My Marthon Journeys: Grandma's 1979

Validating a sub-three hour marathon became a big deal to me.  My junior year in college I had managed to break three on a minimal amount of training.  Two years later, now out of college and working full time in Minneapolis at the NBC affiliate I saw an opportunity to run another marathon.

Grandma's was a relatively new marathon and I had heard a lot of good things about it.  I knew that I could get a relatively decent amount of training in beginning in April when the brutal grip of winter begins to ease in the Twin Cities.  I had three months to prepare for the late June race.

I was living in a part of the city that afforded me easy access to running around Lake of The Isles... a lake then known as Lake Calhoun and even Lake Harriet for extremely long runs.  I probably averaged 40 miles a week with a long run of 15 miles over the course of the lead up.

A co-worker, reporter Dr. Michael Breen told me in March he wanted to run the race as well.  It would be the good doctors first marathon.  He was short on training when he joined me for our only run together leading up to the race in May.  Breen ran step for step with me for 12 miles.  He pushed me all the way and was feeling pretty pumped up about what was to come.  I warned him that 12 miles isn't 26.

I ran no races in preparation for this marathon, probably not the smartest of moves, but I was about as fit as I had been for my 1977 marathon with a little less leg speed.  Saturday June 23rd dawned with perfect weather and nearly 1,300 runners were off.  I had let the local Duluth NBC station know I was running the race.  They actually captured video of me running which I have to do this day.

As for the race I vividly remember three things.  First, I hit mile ten at 65:00.  That was pretty quick for someone hoping to run 2:55 or so.  In fact, I was on 2:50 pace and none the wiser.

Second, shortly after ten miles marathon elite, the late Steve Hoag passed me chatting with a couple of buddies with his arm in a cast.  Steve had finished second to Bill Rodgers at Boston.  Their remarks were like a punch in the gut.  Steve said, we can push it and run 2:35 or take it easy and run 2:45.  I knew I was in a world of shit.

It started catching up with me after 19 miles.  The slow die began but I had banked enough time to break three hours, then the third unforgettable thing rolled up.  I could smell it coming and when I looked to my right, I spotted a woman who had soiled herself, crap running down the length of her right leg.  The stench was undeniable.  I had to back off and let her get a big enough gap so I didn't have to look or smell the running shit can.

I got to 25 miles knowing I had almost no margin of error to break three hours.  I busted a gut, thankfully didn't see the shit girl.  I could see the clock from about 200 yards clicking up to three hours.  I hit the finish in 2:59:50, in 256th place and extremely happy with my effort.

I stood around waiting for Dr. Breen.  I first saw NFL great, Alan Page, a Vikings defensive line man complete his first marathon in 3:57.  Mike never finished the race.  He gave it up at around 22 miles admitting that things began to fall apart at around 16 miles.  He had gone out too fast, overly optimistic about our 12 mile run together.   The marathon is a demanding beast, no matter your relative fitness.

Greatness Gone

It hit me in the heart.  Frank Robinson is dead.  I wasn't an Orioles fan, or the Reds for that matter.  I was and am to some extent, a baseball fan.  Robinson was a superstar when baseball was still America's national past time.

You can read much better articles about why Frank Robinson mattered.  In my estimation he is the second most important African-American to put on a major league uniform, behind only Jackie Robinson.  My heart ache stemmed from my feeling that Robinson never the full respect or due for his incredible career both on and off the field.

Imagine being a 20-year-old breaking into the major leagues in Cincinnati in 1956.  Cincinnati was racist as hell.  What he must have endured making his way to winning Rookie of the Year honors and hitting a then major league record 38 home runs for a rookie.

Just five years later Robinson would lead the Reds, which had been a joke for the better part of 20 years, to a National League pennant taking the league's Most Valuable Player award.  His Reds had the misfortune of playing one of the greatest Yankee teams ever in the World Series and so it goes.

Five years after that Robinson was gone from Cincinnati. I remember reading he was an "old" 30.  He had only hit 33 home runs, drive in 100 runs and hit 296 in 1965. I remember writers calling Robinson a difficult and angry player.  Writers said he was difficult and angry.  Even then as a young boy, the descriptions spoke to me of a proud man, who didn't suffer fools gladly, a proud Black man which made it even worse.

In 1966, old Frank would hit 49 home runs and win the Triple Crown for Baltimore in leading them to a World Series title over my beloved Sandy Koufax and the Los Angeles Dodgers.  Robinson won the American League's Most Valuable Player award becoming the first and only player to win the MVP in both leagues.   He would follow it up with three more trips to the World Series and bring one more crown to Baltimore.

Fittingly he became the game's first Black manager in 1975 and managed four different times over the next 20 years.  Robinson's team's never had the best talent, but they always played better than you expected.  His pride in the game, the drive to win, he willed upon those who played for him.

He was one of my early baseball heroes.  The game owes him more than I can even begin to literate.  A giant among us is gone.

My Marathon Journeys: USTFF 1977

The marathon pulls at anyone who considers themselves a distance running.  Once you've given it a go you begin to think and scheme about how to do another one and run it better than the last.  I went into the spring of 1977 with a goal of running a sub-3 hour marathon.  Given the way I trained, it wasn't a very realistic dream.

I had run consistently through the spring.  I had even put in one ten mile run, that's right, one ten mile run two weeks before the marathon.  But I was in very good shape.  I ran an open mile at a high school track meet about a month before my planned race in Wichita.  The mile in Topeka gave me a lot of confidence.

I ran along in that race with an experienced marathoner, Rex Lane.  Rex had encouraged me to run the Wichita race where he was planning on running 2:45 if not better.  Rex and I raced along together in the mile as we watched Lowell Paul, a member of a world record setting 4 x 880 relay team pull away to a 4:14 mile.  Rex and I split the finish line together in 4:45.  Rex was exceedingly happy to stay stride for stride with me to the finish and I was shocked that I could run under 4:50, much less on a cinder track.

So at the end of May, Rex and I toed the line at the United States Track and Field Federation (USTFF) marathon in Wichita.  USTFF was a poor man's national championships designed mainly to be a thumb in the eye of the  Amateur Athletic Union.  The AAU was the 800 pound gorilla in track and field back then and it was hated by coaches and athletes alike.  The annual meet in Wichita offered world class competition, although our marathon field was mostly first rate collegians.

It promised to be a warm day on a rolling course taking us from Wichita State University into west Wichita and beyond.  I immediately took up with a high school senior excitedly running his first marathon.  We talked and kept each other calm as we clipped along at 6:30 mile pace over the first seven to eight miles.

By mile ten the high school kid was gone and I was in a no man's land between groups of runners.  I was slowing but not significantly.  In fact, as we hit a stretch of gravel road I was passing runners here and there.  My only significant late race memory is hitting the last water table at around 21 miles and thinking it was getting really hot.

The last five miles were a grind, but I knew I was going to break three hours if I didn't completely fold up.  That thought and feeling carried into the gates of the stadium where I circled a half lap of the track, hitting the finish line in 2:57:14.  Much to my surprise there stood Kansas coach Bob Timmons, grinning ear to ear.  He was honestly happy for me and congratulated me on the finish.  It meant the world to me.

Rex had run a couple of minutes under 2:50 and he was shocked to see me. I told him  my time it would be just under three hours or a 3:15 blow up and I think he was betting on the latter.  I was 21st overall out of more than 100 runners.  The race was divided between open runners and collegians.  Since I wasn't running for a college team I was considered open and claimed the third place medal in the open championship.  Yep, I was technically third in the nation at a national championship.

The Wichita race is one of the dozen most satisfying races I have run.  I had run smart, in control and paced myself properly based on my condition.  I had conquered a barrier, three hours, that every marathoner dreamed of and I did it at the age of 21.

My Marathon Journeys: The Kansas Relays 1976

Running a marathon is rarely a completely enjoyable experience.  If you do attempt 26.2 miles in a serious manner you have to put in many long runs and prepare you body for those last very difficult five to six miles.  Your body only stores about two hours worth of energy and lactate builds up in your muscles making your legs hurt like hell.

In 1976 energy boosters like GU didn't exists.  Top flight marathoners often drank defizzed coke to give them sugar and caffeine to carry them through the race.  And water tables were every six miles.  No one thought to carry water bottles with them.

So I lined up for the 1976 Kansas Relays with 150 other souls in even worse shape than the previous year's attempt.  There was no Kirk Duncan to hang onto and I was left to my own devices.  Worse still, the weather was terrible.  It was a wet, windy day which featured a howling wind directly out of the north. 

I could feel the windy helping me along as I headed south toward Vinland.  I was running almost the exact same pace as I did the year before but the effort wasn't as easy.  My mind began to drift back to the stadium.  The marathon had started at 7:30 a.m.  I knew that 11 a.m. Olympic marathon champion would be taking the track in the 5,000 meters against Colorado's Ted Castenada.  I knew it would be an entertaining race and I knew that I wouldn't be hitting the stadium in three hours.

I then started thinking about what the run back into Lawrence would be like.  It would be doubly brutal back through the hills that figured prominently from mile 13 to mile 20.  And that would back to the stadium would be into a steady 15 to 20 mile per hour gale.  

I had hedged my bets the morning of the race asking my mother to go to the halfway point in Vinland.  It was one of the best decisions I had ever made.  I was elated to see her sitting there in her red Ford at the turnaround and I walked over to the car.  She was in shock.  I had run the half in 1:31 and she remarked at how good and easy I looked.  I told her there was no way I would survive the nasty winds back into town.

I never regretted the ride home, the shower and the trip to the stadium to watch Shorter bury Castenada.  I have quit only a couple of races on purpose in my life and this is the only time I was actually happy about doing it.  It remains the only marathon that I did not finish.

My Marathon Journeys: The Kansas Relays 1975

In my ten plus years of blogging I haven't detailed the 20 plus marathons I have attempted in the course of my running career.  When I ran my first one in April 1975 there was still a great deal of mystique to grinding out 26.2 miles.  Break three hours was the seminal barrier for most runners in that era and was generally enough to get a begrudging nod of approval for top regional runners and even elites.

When I made the decision to run the K.U. Relays Marathon I was poorly trained.  My running career had been derailed by a couple bouts of serious illness in my senior year of high school.  My efforts to walk on the Kansas cross country team a little more than six weeks before coach Bob Timmons gave me the boot despite beating most of his scholarship freshmen in time trials.  Soon after I got a nasty case of strep throat and I was putting on my freshman 20.

I had never run more than 15 miles in training and only had a couple of ten mile road races under my built.  I hadn't raced a step since the previous spring and in the buildup to this particular race I was putting in 20 to 30 miles a week.  A lot of the runs were tempo efforts on the indoor track at Allen Field House.

I had only one thought on the morning of Saturday, April 19th when I lined up on Massachusetts Street in downtown Lawrence a hundred to 200 runners.  I wanted to finish instead Memorial Stadium and to do that I had to hit the stadium gates before the 3:15 mark.  I had no idea what I was in for on this sunny spring day..

Much to my surprise one of the running heroes of my youth showed up at the start, on a lark, looking to run his first marathon.  Kirk Duncan held the city's junior high record for the 880.  He had been a very good high school runner and went to Stanford going for pre-med.  He told me his plan was to run easy, seven minute mile pace and he promised to toe me along as he could.

The course was flat and gentle up to about six mile before we started a very hilly seven mile stretch that ended in Vinland, south of the city. At the turnaround, still feeling fresh, we made our way back to the hills and you could see the ravages of the race taking its toll on our fellow competitors.

You always hit a wall, unless you are a super fit, and I hit mine at 18 miles.  I began to fade and Kirk said he was sorry and must be on his way.  He ended up running just over three hours.  I struggled really badly over the last three miles.  I was famished dreaming of a big, juicy steak.  I faced the daunting task of heading up the steepest part of Mount Oread that would lead me down the other side to the stadium and the finish over the last mile.

Despite my unrelenting fatigue and legs of lead I was aglow as I saw the gate still open as I rolled down Campanile Hill into the stadium.  I was the last runner granted entry to the finish line on the track clocking 3:14:15.  It is one of my most cherished finishers medals.

I hurt.  I ate everything in sight.  Then I painfully climbed the stairs to the stadium press box where I helped broadcast a full afternoon of track and field at the Kansas Relays.  I couldn't walk right for a couple of days.  But in the back of my mind I knew I would have to give the marathon another try at next year's Kansas Relays.

The Knee

Running may not be a contact sport, but it can exact a toll on your body.  I see it every day in my store, usually in the form of plantar fasciitis.  It's a problem that can make life difficult for even non-runners, who I meet on a near daily basis looking for answers or relief.  But this isn't going to be about plantar, that post will come later.  And yes, I've had three bad cases of it over the last 25 years.

No, this is a personal tale about my latest running injury that shelved me for nearly three months.  It all started the week of October 8th.  I finished a three mile run and as soon as I started to walk my right knee started popping.  It was audible, pop, pop, pop.  The knee popped and cracked the rest of the evening.

The next day I got up and the knee felt great.  That night I went on another three mile run and the exact same thing happened.  Day three and it was a repeat performance.  The run went fine and then the knee started popping.

Day four after a nice four mile run my knee almost completely seized up after the run.  It was stiff and sore.  I started with the ice and Advil.  I figured a week of rest and I could get back at it.  When I gave it a go seven days later it felt like someone had shoved a knife under my knee cap.

I could tell after a couple of more weeks of rest that the knee wasn't going to get any better.  I finally went to my orthopedic surgeon who had surgically repaired both of my Achilles tendons more than a decade before.  The MRI showed a right knee with a minor tear in my meniscus.  The surgery was set for November 30.

Surgeon Eduardo Gomez took about 45 minutes fixing the knee.  I later found out that I have signs of arthritis in the knee, not unusual for a runner my age with almost 50 years of mileage under his belt.  I was back at work three days after the surgery and was on an exercise bike that same day.

I did the usual round of physical therapy.  I tried a short run the day after Christmas and it wasn't exactly an uplifting experience.  The eliptical was my friend.  I gave running a real go five weeks after the surgery.  It was slow, slower than slow but I crushed two miles without anything that resembled real pain.

I consider myself lucky.  Yes, I still feel the need to ice and Advil is always at the ready but I'm ready to start training again.  I need to pick a goal, a half marathon or maybe, dare I say it, a marathon.  But I will admit, at age 63 coming back from this surgery is a bear, much more difficult than the invasion abdominal surgery I had 15 years ago.  Running an 11 minute mile is a slap in the face.  I never thought I would get excited over the prospect of breaking 8 minutes in the mile.  Getting old sucks!

 

Track Is Back

2019 could be a historic year for high school middle distance running in Southwest Florida.  The main cast of characters from the spring of 2018 are all back and each athlete has a shot of accomplishments that will unfortunately fail to capture the kind of media attention from the area's sports loving public they deserve. 

We all know the old refrain, good things come in threes.  That certainly sums up the trio of state champions that will compete for more titles and perhaps, perhaps some stop watch making history.
The 800 meter distance is the bulls eye for all three.

Ladies first and Evangelical Christian's Sierra Oliviera, who faces a tough task as she looks for her second State Class 1A 800 title.  The ECS junior captured her first State title as an 8th grader.  2017 saw her finish second at State in a personal best 2:15.51.  She'll be pushed in practice by junior teammate Elizabeth Wetmore who was a State qualifier last spring in the 800. 

Oliviera will need that practice pressure as she chases the sophomore who goes to school just three miles away from ECS.  Cantebury sophomore Jessica Edwards beat Oliviera in capturing her first State title last spring.  Edwards ran 2:13.05, which ranks as one of the fastest 800 meters ever run by a Lee County girl. 

A logical step for Edwards would be a sub 2:12 clocking with an eye on 2:10.  She seems a lock to break 5:00 in the 1,600.  Her current best at the 1,600 is 5:07.68 and she finished 2nd at State in the event.  A sub 5:00 clocking would put her in elite Lee County company that includes her sister Emily, Fort Myers High's Krissy Gear and two Estero distance aces, Kacy Smith and Katie Slater.

The King of the Hill among Lee County boys is Hugh Brittenham.  As a junior he laid claim as the fastest 800 and 1,600 runner in county history.  Brittenham captured his first State title at 800 meters.  The biggest question is how much faster the Estero senior can run  His current PR's stand at 1:51.92in the 800 and 4:09.38 in the 1,600. 

Brittenham aspires to join a select list of Florida preps to break 1:50 in the 800.  Certainly breaking 4:05 in the 1,600 has to be among his goals.  The future Gator showed improved endurance over last fall's cross country season.  The question is whether this middle distance talent will take a shot at a fast 3,200 during the course of his outdoor season. 

The first outdoor meet of the season is six weeks away with the Ida Baker Indoor/Outdoor meet.  Don't look for any major fireworks until the Florida State Relays that stretches over two days the third weekend in March.  Until then, history will just have to wait.