of a new millennium.
by Janette Murray-Wakelin

Beat the World’s Best
The Edmonton Festival Marathon customized its course for the 2001 World Championships—Try the course before the stars do!

by Richard Benyo

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Special Book Bonus

Wobble to Death: Part VII
Peter Lovesey
A classic novel uncovered: Murder at a Six-Day Race: Parts I-VI
appeared in our six issues in 2000.

Introduction to Wobble to Death:

There are precious few novels with running as a backdrop, much less ultrarunning—much less ultrarunning in the
19th century! Yet in 1970 a Head of Department at Hammersmith and West London College, Peter Lovesey,
penned a first novel featuring several of his favorite interests: Victorian England, the sporting scene, and crime.
He wrote Wobble to Death, set in the smoky sporting halls of 1879 where go-as-you-please six-day races were all
the rage and where death—not from overindulging in forward movement but by foul means—was part of the
program.

Wobble to Death introduced the redoubtable Detective Sergeant Cribb, and the book won Lovesey the
Macmillan/Panther First Crime Novel award the year it was published. Granada Television made a film of
Wobble to Death, starring Alan Dobie as Sergeant Cribb. Lovesey continued to write novels featuring Sergeant
Cribb to the point where, in 1975, he gave up his teaching duties and dedicated his talents to writing full-time.
Long out of print, Lovesey’s book was brought to our attention by ultrarunning legend and M&B subscriber
Ruth Anderson, who lists the book among her favorite crime novels. A large print edition was issued in 1999.
Arrangements to publish Wobble to Death for a new army of potential Sergeant Cribb fans were made
through Peter Lovesey’s American literary agents at Gelfman Schneider.

We are also proud to present a series of newly created illustrations for the installments of the novel drawn by
our favorite running artist, Andy Yelenak. He did the special cover painting for the
January/February 2000 issue to mark the novel’s debut in Marathon & Beyond. Enjoy!

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Volume 5 | Number 2 | March/April 2001

Departments

Editorial
The Man

In this issue, M&B editor Rich Benyo reflects briefly on the life of Emil Zatopek, who
passed away on November 21, 2000, after a lengthly illness. Rich’s full-length piece on Emil
will appear in our May/June 2001 issue, but here’s a peak at Rich’s March/April editorial:

On November 21, 2000, the greatest long-distance runner who ever lived died following a lengthy illness. Emil Zatopek
was 78. He fell victim to pneumonia and later a stroke, but his heart beat strongly to the end.

Emil’s greatness and strength of heart extended far beyond his many achievements, which are plastered all over the record
books: he won 69 straight races at 5,000 and 10,000 meters; he was the world-record holder in the 10,000 meters,
10 miles, 20,000 meters, and 1-hour run—all at the same time; he was the first runner to break 28 minutes for the
6-mile run (predecessor of the 10,000 meters); he was the first to break 29 minutes in the 10,000 meters on the track;
he won the gold in the 10,000 meters and the silver in the 5,000 meters in the 1948 London Olympics; finally, at the 1962
Helsinki Olympics, he won gold in the 5,000 meters, 10,000 meters, and the marathon—his first marathon ever, which he
ran in Olympic record time.

Catch the rest of Rich’s editorial in our March/April issue.

On the Road with Joe LeMay
I’ll Never Play This Game
In our March/April issue, we welcome elite marathon runner Joe LeMay, who takes over this
column from Scott Douglas. We’ve enjoyed featuring Scott these past two years. For all of Scott’s
fans, you can look forward to some full-length features by him in future issues of M&B.

Here’s a portion of Joe’s first column:

I Never Played the Game was the title of Howard Cosell’s autobiography detailing his years as a broadcaster for
Monday Night Football (American Football, that is). One of the most well-known names in the profession, Cosell never
played organized football himself, but he sat on the sidelines for decades watching and giving the public his take on every
NFL drama he could find. He felt his “outsider” perspective gave him an insight into the game that his peers lacked.

What Cosell was to NFL football, I am to the ultramarathon. I run 10K through standard 26.2 marathons, but I’ve never
run, nor ever plan to run, an ultra. But I have watched quite a few of them and will share some observations on the recent
Chancellor Challenge 100K I witnessed in Boston, where Ellen McCurtin (my wife) competed.

What Qualifies as an Ultra

Ultras are defined as anything longer than a conventional 26.2-mile marathon; they start at 50K and go all the way
up to distances no one should even consider running (i.e., the Race Across America). In my mind, ultras are between 50
and 100 miles. Fifty kilometers is only five miles longer than a regular marathon, so that distance is not putting your body
through much more suffering than a regular marathon. The distances between 50K and 50 miles are infrequently run “orphaned”
distances. They’re sort of like the 2,000 meters event in track—people run them every now and again, but Track and Field
News puts them in a little box in the corner of one page for their rankings issue, and people generally look at them trying to
figure out what they mean in terms of other events. Does someone’s performance in the 2,000 mean he has potential at 5,000?
That sort of thing.

Continued in the March/April issue. You’ll enjoy Joe’s outsider’s view on ultrarunning.

My Most Unforgettable Marathon (And What I Learned From It): 1997 California International
Marathon
by Sandy Jacobson

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA, December 5, 1997—My most unforgettable marathon is what I refer to as my test of
strength, guts, and determination. The race was the California International Marathon: my first-ever 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, which was 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 day. But I was to learn a very hard lesson. As Bill Rodgers wrote in the
wake of the 1997 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 from Edmonton 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 went over them again and again, picturing 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. Check-in went extremely smoothly, which I took as a
sign of how things were going to go for the weekend.

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.

You can read the soggy details of Sandy’s race in Sacramento in our March/April issue.

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Adirondack Marathon
The Beauty of the Course Demands Payment: It Comes By Way of Hills.

This sleeper of a marathon is definitely worth checking out. We should warn you, though:
it is very hilly. Here’s a quick look at the start of the article:

The upper right-hand corner of New York State that borders Vermont to the east and Canada to the north, known as the
Adirondack region, is fast becoming synonymous with world-class sporting events.

One of the more famous locales in the region is Lake Placid, which holds the distinction of being one of only two sites in
the world to host two winter Olympics: in 1930 and 1980. Anyone remember Sonja Henie? Her skates are on display at the
Olympic museum. Lake Placid was also chosen as the site for the July 2000 Ironman Triathlon.

If you enjoy water sports, there are nearly 2,500 lakes and ponds and more than 30,000 miles of rivers and streams to
swim in, fish in, and toot around in on vintage wooden lake cruisers.

If it’s history that gets your juices flowing, trek up to Fort Ticonderoga, which is 20 miles north of Schroon Lake, steeped
in importance to the outcomes of both the Revolutionary and French-American wars.

Antiques buff? The area holds much of interest for you, too, including plenty of rustic bric-a-brac and pine or white birch
furniture with which to furnish the biggest, cutest cabin on Lake George.

But if running marathons is your thing, sign up for the Adirondack Marathon and get ready for a tough but rewarding
26.2-mile run around Schroon Lake during the fall foliage when the scenery is at its peak and the cool weather is ideal for
long-distance runs.

Held on the fourth Sunday in September, this fledgling marathon draws runners from the Adirondack region, Canada,
New England, and New Jersey. For the 2000 edition, runners from Montana and Minnesota also participated, lured by the
rustic, woodsy setting. In fact, each year the race draws a more diverse geographic crowd as its reputation as a tough course
combined with its natural beauty and abundant hospitality spreads throughout the running world. The field holds relatively
steady at 400 runners.
Read the rest of the Adirondack profile in our March/April issue.

Letters
Lively responses to our most recent issues.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers’ training and competition questions. This month’s question:

I AM A novice runner who wants to run the Marine Corps Marathon next year. How much should I be running now,
and when and how much should I increase to be ready? Right now I run once a week for 3 to 4 miles. I am 27 and in
fairly good shape

Our experts answer this question in our March/April issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue’s authors are Johnny J. Kelley, Theresa Daus-Weber, Dr. Peter Wood,
and Mary Nicole Nazzaro.

Features

The Deed Is Done
Struggling for Years to Wear Boston’s Laurel Wreath, the BAA’s Own Comes Through.
by Johnny J. Kelley

This is the fifth piece of an exclusive series of marathon memoirs by Johnny J. “The Younger” Kelley of Mystic,
Connecticut. The other four articles by the 1957 Boston Marathon winner appeared in volume I, issue 4; volume 2,
issue 1; volume 3, issue 2; and volume 4, issue 3. Look for the next chapter in a future issue.—Editor

A gust of frigid wind shakes the wheeled tunnel connecting the DC-7, in from Los Angeles, and Chicago’s air terminal. It’s a
chilling ushering back to the North American life I left back in late October 1956, six weeks ago.

I’ve flown out of Melbourne, Australia, via New Zealand, Fiji, a tiny equatorial atoll, Oahu (landing on the 15th anniversary
of the Pearl Harbor Attack), then to LA.

In Melbourne I had finished a deflated 21st in the Olympic Marathon. Flying high off my runner-up’s 2:14:33 at Boston in
April (though a re-measured course revealed an 1,180-yard shortage), I had landed Down Under with high hopes. But it was
not to be. My teammate Nick Costes, who placed 20th, ruefully summarized: “Kelley, we were part of a parade of zombies.”

Now, as I trudge into Chicago Airport’s concourse lugging my big Olympic issue nylon suitcase beneath a bulging shoulder
bag, my head is a-swirl with uncertainty.

No matter. I’m homeward bound.

And how did Robert Frost define home? ” . . . the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in”? I don’t know.
I do know I must get back to my wife Jessie, who’ll take this little setback in stoic stride; as will my mother Genevieve, who
lives in Groton, Connecticut, too, a hop and a skip from our Litton Avenue apartment, in her tiny government project house.
I can almost hear Ma sighing now, saying, “Oh, Johnny, I don’t see how people can run that far—it seems so crazy.”

Home. Just one plane ride and one train ride away, followed by a five-mile zoom in my pal George Terry’s powerful
Pontiac. Then, on Monday morning, spit-spot, I’ll be stationed behind my Fitch Junior High School teacher’s desk. And my
round-faced, thumbs-up principal, John Bates, will look in to inquire about the success of our photography mission. John and
his Groton Rotary Club buddies packed me off with a new camera and a dozen rolls of film, plus a greeting scroll that I duly
delivered to the Melbourne Rotary chapter. I’m sure to have my lunch periods, and probably sixth periods too, commandeered
for civic purposes for months to come.

I began my first year of teaching (“Reading”) blessed by an elated Groton superintendent. Yale graduate Dr. Lewis Allbee
well understood the public relations value of signing on an Olympian.

I sag into a bench, my luggage clunking on the tile floor. I wonder if I should just pull up the stakes so recently set in the
town across the river from my hometown. Tell Jessie to pack and get set to fly?
I feel exhausted, not only from the Melbourne adventure, but drained of get-up-and-go through every pore. Tired of the
road-racing demon that has possessed me for 10 years. Tired of the barely begun teaching grind.

My New York-bound plane is loading. En route to the ticketer, I sidetrack to a pay phone.

A thousand miles away, in Genevieve’s house, Jessie picks up.

“I’ll be in New London at two. That’s a.m. Oh yeah . . . tired,” I tell her.
“Come on home,” Jessie says.

You’ll delight in reading the rest of Johnny’s memoir in our March/April issue.

Trail Marathons

An Essential Guide to Getting Away From the Maddening Crowd.
by Theresa Daus-Weber

To get the most out of your marathon dollar and training, consider trail marathoning, an entirely different experience and
culture than the traditional road marathon. Although aspects of mountain trail courses such as rugged trail surfaces, elevation
gains and losses, and water crossings typically produce slower times than the same distance on a smooth, flat road course,
racers are both challenged and invigorated by these running-with-nature elements.

Trail marathoners are frequently rewarded with top-of-the-world 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-maddening crowd aspect: smaller
fields, out-of-the-way venues, camaraderie, and a psychological and physical high.

And drawn they are. The largest mountain/trail marathon in the United 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—if their quads hold out. 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.

Theresa’s very complete article on trail marathoning is your ticket to this increasingly
popular take on long-distance running.

Pikes Peak and Bust
Since the 1950s, the Ascent to the Peak Has Lured the Brave and the Impetuous.
by Peter Wood

When I arrived in Colorado Springs in 1963, one year after becoming a California resident and expatriate Brit, it came to
my attention that there is a high mountain nearby named Pikes Peak. (Presumably, 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 is good for a person.

Lieutenant Zebulon Montgomery Pike and his party were the first white people to see the mountain—in November, 1806.
Pike had already led an exploration 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, now 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 climbed, 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’ ascent was apparently the first of any
14,000’+ mountain in the United States.

In July 1858, Julia Archibald Holmes was traveling with a wagon train headed west from Kansas. On July 10, she first
sighted Pikes Peak, already a famous landmark, and still snow-capped. She and her husband, James Holmes, determined to
climb it. With minimal equipment, they started up the peak on August 1. They reached the summit on August 5. This was the
first recorded ascent by a woman and was a remarkable achievement for those days.

Colorado Springs, 1963

And so, oblivious to the history of Pikes Peak, or indeed of its very existence, 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 a notice, in a shop window, I think, announcing a marathon race from
nearby Manitou Springs to the top of Pikes Peak and return, 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 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.
Check out our March/April 2001 issue for the rest of Peter’s story about his 1963 attempt at Pikes Peak and his return visit
to the race in 1999 at age 69 to settle some unfinished business.

The Couple That Runs Together
Martin Duffy and Rusty Stieff Have Gone the Distance and Pulled an Army of Eager Runners After Them.

by Mary Nicole Nazzaro

It’s 6:15 on a hot summer night at the outdoor track at Harvard University, and I’m getting my butt kicked by a 60-year-old.
Even though I’m a turtle by birthright, it’s only a small consolation to know 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 Kelly
was 61 to Martin’s sprightly 30 back in 1970. My turtle legs don’t stand a chance against Duffy. Luckily, they don’t have to.

While I labor through another set of 200-meter repeats, Martin, an economist by trade, and a 31-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 get the Boston Globe interested 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 hadn’t made 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 a bit more about Martin and learned that he and his wife, Rusty Steiff, 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.
Nicole’s witty profile of Marty and Rusty will inspire you to new heights in 2001.

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50 Down, 100 to Go

In Ultrarunning, the Lesson Learned Best Is the Lesson Learned the Hard Way.
by Kevin Polin

On my final lap of the Umstead 50/100-mile Trail Race 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 couple of 10Ks each year. The only long 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 6 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 and run 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 they were the toughest thing a person had ever done, and so on, that I felt very let down after my first one. It simply wasn’t
that hard. I had stiff legs for a few days afterward, but felt I could have run another one the following weekend.

Four weeks later, I ran the Atlanta Marathon and, after finishing, 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
like people in comic books do inside that cloud-like thing perched above their heads. 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 incredibly
harder than a marathon plus six miles. It was during this training run that I realized the 50-mile distance would not be easy.
You can find the rest of Kevin’s story in our March/April 2001 issue.

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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

ELDORET, 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?”

“I 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 at a
neat, mud-brick house. A cooking fire burns in the yard, and on a plank set across two tree stumps a woman sits with her
other 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 bright smile is
framed by the green scarf covering her head. I drink the scene in. 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 comes streaming right 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. I agree. My
AAA card 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 the 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.

Charles starts up 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 Fila-sponsored 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 been able to produce 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 run 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, in trying 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 a bit more.
You can read the rest of Mike’s in-depth feature about the Kenyan running scene
only in our March/April issue.

Weightlifting for Marathoners
Part II of II: Weightlifting Routines Designed to Raise the Marathoner Above Any
Training Plateau.
by Jeffrey Horowitz

Welcome to Part II of our Weightlifting for Runners program. In Part I, we talked about the basics of weight-training,
what it will do for your body, and how it will help your running. Now, in Part II, we’re going to get down to the nuts and
bolts. We’ll talk about the details of our workout—the specific exercises, and how to do them correctly and safely. But first,
let’s spend a moment reviewing the general concepts we covered in Part I (and feel free to sing along if you remember the
words!)

In Part I, we talked about how running is a total body movement, and because of that, can contribute to strength
imbalances, which can lead to pain, strain, and injuries. Strength training helps correct this, with an addition to your weekly
workout time of as little as two 30-minute sessions, done on non-consecutive days. We also talked about the need for a
quick warm-up before the workout and stretching. Your strength training workouts should be comprised of sets that work
all the major muscle groups of the body in an alternating sequence. This way, you can exercise nearly non-stop, but without
working the same muscle groups two sets in a row. We also talked about proper lifting form, which should involve slow,
controlled movements and continuous breathing. Keep all of these concepts in mind as you read the following pages, and refer
back to Part I every now and again if you feel you’re losing sight of the forest for all the trees.
Continued in the March/April issue.
Let Jeff, who is an attorney, personal trainer, and serious marathoner, help you incorporate
weight training into your running.

Bring Your Best To Boston

A Veteran of the Course Reveals His Secrets to Success on Patriots’ Day.
by Peter F. Gregory

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The Chicago Shuffle & Reshuffle

One of the Urban Pioneers in Ultrarunning, the Windy City Has Roared Back.
by Rich Limacher

It’s February 13, 1994. I’m running along the “bike path” north of Lincoln Park. Two men pass me talking about George
Cheung. What we are running is George Cheung’s race. But George isn’t. George passed away a month ago. I never met him,
but the men passing me now speak in warm glowing terms, the warmth a terrific contrast against the chill. I get the feeling the
man I’m hearing about was the Guru of Chicago ultrarunning.

Time shift.

It’s now April 1, 2000. I’m running along the very same bike path (of course by now the running path’s clear, too) in
the very same direction. Again I’m in a race that bears George Cheung’s name. And again I’m being passed. This time it’s
by a guy wearing a “Junk Restaurant” T-shirt. The Junk was George’s own restaurant, in Chinatown, where all the runners
were invited to eat after that race in 1994. Our Guru’s eatery was Ultra Mecca. Nothing’s changed (the site still stands).
Everything’s changed (someone else owns it). And I realize I’m running faster now.

Of course, this doesn’t attest to any improvement on my part. It’s just that today is 40 degrees warmer than it was the
last time I ran an ultra on George’s home course.

That was also my first ultra—ever! This one today (on April Fool’s Day, no less) is my umpteenth. No foolin’! But for
Chicago, there have been none in between.

The annual Chinese New Year 50K (you could also run only 10K) was George’s vision of a 12-year cycle to match
each sign of the Chinese Zodiac. That last one celebrated the Year of the Dog. I have always felt sad that George never lived
to see the fulfillment of his vision. He died of cancer, just one month short, on January 11, 1994.
You can read the rest of Rich’s article in the March/April issue.

Special Book Bonus

Wobble to Death: Part VIII

Peter Lovesey
A classic novel uncovered: Murder at a Six-Day Race: Parts I-VII
appeared in our six issues in 2000 and the January/February 2001 issue.

Introduction to Wobble to Death:

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Volume 5 | Number 3 | May/June 2001

Departments

Editorial
Trying Harder

In this issue, M&B editor Rich Benyo again draws his inspiration from the life of
Czech runner Emil Zatopek, who passed away on November 21, 2000, after a lengthly illness.
Here’s a peak at Rich’s May/June editorial:

The death of Emil Zatopek last November continues to exert a profound effect. A few nights ago I once again watched
Volume VII (the use of Roman numerals on a series symbolized by a Greek discus thrower doesn’t even seem incongruous)
of Bud Greenspan’s nine-part documentary The Olympiad: Greatest Moments, which was released in time for the
1996 Olympic Games by the then-fledgling DreamWorks.

Volume VII contains two documentaries: “The Soviets” and “East Europeans.” The “East Europeans” documentary is
shorter than “The Soviets,” as befitting a conglomeration of countries that were subservient to Moscow and that served as
protection to its western boundaries against the evil Western Powers during the Cold War. “East Europeans” features athletes
such as the Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci and Hungary’s three-time gold medal boxer Laslo Papp. It also contains a
segment on Emil and Dana (pronounced Donna) Zatopek.

Whenever I feel lackluster or that I’m not performing up to par, I fire up the VCR and watch Emil and Dana come
walking toward the camera in their little garden in Prague, where they were filmed many years ago. They walk toward the
camera very much aware that they are walking toward a camera and not spending a quiet afternoon in the peace of their
garden. They are already middle-aged. Emil is bald, and Dana has very bad teeth and is aware of it; she speaks with an
effort to keep her mouth closed. Their clothes are the antipathy of fashionable, more befitting a 1950s lower-middle-class
couple in the American Midwest.
Yet they are noble and filled with life. Even on the fading film-stock, there is a glow to them.

Catch the rest of Rich’s editorial in our May/June issue.

On the Road with Joe LeMay
Forced Layoffs
In our March/April 2001 issue, we welcomed elite marathon runner Joe LeMay, who took
over this column from Scott Douglas.

Here’s a portion of Joe’s upcoming column:

Whatever your age, when you were younger, you had this picture of how your life might turn out, and you’re never even
close. I write this as I’m trying to get Skunky, my 170-pound Vietnamese pot-bellied pig, off of our porch. He’s like a cat
(a heavy cat) caught up a tree, refusing to budge, ignoring all my coaxing. The rescuing fireman in this case is my wife Ellen,
who tells me it’s easy to get him down: “Just nudge him with a rake toward the steps on the corner, and he’ll go.” So she says.

People say pigs are so smart. If so, why does Skunky keep doing this? It’s never pleasant for him up on the porch, and
he knows he has trouble getting down. It’s cold today, and the sun never makes it to the spot he has chosen. The sun reaches
back farther in the yard, where I thoughtfully put down some hay for him to lounge in. But, naturally, he comes up to the porch,
where he’s cold and slips on the icy wood. So here I sit, wondering when Ellen will get home from her run, confronted by a
snout staring at me from the other side of the sliding glass door. No, I certainly never imagined that my life would take this
route. I figured maybe a couple of cats and a hedgehog.
Continued in our May/June issue. Joe deals with his first significant layoff from
running due to injury.

My Most Unforgettable Marathon (And What I Learned From It): 2000 Mayo Midnight
Marathon
by Eddie Bateman

MAYO, YUKON TERRITORY, CANADA, 12:01 am, June 24, 2000—As a member of the 50 States & D.C. Club,
I completed my goal of running a marathon in all 50 U.S. states and the District of Columbia on Nov. 14, 1999, just before
the odometer changed on the millennium.

My latest goal is to do marathons in all 10 Canadian provinces and the 3 territories. As of this writing, I’ve done all the
provinces and the Yukon Territory. Along the way over the last 7 years, I’ve met many wonderful people and seen marvelous
places. I’ve especially enjoyed the company of senior citizens.

I began my latest quest partly because at the time I had little else in my life to focus on. I’ve been to plenty of rock
concerts and sporting events in my life. The dating scene is an absolute joke, and I needed something new in my life.
Well, I sure found it.

I’m originally from Massachusetts, but I now live in West Palm Beach, Florida, where I’ve been since 1981.
I’m employed by the town of Palm Beach and do turf maintenance at a park.

I don’t own a computer. I’m not hooked up to cable TV. I haven’t written a check in my life (I use money orders).
I live in a mobile home. I haven’t dated in 8-1/2 years. I own two cars: a 1988 Tracer and a Buick Regal with no air
conditioning (don’t need it—just roll down the windows). And I pity my poor editor because I’m writing this in long-hand.

My workout regimen is 40 miles a week. I do 8.5 miles on Saturday, Monday, and Wednesday, and 5 miles on Sunday,
Tuesday, and Thursday. I take Friday off. I run hard only on Saturday and Wednesday. I stretch for about 20 minutes a day,
usually after my run.

I also put myself into self-hypnosis twice a day: 15 minutes in the morning and a half-hour at night. The self-hypnosis helps
me stay focused and improves my imagination. And it prevents cravings. I used to get bored early on during a marathon, but
my focus has improved since I began the self-hypnosis routine. I also hypnotize myself for a half-hour about 90 minutes before
I start a marathon. I began this practice in 1996. I suppose it’s something like Transcendental Meditation, but it isn’t that fancy.

During my marathoning career I’ve had some highlights: I was in the same Marine Corps Marathon as Oprah when she ran
her first marathon, and I ran in the 100th Boston Marathon and the very first Disney Marathon.

North to the Yukon

But I’m here to write about one of my more recent marathons: a marathon that has become one of my favorites and
certainly most unforgettable. It’s called the Mayo Midnight Marathon. In 2000, it was run at 12:01 am on June 24, a
Saturday morning. It’s the only marathon that I know of that’s run at midnight. The race is held in a little town called
Mayo in the Yukon Territory in Canada—population about 500. Mayo is approximately 240 miles north of Whitehorse.

You can read the details of Eddie’s midnight race in our May/June issue.

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Detroit Free Press/Flagstar Bank International Marathon
Like the City of Detroit, the Marathon Has Several Times Reinvented Itself—Each Time for the Better.

Here’s a quick look at the start of our profile about Detroit:

For many people, Detroit conjures up images of cloudy skies, industrial complexes, 1967 riots, and murder in the streets.
But Detroit has become another in a line of American cities that has reinvented and remodeled itself. There is a myriad of fine
museums and activities within the city proper, and the drive to Ann Arbor is 45 minutes. The drive to Toledo is one hour.
Detroit’s people are enthusiastic sports fans and athletes. Detroit is one of the largest cities in the United States, supporting an
amazing number of running clubs and running stores with some of the finest and best-managed races in the country.

The Detroit Free Press/Flagstar Bank International Marathon, arguably one of the best of several marathons in Michigan
(and certainly the one with the longest name), occurs the third weekend of October. The marathon, like the city itself, has
been reinvented over the past 23 years. In 2000, a variety of improvements debuted, such as special color-coded numbers
for first-timers, a runner-focused finish at Chene Park, more music on the course, and plenty of parking within the immediate
areas of the start and finish.

Read the rest of the Detroit profile in our May/June issue.

Letters
Lively responses to our most recent issues.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers’ training and competition questions. This month’s question:

DOES RUNNING LOWER hormone levels so much that you could possibly miscarry? I got pregnant at a time
when I was running 50 miles week. I ran 30 miles a week in the middle, and cut it to 15 to 20 at the end. At 37 weeks, a
healthy Grace was born naturally after 5 hours of labor. Since then I have had two miscarriages while running fewer miles
than I did with Grace. My midwife is concerned that my hormone levels are not right because of running and periods of
amenorrhea while a teenager. I would love more information on this subject.
Our experts answer this question in our May/June issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue’s authors are Rich Benyo, Gail Kizlevitz, Jonathan Beverly, and
Jeff Hagen.

Features

Triple Play
Emil Zatopek went where no runner had gone before—nor has one gone since.
by Richard Benyo

It seems preposterous to number among the greatest marathoners in history a man who competed at the marathon distance
only twice, and who placed sixth in one of those two races. Yet it is that seeming contradiction that exemplifies the career—
and legend—of Emil Zatopek.

Emil Zatopek was born in Koprinivince, Czechoslovakia, the son of a poor carpenter, and moved to Zlin at the age of 16.
Short and wiry, with straight, straw-like hair, he was a young man filled with ambition and good humor, and he was a tireless
worker. At Zlin he worked in a shoe factory and went to school in the evenings.

At Zlin the diverse strands of fate that would allow him to fulfill his ambitions came together. In 1941 the shoe company
sponsored a race through the streets of Zlin. Emil had run a few races for fun against his fellow workers but had never
competed formally. He actually tried to get out of the race, but as an employee of the company, he had no choice but to run
along with about 100 other young men. He finished second, probably motivated more by the desire to get it over with than the
wish to shine in the event.

In the year that followed, Zatopek ran a few more races but did not develop any burning interest in the sport. By the end of
the year, however, trainers and coaches had singled him out as a young man with a future, despite his awkward running style.
Although outwardly nonplussed by the selection, inwardly Emil was happy. Running provided a road on which his ambitions
could travel.

His first official race was a 3,000-meter contest in which he finished only three seconds behind his trainer, recording a
9:12. The local newspaper called his run: “A good performance by Zatopek.” This seemingly minor remark was the spark
that accounted for Emil Zatopek’s burning down the track world. His humble beginnings had primed him to take advantage
of the first opportunities that came along to become someone. He read that single sentence in the newspaper over and over
and carried the clipping with him until it fell apart.

Training became the mainstay of his life. His interpretation of what it took to excel at running quickly took on its own unique
flavor. Instead of looking for races with inferior competition that he could easily win, he sought out the toughest competition
available and, through doing so, his times improved dramatically.

Zatopek also began studying other runners and their methods, dismissing what he found unworkable, modifying
and customizing what seemed to make sense to him.

You’ll delight in reading Rich Benyo’s colorful and detailed account of Zatopek’s
amazing life and career. This 19-page article also features several vintage photos and
quotes about Zatopek from folks like Amby Burfoot, Bill Rodgers, and Kathrine Switzer.
A MUST-READ.

Following Pheidippedes
Gods, heroes, and legends—the 18th Spartathlon.
by Tom Hamel

At a minute before midnight in Malendreni, a small village in the northeastern Peloponnese, it is very noisy.
Surprisingly, everyone in town is on the broad porch of Mr. Dede’s taverna in the main square instead of asleep in bed.
The villagers are sitting at brightly lit tables, talking loudly, eating souvalki with bread and lemons, drinking beer, and
smoking strong tobacco.

Boys are jumping their heavy bicycles off the taverna steps. Giggling children are clustered in knots, playing running and
jumping games. A harried young waiter brings our table a plate of steaming roast pork and potatoes. His English is
excellent; he is a student in London, home for a holiday to help out in his father’s taverna. “Yes, yes, I remember you from
last year,” he replies to my question. “Many people are coming back for Spartathlon every year. Spartathlon is very
well-known in Europe and Japan, but not so many from America. Who is winning tonight?”

He rushes off to a call from another table before I can answer.

The Spartathlon is one of the most celebrated ultradistance footrace: 154 miles from Athens to Sparta. From sunrise
on the last Friday in September to sunset the following day, a string of towns and villages, roadside tables, and mountaintop
tents marks the course through the Greek countryside. Malendreni is the 40th checkpoint; it is at mile 87. I ate alone at this
table last year; this year Chris Byrne is buying my dinner. She and I are the support crew for her husband, Rob Byrne, at the
18th running of the Spartathlon.

A 10-year-old boy has come into the light at the edge of the porch. He has pulled down some of the orange and white
ribbons that mark the course and tied them as streamers to his wrists. The boy laughs and struts between the tables, showing
off. An old man stiffly gets up and yells at the boy, his hands demonstrating what will happen if he catches him. The boy
exits the porch quickly, leaps onto his bike, and races across the square, disappearing between houses at the far side.

Tonight is a dark chill night. I remember last year, a full moon above the still-warm stones of the village square. I had stood
in the plaza with my camera, framing the taverna, when a white-haired man with ramrod-straight posture approached me.
In a British accent, he told me that my pictures would never turn out. It was John Foden, retired RAF Wing Commander,
distance runner, and Godfather of the Spartathlon.

Tom’s rich article will transport you to Greece for this unique long-distance event.

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On the Run With “Kel”
A friendly run with Johnny J. Kelley is a rumination on a life in running.
by Gail Kislevitz

Once you step inside this small Cape-style house on a wooded lot, you can tell a famous runner lives here.
The walls are adorned with Boston marathon posters—the originals—and race memorabilia. Worn-out, tattered running shoes
are scattered everywhere.

Although John Kelley prefers to go incognito, his legendary running history is a part of who he is. Like a split personality,
there is John J. Kelley—whom the press called “the only American hope” to win the Boston Marathon during the 1950s,
when the fleet of foreign runners aimed their feet at Boston—and there’s “Kel,” as he is known to his close friends
and family. Kel cringes at the mention of his illustrious past, downplaying his prominent role in the annals of marathon lore.

Our friendship began when he reluctantly agreed to an interview for a book I was writing. John shies away from the press
and is not one to blow his own horn—ever. Not even a toot. After a warm welcome from Jess, his lifetime partner in marriage
and just about everything else in life, and the omnipotent Marcus, the unruly golden retriever who rules the house, a sense of
excitement filled the air as John began weaving his stories. Like a true Irishman, he is a genuine raconteur, telling stories of the
Boston Marathon way back when. Completely engaged, I didn’t realize until it was too late that Marcus had eaten my cookie,
drank my tea, and used my lap as his napkin.

Only after piecing the interview together did I realize that in the four-hour session, John never talked about himself.
Somehow he managed to avoid any mention of his runs, times, or struggles.

This was actually good news to me as it meant I had a reason to see him again. After a few more visits, John asked me to
run with him. I recoiled. No way could I run with a legend. What if I couldn’t keep up? What if our pace was off? What if I
disappointed him and was a boring running partner with nothing to offer?

I kept making excuses. Finally, sitting at his kitchen table one day, he asked again about doing a run. Again I said no and
this time explained my fears of running with him. He sat there for a while, then stood up and said, “Now that we’ve become
close friends there is something I want to show you, something I normally don’t show anyone. But you need to see this.”

I began to feel a little uneasy as he bent down to untie the lace of his shoes. He pulled off his
sneakers and socks, and there in front of me were the feet that had run countless marathons, including the 1957 win at
Boston and competition in the 1956 and 1960 Olympic Games. To call these feet unattractive is being kind.
Gnarled, rusted roots describes them better. “Now that you’ve seen my miserable feet, there’s no excuse for not running
with me,” Johnny said.
Check out our May/June 2001 issue for the rest Gail’s story about Johnny Kelley. You’ll
love it. Original illustrations by Andy Yelenak.

Double-Day
If you think a 24-hour race is tough, try two of them in tandem.
by Jeff Hagen

For those of you who have moved far beyond the marathon distance to participate in 100-mile or 24-hour races, the
journey to discover your personal limits is not necessarily over. If you have been able to sustain or even pick up the pace at
the end of a day-long event, you have probably wondered if you could have gone on for several more hours.
Does this sound like you? If so, a 48-hour race might be your next step toward satisfying your curiosity about how many
miles you can accumulate in one event.

First a warning: a 48-hour race is far more than twice as difficult as a 24-hour event. There’s something about that second
night on the track or road that wreaks havoc on a runner’s body and mind. Mental toughness is essential for a successful
48-hour experience.

Now that you’ve been warned and are still interested, you probably have some questions about doing a 48-hour event.
Here are some common ones:

1. How much training is necessary?
2. To sleep or not to sleep?

3. Are planned walking breaks optional?
4. What about pacing and split times?
5. What should I eat and drink during the race?
6. How do track courses compare with road courses?
7. What is it like running through the second night?
8. How much damage will the race do my body?

Jeff answers these 8 questions in great detail in his excellent article about
how to run a 48-hour event.

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When Once Is Not Enough

If nothing else, the world’s most famous ultra offers plenty of fellow seekers.
by Nigel Walsh

Part I: Revisiting a Classic

There’s nothing to beat an early-morning start to an adventure. Picture the scene: I’m nursing a mochachino from Costa’s
coffee-bar at Heathrow Airport, London; alongside me is ultramarathon debutante Andy Roberts, trying not to scald his lips as
we absorb that first caffeine hit of the day to awaken us after the hour-long taxi ride from our home in Northampton.

We’re both blearily scouring the near-empty concourse for signs of other ultrarunners from our party. It’s 4:30 am,
remember, and we’ve been up since 3.

A couple of skinny individuals in running shoes and tracksuits are wandering around, clearly trying to establish who the
ultrarunners are. Choosing the coffee-bar as a meeting point sounded logical a few days earlier, but as the only establishment
in the concourse open at that time of the morning, it wasn’t as obvious as, say, meeting outside the Sock Shop.
Andy was first to comment: “If these guys are runners, they sure look a weird bunch.”

To which I replied: “If you think they’re weird, have you wondered what we must look like to them? At least they’re built
for it!”

So began a 21-hour trip to reach Durban, once South Africa’s premier winter holiday destination and, every second year,
the starting point for the country’s most famous sporting event: The Comrades Marathon.

You can find the rest of Nigel’s story about Comrades, one of the world’s most
storied ultra events, in our May/June issue.

Guts & Glory at Hood To Coast

When you’re the “old guy” on the team, you’ve got something to prove to yourself.
by H.C. “Buck” Niehoff

I was to be the oldest and slowest of 12 runners on a Denison University alumni team in the Hood to Coast 195-mile
relay race on August 25 to 26, 2000. When the roster arrived, I calculated that the average age was 19.2 years younger
than me, and that the team’s average pace for the 1999 race was was faster than my best time ever under perfect weather
and terrain conditions.

I am accustomed to rationalizing pre-race doubts. I reminded myself that the best response to race jitters is to focus on
relaxing and having a good time. I learned this lesson as an undergraduate, acting in a theater production. The night before
I was to perform in a student play directed by Bruce Weber (who has since become a famous photographer), I worried out
loud about my role to visiting professor Raymond Sovey (who had been a Broadway set designer and a pilot in the Lafayette
Escadrille during World War I). “Just go on stage and enjoy yourself,” he advised. “If you do, your performance will be fine.”
I followed his advice and the play went okay. But, as I discovered in the Hood to Coast race, it’s not always easy to relax
and perform well.

At the pre-race dinner, I met my teammates for the first time. About half of them were race veterans from prior years.
We talked about the dreaded downhill, incredibly steep first leg of the race, starting at Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood,
about 60 miles east of Portland, Oregon, and descending some 2,000 feet. “It kills your quads,” said David (Portland native,
veteran of the race, and team captain).

“I’d rather run up it than down it,” said Doug (a dentist who is also a lawyer). Greg (a lawyer at our university and another
race veteran) said, “Some teams have one guy go all out on the first leg, then that person doesn’t run any other legs.”

The Hood to Coast race has staggered starts, with 20 teams leaving every 15 minutes from Friday morning until early
that evening. Our team, as required by race rules, was divided into two groups of six runners, who would ride to the
exchange points in two vans. The six runners in our first van would do legs 1 through 6, totaling about 36 miles, beginning at
3 pm. I was in the second van, and we would do legs 7 through 12, starting at about 7 pm. In the vernacular of the race,
a “van” referred to a set of six runners as well as the vehicle in which they traveled. Sometime about 11 pm, the first van
would take over again for the next set of six legs, and we would alternate that way, for a total of 36 legs, until we reached the
beach at Seaside, Oregon, some time Saturday afternoon.
You can read the rest of Buck’s feature about Hood to Coast
only in our May/June issue.

Running on Water

Bill Galbrecht was told to stop running, so he ran in water toward another marathon.
by Jim Whiting

Bill Galbrecht is nothing if not obliging. Not long ago, he heard that the orthopedic surgeon who’d operated on his arthritic
knee in 1992 had told another runner, “I don’t see how that guy can run, and I don’t know why he even bothers.”

So the 72-year-old Galbrecht, a retired locomotive engineer, stopped running in the spring of 1999, not long after
becoming the first man to run marathons on every continent—twice. You’ll also find him listed in the
Guinness Book of World Records as the oldest person to do the seven-continent marathon cycle. He has run at least the
equivalent of once around the world.

Not bad for a guy who supposedly shouldn’t even be running.
How did Galbrecht go from coach potato to the Guinness Book of World Records? Jim
Whiting’s story will tell you. Don’t miss it.

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Running Time

Time is absolute. Time is relative. Time is on your side. Or not.

by Jonathan Beverly

Special Book Bonus

Wobble to Death: The Conclusion–Finally!
Peter Lovesey
A classic novel uncovered: Murder at a Six-Day Race: Parts I-VIII
appeared in our six issues in 2000 and the January/February and March/April 2001 issues.

Introduction to Wobble to Death:

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Volume 5 | Number 4 | July/August 2001

Departments

Editorial
Book ’em, Dick-O

In this issue, M&B editor Rich Benyo looks back to his youth, when his summers were spent
reading books and racing around his small Pennsylvania town. It’s a fitting intro to an issue with some
meaty, adventure stories. Pull up a tree and sit down.
Here’s a peak at Rich’s July/August editorial:

When I was a kid, summer was a planet unto itself, stretching in all directions beyond the horizons, bounded by nothing
but sunshine, green grass, stray dogs, swimming holes, marathon sessions of reading, ranging far and wide, games held under
streetlights, and endless possibilities.
“Do you remember how long summers used to be?” I recently asked a friend as he contemplated summer vacation.
He’s a teacher, so he knows more about summer than most of us do. He seemed perplexed by my question.
“You know,” I expanded. “It used to seem to go on forever.”
“Yeah?” he said, not certain where I was going with this.
“Now it doesn’t.”
“Oh,” he said.
“Oh?” was all I could think to say. “That’s all you’ve got to say about it?”
“Well, it was different,” he ventured. “We were younger then.”
“And—?” I tried.

“We had a different perspective.”
“And—?”
“What do you want me to say?” he asked, getting a little testy, as though it were a pop quiz.
“All I want is for you to explain how summers were longer when we were kids than they are now.”
He scratched his chin, his idea of contemplation. “Weren’t winters longer, too?”
“Oooof—” I said.
I had better luck with another friend who was on his third beer and had a very interesting theory: “When we were kids,
summer (and, by implication, winter) seemed to go on forever because we were just kids and hadn’t lived very long yet, so
any season constituted a very large percentage of our lives to that point. Now that we’re older and have more than 50
summers behind us, any one summer is a very small piece of our whole life.”
I decided not to open another beer because I could see that my friend’s mind was getting ready to disgorge any number
of theories on anything I came up with. But his answer did hold a kernel of insight. Summer, unbounded by schedules and
duties like homework, and expanded by early sunrises and late sunsets, constituted its own unique state of mind.
Catch the rest of Rich’s editorial in our July/August issue.

On the Road with Joe LeMay
Moving Up to Ultras

Here’s a portion of Joe’s upcoming column:

Lately, with all the physical ailments I’ve been suffering, thanks largely to about 12 years of 100-plus-mile weeks, I’ve been
doing a lot of skiing. No, not the aerobically beneficial Nordic type (i.e., cross-country) that I’m sure all you nerdy runners
have tried at least once and failed miserably at, but rather the Alpine type where you drive for hours and pay a small
fortune for a lift ticket to hang out on a mountain populated with foul-mouthed, spoiled teenagers like my best friend’s
younger brother when he was 14.
I can’t begin to tell you how much fun it’s been. I see myself trying many new sports as I grow older for the simple truth
that you’re always going to improve when you’re new at something.
Running ain’t like that for me anymore. I skied a bunch of times when I was a kid, but dropped the sport because I
didn’t want to break a leg, and I couldn’t afford it. Now that I have some time and a decent pair of skis, I love it.
But back to running.
Recently my friend Dan Held, whom I mentioned in another edition of this column, has taken up a new sport of sorts—he is
running ultras now. And he’s pretty good at it, having finished fourth in the 2000 100K World Challenge. I asked him to
take some time from his busy schedule to talk to me about the change.

Continued in our July/August issue. You’ll hear about Dan Held’s meteoric rise in the
ultra ranks.

My Most Unforgettable Ultramarathon (And What I Learned From It): 1999 Alfred Packer Trail Challenge

by Jerry Shepherd

CHATTFIELD STATE PARK, COLORADO, March 13, 1999—Four inches of snow blanketed the ground, the
temperature was 19 degrees, and a swift wind blew from the north, with gusts measuring up to 20 mph. It was undeniably cold!
Scott Weber, the race director, had tables set up for registration and that ever-important release form that must be signed by
all runners. The form warned, “participation in this race poses the real risk of serious injury” or even “death” from heat, cold,
mud, snow, ice, lightning, swamp crossings, rock or tree fall, animals (both wild and domestic), or dehydration. What had I
been thinking when I signed up for this race? Was I even thinking?
Was it naive of me to believe that I could travel to Denver, Colorado, and compete in an ultramarathon against some of the
country’s best runners—on their home turf? I truly believed I could do it and was certain I would complete all 52 miles of the
Alfred Packer Trail Challenge. This race was to be the farthest I had run, but I was sure I’d adapt to this great challenge.
The race—named after Alfred Packer, America’s first convicted cannibal—included four 13-mile loops through Chattfield
State Park, south of Denver. The laminated course map highlighting the trails to be run included such labels as Cactus Climb,
Sandy Hills of Despair, Swamp of Gloom, Fields of Death, River Crossing of Fear, and the Never-Ending Trail. Each of these
features of mountainous terrain was designed to “eat you alive”—hence the cannibal’s name.

Dehydration was a risk because the mountains are so arid. I was told that eating during the race would be tough because after
running for more than an hour, blood shunts away from the gut to the muscles, which poses a risk of intestinal hemorrhage.
All these obstacles added to the adventure of the race, but they didn’t scare me. The greatest obstacle for me would be
the change in altitude, which would challenge my running ability most.
What is it that motivates someone to run such a long distance? I am asked that question often and return with the same
answer: because I can, or at least believe that I can. But I think this is only part of the reason.
You can read the rest of Jerry’s poignant article in our July/August issue.

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Royal Victoria Marathon
Maximum Beauty Per Mile, a Vacation Treasure Trove, and Then “High Tea.”

There’s no exaggeration in calling Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, one of the most beautiful cities in North America.
From the Inner Harbor area (watched over by the Empress Hotel and the Parliament building) to Butchart Gardens (a deserted
stone quarry converted a century ago to some of the world’s most inspiring gardens) to rugged and beautiful Oak Bay, it’s
difficult to find a less-than-pleasing vista anywhere in the city.

The city is a testament to the British influence in Western Canada, but in this instance the staid Britishness is given a
Northwestern American spin: Victoria is clean, well-organized, friendly, laid back, slow and cautious to progress so that it
needn’t backtrack to undo false starts, and somewhat boring in a pleasant slow-down-and-smell-the-roses way. And there
are lots of roses to smell.
Canadians joke that there are so many old, retired people living in Victoria that if you want to buy a house, just pick one out
that you like and stand patiently outside it for a while. Before you know it, the For Sale sign appears in the yard, as
another resident goes to his or her final reward.
One of the by-products of so many elderly British-drenched residents is the overwhelming abundance of flowers and
greenery—a city ordinance must mandate spending a certain number of hours per week gardening.
Victoria is also a city where you can enjoy a spot of tea at Murchie’s on Government Street nearly any time of day or the
much more formal afternoon “high tea” at the Empress or walk a few doors down from Murchie’s to Munro Books and later
drop in at Morris Tobaccoist, where Mark Twain stopped in 1895 to restock his cigar supply on his world lecture tour;
Canada still trades with Cuba, so Cuban cigars are readily available, for those so inclined.
And for American marathoner/tourists, it takes a while to realize that everything north of the 49th parallel is advertised
in Canadian dollars, which means, depending on the day of the week, you can translate that to American dollars by lopping
roughly a third off the price. Prices in most restaurants are reasonable, and for race weekend, room rates at the best hotels
in town (sitting right on the Inner Harbor) are outrageously good. (in 2000, Harbor Towers, the race headquarters,
offered a single or double for $115 Canadian the night before the race; from there you need only roll out of bed and walk
two blocks, one of them through the Parliament grounds, to the start of the race.)
Read the rest of the Royal Victoria profile in our July/August issue.

Letters
Lively responses to our most recent issues.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers’ training and competition questions. This month’s question:

I’M NEW TO marathoning. A friend I train with who has run lots of marathons tells me that I shouldn’t begin eating
sports bars or sports gels until I’m well into a long run or race. Yet the advertising for most of these products says to eat the
stuff a half-hour before working out and to wash them down with lots of water. Which is right? My friend’s rationale has
something to do with giving your body a chance to warm up and change over to using more free fatty acids or
something that I can’t say I understand.
Our experts answer this question in our July/August issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue’s authors are Barry Lewis, Gordon Bakoulis, Richard Englehart,
and New York Times reporter Kirk Johnson.

Features

Songs of the Open Road
A Dream of Reviving the Old Bunion Derby Only Too Quickly Became Reality.
by Barry Lewis

HUNTINGTON BEACH, California, June 20, 1992—The surf crashed somewhere off in the distance, well within
earshot, but in the predawn darkness the coast was too far away for anyone to see. An air of expectancy hung over the
parking lot. You could feel it. After a year of planning, hundreds of hours of dedicated training, and weeks of anticipation, the
representatives of 7 countries and 13 states were more than ready. They were primed to begin the first open-invitation running
race across the United States in more than 63 years—a journey after which, as one participant put it, “Life will never, ever, be
the same.”
One last announcement, and the race was underway. No profound words, no celebrities; no flock of doves or earsplitting
blast. Just Jesse Riley, bellowing for the first time in his life: “On your marks. Ready! Let’s go!”
With a roar of excitement, the athletes started out from the beach, exulting in the scattered applause as they passed beneath
the red, white, and blue banner with the freshly inscribed words, Runner’s World Trans America Footrace. They wound their
way around the corner, spreading out rapidly, like a long, twisting serpent in a splendid Oriental parade. The race had come a
long way, but the real work had only begun. Amid the chaos, New York City seemed light years away.

Pursuit of the Dream

“It is not the critic who counts, nor the man who points out how the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes up short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at best, knows the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.”
—Theodore Roosevelt

It had started with a letter to the editors of Ultrarunning magazine the previous winter.
“Spring is just around the corner,” wrote Michael Kenney from his home in Eugene, Oregon, “and with it comes that familiar
longing for the open road. For many of us, this manifests itself in the hope that we will see an ad in this month’s Ultrarunning
for the ultimate open road experience—a transcontinental stage race. . . . Maybe the time has come to take matters into our
own hands. In the tradition of other great ultra-endurance events, maybe we should get things started by just setting a date,
picking a course, and, as the Nike ads say, just do it.”
Printed in April 1991, the heartfelt appeal touched a cord deep within many of the magazine’s followers. The instant Jesse
Riley, a dishwasher from Key West, Florida, finished reading the words, he scrambled for the phone. Ninety minutes later, he
hung up, feeling somewhat taller than his 6’2″ frame. Although they had never met and lived at opposite ends of the country,
he and Kenney had reached an agreement: they would do everything in their power to organize a race from one end of the
country to the other.
Kenney’s notion was to stage a transcontinental race of the runners, by the runners, and for the runners. Fed up with the
business end, he felt he knew what would be needed to survive the ordeal of the road. That and not money, said the quiet
nonpromoter, was what counted the most. Riley agreed: “If one person enters, then we’re going, full steam ahead.”

You can read the rest of Barry Lewis’s story in our July/August issue.

The Sheik of Seattle

Ed Gardner Had A Dream: To Win the 1928 Bunion Derby.
by Charles Kastner

In early March 1928, a line of runners and walkers stretched for miles along U.S. Highway Route 66, heading east into the
heart of California’s Mojave Desert. Among the leaders was an ebony-colored man of medium stature who ran with a
graceful, almost effortless stride.1 He wore white, loose-fitting shorts, a sleeveless shirt, and a cloth tied around his head,
which gave him the look of a desert nomad. This trademark outfit had earned him the nickname “Sheik” by sportswriters who
had covered his running career in Seattle during the 1920s.2 This is the story of Ed “Sheik” Gardner and the first
transcontinental footrace across the United States.
Charles’s article will transport you the 1920s along Route 66.

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First Steps
A Handful of Female Marathon Pioneers Inspired a Generation of Women Runners.
by Gordon Bakoulis

Can you imagine being stopped by police during a marathon-training run, simply because you’re a solitary female?
Being tackled, threatened, and cursed at by a race director while running your first marathon? Setting a marathon world best
at age 38, winning the New York City Marathon, yet still being ashamed of your body? Entering your first marathon because
women weren’t allowed to run more than 1,500 meters in international track competition, and setting a world record by more
than two minutes? Winning the first women’s Olympic marathon, then running an American marathon in a record time that still
stands after 16 years?

I can’t imagine doing any of these things.
Every time I contemplate the obstacles women marathoners have faced and what they have done in spite of them,
I’m overwhelmed by their athleticism, courage, and vision. I consider it a privilege to know personally many of the women
who pioneered the marathon. It’s the great fortune of all of us that they are accessible, articulate, personable, and possess
tremendous insight into the sport of marathoning.
When asked to name those women whose achievements as marathon pioneers mean the most to me, my choices were
surprisingly easy. I must emphasize, however, that the athletes profiled here are not an all-inclusive—even representative—
group. The women whose stories follow are simply those whom I’ve grown to most admire, respect, and just plain like.
I understand that a list of female marathon pioneers is incomplete without Roberta (Bobbi) Gibb, Sara Mae Berman, Beth
Bonner, Jacqueline Hansen, Gayle Baron, and Ingrid Kristiansen.

My Webster’s defines “pioneer” as “a person or group that originates or helps open up a new line of thought or activity.”
The five women profiled below exemplify the bravery and originality implicit in that definition.

Check out our July/August 2001 issue for the rest Gordon’s story about Nina Kuscsik,
Kathrine Switzer, Miki Gorman, Grete Waitz, and Joan Benoit Samuelson. You’ll love it.

Miles Make Champions
Today’s “Experts” Can Rationalize Quality Over Quantity All They Want, But a Substantial Base Brings Results.
by Richard Engelhart

If you’ve wondered if putting in more miles will improve your marathon times, this is
the article to read.

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56,000 Heel Strikes

A Marathon Vet Compiles a Primer for Those Seeking Some Meaning to It All..
by Michael R. Moore

Twenty-five years ago, I poked fun at runners. Then one day, dissatisfied with being a couch potato, I gave running a
try on the indoor track at the Denver Athletic Club—20 laps to the mile. I’d run three laps, then walk one, repeating the cycle
until completing a grand total of 2 miles. Gradually, I shifted to four-and-one, then five-and-one, and so on, until after eight
months, I ran the 2 miles without walking. An inauspicious beginning to be sure, but then my goal was fitness, not marathoning.

Soon, I settled into a pattern of 3 miles a day, usually 5 days a week, enjoying an occasional 10K community run, and
collecting garish T-shirts as trophies for my efforts. It occurred to me that the 10Ks would be more fun if my daily runs
were longer so, within 3 years, I was running 6 miles a day, 5 days a week. Somewhere during this period, my appointment
to the Colorado Commission on Higher Education led to a friendship with Frank Armijo. Frank was about 10 years younger
and 50 pounds lighter than me, but we enjoyed running together in the early mornings through Denver’s neighborhoods and
parks. He had just completed the Denver Marathon and, patiently and persistently, convinced me that running a marathon
was mostly a matter of wanting to do one badly enough that you made the necessary commitment to training.

At about the same time, an article in Runner’s World described a 12-week training program for first-time marathoners. It
called for daily runs of about the six miles I had been doing, then added a day of rest and a longer run each week, that got
progressively longer as the weeks went by: 7, 8, 10, 12, 14 miles, and so on, with the longest run before the marathon being
18 miles. I decided that I could endure almost any regimen for 12 weeks, so I decided to make a run at it.
Having a running buddy was a blessing, especially on those mornings when I was tempted to just roll over and get another
hour of sleep. Frank and I ran regularly, discussing the Commission’s issues, the environment, world hunger, world peace,
and other weighty issues as the miles rolled by. In the ninth week, I developed a sore Achilles tendon and retreated to the
stationary bicycle on most days, but I continued to run the ever-lengthening long runs, doggedly determined that my training
commitment was not going to be sacrificed to an annoying injury.

May 2, 1982, was a special day. Eighteen hundred runners gathered in front of the United Bank of Denver building at 17th
and Broadway to be sent on their way to the rousing finale of Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture.” The day was sunny and
eventually too warm, but Shirley and the kids lined the course to cheer (and wonder about) their apprentice marathoner.
My goal was to finish in under four hours. Gary Autrey, a neighbor, jumped in at the 20-mile mark to resuscitate my flagging
energies. I can still remember the thrill and catch in my throat as I made the final turn on to 17th Street and saw the finish
banner only three blocks away. My finish time was 3:52:51. The champagne flowed, both outside and in, and I was hooked
on running and marathoning for life.

You can find the rest of Mike’s story in our July/August issue.

The Angel, the Devil, and the Land of the Midnight Sun

Sometimes Winning Means Waiting for the Guy Who Got You There.
by Guy Gordon and John Stolz
You’ll enjoy this unusual tale about two competitive masters marathoners who
put their competitiveness aside and ran toward a higher goal.

White-Line Tapestry

Sometimes We Go to Extremes in Order to Come Back to the Center.
by Kirk Johnson

The following article is based on Kirk Johnson’s July 2001 book, To the Edge:
A Man, Death Valley, and the Mystery of Endurance, published by Warner Books.

Just before sundown, I realized that I could see things. In the twisty twilight mix of subtle shades and shadow, I found I
could see, in fact, almost anything I wanted by just looking at it long enough. The little white line in the road that marks the
shoulder, for example, had been plain old paint up until that moment. For more than 90 miles of running and walking and
periodic limping I’d stared down at it and never once had it changed. Now it became a tapestry: every crack and spot and
imperfection took on life. I saw skulls and devils and monsters and animals of all sorts—especially rabbits and skunks, it
seemed, for some reason—all flowing past, imbedded within the line like a comic strip.

The white-line-tapestry scrolling past me now was not a true hallucination. I knew that because I could turn if off if I wanted to,
and that was fun for a while too. “Paint,” I’d say, feeling like Samantha Stephens from “Bewitched,” and once again with just a
little squint of concentration, the line would revert to its flat, white, prosaic form. Then I’d relax my mind and it would all come
back, like a door that creaks open with every odd wind and can never quite be closed. There was a willful child inside me, and
unless I stood fast and guarded the door, he would skip past out into this twilight world to play.

The annual Badwater footrace across Death Valley is legendary for its hallucinations. In the tiny subculture of ultramarathon
running, Badwater is legendary for a lot of things, really, but the hallucinations are a good place to start. There’s also the heat,
which can top out at more than 120 degrees, and the desolate, numbing distance—135 miles of mostly barren wasteland that
constitutes one of America’s emptiest places. The race starts in mid-July, at the sunblasted nadir of Death Valley summer, at the
lowest spot in the Western Hemisphere, 282 feet below sea-level. It finished at 8,300 feet into the Sierra Nevadas at the
trailhead to Mount Whitney, the highest peak in the lower 48 states. Many veteran runners consider it among the
most challenging races on the planet.

Into the “Other” Realm

But the place I’d come to that night—36 hours and 90-odd miles from the starting line—was not marked on any map.
Some of the veterans I’d spoken to before the race had said they believed that hours and days of pushing and prodding at the
limits of endurance could take you to a place beyond this world entirely, a kind of spirit realm, they said. Others had laughed
off Badwater’s visions as mere trickery—a psychological sleight-of-hand no more meaningful than the average doodle.
Runners have been known to see cruise ships and flying sheep, dematerializing bicycles and ghost wagon trains that rumble
by through the night in vivid and memorable detail. One man in 1997 ran across the Golden Gate Bridge, which had been
mysteriously transported—plausibly enough, so it seemed to him at the time—to the middle of the desert. Another man
became convinced that the road had transformed into a giant semiconductor chip.

Bob Ankeney, a laconic juvenile probation officer and ultramarathoner I’d met back in May, told me he’d been drawn to
Badwater the previous year by the prospect of the hallucinations, and perhaps enlightenment, that he hoped could result. But
he hadn’t found what he’d sought, he said, and part of his reason for coming back a second year was to continue the search.
Mick Justin, on the other hand, a Minnesota accountant making his fourth journey through Death Valley that year, regarded
hallucinations as distractions that could burn up precious mental energy and were thus to be avoided. He’d told me he planned
to keep his head down, eyes front, through Badwater’s second night, the better to concentrate on his running.

One of Badwater’s unwritten rules is that the hallucinations are perfect. In other words, don’t expect mirages like
shimmering lakes and such. Expect visions. Expect the Sistine Chapel, with every detail down to Michelangelo there on his
scaffold, expect people from your junior high school English class to wander suddenly and impossibly out of the desert to say
hello, expect, some people say, to see God. Or the devil, for that matter, who was spotted—in running shoes, competing in
the race—in 1995. Expect the cacti to begin singing to you at 1 am from the bottomless darkness of the roadside, as they
did to John Radich in 1996. Radich was so lulled by the music that he sat down where he was in the middle of the highway,
oblivious to all else.

In my moments of idealism through that spring, as I trained for the race, I’d thought of Badwater as a search for the kind of
thing that had captured Radich—something larger than myself, more pure and more beautiful. Hallucinations, from wherever
they arose—a fevered mind, or perhaps from some greater place—could be a window, I thought. Like dreams, they must
contain some meaning.

I’d become, like Ankeney and Justin and most of the three dozen or so other people who enter the race each year, a
searcher after some intangible payoff. The truth is, though, that I had no business whatsoever even being there. I didn’t
belong in this company. I’d run my first marathon only eight months before the race, in late 1998. I was, in real life, a
41-year-old reporter for The New York Times who’d written an article about Death Valley and its bizarre desert
ultramarathon and then, through some error of cosmic miscasting, fallen under its spell. I was not the real deal. But
Badwater was the hardest thing I’d ever heard of, and for this one season of my life, that was enough. In ways that
made perfect sense and no sense at all, the race had dragged me into its orbit. I was a captive, running as fast and
as hard as I could toward everything that terrified the life out of me.

The rest of this story is in our July/August issue. Johnson’s writing is memorable
and the story riveting. Don’t miss it.

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Special Book Bonus

The Art of the Ultramarathoner
Tom Osler
Runners Have Been Doing Ultras for Centuries and the Basics Never Change. A Classic Revived.
Part 1 of 5

Editor’s Note—In 1979 a unique book was published by World Publications, the book division of Runner’s
World. Titled Ultra-Marathoning: The Next Challenge, the book came in two parts. The first half, written by
Ed Dodd, was titled “The Great Six Day Races” and covered the 19th century fascination for “pedestrians”
and their heated six-day-long walking and later “go as you please” races. M&B serialized the book in its first
10 issues. The second half of the book was written by Tom Osler, one of America’s premier ultrarunners, and
was a practical guidebook to training for and racing ultras. Beginning in this issue, we serialize Tom’s
groundbreaking ultra training manual. Certainly, some of the references are dated, and the fact that they are
dated gives the careful reader an insider’s perspective of how things have—and have not—changed over the
years in ultrarunning. We must keep in mind, for instance, that when Pheidippides made his historic run 2500
years ago, it was not a death-capped marathon from Marathon to Athens; that was a fable constructed hundreds
of years later. He actually ran from Marathon to Sparta carrying a message asking for Spartan help against the
Persians; he ran 150 miles one way, received his answer, then turned around and ran back 150 miles, where he
didn’t die, but instead delivered his message as a good all-day runner was paid to do. Tom Osler’s well-reasoned,
simply-presented insights and advice are as pertinent today as they would have been in 450 B.C. and as
they were in 1979—perhaps moreso because of their commonsense style. The more things change, the
more they remain the same.—Rich Benyo

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Volume 5 | Number 5 | Septemer/October 2001

Departments

Editorial
Out of Lossiemouth

In this issue, M&B editor Rich Benyo looks back to 1978 and National Running Week
sponsored by Runner’s World in Palo Alto, California, and takes us to Scotland and the
running career of Don Ritchie, a regular star at the annual running extravaganza.
Here’s a peak at Rich’s September/October editorial:

Over the Christmas Holidays of 1978 Runner’s World magazine held its annual National Running Week in Palo Alto,
California. National Running Week was an excessive extravaganza of running that is difficult to describe more than two
decades later.

The awkward term “excessive extravaganza,” at least in this instance, is not a redundancy. It is as accurate a description as
I can think of for the week.

The week opened with a mass relay run from Sausalito on the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge to halfway down
the San Francisco Peninsula. Runners could run parts or all of the 15-mile run; the relay consisted of hundreds of runners from
around the Bay Area and the world. Several runners ran the 15 miles, then turned around and ran back to Sausalito, had a
bowl of soup, then drove to Palo Alto to hop into the next events.

The week held 32 running programs (from “Women’s Running” to “Training Tips from the Top”) put on by 97 invited
guests, including Grete Waitz, John Walker, Derek Clayton, Brendan Foster, John J. Kelley, Fred Lebow, Ron Clarke, Don
Ritchie, and more. Amby Burfoot, now editor of Runner’s World, described the event this way: “As the week wore on, it
became increasingly evident that National Running Week has become much more than just another whistle-stop on the running
circuit. . . . Few others can match its peaks; none can match its magnitude or scope.” Indeed. The week’s highlights included
the Nurmi Awards banquet, honoring the best runners of the year, which was staged like a mini-Academy Awards show. On
New Year’s Eve, at the stroke of midnight a five-mile race was run in Los Altos. The winners were Alberto Salazar and Grete
Waitz, who set world records of 22:13 and 25:28, respectively.

From the world of ultrarunning, Bob Anderson, Runner’s World owner and publisher, brought in Frank Bozanich, Don
Ritchie, and Tom Osler. Bozanich, a Marine, was the American record holder at 50 miles and several other distances; Ritchie,
from Scotland, was the world-record holder at 100K. (He’d pegged the record at 6:10:20, two months earlier. The year
before, he’d run 100 miles in 11:30:51, also a world record. Both are still world records today, 23 years later.) Osler was
one of the world pioneers in modern ultrarunning. The three of them did three workouts per day, and it was usually pretty
easy to find them. The host hotel had a day-long buffet, and the invited guests had carte blanche at the restaurant. When
Bozanich, Ritchie, and Osler weren’t outside knocking off the miles, they were inside the restaurant refilling their tanks.
On a daily basis, the three of them either broke or wore out the soft ice-cream machine in the restaurant (which pissed
off the other 94 invited guests, who each night went ice-creamless).

When all the hectic festivities were over, and on a few hours’ sleep, a little group of us headed out to the Pacific Ocean on
New Year’s Day. Amby Burfoot was in the habit of running a race and then jumping into the frigid waters of the Atlantic Ocean
on New Year’s Day. Since he was at the wrong end of the country, the least we could do was accommodate his run along the
Pacific Ocean, followed by a plunge into the frigid ocean waters.
Catch the rest of Rich’s editorial in our September/October issue.

On the Road with Joe LeMay
Fast Women

Here’s a portion of Joe’s upcoming column:

Running, like any other sport, has its extremes. On one end, I think of what my mother told me when I was 14 and
heading out the door for a 3-mile run during one particularly hot summer: “Okay, but if you start to sweat, stop.” Mom was
never particularly athletic and still does not know how she ended up with a kid like me.

On the other side of the spectrum, I think of Janice Anderson, who completed six 100-mile races in 2000 and will be
doing “only” her second 100-miler of the year on June 2 this year. (I’m writing this on June 1.) In a sport where people
consider running four 100-milers in a year to be extreme (they refer to it as a “grand slam”), Janice has not only gone two
better but has run most of them pretty fast, winning and setting course records in four of them.

Janice lives in Kennesaw, Georgia, with her husband Craig, an architect who hopes to complete his first 10K this year,
and her three dogs—all shelties. Janice is president of the Atlanta Track Club—the organization that oversees the running of
The Peachtree road race, the largest 10K road race in the world, in addition to a dozen other races scheduled each year.

I was able to catch up with Janice, last year’s USATF female ultrarunner of the year, just before she headed out to
Wisconsin for the Kettle Moraine 100-miler, where she finished second woman, in 20:50. There’s little space in her life for
distractions such as interviews. I got her just as she had to pack, go to bed early, and get up early so she could be at work
before 7 am to get in a full day before her 3:45 flight to Milwaukee.

Continued in our September/October issue. You’ll hear more about the career of ultra great
Janice Anderson.

My Most Unforgettable UltraMarathon (And What I Learned From It): 2000 Hardrock 100 Mile
Endurance Run
by Rich Limacher

Editor’s Note: Rich Limacher is nothing if not persistent. Herein he recounts his second failure to complete the ultra-tough
Hardrock 100. We aren’t in the habit of carrying stories that glorify failure, but Rich makes failing seem like so much fun we
let him charm us twice. For an account of his first failure at Hardrock, see Volume 4, Issue 3 (May/June 2000).

SILVERTON, COLORADO, July 7-9, 2000—It was arguably the last running of the Hardrock 100-mile ultramarathon of
the 20th century and, incidentally, the entire second millennium. And of course this story is just as significant.

This essay might be the first of its kind for Marathon & Beyond, as it includes not one but two “most unforgettable”
ultramarathons from just one race. And the author hasn’t even finished the race yet.

But how can you have a “most unforgettable ultramarathon” twice, you ask? Can you, for example, partially forget some
of a race, so the second time the rest of the race is more memorable? Or can you remember a race unforgettably in one way
one year and then come back a year later to forget most everything you thought you remembered so you could do better the
next time—only then to discover your previous experience didn’t prepare you at all, because this time they are running the
course backward?

Is that twice memorable, or what? In any case, it’s what happened to me.

The Hardrock 100-Mile Endurance Run high atop the San Juan Range of the Rocky Mountains in southwestern
Colorado is like that. If you’re going to attempt it, you’re going to be breaking new ground. And if you’re a magazine
planning to publish one story about the experience, you’d better think twice. Many, if not most, runners cannot finish
Hardrock their first time, so how can any self-respecting ultra writer cover his experience in a single article? Well, it can’t be
done; besides, my first piece covered only half the course. So, read ahead for my searing, brain-branded memories of the
second half.
You can read the rest of Rich’s article in our September/October issue.

I want this issue delivered right to my house.

Brooks Pharmacy Ocean State Marathon
New England’s Renaissance City has a Renaissance Marathon to Match.

How fitting that Providence, Rhode Island, hailed as “America’s Renaissance City,” hosts a marathon that has done its
own bit of rebirthing. Voted in 2000 by Money Magazine as the “Best Place to Live in the Eastern U.S.,” Providence is
nearing the end of a spirited, decade-long revitalization, resulting in its current distinction as a top U.S. destination city.
And in the nine-year-old Brooks Pharmacy Ocean State Marathon, run each fall from Warwick to Providence, the state
has an emerging destination marathon to match. This jewel of a marathon is the perfect product of a proud state: as
the first colony to prohibit importing slaves, the first to declare independence from Britain, and the last to ratify the
Constitution (holding out until the Bill of Rights was added), Rhode Island has always been a little bit feisty.
And their lone marathon appears to be cut from the same cloth.

Third Time’s a Charm

At 48 miles long and 37 miles wide (“before lunch” runs for some of our readers!), Rhode Island is the smallest state in the
Union and has a rich and colorful past. Capital City Providence was established by clergyman Roger Williams, who took
refuge there in 1636 after being banished by Massachusetts for being too liberal. Once a powerful shipping and shipbuilding
town, today Providence is the medical, cultural, educational, and artistic hub of the state and one of the few places in the
United States where artists can live and work without paying income taxes.

Although Rhode Island has only one marathon, that one race carries on a tradition dating back 25 years to 1976, when the
first 26-miler was run in the state. “Little Rhody’s” current marathon is actually the third attempt at a marathon in the state—but
it looks like they’ve got the staying power this time. Mansion-lined Newport, Rhode Island, was the site of the original Ocean
State Marathon held from 1976 to 1986 and featuring a four-loop course. The race was successful, with 2,500 runners at its
height in 1979, but was canceled in 1987 when it lost its primary sponsor. Next up was the Rhode Island Marathon (RIM),
reincarnated in 1988. During its six-year run, the race was held on several courses in and around Newport, with portions in
Middleton and a bit of Portsmouth, before moving to a point-to-point, Warwick-to-Providence route in 1992.

About this time, a group of local long-distance runners grew discontent with the direction RIM was heading and began
plans to resurrect the Ocean State Marathon. Rallying around three key organizers, the Ocean State Marathon was reborn in
1993 with a point-to-point course along Rhode Island’s coast from Narragansett to Warwick. In 1997, the affable and
hardworking Gerry Beagan, known locally for his Thursday night Flying Turtles workouts, emerged from the three original
directors to be the sole director.

In its inaugural year, the revived OSM held its race one week before RIM and very close to the RIM course. Under
head-to-head competition, RIM folded the next year. By 1994, OSM entries had more than doubled to 1,100. In 1999,
with entries nearing 2,000, Beagan unveiled the current Warwick-to-Providence course. The new route does not feature
all that’s beautiful about Rhode Island nor take in many of the state’s 400 coastal miles, but it is flat, fast—definitely a
Boston qualifier—and includes an exciting downtown finish, right in front of the new Convention Center, where the
postrace festivities take place.

From the start, Beagan’s vision was to develop a first-rate, national-class marathon for the state and people of Rhode
Island to take pride in. Beagan and his race committee are steadfastly determined to give every runner, from first to last, a
prime-time marathon experience. By and large, they are succeeding. One of the few U.S. marathons to offer age-group
prize money and course record bonuses, this is not a regional marathon by any means. The 2000 running included participants
from 42 states and 17 nations.

The total purse continues to climb, resting currently at a guaranteed $112,000 plus bonuses. Each year Beagan brings in a
good crop of elite male and female marathoners to duke it out at the front of the pack. The winning times are fast— Igor
Osmak of the Ukraine broke the course record with his strong 2:14:24 in the 2000 event; masters runner Tetyana
Pozdnyakova, also of the Ukraine, holds the women’s record of 2:31:52. As the race pours time, money, and energy into
their elite program, their challenge will be to make sure the rest of their field gets first-class treatment, too.

Beagan and his race committee tweak the event each year, always eager to introduce new wrinkles. Take their race medals, for instance:
gold medallions to the top 500 finishers, silver for finishers 501-1,000, and bronze to finishers 1,001 and above. Although a challenge to
administer, the main concept is to give the entrants one more incentive to compete against themselves and other runners in the race.
Most runners we spoke to liked this idea, but what they’d like more is for the medals to include the year in which they ran.

Read the rest of the Ocean State profile in our September/October issue.

Letters
Lively responses to our most recent issues.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers’ training and competition questions. This month’s question:

I’VE DONE 18 marathons in the past 10 years and am currently 38 years old. About halfway through my marathon
career, I discovered the usefulness of visualization in reaching my race-day goals. I ride a course the day before the race
to see what it’s like, then factor in a realistic race pace with the demands of the course to plan my visualization for the
next day’s race. Most of the time, this works very well. My question is, What do I do with five miles left in a race if my
visualized race begins to unravel? Should I be visualizing several race scenarios before the race? To me, that would seem
to undermine the positive, goal-rich visualization I like to do.
Our experts answer this question in our September/October issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue’s authors are Don Ritchie; Michael Selman; Benjamin Ebert, MD/PhD;
Woody Green; and the late Christine White.

Features

The Long and Winding Road
A Solo Run from Britain’s Northern to Southern Extremes Fomented for Years.
by Don Ritchie

The seed of the ambition to run from the northermost point on the island of Great Britain, John O’Groats, to the southern
extremity, Land’s End, was sown in my mind many years ago. On long Sunday runs in the late ’60s with Alistair Wood and
Steve Taylor, we used to periodically discuss the possibility of an “end to end” relay run.

Enthusiasm for the relay grew, and in April 1972 I was part of the eight-man Aberdeen AAC team that completed the
John O’Groats-to-Land’s End (JOGLE) run, estimated at 847 miles, in 80 hours and 25 minutes—some 45 minutes outside
the record set by Reading AC in 1967. Using the experience gained, Aberdeen AAC improved on Reading’s record by 23
minutes the following April, but I was not able to participate in this “adventure.”

Still, the idea lived on, and in April 1982 I was part of a very strong Aberdeen AAC team, which set the present record of
77 hours, 26 minutes, and 18 seconds.

After that, the idea of a solo run grew steadily stronger, until in June 1986, I decided to plan an attempt during our
two-week Easter Holiday from school in 1987. Both of my parents had died of cancer, my father in 1985 and my mother
in 1986, so the time seemed right to attempt the run; I planned to raise funds for cancer research through soliciting
sponsorships.

After months of planning, my attempt began at 7 am on April 5 at Land’s End. I had decided to start there, at the southern
extreme, to make use of the prevailing wind, which in April is from the west, and to take advantage of the “homing pigeon”
effect of running toward home. My support crew consisted of Graham Milne (coordinator of the run), Peter Chalmers
(in charge of navigation), Mike Francis (who looked after my requirements on the road), and Malcolm Morgan
(“Magic” Morgan, the lead physiotherapist from Dr. Gray’s Hospital in Elgin).

You can read the rest of Don Ritchie’s story in our September/October issue.

By the Numbers
A Curious Series of Takes on Why Numbers Can Be Our Friends—or Our Doom.
by Michael Selman

Many writers attempt to find humor in running. Few succeed. Not because there is no humor in running,
but because it’s so difficult to pin down. It seems so ephemeral. As elusive as a runner’s high after only five minutes
of running. But every once in a while a writer finds a niche within the sport/lifestyle where few—if any—have gone
before, because it seemed to everyone that the ground was fallow. Humor would not grow there. Michael Selman
picked numbers. Staid, unyielding, chiseled numbers. Very basic, very boring . . . but not to Michael Selman. Not to
people who’ve read Michael Selman’s humorous essay about how taking the 10% rule literally can lead to disasters,
as presented in M&B’s Nov/Dec 2000 issue. We decided that under Michael’s furrowed brow, numbers can be funny,
even downright hilarious. Seriously.—Editor

This issue features three short pieces by Michael:

Beer Has Sustained Me
The Mathematics of Calorie Replacement for Runners Offers a Tasty Solution

Going Postal!
When Tapering Gets Out Of Control, It’s Best to Drive Your Neighborhood Nuts

I’m Getting Miles for Christmas
When the End of the Year Comes, It’s Time to Reward Yourself

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Pain, Endorphins, and Runner’s High
The Human Body Has a Tremendous Capacity to Endure Painful Times.

by Benjamin Ebert, MD, PhD

Every runner is well acquainted with pain. Whether we medicate or endure it, whether we complain aloud or maintain a
quiet stoicism, every runner has experienced myriad forms of pain.

Fear of pain prevents some from running or pursuing a marathon. For others, the pain of exertion is met as an old friend,
a satisfying soreness confirming the intensity of effort. Experience teaches the runner to discern between pain that portends
serious injury from the benign pain associated with a rigorous workout.

Pain can be frustratingly difficult to describe or characterize. It can be precise or deceptive, a tightly defined sensation
or an amorphous, emotional feeling. Emotions and many other experiences influence the perception of pain. Soldiers in battle
and athletes in competition may tolerate major injuries, nearly oblivious to any degree of pain. At other times, anxiety and
expectation can exacerbate a relatively minor intrusion, such as the sting of a needle in a doctor’s office.

Dr. George Sheehan, physican and running philosopher, once said, “to keep from decaying, to be a winner, the athlete
must accept pain—not only accept it, but look for it, live with it, learn not to fear it.” Understanding the physiology,
psychology, and medication of pain can help the runner interpret the sensation and react appropriately.

Check out our September/October 2001 issue for the rest of Dr. Ebert’s lucid explanation
of pain, endorphins, and the runner’s high.

In My Father’s Footsteps
When My Dad Calls, I Sometimes End Up Doing Very Strange Things—Like Entering a Seven-Day Desert Race.
by Eric Grant

One Sunday morning as I sat at my kitchen table in Los Angeles nursing a hangover and smoking a cigarette, my father
called me on the phone: “I’ve registered you for next year’s Marathon des Sables,” he said.

Gulp. I nearly choked. “Dad, you did what?”

For those of you who don’t know, the Marathon des Sables is a 7-day, 145-mile race through the Sahara desert in
Morocco in nearly full self-sufficiency—the race organizers provide only Berber tents at night and nine liters of water a day.

Since my father had competed in the MDS six times, I had seen the videotapes and heard the horror stories of blisters
and exhaustion in this outdoor torture chamber for masochists. I had also seen the fierce gleam of near-madness in the
competitors’ eyes at the finish line. They looked like men and women in the throes of epiphany. During a brief episode
of imprudence, I had told my father I’d like to see what that felt like. Apparently, he had taken me at my word.

As soon as I hung up the phone, my sense of adventure and determination took over—not to mention my desire to get
back in shape. Since my first and only year of college tennis, nine years earlier, I had laced up my running shoes only a
few sporadic times. The desire had been there, but my willpower was never strong enough for me to follow through.
Now I had a whole 10 months to prepare for one of the world’s worst endurance nightmares.
If you’ve ever wondered what training for and running Marathon des Sables would be like, this is the
story for you.

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Time to Run

Way Too Many People Cite Lack of Time as a Reason for Not Running Marathons.
by Roy Herron

The historic theologian and reformer Martin Luther once observed that he could not possibly accomlish all his many
tasks without at least four hours of prayer each day.

Similarly, many busy runners are almost religious about their workouts. They realize they could not possibly lift their heavy
workloads and handle all their responsibilities without running.

“How can that be?” almost all nonrunners and many would-be runners ask. “Doesn’t running take too much time for busy
people to do it?”

Following are ideas on how busy people can find that that running does not take time but can actually make time and (2)
they can use their running time effectively.

Some of the topics Roy covers are these:

Running Can Give You Time

Running Can Make You More Productive

Running Make Take Hours, But It Gives You Years

Running Can Take Less Time

Running on the Moon

Rick Schaefer Had It All and Lost It All—and Then Found More Than Ever.
by Woody Green

“In my early 30s, I had just about everything anyone could ask for or dream about,” Rick Schaefer relates. “I had the
lavish lifestyle, a wildly successful business that I had built from $300 to $30 million in three years, a couple of wonderful
children, and the list goes on and on. By the time I was 37, I had lost everything. I had sustained a heart attack, I was
bankrupt, hounded by the IRS, recovering from addictions to cocaine and alcohol, and out of touch with my children.
I had just returned to Boulder at age 39 to start over . . . and then I realized the folks I was working with weren’t good people.

“My long-time girlfriend had had enough of my trials and relocated out west. My weight was back up to a dangerous level
for a post–heart attack victim. I hadn’t made many new friends since I returned to Colorado. The magazine stress tests where
points are totaled for life events showed me maxed off the charts. Try as I might, I couldn’t get back on my feet. I’m a fighter,
but I just kept getting knocked down. It took every ounce of positive energy just to make it from day to day. It was hard to
battle so many major forces on so many fronts that I couldn’t control, and I was as close to helpless as I’ve ever been.”

Looking at him now, you’d never guess his past problems. Watching him run easily, bantering with his running friends in the
middle of a three-hour workout, it’s particularly difficult to believe that he suffered a heart attack 10 years ago at the age of 35.
What’s weird is that the heart attack came at a time when Rick had begun to clean up his act.

Rick relates, “The first 33 years of my life could be characterized by bad genetics, drug use, alcohol abuse, high-stress
work, elevated blood pressure, bad diet, a weight problem, and smoking.” Before the attack, Rick had lost 65 pounds by
swimming 4,000 meters a day and eating a healthy diet. “I had stopped doing cocaine cold turkey two years before. My
cholesterol was almost normal, and my blood pressure was way down. I had cut back, but not quit, drinking alcohol.”

After recovering from his heart attack, Rick began doing two-mile runs with employees of his high-tech firm before work.
He worked his way up to six miles, but then he moved several times and found it difficult to keep running when his established
routine was disrupted. He also couldn’t find a convenient place to swim.
You can read the rest of Woody’s article in our September/October issue.

Why Do We Run Marathons, Anyway?

We Frequently Discuss How Well or How Poorly We Ran One, But We Seldom Ask Ourselves Why We Run
Them in the First Place.
by Gary Franchi

You’ll enjoy Gary’s light-hearted article.

How Runners Talk

The Race Is the Culmination of Training, But When It Beckons, How Do You Respond?
by Christine White

Preface from Rich Benyo:

There are few major tragedies in marathon running.
Certainly, there are any number of minor tragedies. Hitting the “wall” on a marathon that was likely to be a PR. Losing
another toenail just as beach season approaches. Being unable to surge against your most fierce age-group rival
during that last race of the season. Not being picked—again—in the lottery at the New York City Marathon.

Marathon runners and ultra types aren’t rock stars, prone to self-destructive behavior or at high-risk for anything—
beyond extremely low pulse rates that seem to befuddle doctors when we get our annual physical.

So it was doubly shocking after our recent trip to the Grandma’s Marathon to receive news that Christine White of
Metamora, Illinois, had died in a small plane crash in Santa Fe County, New Mexico.

No need to scratch your head trying to recall Christine’s feats as a marathoner—and she’d have found it ironic if you
were to confuse her with Christine Clark, America’s only female Olympic marthoner in 2000.

Christine White was the mother of four. Her boys ran cross-country in high school. Her youngest son was a freshman
in college. She’d spent much of her adult life raising her brood, and now that they were leaving the nest, she found, at the age
of 51, the time to pursue her dream to write.

She went back to college and majored in creative nonfiction writing. She wrote about a variety of subjects, from skiing
to her beloved Santa Fe. She also wrote a story about high school cross-country runners and what they say when they
speak of their sport. She was a friend of Lorraine Moller, a world-class marathoner from New
Zealand, who has the distinction of being the only woman to have completed the first four Olympic marathons for women.
Lorraine is a friend of M&B’s, and she turned us on to Christine’s story.

We admit to having a weakness for cross-country running and racing, just as Christine did. It’s pure, it’s simple,
it’s elemental, it’s primordial—and it’s a breeding ground for world-class marathoners. In 1975, after taking third place
at the World Cross-Country Championships, Bill Rodgers set an American marathon record of 2:09:55 at Boston.
The various cross-country championship rosters read like a Who’s Who of marathoning: Grete Waitz, Steve Jones,
Carlos Lopes, Craig Virgin, Ed Eyestone, and so on.

We held onto Christine’s story for months, slotting it into this issue because the issue corresponds with the annual U.S.
cross-country season.

We did what little editing was needed, dwelled on how best to handle a few exact quotes (and decided our readers are
adults and have heard such words before), solicited a handful of Christine’s cross-country photographs (she was also good
with a camera), and then went into the galley proof and page proof stages. The proofs were sent to Christine for her
approval, but they didn’t come back.

When publisher Jan Seeley phoned after her return from Grandma’s to see how Christine was doing with the proofs,
her sister-in-law, Diane Peterson, answered the phone. She related to Jan that Christine and her husband Mike had died in a
small plane crash the week before on their approach to Santa Fe. Mike was an accomplished pilot, and everything seemed to
be going smoothly—until the plane spiraled out of the sky, hit the ground, and burst into flames. The FAA reports it may take a
year to determine the cause of the accident. In the meantime, Christine’s family has pulled together to survive the crash.

It’s not difficult to discern by reading between the lines of her story how proud Christine was of her children.
And it’s not difficult to gauge her obvious talent in writing about the world around her.

On several occasions, as she and I exchanged e-mails, she was apologetic about not being a serious competitor herself.
But in the end, she was wrong. She might not have been a serious athlete, but she was certainly a serious competitor,
sweating and struggling for just the right word, much as her boys had struggled, during a well-fought race, to catch
and pass that one runner in front of them in order to come home victorious, spent, and elated, another race well run.
We hope you enjoy reading Christine’s story in this issue and lament that we can’t look forward to presenting any more of
her beautiful writing.

Here is the start of Christine’s story

I watch runners, and I listen to runners talk. I go to races, too, mostly because one of my children is running that day.
I’ve had a child, at least one child, in the race for almost 10 years now. I also go to races because after all these years of
watching, I don’t want to stay away.

I love to see packs of runners moving across worn courses, lines of solitary runners moving through dense rolls of
early-morning fog. Sometimes I photograph the runners, their bodies, dripping with effort, etched against blurred trees
and lines of spectators.

I’ve learned certain things about the race after all these years. I’ve learned that the faces at races never change.
The race never changes either. I’m not a runner. I’m a mother who thinks a lot about the race. I watch runners, and I
listen to runners talk.

* * *

Every race tells the same story. The race is drama. The audience wants a hero. Today they are the heroes. The coach
asks me to take the team picture. The eight young men, smiling in their pristine navy-and-white Reebok warm-ups,
proudly hold up the plaque that proclaims them central Illinois’ Regional Cross-Country Champions for 1999.
They are 15, 16, 17 years old. My youngest son is the captain, and he led the team today, placing third overall.

The coach, a 6’4″ former football player, is emotional, humbled, moved almost to tears by the team’s performance.
“I can hardly talk,” he admits. His eyes are moist. His voice is close to breaking as he speaks to the parents gathered
around the team. “I think we really have a shot at going to State.” He almost whispers this last part. To say it too loud
might tempt the running gods. He hasn’t taken a team to State in nine years.

Last week’s Conference race was a different story, a tragedy in the all-or-nothing world of the race. The team placed
third overall. Times were lousy. My son was sick the day before the race, and he lost his confidence, worrying himself into
an 11th-place finish. The rest of the team picked up on his self-doubt. The coach was merciless after the race, calling them
“gutless.”

There was no trophy last week. The boys were angry and ashamed. No one wanted a team photo. No one wanted to
remember the day they were losers.

* * *

This is how runners talk.

“You can do it. You’re the smartest kid out there,” my oldest son tells my youngest son. My oldest son is a runner, too.
It’s the race post-mortem. Every race has this dissection.

“Whoever wins at State is the guy who has the best head on his shoulders that day. Write on a piece of paper: I believe

in myself. Over and over. Hang it up. Just look at it. You’ve got to internalize this. You. For yourself.

“Remember that article in the paper last week about Peterson from South High saying he wasn’t ready for the race
because he was thinking about Homecoming? What a jerk! More than looking like a jackass, that comment tells you he
doesn’t have a head. Peterson—you’ve got him in the head. Chew him up and spit him out like a bad habit.

“You can be a stud if you want to. People will forfeit to you at the starting line. You’ve got the capability of being a
monster. A monster. You can be a monster. Just stop being a head case. At the end of the race, whose head is on?”

The rest of Christine’s fine piece appears in our September/October issue.

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Special Book Bonus

The Art of the Ultramarathoner
Tom Osler
Runners Have Been Doing Ultras for Centuries and the Basics Never Change. A Classic Revived.
Part 2 of 5

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Volume 5 | Number 6 | November/December 2001

Departments

Editorial
Long Leads

There’s a particular brand of frustration inherent in print publications. We call it “long lead time.” That is, to get the contents of a
magazine to its readers, editors must assemble manuscripts long before the issue clunks into the subscriber’s mailbox. For
instance, this editorial is the last piece of written matter being churned out for the November/December 2001 issue. I’m
writing it on August 4, the day after the men’s marathon at the Edmonton World Championships. If I were sticking strictly to
our production schedule, this piece should have been to the copyeditor a month ago. The issue is scheduled to go to the
printer on September 13. It will be put into the mail around the middle of October to go to subscribers.

All this goes far toward explaining why Marathon & Beyond is designed as a “timeless” rather than a “timely” periodical.
Today’s “timely” news is received via radio, television, or the Internet. I hope you’re not picking up your M&B to find out what
happened yesterday, as you’ll be disappointed every time.

Since American TV wasn’t carrying the race and since I don’t live close enough to the Canadian border to intercept
CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) signals, this morning I relied on the local newspaper to inform me who won last
evening’s World Champs men’s marathon. My local newspaper included a three-inch piece telling me that Khalid Khannochi
had dropped at roughly 15 miles and that it was 82 degrees at the start of the race. The paper didn’t bother to report who won
the race or how the other Americans did.

For more information, I turned to Runners World on-line, a service I check out almost daily. It seems the finish of the
World Champs was a real barnburner, coming down to a furious sprint after 26.1 miles were rolled off.

I would like to make some comment about the World Championship marathon(s), but that would be sort of fruitless, since
the women’s marathon isn’t run for another week, and I need to get this piece to the copyeditor by early Monday morning or
else be fired.

The frustration with all this immediacy is, of course, self-induced. I’m not going to die or implode or anything from not
knowing instantly the outcome of the men’s marathon. It’s just that I want to know. I’m not alone in this. Most people I know
have been programmed to want (need?) instant gratification. Not tomorrow or an hour from now. Now.

You can catch the rest of Rich’s editorial in our November/December issue.

On the Road with Joe LeMay
Contemplating Being Hurt

Before I turned 30, the longest I was ever out of commission for any injury was 10 days. I don’t even know what the
injury was. It was some kind of knee pain that went away after a while.

As I might have mentioned in earlier columns, I hated being injured. My rule of thumb was “If you can run at all, even if it
hurts, then run.” Some might argue that’s exactly the kind of thinking that will get you into trouble in the long run.

Peter Pfitzinger, 1984 and 1988 Olympic marathoner, wrote in a recent Running Times column: “One thing I would have
done differently in my career would be not training through injuries. I would have taken more time off to look at the root cause
of the problem and work on fixing it there.”

That is the conventional wisdom, and it’s not bad advice, but if I had to wait until everything was picture-perfect before
I went out the door for a run, I’d almost never go running.

I would argue that the kind of compulsive behavior Pete exhibited in his training back in the 1980s is what put him on two
Olympic teams. And who really knows if you’re really going to be able to address the root cause of an injury? Running injuries
are infamously difficult to diagnose. It’s not like in football where some guy gets hit and comes off the field with something
traumatic. You have the cause of the injury on film and have seen it many times before. For the record, a “traumatic” injury is
something that happens all at once, such as getting hit by a bus or, as so often happens in my case, landing on a foot the wrong
way and spraining an ankle.

Runners get more overuse injuries than traumatic injuries. I know a lot of people get confused on this one because I
frequently ask people if their injury was traumatic, and they think I’m asking if it was an emotionally trying experience, such as
when Mary Slaney fell in the 1984 Olympic Games 3000. I guess for runners who really love what they do, an injury can be
traumatic in both ways.

In any case, injuries are inevitable, and they happen more frequently as we age. The rather compulsive nature endemic for
most runners that tells us to keep training at all costs only compounds the problem. It sucks, doesn’t it?

Learn about the relationship between aging and injuries in Joe’s column.

My Most Unforgettable UltraMarathon (And What I Learned From It): Sri Chinmoy 3,100-Mile Race

by Suprabha Beckjord

QUEENS, NEW YORK, June 18-August 11, 2000—It’s the Fourth of July, and I have just completed 1,000 miles of
my fourth Sri Chinmoy 3100-mile race.

I am celebrating Independence Day by singing, as I run, all the songs about America that I know, especially “This Land Is
Your Land, This Land Is My Land.” Right now, for me and for three other runners, “this land” is a .5488-mile loop of
sidewalk around a school and park just off the Grand Central Parkway in Queens, New York City, a course that has remained
unchanged since the race’s inception in 1997. Circling this loop 5,649 times in just over seven weeks will take me to my goal.

Humble Beginnings

I loved to run as a child (so my father relates), but apart from school soccer, my high school and college years were
nonathletic. During those years, I spent endless hours sketching and defining my world with a pencil and paint brush.

I started running and meditating at the same time I met Sri Chinmoy in 1978 and began to follow his spiritual path.
He has been my inner and outer coach for 22 years, and I credit any success that I have had in my running to his constant
love, encouragement, and guidance.

Going Beyond

Sri Chinmoy is a man of prayer and meditation who achieves extraordinary things by identifying with the infinite. With his
thousands of inspirational paintings, books, songs, concerts, and athletic events he seeks to encourage people everywhere to
go beyond their own preconceived limits.

For Sri Chinmoy, the number “31” has a special significance in that he was born in 1931. The following is an excerpt
from Sri Chinmoy’s remarks after the first 3,100-Mile Race in 1997:

“These 3100 miles remind us of one divine and supreme reality: we can and we must do everything at our command to
transform the world of lethargy and unwillingness to be dynamic. Willingness to give, willingness to achieve, willingness to grow
and glow should be the message of our souls. With our souls’ blessing we can and will fulfil our earthly life.”

3100 Miles In 2000

On Father’s Day, June 18, 2000, three runners lined up with me at the start of the Sri Chinmoy 3100-Mile Race.
Namitabha Arsic, 35, a railroad engineer from Yugoslavia, had completed the 3100 in his third attempt in 1999 and
had returned for another round. Participating for the first time were John Wallis, 63, a retired educator and veteran
ultrarunner from Ludington, Michigan, and Asprihanal-Pekka Alto, 29, an ultrarunning post office worker from Helsinki,
Finland. I was the only woman to run.

Does Suprabha complete her fourth Sri Chinmoy’s race? You can only find out by
reading our November/December issue.

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Motorola Marathon
The Texas State Capital Hosts a Race Worthy of Its Unique Lone Star Status.

Letters

Lively responses to our most recent issues.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers’ training and competition questions. This month’s question:

I’m pretty new to marathoning. I’ve only run two of them so far, neither of them very well, but I want to get better.
A friend who has been running for decades recently cleaned out his library and gave me several dozen running books
from the 1970s and ’80s. I’ve been devouring them but am confused. I keep hearing the term “lactate threshold” these
days but do not find it in any of these older running books; but I do find “anaerobic threshold.” Are they the same thing,
or are they merely similar? I get the concept of “anaerobic threshold.” But if they are the same thing, why change the term?.
Our experts answer this question in our November/December issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue’s stellar cast of authors are Pete Pfitzinger and Scott Douglas,
Richard Englehart, Senator Roy Herron, Theresa Daus-Weber, Barry Lewis, and Michael Selman.

Features

Quality Seconds
Safely Making Your Way Through the Multiple Marathons Minefield..
by Pete Pfitzinger and Scott Douglas

This article is for those occasions when, for whatever perverse reason, you’ve decided to do two marathons with
12 weeks or less between them. Though doing two (or more) marathons in rapid succession generally isn’t the best way
to go after a personal best time, this article focuses on structuring your training to maximize your likelihood of success.
It includes three schedules, covering 12, 8, and 4 weeks between marathons.

Ultra-Pacing
While Pacing in The Marathon Is Frowned Upon and Often Illegal, in Ultras It Is an Art.
by Theresa Daus-Weber

Often, the image that comes to mind when you think of ultrarunning is the lone, dedicated runner
covering vast distances over mountain trails, deserts, or endless miles of roads. But in reality, most ultrarunners
don’t cover those great distances alone. They are often accompanied by a pacer. But the pacer who accompanies an
ultrarunner is not what traditional road racers think of when they hear the word “pacer.” In the traditional sense, a pacer is a
runner participating in a race to help another runner maintain a particular pace—usually a fast, demanding pace that may be
too strenuous for the runner to achieve alone. But a pacer in an ultrarunning event has many roles, some of which we’ll
discuss here. We’ll also talk about some of the many demands and rewards of ultra-pacing.

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Matters of the Sole
Forget All They’ve Taught You About Running Shoes—Often, Less Is Truly More.
by Richard Englehart

Want to cut way down on your running injuries while saving money and maybe even going faster?

Sounds great, eh? A bit too good to be true? Maybe you’re thinking I’m going to offer you some cold nuclear
fusion in a jar at the same time? Sorry, I can’t help you with that, but easier, healthier, and faster running may be just one
step—one big step—away.

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An American in England

Buddy Edelen Wanted to Be the Best Marathoner in the World, So He Went Where the Best Ran.

by Frank Murphy

Editor’s Note: In the early days of the marathon, Americans played a significant part in the development of the sport.
Americans returned from the original Olympic Marathon in Athens in 1896 to found the Boston Marathon. They played key
roles in the first half-dozen Olympic Marathons. Then came a drought. Marathoning in America fell on hard times. The term
“American marathoner” became an oxymoron.

Then one day a young American by the name of Buddy Edelen packed his belongings in 1960 and moved to England so
he could train with the best. At first the idea of a puny American runner coming to England to attempt to run with the best was
scoffed at. But gradually the English began to accept the good-natured, hard-working Edelen. Then he began to come into his
own. In a rush of success, Buddy Edelen became the first American to go under 30 minutes in the 10,000 meters, the first
American to break 2:20 in the marathon, and (in 1963) the first American in nearly 40 years to hold the marathon world
record. In 1964 he returned to the United States to win the Olympic Marathon Trials by 3-1/2 miles.

In this issue, we print chapters 9 through 12 of Frank Murphy’s landmark biography of Buddy Edelen,
A Cold Clear Day, copyright 1992.

The Running Man

Jerry Dunn Found He Had A Lot To Run From—And To. Including 200 Marathons in 2000.
by Barry Lewis

Sunday, December 10, 2000, Tampa, Florida—It’s early on the morning of the inaugural running of the Hops Marathon by
Tampa Bay, and Jerry Dunn is somewhat excited as he laces up his shoes. He’s been looking forward to this race for a long
time—almost two years—and so has his wife, Elaine Doll-Dunn. The pair have traveled to balmy Florida just as their
hometown of Spearfish, South Dakota, settles into deep winter mode. After today, it’ll be quite a while until they run in
singlets again; they’ll be bundled up in Polar fleece, GoreTex, and neoprene masks.

This will be the first time since they were married five years ago that they’ll be running the same race without finishing
together, but they have talked long and hard and decided to break custom on this particular day. Running together through
life may be their shared mantra, but today, Jerry and Elaine will focus on individual goals.

The prerace routine is not much different from the majority of mornings for Jerry: an early alarm, glass of Green Magma,
a cup of coffee and a donut, and it’s time to get on with the day. Armed with a pair of water bottles and a pocketful of power
gel¨, the Dunns walk from the Hyatt Regency to the Ice Palace, home of the Tampa Bay Lightning and site of the start of the
race. There they mingle with the 3000 other eager participants awaiting the gun. Jerry smiles at his wife when he hears the
announcement come over the loudspeaker: “America’s Marathon Man, and his wife, Mrs. South Dakota, are here for today’s
race.”

Hey, he chuckles to himself, they’re talking about us. And why not? They deserve some recognition. By completing
the 26.2-mile scenic tour of Tampa, they’ll both be achieving incredible goals.

Jerry, 54, plans to give the Hops Marathon all that he’s got, to make it his fastest run of the year. It’ll be the 200th time
since January 1 that he’s gone the marathon distance, and he wants a time to remember. For number 200 in 2000, the last
one better be good. At 62, Elaine is going for the finish; she’s unconcerned about standings and has no need to put on an
appearance of speed. For her, Hops is the 26th official marathon of the year—her marathon of marathons is almost
complete.

Been There, Dunn That

What kind of person does it take to fulfill a dream of running 200 marathons in a single year? Certainly someone who is highly
motivated, goal-oriented, and able to maintain a total focus of body, spirit, and mind. But Jerry Dunn wasn’t always the ambitious,
athletic type, able to pursue an improbable outcome with total success. In fact, he runs today like a man possessed because the Jerry
Dunn of “before” was the near opposite of the Jerry Dunn we know today.

This in-depth, 17-page article can’t help but inspire you.

Miracles Happen

Not Every Miracle Is Huge; Some Miracles Are Minor, But They Do Happen, If You Nudge Them Along.
by Marie Bender

This isn’t a miracle of the Lance Armstrong mold. It’s not about rescuing children from a burning building, protecting
someone from a deranged killer, or curing a terminal disease. Essentially, all that happened is I ran a marathon.

At 40 years old, overweight, with no prior experience running distance, I trained and succeeded in moving my butt along
26.2 miles of road on my own two feet. And those who knew me realize that this indeed is something of a miracle.

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A Tree Grows in Myrtle Beach

Some Marathons Never Reach Their Stride While Others Come Complete With Pink Ribbons.
by Michael Selman

If a picture paints a thousand words, then a marathon must truly create a thousand pictures. The 26.2 miles of canvas unfolds
just a little bit differently for every running artist, and each portrait painted ends up as distinct as the runner who draws it.
Colors vary widely from one rendition to the next.

I have been invited to pick up my writing palette and create a color story on the Myrtle Beach Marathon, which is once
again rapidly approaching. As I stare at the blank canvas and ponder what colors to select, all I see is pink. I can’t think of
the Myrtle Beach Marathon without seeing pink around every corner.

* * *

As the cross streets started climbing through the 40s to the low 50s, I felt a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye as
I encountered my most emotional feelings of the race. I knew I’d soon be passing Caroline’s tree at 56th and Ocean
Boulevard. Caroline was the wife of a friend of ours who had lost her long and painful battle with cancer just before
the holidays. Her husband Doug is a local Atlanta runner and a member of the international running group known as
The Penguin Brigade. My wife Harriet and I see him often at local races and have always enjoyed our visits.

We had met Caroline only once, at the Atlanta Marathon expo about a month before her death. We are both very
thankful for that meeting.

On Friday, the day before the race, a large gathering from The Penguin Brigade had gone down to Caroline’s tree and
decorated it in pink. One of the newer members, Michael Spring, had made a lovely wreath, which was placed at the base
of the tree. As we remembered her, we covered the young and sturdy palm tree with bright pink ribbons. Race director
Nancy O’Connor and the City of Myrtle Beach were very kind to have honored Caroline with this tree. We cried, we
hugged, and in a special way, we knew she was with us.

As I turned down 56th Street and then north on Ocean Boulevard–somewhere between miles 16 and 17, if I remember
correctly–I could see the tree, still adorned with a swarm of pink ribbons, and I knew that Caroline was urging me on.
As I ran by, I said a short prayer and said to myself, “Caroline, same time, next year.”

* * *

I wrote the above excerpt as part of my race report after a very emotional Myrtle Beach Marathon two years ago. Every runner who
ran the full Myrtle Beach Marathon in 2000, as those who ran it earlier this year, passed Caroline’s tree, which was decked out in pink
ribbons. Most runners probably never even noticed it as they struggled by, and others who may have noticed the ribbons no doubt
quickly turned their thoughts back to how much farther up Ocean Boulevard the next water stop would be. In the midst of a marathon,
small details along the course quickly fade into obscurity. But for those who actually placed the ribbons on the tree the previous day,
many stopped to touch it and say a prayer as they ran by. Very few outside of the Brigade have known the story behind the pink ribbons
until now.

You’ll enjoy this heart-warming story by Michael Selman in our November/December issue.

The Sun Never Sets on the Team Captain

At the Calistoga-to-Santa-Cruz Relay, the exhaustion begins before the race does.
by Joe Reif

Special Book Bonus

The Art of the Ultramarathoner
Tom Osler
Runners Have Been Doing Ultras for Centuries and the Basics Never Change. A Classic Revived.
Part 3 of 5

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Marathon and Beyond

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2001 Issues

Volume 5 | Number 1 | January/February 2001

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Volume 5 | Number 2 | March/April 2001

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Volume 5 | Number 3 | May/June 2001

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Volume 5 | Number 4 | July/August 2001

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Volume 5 | Number 5 | Septemer/October 2001

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Volume 5 | Number 6 | November/December 2001

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